The Runaway Duchess (8 page)

Belatedly
she realized she had been standing and staring without making any move to
accept his outstretched arm.
This is why you came here
, she reminded
herself as she lightly closed her fingers around Gavin’s wrist. He swept her
immediately into a waltz, so fast Charlotte was forced to cling to his broad
shoulders or be thrown off balance, and she knew by the gleam in his eye that
was exactly his intent.

“What
are you supposed to be?” she asked once her body had settled into the familiar
rhythm of the dance. “A man dressed in black?”

He
grinned down at her. “A pirate, of course. And might I ask who you are?”

It
took Charlotte a moment to understand he was referring to her costume, not her
actual name, and she wondered if that was because he already knew who she was.
“Marie Antoinette,” she said impulsively, although in truth her attire had not
been modeled after any woman in particular.

“Before
she lost her head, I presume.”

Charlotte’s
lips twitched, but she did not laugh. Poor Marie Antoinette’s untimely death
was a tragedy, not a comedy, although she did appreciate Gavin’s dark sense of
humor. She could count on one hand the number of men who could make her laugh.
Certainly the duke was not among them, and the smile fled her face as she abruptly
remembered why she was dancing with Gavin in the first place. It was not to
coyly flirt and jest. She had a serious job to do, and she could not afford to
let herself become distracted.

For
the rest of the waltz they danced in companionable silence. When the music died
away and Gavin still held possession of her arm, Charlotte gazed up at him
questioningly.

“It
is rather warm in here. Would you care for some fresh air out on one of the
terraces?’

“That
would be lovely,” Charlotte murmured, and again she wondered if he recognized
her, or even remembered her. Surely he would have said something if he had, and
as he led her to one of the many private terraces overlooking the gardens she
thought madly of a way to reintroduce herself without seeming too desperate.
After all, if Gavin did remember her then he would also remember that she was
betrothed and there were very few reasons why a woman would be going out to a
private terrace with a man who was not her intended.

A
light breeze played on the air as they stepped out. Charlotte positioned
herself against the curved railing of the balcony and leaned carelessly into
it, while Gavin stayed a healthy distance away from the two story drop.

“I
have never liked heights,” he admitted with a wry smile. The silvery light from
the moon played across his countenance, highlighting his rugged features and
truly making him look like a pirate of old. All he needed was a sword and she
would be convinced he was a ruthless buccaneer intent on pillaging ships and
deflowering innocent young maids.

She
should have been frightened, or at the very least intimidated, but she had
never felt more alive. She needed only to seduce him, although now that she was
in the actual moment it seemed quite harder than she had imagined. Should she
throw herself at him and kiss him madly? She could, but that would require
knowing how to kiss, and Charlotte was not certain she did, at least not to the
level Gavin’s experience would demand. Yes, they had enjoyed a ‘moment of
passion’ (as Dianna so eloquently put it) before, but he had seemed to do most
of the work while she reaped the rewards. Perhaps conversation would be best,
she decided. A simple conversation where they could get to know each other a
bit better. “Have you been to a masquerade before?”

“No.”
Gavin crossed his arms over his broad chest and settled back on his heels.
“Have you?”

“Oh
yes,” she lied with nary a blink to betray the fib. “I do quite enjoy them.
They allow one to forget their… er… inhibitions.”

“Or
the fact they are engaged.”

It
took a moment for the meaning of his words to register, but once they did
Charlotte’s eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath. “You know who I am!”
she accused, pointing one finger.

“Should
I not?” he asked.

“You
knew who I was the entire time.”
The cad
. “Why did you pretend
otherwise?”

Gavin
shrugged. “Why did you?”

“Well,
because I… That is to say… Well…” But for once in her life, Charlotte did not
have any answer. She was too embarrassed to think straight, and too thrown off
guard to come up with a quick lie.

In
one ground covering stride Gavin was in front of her. He stretched his arms out
and covered her hands with his, the calluses on his palms rubbing against her
bare knuckles.

