Chapter Twenty
Charlotte closed her eyes as her mother ran the brush through her hair to finish out the hundred strokes. The Duchess of Sheffield had dismissed the maid and been the one to help Charlotte into her night rail and make her preparations for bed. It felt a little like she was eight again, though she didn’t complain, especially when she smiled up at her and saw her mother’s lingering fear. After this day, she understood it and the duchess’s need to be a little closer.
Once they had arrived home, it had been that way with everyone. They’d shared a quiet coming together of a loving family, counting its blessings in recognition of what they could have so easily lost.
“I’m perfectly fine, Mama,” she reassured her with a squeeze of her hand. “I promise you.”
Her mother traced the mark of a bruise that marred Charlotte’s cheek, and her frown deepened. “We were so close to losing you. You and Ewan both. I cannot imagine how afraid you must have been. I should have known something was wrong, I should have—”
“Oh, Mama,” Charlotte soothed as she got to her feet and embraced her mother. “There is nothing you could have done. Josiah was a troubled man. At least he is at peace now.”
Her mother’s face twisted. “Peace he does not deserve. And I cannot believe Ewan consented to have his other brother released from responsibility for this near-tragedy.”
Charlotte sighed. “That was my idea, Mama. Roger could have killed me, but in the end he turned against all that hate and did the right thing. He and the Duchess of Donburrow will face enough censure as this story circulates. They will suffer for whatever their roles were.”
“You are too good,” her mother said. She walked with Charlotte to her bed and smoothed the covers back. Charlotte smiled at the gesture and climbed into the cool covers her mother tucked her in like she had when she was as child.
“Should I stay with you tonight?” she asked.
Charlotte touched her mother’s cheek gently. “Thank you, Mama, but no. I promise you I’ll be fine.”
She sighed. “Very well. Goodnight, my love.” She leaned in to kiss Charlotte’s cheek and then turned to go. When she reached the door, she stopped. “I’d forgotten.”
Charlotte wrinkled her brow. “Forgotten what, Mama?”
Her mother returned, digging around in her pocket. She withdrew an item wrapped in tissue. “After Ewan left Mr. Griffin’s shop and before Matthew took me away, that nasty, horrid man gave me this.”
Charlotte took the parcel and unwrapped it. It was the silver notebook she had purchased for Ewan the day before. “He didn’t engrave it,” she murmured as she traced the smooth back. “Of course he didn’t. He knew all along it would be used as bait to get me and Ewan to his shop for Josiah’s plans.”
“He’ll never show his face in this village again,” the duchess said with a sniff. “And I will work to ensure he never works in a good shop again. Will you give it to Ewan?”
Charlotte turned the item over and looked at the beautifully carved front. “I think so, yes,” she said. “Not right now.”
Right now she wasn’t sure where she stood with him. They’d remained side by side, facing the consequences of all that had happened that day. He’d stayed close to her at supper and afterward. But there was something about the way he watched her…she wasn’t certain what it meant.
And all her bravado about facing his rejection now felt flat. She’d been through too much to have him tell her he wouldn’t allow her love once again. Perhaps she would do it later. When she didn’t feel so…raw.
Her mother kissed her forehead this time and then moved to the door. She said her goodnights one last time and closed the door behind her, leaving Charlotte alone.
She lay in the bed for a moment, just staring at the notebook. She was about to lean over and blow out her candle when there was a knock at her door. She pursed her lips. She appreciated her mother’s care, but in this moment, she really wanted to be alone.
She pushed out of the bed and moved to the door. As she flung it open, she said, “Did you forget something, Mama?”
But the person she revealed on the other side was not her mother. It was Ewan. Ewan with his shirt undone, his boots long gone. Ewan staring down at her, his dark eyes sliding over her like he wasn’t certain she was real.
Ewan, so beautiful and perfect and here and hers.
“I thought she’d never leave,” he signed as he pushed into the room, gathering her into his arms.
She clung to him, lifting into his kiss as he kicked the door shut behind him. She didn’t say a word as he backed her to the bed, lay her down on the pillows, stripped off his shirt before he joined her.
His mouth was hungry on hers. It was possessive in a way that went far deeper than any time he’d claimed her before. It was desperate. But she was equally so. After all, she had watched as Ewan was threatened. Even knowing Josiah’s gun had no ammunition hadn’t quelled her fear. Anything could have happened. She could have lost him.
So she pushed aside her doubt now. Pushed aside her questions and her fears and she surrendered to this man she loved as his hands began to roam over her body. He touched every inch of her exposed skin, his fingertips dancing over her with tenderness and care.
He caught her nightgown strap and dragged it down, breaking their kiss at last to trace the path of her gown, tasting her skin like he was a starving man. Her nightgown drooped and he tugged it over her breasts, latching onto her nipple and sucking and swirling his tongue until she was incoherent with pleasure.
He shifted over her, drawing the rest of her nightgown down around her waist between them. He traced the curves of her breasts as he signed, “Beautiful.”
