The Runaway Duchess (24 page)

Sitting
up on one elbow, she brushed a tendril of Gavin’s dark hair behind his ear. He
watched her, his eyes wide and wary, but he didn’t pull away. It was rather
like befriending a wild wolf, she thought with a small smile. If you moved too
quickly, the wolf would either snap or bolt. But with consistency and kindness
he could be gentled, although never quite tamed completely.

She
stretched forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. His scruff
of beard was rough against her lips, the woodsy scent of him divine. The arm he
had wrapped around her tightened as she began to press kisses down the line of
his jaw, but she stopped before she reached his neck and fell backwards onto
her pillow with a breathless laugh. “Thank you,” she said, slanting him a
sideways glance.

He
sat back. “For what?”

“For
sharing part of yourself with me. I know it is not easy for you to do.”

“No.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “It isn’t.”

“Does
this… Does this change anything between us?” She held her breath the moment the
question was past her lips, and even though outwardly she was composed, inside
she could not help but chant
please, please, please
.  

Gavin
took his time answering. He rubbed his chin. Ran a hand through his hair.
Looked out the window. When Charlotte thought she would simply die of
anticipation, he chuckled under his breath and flicked a finger down her nose.
“Breathe,” he said.

She
exhaled through her nostrils and struck him harmlessly on the shoulder. “You
are doing it on purpose!”

His
expression was one of pure innocence. “Doing what?”

“Dragging
it out.” Annoyed, she started to roll off the side of the bed. He gave a hard
tug with the arm that was still wrapped around her waist and she tumbled
against him, her red curls spilling every which way.

“You’re
not going anywhere,” he said huskily.

Scowling,
she planted her hands on his chest and pushed herself up. “Then tell me. Are
things – have things – changed or haven’t they? Because if they haven’t…”

“If
they haven’t?” he prompted.

She
bit her lip. “I don’t know.” Playfulness fading, Charlotte untangled herself
and sat on the edge of the bed, her toes curling around the mattress and her
arms wrapping tight around her legs. This time Gavin did not try to pull her
back, but after a moment of silence she felt his weight shift and tears sprang
unwanted to her eyes when she felt him brush her hair to the side and press the
softest of kisses to the nape of her neck.

“They
have,” he murmured. “They have changed.
I
have changed. I was careless
with you. Detached. Cold. Sometimes even cruel. I thought if I could push you
away you wouldn’t matter. I thought if I buried myself in work I could forget
you, but I couldn’t. I can’t,” he said achingly. “You are not who you were supposed
to be. I thought I wanted a wife I could show off like one of my carriages and
then set to the side. I never expected… I never thought I was capable of
feeling what I feel for you.”

It
wasn’t eloquent, and it wasn’t quite a declaration of love, but Charlotte was
charmed nevertheless. Turning her head to the side, she asked, “Are you trying
to say you want to have a real marriage?”

“Bloody
hell, I suppose I am.”

She
twisted all the way around to face him, her expression grave. “You cannot
change your mind tomorrow.”

“I
won’t,” he promised.

“We
are still going to get mad at each other and fight.” 

His
eyes gleamed. “I hope so. I don’t like it when you’re quiet.”

“And
I don’t like it when you ignore me as though I do not exist.”

The
smile that had crept into the corners of his mouth faded away. “I know,” he
said solemnly. “I am sorry for the hurt I have caused you.”

She
cupped his jaw. “I am sorry for the hurt I have caused
you
.”

“We
have not been kind to each other.”

“But
we can start today.”

“We
can start today,” he agreed.

Suddenly
aware of both her nakedness and his, Charlotte leaned provocatively forward and
brushed the tips of her breasts against his chest.

“We
could start right now,” she whispered.

Gavin’s
grin was positively wicked. “We could.”

Laughing,
they fell back onto the bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The
next two weeks were not without their trials and tribulations.

