“I forgot how beautiful it was here. Why don’t you visit more often?” Lady Southridge asked quietly, almost reverently.
“London has its charms as well,” he replied, but nothing felt further from the truth as he stared at the stately building, its marble steps, and perfectly manicured boxwoods.
“I doubt that.”
“You’d be correct. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t been back for a while. Of all my estates, it’s my favorite.”
“You did grow up here.”
“True.”
“So it feels like home.”
“I suppose you’re correct.”
The carriage halted just as the large front door opened. The estate’s aged butler, Tibbs, stepped out followed by a flurry of footmen. The carriage door was opened and Tibbs helped Lady Southridge alight from the coach, her skirts swishing as she carefully stepped out. Charles exited next, inhaling deeply the salty sweet air. As the various footmen began unloading their belongings, Charles wondered if Carlotta and the girls had noticed his arrival.
Last week he had sent a missive to the housekeeper and Tibbs alerting them of his arrival, but had given explicit instructions that the governess and wards were not to be notified of his plans to visit. At the time, it seemed the wise thing to do; now he wondered. Certainly if Miss Lottie knew he were coming, she’d take the girls out for the day, or at least that’s what he had worried. Now he thought that perhaps, that wouldn’t have been a bad idea. It would have given him a chance to prepare himself.
He felt stronger, more able to resist the charms of the beautiful governess, but he didn’t necessarily trust himself. His self-control had been quite lacking before. Of course, he reasoned, that she had caught him off guard, in perhaps, a moment of weakness. But no longer.
Or so he hoped.
He nodded to Tibbs, who bowed at his entrance, and then headed directly to his study. Once there he poured himself a fortifying glass of brandy —the fortification was both necessary from the carriage ride with Lady Southridge and the upcoming reunion with the wards and Miss Lottie!
He studied the room that held the most memories of his father. Rich mahogany woods boasted power and elegance as well as strength. Crimson cushions and sapphire colored tapestries gave the distinct impression of wealth and royalty. His father had prided himself in his heritage, the thick blood of nobility that had flowed through his veins, which continued to flow through Charles.
His father was like most dukes, he assumed. Present yet still absent. His childhood memories included his nannies, tutors and various kind servants, but few memories harbored images of his parents. Yet, he knew that if he had a strong need for them, they would have been there. Sadly, or maybe mercifully, he never had such an occurrence in his childhood that required such a response from them. But one thing he did remember about his father was his strength. That was why when he’d passed, over fifteen years ago, it had been quite shocking.
As a child, he never considered that his parents were mortal. That belief carried on into his young adulthood and somehow was still believed even as he passed his majority. A hunting accident. No glory, simply an accident stole the final heartbeats from his father’s chest. His mother had been in London while his father hunted in Sussex that fateful day and upon hearing of her husband’s demise, had taken it upon herself to alert their son.
Never had his mother appeared more fragile, less sure of herself. Always the perfect lady, she looked anything but when she arrived at Charles’ London Town home.
Of course, a few months later he realized why she had appeared so weak. As he sat through her funeral service he wondered why he hadn’t asked her about her health when he had the chance. But he was thinking of his father, of himself, not of her. And pneumonia claimed her with silent precision.
“Your grace?”
Charles startled slightly, glancing to his butler but not seeing him for a moment as his memories faded from the room and reality caught up with him once more.
“What is it, Tibbs?” he asked, his voice sounding overly weary to his own ears.
“You asked to be informed when the young wards and their governess arrived from their walk. They have just come in, your grace. And as you requested, they are not aware of your presence.” Tibbs nodded obediently.
“Very good. See that I am the one to speak to them first, not, Lady Southridge.”
“As you say, your grace.” Tibbs bowed and turned to leave.
“Wait. On second thought, would you please bring Miss Lot—er, Carlotta to me, I wish to speak with her in private before the introductions begin.
Tibbs nodded then left.
Charles paced the study. A thousand thoughts filled his head, tempered by a few precious memories that set his blood to roaring. It was madness, to feel as he felt, after only such a short time. But it was there nonetheless. Perhaps it was just a passing fancy, he justified. There really was no reason for him to form such a strong attachment to the young governess in such short order. Perhaps all his emotional turmoil was for not. Could it be that in the amount of time passed, his attraction had cooled and he’d now not be as affected? He could only hope.
The sound of light footsteps reached his ears a moment before a knock came at the door.
“Come,” Charles called, his eyes already searching for her face.
Tibbs entered followed by the source of Charles’ sleepless nights; Carlotta, siren from his waking dreams.
It was too much to ask to be unaffected. It was too much to ask to even be as affected by her beauty as he was in the past.
No. All it took was one glance, one sweeping gaze from the soft golden curls on the top of her head to the slight peek of her slipped foot from her frock for him to lose all train of thought.
He hadn’t even made eye contact yet.
Damn.
No, for everything he had hoped that time would dull the attraction, he had been deathly wrong.
For if anything, it had increased tenfold and as her clear green eyes searched his, it was all Charles could do to simply keep the fire ignited within him at bay.
