He was nonplussed - nobody spoke to him the way Charlotte did -they would not dare. He surged forward catching her in two strides.
‘A moment please, Charlotte, this conversation is not over.’
She kept her head straight, hiding her face inside the brim of her bonnet. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was. ‘I have had no breakfast, sir, and if you wish to speak to me then you must do so after I’ve eaten. I shall join you in the library later.’
Meltham, ever vigilant, had the door open as they arrived and she sailed in, pausing just long enough to issue her instructions. ‘Have coffee and scones sent to the parlour please.’
‘Very well, Miss Carstairs,’ the butler was obliged to hop out of the way, narrowly avoiding being mowed down by Jack.
‘Charlotte,’ his voice was quiet but his tone demanded her attention. ‘I wish to speak to you. Now. We shall repair to the library - we can be private there.’
Charlotte stopped dead, he almost cannoned into her. ‘I don’t wish to go to the library. I wish to break my fast.’ She knew she sounded more like a child than a woman grown.
Exasperated he put a restraining arm on hers. ‘If I have your food sent to the library, will you come with me?’
She capitulated; she was in no position to argue. He was quite capable of picking her up and transporting her bodily if she continued to obstruct his wishes.
‘Meltham, send the tray to the library. And set a cup for me, I believe I’m in need of a strong coffee to settle my nerves.’
Charlotte’s head turned in surprise. Since when had he suffered from nerves? He was leaning, relaxed, against the wooden panelling a faint smile flickering across his lips.
Her mouth curved in response. ‘Jack, you are a nincompoop.’ She tossed her head and her bonnet slipped sideways. He reached over and gently untied the ribbons at her neck, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he did so.
‘And you, my love, are a baggage! I shall be grey before my time if you continue to behave in this way.’
She assumed he didn’t require an answer, she was incapable of making one anyway, her throat was constricted and her heart leaping like a caged bird in her chest.
‘Come, sweetheart, we cannot remain dithering in the hall; let us go to the library.’ With her bonnet swinging casually in one hand and the other resting firmly in the small her back, he ushered her down the passage.
On this occasion one of the new footmen had followed, he darted ahead to open the door with a flourish.
‘Shut the door - we wish to be private.’ He waited until the door clicked before dropping his hand. ‘Where would you like to sit, my dear?’
Charlotte looked at him suspiciously; he was being far too polite, too conciliatory. She stepped over to a small, upright chair, its rattan seat sadly in need of repair, but ideal for her purpose. She picked it up and carried it to the centre the room. There she placed it and sat down satisfied he could not sit within arm’s reach. Her chair was the only portable seat in the room, the rest were overstuffed, unwieldy armchairs.
She waited for him to make the next move. He appeared undecided, for a horrible moment she thought he might cast himself at her feet like a lovelorn swain, but instead he dropped into a chair, stretching out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle, as though he had no cares in the world.
His head was lowered so she couldn’t see his expression. Why didn’t he berate her? She found his reticence unnerving; she did not know how to react.
‘Sir, if you intend to ring a peal over me, then please do so. I wish it to be over before my tray appears.’
He raised his head and she swallowed, it wasn’t anger or amusement reflected there, but something far more dangerous. He made no move towards her and she relaxed. She believed she would prefer his anger to his passion.
‘Charlotte, you didn’t ask my permission to go out. Was it because you were going to church in a closed carriage with Andrews and you knew I would forbid it?’
‘I needn’t ask your leave to speak to God. It is my right to do so. You have no suitable carriage, so of course I accepted the doctor’s kind offer to take us.’ She paused, then unwisely added, ‘and it’s none of your concern what I do - we are not married yet.’
‘I see.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Is that what you believe, my dear, or what you hope is the truth?’ His voice was cool, his tone pleasant, but she wasn’t deceived. He was furious.
It would be more sensible to remain mute, to sit and simper, apologize, promise never to do it again, but he made her so angry it was impossible not to speak.
