The Runaway Duchess (14 page)

In
the time it took her eyes to follow him across the room his temporary display
of vulnerability was gone and he was once again the cold, indifferent man she
was rapidly growing accustomed to. “We will keep things as they are,” he said
stiffly. “I apologize for overstepping my boundaries last night. I was
exhausted, and after the doctor stitched my forehead he gave me some laudanum
as well. I did not even know I was in the same bed as you until this morning.
It will not happen again.”

Charlotte
bit her lip and wished she knew how to draw the gentler side of him back out.
“But if we are to share a room—”

“I
will find another room, or sleep in the stables if I must. This will not happen
again,” he repeated. “You have my word.”

She
did not
want
his word.

She
wanted the man she had glimpsed beneath the hard exterior. The one who had
kissed her breathless in the study. The one who had risked his life to rescue
her last night. The one she was so dangerously close to falling in love with.
Still, she was not a woman without pride, and she would not lower herself to
beg for that man, or this one.

“Very
well,” she said, matching his indifferent tone perfectly. “If this is to become
my room then I shall require privacy to bathe and dress. Are those my clothes?”
she asked, nodding towards a trunk in the corner of the room.

“Yes.
It was all that could be salvaged from the wreck.”

The
wreck
. How simple it sounded in the light of day.

“How
did it happen?” she asked.

“One
of the wheels became stuck in the mud and jerked the carriage to the side,
snapping one of the axles. It was too top heavy to begin with from all of the
baggage and it flipped almost instantaneously, which is why none of us had time
to brace ourselves. I was thrown clear, as was the driver. We were both knocked
unconscious. He came to first and when he saw how close the rig was to the edge
of the cliff he cut the horses loose before waking me.”

“Thank
heavens.” Charlotte could only imagine the chaos that would have ensued had the
horses not been freed. There was little doubt in her mind they all would have
tumbled into the abyss together, and she shuddered now to think of it. “And the
horses? Were they injured?”

Gavin
shook his head. “They are fine. One has a cut on his flank, but it was only a
superficial wound. They will be ready to depart when we are.” He cleared his
throat and glanced at her before looking quickly away. “I… I am sorry,
Charlotte.”

Her
brow creased. “For what?”

“For
putting you in such danger.”

A
surprised laugh burst past her lips. “You did not know the carriage would flip!
You put your own life at risk to save mine and Tabitha’s. I could not ask for
more. It was an accident, Gavin. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nothing
more, nothing less.” He looked at her oddly. “Indeed. Do you require the
service of a maid to help you dress?”

“No,
I should be able to manage by myself.”

“Very
well. I will let them know you require a hot bath and nothing more.” He turned
to go, stopping only when Charlotte called out his name. “Yes?” he said, the
muscles in his shoulders tensing.

He
was still nude save the blanket he had wrapped around his waist. She had been
about to tease him, but hastily thought better of it. Their relationship was on
tenuous enough footing as it was – perhaps it would be best if she kept their
interactions polite and to the point, at least for now, and so she asked where
she could find him after she had bathed and dressed instead.

“I
will find you,” he said. 

“Yes,
but where—”

“I
said I would find you.” And then he was gone, the echo of the slamming door the
only indication he had ever been in the room at all.

Gavin
let his head fall back against the wall with a dull
thud
. He closed his
eyes and counted to ten, a calming technique he had employed since childhood
when his hot temper used to land him in more than one tight predicament. This
time, however, the counting did not work.

When
he reached ten he still thought of Charlotte. Her dewy scent invaded his
nostrils. The vision of her hair spread out like wildfire on the white pillow
tantalized him endlessly. The sensuous curves of her body, contoured perfectly
beneath her nightgown, were enough to make him hard just by memory alone.

With
a long suffering groan he threaded his fingers through his hair and stepped
away from her room.

She
was a bloody siren and he nothing more than a helpless sailor cast under her
spell, ready – no,
willing
– to crash his ship against the rocks to get
to her.

Would
it be so awful to let himself come to care for her? To love her as a husband
should love his wife? To treasure her as she deserved to be treasured, and
treat her like the queen that she was?

Yes
,
he thought immediately.

The
answer was yes.

Human
beings could disappoint you. They could tear the very heart from your chest and
pummel it to dust beneath their boot heel. It had happened to Gavin once
before, when he stood over his mother’s bed and watched helplessly as she
stained the sheets red with blood. He would not allow it to happen again.

