His eyebrows raised slightly. “I thought so,” he said. “Just worried I had misunderstood you. I cannot believe you have changed your mind.”
“I am sorry I hurt you.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up, and walked out the door of the sitting room. Charlotte stood up, confused whether she had scared him off. She walked over to the threshold. “William!”
“Come with me,” he said, his feet thudding against the hardwood floor.
Charlotte frowned and followed him down the hall. He turned the corner and opened a doorway. He lit an oil lamp on the table beside it and once it was lit, he opened the door and illuminated the darkness. There was a stone staircase. It didn’t look nearly as polished as the rest of the home. It looked more like a dusty castle. The silvery threads of webs caught the lantern light. They hung from the ceilings, most of them long abandoned. Certainly, he had a housekeep for this sort of thing?
As if he sensed her discomfort, he glanced at her. “You snuck out to my home in the middle of the night, and you are scared of a staircase?”
“I am not scared,” she corrected him. “Just confused. Nor do I really like spiders.”
He huffed a breathy laugh and started down the stairs. “This is the cellar. I thought we could use a drink,” he said. At the mention of alcohol, Charlotte was quick to follow him down the stairs. As they rounded the corner of the steps, the light shone, illuminating a gray stone cellar filled with casks and bottles. He set the lantern down on a barrel in the middle of the room. Firelight flickered across the walls. “I do not let anyone down here,” he said.
“Why is that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It is nice to have a place that feels like it has been untouched and uncomplicated by the hands of others. It is the one place where I feel that I can just exist, not as William or the Marquess of Holdford or the son of the Duke. I just am. Can you feel that?”
She closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint the feeling. “Maybe if you got some alcohol in me.”
He laughed. “What do you like?” he asked, looking at the bottles.
“Gin.”
He turned to look at her. If it was brighter in the room, she would have been certain whether he’d actually rolled his eyes or if she just imagined it. “Bit heavy, hm?”
“Depends how fast you drink it,” she said.
He smiled, pouring them both a small glass of the clear liquid. “Then we must drink it slowly.” He handed her the glass and, in the darkness, they clicked their cups together. Charlotte immediately brought the glass to her lips. It was hot across her tongue. It tasted like a chilly autumn day in the woods, like pine, citrus, and this soft tinge of bitterness. Instantly, a hot rush bloomed in her chest, the way alcohol always did, and stopped the shaking in her legs instantly.
“You asked,” he cleared his throat, “Where we might take things.”
“I did.”
“That question would be better answered by you,” he said. “I am as much of a loser as you are, although not quite as bad of a sport. I said that I would not marry yet, but I have changed my mind.”
Her breath caught and she took another sip of gin. Strange shadows danced across his face, the firelight making him look sharp, severe, and serious. “I have changed my mind simply on account of you. I wish to marry you and to be your equal.”
Slowly, a smile spread across his face. He took one last sip of gin and set his and Charlotte’s glasses on the barrel next to lantern. “You are already my equal,” he said softly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. “But I would like to make you my wife.” He pressed his lips against hers and Charlotte’s heart fluttered up her chest. She gasped softly when his teeth tugged at her lips.
She kissed him back, heart thumping because for some time, she never thought it might happen again. He pulled her flush against his body as she ran her fingers across the back of his neck. Most of their kisses had been desperate, as if it was usually leading to more. Tonight, they had every opportunity to run up the stairs and finish what they had started in his bed, but it simply wasn’t about that. Tonight, they were glad to have another chance together.
His lips travelled over her neck, and her cheeks flushed. She placed her hand on his chest. With a gentle push, she separated them just enough so that he might look her in the eyes.
“Do you believe my brother will forgive you?” she asked.
“Do you believe he will say no?”
Charlotte looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I do worry, yes,” She didn’t know. He might be happy enough that she could have a chance at marriage again, but he had always prioritized her happiness over an advantageous match. If he thought that William was not trustworthy enough to keep her happy, and if after some time, he felt more optimistic about her chances, then he might deny the proposal after all.
“Your brother is a friend of mine. Surely, I could convince him.”
Charlotte bit her lip and pulled back until his hands fell off her, hovering in mid-air. She grabbed the lantern and her gin and began on her way back up the steps. He followed her. “I will be honest. I told him about the wager.”
“Why?” William’s smiled dropped and his face reddened slightly. He knew just as well as she did what difficulty that had created for them. “Why would you tell him, especially when he had such high opinion of me?”
“Because I needed to talk to someone about it. Someone who might know how to fix things, but it seems his best idea of fixing it was to just move on!” She tipped the rest of her gin back as she reached the top of the staircase. “I was not ready to move on.”