The Runaway Duchess

by Jillian Eaton

  If he were honest with himself he would be forced to admit it was not the long columns of credit and debt that was turning what should have taken one hour of work into three. It was the ever present knowledge, the constant bloody awareness, that his wife was but a few yards away.

  In less than a minute he could be across the hall and have her in his arms. He could burrow his fingers in her long, tousled hair. Pull back her head and suckle at her throat until she moaned his name. Cup her breasts. Caress her hard nipples through the soft fabric of her gown. 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 an oath Gavin scrubbed his hands over his face and stalked to the bed. He braced his arms against the scratchy quilt, pushing into the rock hard mattress until his knuckles turned white. For one second, two, three, he managed to think of something other than his wife before she crept back into his head like a fine silvery mist rolling over a field.

  He thought of her hair, so brilliant in color it was as if she were born of the sun. He thought of the way she bit her lip when she was trying not to smile. He thought of her laughter, so sweet and lilting it was like music to his ears. He thought of how adorable she looked when she was angry, and how difficult it was not to grin ear to ear. 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, as though the idea of keeping them still never crossed her mind.

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

  As a man who prided himself in never lying, Gavin could not deny the truth that was right in front of his face. Whether he liked it or not, he was closer than ever to tumbling head over heels 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 long, rangy body one large knot of coiled muscle.

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

  They shared nothing in common.

  He had met mules less stubborn. She was high spirited, opinionated, argumentative… and alluring as hell. There was no denying it. Charlotte possessed more passion in one pinky finger than most women of the ton had in their entire bodies. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place. What continued to draw him, even now. Her zeal for life was unmatched. She had an energy about her that was as bright and burning as the sun her hair embodied.

  Still, he could ill afford to fall in love with her.

  Love is a weakness, he reminded himself.

  She was his wife. That would have to be enough. The ever present need for her that inflamed his blood would cool in time… although… perhaps it was because he had not had her that he wanted her.

  Gavin froze in place as the idea instantly took root. Yes. He desired Charlotte because he had made up his mind not to have her. It was as simple – and complicated – as that.

  She was like the carriage he bought a few months ago. The expensive cufflinks he purchased but never wore. The fine thoroughbred stallion he had to have, only to end up selling him three weeks later when his interest waned.

  The solution to clearing his mind of her once and for all was clear. He would take her, just once. His ardor would be sated, his constant lust for her would be satisfied, and he could get her out of his mind once and for all.

  As for now, he could not remain another damn minute in this room knowing she was right across the hall.

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

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  There was nothing quite so beautiful as Scotland in the full blush of evening. As the sun sank down 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 with a soft, heavenly glow.

  Without the sun to light the way the path to the top of the hill 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 night 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, intent on reaching the top and seeing everything with an eagle’s eye.

  She breathed deep, inhaling fresh, sweet air that grew noticeably colder with every step. Grateful that she though to wear a cloak, she drew it tight around her shoulders, welcoming the warmth it provided against the unforgiving chill.

  Scotland, she was quickly learning, was a place of extremes. Extreme beauty. Extreme warmth. Extreme cold. She hoped to visit again, already half in love with the wild land that melded so perfectly with her soul.

  A twig snapped behind her and she jerked to a halt, every muscle tensing. Foolish, she thought instantly. It was so foolish to go wandering by herself at dusk. “Hello?” She sounded tentative. Uncertain. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello, is someone there?”

  “Charlotte?”

  Relief swept through her as she immediately recognized Gavin’s deep voice. Spinning towards the sound of it, she watched him come charging up the hill towards her, his frame outlined by the setting sun. Her relief was short lived, however, when he grasped her arms and gave her a quick, hard shake.

  “What are you doing out here alone?” he demanded, anger evident in the flashing of his eyes and the hard clench of his jaw. His hair was in wild disarray. Despite the chill in the air sweat gleamed on his brow and his chest, drawing Charlotte’s eye to the deep V formed by the half buttoned shirt that billowed loosely over his lean torso. She bit her lip, dragging her gaze back up to his face only when he shook her again.

  “I asked you a question,” he growled. “You know you should not be out this late. There could be any manner of vagabonds in these hills. Thieves. Rapists. Murderers. Men who would slit your pretty throat ear to ear before you could open your mouth to scream. We are not in bloody Hyde Park, Charlotte!”

  She lifted her chin. “I know where we are.”

  His fingers flexed and tightened, digging into her flesh even through the thick barrier of her cloak. “Oh you do, do you? Then why not enlighten me as to why you thought it was such a damn good idea to go against my express command and put yourself at risk like this! Was I not clear when I told you to remain in your room after dinner?”

  “You were very clear.” And then, because she really couldn’t help herself, she asked, “But why would you care what happens to me?”

