What the Duke Wants

by Kristin Vayden

  The music began, painfully slow and all other instruction given was unclear. Charles stood to leave, took a full step away from the door and then—

  She laughed.

  It was a glorious sound, deep and rich, unabashed and unapologetic with a joy that came from deep within. It was artless, it was full, it was perfect.

  Turning back around, he stared at the door, willing for the beautiful laughter to ring again.

  He wasn’t disappointed, and to his amazement, he felt himself grinning, then chuckling as he heard the other girls join in with the governess’ amusement.

  Unable to resist, he knocked.

  Then entered, because well, it was his house.

  “It seems that you are having entirely too joyful of a time in here,” he said as he entered.

  The music stopped.

  The girls stood up straight.

  The laughter…ended.

  And his grin left at the same time.

  “Is there a problem, your grace?” the governess, Carlotta, asked.

  “No, no problem. I seem to be needed, however.” He felt a roguish grin take the earlier one’s place as a wicked thought entered his mind. “It seems that you are attempting to teach a waltz, am I correct?” he asked, walking forward.

  “Yes, your grace,” Carlotta responded, her clear green eyes alight with curiosity.

  “It is very difficult to learn unless observed first. Er…” He turned to the oldest girl, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember her name.

  “Bethanny,” Carlotta helped.

  “Yes, Bethanny, have you ever seen a waltz?”

  “Once, my parents showed me but it’s been quite a while, your grace,” she stammered, her cheeks high in color.

  “Then allow me to assist.” He turned towards Carlotta, took three steps and held out his hands. “May I have the honor?” He bowed.

  “Of—of, course, your grace.”

  Her cheeks were blooming with a delicate shade of rose, her eyes widening in surprise as she caught her lower lip in her teeth in what appeared to be a show of anxiety.

  Glancing over to the piano player, he lifted his chin and then lowered it, signaling for her to begin.

  He placed his hand at Carlotta’s waist, squeezing it slightly as he drew her in so that their bodies were separated by a respectable distance. A moment later, her hand rested on his shoulder, even as her gaze was firmly set on the location of his cravat. After grasping her hand and arching it out, he began to lead.

  And all semblance this waltz had to a million others he had danced in his past ended in a breath. He had danced with a great many women in his day, but none of them compared with her.

  His hand burned where it touched hers, causing the heat to crawl up his arm, burst through his chest and ignite a passion he would rather have remained hidden. The scent of lemon and lilac rose from her skin, inviting and fragrant and intoxicatingly alluring. Her steps were light, her body the perfect size and shape, the shape being all too close to the forefront of his mind as his hand rested on her waist.

  He guided her through the steps, using the subtlest of cues for his direction and finding her flawlessly attentive. Her steps were graceful, and though her gaze hadn’t lifted to his, he was shamelessly memorizing the heightened color of her cheeks, the delighted curve of her smile and her enjoyment made his complete.

  Till she glanced up.

  And he was reminded just how dangerous this dance could truly be. The music continued, reaching a crescendo that pulled him into the melody, and without forethought, he pulled her in tighter till he could feel her warmth.

  Only when she stiffened and her gaze shifted back to his cravat did he realize what he was doing.

  Only then did he remember that they had an audience.

  A very young audience.

  “That, Miss Bethanny, is how you waltz.” He slowly released Carlotta as the music ended, his gaze never leaving her face. Then he lost himself in her green depths as her gaze rose to meet his.

  “Oh,” came Bethanny’s breathless reply.

  “Thank you, your grace.” Carlotta curtseyed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was deeper, husky… affected.

  “The pleasure was mine.” He bowed and then glanced away and into the faces of his three wards, all wearing very different expressions.

  Bethanny’s lips were split into an excited grin. The one on the piano, Beatrix? She was blushing as she averted her gaze while she stacked her music and the youngest… Robert-something, started twirling with an invisible partner.

  With a bow to the governess, he quit the room, his lips curving into a grin as he relived the sensation of her in his arms. But as soon as the delightful thoughts tumbled through his mind, he remembered her station.