“I
knew who you were the moment you stepped through the doors.” His hand drifted
up towards her towering crown of hair, and he wrapped one pale curl around his
finger. “I like the red better. Why did you powder it?”

Heights
may not have made Charlotte dizzy, but Gavin certainly did. She had to clear
her throat twice before she could say, “It is a costume, Mr. Graystone. Meant
to disguise my appearance.”

A
faint smirk played with the corners of his mouth. “You did not do a very good
job.”

“No
one else has recognized me.”

“Perhaps
because no one else has kissed you in a dark study.” His voice was lower than
it should have been, and it sent the most delicious shivers racing up and down
her spine.

“Perhaps,”
she whispered, tensing when she felt his fingertips make a slow, sensuous
ascent up her arm and over her bare shoulder before tracing along the edge of
her collar bone, freely exposed above the plunging neckline of her gown. The
pressure of his hand was faint, but it might as well have been a hot brand on
her flesh for all the heat that Charlotte felt. She licked her lips and shifted
her weight, though towards him or away she could not be certain. He pulled at
her like a magnetic force, willing her body closer. She glanced up at him,
wanting to see if he was as affected by their closeness as she was. In the shifting
light she saw his eyes had darkened to slate and his breath came in short,
shallow pants.

A
devilish thought occurred to her then, a type of experiment, really, and
without giving herself time to think of the consequences she brought her hand
between them and used the tip of her finger to trace a path down the middle of
his chest. His black shirt was only buttoned halfway, giving her plenty of skin
to explore.

She
expected his chest to be covered in hair, but it was smooth as silk save a half
dozen faded scars that decorated his lean torso in varying shapes and sizes.
Stab wounds, her fanciful mind imagined. Or gun shots.

His
chest was hard, the muscles beneath clenched and rigid. She had felt him suck
in a breath at her first touch, and as her finger wandered down in an aimless,
inquisitive pattern towards his navel he stopped breathing all together.

“Stop,”
he said hoarsely. “For the love of God, stop.”

Charlotte
stopped. Pulse racing, she began to pull her hand away, but Gavin captured her
wrist and forced her palm flat against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat.

“What
kind of woman,” he said, his expression dark, his words clipped, “can touch one
man in such a way while being promised to another?”

“A
woman not in love.” Seeking to escape the intensity of his gaze she stared
instead at their joined hands. His skin was dark and rough. Hers was lily white
and smooth. His was the hand of a ruffian. Hers was the hand of a lady. So
different… and yet they fit together so perfectly. “A woman who wants more than
what she has been given.”

Gavin’s
released a mirthless laugh. “You are to marry a duke. Is that not what every
young woman of the
ton
dreams of achieving? What more could you want
than that?”

What
more could she want?

Kindness.

Compassion.

Desire.

She
lifted her chin. “I want to live my life as I see fit. To be more than a pretty
trophy set up on a shelf to collect dust and wither away. I did not ask for
this.” Using her free arm, she gestured down to the gardens where the
masquerade continued in full force. The echo of merry laughter floated up on
the breeze while music spilled from the open doors at Gavin’s back. They were
surrounded by over two hundred people, and yet she had never felt so alone. “I
do not care that Crane is a duke,” she said fiercely. “I would not have him if
he were a king, and would gladly marry a common baker ten times over were the
choice freely given to me.”

In
the shifting shadows and stray beams of light Gavin’s stormy eyes seemed to
glow. The callused pad of his thumb played across her knuckles, the touch so
light and rhythmic Charlotte doubted he even knew he was doing it. “You would
marry a man not of the
ton
just to be free of the duke?”

Charlotte
felt a tremor somewhere deep inside of her body. She knew what Gavin was
asking, and she knew her answer would either seal or fate or change it
entirely. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I would.”

