The Runaway Duchess (23 page)

Charlotte’s
jaw dropped. Gavin’s fingers tightened around hers, holding her in place when
she would have otherwise leapt to her feet. “Mother,” she cried, aghast, “I am
not
getting an annulment and I am
not
marrying the duke!”

Bettina’s
face went white. “You stupid, impetuous child! I gave up everything for you,
and this is how you repay me? No. No, I will not have it, do you hear me?”

Before
Charlotte could think to defend herself Bettina was across the room in three
quick strides. She raised her right hand and brought it crashing down across
her daughter’s cheek, whipping Charlotte’s head to the side. Her mouth curling
is disgust, Bettina lifted her arm again, but before she could lash out Gavin
was on his feet and had her by the shoulders.

“I
have never hit a woman,” he growled, his eyes as hard as steel in the
flickering candlelight, “but you sorely tempt me, Lady Vanderley. Touch my wife
again and you shall know the full consequences of your actions.”

“Your
wife
,” Bettina sneered, although once Gavin released her she did keep
her distance after casting one last, searing glare at Charlotte. Going to the
far wall where a silver tray was set up on a long legged table she poured
herself a cup of tea and took a sip. When she turned around she was coolly
composed, the anger that had overtaken her once again contained and buried
beneath a veneer of politeness. “She will not be your wife once this farce of a
marriage is annulled,” she said in a tone that was eerily pleasant. “Charlotte,
dear, go to your room.”

Hearing
her name spoken was enough to snap Charlotte out of the daze she had
momentarily succumbed to. Shaking her head to clear it, she rose to her feet
and stood beside Gavin, cupping her burning cheek with one hand and using the
other to steady herself against his side. “You hit me,” she said dumbly.

It
was a stunning realization for any child to discover their parent was capable
of such violence, but even more so for Charlotte because it indicated a depth of
passion in her mother she thought had simply not existed.

For
as long as she could remember Bettina had always been coldly detached. No
matter what Charlotte did, not matter how well she behaved, she could never
achieve more than a faint glimmer of approval in her mother’s eyes. Because of
that, she had always believed – had made herself believe – that her mother was
incapable of feeling true emotion. But there was emotion in Bettina now.

It
simmered in every part of her body, spilling off her in waves no matter how
composed her countenance. Finally, Bettina truly felt something for her
daughter.

Hate.

“I
cannot go to my room,” she said softly. “I no longer live here, Mother. I live
with my husband now.”

“Where?
Under a bridge?” Bettina’s laugh was short and mean. Setting her cup aside with
an uncharacteristic clatter, she turned her full attention to Gavin. “I blame
you for this, you know.”

“I
know,” he said indifferently.

“You
swooped in like a vulture after a poor, witless rabbit and charmed it with your
looks and smooth tongue. Well, soon enough my daughter will realize what you
truly are: a money hungry womanizer with nothing more than a pretty face and
empty lies!”

Enough
,
Charlotte thought wearily as Gavin and Bettina exchanged glares of mutual
dislike.
This has gone on long enough
.

There
was nothing to be had by continuing the conversation. Nothing to be gained. In
truth, she probably never should have come. She was expecting something of
Bettina that she could not give: love, acceptance, happiness. She might as well
ask the sky to turn purple or the grass to bleed blue.  “There is no money to
be had, Mother.”

“There
is your dowry, which would be more than enough to lure the likes of him,”
Bettina argued.

“There
is no dowry, and even if there were Gavin would not need it. You do not know
what you are speaking about, and your ignorance is showing.”

“I
suppose he has told you he has money?”

“An
embarrassing amount, really,” Gavin said.

“He
is lying,” Bettina said, but there was a faint hesitation in her voice and –
far worse than that, to Charlotte’s mind – a sudden spark of interest in her
eyes. “How much wealth could an untitled man of your unfortunate background
have accumulated?”

“Enough
to pay off whatever debts you owe to the duke and allow you to live in comfort
for the rest of your life.” Charlotte stepped forward and took her mother’s
hand. Bettina’s fingers were cold and lifeless. “I knew you would be angry, but
I had hoped for once you would be able to see past your constant disappointment
in me and realize that I am happy with my decision. But you will never be able
to do that, will you?”