Shire
House rang with the sound of Gavin and Charlotte’s shouts as they argued over
one thing after another, from the repainting of Gavin’s study (“Don’t you
dare
touch a bloody thing in here,” he had blustered before storming out) to more
serious matters, including Charlotte’s brief, albeit quickly abandoned, idea of
moving her mother in with them (“Bloody well try it and see what happens,”
Gavin had threatened).

Yet
every night, no matter how much they clashed during the day, they fell into
each other’s arms and woke side by side each morning.

In
those quiet moments as the sun rose outside their bedroom window and it seemed
as though no one else in all of London was awake except for them, they gazed
into each others eyes and knew complete contentment.

Bit
by reluctant bit Gavin divulged more information about his past, and Charlotte
came to appreciate him all the more. She loved him fiercely, both the boy he
had been and the man he was now. She understood him as she had never been able
to before, and in understanding did not press him for what he was still
incapable of giving her.

What
would it take, she wondered one morning as she plunged her hands into the cool
earth and buried a seed deep into the dark soil, for him to tell her that he
loved her? To commit himself to her not only with his actions, but also with
his words. To erase the apprehension completely from his eyes. To give her all
of himself and hold nothing back.

A
miracle.

It
would take nothing short of a miracle.

Could
she be content with what she had? It was already so much more than she ever
dreamed. People went their entire lives without knowing true love and she held
it in the palm of her hand. But love belonged in the heart, and as Charlotte
rocked back on her haunches to survey the neat row of bulbs she had planted
along the side of the estate she could not help but yearn for what was still
beyond her grasp.

“Be
content with what you have,” she told herself sensibly as she dusted her hands
off on the smock she had borrowed from Tabitha and stood up, shielding her eyes
against the bright afternoon sun.

With
Tabitha running errands, Dianna visiting relatives in Scotland, and Gavin
conducting some sort of business meeting or another, she was alone for the
entirety of the day. Never one to sit idly on her heels, Charlotte had been
gardening since dawn and as she took a step back to view the results of her
hard labor she felt a wondrous sense of pride at what she had managed to
accomplish thus far.

No
longer plain and dormant, the sizable yard behind Shire House was now blooming
with life. The overgrown bushes had been trimmed back (with the help of the
true gardener, a sweet, elderly man by the name of Mr. Boggs who came by three days
a week), the flower beds had been weeded, tilled, and replanted, and the
courtyard stone was finally in place. Come next spring when the bulbs bloomed
into a colorful array of tulips it would be positively heavenly, and as
Charlotte returned inside to cool herself off she absently plucked a white
blossom from one of the newly clipped barberry shrubs that sat on either side
of the French doors.

Twirling
it between her fingers, she went first to the kitchen to pour herself a glass
of water and then to the linen closet for a rag to wipe along her perspiring
brow. She came across two maids, both of whom lowered their eyes the moment
they spied her, muttered a quick greeting, and fled.

Swallowing
back a sigh, she wandered into the library and perched on the edge of a velvet
trimmed chair to stare broodingly at the dormant fireplace. While her
relationship with Gavin had improved ten fold seemingly overnight, the
household staff was more distant than ever. In her husband’s presence they were
cordial, but when he was gone… Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. When he
was gone, she might as well have been invisible.

It
was a problem that would have to be addressed at some point or another. She
knew nothing would be gained by pretending as though everything was fine, and
yet that is exactly what she continued to do, day after day. She supposed a
small part of her had hoped she would eventually be accepted, but it was a well
known fact by everyone (with the exception of Gavin, who was, bless the man,
completely oblivious) that Dobson despised her and led the rest of his staff to
feel the same.

She
had tried to make peace with the surly butler time and time again but had been
met with resistance at every turn. The man was impossible, and short of letting
him go she did not see a ready solution to her problem. That, however, would
mean admitting failure to Gavin; something she was still not quite ready to do.

“Mrs.
Graystone?”

