Runaway Duchess (London Ladies Book 1)

by Jillian Eaton

  “A day or so, I imagine.”

  Gavin breathed a sigh of relief. All things considered, that wasn’t too bad.

  “Although,” the boy said, rubbing his chin, “more likely or not it will be a week. Maybe two. Aye, most definitely two.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “It’s planting season. Everyone is out in the fields. A single rider can get through easy enough, but nothing else larger than a buggy. If ye want, I can arrange a horse for ye.”

  How easy it would be to say yes.

  To take the boy up on his offer and leave Charlotte behind. Leave all of it behind. The desire he couldn’t seem to rein in. The emotions he didn’t want. The bride he didn’t know what to do with.

  “No. No, I couldn’t leave my wife. Her maid is here as well, and my valet.” Gavin scowled. Why did he have to choose now to develop good moral character? A month ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to take the chestnut horse the lad was holding and ride off hell bent for London. What had changed?

  Charlotte, a voice from deep within answered.

  Charlotte had changed–and was changing–everything.

  “Here.” Reaching into his pocket, he fished out a handful of coins and held them out to the lad who eyes went larger as tea saucers. “The second that road is fixed I you to find me, do you understand? These are for your trouble. What is your name?”

  “T-Tom, Mister Graystone.” The boy swallowed audibly as he took the coins. “Tom Gardiner.”

  “Very well, Tom. I hope I’ll be seeing you sooner rather than later.”

  “Aye, Mr. Graystone. Yes sir. Ye can count on me. Is there anything else ye need, then?”

  “Unless you’d like to volunteer to tell my wife we are to be stuck here for at least another few days, there’s nothing else you can do for me,” Gavin said wryly.

  “I…er…I don’t…”

  “It was a jest, Tom.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You have a few years yet before you’ll have to brave a woman’s temper. Spend them wisely.”

  As he watched the stable hand walk away with the chestnut mare in tow, Gavin couldn’t help but wish someone had given him the same advice.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Four days had passed since the day on the hill. Four long, terribly boring days, where Charlotte did nothing more than go for walks and visit Tabitha, who was feeling much better, but was still on bed rest per the doctor’s orders.

  Of Gavin she saw little, which suited her just fine even though the saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was not proving to be very applicable in her case. With nothing of substance to occupy her time, there was little else she could do but think about her husband, and wonder endlessly if she had made a horrible mistake.

  What if she had made one last effort before resigning herself to a loveless marriage? What if she had jumped in his arms and kissed him again? What if she’d told him to hang his business arrangement, that she wouldn’t for anything less than a union built on mutual respect and trust and passion?

  But ‘what ifs’ were useless, and as the week dragged on with each day blurring endlessly into the next, Charlotte forced herself to focus on other things.

  She settled into a routine: wake at dawn, breakfast with Tabitha, a brisk walk up the hill and down, a small luncheon, a nap, and dinner service in her room. Occasionally Gavin joined her (they discussed the weather and little else), but more often than not he remained in the room he was sharing with his valet, engrossed in ledgers and letters and heaven knew what else.

  With the road no closer to being repaired than it had been when they arrived, Charlotte was ready to scream her frustrations for the entire world to hear. It would be one thing if she could actually interact with the other travelers who now called the inn their temporary home, but Gavin had forbidden it, saying there was no telling what sort of unsavory characters mingled in the halls and dined below in the tavern.

  To be fair, his decree had come after an attempted stabbing during a card game. But nobody had been killed, and besides, she’d meant it when she told him she could take care of herself. Yet Gavin remain adamant that she stay in her room after a certain hour, and not wanting to incite another argument so close to their last, she’d grudgingly obeyed his archaic command.

  Every night the laughter and loud voices coming up through the floorboards were like salt in the wound. Irritating not because the sounds kept her awake, but because they were a constant reminder of all the entertainment she could have been having if her husband wasn’t determined to keep her under lock and key.

  She wished with all her heart Dianna was with her, if only to break up the monotony of the day. She’d already penned a long note to her friend telling her about the wedding and the reason for their delay, and was eagerly awaiting a response. In the meantime, she’d settled for Tabitha as a substitute.

  At first the maid had been hesitant to indulge in idle chat and gossip, but with a little urging from Charlotte, she had begun to open up and their friendship was slowly blossoming. Unfortunately, that friendship did not yet extend to Tabitha turning a blind eye and allowing Charlotte to sneak down to the tavern for dinner.

  “But everyone else is there,” Charlotte complained, her mouth curling mulishly at the edges. Flopping dramatically onto the bed, she crossed her arms and glared at the ceiling, studying a crack that snaked across the middle.

  From her chair in front of the window, Tabitha glanced up from her sewing and smiled patiently. She was using the last rays of light to finish a cross-stitch pattern. Unlike Charlotte, Tabitha was perfectly content to remain in their room working on her embroidery from sunrise to sunset.

  “If everyone else jumped in the Thames, would you do it as well?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” Charlotte grumbled. “If it saved me from this.”

  Tabitha set her needles down on her lap. “Where is your embroidery? If you are searching for something to do–”

  “It was lost,” Charlotte said hastily. “In the, er, carriage accident.”

