“My brokenness,” he completed, an angry slash of his fingers that cut the air between them like a whip. “And so I will not marry, Charlotte. I won’t have children. I won’t risk destroying their lives. Your life, either by denying you a chance at motherhood or by making you watch while any child we created went through the hell I did. I won’t.”
She stared at him, unspeaking, unblinking. Her expression broke his heart, not only because it was filled with unspeakable pain, but also because it was now filled with understanding. He had finally found a way to make her see the same bleak future that he did.
And that did not feel like a victory.
He gathered up his clothes, shoving into his trousers, tugging his shirt over his head. She watched him do it, unmoving, unspeaking still.
“Are you leaving?” she asked at last, her voice raw and heavy with dark and painful emotion.
“I’ll help you dress,” he offered.
She hesitated a moment, then pulled her chemise over her head and stepped into her gown. When she put her back to him, it felt like she was turning away in a far more permanent way. He buttoned her dress, his fingers clumsy, his body far too aware of her. His mind too aware of the pain he’d caused.
When she was fixed, she faced him again. She seemed to be waiting, for what he didn’t know. Just waiting. And of course it was in that charged moment that there was a knock on the door.
Chapter Eleven
The sound of knuckles rapping on the wood of the door was like a gunshot, and Charlotte jumped at the sound. When she was alone with Ewan, even when the very worst exchange was happening between them, it was too easy to forget the world existed outside of the two of them.
At least it was for her. From Ewan’s painful words, it was obvious he was always fully aware of the world.
“Come in,” she called out as she stepped away from him. Away from his assertion that he would not have a child. It was still so very raw in her heart.
The door opened and Smith was revealed. He might have guessed what they’d been doing, despite the fact they were dressed again, for his cheeks were bright with color. He fiddled with his hands behind his back as he refused to look either of them in the eye.
“Your Grace, I’ve received word from the men down at the river.”
Ewan had still been watching Charlotte, but now he jerked his attention fully to his servant. He dug in his pocket and Charlotte sighed. “I can translate,” she offered. “Unless you feel it would be intruding on your business.”
Ewan shook his head and signed, “No, that would be helpful. Thank you.”
She forced a smile at Smith. “What is the message, Smith?”
The butler’s gaze held gentle on hers for a beat before he said, “The river has dropped significantly today. Enough that the men would like to know if they can remove the barrier.”
Ewan pondered it a moment and looked out the window. The sky was still gray, but it was a pale, impotent color. “Give it another day,” he signed, and she translated. “But tomorrow afternoon they may remove it as long as there is no rain.”
“Very good,” Smith said. “I’ll pass that along immediately. Additionally, they had some news regarding the bridge.”
Charlotte froze, staring at him. News about the bridge meant news about the families coming. About this private hideaway being turned back into a public place. About whatever was between her and Ewan ending because she knew he would never allow it to exist back in the normal world.
She felt Ewan’s hand on her arm, and she jerked her face to look at him. He was looking at her in question and he signed, “Did you catch that?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. What was it?”
Smith cleared his throat. “The men rode horses over it today. The water was never high enough to clear the passway and they feel it’s solid. Now that the river is down so far, there is no reason the rest couldn’t join your party.”
“When?” Charlotte whispered even as Ewan signed the same single word.
“This evening,” Smith said, almost apologetically. “If you’d like for them to send word and help the families move from the inn in Donburrow, they could be with you this evening.”
Charlotte turned to Ewan and found he was staring right back. She lifted her hands, signing, “Should I tell him to send for them?”
He was steady, not looking away, his dark eyes searching her face. Then he found the notebook in his pocket and wrote a brief note. He handed it over to Smith and the man glanced over it before he said, “Yes, sir. I’ll make the arrangements. Good afternoon.”
Charlotte stared in confusion as the butler bowed his exit and left them alone again. She swallowed hard. “What did you tell him?”
“To give it one more night,” he signed as he moved toward her. He touched her chin, tilting it up as he lowered his lips toward hers. He kissed her, gentle but filled with promise, then pulled away. “I need one more night.”
“So do I,” she said, her voice cracking as she reached for his hand. He allowed it, his fingers threading through hers, and he squeezed gently.
She didn’t say anything else, but just led him from the room. Led him down the halls, led him up the stairs and to his chamber.
She knew that this last night would change nothing that had passed between them. She knew that he was determined and stubborn in what he thought he could and could not do. But it didn’t matter. Tonight wasn’t about the future or the past. It was about the moment. And she wasn’t about to throw this moment away.
Not when it might be the last one he ever allowed.
The sun had set hours before and Ewan had thrown logs on the fire after the last time they’d made love. They’d eaten a cold supper in his chamber, Charlotte clad only in his shirt, he in his robe. Now they were back in his bed, her body half out of the covers as he traced a hand along her naked side.
Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed in that ragged way that let him know he was touching her in a way that gave her pleasure. And how he loved to give her pleasure. Watching her face contort with it was better than any other thing in the world.