“You
are no longer a daughter of mine.”

Charlotte
thought she could not be more hurt than she already was, but her mother’s words
cut through her like a knife, thrusting through flesh and bone to pierce her
heart in one horrible thrust. “Mother, please…” Her voice broke. She felt a
gentle pressure on her shoulders. Gavin circled his arms around her and drew
her against him, holding her protectively against his chest.

“That
is enough,” he murmured into her ear. “There is nothing else you can do. Let’s
go home now.”

“Yes,”
she said, blinking furiously against the tears that threatened to fall. She
wanted to say more, to reach out towards her mother one last time, but one
glance at Bettina’s cold, unforgiving face told her everything she needed to
know. Clinging to Gavin’s arm, she followed him out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Charlotte
burst into tears the moment they stepped inside the waiting phaeton. Gavin watched
her helplessly, not knowing what words to offer that would ease her suffering.
He may have lost his mother at an early age, but she had never spoken to him
with anything other than love and kindness until her dying day. He did not
understand how a parent could be so cruel to their child, especially when that
child was Charlotte.

His
wife may have been stubborn and hard headed, but she was also gentle, sweet,
and giving. A person, Gavin thought, should not be judged by how they treated
their betters, but by how they treated those beneath them, and he had never
seen Charlotte be anything but kind to her maid and any other servant she came
across.

How
was it that someone so selfless could be born of someone so selfish? If he was
honest with himself Gavin would admit he had already made up his mind where
Bettina was concerned before he ever met the woman. Upon leaving, his negative
opinion of her was confirmed a hundred times over.

Dark
settled around them as the carriage plodded forward at a methodic pace, slowed
by the evening swell of traffic. Still Charlotte cried, her tears shimmering on
her face like diamonds under the street lamps. Feeling as though he should do
something
,
even though he was not sure what that something was, Gavin wrap his arm
awkwardly around her hunched shoulders. She went still, so still he feared she
may have stopped breathing, before she launched herself against him with enough
force to knock the air out of his lungs.

She
curled into his body, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and blew her nose. “I am
s-s-sorry,” she choked out, “but I forgot my handkerchief and my n-nose will
not stop r-running. Dianna was right,” she said, and for some reason that made
her cry all the harder.

Gavin
rubbed her back in gentle circles, murmuring nonsense words meant to calm and
soothe. Eventually he felt more so than heard her sobs subsiding, and she used
this coat again, this time to dry her face.

“Feel
better?” he inquired gruffly.

“Yes,”
she sighed.

He
waited for her to stiffen and draw back, to return to her side of the carriage,
but when she stayed nestled in the crook of his arm it only felt natural to
keep her there.

By
the time they reached Shire House the hour was quite late, and Charlotte was sound asleep. As Gavin stared down at her upturned face, he smoothed a curl
from her cheek and softly kissed her temple. The moment his lips touched her
ivory skin he felt something shift deep inside of him, like a chord being
struck. Brow furrowed in thought, he carefully lifted her up and carried her all
the way up to her bedroom.

She
stirred when he laid her gently across the mattress, and woke when he began to
untie the laces on her boots.

“Gavin?”
Her voice was drowsy. Disoriented. Leaning against the wooden headboard she sat
up and blinked owlishly at him. “What are you doing? What time is it?”

“After
ten and I am undressing you.” Concentrating on his task he remained crouched at
the side of the bed and, once one boot was loosened, pulled it gently off and
set it down on the floor beside him before going to work on the other.

“But…
Where is Tabitha?”

“I
sent her away.”

“You
sent her away?”

The
second boot joined the first and he began to unroll her stockings, taking care
not to rip the delicate fabric. “Do you know these don’t match?”

Charlotte
sat up straighter and drew her legs to her chest. She frowned at him over the
top of her knees, her countenance vaguely suspicious in the flickering light
afforded them by the two candles sitting on her dresser and the silvery glow of
the moon beaming in from an open window. “Are you being nice to me because I
cried? Because I do not want your pity.”