  In truth, the only thing Charlotte loathed more than doing nothing was doing embroidery. She had never possessed the patience required to sit perfectly still and sew stitch after stitch, and her fingers cramped at the mere thought of holding a needle.

  “No wonder you have been so bored,” Tabitha said sympathetically. “First thing tomorrow morning I will inquire as to where we can purchase replacement supplies. Until then, you must use what I have.”

  “Oh, I could never do that. You are making the most delightful, ah…”

  “Lace handkerchief,” Tabitha supplied.

  “Yes! The most delightful lace handkerchief I’ve ever seen. You simply must continue until it is finished.”

  “I am sewing it for Lady Vanderley,” the maid confessed.

  “For my mother?” Charlotte frowned as she sat up. “But…why?”

  “I feel awful for leaving so suddenly, and for my duplicitousness. I am glad you did not have to marry the duke. But I feel terribly guilty for the part I played in deceiving Lady Vanderley.”

  Relationships were complicated, Charlotte supposed, no matter who they were between. A husband and wife. A mother and daughter. An employee and employer. Nothing was black and white. Nothing was cut and dried.

  Tabitha had every right to hate Bettina for the way she had been treated, but instead she was making her a handkerchief. And Charlotte should have had absolutely no feelings for Gavin, a man she barely knew, but yet here she was, thinking of him constantly.

  “My mother will no doubt thank you one day for helping save her only daughter from a terrible man.” It was a lie of epic proportions–Bettina would never forgive Tabitha in a hundred years–but what else could Charlotte say? “Gavin will make sure my mother’s every need is be attended to. She’ll want for nothing. That should make her happy,” she added quietly, even though she knew the chances of Bettina ever being genuinely happy were slim to nonexistent

  It pained Charlotte to think her mothe
r might never speak to her again, but she knew that could be a very real consequence for her impulsive actions. It pained her even more to think her own mother, her last living relation in the entire world, had tried to sell her to Paine as if she were a loaf of bread at the market.

  There had been no thought to her feelings.

  No consideration.

  Not even an inkling of regret.

  So much had happened in such a short time that Charlotte had not been able to devote more than a passing thought to Bettina’s act of betrayal. Now it sliced through her like a knife, so quick and sharp it left her gasping for breath.

  “I need to go outside.” Sliding off the bed, she grabbed her cloak and swung it around her shoulders. The days were warm in Scotland, but as soon as the sun began its descent, the temperature dropped along with it. Charlotte didn’t mind the cold. She just wanted to be out under the endless sky.

  She wanted to feel the wind on her face. She wanted the grass beneath her feet. She wanted to count the stars as they appeared, one by one, and forget everything else, if only for a little while.

  Her mother. The duke. The wedding. Gavin.

  There were too many troubling things to forget, and far too few wonderful things to remember.

  “I won’t go far,” she said firmly when Tabitha began to protest. “Just to the top of the hill. I will be within sight of the inn the entire time.”

  Tabitha’s gaze darted nervously to the window. “But the sun is setting. It will be dark soon and you should not be out by yourself! Let me go with you.”

  “There’s no need for that. I’ll be back before you finish your handkerchief.

  “But if Mr. Graystone asks for you—”

  Charlotte’s lips pinched. “If my husband asks for me–which I highly doubt–you may tell him exactly where I have gone.” She knew Gavin would not approve of her walking so close to sunset. How unfortunate for him that she didn’t care.

  Drawing up her hood, she darted out the door before Tabitha could voice another protest.

  Gavin could not concentrate.

  The bloody numbers he had been trying to calculate for the last three hours swam on the page in front of him, mocking him and his tentative grasp on mathematics.

  Once he’d decided to become a proper gentleman, it all had come easily enough. The speech. The mannerisms. The etiquette. The wardrobe. He even knew which fork was used for the first course and which was saved for the fifth. But the adding and figuring of numbers…that particular skill still eluded him. Gritting his teeth, he crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it across the room to join the others.

  He needed an accountant, but the hiring of one would be tantamount to admitting he could not handle every aspect of his business himself, which, for a man as proud of Gavin, was out of the question.

  Stretching his arms high above his head, he rolled his neck from side to side, trying to ease the bone deep ache that had settled in after hours of remaining in the same position before he stood and went to the window.

  The old floorboards creaked under his weight, an annoying reminder that he was not in his newly refurbished study at Shire House where the floor did not groan, and Charlotte was not right down the hall.

  There it was. The real reason he’d been gazing blankly at a piece of paper for who knew how long. Not because of the numbers, however much he detested him. But because of the ever-present knowledge, the constant awareness, that his wife was only a few dozen yards away.

  In less than a minute, he could have her in his arms. He could burrow his fingers in all those fiery curls. Pull back her head and suckle at her throat until she moaned his name. Cup her breasts. Caress her swollen nipples. Turn her away from him and bend her over the bed. Lift her hips. Reach up through her skirts to feel the moist heat of her…

  With a curse, Gavin scrubbed his hands over his face and stalked to the bed where he drove his fists into the mattress. For nearly five seconds he managed to occupy his mind with something else, but then his wife came flowing back in like a fine silvery mist rolling across a field.

