No, but she offers to help

Charlotte looked at the small red book with interest, why would Black Brand care about a book? He was watching her carefully; she could feel the intensity of his gaze without even looking at him. Somehow she was no longer afraid, the man was a known outlaw who had dragged her into the thickets, pressed his hard body against hers and even kissed her. She took a deep breath trying to suppress the memory of her response to his caress not realizing how her rising chest made her breasts strain against the lace bodice of her riding gown. Randy certainly noticed though and already he regretted the gallantry of his actions.

"What is it?" She asked as she tried to get a good look at the familiar-looking volume. The small book was bound in expensive red leather, and the paper inside was a fine as anything in her father's library, but in spite of its familiarity she could not remember seeing one just like it.

"Poetry" The outlaw told her placing the small volume in her hand "Shakespeare's sonnets. Have you seen it before?" Mr. Fuller asked again, and Charlotte could hear the eagerness in his voice. Why should she help him? Charlotte asked herself as she flipped through the pages of sonnets, after the way he treated her she should be looking for ways to make him pay, not help him in his quest.

"I'm sorry, perhaps someone else in my house would know." Charlotte could sense Mr. Fuller's frustration, and not wanting to disappoint him she continued boldly. "Shall I make inquires for you?" There was something honest and real about Mr. Fuller's love for his sister that made offering to help seem like the honourable thing to do.

Randy scowled when he heard Miss Charlotte's offer. Why would the daughter of Lord Marlton offer to help the very man terrorizing her family's estates? She was far more likely to lead him into a trap than betray any of her companions. But he couldn't refuse her offer; it was the best chance he had to learn what he needed to know. More importantly he admitted reluctantly to himself, he wanted to see this intriguing woman again, to feel her in his arms without forcing himself upon her. God he wanted her to trust him, and to be able to trust her in return.

"It is very kind of you to offer Lady Charlotte." He was acutely aware of the woman still sprawled at his feet. "I think it is safe for me to go now."

"Wait!" He was leaving! Charlotte felt an unexpected panic. He was leaving and she didn't even know if she'd ever see him again. "Your book!"

"Keep it for now." Randy told her. "Do you know the ruins of the old Papist chapel East of your estate?"

"Saint Theresa's?" Charlotte knew it well, the roof had long ago collapsed, only the four rose-covered walls remained and the chapel floor was now covered in soft moss. As a teen Charlotte liked to imagine that the chapel had been built by Celtic Druids, not her Norman ancestors one thousand years after the last of the forest priests wandered these woods.

"Yes, I know it." Charlotte answered slowly slightly confused by the sudden change in topic.

"Good, I'll be there most afternoons this week." He told her not even sure why he was taking the chance. "Bring it to me if you have news." With that he was gone, into the thick foliage and out of sight leaving Charlotte laying in a thicket of alders on the banks of the sparkling brook.

The encounter was so unreal, that she could almost believe she had imagined the entire sequence of events were it not for the book in her hand and the ache in her side from when an alder root had pressed hard against her rib cage as Black Brand ... when Mr. Fuller ... when Randolph had pressed her to the ground and kissed her.