Chapter Eight
“Your grace?” Carlotta asked, not quite believing her eyes. When Tibbs had requested her, he hadn’t mentioned that the duke was in residence.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t mentioned that the duke was coming to Greenford Waters at all.
Damn.
She felt her eyes widen as her cheeks blushed vermillion at her shock over her own thoughts. As if she spoke them out loud, she wished to cover her mouth and retreat, humiliated. Never before had she sworn, yet the duke seemed to provoke uncharacteristic reactions from her.
She should not be so surprised since he was the cause for various other reactions she hadn’t previously experienced.
Staring at the deep furrow in his brow, she wondered if maybe she had spoken the curse aloud.
“Miss Carlotta.” He nodded seriously, his expression shuttered and cool. As if a gaze could change the very temperature, she stifled a shiver. Already her heart was hammering in her chest, her lips tingling with the reminder that once, not so long ago, his had caressed them. Forcing her thoughts into submission, she took a step forward and curtseyed.
“That will be all Tibbs.” The dear butler nodded but cast a wary glance to her as he retreated, leaving the door still open enough for propriety’s sake.
“How are you and my wards adjusting to the country?” his grace asked with all the emotional attachment of a man inquiring about the weather.
“The adjustment has been minimal, your grace,” Carlotta answered, the fact that he had simply called the girls his ‘wards’ chafing against her. They deserved more than that. They did have names after all. But she supposed that was the way of it in his social circles. He was their benefactor, their protector so to say; emotional attachment wasn’t a requirement.
“And you? How are you adjusting?” he asked. For but a moment his expression slipped to give her an insight in
to the simmering beneath the cool waters of his gaze, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was closed off.
“Well, your grace. Bath is quite close to where I was raised, so I find myself very much at ease here.”
“I was not aware that you were from Bath.” He seemed shocked that he hadn’t been aware of that fact.
“Not Bath exactly, I was raised a few miles north, closer to the sea.”
“Ah, do you have family? I could arrange for you—” He stopped his offer mid-sentence as she shook her head. “I see. My apologies if I have mentioned something to risk offending you.” He bowed his head tenderly, completely confusing her from his earlier detached demeanor.
The man had more mood shifts than a play had scenes!
“It is of no consequence, your grace,” Carlotta said, hoping to put the subject to rest. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her history.
He nodded and then took a few steps about the room. The silence was thick and heavy in the air, and Carlotta wanted to break it, but didn’t know exactly how to go about doing just that. She had just opened her mouth to speak when the duke seemed to remember he had company.
“I have a guest here, a woman who accompanied me,” he began.
Carlotta felt the blood drain from her face yet at the same time, she was thankful to have a reason to convince herself that their prior… interludes… were of not consequence. At least to him. This new knowledge would serve to remind her at night when she saw his alluring gaze in her dreams.
“I see. I’ll be sure to tell the girls that you are not to be disturb—”
“Actually, I’m quite sure Lady Southridge will be more than happy to be ‘disturbed’ as you put it. I feel it necessary to explain that she feels a certain…” He paused as if thinking of the correct word. “…obligation to my wards.”
“I shall do my best to make her feel welcome, then.” Carlotta spoke bravely, all the while her mind spun in a million different directions. Had he brought this woman as a potential bride and she was already staking a claim on his wards? Was she mercenary in her intentions, sizing up the girls for their worth upon their majority? Maybe she was trying to get into his heart by showing compassion on those less fortunate. Either way the picture painted in her mind was one of shallow intentions and came from a jealous heart. Her own jealous heart.
“I have no doubts that you will do just that, Miss Carlotta.” He nodded then resumed his infernal pacing.
And he was calling her Miss Carlotta, rather than Miss Lottie. It had not escaped her notice. She told her traitorous heart that it was another confirmation that he was simply telling her that whatever they had shared earlier was now in the past, over and finished. He no longer felt any attachment. Her heart pinched at the realization that she was so easily discarded, and disregarded. For her, kisses were so much more than frivolous tokens. To know they meant so little to him was stinging and hurtful.
Though these emotions all played havoc on her heart, she took great efforts to school her expression into one of polite disinterest. The same one she’d use when forced to be around whatever woman he brought to meet the girls.
“I don’t think I’ve ever encountered you this quiet, Miss Carlotta.”
She glanced up to find him watching her intently. The coolness of his gaze had warmed, like a loch heated by the summer sun, still chilly but refreshing and Carlotta felt herself losing ground.
“I, perhaps, do not have much to say, your grace,” she replied.
“I, perhaps, find that hard to believe.” He tilted his head in challenge.
“You are quite sure to believe what you wish, your grace,” she replied, raising her eyebrow and issuing a challenge of her own.
He narrowed his eyes and watched her, the moments ticked by but she remained unmoved, unwilling to give away the secrets of her heart. Not to him.
Never to him.
At least never to him again.
“Damn it, Carlotta why don’t you just say whatever is written all over your face? I cannot read your mind it is quite killing me right now.”
