The Runaway Duchess (4 page)

If
she had not been so damn picky during her first two seasons
this
is who
she could have ended up with. A kind gentleman, one who most likely spent his
days out on the hunt field and had few aspirations beyond living off his
inheritance, but one who was sweet and gentle and did not make her want to
cringe and shudder every time she looked at him. But oh no, that had not been
good enough for
her
.

No,
she had refused to accept any man’s offer for her hand – and there had been
quite a few, as she was a pretty girl from a well to do family with a sizable
dowry – because she did not fancy herself in love with any of them. Charlotte
barely managed to disguise a grimace of self-disgust as her enthusiastic dance
partner swung her around the floor for a third (and hopefully final) loop.
Love
.
She was beginning to think it was something found only in fairy tales, the same
as dragons and trolls and witches.

“I
say, is everything all right? Your face is turning rather red,” her partner
observed.

They
had come to a halt in the middle of the room. All around them couples clapped
politely, signaling the end of the waltz. Charlotte pressed her hands to her
cheeks and felt that they were, indeed, quite warm to the touch. “I apologize,
Lord… Er…”

“Lord
Yardley,” he supplied.

“Yes,
yes of course. I… You shall have to forgive me, Lord Yardley. I fear I am not
feeling well and have not been a very good dance partner.”

“Oh
no,” he protested, reaching out to rest his hand on her forearm. At her stare
he snatched it away and rubbed his chin instead, as though that was what he
meant to do all along. “You were absolutely splendid. But is it true, Lady
Charlotte?”

“Is
what true?” Her attention was already drifting, try as she might to remain
focused. Her scalp itched from the wax Tabitha had used to ensure her curls
stayed in place, and sweat was trickling down between her breasts. For the
second time she reached for her reticule, this time to draw out a fan, and her
teeth gnashed in frustration when she remembered it was sitting on her dresser
at home.

“Your
engagement,” Yardley said earnestly. “Is it true, or is it not true, that you
are to marry the Duke of Tarrow?”

Any
thoughts of fans and missing reticules fled Charlotte’s mind at the idea of
being forced to confirm her betrothal out loud for everyone to hear. She took
an involuntary step back and bumped hard against a woman in a plum colored
dress who clucked her tongue in annoyance.

“Watch
your step, if you would,” the woman said sharply.

“I…
I am terribly sorry.” She turned to the side, and nearly tripped a servant
attempting to carry a tray of scones from one end of the ballroom to the other.
“Sorry!” she burst out again, clapping both hands to her burning cheeks. Why
was it so damn hot? Someone needed to open a window. Or a wall.

Out
of the corner of her eye she saw Yardley walking towards her, his expression
one of utmost determination. She waved him off. “It was lovely dancing with
you, Lord Yardley, but I must… I must go powder my nose!”

The
room was spinning. Colors flew by, each one brighter than the last. Sound
intensified, until it seemed as though she were hearing everything through a
bullhorn.

 Feeling
as though the floor itself was tipping sideways, Charlotte fought her way
through the crowd, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Dimly she thought she
heard her mother calling her name, but by then she had reached a door, and not
caring where it led as long as it was away from the ballroom and the dozens of
eyes she could feel upon her back, she turned the brass doorknob and stumbled
through.

CHAPTER FOUR

Gavin
Graystone did not have a very high opinion of his first ball.

To
his mind it was a cluttered, tedious affair filled with high society nabobs who
had nothing better to do than throw a party for themselves celebrating how
bloody rich and important they all were.

There
was no gambling, no brawling, no women rubbing against his side like cats in
heat. Thank God he had thought to bring his own whiskey for it seemed only
lemonade –
lemonade
– was being served. Were it not for his need to meet
with new potential clients and the fact that he had turned in a very big favor
to ensure an invitation, he would have left hours ago.

Pulling
a silver flask from beneath his black waist coat, he took a liberal swig before
collapsing his long, lanky body into a leather chair. Having retreated to an
adjoining study some time ago in an effort to find quiet amidst the babbling
chaos, he had little intention of returning, at least not until the whiskey
took some effect.

