“Miss Lottie?” Bethanny asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you well?” All three girls were watching her with various degrees of concern etching their beautiful faces.
“Forgive me, I was woolgathering.” Carlotta flushed at being so absorbed in her own misery that she frightened the girls. “What were you saying, Berty?”
“I was asking… that is, you’re still our governess, aren’t you? The duke, he wasn’t too mad at you for the picnic?” Berty asked, her question uncharacteristically observant.
“I’m still your governess. The duke spoke with me—” She swallowed, remembering far more than his words. “But have no fear, I’m not dismissed.”
“Good.” Beatrix nodded. “It wasn’t your fault anyway.”
“In a way, it is my dears. I’m to train you but also keep a sharp eye on you. I failed that charge.”
“But we all but ran away, maybe we should explain—” Bethanny began.
“No, it’s all over and done with. Let us all start fresh, shall we?” Carlotta put on her bravest smile as she reached for her napkin and placed it in her lap.
Yes, a fresh start for us all.
Throughout the course of dinner Carlotta found her gaze straying to the door. When a footman would enter to take away their soup bowl or lay out another dish, her heart would thump wildly. She was at war with herself, half of her wishing for the duke to appear and gaze at her with those delicious blue eyes, and half of her hoping that he didn’t show up at all.
As dinner ended and the duke didn’t appear, she decided that regardless, she got her wish. Though relieved, a part of her —traitorous that it was— wanted to see him, to gauge if anything had changed. As much as she tried to silence her heart, part of it hoped that maybe, maybe his quick dismissal after their kiss was his way of covering his own emotions, his own response. The kiss was quite spontaneous. It was highly doubtful he had premeditated it; therefore, it was natural to wonder if maybe he was as unsettled as she.
But she wasn’t to know, because he wasn’t to make an appearance.
“Come girls, let’s retire to the library to read for a spell before bed.” Carlotta rose and waited for the girls to follow suit. With a slight inclination of her head, she motioned to the door. The three girls filed out and walked quietly down the hall. Bethanny opened the large door for the rest of them then slipped in quietly, holding the latch so that when it shut, it was noiseless.
“You’re all very quiet,” Carlotta noted, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, then widening with concern. Were they feeling poorly? Were they sick? Perhaps the rain—
“We’re simply… tired,” Beatrix mumbled, sniffing.
“Oh. Well you are certainly able to retire if you wish,” Carlotta responded, carefully watching their expressions, evaluating the color of their skin, and searching for a cause for their strange behavior.
As she watched the girls, she saw a flicker of a glance, one that passed between Bethanny and Beatrix, which caused her to pause. It was just the type of glance she believed she would give in a conspiratorial manner if she had a sister. But she was an only child, so she simply stored away the thought to ponder on later. It wasn’t as if they could get into too much trouble.
She quickly amended her last thought. Judging by the fiasco earlier in the duke’s study, there was quite a bit of trouble they could find. Maybe she should follow them to bed.
“You know, I’m quite exhausted myself, I’ll follow—”
“No!” Beatrix shouted. She was promptly kicked by Bethanny.
“It’s just that—er—we don’t want to cause you further trouble,” Bethanny said softly. After a delicate pause, she took a few steps forward towards Carlotta. “We’ve caused enough trouble today. We can see to ourselves and you’ll surely enjoy a few moments of respite.” Bethanny’s wide eyes were full of innocent intentions, bottomless and guiltless.
The girl was a skilled liar.
But Carlotta allowed them their deception. If she asked them outright, they’d likely never admit to anything. But if she kept her eye on them, she’d easily uncover whatever folly they had planned. She only hoped it didn’t involve the duke. Heaven knew, she couldn’t deal with another scenario that would require her to speak with him in private.
Her heart would surely crack.
“Well, goodnight then, girls. That is, if you’re sure—”
“Very sure.” This from Beatrix, who nodded emphatically.
As if she needed further proof of something afoot, Beatrix needlessly provided it.
Bethanny ushered her sisters out the door, much to the outrage of Berty who was bitterly disappointed she was unable to stay up.
The room was quiet, too quiet. The grandfather clock ticked, the fire crackled and then, there was nothing else but the sound of her breathing. Truly she shouldn’t be so disturbed by the lack of noise. At Garden Gate it had often been quiet, especially following the deaths of her parents. With no siblings to run about with, she only had her household staff that cared for her, along with the governess she had dismissed upon reaching eighteen. The governess, who had upon her dismissal, run off to Gretna Green with the neighbor’s footman. But, in her defense, he was quite a handsome rogue. For all Carlotta knew, they were in Scotland still. Miss March was pleasant enough, but wasn’t one to expend extra energy on her charge. Apparently, she had spent her energy on the neighbor’s footman, however. While Carlotta wished her well, she felt no resentment at her actions or the distance at which she kept her charge. But that experience was why she felt such a need to build a relationship with Berty, Bethanny and Beatrix.
She’d never had someone do that for her.
And now, she found herself in the position to do just that. Regardless of the trouble they caused, either by their mysterious plotting, or inadvertent mishap, they would grow through their tragedy knowing they were loved.
Even if it were just by a governess.
