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She began to tell him, her hands moving in small, graceful gestures as she warmed to the subject. He listened as she described a travel account whose author seemed to dislike every place he visited, complaining about the food, the roads, and even the sky. Then a novel she suspected would prove dreadful but had bought on Lady Hartwick’s recommendation. He found himself watching her face. The quick shift in her expression, the dimple that appeared at the corner of her mouth… He marveled that he had ever thought he could leave her. He really had been a fool.

“She said it was entertaining,” Charlotte explained, rolling her eyes dryly. “That can mean several things when Amelia says it.”

“Will you read the ending first?” he asked.

Her smile bloomed slowly. “You remember that?”

“Yes.” There was little that he did not remember about her.

She looked down at her skirts, smoothing a fold that required no attention, and a faint flush rose along her cheek. Alexander watched her hand and remembered how readily she had once taken his. He could almost feel it in his hands now. The clock struck the quarter.

Charlotte glanced at it, and the light in her face dimmed slightly. “Your five minutes are gone.”

“So they are.” He wanted to beg for more time. He rose, slowly, reluctantly. He had asked for a little of her time, and she had given it. He would not make her regret the concession by bargaining for more, though everything in him protested.

She remained seated for a moment, watching him, her head tilted and her eyes unreadable. “Was that all you wished to say?”

“No,” he admitted, with a faint, wry smile. “But it is all I have time to say this evening.”

A faint amusement returned to her face, lifting the corners of her mouth. “You have become remarkably obedient.”

“I should hate to discourage you from granting me another five minutes,” Alexander said. He tried for lightness, but his voice came out lower than he intended. He clasped his hands behind his back so she would not see them tighten.

Charlotte’s lips parted, and a small, startled stillness crossed her face. Her gaze flicked to his mouth and quickly away. “Is that what you want?” she asked.

He met her eyes, steady and open. He let her see that he meant it. His heart was beating hard and slow, as it had that day in her father’s garden. This time he did not reach for her hands or fill the silence with plans. He waited, and let the wanting show. “I should like to call upon you,” he said quietly. “For somewhat longer than five minutes, if you are willing.”

Charlotte rose, bringing them closer than they had been since he arrived. He could see the green of her eyes clearly now, flecked with gold in the candlelight. His heart beat a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs.

For a moment, she said nothing, and the silence stretched until he thought he would break it. “Thursday,” she answered at last. “At three.”

Relief went through him like warm water. “I shall look forward to it.”

“And Alexander?”

He lifted a brow. “Yes?”

“You need not spend the visit apologizing,” Charlotte said, her voice quiet. She smoothed a fold of her skirt.

His smile softened, and a faint, hopeful warmth lit his face. “What would you prefer?” he asked gently.

“Ask me when you arrive,” she said, with a small, mysterious smile.

She passed him and returned to the drawing room before he could answer, her skirts brushing his leg as she went. Leaving a trace of her perfume in her wake. Alexander followed, already thinking of Thursday. He intended to convince he to give him another chance, and if she did, he swore he would not waste it. He had loved her for far too many years now. They had missed their chance once. He refused to believe this was not the time to make her his finally.

Three

Charlotte had changed her gown twice before admitting she wanted to look lovely for Alexander. The realization came as her maid fastened the last button, and it did nothing to improve her composure. Her first choice had been perfectly suitable for receiving callers. No stain marred the sleeve, no trim hung loose, nothing to justify sending it back to the wardrobe. She remembered that Alexander liked green—an irritating reason to dress in it.

“Will there be anything else, my lady?” her maid asked.

“No, thank you.”

Once alone, Charlotte studied her reflection. The hunter-green gown suited her complexion, and her maid had arranged her hair in a Grecian style. She looked well enough. Even lovely, she supposed… Charlotte was not the young girl he had once desired. What did he hope for from this visit? She took a deep breath and reminded herself she had made him no promises. This was just…what? What the blazes should she consider this? It was hardly a reunion. She shook her head. Why was she acting like a silly schoolgirl about to meet with her first beau?

By a quarter to three, she had taken a book into the drawing room. At ten minutes to three, she discovered she had read the same paragraph twice. She turned back a page, then shut it altogether when a carriage sounded outside. Her butler announced Lord Merewood precisely upon the hour.

Alexander entered carrying a slim volume bound in brown leather. His coat was dark brown and his waistcoat cream flecked with gold. His hair looked as though he had run his hand through it as he left his carriage. Charlotte’s attention lingered upon the unruly curl above his brow before she remembered to greet him. “Good afternoon.”