“So are you,” she whispered, trailing her hands down his bare chest, looping her fingers into his trouser waist as she fought to unhook the placard that kept him from being naked with her.
He smiled and pushed from the bed. His gaze never left her as he unfastened the placard, letting his cock come free. She sat partially up, licking her lips, her body tingling with need. But not just need to have him inside of her. There was something deeper there. A desire to reconnect with a person she might have lost that day.
He shoved his trousers away and she beckoned him back to her. He joined her again, but this time lay on his back. She shifted over him as she kicked her nightgown away. She straddled his hips, pressing his cock between her legs without allowing it to penetrate. Then she leaned over him, her hair falling over them as she kissed him deeper, surrendering her everything with just a brush of lips and a murmur of his name.
He cupped the back of her head, gentle as his fingers threaded into her hair. They kissed like that forever, like they had a lifetime even though she knew that lifetime wasn’t promised yet. Perhaps would never be.
She shoved the thought from her mind and worked her body over him, reaching between them to slide the head of him to her entrance. He pulled back with a deep breath as she slowly took him. Inch by inch, moment by moment, deeper and deeper until he was seated fully inside of her and there was nothing between them anymore.
She met his gaze, holding there as she began to slowly ride him. His hands moved up to grip her hips, slid around to cup her backside as she rolled over him in deep, circling waves. Every one awoke a deeper pleasure in her. Every one took her to her brink, then back again. She was in no hurry, not even as the pleasure built and built. Today had shown her that any moment could be the last.
So she intended to savor every single one until he allowed her no more. He lifted beneath her, plunging deeper with each thrust. And he watched her intently, marking every moment of her pleasure and her release like it meant just as much to him as it did to her.
She wanted to tell him she loved him as her orgasm began, she wanted to scream it out in the quiet room and make it a part of what was between them in this beautiful, sacred moment. But she held back, afraid to break the spell, afraid to push him away wh
en she needed him so close.
So she simply moaned out her pleasure, whimpered his name, sighed jumbled, meaningless sounds of utter release as the orgasm went on and on and on.
When she was spent, she collapsed against his chest, her body still clenching, gripping him with the last vestiges of her pleasure. He rolled with her, then, covering her as he cupped the back of her knee and lifted her leg high against his side.
He thrust hard, deep, his neck straining as he stroked through her in perfect time. Her body quaked on, brought back to the heights of release as he took her and edged toward his own. At last he flung his head back, a silent cry as his lips parted.
He withdrew and spent between them, then gathered her close and held her in the gathering dark of her dying fire. Held her against him as she buried her face into his chest and wished, prayed and hoped that she wouldn’t ever have to walk away from this man again.
Knowing that those sweet dreams might never be realized, no matter how much he cared.
Ewan sat up against the headrest of Charlotte’s bed. She was cuddled into his chest and he smoothed his fingers through her silky hair. In the firelight, he could see half her face. The half that was marred by bruises caused by Josiah just hours ago.
His stomach clenched as he relived those awful moments over and over again. He would likely relive them in some form for the rest of his life.
He stirred and she stiffened, lifting her head. “You aren’t going to leave, are you?”
He shook his head and motioned to the candle. It had burned down while they made love, extinguished itself from some draft. He relit it with the flint. As he moved to set the item down, he caught sight of something else on the bedside table. A silver notebook, set on top of a folded piece of tissue.
He reached for it, touching the finely carved surface with his fingertip before he looked in question at Charlotte.
She shifted. “It was a final gift,” she said. “What I went into town to fetch before…”
She trailed off and her gaze darted away. He drew the gift closer and let it sit in his palm. It was a perfect weight. Always easy to find in a pocket, never so heavy that it would make his clothing hang wrong.
He turned it over and smoothed his hand over the flat back of the notebook. “It’s lovely,” he signed to her. “May I open it?”
She sat up partially, propping herself on her elbow to watch him do so. When he opened it, a piece of folded paper fell out on the bed between them.
“What’s this?” he signed as he moved for it.
She was quicker, snatching it away with a blush. “It’s nothing.”
He arched a brow. Charlotte didn’t normally hide things from him. To have her do so after today made his stomach flutter with feelings he did not like. Didn’t want to name.
“What is it?” he repeated slowly, taking care as he signed each word.
She ducked her head. “I imagine it must be what I asked Mr. Griffin to engrave on the back,” she admitted. “Only he didn’t.”
Ewan swallowed hard, then slowly extended his hand. She sighed and passed the paper over. He unfolded it and found just two lines written in Charlotte’s neat, feminine hand:
My love for you has never and shall never change. With all I am or shall ever be, C
He caught his breath at that simple sentiment that burned to the very core of him. He slowly lifted his gaze and found she wasn’t looking at him, but worrying a loose thread on her coverlet. He touched her chin and she looked up at last.
“You didn’t want me to see this,” he signed, his throat thick as he did so. “Have your sentiments changed?”
He couldn’t blame her if they had. After all she’d been through thanks to him? Not just today, but for a very long time. Her reaching for him while he withdrew…he could imagine that it had hurt her very deeply, even if she understood his reticence.