If
he did not let himself feel anything for Charlotte, she could not hurt him. For
she
would
hurt him. Whether intentionally or not, she was the kind of
woman capable of breaking a man’s heart into a thousand pieces. Loving her
meant being engulfed by her, body and soul.

He
was falling already, and he had not even known it. The sheer terror he felt
when he feared her dead inside the carriage… Gavin closed his eyes and drew a
deep, shuddering breath. He needed to keep his distance. He needed to remain
emotionless.

He
needed to put on some damn clothes.

Crossing
the hall, he entered the room opposite Charlotte’s without bothering to knock.
A small, thin man with dark brown hair and crooked teeth looked up from polishing
a pair of leather boots and did not bother disguising his snort of laughter.

“Kicked
ye out, did she? I found ye a change of clothes as ye requested. Hard to come
by in these parts, but most of it should fit.” He nodded towards the corner of
the room where an entire outfit was sitting neatly in a chair.

“Thank
you Ernie,” Gavin said absently.

Ernie
nodded. He had been Gavin’s personal valet for nearly five years, starting his
employment well before Gavin possessed the wealth he did today. Loyal to a
fault, Ernie was privy to every facet of his enigmatic employer’s personal life
– including his marriage. “How is the missus this mornin’?” he asked with a
grin.

“None
of your bloody business,” Gavin said shortly before he dressed himself in
everything Ernie had put out save the white cravat which his fingers fumbled
with for only a few moments before he set it aside in disgust. He abhorred the
formal attire of the upper crust and if he did not need the respect of the men
he did business with he would have cheerfully worn ruddy trousers with holes in
the knees for the rest of his life.

Pulling
aside the thin blue cloth that was masquerading as a curtain, he studied the
quiet scenery beyond the window while he attempted to collect his thoughts. He
needed to be thinking about his work, not his wife. It was yet another reason
he could not afford to let her get too close. She could prove to be a dangerous
distraction, pulling him away from what mattered most.
Hell
, he thought
with a grimace,
she already
is
a distraction
. One he needed to
push to the back of his mind and ignore, as he did with everything else not
directly related to his work.

“Have
notices been sent out in regards to my delay in returning to London?” he asked
without turning around.

“Aye,”
Ernie said. “And all of your meetings have been pushed back as well.”

“And
the Newmore deal? What of that?”

“Payment
arrived this mornin’, far as I know.”

“In
full?”

“That
I’m not quite sure of.”

Gavin
turned and fixed Ernie with a cold stare that had made lesser men flinch and
look away. Too accustomed to his employer’s demeanor to be phased in the
slightest, Ernie merely waited with his head tilted to the side and his mouth
open, rather like an unsuspecting guppy about to swallow a hook.

“You
need to make sure,” Gavin said. “Send a letter. Go back to London if you have
to. Hell, fly there for all I care. But that man owes me money, Ernie, and I
want it.”

The
valet’s head bobbed up and down. “Aye, I’ll see to it. Is there anything else?”

“How
is the maid?”

“The
maid?” Ernie repeated blankly.

“The
maid, the maid, my wife’s maid.” What the hell was her name? She was a mouse of
a woman with a face easy to forget, but Gavin knew she meant quite a bit to
Charlotte. Her welfare should not have mattered to him one way or another, and
yet… “Tabitha. Her name is Tabitha.”

“The
blond chit with the lump on ‘er head?”

Was
she blond? Gavin had no idea. He knew he had met her. Talked to her, even, but
every other woman seemed to pale in comparison to Charlotte. “Yes, that’s her.”

Ernie
shrugged. “She’s good enough, I suppose.”

“I
want the doctor to look at her again today.”

 “Today?”
Ernie scratched the side of his head. “But he was jest here last night.”

“Yes,
and I want her examined again. My wife as well.”

Now
the valet looked truly confused. “Is she ill?”

“No,
she is not ill,” Gavin snapped. “I simply want her examined! She hurt her ankle
in the accident,” he said, recalling how she had flinched when he accidentally
brushed against her leg while he was carrying her. “I want it looked at. Today.
Immediately, in fact.”

“I
dunno where the doctor has gone to, but—”

“
Immediately
.”

