“I’ll wrap up the rest, shall I?” he asked, pointing to the pile of swords and dolls.
She nodded and moved to the counter area so she could give him the address for the bill later. Griffin took his time wrapping her items in paper, and as he did so, he said, “May I ask you a question, my lady?”
She shifted, for his tone made her uncomfortable. It was voyeuristic, crude even. “I suppose,” she responded, keeping her own voice cool and distant.
“I noted that you and the duke seemed to communicate in some kind of hand waving,” he said.
She stiffened. “We have a hand language, yes.”
“Very interesting. I don’t know if that is an improvement over his scribbling or not,” Griffin said, lifting his gaze to her. She felt it roll over her in a most inappropriate way.
She glared at him. “You may want to keep in mind to whom you are speaking.”
“Yes, I suppose I should. After all, it seems as though you two are very close.”
She frowned. “You are forgetting yourself, Mr. Griffin. My friendship with the Duke of Donburrow is really none of your concern.”
He handed over the bound parcel of her things with a snide smile. “Perhaps not. Still, one cannot help but take an interest.”
She lifted her chin, unwilling to spend even one more moment with the bastard before her. “Send the bill to His Grace’s man of affairs and they will forward it to me. Good day, sir.”
She turned on her heel and marched from the shop. She was pleased to be carrying a parcel so the nasty man couldn’t see her hands shaking as she walked away. The cool air from outside hit her and she sucked in the sharp bite of it, like she could clear her lungs of the dirtiness she’d felt inside.
Ewan was coming across the lane from his meeting and she settled her breath carefully. He smiled at her, and she knew in that moment that she would not tell him what had transpired in the shop. Having Mr. Griffin point out her connection to Ewan and worse, make a comment on Ewan’s mutism, was not going to make him happy. He would feel conspicuous every time he saw the man.
In addition, Ewan might create a scene on her behalf. That would only cause more talk and discomfort. So she brightened her face and her tone as he reached her. “Did you have enough time?”
He nodded as his driver came to take her parcels. Ewan signed, “I did. The arrangements have been made. Is there anything else you’d like to do before we head back?”
“No,” she said swiftly, forcing herself not to glance back at the store. “I think I have everything I need.”
His brow wrinkled, but he didn’t push the issue, just opened the carriage door and assisted her in. But as she settled back into her seat for the drive back to his home, she couldn’t help but feel that whatever had just happened at the shop was not completely resolved.
And that scared her even though she didn’t fully understand why.
Ewan stared at Charlotte, but she continued to look out the window. Under any other circumstance, he might have decided she was simply enjoying the view of his estate as they rode alone, or thinking about her holiday plans.
But there was something about the way she sat, the way her hands clenched in her lap, the way she seemed to abjectly avoid his stare that made him feel there was something more to her behavior. He leaned forward and hesitated.
She had not put her gloves back on after the shop. He had removed his, as well. When he touched her, it was going to be skin on skin, and that felt so very dangerous right now. It had been hours since he kissed her. Since he felt her body pressed against his. It felt like a lifetime, and he was starved for her taste on his lips, her warmth on his skin.
He drew a deep breath and caught her hand, desperate not to react to the electric connection that arced between them. His touch forced her to look at him, and it was clear from her dilated pupils that she was just as moved as he was by the physical connection they now shared.
“What is it?” he signed.
She tilted her head and a smile brightened her face. But this was Charlotte. He had made a life out of the study of her expressions and moods. This smile was not real. None of them had been real since the moment he left her in Griffin’s shop.
“What is what?” she asked. He tilted his head and held her stare, not signing, not demanding, just waiting. She huffed out her breath. “Gracious, don’t do that.”
“What?” he signed with a flick of his wrist.
“Read me like I’m a book in your library,” she said, tugging her hand from his. She smoothed her skirt. “I promise you, nothing is wrong.”
She was lying and it stung. It shouldn’t have. In truth, he shouldn’t be the place she took her troubles. He’d already told her why a future wasn’t possible for them. To demand that she give him something as deep as her pain wasn’t fair now.
But he still wanted it, damn him. He still wanted to be the place where she rested her head or whispered her secrets. He never wanted her to take those things someplace else. To someone else.
“Did Griffin say something to you?” he signed slowly. Her gaze darted away and it answered his question. He sat back, quiet a moment before he carefully spelled out, “When my father took me here years ago, back before the abandonment, he’d take me to Griffin’s shop. They’d talk about me like I wasn’t there.”
She shut her eyes and a shudder went through her. Not of pain, though. Not of embarrassment. No, when she opened her eyes, there was only one emotion there: rage. She was angry.
“I wouldn’t have spent a farthing there if I’d known,” she snapped, folding her arms. “Awful man.”
He shrugged. “His shop gives a job to two men in my shire.”
“And that makes his horrible behavior acceptable?” she asked.
He scrubbed a hand over his face before he signed, “My job as duke is to protect those in my care. What would you have me do, march into his shop and destroy his merchandise? Raise his rent until he had to go?”
There was a wicked twist of her lips for a moment. “He’d deserve no less.”