“And
you do not have it.” Pushing to his feet, Gavin walked around the massive four
poster bed and closed the window halfway, mindful of the strong winds that had been
whistling through the city in the early hours of the morning. “I wanted to see
you settled in your bed. Now that you are, I will take my leave.”

Her
felt her eyes upon him as he traced his steps back to the door and just as he
lifted his foot to step over the threshold she called for him to wait. “Yes?”
he asked, turning in a slow half circle.

The
light from the full moon trickled through Charlotte’s auburn hair, bathing her
face in a silvery glow that only served to make her all the more enchanting. She
looked like a wood nymph or a fairy princess, her eyes heavy lidded with sleep
and her mouth curved faintly in bemusement. “Could you stay with me?” she asked
hesitantly. “Just… Just for a little while.”

Gavin
nodded, although he did not trust himself to sit beside her on the bed.
Selecting a chair he turned it to face her and settled into it, kicking off his
own boots before propping his feet on the end of the mattress. How odd it felt,
he reflected, to be in his wife’s bedchambers. Odd, and yet strangely
comforting. As he shrugged out of his coat and untied his cravat he could not
help but think this was how it could always be between them. And for the very
first time there was no pang of fear to accompany such an intimate thought.

“What
did you think of my mother?” Even though she was still dressed, Charlotte had
drawn the top quilt up to cover her knees. She sat with her arms folded and her
chin propped up, like a child ready to listen to a parent’s bedtime story.

“I
did not see any of you in her,” he answered honestly. “She seemed very hard.”

“She
is. She always has been. My father was the one who used to laugh.” Charlotte smiled wistfully. “Sometimes he could make her laugh too. He was the only one. I
am stubborn, like her,” she said after a pause. “And I often think I am right
when I am wrong, like she does.”

“It
was wrong of her to say those things to you.” Something caught in Gavin’s
throat and he coughed to clear it. “I am sure she did not mean them,” he
continued, but Charlotte was already shaking her head.

“She
did.” This time her smile was sad. “I should not have gone to see her, but some
part of me hoped… Well, it does not matter now. What is done is done.” She
plucked at a loose thread on the quilt. “I must thank you for accompanying me.
I know not all of the horrible things she said were reserved for me alone.”

Gavin
shrugged. “I have heard worse.”

“Could
you tell me about your family?”

“My
family?” he repeated, taken aback.

“Yes.”
Charlotte pulled hard enough at the quilt thread to snap it. Looking at it as
though it were the most fascinating thing in the world she wound it around and
around her finger in an endless loop. “I know we agreed not to be personal,”
she said softly, “but I want to understand where you come from. It is only fair,
after all.”

“And
how did you reach that conclusion?”

She
shrugged. “Well, since you met my mother it seems only right that you tell me
about yours.”

Gavin
had already decided to tell her whatever she wanted to know the moment he turned
away from the door, but that did not mean he would give away such information
freely. He was a bargainer at heart, and saw no reason not to use those skills
inherent to him towards his own benefit. “I was granting you a favor when I
went with you to see your mother.”

Her
eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t a favor, that was your duty as my husband. You may
neglect your other husbandly duties, but you cannot get away with ignoring them
all.”

“And
what other husbandly duties have I been… neglecting?”

Charlotte’s
blush was immediate and all encompassing, even in the darkness. “We have talked
about this before at some length. I do not know why you are acting like this—”

He
stood up easily from the chair and shifted his weight forward, moving with the
sinuous grace of a panther as he braced his hands on the bed and leaned towards
her. “Like what?” he invited.

“You
are mocking me.”

“No,
never that.”

“Then
you trying to d-distract me.” Charlotte gasped when he pushed her hair away
from her neck and began to trace a wandering path across her exposed flesh with
his mouth.

“Yes,”
he murmured, a wicked grin curving his lips before he took her earlobe between
his teeth and tugged. He hovered above her, one knee on the bed, the other
pressed hard against it. His hands were flat on the mattress, his stomach
pulled in tight.

Charlotte’s
eyes were wide beneath his, her brow furrowed, her lips slightly parted.
“Gavin, I do not think—”

“Precisely,”
he whispered. “Do not think.”

