What the Duke Wants (12 page)

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s the only possible conclusion.” She shrugged delicately.

“I fail to see your logic,” Charles whispered hoarsely. He was still recovering from the idea that Lady Southridge thought he needed…
help. Good Lord.

“Neither you nor Graham seem to have the slightest inclination—”

“Ah-ha! You said inclination! That implies that we are choosing to, rather than doing so out of necessity! You’re logic is faulty.”

“You know it’s rude to interrupt. I’ll pretend you did not. As I was saying…” She pierced him with a steely glare. “While no one in London with ears can argue that you’ve had your fair share of… experience with women—”

“How delicately put.” Charles grinned.

“When one is dealing with the decidedly indelicate, there is no other way to do it,” she replied. “Are you finished interrupting? While we have two days, I’m not fond of continuing one topic of conversation the entire length of the trip.”

“Forgive me, continue.” Charles gestured to her, holding out his hand and nodding.

“Thank you. Now, as I was saying, while you certainly don’t lack in the experience department, you do lack in the longevity department.”

“I can—”

“I don’t want to know.” She gave him a withering glare.

Charles chuckled. He was about to say that he had never once been told he lacked in the longevity department. Not once.

“I’m speaking of the length of your liaisons. They are abysmally short and not with the type of women that someone of your status should consider as a wife.” She nodded.

Charles felt the humor drain from him. He wondered what she’d think of the idea of him falling for a governess. However, she seemed to suspect it. Again, he was confused.

Blasted bloody woman.

Maybe she was jesting… perhaps she thought he was not sincerely at risk at falling for her. And if she were to learn the truth…

First, she’d think he was joking. Then she’d stare at him as if he had lost his mind. Which, he would have to wonder himself. After she got past the shock, she’d enter into a lengthy lecture on why it was completely insupportable.

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t win. He was not to consort with the type of ladies that were readily available, nor could he be tempted to marry the one woman who seemed to manage that impossibility.

Hell.

“Charles? I do say, you’ve gotten quiet. Don’t hurt yourself with all that thinking,” Lady Southridge mocked.

Charles pulled his attention back to her. There was a slight smile in her eyes that negated the sarcasm in her voice.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to do about all of this?” Charles asked. Better to get her plotting out in the open.

“This season, I’ll compile a list of suitable women. Now, before you object—”

Charles had just opened his mouth,

“I will be very selective. You won’t have to worry about a silly chit that thinks batting her eyelashes will land her a duke. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But I know of a few ladies who would be fantastic matches for someone of your status and who can carry on intelligent conversation.”

“Miracles do happen.” Charles sighed.

“Indeed,” Lady Southridge commented wryly.

****

The carriage ride was miserable, everlasting and Charles had seriously considered throwing his person from comfortable coach just to make the torture end. However, once he considered that his torture might just be beginning, should he end his life —after all, hell wasn’t known for its luxury and peace and that’s surely where he’d find himself— he considered throwing Lady Southridge from the carriage. She was light enough, but with his luck, she wouldn’t die. Nope. She’d live, her legs and arms might not work but her mind, voice certainly would, and that would be far worse than any eternal carriage ride with her.

Funny how a person could love someone, yet still wish she would disappear.

Greenford Waters began to come into view and Charles exhaled the largest sigh he’d ever heard, from himself or anyone else for that matter.

“I haven’t been
that
bad.” Lady Southridge sniffed.

“Of course not,” Charles responded, feeling much more charitable since the end was in sight.

“Well, I might have meddled some…” She waved a gloved hand as if it were a trivial matter.

“Some?” Charles felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop.
Some
was a gross and pathetic understatement.

“Well, yes.”

“I seemed to have missed when you went from
some
to obscenely meddling. Or maybe I fell asleep and imagined you listing every deb this coming season and all their attributes, family history and shortcomings. Bloody hell, I do believe that was my worst nightmare ever.” Charles spoke with thick sarcasm.

“No need to be short with me, Charles. I gave you fair warning. You and Graham must find suitable wives. You’re not taking the job seriously, so I am offering my assistance.”

“I also missed the part where you offered rather than sentenced me.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Charles.”

“I rather thought it made me dashing and dangerous. You know, what drives all the debutantes wild with wanting to redeem me from my sinful and cynical ways.”

“You’ve deluded yourself.”

“Here I thought I was the paragon of wisdom.”

She sighed heavily. “If I didn’t feel such a responsibility to care for you and Graham—”

“I relieve you of all responsibility.”

She narrowed her eyes. “As I was saying. If I didn’t feel such a responsibility for you and Graham, I would leave you to your wicked and worthless ways, but I find I cannot. Not when I have the power to help.”

“God help me.”

“I’ll take that as a prayer.”

“You may count it as such. I don’t think I’ve ever whispered more reverent words in all my days.”

She raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to the window. Greenford Waters was a beautiful stone mansion that had been in his family since the Tudors. It was solid and firm, like his title. Or so his father use to say. Just seeing the circular drive and the forest beyond brought back a million memories of his boyhood, eliminating the tension in the air from Lady Southridge’s meddling.

“I forgot how beautiful it was here. Why don’t you visit more often?” Lady Southridge asked quietly, almost reverently.

“London has its charms as well,” he replied, but nothing felt further from the truth as he stared at the stately building, its marble steps, and perfectly manicured boxwoods.

“I doubt that.”

“You’d be correct. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t been back for a while. Of all my estates, it’s my favorite.”

“You did grow up here.”

“True.”

“So it feels like home.”

“I suppose you’re correct.”

The carriage halted just as the large front door opened. The estate’s aged butler, Tibbs, stepped out followed by a flurry of footmen. The carriage door was opened and Tibbs helped Lady Southridge alight from the coach, her skirts swishing as she carefully stepped out. Charles exited next, inhaling deeply the salty sweet air. As the various footmen began unloading their belongings, Charles wondered if Carlotta and the girls had noticed his arrival.

Last week he had sent a missive to the housekeeper and Tibbs alerting them of his arrival, but had given explicit instructions that the governess and wards were not to be notified of his plans to visit. At the time, it seemed the wise thing to do; now he wondered. Certainly if Miss Lottie knew he were coming, she’d take the girls out for the day, or at least that’s what he had worried. Now he thought that perhaps, that wouldn’t have been a bad idea. It would have given him a chance to prepare himself.

He felt stronger, more able to resist the charms of the beautiful governess, but he didn’t necessarily trust himself. His self-control had been quite lacking before. Of course, he reasoned, that she had caught him off guard, in perhaps, a moment of weakness. But no longer.

Or so he hoped.

He nodded to Tibbs, who bowed at his entrance, and then headed directly to his study. Once there he poured himself a fortifying glass of brandy —the fortification was both necessary from the carriage ride with Lady Southridge and the upcoming reunion with the wards and Miss Lottie!

He studied the room that held the most memories of his father. