One Week To Wed. Laurie Benson

with your title coming from London would have no interest in what happens up here. Unless your interest is purely because you are staying here.’

      ‘I should remind you, Lady Charlotte, although we shared an amusing conversation, you do not know me.’

      ‘This is true. I do not. But famine and unemployment do not seem to be an interesting topic for a privileged bachelor from London.’

      She was being rude. She knew it, but was unable to stop. Perhaps her testy emotions with him had something to do with the feelings of desire he was stirring inside her—feelings she needed to forget. To him it was all a game. Meanwhile for Charlotte it was... She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but there was no denying she didn’t like him as much now as she had before. It was easier for her to deal with him if she painted him in a poor light.

      ‘And how do you know these things do not interest me?’ he asked while wrinkling his forehead.

      Jonathan’s brothers had never expressed interest in those outside their social circle and the London bachelors Lizzy wrote to her about were only interested in game and drink. ‘You yourself said last night that you came here seeking pleasant conversation with your friend and bucolic pastures for riding. The state of the people who have inhabited this area for generations did not draw you here.’

      ‘Like it did Mr Hunt.’

      Her spine stiffened. ‘Mr Hunt, and men who write for that paper, are champions for a people who could use one. Mr Hunt has done nothing wrong.’

      ‘His speeches on Parliamentary reform have instigated riots.’

      ‘That is not true. He believes if enough of us speak our minds, then change can happen without violence. Violent actions are not the answer to the problems faced by people who live in this area.’

      ‘One could assume with your title, my lady, you would not have an interest in the plight of the common man.’

      ‘I am a widow, Lord Andrew. Famine and financial hardship can appear at my door as well as at the merchants, farmers and factory workers here. What happens to my neighbour down the lane could easily befall me.’

      ‘You could marry again.’

      ‘But I won’t. We need equal and proper representation in Parliament. Something we do not have. We need people who will champion our interests there. Do not condemn those who are fighting for their right to feed and clothe their families.’

      ‘I have not spoken of condemning them.’

      ‘But you have strong opinions of Mr Hunt. I saw it in your eyes.’ Charlotte had no use for entitled self-centred gentlemen like Lord Andrew. It was probably best she had found out about his true nature. He had her recalling the activities of the marriage bed—activities that were best left forgotten. She hadn’t lied to him. She would not marry again and the less tempted she was to touch the man across from her, the better off she would be.

       Chapter Six

      Andrew sat back in his chair and watched Lady Charlotte cut into the bacon that had tasted so good a few minutes before. Now, he had no stomach for it. It appeared he’d lost his opportunity to ask her about the unrest in the area since she did not look eager to enter into a genial discussion with him again.

      He didn’t like the picture she had drawn of him in the brief time they had spoken. He had been enjoying her company immensely before their discussion took a decidedly serious turn. He tried to recall how that happened. There was no denying she had also felt that pull between them. She might deny wanting to go out in the rain and explore each other’s bodies, but he knew she had been considering it. Now, if he wasn’t mistaken, she thought him an entitled prig.

      Instead of turning back to read the papers, he watched her top her toast with strawberry jam. When she delicately licked some of the jam from her finger, Andrew’s thoughts drifted to their conversation about the rain...and getting her wet.

      He wasn’t a man to openly engage in flirtatious conversations with women. It was not something he ever bothered with. Yet there was something about this woman that made his thoughts and words form without his intent and he found he was flirting before he knew it.

      She was a combination of beauty and brains, mixed with something he could not name that had him thinking about her more than he should have done last night after he left the drawing room with Toby. For him, that was dangerous. She was a complication he didn’t need. His job was to protect King George and the Prince Regent from harm. His duty was above all else. His father had formed the organisation that Gabriel now managed and taught him that having a clear focus on his objective was essential for being effective at what he did. He had also taught him to trust no one and suspect everyone. And Andrew had come to understand how important that advice was.

      His Uncle Peter had somehow become radicalised about Catholic emancipation. His beliefs were such that he’d resorted to violence to prevent information from reaching Gabriel. He had killed Andrew’s friend Matthew so the agent couldn’t deliver his information about a group of extremists in Ireland who had targeted Prinny and he was prepared to kill Gabriel as well, until Andrew stopped him. Andrew had sensed a change in him and had spoken to Gabriel about it before Peter left for his mission with Matthew, but he never considered his uncle would be capable of killing his family and friends. It made him question the character of everyone he met.

      Lady Charlotte appeared outraged when he implied Mr Hunt might be fond of violent actions to achieve his goal. But he hadn’t been around her long enough to get a sense of her true character. Their discussion seemed to have no impact on her appetite as she ate her toast and ignored him. What a country widow thought of him shouldn’t matter. Soon he would return to London. The safety of the Crown was paramount. There were missions that needed his attention. In the meantime, he was helping himself feel productive by looking into any leads he could find about political unrest in the area and searching out the names of people who could be a threat to the Crown. When he left Cheshire, he would not be coming back—and he would never see her again.

      Andrew was about to resume reading the paper and pretend she didn’t exist when Toby and his wife finally entered the room, followed by a footman. Mrs Knightly did not even try to hide her joy at seeing him sitting alone with her friend.

      ‘How lovely to see you both enjoying breakfast together,’ she said, taking a seat beside him at the table.

      How long would it take before the woman realised the only thing keeping them in the same room together were those crispy pieces of bacon?

      ‘Did you both sleep well?’ she asked, placing her napkin on her lap, as another footman arrived with a pot of chocolate.

      ‘I did, once the thunderstorm had passed,’ Lady Charlotte replied, staring pointedly at the footman as he poured some of the fragrant liquid into Mrs Knightly’s cup. ‘And thank you for insisting I take your shawl. I find it has grown rather cold.’ She glanced at Andrew and her expression reinforced the subtle gibe.

      ‘Why did you not instruct them to put another log on the fire?’ Mrs Knightly motioned to the footman by the door and that man went about the task. Then she turned to Andrew with a friendly smile. ‘I hope your room is to your liking and you slept well.’

      He managed not to scowl because of the foul mood he suddenly found himself in. ‘It is. The bed is quite comfortable.’ There was no sense in elaborating. The comfort of his mattress had no bearing on his sleep. He never slept well.

      Toby had settled himself at the head of the table with a plate full of food. It was a wonder he did not weigh as much as the Prince Regent if that was how much he ate in the morning. Conversely, Mrs Knightly appeared to have no appetite at all, not even for toast.

      She glanced from Andrew to Lady Charlotte and then back to Andrew, playing with her cup in its saucer. ‘I understand you live in a bachelor’s establishment in London called Albany. Are you able to get a restful night’s sleep with people coming