The Lords of Kendal Manor

Chapter 15

~ Davies Street, Mayfair, October 1815. ~

Lachlan discovered a quiet place outside, and it boded well that the day blended seamlessly from a crisp, clear morning into a stunning autumnal afternoon.

Laying upon the ground in his finery didn't faze him as it might others, yet he stole a blanket and cushion from the terrace daybed and utilised them to picnic beneath the London sky.

Holding the book above him, he read the fictional composition of an English gentleman's immersion into French politics.

He saw little to no parallels between the flawless fiction and his misadventure. Still, the story remained interesting and stole him away. He whiled the time in pleasurable repose, capable of forgetting the burden of reality until Charlotte Mondrook infected the moment by depositing herself near him.

She even sat on his blanket.

"Lachlan. I'm weary of not being able to talk to you and yet knowing you are here." She stated fiercely.

He lifted his head to look at her while shading his eyes with the book.

"You're angry at me." He reminded her.

"I am." She replied, nodding whilst reaching to pick stray harebells, the last of the season.

He reclined and returned to the novel, but the words became unfathomable. So, he stopped trying and placed it upon his chest.

She was watching him, and the act of her unflinching stare rattled him. Her mere presence stirred him deeply.

God, how he once loved her, such that thoughts of her kept him sane and reminded him of who he was, and even now, after everything he'd been through, he desired her.

But Charlotte, the daughter of a Duke, the shining example of sweetness and light, was not for someone like him. She remained innocent and lovely while he was worldly and vexed in his soul. He could not extinguish the lust he felt for her, so he shouldn't be near her.

He must therefore push her away with hostility.

Lachlan huffed and returned her stare, looking deep into her eyes with malcontent and wishing it would infect her.

She tolerated it for longer than he thought she would.

"Eleanor and Alex are getting married." She blurted.

He couldn't help the puzzlement, for it was such an unexpected thing to say, but Charlotte noted it, reading him like a headline – clear and evident.

"I thought so too, but they're ideal for each other, and he wants to keep her safe." She elucidated.

He understood that. He wished he had the same option, but he was a loathsome man in his present form.

"Do you still play the violin?" She asked.

"No." He informed her abruptly.

"That's a shame. I loved playing alongside you." She revealed, looking off to the gardens he worked through each morning.

Absentmindedly, she lifted her hand to her face and felt the swelling, and Lachlan watched her fingers shake delicately as they traced her cheekbone, feeling enraged.

He desperately wished to thrash him again. No, he wished to kill him.

She dropped her hand and registered his own.

"Oh. Your hands." She declared, pitching forward, and lifting his right hand for inspection.

He flinched and tried to take it back, but she held him fiercely. No wonder she ruthlessly evaded that knife. She was intent on securing her goal.