  And his.

  And how foolish it was to entertain even the slightest attachment.

  But bloody hell, if she wasn’t perfection in his arms, then he didn’t know what was.

  ****

  “Let’s have some tea, shall we girls?” Carlotta said as soon as the door closed behind the duke. She needed something, anything to distract her from the spell he had expertly woven around them while they danced.

  If she’d ever doubted the rumors of his nature before, she believed them now. The man had practically turned the waltz into a ruining experience.

  It was delicious.

  And wrong. Very, very wrong.

  He was her employer, and a duke, for heaven’s sake! She could not let herself be affected by him.

  She would not let him affect her.

  “Miss Lottie! Do you think his grace will dance with me when I’m older?” Berty asked, her eyes wide with hope. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!” She sighed happily as she danced around the room, mimicking the waltz.

  “Perhaps,” Carlotta answered, her composure returning as she watched Berty twirl.

  “He’s a very good dancer,” Beatrix commented as she stood from the piano. “You both are. I hope I’m as graceful as you, Miss Lottie,” the girl added with a shy smile.

  “I’m sure you’ll be much more graceful than I, Beatrix,” Carlotta answered with an answering grin.

  “Is…I don’t mean to question, Miss Lottie, but was that how close the waltz is?” Bethanny asked, her brow pinched.

  Carlotta felt her face flush. “Not exactly, when you dance you’ll want to maintain a bit more distance.”

  “Why?” Berty asked, pausing in her dance.

  “For propriety’s sake. The waltz is a very controversial dance, you see.”

  “Why?” she asked, again. Carlotta was discovering it was the child’s favorite question.

  “For many reasons, first, you are only with one partner not moving about like in a reel. Second, you are holding hands with the gentleman you are dancing with.”

  “Oh. That was my favorite part.” Berty’s shoulders slumped.

  “If it’s not proper though, why did you and the duke dance so close?” Beatrix asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

  Carlotta opened her mouth to give some sort of reply, one she hadn’t quite thought up yet, and was interrupted.

  “Because… he’s the duke and he may dance how he wants,” Berty answered with a decisive nod.

  “And there you have it.” Carlotta nodded as well, thankful for the little girl’s statement.

  “Now, I believe I mentioned tea?” She spoke with a smile. Anything to get their little minds off the most beautiful waltz she’d ever experienced.

  ****

  It was day four of the horrific rain. And Charles was feeling all the good will of a spring stag. He had finished all his paperwork, his estate business and anything else he could find. There was one final piece of business to which he had to attend.

  He fingered the thick envelope then called for Murray.

  “Yes, your grace?” Murray asked, his lean face emotionless.

  “Please have this delivered to the address specified. Immediately.”
/>   “Very good, your grace.” With a bow, he left.

  It’s done. Charles thought to himself, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders.

  He couldn’t determine if it was the influence of having those wards in his home, or the allure of his pretty governess, but the thought of a mistress had turned decidedly sour.

  It was an impulsive action, but one he didn’t regret. Céline had been very gracious, but… the idea left him empty, hungering for something more, something deeper. Something he didn’t quite understand or know how to attain but needed nonetheless. Taking the first step, he wrote the letter releasing her from his protection. No doubt she had quite a few gentlemen waiting for her availability. There was no worry about her welfare.

  He felt lighter, somewhat confused at his rare inclination at emotion, but pleased nonetheless and so, with a somewhat sunnier disposition than the one with which he had begun the morning, he left his study and wandered down the hall.

  And was immediately bored.

  Blasted rain.

  And, because he was curious and, indeed, he found it far too entertaining of a prospect, he wandered towards the nursery. He told himself it was not to see Carlotta, as he had taken to calling her in his mind, but to check on the wards. They were his responsibility, after all.

  He chose not to remember that just a few days ago he was wanting to ship them off to Bath without ever having to set eyes on them again.