“Then
marry me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Gavin
watched Charlotte’s face carefully, searching for the surprise and shock such
an offer should have wrought. When he saw nothing save calm acceptance he knew
then why she had come to the masquerade. Why she had allowed herself to be
taken out on the terrace. Why she had been so forward.

He
was her escape, and she had executed her plan perfectly.

Could
one kiss have meant so much, he wondered? Or had he simply been in the right
place at the right time? His jaw tightened, the muscles clenching. Did it
matter? She needed a different husband. He needed a wife born of the nobility.
It would be a business arrangement, nothing less and certainly nothing more. He
could give her the freedom to do whatever she wished, while he… Well, he would
simply go on living his life as he had been, except now for every ball he
attended he would have a lady on his arm. A lady born with the same silver
spoon in her mouth as all the rest of the mighty nobility and oh, how he
yearned to see their faces when they realized he had plucked such an exquisite
rose from their garden.

“I
would have several conditions.”

Gavin’s
gaze swerved down to the heart shaped face tipped up towards his own. He
glanced lower, and frowned when he saw their hands were still joined. His
doing, or hers? And who was doing it still? “What conditions?” he asked warily.

A
small line appeared between Charlotte’s winged eyebrows. “First, that I be
allowed to do as I please. I should like to travel to the country whenever I
wish, and I have always been very fond of riding but my mother—”

“Done,”
he interrupted. “Next?”

Charlotte
blinked. “I… Well, you see…” She paused, her expression hesitant, and Gavin
tensed.

He
should have expected this, of course. Women had needs the same as men, and
Charlotte certainly did not act like a fluttery virgin. No doubt she had a
lover on the side, one who for some reason or another could not provide as a
husband, and she wanted to ask his permission to carry on with their secret
liaison. He could appreciate her ability to be forthcoming, and steeled himself
to be as agreeable to this condition as he had been the last.

“Before
my father passed, he accrued many debts. In an attempt to… to pay off the
debts, my mother entered into a contractual agreement with Crane.”

She
did not have a lover, Gavin realized. At least not one she was going to reveal
to him. The surge of relief that filled him was as unwanted as it was
unexpected, and he reminded himself it did not matter who she spent her time
with once they were married as long as she was discreet about it, for their
marriage would be in name only. No emotions. No feelings. Nothing to distract
him from his work. As for the contract…

“The
duke agreed to pay off the creditors in exchange for your hand in marriage,” he
said flatly, surmising what she had said in so many words. When she nodded, he
bit back a curse. Charlotte’s mother had all but sold her only daughter off to
the highest bidder, and yet they called
him
the uncivilized one.

“Yes.”
Her mouth twisted. “Precisely so.”

“And
I take it this is not something you agreed to?”

“No!”
She shook her head so hard from side to side a white feather came loose from
her crown of curls and spiraled down in floating circles towards the tiled
floor. Neither of them moved to pick it up. “No, I never wanted to marry Crane.
I despise him,” she growled, and the vehemence behind her tone summoned a rare
smile to Gavin’s mouth.

“There’s
that temper again. Red hair or white, you’re a vicious little piece.” He meant
it as a compliment, but saw by the quick downplay of Charlotte’s lips that she
did not take it as such.

“I
shall guard my words more carefully in the future,” she said stiffly.

“I
like that you speak your mind.”

“Truly?”

“Not
many ladies do,” he said with a shrug.

“You
hate us, don’t you? The nobility, I mean.” Her amber eyes were bright and
curious and far too perceptive by half, Gavin thought.

“I
do not hate you, or them.”

“But
you don’t like us.”

“No,
I do not like you.”

She
crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously pushing her breasts up even
higher above the low cut décolletage of her gown and drawing Gavin’s eye. She
murmured something, but he did not hear her. He was too distracted, his mind
busy imagining what it would feel like to slide his hands under the bodice of
her dress and tip one succulent, rosy tipped breast up to his mouth. She would
writhe against him, her fingers pulling at his hair, digging into his
shoulders. He could take her against the balcony; thrust into her tight, wet
folds beneath the moonlight and carry them both over the edge of oblivion while
she cried out his name in ecstasy.

