Miss Charlotte Surrenders

DECIDING THERE WAS no better time to investigate Brett than when he was still busy in the kitchen, Charlotte slipped out of the house. Taking care to go the long way and stay out of sight of the kitchen windows, she headed for the cottage. After making sure no one was there, she used her key and let herself in.

Her heart racing, she began to look around. As before, his papers and books were scattered everywhere. She flipped through them quickly. All were on farming. Scowling in disappointment, she sat down at his desk and switched on his laptop computer. Aware of the need to hurry, she called up the directory and took a look at the files. Again, everything pertained to agriculture. Sure she must be missing something, Charlotte utilized the Search function on the computer and began scrolling through the documents. To her frustration, all were exactly as they were labeled.

Finding nothing incriminating or remotely connected to Stephen Sterling, she looked for an alternate directory on the computer. But there was only the one.

Lips pursed, she stared at the screen. Her heart was still racing and she had that prickly, about-to-get-caught-at-any-minute sensation on the back of her neck. Yet she had to find the truth, so she couldn’t leave just yet. Was it possible that Brett was exactly as he seemed? she wondered frantically. A lazy, flirtatious scholar and nothing more? Was it possible she had misjudged him?

Without warning, the door opened behind her. Knowing her best defense was a good offense, Charlotte remained where she was and played it cool.

Ever so slowly, she swiveled around in her chair. Brett stood in the doorway, legs braced apart, arms folded in front of him. His expression was very grim indeed.

“Oh, there you are, Brett. I’ve been looking for you,” Charlotte said.

“Really?” he retorted glibly, his blue eyes glittering with an emotion Charlotte wasn’t sure she wanted to define. “I was under the impression you knew damn well I was in the kitchen preparing dinner.”

“Obviously I thought you’d stepped out for a moment,” she replied, using haughtiness as her main defense, “or I wouldn’t have come down here.”

He nodded, not buying her explanation for one second. His glance flicked over her face, returned to her eyes. “That doesn’t explain what you were doing on my computer,” he said very, very softly.

Charlotte searched for something to tell him as she switched off his computer, closed the lid and stood. “I noticed it was a newer model than my laptop. I wanted to try it out and see if it was any faster.” She flashed him an apologetic smile, then followed that with a demure look as she pushed in the chair. She couldn’t help but notice his thighs were girded as if for battle beneath the soft, snug fabric of his jeans. So were the brawny muscles of his shoulders and chest. She returned her eyes to his face and swallowed to ease the ache of tension in her throat. She moved slightly to the left of him. “I know I should have asked permission first—”

“Damn right about that.” Brett’s expression remained grim as he moved to the left, too, barring any hope of easy exit.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll ask first,” Charlotte promised.

He glowered down at her. He seemed in no mood to let her pass—yet. “Sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he prodded, his mouth taking on a rapacious tilt. He looked as if he were prepared to kiss the information out of her, if all else failed. Drawing a shaky breath, she decided to change the subject back to the business at hand.

Charlotte went back to the table and picked up the notepad and pen she had brought into the cottage with her. “Actually, I did want to tell you what needs to be done on the grounds before the party.”

“Isabella and Paige said you went off by yourself to make a list. Funny—” Brett glanced down at her notepad “—there doesn’t seem to be anything written on that list of yours, Miss Charlotte.”

She shrugged, refusing to let the warmth of his breath in her hair or his knowing expression throw her. “Yes, well, I got sidetracked,” she explained.

“Sidetracked spying on me?” he elaborated sarcastically.

“Sidetracked stopping in to see if you were here,” Charlotte corrected, her cheeks flooding with warmth. “I wanted to arrange a time for us to get together tomorrow morning.” It was all she could do to keep her eyes on his.

Brett continued to regard her steadily. He was close enough for her to see how closely he had shaved. “What’s wrong with tonight?” he asked huskily.

“Nothing.” Charlotte adapted her most innocent look. “I just thought you might be busy.”

Brett said nothing in response and continued to look at her warily. He knew she was suspicious of him, and that she hadn’t found what she was looking for. Like her, he had been smart enough to lock his secret documents away. “Well, I’m not busy,” he said, mimicking her light, easy tone, “so what did you want, boss lady?”