‘I merely repeat what you told me not long ago; you said you wished to have nothing to do with any of us, that we were not your responsibility.’
He nodded, as though agreeing. He drew in his legs and slowly stood up, towering above her. Her stomach lurched and she felt cold perspiration trickling between her shoulders.
‘But that, my dear, was before you agreed to marry me, before you willingly put yourself and your brother and sister under my control. I take my position seriously. I do not wish to be made a fool of in my own house.’
She jumped to her feet. ‘I went to church, not to the theatre, or to a private supper party, and I had two children and their nursemaid as company. How can that diminish your status?’ She was almost shouting by the time she finished her sentence.
He closed the distance between them and she didn’t back away. She stood her ground. She was in the right. He appeared to be having difficulty breathing, and beads of moisture were gathering on his forehead. Was he unwell, about to have an apoplexy?
Without conscious thought she stretched out and ran her gloved hand across his cheek, her eyes concerned. ‘Are you ill, Jack? You’re breathing rather loudly and your skin is decidedly overheated.’
He forced out his answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am in two minds, Charlotte, whether to put you across my knee or make passionate love to you.’ His breath was tickling her ear. ‘Which would you prefer, do you think?’
Her hand stilled, she could feel the roughness under her fingers through the thin kid leather of her gloves, she heard his laboured breathing, but her brain refused to assimilate his outrageous remark. Then she gasped, and her hand left his face to return with a slap that knocked his head sideways. Aghast at her behaviour, her hand burning as though it had been plunged in a fire, she stumbled backwards forgetting about the small chair behind her.
Even his lightning reactions were not fast enough and her feet tangled in the chair leg and she lost her balance, crashing heavily to the floor. He was on his knees beside her, his anger at her defiance and his shock at her blow, temporarily put aside in his concern for her well-being.
‘Don’t try and move, my dear. Stay still and recover your breath. Let me check if you’ve broken any limbs.’
Charlotte felt her chest begin to function normally as she recovered her breath. She kept her eyes closed, trying to blot out the memory of her hand striking his cheek. What had possessed her? She was not a violent person, did not believe in corporal punishment, had never raised her hand to either of her siblings however vexed they had made her. Why did Jack bring out the worst in her?
She vaguely heard his voice murmuring soothing words but didn’t register their meaning. She was lucky he hadn’t retaliated, slapped her back. She deserved it. Then she became aware that his hands were taking unwanted liberties with her lower limbs. He was running his fingers up her right leg. How dare he do so when she was indisposed? The man was a depraved monster to take advantage in this way.
Her eyes flickered open. ‘Let go of me, sir; have you no decency? No gentleman would attack a defenceless woman as you are.’ She gasped her accusation to the back of his head, and didn’t see his expression but she heard his reply.
Indeed the whole of Thurston Hall heard it, and the unfortunate parlour maid bringing in the coffee and scones was so shocked she dropped the tray. In the resulting chaos, the maid weeping amidst her broken
cups, Jack swearing as he scraped strawberry preserve from his head, and the butler and footman flapping about trying to help, but only getting in the way, Charlotte picked herself up and slipped unobtrusively out of the room.
She raced upstairs ignoring her bruises and lumps and didn’t stop until safely in her own chamber. Her heart was pounding, her hands shaking. Frantically she searched the door for a key; she must bar the door to prevent him getting in. He wouldn’t respect the privacy of her boudoir. There was no key, no bolt to push across, she would have to drag the chair and jam it under the latch and hope this was sufficient to keep him out. Then she heard a sound behind her and her legs almost gave way in terror.
‘Miss Carstairs, is something wrong?’ Mary, her new abigail, enquired, her face anxious.
Charlotte began to breathe more easily. The presence of her abigail would keep her safe. Shakily she smiled. ‘Mary, I’d forgotten you were here. I’ve come up to change my gown for as you can see, it is sadly mired.’
If her maid thought it odd her mistress had felt the need to change so urgent she had run up to her room she wisely held her tongue.