“…face
is up here, Mr. Graystone.”

“What?”
he said dumbly. “What did you say?”

“Before
you became mesmerized by my bosom, you mean?” Charlotte’s smile was a woman’s
smile: knowing and smug with just a touch of arrogance.

His
brow creased. “I am not… I was not
mesmerized
by your bosom.”

Liar
.

“Then
you are ready to answer my question now?”

She
was too intelligent for her own good, he thought irritably. Intelligent and
beautiful and so well bred he wouldn’t be surprised if her blood ran blue; in
short, the exact opposite of what he always told himself he would look for in a
wife. He wanted someone quiet and shy and biddable. A woman who would manage
his household, hem his shirts, and not complain when he had nary a second of
attention to give. Then why in all that was holy had he offered his hand to
Charlotte Vanderley?

Because
she is nobility
, the rational side of his brain replied.

Because
you want her
, the irrational side answered.

He
should walk away now. Withdraw his offer, make his excuses, and never look
back.

“We
can leave for Gretna Green in the morning,” he said.

The
lighting on the balcony was dim, but not so dark Gavin missed the slight
trembling of Charlotte’s hand as she brought her fingertips to her lips. “So
soon?” she asked. “Do you think that is wise?”

It
had never crossed Gavin’s mind that
she
would have doubts about marrying
him
. He found he didn’t like it. No, he didn’t like it at all. “Make up
your mind here and now,” he said, his tone ominously low. “I will not have ye
welchin’ on a deal once it ‘as been struck. Ye hear me?”

Charlotte’s
hand fell away from her mouth and settled on the railing. “You have done very
well to refine your speech, but you revert to your cockney accent when you are
angry,” she observed. “Do you know that?”

The
woman didn’t miss a bloody trick. He hadn’t had a slip up in weeks – no,
months. For three years he had taken daily voice lessons in secret to coax the
guttersnipe from his voice. It took a lot to bring it to the surface, and he
was less than pleased that Charlotte had managed to do so with such ease. He
would have to watch himself when he was around her. Guard himself more
carefully. His accent slipped when he was emotional. Emotion was a
vulnerability. Vulnerability was a weakness. He was weak once, and his mother
died because of it. He would never be weak again.

“Either
we leave for Gretna Green tomorrow morning or we do not leave at all. Make up
your mind here and now or be done with it,” he growled. “I will pay off your
mother’s debts and settle her with a monthly allowance so she need never worry
about money again. You may live where you like. I spend most of my time in
London, but I have an estate in Hampshire and another in Scotland. You are free
to travel between them at your leisure, with my fortune at your disposal. In
return I ask only that you accompany me to social events on occasion, and play
the part of dutiful, loving wife when the eyes of the
ton
are upon us.”
He sounded desperate, Gavin thought with disgust. He needed to be harder. Tougher.
He needed to show how little he cared. How little she meant to him, because she
didn’t mean anything at all. Of course not. He barely knew her.

You
know that she smells like lavender and tastes like honeysuckle
.

Bloody
hell.

“Is
that all you will require of me as your wife?” Charlotte asked. “To stand at
your side during balls and sit next to you at plays?”

“Not
plays,” he said automatically. “I cannot stand them.”

Her
smile was wry and fleeting. “And wifely duties of a more… intimate nature? What
are your requirements on those?”

Belatedly
Gavin saw that her fingers were beating a nervous staccato against the balcony
railing, betraying the nervousness she did not allow to show on her face. His
future wife would make an excellent card player, he thought. As long as she hid
her hands and her temper. “Are you inquiring into matters of the bedroom?”

A
rosy blush stole up and over her cheeks, answering his question for him even
before she shyly nodded.

“As
long as you are discreet, I do not care who you share your delectable little
body with. This is not a love match. It is a business arrangement and as I have
yet to sleep with any of my clients, you can be assured I will not come
knocking on your bedroom door in the middle of the night.”