And maybe he’d gone too far.
She caught her breath. “Of course not,” she whispered. “Ewan, that is exactly how I feel. I only…I didn’t want to show it to you tonight.”
“Why?” he asked.
She sighed deeply. “Because I am not in a good place to hear you explain to me why what I feel is wrong. I’m not equipped to fight for you as I should fight for you.”
He frowned. Fight for him? Oh yes, she had done that over the years. Never harder than in those short, magical days when they had been alone together. She fought for him, nearly died for him.
And now she feared he would disregard all of that. Because he had proven that he would.
He ducked his head, ashamed of his reticence. She drew a breath, and the sound made him look at her again. She had lifted her chin, all the bravery back on her face.
“But perhaps I have it in me yet,” she murmured, he thought more to herself. “I know you fear the risks in our being together, Ewan. I recognize the valid worries you have. But in the end, isn’t all life a risk? Right now Emma and James are waiting to meet their first child. It will very likely go right, but it could go wrong, and in far worse ways than however you judge your own birth.”
He moved to sign, but she caught his hands.
“Let me finish,” she asked. “Today we faced something I never thought we would. I saw a glimpse of a future where we would be parted with the kind of permanence that makes my heart break. If nearly losing each other shows you anything, I hope it is that we must take what we can in the moment we can. Regret is a terrible bedfellow.”
He pushed her hands away from his gently, freeing him to sign, “Are you ready for me to talk now?”
She laughed, though the sound was nervous. “I suppose so.”
“I know I’ve never proven to you that I could take the risk you describe. I’ve shown you the opposite, too many times. But I knew a fundamental fact long before I stumbled into the lodge and found my brother with a gun at your temple.”
Her eyes were almost impossibly wide and the green had darkened considerably as she whispered, “And what fact is that?”
“That I love you, Charlotte Maria Penelope Undercross.” As he spelled out every letter of her name, he watched her face crumple, but the tears that filled her eyes were ones of joy, for her smile broadened. “I have loved you for so long, I don’t recall what it was like not to love you. I think this isn’t a surprise to you.”
“I hoped,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she wiped tears from her cheeks.
“I let you go all those years ago,” he signed, “in the hopes that I could save you from what and who I am.” She flinched, and he rushed to continue, “But what I have swiftly realized is that you have saved me, with all that you are.”
She shook her head. “What are you saying, Ewan? Because your love means everything to me, but not if it comes with a but.”
“No buts,” he signed before he threaded a lock of hair away from her face. “Not this time. I know I’ve made a muck of things by holding back with you. By denying myself in some twisted thought that I could make it easier for you. I will never do that again. I want to spend my life with you. And I knew that even before you left the house this morning. I intended to tell you these things long before my family tried to destroy us.”
The tears were streaming down her face now and her voice trembled. “You want to spend your life with me?” she repeated.
“If you want me,” he signed. “If you’ll marry me.”
She launched herself at him, her arms coming around his neck, her lips finding his even as she said, “Yes, yes!” The words were muffled, then silenced as he drew her over him and deepened that kiss.
His tears slid down his face, merging and mingling with hers as he now knew they would do for the rest of their lives. The happy ones and the sad ones.
Because she was his, and he was forever hers. And as he claimed her body, the joy that filled him changed him. He had never been so happy to think of his future and leave his past behind.
Epilogu
e
Two weeks later, London
“I’m fairly certain you have usurped a certain order,” Graham Everly, Duke of Northfield said as he raised his glass toward Ewan with a laugh. “Adelaide and I are getting married in two weeks, and here you and Charlotte show up with your lives united already.”
The group as a whole laughed even as Simon Greene, Duke of Crestwood, said, “Not quite a toast, Northfield.”
“Then let me try,” said James Rylon, Duke of Abernathe and unofficial leader of their group. He rose, patting the hand of his very pregnant wife, Emma.
Ewan gripped Charlotte’s gently, still loving to stroke his thumb over the band on her left hand that reminded him she was his.
“A life is led in many parts,” James began, and the crowd of dukes and duchesses—which also included Ewan’s cousin and aunt, and Charlotte’s mother and brother—settled into silence. “There are befores and afters for us all, good and bad.” He looked around the room. “May the after that you and Charlotte share contain nothing but the happiest of days and nights. And may any pains of the befores be left behind you, lived and learned from. To Charlotte and Ewan.”
“To Charlotte and Ewan,” the group said as a whole, glasses lifting to celebrate their marriage.
“Now,” Meg, Simon’s wife, said as she squeezed his hand and hurried to the sideboard. “Who would like some cake?”
Adelaide moved to help her and the others began to buzz into conversation. Charlotte smiled at Ewan and drew him away from the group, back into a corner of a room. She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead and whispered, “Are you happy?”
He wrinkled his brow and then leaned forward to rest it on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment their breath was all that passed between them. But then she looked at him and he signed, “You are mine. I am happier than I deserve to be.”
The Silent Duke Page 19
