The Runaway Duchess (15 page)

“It
will not happen again,” he said. “It should not happen again.” 

Charlotte crossed her arms tight across her middle, as though to physically hold in all of
the feelings that threatened to pour out. “Very well. You are right.”

“I
– I am?” He sounded so surprised that she could not help but smile, even though
it felt as though someone had dropped a great weight into the pit of her
stomach.

It
will be better this way
, she thought. Better to draw the line now than to keep
inadvertently crossing over it.

She
could come to love Gavin with every fiber of her being – she may have barely
knew him, but this she
did
know – or she could treat him with the
indifference he desired. Indifference that would eventually harden her heart
against him.

For
a hard heart could not crack or break. It was impervious to the cold. It did
not yearn. It did not want. A hard heart was best, she decided. A hard heart
was easiest.

“Yes,”
she said, “you are. You were right from the very beginning. This marriage is
nothing more than a business arrangement that benefits both of us, and it
should be treated as such. We do not have to possess feelings for each other to
make it work. On the contrary, our marriage will be better off without emotion
any emotion. My father loved my mother,” she continued on before he could
answer, “and he was miserable because of it. I do not want to end up like him,
nor would I want you to turn as bitter as her. This” – she gestured towards the
spot on the ground where they had writhed on top of each other – “will only
serve to complicate matters. Don’t you agree?”

His
face a hard mask that revealed nothing, Gavin inclined his chin ever so
slightly. “I do.”

“Brilliant,”
Charlotte managed to say with a small degree of normalcy, even though it felt
as though her chest was caving in and the small weight in her stomach had
turned into a boulder. “When will we be leaving for London?”

“Tomorrow
at first light. I have only to check and make sure our carriage has arrived.”

“Very
good. I… I should go see  Tabitha now.” She needed to get away from him. She
needed to get away from him before she lost her nerve and fell at his feet like
a jilted mistress begging to be taken back.

Gavin
must have read something in her expression, for he said, “I need to go to the
stables, unless you would like me to accompany you to the inn?”

“No,”
she said hurriedly. “I will be fine. I know the way.”

They
followed the same path down the steep hill for only a hundred yards or so
before it split. Gavin went left and Charlotte went right, with nary a word or
glance shared between them.

Her
emotions a snarled knot and her heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her
throat, Charlotte could not help but think it was always better to be the one
doing the leaving, rather than the one stuck getting left.

But
if that was true, then why did she feel so miserable? 

What
the hell just happened?

As
he walked swiftly towards the stables, Gavin fought the ridiculous urge to turn
around after every step that took him further and further away from Charlotte.
The woman, he predicted darkly, was going to drive him mad.

Stopping
short of the barn he leaned against a wooden beam and buried his head in the
crook of his arm as he thought back on the rapid fire changes that had taken
place during the past seventy two hours.

He
had gotten married, lived through a death defying carriage accident, been
slapped, and topped it all off by nearly ravishing his new bride on the bloody
ground. For a man so accustomed to having every facet of his life meticulously
managed, it was both frustrating and bewildering to realize he had absolutely
no control over Charlotte.

She
said one thing one minute and did something entirely different the next. He
felt as though he was constantly two steps behind her, struggling in vain to
catch up. And just when he thought he had her figured out she spun him around
all over again.

It
didn’t help matters that she was witty, intelligent, and too damn beautiful for
her own good. If the circumstances were different… if
he
were different…
if he could allow himself to love freely…

“No.”
Gavin spoke the word loud enough to have a passing stable hand pause in the
middle of leading a chestnut mare across the freshly raked yard to her stall.

“Sir?”
the boy said uncertainly, reaching up to scratch under his low slung cap. “Is
there something I can do for ye?”

Gavin
started to excuse the boy, recalled why he had come to the stables to begin
with, and said, “The carriage that is due to arrive from London. Is it here
yet?”

“Are
ye Mister Graystone, then?”

“Yes.”

The
boy tugged hard on the brim of his cap and glanced down at the ground. “Then
I’m sorry tae tell ye Mister Graystone, but your carriage is going tae be a wee
bit delayed.”

“Delayed?”
Gavin pushed off the beam and stalked across the yard. “What the hell do you
mean, delayed?” This couldn’t be happening. He needed to return to London
immediately. Everything made sense in London. He could be busy in London. Too
busy to constantly think about a woman with fire in her hair and lips that
tasted like the sweetest nectar…

His
pale cheeks igniting with color, the boy stammered, “The r-r-road is out from
the storm a few furlongs down the way, Mister Graystone. No c-carriages can get
through until they gravel it up.”

