The Runaway Duchess (11 page)

“You
are
laughing at me!” Charlotte cried. She stomped the heel of her boot
into the ground and crossed her arms. “You are impossible.”

“So
I have been told. Calm yourself,” he drawled. “I have no intention of doing
anything with you that would require a bedroom.”

Charlotte
blinked. “You – you do not?”

“I
do not. As I made clear from the beginning, I was in need of a lady wife. You
required a different husband. That was the bargain we agreed upon, nothing
more, nothing less. There is no need for us to know each other more than we do
now, intimately or otherwise.” He rubbed his chin, and even though a grin still
lingered on his lips his eyes had gone cold. “In fact, I think it would be a
complete waste of time.”

Even
though her feet were planted firmly beneath her, Charlotte felt as though she
were suddenly treading upon very uneven ground. “A complete waste of time? But…
we are married now.”

“I
know. I was there.”

Gavin
did not want to be intimate with her. He did not even want to get to
know
her.
Where was his emotion? His feelings? She certainly did not expect him to
profess his undying love for her on day one of their marriage, but surely some
hint of sentiment was not unwarranted, especially given their passionate,
albeit brief, history together.

Could
he have kissed her like a man starving and not felt anything?

Perhaps.

Perhaps
he kissed women like that all of the time and she was but one more in a long
line who now just so happened to be his wife. If that was the case then it was
better she come to terms with it now rather than later and dispose of any
affections she felt for him that would cause her heart ache in the future.

Loving
someone who returned your love was the definition of bliss. Loving someone more
than they loved you was the epitome of misery. It was a lesson she learned at
an early age by watching her parents interact with each other.

Her
father had curried Bettina’s favor until the day he died, begging for affection
with every word he spoke and every gesture he made. As a child she thought it
romantic and sweet and harmless. Now, faced with the cold slap of rejection,
she knew it was none of those things.

“Very
well.” Lifting her chin she met his gaze without flinching, having stood up to
her mother enough times to know how to stare a bully in the eye. “And may I ask
if you will be returning in the same carriage as Tabitha and I?”

“Yes.
Did you think I would travel separately?”

She
shrugged. “It seems I do not know what you think, nor do I care to.”
There
,
she thought with an inward toss of her head,
let him make what he wants of
that
.
“Please have my traveling trunk delivered to the inn, if you would be so kind.”

His
eyes narrowing, Gavin gave a short, clipped nod.

“I
will see you in the morning, then.” Gathering her skirts she turned to go. His
sudden grip on her arm detained her. “Yes?” she asked coldly.

He
stared at her for several moments, his gray eyes dark as storm clouds, before
he released her arm as abruptly as he had taken it. “Do not be late tomorrow.
We will be leaving at first light.”

“Yes,
you said that already. Is there anything else?”

“I…
No.” He shook his head. “No, there is nothing else.”

Pinching
her lips tightly together so as not to shout something at him she would soundly
regret later, Charlotte spun on her heel and walked briskly away without once
looking back.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As
Gavin watched Charlotte march away, he cursed himself for a fool ten times
over. He had not handled that well. Bloody hell, he had not handled
any
of
it well. In the end, he supposed it did not matter. She was now his wife and
the knife of tension that had been wedged in his back since the night of the
masquerade ball finally eased.

It
felt as though he had been living on pins and needles for the last three days
while he waited to see if Charlotte would be true to her word. He could have
hardly blamed her if she wasn’t. After all, he imagined he was not what a lady
of the
ton
dreamed of one day marrying. But she had been true, and they
were now husband and wife in the eyes of God and country.

Returning
to the blacksmith’s shop he handed the priest a bag of coins to pay for
services rendered and waited, jaw clenched with impatience, for the older man
to count them out one by tedious one.

“It’s
all here then,” he said at last. Smiling, he tucked the bag inside his robes
and rested his hands on the enormous chunk of limestone that served as his
pulpit. “She’s a great beauty, yer wife.”

His
thoughts elsewhere, Gavin nodded absently.

“Full
of sass and vinegar as well, I would imagine, given that red hair of hers. I
wouldn’t be surprised a bit if she had a healthy dose of Scots blood in her.”

Given
the ease with which Charlotte’s temper could flare, Gavin wouldn’t be surprised
either. He made a noncommittal grunt of agreement and waited for the priest to
dismiss him – even he was not so bold as to walk out on a servant of God – but
it seemed the old man was just warming up.

“You
know,” he began, pulling back his sleeves and leaning forward onto his pale,
bony forearms, “there are three types of couples who come through those doors.”

“Are
there?” Gavin said dismissively.

“Aye.
The young ones, so foolish is love they still have stars in their eyes. Only
half of them make it through the ceremony, ye know. More like as not their
parents arrive and oh” – his eyebrows shot up – “you have never seen a person
more enraged than a mother come to collect her wayward daughter. Why, last week
there was a girl, pretty enough I suppose if ye like the blonds, who was on the
run with her sweetheart. A nice enough lad, he was, but more of the working
sort than lord of the manor, if ye understand my meaning.”

