his eyes trained on the side of her face. The baser side of himself wanted desperately to see all of her.
Charlotte’s attention was on something far away, but a tear made a path down her cheek before she was aware of the towel. She gripped the edges and held it against the front of her body, her head shaking from side to side, her lower lip trembling before a tooth finally caught it.
“Who did this to you?” Joshua repeated in a quiet voice as he reached out and placed an open palm over the shoulder nearest him, intending to take a closer look at the wound.
Visibly flinching, Charlotte gasped. “My fa ... my father,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. His hand was so hot against her shoulder, she thought it might leave a mark, as if he was branding her.
A stillness settled over Joshua Wainwright, where time seemed to stand still and where he could imagine the events to come in a kind of slow motion that preceded rage and reaction. “You, there,” he called out as he turned and saw a maid staring from the bedchamber. The woman’s eyes widened and she appeared quite frightened at being discovered watching the two in the bathroom. “Have Gates send for the doctor straight away,” he ordered, his voice so commanding that the maid immediately bobbed and left his sight. He returned his gaze to Charlotte, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “When?” he whispered hoarsely.
Charlotte finally turned her face a bit in his direction, but her eyes remained downcast. “Five days ago,” she replied, another tear streaming down her face.
Joshua furrowed his brows, thinking of the pain she must have endured why traveling in a coach from London with a wound so deep that it was still bleeding. Had her father sliced a knife across her back? “What ...?”
“A horse whip,” Charlotte answered before he could complete the question. She heard his sudden intake of breath, could see a kind of rage building in him that threatened to explode at any moment.
“Your father horse whipped you?” he whispered, disbelief evident, or perhaps a desire to believe it must have been someone else who would dare do such a thing to a woman.
“He thought me willful,” Charlotte started to explain, her eyes raising to meet his, her body trembling much like it had the night before.
“Willful?” he repeated, at first in disbelief. He considered her behavior with him in the study the day before and realized that, yes, she could be willful. But enough to warrant a whipping? She was the daughter of an earl! “Whatever did you do ..?”
“He wanted me to agree to marry an earl instead of fulfilling my obligation to this duchy,” she whispered, her lower lip quivering and her teeth nearly chattering. “But I said I would refuse any other agreement. There is already a betrothal in place, one that he arranged with your father, and I did not wish to renounce it.” Her head shook from side to side as she made her statement, her knees weakening beneath her.
Joshua realized she was about to collapse and caught her body around the waist, lowering her gently into the water while trying to allow her some modicum of modesty. When she was seated, her knees slightly bent and her hands firmly on the edge of the tub, he let go of her and knelt next to the tub. He left his wet forearms draped on the side of the tub as he regarded her profile for several seconds and considered her words. “He offered you a way out of having to marry me?” he finally countered, wondering why she hadn’t taken the offer. She knew he was badly disfigured, knew the extent of his visible wounds. Why would she insist on fulfilling some betrothal obligation made when she was three years old?
“I did not wish to be relieved of the obligation, Your Grace,” she stated, her chin angled in such a way as to suggest she was stubborn on the topic. She didn’t dare tell him the true reason for the wound – that her father didn’t want his perfect daughter to
Charlotte’s attention was on something far away, but a tear made a path down her cheek before she was aware of the towel. She gripped the edges and held it against the front of her body, her head shaking from side to side, her lower lip trembling before a tooth finally caught it.
“Who did this to you?” Joshua repeated in a quiet voice as he reached out and placed an open palm over the shoulder nearest him, intending to take a closer look at the wound.
Visibly flinching, Charlotte gasped. “My fa ... my father,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. His hand was so hot against her shoulder, she thought it might leave a mark, as if he was branding her.
A stillness settled over Joshua Wainwright, where time seemed to stand still and where he could imagine the events to come in a kind of slow motion that preceded rage and reaction. “You, there,” he called out as he turned and saw a maid staring from the bedchamber. The woman’s eyes widened and she appeared quite frightened at being discovered watching the two in the bathroom. “Have Gates send for the doctor straight away,” he ordered, his voice so commanding that the maid immediately bobbed and left his sight. He returned his gaze to Charlotte, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “When?” he whispered hoarsely.
Charlotte finally turned her face a bit in his direction, but her eyes remained downcast. “Five days ago,” she replied, another tear streaming down her face.
Joshua furrowed his brows, thinking of the pain she must have endured why traveling in a coach from London with a wound so deep that it was still bleeding. Had her father sliced a knife across her back? “What ...?”
“A horse whip,” Charlotte answered before he could complete the question. She heard his sudden intake of breath, could see a kind of rage building in him that threatened to explode at any moment.
“Your father horse whipped you?” he whispered, disbelief evident, or perhaps a desire to believe it must have been someone else who would dare do such a thing to a woman.
“He thought me willful,” Charlotte started to explain, her eyes raising to meet his, her body trembling much like it had the night before.
“Willful?” he repeated, at first in disbelief. He considered her behavior with him in the study the day before and realized that, yes, she could be willful. But enough to warrant a whipping? She was the daughter of an earl! “Whatever did you do ..?”
“He wanted me to agree to marry an earl instead of fulfilling my obligation to this duchy,” she whispered, her lower lip quivering and her teeth nearly chattering. “But I said I would refuse any other agreement. There is already a betrothal in place, one that he arranged with your father, and I did not wish to renounce it.” Her head shook from side to side as she made her statement, her knees weakening beneath her.
Joshua realized she was about to collapse and caught her body around the waist, lowering her gently into the water while trying to allow her some modicum of modesty. When she was seated, her knees slightly bent and her hands firmly on the edge of the tub, he let go of her and knelt next to the tub. He left his wet forearms draped on the side of the tub as he regarded her profile for several seconds and considered her words. “He offered you a way out of having to marry me?” he finally countered, wondering why she hadn’t taken the offer. She knew he was badly disfigured, knew the extent of his visible wounds. Why would she insist on fulfilling some betrothal obligation made when she was three years old?
“I did not wish to be relieved of the obligation, Your Grace,” she stated, her chin angled in such a way as to suggest she was stubborn on the topic. She didn’t dare tell him the true reason for the wound – that her father didn’t want his perfect daughter to
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