  “Why would I… WHY WOULD I CARE?” Gavin roared. A vein pulsed in his forehead and he released her so abruptly she stumbled. Linking his fingers tightly behind his neck he began to pace back and forth across the trail, digging his heels into the damp earth and kicking up clods of dirt with every furious step. “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!”

  “You said that already,” she pointed out reasonably.

  He began to swear then. Long, drawn out, imaginative curses that Charlotte would later try to remember so she could repeat them back to Dianna. He was frightened, she realized as she watched him snarl and rage. Frightened for her.

  The knowledge that her safety could mean so much to him sent a thrill of delight racing through her and she hugged her arms tight to her chest beneath the cloak, fighting back a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “I am sorry I worried you,” she said, doing her best to a
ppear contrite.

  Gavin stopped short. He swung his head to look at her suspiciously, as though he could not quite believe what he was hearing. “You are?”

  “Yes.” Would it be too much if she lowered her gaze and bowed her head? She didn’t think so. “I never should have left the inn so close to dark. I apologize.”

  “You… you apologize,” he said dumbly.

  Nodding, she peeked up at him from beneath her lashes He was frozen in place, an odd expression on his face. “Yes, I do. I apologize. It will not happen again.”

  “Well, good. You are lucky I was the one who came upon you and not someone else. Do you know how easy it would be for a man to harm you?” He closed the space between them and slipped his hands beneath her cloak to encircle her arms. Charlotte instinctively flinched, ready for him to shake her again, but this time his touch was softer. His thumbs pressed lightly at the sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow and something low in her belly jerked in response. “You are so beautiful,” he said huskily. “A man would be a fool to pass you by.”

  He stared into her eyes, his gaze so deep and true Charlotte feared he was seeing all the way down to the depths of her soul. She ordered herself to move, to pull away, to do something, but her body wouldn’t listen. It was transfixed, as mesmerized by Gavin’s piercing gray eyes as a fluttering moth would be before a flame.

  In the distance the sun finally slipped below the mountains, shedding the last of its light and plunging the hill into a silvery darkness. From the deep tangles of heather a thrush whistled, its haunting tune echoing in the sudden stillness before it went silent.

  “We said we would not do this,” Charlotte whispered. Of their own accord her palms pressed flat against his chest. She felt the rise and fall of it, as well as the steady beat of his heart. He was hot to the touch and she leaned into him, drawn by his warmth and some invisible force she could not name.

  He cupped the curve of her jaw, his fingers resting gently against her cheek. His thumb dipped to the corner of her mouth and because it seemed natural, because it seemed right, she parted her lips and sucked gently on the tip, tasting the faintest hint of salt. He groaned, and before she knew what was happening his other arm yanked her tightly against him. Then his thighs were braced against her thighs, his lips were on her lips, and his tongue was sliding next to her tongue.

  She rose up on her toes and grabbed the collar of his shirt, using it to angle his mouth more firmly against hers. His fingers tangled in her hair, pushing the hood of her cloak back and sending metal pins scattering across the ground. When her long curls sprang free he drowned his hands in them, wrapping the sinuous red tendrils around his fingers until it was impossible to tell where she ended and he began. They moaned and writhed, clinging to each other with a mindless passion that overruled all sense and reason.

  Charlotte gasped for air when Gavin finally dragged his mouth away to suckle at her neck, nipping and licking the quivering flesh until her knees felt weak and she sagged against him. A pull, an unraveling of velvet string, and her cloak pooled at her feet.

  “Gavin, wait,” she gasped. Bringing her hands up between them, she pushed against his chest. She might as well have been trying to topple a stone wall. “Wait,” she repeated, bracing her fingers. “Wait,” she moaned as he cupped her breasts through her gown and bent his head to draw one taut nipple into his mouth. She clutched his hair as a bullet of heat shot through her, pulling the dark strands up by the roots and arching her spine.

  “Once.” Suddenly his mouth was at her ear, his tongue sliding along the edge of it. She felt his hands slip down to her hips and around until he cupped her buttocks and squeezed, pulling her into the hard length of him. “Just once, Charlotte, and I can forget you.”

  Through a hazy cloud of lust his words slowly registered. It was as though someone had slapped her. Every muscle in her body went rigid. Every soft, dewy thought fled. “You want… You want to forget me?” Ripping her fingers out of his hair she tried to pull free from his embrace, but he held her tight.

  “Calm yourself,” he demanded when she began to struggle in earnest.

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  Freeing one arm with a grunt of effort, she drew it back, made a fist, and drove her knuckles into his shoulder as hard as she could. The pain of it brought tears to her eyes and she shook out her hand with a gasp. Gavin did not so much as flinch.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself.” Reaching out, he attempted an awkward pat to the side of her head. Charlotte jerked away and bared her teeth.