Charlotte was standing in her chemise, her arms raised above her head, waiting for Mary to drop over a fresh gown when the chamber door burst open. There was no knock, it just flew back. The duke froze Mary with his stare.
‘Get out. I wish to speak to Miss Carstairs.’
Mary released her hold on the gown and fled leaving Charlotte smothered by yards of limp muslin unable to find a hole through which to put either her head or arms.
‘Oh, let me to assist you, my love,’ he said silkily, but instead of pulling the material down he lifted it clear, leaving her shivering in her under garments.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte felt the warmth of humiliation spread from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. She burnt with shame, quite forgetting that he had already seen her bottom totally unclothed. She kept her eyes shut like a child, pretending she wasn’t there, that he wasn’t prowling round her so close she could feel his body heat.
He ran his fingers down her arm and she flinched, then, more boldly, he encircled her neck his thumbs caressing her chin and tracing the outline of her lips. She shuddered - hating him for his effrontery but her treacherous body beginning to enjoy the sensations he was sending coursing round her limbs.
‘Please, Jack,’ she pleaded, her voice little more than a whisper.
‘Please, Jack, do not, or please Jack, do more?’ His words slipped like silk across her cheek and she swayed.
‘You must not, not until we are wed, it is not right.’
He laughed softly and began to drop feather light kisses along her jaw, finally engulfing her mouth with his. He lifted her from the floor, crushing her to his chest and even innocent as she was, she could not mistake the tell-tale hardness pressing into her belly.
His lips covered hers, she opened her mouth and his tongue was inside her mouth exploring every intimate crevice. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, felt as if she was being invaded, taken over, ravaged. This was not enjoyable - in fact it was abhorrent and she changed from compliant to fighting for her purity.
She began to struggle but her legs were trapped between his thighs and her hands pinioned to his chest. She was helpless. She couldn’t stop him; he was too strong for her. Then, wishing to complete his lovemaking horizontally, he slackened his hold intending to swing her round and carry her to the bed.
She seized her opportunity, bringing her knees up hard into his unprotected groin. The result was better than she could have dreamt. He dropped her and doubled up in agony his hands clutched to his injured parts. Nimbly she stepped round the writhing form and, grabbing her gown from the floor, ran across the boards and out through the servants’ door.
The passage was pitch dark and she had no candle. She paused. What would he do?. He was cursing but he didn’t appear to be coming in her direction. There were grunts and shuffles, then the bed chamber door opened and his heavy footsteps faltered down the corridor towards the gallery.
He had gone, she had escaped unscathed. Cautiously she pushed open the door. The room was empty. She crept in and quickly pulled her dress over her head. Within minutes she’d adjusted the neckline, shaken out the skirt and tied the sash.
Where was her other slipper? It must have fallen off when he lifted her. She spotted it under the bed and knelt to retrieve it. Her face felt sore where his beard had rubbed and she could taste blood in her mouth from his kisses.
She sank back onto the stool in front of the mirror. She hardly dared to raise her eyes to stare at her reflection. She saw a wanton stranger gazing back, a hoyden with huge green eyes, swollen lips and russet hair tumbling in disarray around her shoulders. She didn’t have the appearance of a woman who had been fighting to save her virtue, but looked like a courtesan who had just bid farewell to her lover.
She put two fingers to her mouth and felt a tremor run through her. She was no better than a light skirt. Had she encouraged him to behave like that, given him permission to make love to her? Tears trickled down her cheeks and she dropped her head into her hands and rocked from side to side. She hadn’t have lost her virginity but she might just as well have done. She had certainly lost her self-respect and probably his, by her behaviour.
She didn’t hear her maid returning. ‘Miss, Oh, Miss Carstairs, I’m that sorry I ran away. I should have stayed, fetched someone to help you.’
