The Runaway Duchess (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

It
felt as though everything was happening with lightening quickness.

One
moment Charlotte was fleeing the ballroom and the next she was being pressed up
against a door and kissed senseless by a handsome stranger. No, not kissed, she
thought dazedly. Surely this was not kissing. This was
ravishing
. She
was being ravished and it felt… it felt wonderful.

Gavin’s
mouth was hot and heavy on her lips. His body pressed against hers in the most
delicious places, all hard lines and long angles. One hand slipped from her jaw
to curve around the back of her neck while the other settled high on her left
hip and squeezed. She shivered in response, a quick jolt of movement that
earned her a hard nip on her bottom lip. He soothed the bite almost before he
gave it, nursing it with his tongue and because it only seemed natural she
opened her mouth as well and oh…
Oh
. Who knew one could kiss like this?

It
was like dancing, but with their tongues instead of their bodies and infinitely
more exciting.

The
rational part of her mind knew what they were doing was wrong. She knew she
should stop, but she did not. In truth, she could not.

Pleasure
crashed over her like a violent wave, dragging her under and spinning her
around and around until she did not know left from right or up from down. The
hand at her hip began a slow, sensuous descent and when Gavin cupped her bottom
through the layered fabric of her gown and thrust her hard against him she
moaned into his mouth and clung to his shoulders with all of her strength. He
rocked his body suggestively, and her eyes flew open at the new sensation that
burst to life in the most secret part of her.

“Do
you like that?” he murmured, and when she nodded he did it again, and again,
until she was trembling in his arms and gasping for breath.

Then,
without warning, the kiss ended as quickly as it had begun. Gavin stepped back
so abruptly she stumbled, and were it not for the edge of a table she used to
brace her hands against she feared she would have crumpled to the ground
completely, so shaky were her limbs.

Touching
her swollen lips, she bit back a long, lingering moan. “That was…”

“A
mistake,” Gavin said flatly.

In
the time it had taken Charlotte to regain her balance he was across the room
and now stood facing the far window with his back to her. His body was one hard
knot of coiled muscle, his shoulders tensed and rigid beneath the sleek line of
his black overcoat.

He
was a large man, both tall and solidly built, with hair as black a raven’s wing
and eyes so gray they made her think of a tumultuous summer storm right before
the thunder rolled in. His face was turned away from her and hidden in shadow,
but she remembered it distinctly. The harsh lines, the slashing brows, the nose
that was slightly off center as if it had been broken more than once. Just by
looking at him one knew he was a dangerous man; the sort of man she had never
been allowed to associate with, let alone kiss.

The
thrill of it all continued to pulse through her; quivering little after shocks
that thrummed pleasantly inside of her belly. She straightened and moved away
from the table, crossing her arms tight over her chest as if to hold in the
pleasure, if only for a little bit longer.

“Would
you like to know my name?” she asked hesitantly, unsure what the next step was
in matters such as these, having never been ravished by a stranger in a dark
study before.

“No.”

Her
eyebrows knitted together. Well, kissing had certainly done little to improve
his disposition. The man was still surly as an old bear. “All right then. I
suppose I will be on my way.” She moved slowly towards the door, taking great
care to smooth out her skirts and adjust her hair in the vain hope Gavin would
ask her to wait, and her shoulders drooped in disappointment when she reached
the door and there was only silence from the other side of the room.

It
was for the best, she told herself consolingly.

A
lady simply did not indulge in a dalliance with a stranger such as Gavin
Graystone and if she did, nothing ever came of it. What did she expect? That he
would pledge his undying love after one soul searing kiss and whisk her away to
live with him in his castle high on a hill?

Well
yes
, she admitted to herself with a wry little smile as her hand closed
over the brass doorknob,
that would be rather splendid
.

“Stop.”

Charlotte
sucked in a breath. “Yes?”

“I
would.”