Causing her pain was worse. Today he’d done both. In rapid succession, actually. But she’d said nothing about his confession that he’d never have a child. In fact, she didn’t seem to want to discuss anything else on the subject. That fact relieved and grieved him in equal measure.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, her green eyes coming open and snaring his.
“How do you know I’m thinking?” he signed after he reluctantly lifted a hand from her skin.
She smiled. “Sometimes you think very loudly. I can almost hear it.”
He let out his breath. “Just that this is our last night,” he said.
Her smile fell. “I am trying not to think of that. But I suppose we must discuss it. In two days it will be Christmas and then only another week before we all return to London after the new year.”
He glanced away. He actually had not intended to return to London with the rest. He hated spending time there and avoided the city whenever possible.
“You must come,” Charlotte said, reading those thoughts that must have been very loud, indeed. “Emma is due to her have her baby soon, and Graham and Adelaide are marrying. You can’t miss those moments.”
He shifted. As always, it was his friends that kept him in the loop, drawing him in like he belonged in their circle. With them, with her, he always felt like he did. “Yes, you are right about that. But I’m not certain what we are discussing.”
“We’ll have another nine days,” she said. “Do you intend to just pretend this…thing between us never happened?”
“Should I tell everyone it did?” he signed, trying to lighten the mood with a smile. “I can imagine Baldwin and your mother would take the news of our affair very well.”
She didn’t laugh along with him, but reached up to trace his lips with her fingertips. “
You know that’s not what I mean. You know I’m talking about between you and me. Will you avoid me? Will this truly be our last night together, not just our last night alone?”
He shut his eyes for a beat. Everything that was rational and fair in him told him to cut off this affair now. It was a reasonable stopping point with the families coming. When they went back to London, they certainly couldn’t continue. Charlotte had already said she would reenter Society. What good would it do to drag out the end that would only break every piece of his heart?
And yet with her lying beside him, his body touching hers, his hands memorizing the softness of her skin, the idea of just ending it didn’t feel…right.
He rolled to cover her, opening her legs with his hips. She settled back against the pillows and stared up into his eyes, never breaking their stare as he glided into her slick entrance in one long thrust. He filled her completely and leaned down to gently brush the side of his nose against hers. She lifted her lips, kissing him before he drew away and began to take her.
She didn’t look away as he circled his hips against her. She didn’t blink even as she lifted up into him, meeting his thrusts with welcoming ripples. She held his eyes steady even as her lips parted and she cried out his name when pleasure struck her and she came, milking him, daring him to claim her as she’d tried to force him to do earlier in the day.
It was tempting. But he withdrew when his balls tightened, and his seed burst free between them. He rested his forehead against hers, breath short.
“Is that my answer?” she whispered, her own voice trembling.
He nodded and signed, “We should end this. But if you’re near me, I may not be able to resist.”
She smiled and buried her head into the crook of his shoulder, pressing kisses to his neck and jawline. For his part, he just kept tracing the line of her body, writing the words “I love you, I love you, I love you,” into her skin.
And knowing he could never write or sign them to her in a way she would understand.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte came down the stairs into the foyer that next morning, feeling like everyone would see that she’d only had a scant few hours of sleep the night before. And those hours had been split up by lovemaking with the very handsome duke who now stood waiting for her.
Unlike her, he looked entirely put together. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair pulled away from his face, his cravat was perfectly tied and his waistcoat was flawless. When he saw her, his face lit up and her entire world stopped spinning.
“Good morning,” he signed, and then gave her a wink. “Again.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his cheeky welcome. After all, she’d only just left his bed a little more than an hour before. Her first good morning had been begun much more sensually.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with an equally playful curtsey that made his smile widen. It was these moments more than any other that made her long for the future he insisted couldn’t be. The moments when the connection between them was easy.
He offered her an elbow and they opened the door and stepped onto the front landing together. It was a chilly morning, but there was no rain to mar their view of the road. And on that road came two carriages, thundering up the lane, moments from their final arrival.
Charlotte’s heart sank, though she would be very happy to see her mother and brother after more than a month away from London.
Still, she knew she had to say one thing to Ewan before propriety meant they had to be careful. Prudent. She faced him slightly and whispered, “I’m not sorry.”
He jerked his face toward her, and as the carriages stopped, he signed, “Neither am I.”
She allowed herself one last sad smile at him and then turned her attention to the carriages. The footmen hurried to open the door of the front of first and Charlotte released Ewan’s arm with a little cry before she raced down toward her mother. The Duchess of Sheffield stepped onto the drive with her arms already open and Charlotte flew into them.
“My love, my love, how wonderful to see you!” the duchess cooed as she pressed a kiss to each of Charlotte’s cheeks. “My, I’d forgotten how beautiful you are in color, my dear. You positively glow.”
Charlotte detangled herself from her mother’s arms and turned toward her brother. Baldwin was often seen as stern, very proper, which stood out in his group of rowdy, popular and sometimes wild friends. But Charlotte knew him. She knew his warmth and kindness, and she felt all of that directed to her as he embraced her.