“Why are you here?” she asked before she could sensor her words.
“It’s my estate,” he answered back.
“I’m pleased to add that to my growing information about you, your grace,” she replied with a tart clip in her voice. Her self-control was slipping in light of his likewise lack of emotional control and she began to resort to her wit in order to keep to safer subject matter.
“Did I just mention that you were quiet? I take back my erroneous statement,” he said dryly.
At this, Carlotta couldn’t help the small smile that teased her lips.
“And quit that insufferable smirking,” he groused. “ If you must know, I’m here because I was forced to make an appearance.”
“I find that hard to believe, your grace.” Carlotta felt her eyebrows shoot up at his declaration. Just who was this woman who had accompanied him? What hold did she have on his heart for him to jump at her whim?
“There are forces of nature you have never encountered,” he replied dryly. “Lady Southridge is one of those forces of nature, Miss Lottie, and I don’t pity you that you’ll be quite in the middle of her raptures.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Carlotta paused, even as her heart rejoiced that he slipped into calling her ‘Miss Lottie.’
“ Lady Southridge is my good friend’s sister and, much to my dismay, has determined that same office over myself. And, through some means I am still not aware, she learned that I had inherited three wards and I had no choice but to accompany her here to provide introductions. I had no free will in the matter.”
“Oh, then we shall do our best to meet whatever requirements she has for the girls so that you may be free to leave,” Carlotta replied carefully.
“I have no qualms about staying here, Miss Carlotta, but I do have qualms about her staying here for an indefinite duration, which I’m sure she’s planning at this very moment.”
Not knowing how to respond, Carlotta simply nodded.
“And I wanted to speak with you before she pounced, so you would be aware of the situation and encourage the wards to be kind.”
“I assure you the girls will be all that is goodness and light, your grace.” Carlotta replied in a clipped tone.
“I—”
“And they are girls, not simply wards.” Carlotta finally spoke the words she had wanted to shout from the first moment he had reduced them to simply an obligation rather than the delight that they were. Her tone was soft but steely, and she prayed she hadn’t offended him… too much.
He stared at her, as if weighing his next words. Anger had flushed his face yet his eyes were calculating as if his mind were trying to convince his emotions to back down.
So she waited, her hands clasped in front of her and her posture prim and straight.
“Be that as it may…” he began, then paused, working his jaw and narrowing his eye slightly, “I still require you to indulge Lady Southridge’s whims.
“Of course, your grace. Is there anything else?” Carlotta asked as she kept her posture stiff.
“Yes. So please, make yourself comfortable. I’m nowhere finished with you yet.” He gestured to the settee, a rebellious smile tilting his lips and making him appear the rake his reputation had deemed.
Carlotta bit the inside of her lip, then walked to the settee and sat, a sigh escaping her lips.
“Tsk, tsk, Miss Lottie. We cannot have you give a bad example to the girls. You shouldn’t sigh so.” He shook his head.
“Forgive my sigh, your grace.” She gave a forced smile, knowing she was playing a dangerous game to provoke him, yet she couldn’t seem to restrain herself.
“All is forgiven. I had not known my presence was so exasperating,” he commented as he dusted imaginary lint from his sapphire colored waistcoat.
“I value honestly over flattery, your grace.”
“Miss Lottie. It seems you are in possess
ion of a sharp wit this afternoon. I will simply have to hone my own in order to give you a worthy counterpart.”
“There is no need—”
“Oh, indeed there is.” His eyes took on a predatory gleam as he stepped forward slowly, deviously, and challengingly.
Carlotta watched his approach with growing suspicion. Whatever he was about was not good.
“Perhaps to conquer your wit, I’ll simply have to silence it,” he mused, his gaze roaming her features. Gone was the cool displeasure of earlier, replacing it was a warm and teasingly passionate expression that lit Carlotta’s stomach to fluttering and her blood to pulsing furiously through her veins. His gaze moved from hers to settle upon her lips. Though the glance was quick, it changed the depth of his eyes from a summer lake’s blue to the passionately tousled North Sea’s hue in the midst of a storm. Hunger burned brightly, stealing all thought from Carlotta’s captivated mind.
“Yes, I see that if I’m to conquer you at your own game, I must change the rules.”
“I don’t think—”
“Thinking would be a very bad idea right now,” he whispered, holding his hand out as he paused before her.
Glancing to his hand, she paused, debating. She could feel his body heat and it called to her, beckoned her. The scent of cinnamon and cloves permeated the air, thickening it, weaving a spell around her till she felt her hand reach for his. Immediately his grip tightened and he pulled softly, and she stood. Though she only came up to his chin, it seemed the perfect height for his scent to hold her captive, for his eyes to penetrate her soul.
As if he knew she were about to try and break the spell that passion had woven so intricately around them, he silenced her unspoken efforts with his lips. Softly, his lips met hers, but with determined pressure, he left no question that this kiss was very, very intentional.
What the Duke Wants Page 10