“Yessir.”
Ernie’s brow furrowed as Gavin stalked across the room, muttered something
about a walk, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Ernie
had never seen his boss in such a state before, snapping orders left and right.
Something had certainly gotten up under his britches, and he was pretty sure he
knew what – or rather, who – that was.

He
just never thought he would live to see the day the notoriously hard hearted
Gavin Graystone fell in love. And to fall for such a slip of a girl… Ernie
grinned. He wondered how long it would take for his boss to figure out he had
taken the big jump. Gavin was a tough man. Some would even say a cruel one,
although he certainly had his reasons, though few were privy to them.

Rocking
back on his heels Ernie crossed his arms and rubbed his chin where a pitiful
excuse for a beard grew. He tugged it thoughtfully.

He
owed Gavin his life, a debt he had been struggling to repay for nearly half a
decade, ever since Gavin lifted him up – quite literally – from the gutter,
shook the filth from his clothes, and made him his person valet (among other
less glamorous job titles). Maybe, at long last, he’d finally found a way to
repay him… if his new bride was agreeable, of course.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Charlotte was not feeling very agreeable.

She
wanted to check on Tabitha – just a quick peek, no talking… well, not
much
talking
– but she had no idea what room her maid was staying in. Short of knocking on
every door, her only other hope of finding her rested with Gavin who,
coincidentally enough, was no where to be found.

Mrs.
Clemens, the woman who owned the inn along with her husband, had been of little
help. It seemed they were so overbooked they did not know what room belonged to
who, and neither of them had a recollection as to where Tabitha was taken when
they arrived last night.

After
lunch (a parsley meal consisting of two slices of cold ham, a stale piece of
bread, and watered down lemonade) Charlotte began her rounds again in the vain
hope that by wandering the halls she would somehow run across Gavin. As luck
would have it, she ended up with the next best thing: her husband’s valet, Ernie.

When
she asked Ernie where Gavin was he directed her to a walking path that wound up
behind the inn into blossoming fields of heather. Not a woman who minded a
brisk walk now and again, Charlotte had attacked the hill with enthusiasm.

Now,
however, after an hour of hiking up a remarkably steep path, her blisters had
blisters and, while she was almost at the top, she was no closer to finding
Gavin than she had been when she started.

“Hell
and
damnation
,” she cursed, stopping to rest her weary calves. Her right
ankle in particular throbbed, and she knelt to loosen the laces on her confining
shoes. When she looked up, her eyes caught on a pair of brown boots that had
not been in the middle of the path a second ago.

The
boots were attached to dark gray trousers, the trousers to a white shirt, and
the white shirt to… “Gavin?” Standing a bit clumsily, Charlotte rubbed her eyes
and squinted up at her husband.

His
towering frame was silhouetted by the afternoon sun, but there was no mistaking
those broad shoulders and square chin for anyone else’s. His dark mane of hair
was slicked back and his shirt sleeves rolled up, the thin sheen of
perspiration clinging to his exposed chest revealing that he, too, had been
walking.

“What
are you doing here?” he asked, not sounding at all pleased to see her.

“Looking
for you,” she retorted. “You disappeared and I haven’t been able to find
Tabitha and—”

“And
you decided it would be a good idea to go searching for me by yourself?” Gavin
shook his head in disbelief and muttered something under his breath she
couldn’t quite hear.

He
took a step forward, close enough so she could smell his musky scent and see
the individual beads of sweat that clung to his tanned flesh. Sunlight
surrounded him in a glowing circle, almost making it appear as though he wore a
golden halo atop his head, and she barely managed to suppress a snort. Her
husband, an angel? The idea was laughable. He would look far more suitable in
horns, especially with his hair is disarray and that wicked gleam in his eyes
as he stared right at her…

“You
are looking at my breasts!” she accused.

“Yes,”
Gavin admitted without a hint of shame. “Your dress is very… tight.”

Charlotte
pulled at the neckline of her muslin gown. It was damp with sweat and clung to
her body like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. It also itched
like the devil and as she glanced enviously at Gavin’s loose fitting trousers
she wished, not for the first time, that women could dress like men. “What room
is Tabitha in?” she demanded.

She
wanted to be sweet natured and agreeable. Truly she did. But after walking for
what felt like miles straight up hill looking for a man who never should have
left in the first place, she did not feel inclined to smile and giggle and do
all the other things she imagined well behaved wives did in the presence of
their husbands.