“How
long?” Gavin demanded, his jaw working furiously as he grinded his teeth
together.
It’s not the lad’s fault
, he reminded himself.
It’s the
bloody Scots and their damned cow paths they dare call roads.

“How
l-long?”

“The
road. How long until the road is fixed?”

“A
day or so, I imagine.”

Gavin
breathed a sigh of relief.

“Although,”
the boy said, rubbing his chin, “more likely or not it will be a week. Maybe
two. Aye, most definitely two.”

“Two
weeks
?”

The
boy’s shoulders hunched defensively. “It’s planting season. Everyone is out in
the fields. A single rider can get through easy enough. If ye want I can
arrange a horse to carry ye.”

How
easy it would be to say yes.

“No.”
Gavin winced the moment the word left his mouth, but he did not take it back.
“No, I could not leave my wife. Her maid is here as well, and my valet.” The
driver has been sent to London to get the replacement carriage, not that it did
them any good now. “The moment that road is fixed I want you to find me, do you
understand?” When the boy nodded Gavin fished in his pocket and pulled out a
handful of coins. “Here,” he said, holding them out. “For your trouble. What is
your name?”

“T-Tom,
Mister Graystone.” The boy swallowed visibly as he took the coins and slipped
them quickly into his plaid vest. “My name is Tom Gardiner.”

“Very
well, Tom. I hope I will be seeing you sooner rather than later.”

The
boy’s head bobbed up and down with enthusiasm. “Yes sir, Mister Graystone. Yes
sir. You can count on me. Is there anything else ye need, then?”

“Unless
you would like to be the one to tell my wife we are stuck here for at least
another few days, there is nothing else you can do.” Seeing Tom’s eyes widen,
Gavin smiled ruefully and shook his head. “It was a jest, Tom. You have a few
years yet before you will have to deal with a woman’s temper. Spend them
wisely.”

“Aye,
Mister Graystone,” Tom said seriously. “I will do that.”

As
he watched the boy walk away with the chestnut mare in tow, Gavin couldn’t help
but wish someone had given him the same advice.

      
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Four
days had passed since the day on the hill. Four long, terribly boring days where
Charlotte did little more than go for walks and visit Tabitha, who was feeling
much better but was still on bed rest per the doctor’s orders.

Of
Gavin she saw little, which suited her just fine even though the saying ‘out of
sight, out of mind’ was not proving to be very applicable in her case. With
nothing to occupy her time there was little else she could do
but
think
of her husband, and wonder endlessly if she had made a horrible mistake.

What
if she had made one last effort before giving up?

What
if she had jumped in his arms and kissed him?

What
if she had told him how she truly felt?

But
‘what ifs’ were useless, and as the week dragged on with one day blurring
endlessly into the next Charlotte forced herself to think of other things.

She
settled into a routine: wake at dawn, breakfast with Tabitha, a brisk walk up
the hill and down, a small luncheon, a nap, and dinner service in her room.
Occasionally Gavin joined her (they discussed the weather and little else), but
more often than not he remained in the room he was sharing with his valet,
engrossed in ledgers and letters and heaven knew what else.

With
the road no closer to being repaired than it had been when they arrived, Charlotte was ready to scream her frustration for the entire world to hear. It would be
one thing if she could actually interact with the other travelers who now
called the inn their temporary home, but Gavin had forbidden it, saying there
was no telling what sort of unsavory characters mingled in the halls and dined
below in the tavern.

Laughter
and loud voices could always be heard through the floorboards well into the
night, and it irritated Charlotte not because it kept her awake, but rather
because it reminded her that while she was under lock and key for her own
safety, men and women alike were having a rousing good time right below her.

She
wished with all her heart Dianna was with her, if only to break up the monotony
of the day. She had already penned a letter to her friend telling her about the
wedding and the reason for their delay. She was still waiting for a response.

In
the meantime, she was forced to settle for Tabitha as a substitute. At first
the maid had been hesitant to indulge in idle chat and gossip with a woman who
she viewed as her employer, but with a little urging from Charlotte she had begun
to open up and their friendship was slowly blossoming.

Unfortunately,
that friendship did not yet extend to Tabitha turning a blind eye and allowing
Charlotte to sneak down to the tavern for dinner.

“But
everyone else is dining there,” Charlotte complained, her mouth curling
mulishly at the corners. Flopping dramatically onto her bed she crossed her
arms over her chest and stared up at the ceiling, studying a crack that ran
from one corner to the other in a long crooked line.