He felt his cheeks burn as he signed, “I don’t know what he said to you about me to get you so vengeful on my behalf, but I’m accustomed to it, Charlotte.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she whispered.
“But I am.” He leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. “You prove my point by despising him. If you had a life with me, I can well picture you’d spend it slaying dragons on my behalf. You’d hate me for it after a while.”
He began to draw away, but she caught both his hands and kept him on the edge of his seat. She scooted forward too so they were face to face. Nose to nose.
“Ewan, if I had a life with you, I would gladly live it slaying your dragons. I would expect you to slay mine. Ask James and Emma or Simon and Meg or Graham and Adelaide—I think they would say that is what love is.”
He shut his eyes, as if he could block her out that way. But he couldn’t. She was tenacious, as always, and she kept talking.
“You want to pretend that I don’t love you. Or think that if you refuse to accept it that it will hurt me less. But look at me.”
He slowly opened his eyes. Hers were filled with unshed tears and his stomach turned at the sight. He shook away her hands. “I don’t want to cause you pain.”
“Then let me love you,” she whispered. “Take a chance that love won’t be anything like what you experienced in your past. Give me the credit that I could be better. That we could be better.”
His head spun. She was saying things that he wanted to surrender to.
“You don’t have to answer me,” she said, tracing his cheek with her fingertips. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But I hope you’ll think about what I’m saying. Really consider what I’m offering and what you are so easily throwing away.”
He wanted to argue that nothing about this was easy, but she didn’t allow it. She leaned forward and kissed him. It was deep
, passionate, and his mind emptied as he caught her waist and pulled her even closer, almost off the seat. She tilted her head, granting him all the access he could want, making soft sounds of pleasure in her throat as their tongues tangled.
He wanted to take it further. To draw her into his lap and claim her body as he kept telling himself he couldn’t claim her heart. But the carriage slowed and stopped, and he pulled back to find they had arrived at his home.
She smiled again, but this time there was nothing false about it. She touched his cheek once more and slid back into place, like they’d never done anything inappropriate, like everything was fine and normal.
But it wasn’t. He knew it. She knew it. The time they’d spent alone together had changed everything, no matter how he’d tried to convince himself that he could ensure it didn’t. Now he just had to decide what to do about it.
Before it was too late.
Chapter Fourteen
Ewan sat back, watching as Charlotte and her mother sprinkled oil and wine on the massive yule log that had been brought into the house under great fanfare just after Christmas Eve supper had ended. As the two women leaned in at once, they knocked heads, to the uproarious laughter of the rest of the group.
“Oh, we are not good choices for this job!” Charlotte giggled as she shot Ewan a look and rubbed her head. “Gracious, Ewan, children could do better.”
“So long as you two don’t manage the lighting and burn the house down, I think we are fine,” Baldwin teased as he ladled another cup of Christmas punch into his glass. “But perhaps give Matthew and Aunt Mary the salt to finish the garnishing.”
The Duchess of Sheffield nodded and wrapped her arm around her daughter as the two of them made their way back to Baldwin, giggling and whispering with every step. Ewan’s heart swelled at the sight of Charlotte so happy, so carefree. He hadn’t been certain it would be like that after their trip to the village and the tense and passionate ride home.
But in the hours since, she had placed no pressure upon him. She’d left him to his friends until supper, where she’d participated in conversation and even translated so he did not have to bring out his notebook during the meal. And now she caught Baldwin’s hands and tried to encourage him to dance as their mother began to play a lively tune as the yule log preparations were finished by Ewan’s aunt and cousin.
No, she said and did nothing to make her case…except be exactly who she was. Except make him smile and free his heart from the chains he’d felt bind it all his life. All she did was draw him in with her playful, light spirit that made everything seem…perfect.
She had made her last stand in the carriage. He understood that now. She had reiterated what she wanted, and now the future was left to him. A future he had told himself for years that he could not have. And yet as she spun, making even serious Baldwin laugh at her merriment, he wanted that future more than anything in this world.
More to the point, he felt he deserved it, perhaps for the first time ever. Charlotte was an impeccable judge of character, so she would never offer her heart to a man unworthy of it.
He sighed as Aunt Mary and Matthew finished salting the yule log. They stepped back and his aunt motioned for him.
“I think we’ve seasoned it enough. Your Grace, will you do us the honor of lighting our way?”
Ewan nodded and stepped forward. He moved to light the log, but before he could, Aunt Mary touched his arm. The Duchess of Sheffield stopped playing and Charlotte and Baldwin moved toward the family.
“My love, despite holding your title for three long years, this is your first Christmas in this home, and I have one gift for you tonight.” She picked up a small, prettily stitched bag from a nearby table, and from it she withdrew three shards of burned wood.
“What is it?” Ewan signed, and Charlotte stepped even closer to translate his words for the rest.
Sudden tears filled Aunt Mary’s eyes. “Tradition says that we light the yule log with the remnants of the previous year’s offering. But these are not from last year’s lighting.” She took a ragged breath. “These are from your uncle’s final Christmas.”