“What?”
Gavin said distractedly. He looked up at her, his expression bemused. “What did
you say?”

Charlotte
rolled her eyes. He was doing it again, she noted with a scowl. Looking at her
body in
that
way, which would have been perfectly acceptable if only he
had not told her, less than five hours ago, that he wanted nothing to do with
her of an intimate nature. “Tabitha’s room,” she repeated. “Where is it?”

 “I
do not know.”

“You
don’t
know
?” she said incredulously.

“I…
Hell.” Gavin swept his hair away from his face with a growl. Cupping the back
of his neck he began to pace across the walking path. “I can’t think,” he
muttered. “I can’t even breathe.”

Charlotte’s
eyebrows shot up. “You can’t breathe?”

“Not
around you.” He stopped short and spun to face her, sending small plumes of
dust spiraling into the air. He did a broad sweep of his arm, gesturing towards
the endless hills of rolling heather and the woods beyond, all blanketed by a
sky of the clearest blue. “I came out here in the middle of bloody
nowhere
to clear my head, and yet here you are!” he accused, his eyes flashing. “You’re
everywhere I turn around.”

Taken
aback by the vehemence in his tone, Charlotte took one small step of retreat,
and then another.
He is so very large
, she thought. His broad chest rose
and fell in quick succession and a vein in his forehead throbbed. She should
have been frightened, and perhaps a small part of her was, but there was also
an undeniable thrill of excitement lurking beneath the thin layer of fear.

Charlotte
stopped backing up.

“Kiss
me,” she whispered.

“…can’t
get a damn minute to myself and—
what
did you say?” Every muscle in
Gavin’s body went taut. He froze, his arms stopping mid-gesture, his legs
braced apart, thighs hard and bulging beneath the thin fabric of his trousers.

“I
said kiss me.” Feeling bolder, she closed the distance between them in three
quick steps. “Kiss me like you did before, in the study, when you did not know
who I was. Kiss me,” she implored when the saw the flicker of hesitation in his
gaze, “like a man kisses a woman. Kiss me like you never want to let me go.”

A
breeze stirred between them, brushing a curl against Charlotte’s cheek. As
though in a trance Gavin reached out and ensnared the auburn tendril, allowing
it to wrap around his finger. “We shouldn’t,” he said hoarsely.

“Why
not?”

He
groaned, a painful sound torn from his gut that betrayed the battle he was
fighting within. “I don’t remember.”

Charlotte rose on her tiptoes and slid her arms around his neck, gliding her fingers along
corded muscle before grasping the tangled ends of his hair.

Their
mouths were inches apart. Their hearts pounded in unison. She felt heat radiating
off from him in waves. He was like hard, hot steel… and she was only all too
willing to be burned.

He
cursed before he kissed her, which only seemed right. Parting her lips with one
thrust of his tongue he devoured her as though he were a man starving and she
rose to meet him with eager enthusiasm, matching him stroke for passionate
stroke.

His
hands swept up her spine and over her shoulders, clinging fast to the sloping
line of her collarbone before delving lower to cup her breasts, squeezing and
petting through the damp muslin. Charlotte’s nipples tingled in response, the
rosebud tips aching to be touched, and when he closed his thumb and forefinger
over one and then the other she arched her back and all but flung herself
against him.

Gavin
stumbled back a step and then they were sinking down, down, down into the sweet
scent of heather. Cushioning her with his body against the hard, rocky ground he
dragged his mouth from her lips and began to trace a burning path down her
throat, nipping with his teeth and soothing with his tongue while she writhed
on top of him, driven by instinct to suckle the tender flesh of his earlobe.

When
he groaned and tilted his neck, silently begging her to do it again, she smiled
a woman’s smile, the power born from eliciting such a response rushing straight
to her head.

Her
hands streaked down his long, lean torso and pulled impatiently at the hem of
his shirt, yanking it free from his trousers and skimming it up over his chest.
Using her nails, she traced little furrows across the smooth skin that had his
muscles tightening and twitching beneath her inquisitive, teasing fingertips.

“Bloody
hell,” he gasped when she pinched his nipples, and she had to cling with her
thighs to stay atop him when he arched his back and shuddered beneath her.

Still
not finished, she wiggled her way down his body, sliding inch by delicious inch
until her mouth was level with his abdomen. Dipping her head, she gave the
tiniest of licks to the line of exposed flesh above his waistband, tasting salt
and man and something just a little dark. A little dangerous. 