“Mother is right, you glow,” he whispered against her hair. “Happy Christmas, Charlotte.”
She pulled away and caught a glimpse of trouble on Baldwin’s face, but he turned aside before she could comment on it, and their family group moved toward Ewan’s. Charlotte smiled, and how could she not with the happy scene before her? Ewan’s aunt, the Duchess of Tyndale, had Ewan’s cheeks in her gloved hands and was saying, “Great Lord, but you should shave, my love.”
Ewan shook his head with an amused smile and slung his arm around his cousin Matthew. Charlotte let out a happy sigh. It was always good to see him with his friends, but none more than Matthew. Tyndale and Donburrow were like brothers, though Tyndale was half a head shorter and dark where Ewan was fair.
“Charlotte,” Matthew said, shrugging off Ewan’s arm and coming toward her. He caught her hands and lifted one to his lips for a gentlemanly greeting. “Poor girl, stuck alone with this one for three days.”
She laughed at his teasing, though she couldn’t help but see the flicker of pain in his gaze. The one that had been there for years. The one caused by loss that she could not fathom. “We survived.”
The Duchess of Tyndale, who everyone in their group had called Aunt Mary for as long as she could recall, stepped up and kissed her cheek. “You do look lovely, my dear. Oh, we are so pleased to be here at last!” She lifted a hand as Ewan grabbed for his notebook. “The inn was fine, Ewan, you do not have to write me apologies for the accommodation. We all simply wanted to be here. And here we are now.”
Smith was standing in the foyer as the group piled in and said his welcomes as he took all the coats and gloves and fantastic hats of the duchesses. Their group was all talking at once, but Smith seemed undisturbed, nodding and replying when it was warranted.
“Does anyone want tea?” Charlotte said above the cacophony at last. Ewan sent her a grateful look that she had taken over as hostess, though everyone knew it was likely his aunt’s place more than hers. Aunt Mary didn’t seem to mind, though, for she sent Charlotte a friendly look. “I realize it is early, but a warm drink could cut the chill.”
“I would very much like some tea,” Charlotte’s mother said as she linked arms with Baldwin.
That sent them all toward the parlor, still talking as a group. Charlotte let them go and finally she and Ewan were last. She looked up at him and then reached out a hand. He tucked it into the crook of his elbow and led her behind the rest.
She stepped into the parlor and began to pour tea. Her mother and Aunt Mary helped and soon everyone had a drink and a place. Ewan was seated between the two duchesses, scribbling madly in his notebook as they peppered him with questions. Matthew sat on the other side of his mother, leaning back with a smug grin that probably meant he had been the center of attention for the past few days and was happy to give it up.
Which left Baldwin standing at the sideboard with Charlotte. He held a plate as Charlotte piled cakes onto it with a pair of silver tongs. She felt him watching her as she did so.
“Have something to say?” she asked, looking up with a smile.
He shrugged. “Should I?”
Her heart stuttered. She and Baldwin had always been close, though perhaps not as bonded as Meg and her brother James, the Duke of Abernathe, were. Still, he was able to see through her. Even when it came to subjects they never discussed openly.
“There’s nothing to say,” she insisted,
ducking her gaze back to the plate and piling two more cakes onto the precarious pile.
He let out a small breath, almost a sound of frustration, and looked over his shoulder. “You’ve spent three days alone with Ewan.”
She set the tongs aside and followed his gaze to Ewan. He wasn’t looking at her, and she shivered at just the look of him.
“We’re old friends,” she said at last. “It was…fine.”
Baldwin’s brow wrinkled and his gaze softened with tenderness that touched her heart. “Sweetest Charlotte,” he whispered, “Don’t think I’m not aware of your heart. Are you truly well?”
She swallowed hard. Ewan was one of those subjects they’d never discussed. She’d always thought she covered her love for him very well, but Baldwin’s knowing stare challenged that belief entirely.
She turned her face. “I’m fine,” she reiterated. “And what of you? Are you well?”
His hesitation was answer enough, but he shrugged. “Of course I’m well.”
She arched a brow. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
He gave her a half smile. “Nor I, you,” he returned. “Aren’t we a pair?”
She reached up to touch his cheek briefly. “Indeed, we are.” She searched his gaze, still finding that trouble she’d seen earlier. The trouble that worried her so, even in the midst of her own situation with Ewan. “Will it be all right?”
He nodded slowly. “I certainly hope so.”
“Are you two bringing cakes or solving the problems of the world?” Matthew called out with a laugh that spread to the rest of the group.
“If Charlotte put her mind to it, I’m certain she could solve anything,” Baldwin said with another soft smile in her direction before he took the plate of cakes and set it in the middle of the table set between all the chairs. “I, on the other hand, can barely tie my own cravat.”
“That’s why you have a valet, my dear,” the Duchess of Sheffield said with a saucy wink for her son as he took his seat.
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