Something
flickered in the depths of her eyes, so quick as to be gone in an instant, but
Gavin’s breath caught in his throat nevertheless. Had she appeared…
disappointed? No. Surely not. How could she possibly want a man like him? He
was a convenience to her, nothing more. If the world was a perfect place she
would choose a fancy nabob to marry, not a man who was raised in the gutters.

Charlotte’s
fingers paused in their tapping. “But what of children?”

“Children?”
he echoed, caught off guard.

“Yes.
Surely you would like an heir.”  

 In
truth, Gavin had never given much thought to children. The ones he saw were
always pale, malnourished urchins with dirty cheeks and gaunt faces. In his
mind he knew any child of his would never suffer the same fate, but his heart
told a different tale. “No. No children.”

Her
eyes widened behind her mask. “But what if—”

“NO!”
he roared, startling them both with his ferocity.

Charlotte
gasped and stepped to the side. Below them everything fell to silence before a
woman’s high pitched giggle filled the air.

“Who
is up there?” she demanded. “Come down here, good sir! I want to see your
face!”

“Yes,
I want to see him too!” another woman cried.

“And
I!” said a third.

Gavin
looked at Charlotte, but she was staring stubbornly away from him, her lips
pressed into a hard, flat line and her face pale beneath the twin sweeps of
rouge that decorated her cheekbones. Whatever moment may have passed between
them when he held her in his arms and she tempted the very devil by running her
fingers across his flesh was long gone, leaving only coldness and a peculiar
sense of loss in its wake.

“I
will send a carriage to your townhouse at dawn tomorrow,” he said stiffly. “The
driver will be instructed to wait for ten minutes. No more, no less. If you do
not show I will assume you have changed your mind, and this matter will never
be discussed again.”

Her
only answer was a short, clipped nod.

Gavin
ran a hand through his hair, drawing the dark ends taut. He turned to go, but
something pulled at him, demanding he stay. For a moment he actually considered
apologizing, but the notion was so foreign in concept he disregarded it
immediately. No, he did not owe his wife-to-be an apology. It was better she
understand how things would be now. He would grant her as much independence as
she desired, yes, but in things that truly mattered – such as children – his
word would be the final say.  “Charlotte, I know this arrangement may not
have been what you imagined when you were a young girl dreaming of marriage, but
it is practical and will suit both of our needs accordingly.” There. Simple
enough, and to the point. He was rather proud of himself, until Charlotte
lifted her head and he saw her brilliant amber eyes were sparkling with tears.

“You
are right,” she said in an odd little voice. “This is not what I imagined. But
I suppose being married to a man who will never see me as a wife is better than
being married to one who wants to collect me as if I were a pretty crystal
vase, don’t you think?”

At
a loss for words, Gavin’s mouth opened and closed, rather like a landed trout
gasping for air. He had always dealt handily with women before. Whether they
wanted to or not they could not help but adore him. He could do no wrong in
their eyes. Apparently he could do plenty wrong in Charlotte’s.

The
urge to comfort her was as foreign to him as apologizing. Not surprisingly, he
fumbled through it. “There could… there could come – come a time…”

“That,”
she said coolly as she sniffed back her tears and brushed past him without a backwards
glance, “was a rhetorical question.”

He
let her go. Moving to the edge of the terrace he wrapped his fingers around the
railing and leaned halfway over the edge, forcing himself to stare at the
ground below. It was as effective as dunking his head in cold water and he
stumbled back with a gasp, his heart pounding and pulsing racing, although he
could not tell if his reaction was due to his fear of heights – or the fact
that he was now engaged.

Charlotte
found Dianna dancing with a penguin.

She
waited impatiently for the Quadrille to finish, hovering nearby like an anxious
mother. When the music died away and the penguin dipped into a bow, Charlotte
ducked in before Dianna could curtsy, grabbed her by the hand, and hauled her
from the ballroom.