Charlotte
turned automatically at the sound of her name, and blinked in confusion when
she saw a maid standing in the doorway. Short and petite, the maid wore her
dark hair tucked neatly up beneath a white cap and appeared visibly agitated.

“Yes,
what is it Beatrice?”  

The
maid’s eyes widened. “Ye know who I am?”

Charlotte
stood up. “You are a scullery maid. You’ve been here seven months. Your older
sister, Annie, works in the kitchen.” 

“How
do ye know all that?” Beatrice asked in amazement.

“I
am the lady of this household. It is my business to know.” Her tone was short
and clipped, but not unkind. “Do you need something?”

“Ye
ain’t at all like he says you is,” the maid blurted out.

“Who?”
Her eyes narrowing, Charlotte took a step forward. “Who says, Beatrice?” As if
she did not know the answer.
Dobson
, she thought furiously. The man was
a tyrant and he needed to be stopped. Enough was enough. It was high time she
took control of her own household and she already knew what her first act of
business would be: tossing the butler out on his ear. She was tired of the
sideways glanced and the whispers. Tired of the maids scattering when she
entered a room as though they were little mice and she a big angry cat. She
knew most women would have complained to their husbands and been done with the
whole messy affair weeks ago, but she was not most women. Charlotte preferred
to handle her own problems, thank you very much, and if she needed to
physically escort Dobson from the estate she would bloody well find the means
to do so.

Realizing
she was scowling, she carefully smoothed her features and even managed a
pleasant smile. “You can tell me,” she coaxed the nervous maid. “You will not
get in trouble. I promise.”

But
Beatrice had clapped a hand over her mouth and was already shaking her head.
“Mr. Dobson would like to see ye,” she said between her fingers.

“Oh
he would, would he?” Picking up her skirts, Charlotte marched to the door. This
was finally going to end, she decided, once and for all. “Where is he?”
The
mangy cur
, she thought, silently repeating Dianna’s preferred name for
him. 

Lowering
her gaze, Beatrice stepped to the side. “In the back parlor,” she murmured.
Spinning on her heel, she all but fled across the hall and disappeared into
another room.

Dobson
was indeed waiting for Charlotte in the back parlor. A small, windowless room
with a meager collection of mismatched furniture, it was rarely used for
anything save a place to store unwanted belongings. Charlotte was considering
turning it into a water closet, but with so many other renovations still
ongoing it was on the bottom of a rather long list. Stepping around a high
backed chair that needed new upholstery, she fixed Dobson with the coldest of
stares.

“What
do you want?”

Dressed
in his customary attire of a black jacket, vest, white shirt, and pressed
trousers Dobson looked every inch the respectable butler… until you glanced
into his dark, squinty eyes and saw the belligerence and disgust he did not
bother to hide. “I never liked you.”

Refusing
to be intimidated, Charlotte crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “The
feeling,” she said scathingly, “is quite mutual. This will not continue on, do
you understand? I have given you every opportunity to—”

“Oh,
shut your damn trap.”

“E-Excuse
me?” she sputtered.

“You
heard me.” His gaze deliberately insolent, Dobson looked her up and down, and
when his eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts Charlotte could not suppress
her shudder of revulsion. “You haven’t stopped talking since the moment you
arrived. Changing this, changing that.” His lip curled. “Shire House was
perfect before you and your meddling husband took over.”

“Shire
House was falling apart and were it not for my
meddling
husband you
would have been out of work months ago! You need to leave, Dobson. At once.
Your employment here has ended.” He was making her extremely uncomfortable and
very, very aware that with Gavin away and the rest of the servants under his
control instead of her own, he could whatever he liked.

She
had always thought of Dobson as harmless. Horrible, certainly, but harmless all
the same. Now she suddenly saw the butler in a different light, and the prickle
of awareness at the back of her neck had her taking a step closer to the door. 