****
Charles paced like a caged animal. At least ten times, he strode to the study door to open it then pulled his hand back as if the doorknob had grown teeth.
Then he’d pace back to his desk, pick up a few papers. Gaze at them, see absolutely nothing except for her face. After which, he’d march back to the door, only to have the whole bloody scenario repeat again and again.
He never once thought of himself as a coward. However, he was beginning to reevaluate his thoughts. What was it? He was the Duke of Clairmont! His reputation was the stuff of legends! He’d sampled the pleasures of many high profile courtesans and opera singers in the country, some even from other countries. He, who easily discouraged the pesky dandy with a simple scowl, was hiding behind his own study door because of a woman.
No, a virgin young lady.
Who wasn’t noble. Who was his governess.
Well, not his governess, his ward’s governess… but that made her under his employ and technically his governess as well… it got confusing after that. So he poured himself a glass of brandy, relishing the fiery trail it blazed to his stomach. He drained the glass, and promptly poured himself another.
As he sipped, he tried to think of a way that would let Carlotta know he was, well, what was he exactly? Sorry? No. He damn well wasn’t sorry about kissing her. That was quite possibly the most perfect kiss he’d experienced in some time. And he’d just insult her further if he said he was sorry. She’d take it all wrong. Being female, she’d think he regretted her. Which he did, but not in the way she thought. Or would think… or…
“What in the bloody hell happened to all the brandy?” he said to no one in particular, because he was alone.
A warm sensation began tingling in his toes, spreading to his other limbs before settling with its center in his belly. As a few minutes passed and he stared into the fire, he began to feel a bit more, able. Able to leave, that is. His study. He glanced about the room. Yes. That’s where he was. His stomach rumbled, and he tried to remember when he had last eat
en. Noon? No…
“Hang it all.” He spoke to the fire. “Bloody governess. Coming in, waltzing in and stealing my… thoughts. Yes! My thoughts. I never was one to be so… unthoughtful,” he grumbled. “You know—” Again, he spoke to no one in particular. “—I don’t have to apologize! I’m a duke! I bloody well take what I want! I wanted a kiss. I took it. There. That’s the end. If I want another kiss, I’ll simply… well…” He realized with a wave of annoyance at himself, that though quite deep in his cups at this point, he was not that drunk to steal another kiss. Or take another kiss, or whatever had happened. At this point, it was all growing quite fuzzy. Perhaps if he were to eat dinner?
He glanced to the door then remembered he was trapped. Dinner. If he were to go to dinner, he’d see the governess. Carlotta, Miss Lottie… Miss Carlottie… He shook his head. Blast and Damn.
He couldn’t bloody well starve.
It was his house after all; he had to leave his study sometime. With a fortifying breath and summoning the courage only a blasphemous amount of brandy could incite, he barreled through the door.
“Ah-ha!” He thrust his fist in the air in victory. He glanced back to the door. “You have been bested!” He pointed at the offending portal.
Squaring his shoulders, he pulled his coat up, and smoothed his shirt, tightening his cravat. With purpose and victory brimming his chest, he strode to the dining room… finding it empty. Of both food and people.
“Bloody—”
“Your grace?”
“Murray!” Charles jumped slightly, casting his butler a severely annoyed expression.
“Your grace, are you quite all right?” Murray asked. His tone was monotone but his grey eyes narrowed slightly, as if concerned.
It was possibly the first hint at emotion he’d ever seen from his butler.
And enough to cause him to lose his train of thought.
Perhaps that was simply the brandy, however.
“Your grace… are you… well?” Murray drew out the words, his lean body leaning forward as he studied Charles.
“Of course. I was just wondering when we planned on dining.”
“Your grace, my sincerest apologies… dinner was served quite a while ago. Mrs. Pott searched for you, but when she was unable to locate you, assumed you had gone out, your grace.” Murray nodded nervously.
Charles glanced down to the polished floor. He did have a faint memory of Mrs. Pott knocking on his study door. Why had he not said anything?
Ah yes, the governess. He was hiding.
No, not hiding.
He was thinking. Yes. That sounded ever so much better than hiding.
Which he wasn’t.
“Your grace?”
Murray probably thought he’d lost all his sense. “Yes, well… please have Cook send a tray to my chamber.”
“Of course, your grace.” Murray bowed and departed to the kitchens.
Charles strode out into the hall. “That worked well,” he mumbled to himself.
“What worked well, your grace?”
“Ack! Berta, Roberty. Whatever your name is!” He calmed his racing heart and adjusted his coat, trying to at least appear in control of himself.
“Berty. My name is Berty,” the little girl said a wry tone.
“Where… no… what are you doing?” Charles’ nerves were already shot, if one more person startled him, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.
The little girl shrugged.
“Where are your sisters?” Charles asked, glancing up and down the hall quickly.
“In their room.” She leaned forward. “They’re… wait. I can’t tell you.” She gasped and covered her mouth.
“Tell me what…?” Charles leaned down to Berty’s eye level.
“Well if I told you then it would be a disaster. You’d ruin it!”
“I’d ruin it? How so?” Curiosity mixed with severe apprehension clenched in his chest.