Gavin
certainly did, more than the priest realized. “She was a lady and he was a
commoner.”

“As
common as they come, that one, although he had a strong back and good will
aboot him.”

The
priest’s accent, Gavin noted, was becoming more and more pronounced with every
word he spoke. Resigning himself to the fact that this was going to take much
longer than expected, he pulled over a wooden chair from the other side of the
room and settled into it, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing his
arms over his chest with a sigh. “Get on with it then. I don’t have all day.”

“Dinna
rush me, lad. Patience is a virtue you would do well to learn, especially with
that wife of yours. Now, as I was saying, there are three types who make the
long journey to Gretna Green. The boy and his lady love were one. The next is—”

“Wait,”
Gavin interrupted with a frown. “What happened to them?”

The
priest blinked owlishly. “The young sweethearts?”

“Yes,”
he bit out. Was the old man daft?

“Oh,
well now, the girl’s parents came rushing in to save the day. The boy scampered
off with his tail between his legs and she was whisked off to London quick as a
wink. I imagine she will be married off to this lord or that, but ‘tis a fool’s
errand to believe another man will put the same smile on her face as that young
boy did. Pity.” He folded his hands together and made a
tsking
sound.
“But that is the risk one takes when you run away with your heads so high in
the clouds you canna see the ground beneath you. Now, the second kind of couple
is always in the biggest rush.” Grinning ear to ear, the priest stepped to the
side of the pulpit and made a show of rubbing his stomach. “Those are always
the opposite of the first. The lass is in tears, the lad is yelling, and it is
the parents who drag them here, not the other way around. I charge twice as
much for those,” he confided with a wink.

“And
the third?” Gavin asked. Not that he cared. He was merely hurrying the priest
along. Yes, that was it.

“Aye,
the third.” Sobering, the priest stepped back behind his pulpit. “Those types
of couples are the rarest. I do not see them very often, but when I do it warms
me heart every time. They are the ones in love, ye see. Deep down to the bone
in love, even though half of them have yet to realize it, more the pity for
them. Tell me, lad, if ye dinna mind: for which of the three did you come to
our fair village to marry your red haired lass?”

Taking
an instant dislike to the knowing smile on the priest’s face, even though he
didn’t know the exact reason why, Gavin stiffened in his chair and said, “I do
not love Charlotte if that is what you are implying, nor is she expecting. Our
marriage is a business arrangement that benefits us both. Nothing more, nothing
less.” How many times, he thought irritably, would he have to keep repeating
the same thing? Was it so unusual for two people to come together in such a
way? Could a husband and wife not exist in harmony without everyone shoving
love down their bloody throats?

“A
business arrangement,” the priest repeated. His expression was solemn, but
there was an undeniable twinkle in his warm brown eyes. “That is a very
practical way for ye to go about it, I suppose.”

“To
go about what?” Gavin said shortly.

“Why,
to go about getting the lass you love to marry ye. Does she know? Oo, she does
not!” the priest hooted when Gavin scowled and stood up. “Good luck to ye then.
You’re going tae need it with that one!”

“You
have no idea what you’re talking about, old man,” Gavin growled over his
shoulder before he stormed from the shop.

The
priest’s laughter followed him out.

The
skies opened at dawn and rain, not sun, greeted Charlotte when she woke. For a
moment she remained absolutely still, blinking slowly up at the ceiling as she
allowed the events of the past three days to play through her mind. The
masquerade. The agreement with Gavin. Fleeing London. The wedding.

The
wedding
.

With
a gasp she lifted her left hand to make sure she had not dreamed the entire
thing, but the evidence of her decision was right there. It glinted mockingly
in the dim light and Charlotte bit her lip as she pulled the ring off and held
it up for closer inspection.

It
really was a simple piece of jewelry. She wondered if it was truly gold or
copper covered in gold paint. Did it matter? No, she decided before she slipped
the band back on her finger and sat up. It did not. After all, the ring was
just a symbol. A symbol of the eternal bond that now connected her to Gavin
Graystone for all eternity. A man she knew less about now than before she
married him.

She
had come away from their first encounter thinking of him as a man of passion.
His very touch had set her on fire and even now she trembled from the memory of
his fingers sliding across her flesh… Of his mouth pressing against her neck…
Of his tongue –
stop it
, she ordered herself sternly.

In
that one moment Gavin may have ignited her body and soul, but beneath that
glossy charm was a man cold as stone with feelings for nothing and no one.

It
was better this way, she consoled herself. Better to know now where she stood
rather than let herself be swept up in the fanciful imaginings of lust and
love. After all, it was not Gavin’s fault he felt nothing for her. He had been
honest from the beginning; she was the one who hoped for something that did not
– could not – exist. He was a cold man, but he was not a cruel one, and if she
were given the choice between Crane and Gavin a thousand times over she would
make the same decision every time.