“My
employment was over the moment Graystone purchased Shire House. Lady Susan and
Lord Richard would be rolling in their graves if they knew their estate had
fallen into the hands of a half blood mongrel and his whiny bitch.”

Charlotte
didn’t slap; she punched.

Without
a thought to the consequences she rushed forward, balled her right hand into a
fist, and swung it wildly at Dobson’s head. It glanced off his cheek and she
felt a second of immense satisfaction before he retaliated. She tried to jump
away, but her heel caught on a piece of furniture and she stumbled, wind
milling her arms in a desperate attempt to find her balance. Dobson was on her
in an instant.

Before
she could even draw the breath necessary to scream he had his hands wrapped
around her throat and she was slammed against the far wall. Her head bounced
painfully off the hard plaster, sending bits of it crumbling into her hair like
newly fallen snow. She bit her tongue and the taste of blood flooded her mouth,
hard and metallic. In front of her Dobson looked like a man crazed. His eyes were
rolling, his face a deep, mottled purple. He shook her like a dog would a bone,
jerking her side to side.

“Bitch,”
he snarled. Long lines of spittle flew from his mouth and covered her forehead,
nose, cheeks. “Whore. This house doesn’t belong to you. It will never belong to
you. NEVER!”

Dobson
continued to rant and rave until his voice was only a dull buzzing in
Charlotte’s ears. She clawed frantically at his hands, her throat convulsing as
she tried to suck in air. “Killing… Me…” she wheezed. For one horrifying moment
she thought Dobson was going to tighten his grip and end it, but with an
exclamation of disgust he let her go.

She
collapsed to her knees in a fit of coughing that wracked her entire body. The
floor seemed to swim in front of her eyes, the colors of the room blurred and
distended.  Grasping her bruised neck she massaged the trembling muscles and
knew the skin would be bruised to black by evening. She peered up at Dobson. He
towered above her, his face a mask of tightly controlled fury, his arms held in
rigid lines at his side. A light blazed in his eye that was not completely
sane. It spoke of anger and greed and madness. She had once thought him bitter
and high on his imagined power. Now she knew he was more. So much more, and the
thought of what he could do to her, alone in the house, chilled her to the
bone.

“I
have been patient. I have waited and watched. Your husband is a stupid fool
grasping beyond his means.” The muscles in Dobson’s face tightened and
twitched. “He should be the one bowing and scraping to me!”

“You
hate him.” Charlotte’s voice was a painful rasp, her forehead lined with
creases as she attempted to puzzle out the reasons behind Dobson’s madness.
Shifting onto her hip she leaned against the wall, too weak and dizzy to stand.
“All this time, you have always hated him.”

“Of
course I have!” the butler howled, throwing his arms wide. “He doesn’t deserve
this house. He doesn’t deserve this life. He is not a lord. He is nothing. He
is no one!”

Even
after being half strangled to death, Charlotte could not help but leap to
Gavin’s defense. “He worked for what he has. Lord or not, he has earned every
bit of it. Why would that matter to you?” she asked, bewildered beyond reason. “He
let you stay on as head butler. He paid you fair wages. You have no reason to
complain. No reason to… to do
this
.”  

“Because
it should have been me,” Dobson whined. Sinking down into a chair, he buried
his head in his hands. “It should have been me,” he repeated. “Me, me, me.”

Charlotte
glanced past him to the door. It wasn’t so far away. Three yards at the most.
At least now she knew why he had wanted to meet her in the back parlor. It was
isolated from the rest of the house and the street beyond, but if she could
somehow get through the door and down the hall… “Why should Shire House belong
to you?”
Keep him talking
, she thought.
Keep him talking and you will
have a chance at escape
. Going so slow as to barely be moving, she began to
inch her way to the left, keeping her eyes trained on Dobson the entire time.
“You are not a lord either.”

“Not
a lord?” The whites of his eyes flashed. More spittle flew from his mouth. “He
was my father. His blood is in MY veins.”

“Whose
blood?”