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When she woke, the first morning light had pale the room. For a moment, Charlotte remained still beneath the warm covers. She heard the faint rustle of clothing. Alexander stood beside the chair, fastening his waistcoat. His hair was untidy, his cravat still lay where she had left it, and he seemed to give one button more attention than it required.

She watched his hands, remembering their warmth against her own. Perhaps he felt her gaze. He looked toward the bed, and his expression softened when he saw she was awake. “I hoped not to wake you,” he said quietly.

Charlotte drew the counterpane closer. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“No.” He set aside the troublesome button and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I was deciding how gently I could wake you.”

Her gaze moved to the window. Sunrise. She had been so certain of the condition when she imposed it. Comfort came from choosing the hour of his departure, from knowing exactly how much she was offering and when the evening would end. Now the sight of him dressed to leave brought an ache she’t prepared for.

Alexander brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte said. Better than she had expected. Better than she cared to admit, as he sat there, ready to go.

“I am glad.” She caught his fingers before he could lower his hand. “You remembered,” she said.

His gaze flickered to the brightening window, then returned to her face. “I gave you my word.”

Charlotte swallowed. He spoke without reproach, and she could find no trace of it in his expression. He had enjoyed the night, held her while she slept, and risen in time to honor the promise she had asked of him. She wanted to pull him back beneath the covers. The impulse was so strong that she tightened her fingers around his. Alexander glanced at their hands, then waited, giving her time to speak.

She thought he would stay if she asked. That knowledge tempted her almost as much as the bed's warmth and the memory of waking against him. Yet she could already imagine how easily this morning might become something she hoped for again, and how much it would hurt if she came to depend upon it.

She needed time to understand what she wanted beyond the next kiss. Charlotte eased herself upright, holding the counterpane against her. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

Alexander’s smile was gentle. “You need not thank me for that.”

“I wanted to.”

He smiled. “Then you are very welcome.”

His affection nearly undid her resolve. She reached for him before she could reconsider, her hand settling against his neck as she drew him down to her. The kiss was slow and warm. Charlotte lingered, allowing herself one small indulgence before letting him go. When his fingers brushed her cheek again, she turned her face into his palm.

For a moment, neither moved. Then Alexander rose. She watched him collect his coat and cravat. At the door, he paused, his hand on the latch, and looked back at her. “Good morning, Charlotte.”

“Good morning, Alexander,” she replied softly.

The door closed behind him. Charlotte stayed seated until his footsteps faded down the corridor. Then she lowered herself onto the pillow and turned toward where he had slept. The sheet was still warm. She rested her hand upon it, feeling the small hollow his body had left in the mattress. She had given herself one night, certain she could be content with it. She had not considered how much she might miss him when it ended.

Six

Alexander found Charlotte in Eleanor’s drawing room attempting to repair a hat. It was an extraordinary hat. An abundance of yellow ribbon was attached to a crown so small he doubted it could do any useful work. Three feathers leaned drunkenly over the brim; one bent at an angle that suggested serious injury. Charlotte held a fourth between two fingers and frowned at it with great dignity.

“Before you speak,” she said, looking up as he entered, “this is not mine.”

“I am relieved,” Alexander said, and a smile tugged at his mouth, quick and unguarded. He was happy just to see her.

Eleanor glanced at him from beside a table littered with ribbon, artificial flowers, and several objects he could not identify. “You need not sound so appalled,” she said, sniffing. “It was very fashionable when I bought it.”

“When was that?” he asked.

“Recently enough that you ought to be kinder.” Charlotte laughed.

The sound loosened something in his chest, a knot he had carried for three days. He had not seen her since leaving her bedchamber three mornings ago. He had spent an unreasonable portion of those mornings wondering how she would greet him next. He had composed and discarded speeches while his coffee went cold.

She looked pleased to see him. The color in her cheeks and the light in her green eyes left no doubt. He would begin with that. Eleanor had invited him to call before they went to their mother’s solicitor together. She had neglected to mention Charlotte’s presence, which he suspected had been deliberate. He gave his sister a long, narrow look that she met with perfect innocence.

“What happened to it?” he asked, nodding toward the hat.

“The hat?” Charlotte examined the feather, turning it in the sunlight. “Your sister placed it upon a chair. Her husband sat down.”