  So, with a blissfully ignorant decision made, he paused at the nursery door and waited. It was curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more. But he was spending an awful lot of time pressed against doors recently. He smiled wryly. To think, Charles Evermore, Duke of Clairmont, listening through doors. What had the world come to?

  But as much as he tried to deny the truth, it didn’t stick.

  It was her voice. The soft melodic tones were full of life; unpretentious and free, they didn’t have a sharp edge or double meaning. It was astoundingly refreshing, like an unexpected English rain shower just when one was overly warm from a long ride through the countryside. He hadn’t even realized how jaded he’d become.

  “Girls, wait here.”

  The words barely registered in Charles’ mind before the door swung open, knocking him soundly on the forehead.

  “Bloody—”

  “What—oh! Your grace! Pardon me. I had… are you injured? Should I call for Murray?” Carlotta asked, her face etched in concern.

  Charles studied her. Her eyes were wide with fear but also, concern. Her gaze roamed his features, no doubt searching for injuries. Her eyes focused on a point just above his brow.

  “Your head.” She spoke softly, then reaching out she placed the softest touch to his forehead, grazing his skin before her eyes widened as if realizing just what she was doing. “I’m so sorry, forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.” Charles nodded, but his body was still humming from her gentle touch. Like a shock, only infinitely more pleasurable, her touch had created the softest glow of warmth that started at his head and traveled through the rest of his body, slowly growing into the familiar burning of desire.

  He swallowed. Now was not the time to think about bedding the help. Come to think of it, it wasn’t ever a good time to think of bedding the help.

  “Was there something you needed?” Carlotta asked, her face still concerned.

  Wrong question, because he could think of a great many things he… needed.

  “I’m quite well. Just a… bump.” He winced as he touched the tender place on his forehead.

  “Again, I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s no need.”

  Carlotta nodded, and turned to go back into the temporary nursery.

  “Wasn’t there something you needed, Miss Standhope?” Charles asked smoothly, inwardly grinning that she was so flustered.

  “Oh, yes. I’m needing, well, my hair pins actually.” She glanced downward, a humble smile teasing her lips.

  Her very pink and delicious looking lips.

  “Hair pins?” His curiosity completely piqued, he crossed his arms and waited for her to explain.

  “Yes, it’s a game of sorts.”

  “Very well, don’t let me stop you.”

  She bobbed a curtsey and left.

  He thought about leaving as well, but found himself too curious.

  She returned shortly, and paused in walking through the door as her gaze rested upon him, sitting in a chair. He grinned at her expectantly.

  “His grace wishes to play too!” Berty exclaimed, her face lighting up in a cheerful smile.

  “My, well, I’m sure his grace will at least find our game diverting.” She spoke hesitantly as if she didn’t quite believe the words she was speaking, but said them nonetheless.

  She laid out several pins, most of which were open in the shape of a ‘V’.

  “This is how we play. Everyone select a pin.”

  Everyone did, including Charles. He lifted his hand to cover his lips to prevent his grin from breaking through at the color blooming to his governess’ cheeks. The enticing shade of pink only heightened her beauty, causing his grin to falter. Forcing his thoughts back to the game, he cleared his throat, earning a questioning glance from the object of his desire.

  She regarded him then continued explaining. “Now, I’ll place the rest of the pins on the table in a heap. Using your own pin, you must try to remove as many pins from the heap without moving any others, save the one you’re trying to remove. If you jostle the pile or move a pin other than the one you intended, your turn is over and the next person has a chance. The person with the most hair pins wins.”

  “I think I remember a game like this, but I don’t remember stealing my mother’s pins to play it.” He spoke conspiratorially as he leaned slightly towards her. The air around her was fragrant, reminding him of lemons and honey. He inhaled deeply. Why couldn’t there be something about her that didn’t lure him? Why couldn’t she have smelled like damp clothing or boiled cabbage?

  She stiffened as he lingered near her. “I’m improvising.” She spoke wryly.

  Charles couldn’t suppress a grin.