“Because well… it just would.”
“Your logic is indisputable.” Charles spoke tiredly.
“Thank you, your grace.” Berty curtsied.
Was she mocking him?
She batted her dark eyelashes.
She was mocking him!
“Now see here Berty—”
“Berty! What are you still doing up?” Carlotta’s voice floated down the hall.
Charles found himself swallowing hard. So much for avoidance. As she walked towards them, he found himself lifting his gaze to watch her approach. She had changed from her wet gown into a deep green dress that showed off the curve of her hips and the smallest swell of her breasts. Her eyes were fixed on Berty but he could swear he saw the faintest hint of a blush deepen the pinkish hue of her cheeks.
She was delicious.
“Berty?” she asked again.
“They were too loud!” Berty whined.
“Pardon?”
“They were whispering, loudly. And every time I asked a question, they’d tell me to hush. So I left.”
“Understandable,” Charles commented.
Carlotta raised an eyebrow.
“I’m simply stating that if someone told me to hush, I’d have left too.”
“I highly doubt you’d simply leave if someone spoke to you that way.”
“Perhaps you’re right…” Charles felt his lips twitch into a smile.
Carlotta regarded him for a moment before turning her attention to Berty. “Love, you need to return to your room. Remember what we spoke about this afternoon?”
“But Miss Lottie! I’m in the hall. The hallway! I am obeying you! Ask his grace! I was not disrupting anybody.”
“Any one.” Carlotta spoke the words at the same time as he did. He glanced to her, their eyes meeting.
“Anyone.” Berty sighed, correcting herself… and breaking the spell.
“Be that as it may… you still should head to your room. It’s quite late and you’ve had a busy day.”
Charles cleared his throat.
Carlotta glanced at him, her eyes unreadable but he could have sworn he saw mirth dancing in their green depths.
“Very well,” Berty conceded, shrugging and then skipping down the hall.
Charles watched her leave and as she ducked around the corner, he reluctantly glanced back to Carlotta.
She was still watching where Berty had gone.
So he waited, studying her profile, memorizing the way her pert nose turned up slightly, and the way her jawline angled into the most delicate bow just below her ear. He wanted to kiss her in that precise spot.
“You can’t avoid me forever.” Charles spoke in a low and seductive whisper. Wincing inwardly at how the words should be aimed at him.
“I’m not avoiding you.” She gave him a sidelong glance.
“Oh?”
“No, I was… wondering.”
“About what? Or whom, perhaps?”
“Do you have siblings, your grace?” Carlotta turned the full power of her gaze to him. It was stunning. Her green eyes had flicks of yellow in them that almost appeared gold.
“Your grace?”
“No. No siblings. Not for want of trying on my parent’s part, however,” he added, though as he spoke the words he wondered why he had thought that information was important.
“Oh. Nor do I…” Her gaze traveled back down the hall where Berty had disappeared.
“You suspect something,” he stated.
“Yes. But I haven’t a clue as to what. Which, I’ll admit, makes me slightly nervous.”
“There are three of them.” Charles nodded. “And all quite intelligent. I shudder to think what they might be planning.”
“You and I both. I’ll have to keep a keen eye on them.”
“As opposed to?” Charles couldn’t help but grin.
“As opposed to giving them any chance to… interfere with the lives of others.”
“Sounds utterly wise.”
“I rather thought you’d agree.” She tu
rned back, flashing a saucy grin. But as soon as the alluring expression crossed her features, she withdrew it, shuttering her expression into a polite mask.
Charles wanted the saucy expression back. He wanted to see the merriment dancing in her eyes, hear the dry whit of her humor and see the way her cheeks squinted her eyes slightly when she smiled.
“Carlotta, I…” he began, not quite sure what he had intended to say.
“There’s no need, your grace.” She offered him a damnably polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes and quickly glanced down at the polished floor.
Charles opened his mouth, intending to say… something but words failed him. He rather wanted to show her what he meant, but knew that would be disaster. He could not kiss her again.
Ever.
Ever, ever, ever.
But oh, he wanted to.
He was sure that a kiss to that delicate spot he was lusting over earlier would surely break through the miserably shuttered expression in her eyes. He was sure that he could coax more than a polite ‘your grace’ from her lips. At once he wanted to hear her voice whisper his name. Not ‘Clairmont’, not ‘your grace’, but his actual name. Charles.
She lifted her head, her eyes slowly trailing her movement till they met his. With a small gasp, her eyes widened and she stepped back.
“Good evening, your grace.” She curtsied and all but fled.
As her footsteps echoed in the hall, he felt cold and empty. As if the fire he was standing in front of had suddenly been smothered. The emptiness was gnawing at him. He felt like a coward for not saying anything about their kiss, but he didn’t know how to go about it. If she were more than a servant, more than a governess, there might have been a chance.
But she wasn’t.
And he wasn’t the type of man to marry, at least yet. Or so he reminded himself. Strange how he always forgot that piece of information whenever she was around.
Closing his eyes he remembered her expression just before she fled to the safety of her room. She’d had the wide-eyed expression of a woman running from ruin, from certain danger.
What the Duke Wants Page 6