He
sank into her by degrees. She was hesitant at first. Stiff. He softened her as
an artist would soften clay, bringing his hands up to cup her shoulders before
working his way down her arms, rubbing her tight muscles until, with a little
sigh of surrender, she relaxed into him.

Their
first time together had been fast, impatient, desperate. This was slow, soft,
sweet. He tasted her mouth, her tongue, the heavenly nectar of her skin. She
turned her head to the side, exposing the line of buttons that ran the length
of her gown. Still kissing her neck he undid them one by one, freeing her from
the dress and the undergarments beneath it with a patience he did not know he
possessed until she wore only moonlight.

“You
are beautiful.” His voice was ragged. His body pulsing with need. Though it killed
him, he remained still while she divested him of his clothes in turn,
interrupting only when her fingers went to the laces of his trousers. “Lay on
your back,” he instructed. She did as he asked, propping herself up on her
elbows and, whether by accident or design, thrusting her perfect breasts
upwards.

Gavin
kicked free of his pants and stretched out beside her, idly pulling pins from
her hair as they kissed, their tongues lazily entwining as though they had all
the time in the world. When her curls tumbled across the pillows like fire he
moved down her body in strokes, lingering when she gasped and arched.

When
he reached the heart of her she was wet and waiting and sobbed his name as he
suckled. Her fingers clutched his hair, her nails digging into his scalp, and
when he brought her to the brink of release before working his way back up her
trembling body her eyes were wide and wondrous and wanting.

When
they came together, it was perfect.

He
slipped into her and she welcomed him, her arms winding up around his
shoulders. They met each other thrust for thrust, establishing a rhythm
punctuated by gasps and groans and breathy laughs born of mindless pleasure.
The tempo changed. It grew faster, needier. She bucked underneath of him, her
breaths frantic, her head thrashing.

As
one being, they tumbled into oblivion.

“Tell
me about your mother. What was she like?”

Dawn
found Charlotte curled in Gavin’s arms. She was facing him, one knee burrowed
between his thighs, one hand pressed tight against his chest. She felt his
heart beat beneath her palm and the even rise and ease of his ribcage as he
breathed. He stroked her hair, combing his fingers mindlessly through the
tangled curls. The bed was in disarray, the covers twisted this way and that.
The top quilt was gone completely and a sheet rode low on their hips, leaving
their top halves bare.

When
Charlotte glanced up at Gavin’s face to see if he had heard her quietly spoken
question she saw he was looking past her to the window where light streaked in
through the glass, although the vacancy in his eyes told her he was seeing a
much different scene.

“She
was always kind,” he said after a long pause.

Charlotte exhaled the breath she had not even known she was holding in one gusty sigh.
Upon waking and seeing Gavin had not left her during the night, she   quickly
determined what had transpired between them was no fanciful dream. Hope had
blossomed in her chest, followed quickly by fear. If he turned from her again,
she did not know how she could bear it… but here he was, still holding her,
still talking to her. She burrowed more firmly into his arms, resting her head
on his taut bicep and closing her eyes.

“Go
on,” she coaxed quietly, “you can tell me.”

She
heard him sigh and shift, but it was only to wrap his arm around the slender
curve of her spine and tuck her against him. “My father was a drunk who made a
living with his fists. My older brother followed in his footsteps and was
killed before his seventeenth birthday. He went up against someone he shouldn’t
have in the ring, and he paid the price for it.”

Charlotte’s
eyes flew open. It wasn’t the death that startled her, but rather the
matter-of-fact way Gavin divulged it. “You had a brother?”

“Two.
They both took after my father. I wasn’t close to either of them.”

“You
were more like your mother,” she guessed.

The
fingers in her hair paused for the briefest of moments before he resumed
untangling the long curls. “I suppose you could say that, except I fought as
well.”

Now
she was truly shocked. “You did?”

“Yes,
except I was better at it and I didn’t drown myself in drink after. I saved my
money, and I got the hell out of Old London as soon as I was able.”

What
strength it must have taken for a young man to resist the temptations around
him and not only survive, but go on to make an enormous success of himself. To
succeed where his father and brothers had failed. To rise up where his peers
had fallen. It would have taken courage and drive and, Charlotte supposed, a
certain type of hardness that still existed within him to this day.