Charlotte sniffed and sat up accepting the damask square Mary handed her. ‘It’s not your fault, Mary. I’m unhurt; the duke and I were settling a difference of opinion in a rather unconventional way.’ She offered a watery smile. ‘However, I believe Lord Thurston came off worse in this particular encounter.’
She tossed the screwed up handkerchief onto the table top. ‘My hair has come down, please will you dress it for me?’
As the girl removed the remaining pins and began to brush it out, Charlotte’s jangled sensibilities began to settle. She had come out of her confrontation physically unscathed. It was he who had received a slap, a tray of scones and coffee on his head, and her knee in his most delicate place. Maybe he would think twice about molestingher again. Satisfaction at her thwarting of his authority buoyed her up, pushed reality aside.
As Mary pushed in the last pin and she saw herself restored to her usual tidy, unflushed appearance, she realized the full implication of what had transpired. Jack was not the man she wished to spend the rest of her life with. She could have tolerated his filthy temper and arrogant manners if he truly loved her as she loved him. Her head flew back in shock, knocking the silver-backed hairbrush flying from Mary’s hand.
In the time it took the girl to scramble about under the bed to retrieve the brush, Charlotte managed to recover. How could she have fallen in love with a man who shouted at her, bullied her and almost forced her to share her body with him? But that was only a small part of the whole; he was also kind and gentle, caring and sensitive, intelligent and charming, and when he wasn’t angry, his kisses made her head spin and the blood fizz through her veins.
But she couldn’t marry him, not even to save the children. Mary returned. ‘Thank you, Mary. My hair looks splendid. I am going to write a note, then I shall require you to deliver it for me. I shall ring when I’m ready.’
Charlotte opened her escritoire, selected a quill and sharpened it, then uncorked the ink bottle. This was going to be even more difficult to write than the letter she had sent to her grandfather two years ago. It was strange writing to a different Lord Thurston.
Dear Lord Thurston,
It is with deep regret that I find I can no longer agree to become your wife. I wish to be released forthwith from our engagement. I shall remove myself and my brother and sister from Thurston Hall as soon as I can make suitable, alternative arrangements.
Yours sincerely,
Charlotte Carstairs, Miss.
She read it through a second time. It would ha
ve to do. She sprinkled sand the wet ink and then folded it. She had no sealing wax so tied it neatly with a red ribbon. She rang the brass bell and her maid appeared.
‘Please take this down to Meltham. Ask him to hand it to his grace, but do not, under any circumstances, deliver it yourself, is that clear?’
‘Yes, Miss Carstairs.’
Charlotte handed her the square of paper, her heart heavy. She had done the right thing, had been given no choice in the matter, for a loveless marriage was worse than no marriage at all. Whatever he said about ‘business arrangements’ she wanted none of it. Unless he told her he loved her she would not marry him. She snorted inelegantly, knowing that was as likely as snow in July.
Her small ormolu mantle clock chimed the hour. Good gracious! Was it only eleven o’clock? How could so much have happened in just an hour? She decided to go down to the kitchen, Betty would find her something to eat, and surrounded by servants she was fairly sure she would be safe.
If Jack managed to find her alone he was quite capable of charming her into changing her mind. She paused on the gallery, checking the hall was empty. Had the butler delivered the letter yet? Was he about to erupt from his chambers in search of her?
Downstairs was strangely quiet. Perhaps Jack had been relieved to have the matter taken from his hands, after all he had only offered for her because he was concerned about her reputation. She met no one, not even a footman, on her way to the kitchen. She lifted the heavy latch and pushed open the door.
The heat hit her like a wave. The permanently burning fire glowing in the enormous grate made the kitchen unbearable during the day. The kettle was hissing gently, an aromatic stew bubbling over the flames, but the room was empty. Where was everyone? She heard voices outside in the yard and smiled. The children and Annie were returning from somewhere. Her smile faded as she wondered if they had heard about the incident. Had Mary ran downstairs to gossip about what she’d witnessed? She sincerely hoped not, trying to explain to a four-year old would have been nigh on impossible.
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