With
a soft, deliberate
click
she let the doorknob fall back to its original
position before she turned to face him. Inside her chest her heart beat a rapid
tattoo, but outwardly she was calm, cool, and composed. “You would what, Mr.
Graystone?”

He
stepped away from the window. Shadows danced across his face, adding to his
sinister appeal. “I would like to know your name.”

“Lady
Charlotte Vanderley,” she said without preamble. No doubt other women would
have made Gavin wait a bit before divulging such intimate details, but
Charlotte had never been fond of games. She preferred to say what she had to
say and be done with it, coy flirtation be damned.

Gavin
released a short, bitter laugh. “Of course you are,” he muttered cryptically.

Charlotte
frowned. “Pardon me? Have we met before?”

“No,
Lady
Charlotte, we have not met.”

“Ah,”
she said with a decisive nod as it all made sense. “You must have heard of the
engagement then. Well, yes. I am the same Charlotte Vanderley who is involved
in all of that nonsense.”

For
the first time the word ‘engagement’ did not lodge and burn in her throat like
it usually did. It slipped out matter-of-fact, like a cork twisting free from a
bottle. She wondered at the ease of it, and hoped it was not because she was –
heaven forbid – getting
used
to the notion.

“I
never said I – engagement?” Gavin’s mouth twisted. “What bloody engagement?”

“My
engagement to the Duke of Tarrow.”

Ah,
there it was. The familiar twisting of nausea snaking up from her stomach to
tickle the back of her throat. Trying not to gag, she explained, “The
announcement was printed in all of the papers this morning.”

“The
Duke of Tarrow is an old man.”

“Yes,”
she sighed. “I know.”

In
three long strides Gavin was in front of her. He caught her chin in a bruising
grip and forced her head up so their eyes met, stormy gray against burning
amber. “You are no different than the rest,” he said scornfully. “Pledging
yourself to the wealthiest man with the highest title no matter how sane his
mind or wrinkled his body.”

Working
her jaw from side to side just enough to loosen his hold, Charlotte twisted her
chin and sank her teeth into the flesh of his palm. He howled and released her immediately,
clutching his hand.

“You
little hellcat!” He held his hand up to the light to examine the even row of
teeth marks imprinted into his skin and shook his head in disbelief. “You bit
me!”

“Yes,”
Charlotte said with no small amount of pride. “I most certainly did and I will
do it again if I have to. Do not touch me without my permission, Mr.
Graystone.” Her eyes narrowed. “I do not like being accosted in such a manner.”

“Something
I will surely keep in mind.” Scowling, Gavin rubbed his palm on the side of his
coat and flexed his fingers.

“Furthermore,”
Charlotte continued, her voice rising with every word as her temper flared, “I
did not
choose
to become engaged to the duke! If it were up to me I
would have nothing to do with him, no matter if he were the richest man in all
of England or some beggar on the street!” As often happened when anger got the
best of her tears sparked in her eyes, and with a hiss of embarrassed dismay
she whirled from Gavin and ran for the door.

She
reached it a second before he did, and this time when he held it shut she did
not turn into his arms but rather kicked it with all her might which resulted
in nothing more than a smarting foot, as dancing slippers were hardly good
protection against solid oak doors.

“Ouch,”
she sniffed, hopping on one leg. “That bloody well hurt.”

“About
as much as my hand does, I imagine,” Gavin said dryly and despite her
frustrations Charlotte found herself smiling through her tears.

Balancing
like one of the beautiful pink flamingoes she had seen once at a traveling zoo,
she turned carefully around and leaned up against the door. Gavin did not step
back to give her room, but rather than feeling crowded by his large, rangy body
she felt oddly protected, as if his very presence had the ability to right all
of her wrongs. “I apologize for biting you,” she said, dropping her gaze to his
chest. “My mother says it is because of my red hair that I let my temper get
the best of me.”

Reaching
out, Gavin captured a glossy curl between his fingers and rolled it back and
forth. “I have never seen hair this shade before. It is like copper gleaming in
the sun. Surely something so beautiful could not be responsible for something
so heinous.”