Gavin’s
reaction was instantaneous.

Splaying
his hands around her narrow ribcage he lifted her up as if she weighed no more
than a feather and settled her easily into the nook of his body, once again
taking her mouth even as his groin pressed against hers and heat bloomed
between them, the force of it enough to steal the very breath from Charlotte’s
lungs.

She
answered the rocking of his hips without thinking, for there could be no
thinking when there was only feeling.

Feeling
the slide of his tongue against her tongue. Feeling his fingers tangling in the
ends of her hair. Feeling his hard arousal jutting against her womanhood so
frustratingly guarded by layers and layers of fabric.

A
pressure was mounting inside of her, like a kettle left too long to boil. Still
kissing him, she began a bold exploration of his body with her fingers,
beginning with his neck and moving down, sliding along his shoulder and chest,
skirting around a pointed nipple before journeying to the flat, sucked in plane
of his stomach. She brushed against a button. Hesitated. Began to slip under…

Without
warning, Gavin lifted himself up on his elbows and rolled to the side,
effectively dumping Charlotte on her back.

Disoriented,
she shook her head to clear it and rolled into a sitting position after taking
a moment to untangle her skirts. Her body continued to pulse, her breaths
coming in short little gasps. It felt as though she had been taken out of the
fire and dunked in freezing cold water, and as the hazy sense of pleasure began
to ebb she turned to Gavin in complete bewilderment.

“What
happened?” When he did not answer; when he merely continued to sit on his
haunches with his arms looped around his knees and his head bowed, she moved a
few inches closer. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me,” she implored when he
remained silent. “Gavin, what is the matter?”

He
drew a ragged breath. “This never should have happened.”

Charlotte
closed her eyes. She was afraid he would say that. She had hoped… no. It didn’t
matter now. “We are married. What we did – what we were about to do – is only
natural between a husband and his wife.” The humiliation of being tossed aside
made her voice sound strained, as though she was about to cry, which of course
she wasn’t.
Don’t cry
, she ordered herself.
Don’t you dare shed tears
over him
.

His
head still lowered, Gavin said flatly, “It was my mistake. I am sorry,
Charlotte.”

She
didn’t
want
him to be sorry! She wanted him to still be kissing her. She
wanted him to tangle his fingers in her hair and yank her against him. She
wanted to feel wanted, and therein was the crux of the problem. “You cannot
keep doing this to me.” Plucking a stem of wild heather, she began to pull off
the purple petals one by one. “You cannot desire me one moment and discard me the
next. It isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”

Struggling
to her feet, she stood over him, arms akimbo and chin jutting out. “I am your
wife.” At her sides her hands clenched into fists, her anger building as Gavin
still refused to lift his head. “Your
wife
,” she repeated. “Damn you,
look at me when I am speaking to you!”

Gavin
looked.

His
expression was blank. His eyes were shuttered. Charlotte might as well have
been staring at a stone wall, and it enraged her all the further.

“Don’t
you feel anything?” she cried, flinging her arms out the side. Tears crept into
her voice again, but these were tears born of frustration, not sadness, and she
let them fall.

“You’re
crying.” Gavin sounded shocked.

Sniffling,
Charlotte wiped at her damp cheeks and jerked her shoulders. “So? I am not a
machine. I cannot be turned off and on with the pull of a cord or the turn of a
wheel.”

He
stood up in one smooth, effortless motion. “You knew what this marriage would
be before you entered into it. I made myself and my intentions clear from the
very beginning.”

Her
mouth twisted. “Your intentions were not very
clear
a few moments ago!”

“I
know.” Something flickered in his eyes, there one instant and gone the next.
Regret? Charlotte couldn’t be sure. “I… I lost control. It will not happen
again.”

Except
he had
not
lost control, and that was precisely the problem.

“What
if I want it to happen again?” The words were out before she could swallow them
back. If it made her sound wanton and desperate, then so be it. She was a woman
who spoke her mind. A woman ruled by emotion. A woman who wore her heart on her
sleeve and refused to apologize for it.

Was
it any wonder she and Gavin could not come to terms? They were so opposite. She
still barely knew him – so much of his life remained a mystery to her – but it
was clear they were as different as night and day. Her emotions ran hot like
the sun, burning bright and fast, while his were as distant and cold as the
moon.