  The girls took their turns. Beatrix collected four pins, Bethanny secured six before moving the heap and thus losing her turn. Berty’s little pink tongue stuck out while she made a valiant effort to get two. Then it was Charles’ turn.

  He studied the pile and began to select pins, withdrawing them one by one with practiced care. He collected ten, leaving only four on the table. He leaned back, raising a challenging brow to Carlotta, daring her to beat him.

  “Miss Lottie! We haven’t enough pins!” cried Beatrix.

  “I should have brought more back, but it’s no matter. His grace is the winner.” She offered him a bright smile.

  Charles tried to ignore the stab of desire her beautiful expression gave him. “Miss Lottie,” he crooned, watching her eyes narrow slightly at the use of her shortened name. “I insist you try to beat my record. After all, I hate winning without a fair game.”

  “I haven’t any more pins…” she replied, then paused as Charles gave a pointed look at her hair.

  “I can’t very well take down my hair, your grace,” she replied, a bit of an edge to her tone.

  Good, thought Charles, it was best if she had more of a prickly demeanor around him. It might remind him that he wasn’t interested.

  Because he wasn’t.

  At least that’s what he was telling himself that very moment. Though his body and mind weren’t in accord.

  “Why ever not?” he asked casually, biting back a smirk at the annoyed glint in her eyes.

  “Because,” she spoke carefully, though her eyes were flashing green fire. “I’m to train the girls in the way of proper society. A lady does not unbind her hair in the company of gentlemen.”

  “Why not?” Berty asked.

  “Yes, Miss Lottie. Why not?” Charles repeated the child’s question. At Carlotta’s disbelieving expression, he began to chu
ckle, earning him a glare.

  “It, er, well it gives a feeling of… intimacy.” She blushed to the roots of her hair.

  “But it’s just us! And the duke, but he’s old, Miss Lottie,” Berty quipped.

  Charles choked and began to cough. Old! She thought he was old? Well, compared to a seven-year-old, he supposed he was…older. The idea of being old chafed him, yet it played into his little plan quite well.

  “Er, yes, Miss Lottie. I’m quite ancient. Therefore, not a threat.” He grinned wolfishly.

  “You are quite… advanced in your years,” she returned, her eyebrow arching.

  That stung more than Charles would let on. Ever.

  With a defiant gleam in her eye, she began to pull out her pins.

  One by one.

  If she were an opera singer, he would swear she did it as a ploy. But he was convinced of her thorough innocence, at least in that aspect. After all, no ruined woman would blush as easily as she. But as she took out each pin, Charles found himself unable to even swallow. Her hair tumbled down gently, curling and waving over her shoulders in a golden halo.

  And the fragrance.

  It was lemon and lavender, intertwined with a fresh scent he had no name for but knew was unique to her. It was far more potent than when he had leaned in earlier. Its potency was almost his undoing.

  At last, the final pin was removed and she shook her head gently, letting the entirety of her beautiful mane settle.

  Charles finally was able to swallow, but his mouth was dry. If he ever needed brandy, it was now. The ploy to tease had indeed turned on him.

  With a small smile, she put the pins in a pile, equaling fourteen in all.

  Grinning she began to extract them one by one till none remained.

  “I believe you won, Miss Lottie.”

  “I believe I did.”

  Chapter Three

  “Lord Graham to see you, your grace,” Murray informed Charles.

  “See him in, of course.”

  “Yes, your grace.” Murray left; the soft clicking of the door was the only sound, save a few crackles of the fire as it glowed in the hearth in his study.

  Charles had been lost in his own thoughts. Ever since that ridiculous hairpin game yesterday, he hadn’t been able to cease thinking about Carlotta Standhope. Of course, if he were honest with himself, he would have included that he’d been having a rather hard time not thinking about her even before the hairpin game. But he wasn’t being honest with himself. He rather liked living in denial. It seemed far simpler. After all, when one admitted to attraction, so many more emotions and questions arose.