From
her chair in front of the window Tabitha glanced up from her sewing and smiled
patiently. She was using the last rays of light to finish a cross stitch
pattern she had begun earlier in the day. Unlike Charlotte, Tabitha was
perfectly content to remain in one room working on her embroidery from sunrise
to sunset.

“If
everyone else jumped in the Thames, would you do it as well?” she asked.

“Maybe,”
Charlotte grumbled. “If it saved me from this.”

Tabitha
set her needles down on her lap. “Where is your stitch work? If you are looking
for something to pass the time—”

“It
was lost,” she said hastily. “In the, er, carriage accident.” In truth, the
only thing Charlotte loathed more than doing nothing was sewing and embroidery.
She had never possessed the patience one required to sit perfectly still and
sew stitch after stitch after stitch. The memory of being forced to do just
that when she was a child still made her shudder, and her fingers twitched at
the mere thought of holding a needle again.

“No
wonder you have been so bored,” Tabitha said sympathetically. “First thing
tomorrow morning I will inquire where we can purchase replacement supplies.
Until then, you must use what I have.”

 “Oh,
I could never do that. You are making the most delightful, ah…”

“Lace
handkerchief,” Tabitha supplied.

“Yes!
The most delightful lace handkerchief I have ever seen. You simply must
continue until it is finished.”

Tabitha
averted her gaze. “I am sewing it for Lady Vanderley,” she confessed in the
softest of whispers.

“For
my mother?” She sat up and looked curiously at the maid. “Why?”

“I
feel awful, Lady Charlotte, for leaving so suddenly and helping you leave as
well. I am glad you did not have to marry the duke.” She glanced up, met
Charlotte’s wide eyes, and quickly looked down again. “But I feel terribly guilty
for the part I played.”

Relationships,
Charlotte supposed, were complicated, no matter who they were between. A
husband and wife. A mother and daughter. An employee and employer. Nothing was
black and white. Nothing was cut and dried.

Tabitha
had every right to hate Bettina for the way she had been treated, but instead
she was making her a handkerchief. And Charlotte should have had absolutely no
feelings for Gavin, a man she barely knew, but yet here she was, thinking of
him constantly.

“My
mother will no doubt thank you one day for helping save her only daughter from
a loveless marriage to a terrible man.” It was a lie of epic proportions, but
what else could she say? “Gavin will make sure her every need will be attended
to. She shall want for nothing. That should make her happy,” she added quietly,
even though she knew the chances of her mother ever being truly happy were so
slim as to be nonexistent.

Bettina
Vanderley was a hard, unforgiving woman. It pained Charlotte to think her
mother would never speak to her again, but she knew that could be a very real
consequence for her impulsive actions. It pained her even more to think her own
mother, her last living relation in the entire world, would attempt to sell her
to Crane if she were a loaf of bread at the market.

There
had been no thought to her feelings.

No
consideration given.

No
regret or grief.

So
much had happened in such a short time that Charlotte had not been able to
devote more than a passing thought to Bettina’s act of betrayal. Now it sliced
through her like a knife, so quick and sharp it left her gasping for breath.

“I
need to go outside.” Jumping down from the bed, she yanked her cloak off a hook
on the wall and swung it around her shoulders.

The
days were warm in Scotland, but as soon as the sun dropped from the sky the
temperature went with it, cooling dramatically and leaving anyone without
proper attire running for the nearest building.

But
Charlotte did not want to be inside.

She
wanted –
needed
– to be out under the endless sky. To feel the wind on
her face. The touch the grass beneath her feet. To count the stars as they
appeared one by one and forget everything, if only for a little while.

Her
mother.

The
duke.

The
wedding.

Gavin.

There
were too many troubling things to forget, and far too few wonderful things to
remember.

“I
will not go far,” she said firmly when Tabitha began to protest. “Just to the
top of the hill. I will be within sight of the inn the entire time.”

Tabitha’s
gaze darted nervously to the window. “But the sun is setting. It will be dark
soon and you should not be out by yourself! Let me go with you.”

“I
will not go far. I promise.”

“But
if Mr. Graystone asks for you—”

Charlotte’s
lips compressed. “
If
my husband asks for me, you may tell him exactly
where I have gone.” She knew Gavin would not approve of her walking so close to
sunset. How unfortunate for him, then, that he so rarely checked in on her.

Drawing
the hood of her cloak up to cover her fiery hair, she darted out the door
before Tabitha could voice another protest.