  He thought of the way she bit her lip when she was impatient with him (which was more often than not). He thought of her laughter, loud and full of joy (which he’d heard less than he liked). He thought of the way she walked, impatient and quick and not at all like a lady should, as though she always had somewhere important to go, even if it was just across the room. He thought of the way she would always tuck a loose curl behind her right ear, never her left, and how her hands always moved when she talked.

  “Bollocks,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.

  As a man who never permitted himself to lie, Gavin could no longer deny the truth that was staring him right in front of his face. Whether he liked it or not (and he damned well did not), he was falling in love with his wife.

  Cupping his hands behind his neck with a frustrated growl, he began to pace the length of the tiny room, his rangy body a large knot of coiled muscle.

  This is not what he wanted. Not what he planned. And how had it happened so bloody fast?

  He and Charlotte had nothing in common.

  She was as pureblooded as they came; he’d been born in a gutter.

  She was pure chaotic energy; he liked reason and order.

  She was stubborn and high-spirited; he was…stubborn as well, Gavin admitted silently. And maybe that was part of the problem. They were both just too obstinate for their own good. They both wanted to be right, and in their effort to outmatch the other they’d hurt each other.

  More than once.

  Whenever he recalled their passionate embrace on top of the hill with wild heather all around, it was her parting words that lingered in his mind, like a sharp splinter he couldn’t quite manage to dig out from under his skin.

  “If you want a cold, emotionless marriage, then you can have it. I’m not going to keep fighting for something you obviously could not care less about.”

  Those words should have brought him relief. At last, after days of going back and forth, Charlotte had capitulated. She’d seen what he always knew to be true: a marriage was better for all involved in love wasn’t a part of it.

  He should have been happy.

  Joyful, even.

  Instead…instead he didn’t know if he’d ever been more discouraged. What had Charlotte called him? A miserable lummox? He was all that and more. Because he’d finally gotten what he wanted.

  But now he didn’t want it.

  He wanted her.

  And if that wasn’t the definition of irony, he didn’t know what was.

  Hoping a long walk on a cool night would ease the ache in his loins, Gavin headed outside.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was nothing quite as beautiful as Scotland in the full blush of evening. As the sun sank below the distant horizon, painting the sky in a blur of oranges and reds, the moon, heavy and full, began to rise. Stars emerged, shyly at first and then with more daring until they filled every inch of the night sky, illuminating everything beneath them in a silvery, ethereal glow.

  Without the sun to light the way, the path to the top of the hill behind the inn seemed wilder and more overgrown, but the heather smelled divine, and Charlotte paused to pluck a blossom free from its stem and tuck it behind her ear. She tipped her head back and opened her eyes wide, drinking in the sight of a sky unfettered by smoke and dust.

  It was, in a word, breathtaking.

  Below her the inn glowed a soft, dusky gold, and voices carried easily on the faint breeze. Picking up the hem of her skirt and using the moonlight to guide her, Charlotte continued up the narrow path.

  She breathed deep, inhaling fresh, sweet air that grew noticeably colder with every step. Grateful that she had thought to wear a cloak, she drew it tight around her shoulders as a shiver coursed down her spine.

  Scotland, she’d come to learn over the past week, was a place of extremes. Extreme danger. Extreme beauty. Extreme warmth. Extreme cold. She h
oped to visit again soon, already half in love with the wild land that melded so perfectly with her soul.

  Then a twig broke behind her and she jerked to a halt, every muscle tensing.

  Foolish, she thought instantly. It had been foolish to go wandering alone at dusk when anyone could follow her. She hadn’t even thought to bring a weapon, so confident in her skills to defend herself.

  As much as it galled her to admit it, maybe Gavin was correct. Maybe she didn’t have any regard for her safety.

  “Hello?” She sounded tentative. Uncertain. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Hello. Who is there? Show yourself at once.”

  “Charlotte?”

  Her fears were immediately allayed the instant she recognized Gavin’s deep voice. Spinning towards the sound of it, she watched as he came charging up the hill, his powerful legs devouring the steep incline. Her sense of relief was short-lived, however, when he grabbed her by the arms and gave her a quick, painless shake.

  “What are you doing out here alone?” In the encroaching shadows, his eyes all but glowed with fury. “I thought I made myself clear when I said you shouldn’t leave your room after dark. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be wandering around out here! We’re not in bloody Hyde Park, Charlotte!”

  “I know exactly where we are,” she snapped.

  His fingers flexed and tightened, digging into her flesh through her cloak. “Excellent. Then why not enlighten me as to why you would disobey a direct command and endanger your life yet again?”

  “You’re my husband, not my keeper!” Most people ran from a gathering storm. Charlotte flung herself into it. “Furthermore, why would you care if something happened to me?”

  “WHY WOULD I CARE?” Gavin roared. He released her with such abruptness she stumbled. His hands dove into his hair, yanking the ends taut as he stared at her incredulously, his expression a combination of disbelief and barely checked rage. “I care because you are my wife! I care because it is my responsibility to protect you! I care because I–because you are my wife!”