Page 38 of Charlotte's Kisses

She flew into the hallway, Leon at her heels. She whirled on him. “Please, let me be.”

While he rubbed his brow, she dashed away. Ignoring her plea, he followed her, his footsteps echoing in the long hallway.

“My lady, please,” Leon called to her.

She lengthened her stride.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” he yelled.

Halting, she held her breath and faced him.

“Yesterday, Mr. Fletcher kissed Lady Chesterhill. I had to intervene and…” Leon winced and stared at his shoe. “I am sorry, I had to use force to make him stop.”

Was that why Hugh had new bruises? Charlotte’s heart pounded at her chest until it plummeted to her feet and crashed on the ground, splintering into hundreds of lifeless shards.

Since she had no friends and no one to talk to, who could she discuss her broken heart with?A sparkling fireflyher big toe. She was simply a silly miss shoved into a too-tight, sparkly dress. Loneliness and overwhelm cocooned her in a gray cloud.

Charlotte schooled her tears as she opened her chamber door. Once it closed behind her, she cried a waterfall.

Chapter nineteen

Spending the day withStilts and Curly acting as his escorts left much to be desired. The men were absolute buffoons. But Hugh had not had a choice. He did not have a horse, and the distance from Chesterhill Manor to Mayfair was too far to travel on foot. Therefore, he found himself squished between the odoriferous duo in a too-small curricle.

First, they rode to Mulas House, the Ravenforde’s Grosvenor Square townhouse, where Hugh ascertained that Theodore had not been home in days. Hell-bent on destruction, the illegitimate heir to the Ravenforde Viscountcy often found his way to The Green Gate, a gaming hell in Covent Garden.

Hugh arrived at The Green Gate hopeful but left frustrated. According to three young aristocrats Ravenforde owed money to, he had been there and moved on.

“No idea why he went in search of cunny. The fool was too deep in his cups to do much about it,” said Lord Freedman’s son. “Always drunk these days and so angry at the world.”

Bloody wonderful since angry drunk men were so easy to relay bad news to.

“Probably at Clara’s at the edge of the city,” declared some posh pup who could not have been more than nineteen.

“Did you fight with him over money or a woman?” Freedman pointed at Hugh’s face.

It took Hugh a moment to realize that Freedman was referring to his bruises. He’d have told him it was none of his blasted business, but it did no good to anger a bloke you wanted information from.

“If you find him, tell him Keeting wants his thirty pounds,” said a scowling Keeting.

’Twas dark by the time Hugh arrived at the West end.

Curly parked the curricle in an alley behind the three-story brothel. “Here ye’ are, mate,” he said.

“I am not your mate,” Hugh repeated for about the twentieth time that afternoon.

Stilts rubbed his hands together. “I love me a fancy brothel.”

Fancy—nay. Women willing to do anything—absolutely.

Hugh had often visited Clara’s in his youth. He had no peculiar interests. A nice hard tup without a commitment kept him satisfied. He’d had a preference for the proprietress, an older woman with long red hair and huge arse tits. But that seemed a lifetime ago. Now, he fancied kisses from a flaxen-haired beauty—before, during, and after his tup.

Hugh sighed. He needed to get his head out of his arse and concentrate on the business at hand. If he did not finish his task soon, he would not return to the cottage in time for Charlotte’s visit, and then she might worry. He had consideredwriting her a note about his trip into the city, but the chances were her father or stepmother would intrude upon his privacy and find it. Then he would be forced—perhaps with a pistol aimed at his brain—to end things with Charlotte. He would not allow that to happen. At least not yet. First, he must ensure she was safe from whatever ill-deed Lady Chesterhill was up to.

“Stay out here and wait for me,” Hugh told his half-witted assistants.

“It won’t take me but a minute to get me willy-shined,” declared Curly.

“Aww,” Stilts fussed. “I was hopin’ for a little longer. I likes to satisfy me whores.”