Ewan stared at the three little scraps of wood and then up to her face. He didn’t sign nor write anything. It seemed he didn’t have to.
Mary touched his arm. “He was so ill then, I knew we had so very little time left. So I saved shards for yours and for Matthew’s fire, as well. If he ever…” She cast an apologetic look toward her son. “If you ever feel ready to wed, my love, you and your bride can start your holiday with these, as well. Or whenever you would like them.”
Matthew moved forward. To Ewan’s surprise, his cousin’s eyes were misted with tears. He slung an arm around Ewan, and together they reached out to touch those remnants, little pieces of the life they had lost and all still mourned.
Ewan nodded and took the pieces. He signed, “Thank you. Thank you.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath, her voice thick with tears. “He says—”
“I know what he says, dearest,” Mary said as she lifted to her tiptoes to buss Ewan’s cheek. “I know.”
He returned the kiss, then stepped forward with the shards in hands. Carefully, he used them to light the yule log. Everyone watched as the flames took hold, and suddenly the log flared forth, brightening and warming the room almost instantly. As the rest of them oohed and ahhed, Ewan glanced at Charlotte once more. She was wiping her eyes, smiling and weeping at once. Her face reflected all he felt inside. In this height of emotion, he felt a draw to her. A need to reach for her hand.
And it was rising with every moment. He squeezed Matthew’s shoulder and his aunt’s hand, then held up a finger to say he needed a moment. He slipped from the room, feeling their eyes upon him. Knowing he should explain. That what he was doing was abominably rude. Not caring in that moment. Not able to care because his emotions were bubbling and there would come a moment when he would be unable to hide them.
He pushed through the halls, blind to everything around him and into his study. He shut the door behind him as he moved to his desk. There he leaned, trying to catch his breath, trying to regain control over himself.
There was a light knock behind him and he turned, ready to see Charlotte standing there. Ready for her to push him over the precipice he was so delicately balanced on now.
But it wasn’t her. It was his aunt. She met his eyes, and in her soft gaze he saw every time she had tended his wounds, physical or something deeper. He saw every time she had spoken kindly to him, or helped him communicate when he was frustrated by his inability to do what came so naturally to everyone else. She was his mother, really—far more than the one who had born him and abandoned him when her husband gave the order.
She shut the door behind herself and motioned him to the fire. He hesitated, then trudged over to join her there. As he settled into his place, she took his hand. “Did I go too far?” she asked. “With the yule log?”
He shook his head swiftly and dug into his pocket. He scribbled, “No! That was the most meaningful gift you could have ever given me. I will always know that this house’s yule log is watched over by my uncle. Thank you so very much.”
She sighed, almost in relief, and then her hawkish gaze speared him again. “Very well, then it is not the high emotion of the gift.”
“It?” he wrote, though he knew full well to what she referred.
She speared him with a glance he knew far too well. The look she’d given him if she suspected him of lying and was ready to demand the truth. He’d seen it a dozen times as a boy and he’d never been very good at keeping things from her. But in this case, the truth was more complicated.
“Ever since we arrived this morning, you have been on edge,” she said. “I know you, my darling. I can see that you are troubled. I can guess why, but I think it would be better if you told me.”
He let out his breath gently. Aunt Mary was a force of nature, undeniable when she struck on a subject she
intended to pursue. There was no use even trying to refuse her the truth now. In the end, she would get it.
He wrote, “Charlotte.”
She was silent a long moment, and then she nodded. “I have always known how you held her in your heart. When she married, I watched you shrink a little. I wondered why you let her go then.”
He shrugged and wrote, “The same reason why I know I must let her go now.”
Aunt Mary’s lips pursed. “And why is that?” He tilted his head and motioned to his throat. Her eyes narrowed. “Your mutism?”
He nodded.
“That is utterly ridiculous, Ewan, and you know it,” she snapped. “I’ve known Charlotte as long as you have and she, above all others, has never shown any indication that your issue is a problem for her.”
“It isn’t,” he scribbled. “If we could live in a bubble in this house, as we have for the past few days, there would be no issue. But we can’t, can we? I couldn’t do that to her, the social butterfly. She would have to endure exactly what you and Uncle Aldous and Matthew have all these years.”
She read his words and looked at him in confusion. “And what exactly do you think we’ve endured?”
“The whispers,” he scribbled, his normally neat handwriting now jerky with emotion and hard to decipher. “The censure. The questions about my fitness. The battles to have me granted any acceptance whatsoever. Charlotte would face the same.”
“You think that is what we endured?” his aunt whispered. “Dear God, Ewan, we were happy to have you. If your uncle or your cousin or I fought battles on your behalf, that was a pleasure. That was done out of nothing but love for you. You know that in your heart.” She grabbed for his hands and held his stare. “What is it really that keeps you from taking the life that you could have with Charlotte?”
Emotion swelled in him like it had when he saw the shards of his uncle’s last yule log. He withdrew his hands from hers and wrote the words he’d signed to Charlotte. He wrote his deepest fear in black and white and shoved it over to her as he got up and paced away.
The Silent Duke Page 13