In
the gloomy light of day the facts still remained: they were married, he was her
husband, and she would have to learn to be satisfied with that and nothing
more. Still, she could not stop her mind from imagining what it would have been
like to marry someone she loved and who loved her in return.

What
it would feel like to fall asleep in their arms every night and wake up beside
them every morning. What it would mean to stroll hand in hand through the park,
gazing into each other’s eyes. What it would be like to sit in front of the
hearth at night telling stories to their beautiful children.

Aghast
at the sudden tears that flooded her eyes, Charlotte wiped them hastily away
and stood up to ready her things for travel.

There
was not much to collect, and as she moved around the small room she was careful
to keep her steps light so as not to wake a still sleeping Tabitha. Dressing
herself in the same pale green muslin dress she had worn the day before (and
the day before that, and the day before there) she managed to grimace only
slightly when great puffs of dusts flew up in the air as the dress settled into
place over her undergarments.

When
she was home she would soak in a tub for a week, for surely it would take that
long to peel the layers of grime from her skin. The inn had been unable to
bring up hot water for a bath – not that it would have made much of a
difference since there was no tub – and she and Tabitha had been forced to
settle with bathing their faces and arms in a shallow tin basin.

Yesterday
her hair had been somewhat manageable. This morning it was little more than a
mass of wilted ringlets around her face. Forgoing a neat coiffure she braided
it in a long tail down the middle of her back and jammed a hat over her head.

After
a quick peek out the window to see if it was still raining – it was, great
angry buckets of it – she pulled on elbow length gloves, a pair of sturdy
boots, and a navy blue pelisse with sterling silver buttons that would help
ward off the chill of Scotland in early spring.

She
woke Tabitha with an apologetic smile and together the two women finished
packing up their belongings for the long journey back to London.

The
last place in the entire world Charlotte wanted to be was stuck in a carriage
for hours on end with Gavin, but since there was no getting around it, she
supposed there was no use complaining. At least Tabitha would be there to act
as a buffer, and when they dashed through the rain to the waiting coach she
made certain it was her maid, not her husband, who sat beside her.

“I
hope it does not rain like this all the way to London!” Tabitha exclaimed as
the carriage pulled forward and the driver roused the team of matching grays
into a bouncing trot.

Thankfully
the quality of the vehicle was quite high, and in addition to being large
enough to fit triple the amount of people currently occupying it, the
suspension was impressively smooth. No expense, Charlotte noted as she took a
quick look around at the satin lined interior with its plush cushions, gold
tasseled window curtains, and mahogany lining, had been spared.

“I
hope it does not either.” Slowly pulling off her hat – it was soaked all the
way through to the silk lining – she set it beside her and leaned forward to
peer out the window. A gray landscape greeted her, the rolling hills blanketed
by a thick fog and the sun no more than a faint glimmer of pale yellow in an
otherwise cloudy sky. “It appears as though it very well could. I hope the
horses do not mind the rain.”

“They
appeared to be strong Scottish stock,” Tabitha said. “I am certain they are
used to it.” 

From
his seat directly across from them, Gavin looked up from the collection of
papers he was studying, a faint line of irritation creasing his brow. The
sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled up past the elbow and his brown
trousers were thoroughly wrinkled at the knee, making Charlotte wonder how long
he had been in the carriage before they arrived. “Do you mind keeping your
voices down?” he said curtly.

Tabitha’s
narrow face flushed with color and she immediately mumbled an apology but
Charlotte, never one to overlook rudeness no matter the source or the reason,
leapt readily to her maid’s defense.

“She
was making a simple observation,” she told him sharply. “If you wanted to read
you should have done so before we left. Carriage rides are for watching the
scenery and conversing with friends and—”

“Idle
gossip between women who have nothing better to do? Tell me, could you even
read if you wanted to?”

Tabitha
gasped.

Charlotte,
who had been expecting an insult in some form or another – Gavin had been
bristling with ill temper from the moment they climbed into the carriage – did
not so much as blink. “My father was often foul mouthed in the mornings as
well,” she recalled. “I fear most men, being naturally disposed to a lazy
nature, do not fare well before afternoon tea. And yes, I know how to read.”
Reaching out she snatched a handful of papers off his lap and proceeded to
recite the first paragraph flawlessly. “Would you like me to repeat it in
French?” she asked sweetly. “Or perhaps Italian? Or maybe” – her eyes narrowed
– “I should toss it out the window all together.”

She
meant the threat as an idle one, but Gavin must have believed her fully capable
of it for he lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. Tabitha shrieked, and even
Charlotte flinched at the fierceness of his expression.

“Let
go,” he growled.

Charlotte
let go.

Gavin
did not.