Rules of Surrender by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd [Dodd, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance, Adult
ISBN: 9780739408193
Google: BlhmRWKzAnoC
Amazon: 0380811979
Barnesnoble: 0380811979
Goodreads: 490417
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2000-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Love him. Charlotte headed down the carriage way for a walk to the far reaches of the estate. Toward the oak tree in the meadow. Or the bench in the formal garden. Or to the Americas, although the Atlantic would present a bit of a challenge for a woman no taller than she was.

Yes, she should have gone to the nursery, sought out the children and proceeded about the business of being a governess as if nothing untoward had happened.

Nothing had happened.

In the inner reaches of her mind she had been prepared to be disappointed in Wynter. She was. Her infatuation was over. She would proceed as if their brief interlude had never happened.

Love him. As if she would love a man like him. A man who had abandoned his mother, his country and his manners. Who did he think he was, some pasha too lofty for ethics? She couldn’t love a man like him.

She found herself swinging her arms and putting each foot before the other in excessively firm movements. Movements that, if nature had comprehended her mood, would have shaken the earth.

Dear heavens, why had she told him the truth of her life in such detail and with such passion? She knew how to relate her story—in a dry tone, as if the past had ceased to wound her and she didn’t care that she lived in exile from the place where she’d grown up. When she pretended indifference, she at least saved her pride. Now she had no pride. And he thought she loved him!

At least when she’d refused that first proposal, her suitor hadn’t accused her of loving him. Indeed, he would have been surprised and offended if she’d offered such emotion. And she never would have. Even if he had gone to the trouble of courting her, she’d had too much sense then to imagine the courtship to be prompted by anything other than expediency.

Love him. Wretched Wynter thought she loved him. Probably he had proposed marriage with no intention of going through the ceremony and every intention of performing the consummation. But Charlotte was no dewy-eyed fool. No, she was too old and wise to fall for that hoary trick.

”Miss Dalrumple?“ the hostler called as she hurried past the stables.

Reluctantly she halted. ”Yes, Fletcher?“

”Need’t‘ talk’t’ ye.“

She didn’t want to speak with him. She didn’t want to speak with anyone, especially not someone of the male gender, but Fletcher was a man of few demands and fewer words, so when he communicated it was with purpose. ”Is there some service I can render to you?“ she asked.

”Me’t‘ ye.“ The knotted, gnarled hostler gestured toward the fenced stableyard with his unlit pipe. ”D’ye know th’ little girlie is ridin‘ yon mare?“

”The little girlie?“ Charlotte was bewildered. ”Not… Lady Leila?“

”Th’ very same.“

”That’s… that’s not possible.“ Charlotte strode to the paddock. The horse he indicated was no pony, but fifteen hands high and sleek with the spirits of a healthy young animal. ”When?“

Fletcher had been around for so many years he knew she wasn’t really expressing disbelief, only consternation.

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