The Grace of a Duke (4 page)

Chapter 5

Lady Charlotte Attempts Seduction

The distant sound of cracking and splintering wood and
was that glass breaking?
pulled Joshua from a dream-filled sleep. He laid for a moment, listening and wondering about what could have made such a sound, especially one that was louder than the sound of the wind battering the trees just beyond the room’s windows. A sound from closer drew his attention, though, and he concentrated on it. Mewling, from a frightened cat or ... a
woman?
Rain pelted the bedchamber windows, and, for an instant, a flash of lightning turned the room white. The mewling, sounding very close, turned into a cry of fear. His senses at full alert, he sprang from his bed and moved toward the source of the sound, realizing almost immediately that his dressing gown was nowhere near and he was nude. A boom of thunder sounded from far away. He surveyed his room in the darkness, another flash of lighting illuminating the shape of a person, a woman, he realized. “Who is there?” he asked, the sound of his voice louder than he intended. In the light from the next lightning strike, he made out the identity of his visitor. It was Charlotte, her hands covering her ears, her eyes squeezed shut. The whimpering sounds increased to a cry as the sound of booming thunder filled the room.

Joshua moved quickly to her, positioning himself so that his nakedness wouldn’t be so apparent if she opened her eyes. “Charlotte?” he whispered, wanting to reach out and cover her mouth so as to silence her cries. Should a servant hear her and come to his room to investigate and find her here, she would be ruined. But he calmed himself on the thought that there would be no servants prowling the halls this time of the night, and Garret would be in his room, on the other side of the guest bedchamber that Charlotte should be in this very instant. That, and the sounds of the wind and the rain that now pelted the windows, allowed him to put his concern for Charlotte’s reputation aside as he now tried to determine what was causing her distress.

“I apologize, Your Grace,” the Charlotte said between sobs. “I am ... so frightened.” White light filled the room, and she practically screamed again.

“Lady Charlotte,” he whispered, finally taking her in his arms and pulling her against the front of his body. He almost regretted the move; the scent of woman invaded his nostrils. The feel of her satiny dressing gown caressed his skin. Her hair, a mass of loose blonde waves, gave off the scent of jasmine, and he fought the urge to bury his nose in the silken threads. Her hands suddenly wrapped around his body and pressed into his back as the side of her face pressed against his neck and shoulder. He felt the warmth of her body, felt the wetness of her tears, felt her trembling and heard her quieting sobs. “Whatever is wrong?” he queried, his hands moving to the middle of her back, holding her hard against him so she wouldn’t be able to see his scars. Or his nakedness.

The room filled with light again and the sound of rolling thunder followed immediately. Charlotte’s arms tightened around his back as she cried out again. “Please, don’t make me leave,” she whispered, her tears leaving moist trails on the front of his chest.  

Her heart pounded a tattoo that Joshua felt down to his core. She is scared to death, he realized, feeling the trembles of her body beneath his hands. “Shh,” he replied, not sure what he could say to assuage her fear. Very aware of the curves of her body pressed against him, he felt his loins tighten and fought to keep control of himself. If he stood there holding her for one minute longer, she would find herself even more frightened ...
of me,
he thought.

Leaving one arm firmly against the small of her back, he bent down and captured the back of her knees with his other arm, lifting her and taking her to the bed. A wisp of a thing, he considered, trying not to notice that her dressing gown was no longer completely closed around her waist and what she wore beneath was shiny and slippery and clung to her body like a glove. He lowered her onto the bed and lay down, quickly covering his body with the bed linens in an attempt to keep his nakedness hidden in the event another lightning flash lit the room. He also wanted to ensure she ended up on his unscarred side. She was clinging to that side of his body even before he could cover himself completely. Settling his head into his pillow, he was aware of her entire body trembling along the side of his body, aware of her hammering heartbeats through the smooth satin of her gown, aware of the scent of her as he wrapped his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her head to rest in the hollow of his shoulder. And he tried not to think of her right breast resting against his chest or of her satin-clad leg that was slowly sliding between his legs as her pulse slowed and her breathing turned slight. And when her right leg came to rest between his legs, he found he could not ignore the fact that her hip was pressed quite firmly against his hardened manhood.

