The Earl's Young Bride and Their Siblings (completed)

Chapter Thirty: An Inebriated Plan

Inside his father's home, Radley sat in what was called a Queen Ann chair. The winged back was perfect for resting ones head. But he wasn't that relaxed. His foot was propped up, but he was too deep in thought to feel any tranquility. Instead, he stared out the window with a glass tumbler in his hand. Upon occasion, he would take a sip of the amber liquid, then think of what he'd done and toss it back only to refill it.

He had stopped counting how many drinks he had finished. Nor did he actually taste it. He was going by the bottle. When he started, it was full. Now, it was less than half full. He knew he would likely call for another full one before the pain eased off from what he thought he'd lost.

Each time he examined what he'd said to Charlotte, he'd toss the liquor back. It had been a half hour and his conscience was sore from the abuse.

The truth was, she had confused the hell out of him.

Every-single-time he kissed her, she melted in his arms like wax. He'd held off touching her the way he wanted... a grin spread because he knew she would slap him if he did. If a woman could be called a minx, it was Charlotte, and he loved that about her.

Yet, he hated the fact that she pushed him away as if he were some kind of guilty pleasure that she was too embarrassed... Suddenly, he questioned if it was shame. Was she ashamed of her feelings for him?

The fact he had spilled his every doubt or fear upon her tiny shoulders brought the glass to his lips to toss back what was left. He grabbed the bottle and refilled the glass.

He regretted laying all of his thoughts at her feet. If anything, he should have excused himself and kept his damn mouth shut. The only thing he didn't regret was how this fight will make her examine her behavior and decide what the hell she wanted.

His confessions were true. He hadn't lied. If she couldn't accept him as he was, then they were finished. That was something he was glad he had said. Trouble was, if he'd taken more time, he may have become more to her.

He lifted his hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose. The truth was, his impatience had gotten the better of him. His ego had already taken a beating. When his friend had taken her hand, she had been flattered—until Rob opened his mouth.

His smile rose with the satisfaction that gave him. But he knew a woman in love didn't flirt with other men. At least, he wouldn't want a woman who did. Yet, the first time he had seen her he had known he wanted her. Yes, she was extremely beautiful, but no more than others he had courted or bedded. No, it was that spark inside her. Proud, spirited, daring, and stubborn to the core, but it drew him like a moth to a flame.

That day she had taken off on his horse he had lost his mind. Once he'd caught her, the only thing in his mind was touching that flame and so he had. That kiss had brought him to his knees and, like an addict, he wanted more. Still.

While he stared out the window, he saw Michael riding his steed down the driveway.

He had planned to go and have drinks at White's with his friends, but at the moment he didn't want to be around Rob. Logic told him that Rob didn't know what Charlotte meant to him, nor had he ever seen Rob not flirt with a lady. It was just his way. Most ladies giggled and played the flirting game with him. But Charlotte wasn't sophisticated enough to do so. That was another asset of hers that he loved.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall had him pausing in his thoughts. Had she said anything to Michael?

Suddenly, the doors flew open and his brother stood there shaking his head.

"You surely know how to make an exit and leave a tidal wave behind you. Your sweetheart is loud when she cries. Not the sweet gentle tears like Vivian displayed. I heard her wailing cries of torment from her bedroom all the way to the office I was using. She sounded like a cat who'd had its tail run over with a wagon wheel. Though, Owen compared it to a violin screeching.