Gavin
had not expected to be well received, and his assumption proved correct. He
was, after all, the son of a baker, a common man without an ounce of blue blood
running through his veins and no title to precede his name. But he was an
ambitious man and a wealthy one besides. In truth he most likely could have
bought and sold half the lords in attendance three times over, a fact they were
very well aware of. It made them despise him all the more, even as they curried
his favor like simpering pups begging for a bone.

But
they were
purebred
pups, he reminded himself with a sardonic tilt of his
mouth. While he, no matter how much financial success he achieved, would always
be seen as nothing more than a mangy mutt who was not fit to live in the same
household, let alone eat from the same silver bowl, as his blue blooded
cousins.

When
Gavin heard the door to the study open with an audible
creak
followed by
the unmistakable scurry of small feet and the crinkle of crinoline, he grimaced
and took one last swig from his flask, draining the contents in one satisfying
swallow that left his throat burning and his mind pleasantly fuzzy.

He
had wondered how long it would be before an over zealous mother sent her
daughter searching for him. There was more than one money hungry family in
attendance tonight who would be willing to overlook his lack of title if it
meant their salvation from financial ruin, and they had not been in shy in
letting him know it.

“If
you are looking for Graystone he is not here,” Gavin drawled, not bothering to
stand or even turn around to see what the fancy bit of fluff looked like. He
had no intention of being lured into marriage by a member of the nobility, no
matter how fair her features or soft her bosom. No, when he finally chose to
take a wife it would be to a girl of his own class who had not been raised with
a silver spoon jammed down her throat. One who knew what it felt like to work
for what she had and did not laze about all day sipping watered down tea and
getting fat on crumpets.

He
sincerely doubted there was a more spoiled creature in the entire world than a
high society brat, and he abhorred their haughty demeanors and the way they
looked down their nose at him when they had done nothing to earn their lot in
life save being born to the right set of parents.

“I
did not realize anyone was in here,” the intruder – unmistakably female if her
soft, lilting voice was any indication – replied.

Gavin
rolled his eyes at the dormant fireplace before him. “Do you make it a habit to
wander into dark empty rooms by yourself?”

“Do
you make it a habit to sit in dark empty rooms drinking by yourself?”

He
stared down at his empty flask, well hidden from view in the crook of his arm,
and frowned. “How do you know I was drinking?”

His
unwanted guest snorted under her breath. “Because it reeks of spirits in here.
And what other reason would a gentleman have to retreat to a dark room than
drink himself foolish? Unless you’ve been jilted. Are you?”

“Am
I what?” he asked irritably.

“Jilted.”

Gavin
gave that question all the response it deserved, which was to say none at all.
Still, he could not stop himself from leaning on one elbow and peering around
the side of the chair to see who had marched into the study with all the
finesse of a bull in a china shop.

The
light was dim and the air heavy with shadow, but what he was able to see had
his eyes widening and a low whistle of appreciation forming between his lips.
Lady or no – and he would be willing to bet everything he owned she
was
a lady – there was no denying the chit her stunning beauty.

Her
countenance was that of an angel’s, all soft lines and creamy skin with a pert
little nose that hinted at stubbornness and a full, voluptuous mouth just
begging to be kissed. Her eyes, neither brown nor green but a captivating
mixture of the two, were tilted at the corners and framed by the longest lashes
he had ever seen. Curls the color of fire framed her heart shaped face and
tumbled down over bare shoulders, drawing his eye to the rest of her body.

His
gaze traveled leisurely from the rounded tops of her breasts to her trimmed in
waist and back again, drinking his fill. He had gone too long without a woman,
and certainly too long without one who looked like
this
. She was a
vision, and were it not for the fact that she had undoubtedly been sent to him
like a lamb to the proverbial slaughter, he would have done more than just
enjoy her with his eyes.

“Are
you done yet?” the titian haired goddess asked in a very un-goddess like tone.
“Or would you like me to do a turn and stick out my tongue so you can check my
teeth?”