Sighing lightly so as to lessen the rise and fall of his chest, he considered the mental torture he was experiencing as a result of Charlotte Bingham. He
wanted
this woman, he realized. Had wanted her even when she was to be his brother’s wife. He could admit that to himself now. She was beautiful. She was educated. She was refined. And she conducted herself as if she was ...
a woman.
A woman much older than her twenty-one years, he decided.

How could that be?
he wondered.

Charlotte didn’t engage in chit-chat or spend her days deciding what frippery to buy on her next shopping trip. Her family was rarely the topic of gossip. Her charity was St. Bartholomew’s, a calling she took very seriously. There was an air of responsibility about her and yet a cloak of defeat, too, as if she’d taken on too much at one point in her life and found she could not live up to the expectations placed on her.

And she was frightened of something – besides lightning, he thought – or perhaps someone. 

He would have to ask her about that.

So why deny her the marriage she was so determined to have? If she has been training her entire life to be a duchess, then why not take her as my wife? he wondered to himself. She could be considered betrothed to him, even though he knew nothing of the particulars with regard to dowry or age or ...
details,
he considered suddenly. He’d have to dispatch Garrett to London to learn what he could about the Bingham family and the arrangements made so many years ago for a marriage between their daughter and the future Duke of Chichester. Charlotte had made it clear over dinner she had no wish to return to London; Joshua was left wondering where she would go if he didn’t offer hospitality at Wisborough Oaks.

Had her parents sent her here because she was almost old enough for the wedding to take place? It seemed odd that her mother or a relative hadn’t joined her for the trip from London. What parent would allow their daughter, who had not yet reached her majority, to travel over four hours by coach to a duke’s estate where, besides the servants, only men lived?

Questions about Lady Charlotte continued to mount in his mind, and although he might have found them puzzling, they were far more entertaining to consider than his aching wounds and the concerns of the duchy. He could just ask her the questions, he thought suddenly. Or, perhaps, if she were given enough time, she would offer the answers.

Joshua took a deep breath and sighed.

He would simply wait for Garrett to report back to him before he would make any rash decisions. And in the meantime, perhaps he could put Charlotte to work just a bit. Running the household was his least favorite task as a duke; if she had truly trained to be a duchess, she could take on the responsibilities of the house and surrounding lawn and gardens. Planning the menus, overseeing the cook’s food purchases, speaking with staff, giving the gardener guidance as to how the grounds should look for the summer,
and decorating that damned parlor,
he considered, remembering how every time the vicar’s sister attended a function at the estate, she mentioned how shabby the old salon had become.

In the meantime, he’d have to endure the other torture he found himself experiencing. His manhood was quite aware there was a nearly naked woman pressed against him. The pads of her right fingertips lay lightly on his chest and mounds of blonde curls tickled the skin around his shoulder. The slippery satin of her dressing gown, still wrapped mostly about her body, felt cool, almost sensual against the skin on the right side of his body, and he wondered for a moment how it would feel against his scarred left side. Although not many nerve endings had survived the trauma of being burned, those that did ached for something pleasant to feel, something smooth and soft and comforting.

As if Charlotte could read his thoughts, she straightened the arm that rested on his chest. Her fingers absently glided over the scars around his ribs and under his left arm, their soft caress sending a series of shivers through him. His breath caught, and she stirred, her head moving a bit and her fingers deliberately retracing the path that sent his skin trembling. He was about to place a hand over hers ... not quite sure if he wanted to still it or to hold it for the sake of ... touching her, he thought, his body still thrilling at the thought of her body pressed against his.

“Has it stopped?” she whispered, her head suddenly lifting a bit from his shoulder.

Joshua held his breath for a moment, thinking, God no, don’t stop, as the pleasurable frissons darted under his skin. He didn’t realize what she was asking until a dim glimmer from a far away lightning flash appeared in the window. “It’s almost passed over,” he whispered, his left arm moving to rest under the arm she had draped over his chest. “What ... frightened you?” he wondered, his head turning so hers was under his chin. The scent of jasmine wafted under his nostrils and he took a deep breath. If I marry her, I could have this scent under my nose every night for the rest of my life, some part of his mind reasoned.