  “Let me go!” she cried, pummeling his chest. When he continued to ignore her, she did what she had seen a doxy do to a man who was being too high handed: she bent her knee and brought it up hard between his thighs.

  That got her the instant result she was hoping for, and she looked on with great satisfaction as Gavin cupped himself and staggered away, his face drained of all color beneath the silvery shards of moonlight. “You little hellion,” he gasped, doubling over.

  “Sleep with me and then forget about me? Is that your new plan?” she sneered, disgusted with him, but even more disgusted with herself for being stupid enough to believe he cared. She could kick herself. How could she think, even for one moment, that he had changed his mind? That he wanted her, as a husband should want his wife? That he desired her, as a man should desire a woman? Did she truly believe things between them would change in a matter of days? You are a silly little fool, Charlotte Vanderley, she scolded herself. A silly little fool who has allowed herself to be turned inside out by a man.

  Still bent over at the waist, Gavin tilted his head to the side. “Yes. I mean no,” he corrected with a visible wince when her mouth gaped open. “Charlotte, I did not mean to say—”

  “You floundering ox!” she cried. “You great ape of a man! You… You beef-witted tosser!”

  “Beef-witted tosser?”

  “It was the only thing I could think of,” she said defensively.

  Standing gingerly, Gavin stepped towards her with one arm extended, but she recoiled as if his outstretched hand contained a poisonous serpent.

  “Do not touch me,” she spat, glaring down at his outstretched fingers. With a sigh, he let his arm drop.

  “Charlotte, I am sorry. I did not mean to say what I did.”

  “But you said it.”

  “Yes.” Solemn faced, he nodded. “Yes I did.”

  Crouching down, Charlotte retrieved her fallen cloak, shook the bits of grass and debris from the soft fabric, ad wound it tightly around her shoulders. She directed her gaze to the heavens, taking a moment to study the stars that stretched above their heads as far as the eye could see. In the midst of the endless night sky the moon hung down like an enormous pearl, round and full and luminous. It evoked a sense of sadness inside of her, a brittle aching that started in her heart and spread through her veins like ice. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would you want to forget me? Do you truly hate me that much?”

  “I do not hate you.” This time when Gavin reached for her she did not pull away. He grasped her hands, holding fast to her lifeless fingers. “Look at me. Charlotte, look,” he said roughly.

  She tilted her chin down and met him stare for stare, even though she wanted nothing more than to run back to her bed and find solace beneath the covers. With the first initial surge of anger all but gone, she was left feeling empty and tired.

  It was emotionally exhausting to care for someone as deeply as she cared for Gavin. To depend on him to bring her to the highest peaks, only to have him drop her to the lowest lows. She felt like a ball that had been bounced. Soaring so high at first toss only to slowly dwindle down, sinking lower and lower with each strike of the ground until she stopped moving all together.

  “Whatever you want,” she said tiredly, “I do not have it in me to give you. I cannot feign coldness one moment and heat the next. If I could be more like you—”

  His bitter laugh cut her off. “You do not want t
o be like me.”

  In the shifting light his face looked impossibly bleak. He was not a man happy with his life, nor one content with what he had. He would always, Charlotte feared, want more of everything except what mattered most. For that he earned her pity, and as she reached up to cup his jaw she could only sigh. “This cannot happen again, Gavin. I can give you my heart as a whole if you want, but I will not sell it off piece by broken piece.”

  He leaned into the weight of her palm and closed his eyes.

  For a moment, one blissful, lovely moment, the lines in his face eased, his breathing evened, and he was at peace. Then his brow creased, his eyes opened, and something shifted in them, like a curtain being pulled into place to shield whatever emotion may have been hiding in the depths of his stormy gray gaze. “There does not have to be any emotion in what we do. It is, after all, a purely physical act. Two willing bodies, coming together to give the other pleasure. Nothing more, and nothing—”

  “Less,” she finished for him. Her smile was wistful. “Except I want the more, Gavin. I want everything, and you want nothing. For a time, perhaps, it would work. There is no denying our attraction to each other. We both felt it from the start. But I would want more from you in time, and you would always want less, and in the end we would despise one another. And that,” she whispered as she reached out to brush a dark tendril of hair behind his ear, “I do not want.”

  She knew he recognized the truth in her words by the way his shoulders stiffened. He drew back, out of her embrace, and she let her arm drop to her side. “You are right,” he said after a long pause. “Of course you are right.”

  For the first time, Charlotte wished she wasn’t. “We would be friends,” she suggested tentatively.

  “Friends?” Gavin repeated the word as though it were foreign to him.