“Would
you?” he asked hopefully, and he grinned despite himself when she merely pinned
her hands to her hips and cocked one eyebrow. Bounding to his feet with ease,
he stepped around the chair and leaned up against the back of it, crossing his
arms over his wide chest and raising one of his own eyebrows in turn. “Gavin
Graystone at your service, my lady. Congratulations. You have found me.”

Her
lips thinned. “I thought said Graystone was not here. A liar
and
a
drunk? No wonder you are in hiding.”

She
was good, he would give her that. He was amused by her belligerence and
impressed with her wit, two things so rarely found amidst the beauties of the
ton
.
They were undeniably pretty to look at, but the moment they opened their mouths
the poor girls revealed they had nothing in their heads save feathers and
rocks.

“I
suppose now you will try to tell me that you came across me by complete
coincidence, and there is no one waiting outside the door to catch us alone
together in a compromising position.” Some of his amusement fled at the thought
that he had, in all likelihood, just revealed the girl’s plan. Beautiful face
or not, she was no different than the rest. “A valiant effort, my lady, but one
I fear will be wasted. I am no prancing dandy to be so easily fooled, nor a fox
to be chased to ground by a pack of howling bitches.”

Her
lips parted at the slur and two splotches of color appeared high on her cheeks.
“You are correct when you say you are not a fox, Mr. Graystone, for they are
cunning, handsome animals while you possess the qualities more commonly
associated with a boar!”

A
reluctant smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Your flattery could do with
some work. Best return to your mother and practice some more before you attempt
to snare a husband by fair means or foul.”

The
girl’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think I am doing? Well, let me assure
you that a husband is the
last
thing I require, especially a husband
like you!”

“Every
woman wants a husband.”

“Then
I must not be a woman. Good day to you, Mr. Graystone.” She gave a dismissive
wave of her hand. “I would say it was a pleasure to make you acquaintance, but
that would be a lie.”

Gavin
did not know why he did it. One moment he was lounging against the chair; the
next he was uncoiling to his full height of six feet and crossing the room to
stand behind the girl as she attempted to leave.

She
wrenched the door open. He moved with lightening quickness to slam it shut. He
saw the muscles in her shoulders and neck tighten before she whirled to face
him and lifted her chin, a warrior princess with a cupid’s bow mouth just
asking to be ravished.

“What
do you want?” she snapped.

“You
cannot leave yet.” His voice was huskier than normal. Lord, but she smelled
sweet. Like violets and sunshine and something a little dark. A little
dangerous.
She
was dangerous, if only for the fact that she made it so
temptingly easy to forget who and what she was: an innocent, but worse than
that – far worse, to Gavin’s mind – a highborn lady.

Aye,
this one’s blood was as blue as they came; he would stake his life on it. He
struggled to remember why he hated the nobility, but it was a losing battle. In
this moment, in this breath, she was only a woman and he was only a man.

He
ached to touch her. To know the feel of her skin. The taste of her flesh. The
sound of her sigh. 

“Are
you going to kiss me?” she whispered.

In
the dancing candlelight her eyes were endless pools of shimmering amber. He
shifted closer and her eyes widened, but she did not look away or fight to be
free of him. She stood quietly, her head tipped slightly to the right, her arms
poised motionless at her sides. Gavin wet his lips. The small motion drew her
gaze to his mouth, and the naïve curiosity he saw flicker across her face was
nearly his undoing.

“Bloody
hell,” he murmured, dropping his head and bracing his arms on either side of
the door, effectively pinning her against it. From inside his chest his heart
pounded and his pulse raced, as if he were an eager, inexperienced lad again
about to lose his virginity all over again.

When
had a woman ever affected him like this, let alone a slip of a girl with fire
in her hair and steel in her eyes?

Never.
The answer was never.

“Tell
me to let you go,” he said roughly, dragging one hand from the door to cup the
delicate curve of her jaw. Her skin felt like velvet.

“Why?”
she asked.

Why
indeed? Throwing caution to the wind, Gavin muttered a savage oath as he
claimed her mouth with his.