Gavin
could not concentrate.

The
bloody numbers he had been trying to calculate for the last three hours swam on
the page in front of him, mocking him and his tentative grasp on mathematics.

Everything
else had come so easily once he applied his mind to it and decided to become a
proper gentleman. Proper speech. Proper mannerisms. Proper etiquette (if he
tried hard enough). He even knew which damn fork was used for the first course
and which was saved for the fifth.

Money
took care of the rest. It bought the correct clothes. Supplied the best
carriages. Bought the biggest houses. But the adding and figuring of numbers…
His jaw tightening, he crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it across
the room to join the others.

He
needed an accountant, but the hiring of one would be tantamount to admitting he
could not handle every aspect of his business himself and for a man as proud as
Gavin that was the same as admitting defeat. Never mind that most lords had
three or four. It was his own money earned by the sweat of his brow and he
would be damned before he handed over the calculating of it to someone else. 

Stretching
his arms high above his head he rolled his neck from side to side, trying to
ease the bone deep ache that had settled in after hours of remaining in the
same position: curled over a desk, his hand cramping and his eyes going glassy
from the amount of figures that needed to be tallied.

He
stood up and went to the window. The old floor boards creaked under his weight,
an annoyingly constant reminder that he was not in his newly refurbished study
at Shire House. There the floor boards did not creak, the windows sparkled with
cleanliness, and it took him more than three steps to cross the length of the
room.
And Charlotte is not right across the hall
, he thought with a
pained grimace.

If
he were honest with himself he would be forced to admit it was not the long
columns of credit and debt that was turning what should have taken one hour of
work into three. It was the ever present knowledge, the constant bloody
awareness
,
that his wife was but a few yards away.

In
less than a minute he could be across the hall and have her in his arms. He
could burrow his fingers in her long, tousled hair. Pull back her head and
suckle at her throat until she moaned his name. Cup her breasts. Caress her
hard nipples through the soft fabric of her gown. Turn her away from him and
bend her over the bed. Lift her hips. Reach up through her skirts to feel the
moist heat of her…

With
an oath Gavin scrubbed his hands over his face and stalked to the bed. He
braced his arms against the scratchy quilt, pushing into the rock hard mattress
until his knuckles turned white. For one second, two, three, he managed to
think of something other than his wife before she crept back into his head like
a fine silvery mist rolling over a field.

He
thought of her hair, so brilliant in color it was as if she were born of the
sun. He thought of the way she bit her lip when she was trying not to smile. He
thought of her laughter, so sweet and lilting it was like music to his ears. He
thought of how adorable she looked when she was angry, and how difficult it was
not to grin ear to ear. He thought of the way she walked, impatient and quick
and not at all like a lady should, as though she always had somewhere important
to go, even if it was just across the room. He thought of the way she would
always tuck a loose curl behind her right ear, never her left, and how her
hands always moved when she talked, as though the idea of keeping them still
never crossed her mind.

“Bollocks,”
he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.

As
a man who prided himself in never lying, Gavin could not deny the truth that
was right in front of his face. Whether he liked it or not, he was closer than
ever to tumbling head over heels in love with his wife.

Cupping
his hands behind his neck with a frustrated growl, he began to pace the length
of the tiny room, his long, rangy body one large knot of coiled muscle.   

This
is not what he wanted. Not what he planned. And how had it happened so bloody
quickly
?

They
shared nothing in common.

He
had met mules less stubborn. She was high spirited, opinionated, argumentative…
and alluring as hell. There was no denying it. Charlotte possessed more passion
in one pinky finger than most women of the
ton
had in their entire
bodies. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place. What continued to
draw him, even now. Her zeal for life was unmatched. She had an energy about
her that was as bright and burning as the sun her hair embodied.

Still,
he could ill afford to fall in love with her.

Love
is a weakness
, he reminded himself.

She
was his wife. That would have to be enough. The ever present need for her that
inflamed his blood would cool in time… although… perhaps it was because he had
not
had her that he wanted her.

Gavin
froze in place as the idea instantly took root. Yes. He desired Charlotte
because he had made up his mind not to have her. It was as simple – and
complicated – as that.

She
was like the carriage he bought a few months ago. The expensive cufflinks he
purchased but never wore. The fine thoroughbred stallion he had to have, only
to end up selling him three weeks later when his interest waned.

The
solution to clearing his mind of her once and for all was clear. He would take
her, just once. His ardor would be sated, his constant lust for her would be
satisfied, and he could get her out of his mind once and for all.