Charlotte’s
nose wrinkled. “Did you just call me heinous?”

“Not
you, your temper. Do you always shriek like a banshee when you get angry?”

“Most
times,” she admitted, peeking up at him through her lashes. He had a dimple,
she realized with a start. A charming, boyish dimple that had no business
existing on the face of a man who was already so handsome. “It is something I
have put considerable effort into improving.”

He
chuckled softly and let her curl drop, but did not release his hold on her
completely. The back of his hand, devoid of a glove as a proper gentleman’s should
be, began to move in slow, soothing strokes up and down the length of her arm.
Goosebumps rose on the ivory flesh, and Charlotte bit down hard on the inside
of her cheek.

“You
are quite forward, Mr. Graystone.”

“With
you I seem to be,” he said, his gray eyes darkening with an emotion she could
not easily decipher. “Tell me more about your engagement.” His hand fell away
and he stepped back.

Charlotte
drank in the space between them, telling herself it was necessary even as she
yearned to be close to him once again.
You are a proper young lady
, she
reminded herself sternly,
and he is no doubt a rake and a rapscallion who
behaves this way with anything in skirts – control yourself
!

“What
would you like to know, Mr. Graystone?” Her bare shoulders lifted and dipped in
what she hoped came across as a careless shrug. “He asked my mother for my hand
and she accepted on my behalf.” And oh, didn’t that make her want to kick a few
more doors!

Gavin’s
brows lifted in visible surprise. “Surely she consulted you first.”

Her
only answer was a purse of her lips, to which he shook his head and muttered,
“Bloody nobility.”

Charlotte
hid a smile behind her hand. “I should be going now,” she said reluctantly.

It
was one thing to indulge in a secret kiss with a stranger behind closed doors;
it was quite another to be
caught
indulging in a kiss with a stranger
behind closed doors and she knew with every second she lingered her chances of
being discovered increased tenfold.

This
time Gavin made no attempt to stop her when she opened the door and stepped out
into the hallway. Picking up the hem of her skirts she walked briskly towards
the ballroom, and although she never turned around, she felt his eyes on her
back the entire time.

Gavin
watched Charlotte until she disappeared around a corner and vanished from
sight. For a moment he considered following her, but he chased the idea away
with a grimace. The girl was trouble, and trouble was one thing he could ill
afford at the moment.

Trouble
had been his constant companion in his youth. Possessing quick reflexes and a
healthy thirst for violence, Gavin first made his name in the underground
boxing rings that had once been so popular. He tore through the opposition with
ease, and instead of wasting his winnings on women and drink – as so many
others did – he invested it, foolishly at first, as a man with little education
was likely to do, but he learned quickly from his mistakes and what started as
a small fortune soon bloomed into a larger one.

Most
men of his background and station would have been content with that, but not
Gavin. He was a restless sort, never satisfied with what he owned, always
wanting more, wanting bigger, wanting the best. He decided at the tender age of
eight and ten, as he stood over his mother’s deathbed and watched her die the
slow, painful death of blood poisoning from a cut on her leg that could have
been treated correctly if only they had the money, that if he could not be a
lord by birth the next best thing would be to live as one.

Now
he made loans to men he despised on principle, men who could ill afford to make
their financial woes public by going to a bank for fear of becoming a laughing
stock amidst their peers.

Gavin’s
interest rates were not kind, nor were his methods for getting what was owed to
him, but still the nabobs flocked to him in droves, desperate to pay off their
creditors without anyone being the wiser.

Stretching
his arms above his head, Gavin yawned. The hour was late, and his patience for
rubbing elbows and consorting with potential clients had grown thin.

He
left the same way he came – through the back – and stared broodingly out the
window of his carriage as it rolled briskly towards his city residence, an
impressive four story mansion in need of a complete renovation he had picked up
for a shilling and a song.