Charlotte was so still he thought she might have gone to sleep, but her soft voice sounded again. “I saw a tree hit by a lightning bolt once. It burst apart ... pieces of it went everywhere,” she murmured, her head burying into him again. “And then the tree burned, and part of the stables burned, and one of our grooms died in the fire. His room was in the attic of the stables, and he couldn’t get out.”

Damn!
Joshua thought, suddenly understanding her fear as the thought of forever smelling jasmine flew from his brain. “Was anyone else hurt?” he whispered, his hold on her more protective as he turned his body just a bit toward hers. His cock was suddenly pressed against the satin over her belly. When she didn’t move away or otherwise react, Joshua took a deep breath. If he wasn’t careful, he might find himself taking her as his betrothed this very night, whether she truly wanted him as a husband or not.

“I don’t remember anyone else being burned,” Charlotte whispered, her voice sounding very far away. “But there were several who could not breathe very well for a long time.”

Smoke inhalation,
he thought, remembering all too clearly how his own lungs had burned while he tried in vain to get his sister out of her room and down the stairs and out the front door of the estate house. He hadn’t even noticed his burning clothes, his left side engulfed in flames as he descended the front steps. Before he passed out, from pain or from lack of oxygen, he knew not, he was aware of someone taking his lifeless sister from his arms and of someone else throwing him to the ground and covering him before intense pain and blackness surrounded him.

For four weeks, he was in and out of consciousness, only occasionally aware of someone in a room with him, and usually because severe pain or a fever or chills would awaken him.

“You were a very quiet patient.”

His thoughts suddenly pulled from the past, Joshua held his breath. He considered the words he’d just heard. “What did you say?” he asked, his hoarse whisper cracking a bit as a silent sob took his breath. My sister died in my arms that night, he remembered, wondering how long it had been since he’d thought of his futile attempt to save her. Despite the daily reminder of the fire that destroyed the estate house, every time I look in a mirror, he thought with derision, he tried not to think of what else had been lost besides half his face and the skin on his left side down to the top of his hip. Of
who
else had been lost. Because to think of the loss of his sister and mother filled him with a sense of despair and hopelessness that took days to overcome, and he could not afford the time to mourn their loss. Not now.

He didn’t know at the time that his sister had died in his arms that night. In fact, it was weeks before he discovered she had died and been buried in the family plot on the east end of the estate lands under a large evergreen oak tree.

And that a plot had been dug for him, as well.

“I said you were a very quiet patient,” Charlotte repeated, her voice still sounding far away.

The words finally penetrated his addled brain and he moved to lift his head from the pillow. “When ... when was this?” he replied, his voice sounding loud to his ears.

Charlotte tilted her head on his shoulder so he could more easily hear her. “When you were in hospital, recovering from your burns,” she replied sleepily. “They couldn’t care for you in Petworth. The doctor there had no experience with burns, so I arranged to have you moved to the one I worked at in Westminister.” She didn’t mention the doctor in Kirdford who had managed to keep him alive those first few days. The man had obviously had experience with burn patients, but his clinic’s medicine cabinet was woefully understocked; the morphine was gone after the second day.

Joshua considered what her words meant. He remembered the travel in the back of a wagon, remembered how a woman pleaded with the driver to be more careful in how he negotiated the rough road, for with every sudden movement, his body screamed in pain, and he would blackout for some amount of time. Blissful time, he thought, remembering that he felt no pain when he was out like that. But he was strung up in some kind of hammock that allowed for the worst of the bumps to simply sway him as the wagon made the agonizing trip to London.

“You did?” he replied, not remembering seeing her during his stay in the London hospital. Perhaps she was the woman who sat with him, gave him sips of water when he was somewhat conscious, spoke to him in quiet reassuring tones, read to him. He sniffed her hair again, the scent a gentle reminder.

“I wanted you to have the best chance to live,” she explained, knowing her reasons were as selfish as they were humanitarian. With his older brother dead, she could be his duchess; if he died before they wed, her father would simply arrange another marriage, only the next man would be an old decrepit earl still lacking an heir, like the Earl of Gisborn. She shuddered, so relieved her father was not this very minute pursuing her to force that marriage on her. Her mother had seen to that, she thought, somewhat thankful for what her mother had done but so very sorry it had come to such a horrible situation for her father.