“I have landscapers coming in tomorrow to plant flowers and trim the shrubs, but I want you to resurrect our lawn mower and mow the grass on the estate.”

“Are you going to help me?”

“No.”

“There are two hundred acres on the estate. That’s a big job.”

Yes, it was, but Charlotte had no intention of working side by side with him. Just thinking about the possibility conjured up visions of Brett, muscles rippling, working bare-chested in the sun. No. She did not want to see that.

“Just find a way to do it,” she advised, exasperated both with him and the unprecedentedly sexual nature of her thoughts. “After that, I don’t care what you do!”

Brett knew she didn’t care. That was what made his own response to her so curious. It shouldn’t have mattered to him how far Charlotte would go to save her beloved Camellia Lane, as long as he kept her distracted enough that she didn’t discover Sterling’s true identity. It also shouldn’t have mattered to him that she was ridiculously naive when it came to Jared Fontaine. After all, it wasn’t as if he were involved with her. He was merely spying on her.

So what if Charlotte labeled Brett a cad and looked at Jared as her rescuer? He shouldn’t have been provoked into kissing her, but he had been. The desire he’d felt as he held her in his arms and experienced the sweetness of her surrender was overwhelming. He wanted Miss Charlotte. And he was going to get her any way he could.

“What if I tell you I won’t do this new work assignment without your help?” Brett asked in an insolent way he knew would annoy her.

Hands on her hips, Charlotte regarded him without flinching. “Then I’ll ask you to pack your bags and vacate the premises immediately,” she said coolly.

He couldn’t stop her from unmasking Sterling from afar, Brett thought. He sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, and he was in this up to his neck. “All right, all right. Starting tomorrow, I’ll get the mower up and running and cut the darn grass, but when I’m done,” he warned silkily, “I’ll expect to be amply compensated.”

“With what?” Charlotte asked with an impertinent toss of her dark hair. “Another kiss?”

So, Brett thought with satisfaction, she hadn’t forgotten their embrace, either. “Maybe,” he said.

“Dream on,” she retorted haughtily. “You caught me by surprise once. Not ever again.”

Brett grinned. He’d felt her response to his embrace. She had to be yearning for another kiss every bit as much as he was. “Should we bet on that?”

* * *

“I DON’T SEE WHY I have to wear the chemise, the corset and the petticoat for the fitting,” Charlotte grumbled the following afternoon. She held on to the bedpost with both hands, as Paige laced her up so tight her breasts spilled from the top of the lacy white linen chemise.

“It’s the only efficient way to measure you.” Paige frowned and gave the strings on the corset another tug. “Can you still breathe?”

“No!”

“Good, then that’s probably tight enough,” Paige decided. She stepped back to admire her handiwork as Charlotte let go of the bedpost. “You know, I think we whittled a good two inches off your waist with that corset.”

“It feels like it, too,” Charlotte grumbled. “Now loosen those strings, Paige.”

Paige propped both her manicured hands on her hips. She was dressed in street clothes, since she had already had her fitting. “Do you want to look like an authentic antebellum Southern belle or not?” Paige demanded.

“I’d rather be comfortable,” Charlotte admitted matter-of-factly. When Paige refused to help her, she reached around and tried to get at the double-knotted laces herself.

Paige slapped her hand away. “Stop that, Charlotte, and quit your complaining! I went to a great deal of trouble to find and borrow these corsets for us.”

“Maybe it would help if the person you borrowed the corsets from had been a size or two larger.” And her chemise cut a little more modestly, Charlotte thought.

Paige went to the mirror and primped, needlessly adjusting her perfectly coiffed hair. “You look fine.”

Charlotte stepped up to the mirror, next to Paige. Layers of lacy petticoat fell from her waist to just above her ankles. Her corset was wrapped snugly around her midriff, to just below her breasts. The chemise was above that. She looked ridiculous, like Scarlett O’Hara getting ready for the barbecue and ball at Twelve Oaks.

“You look wonderful,” Paige said, smiling encouragement at Charlotte.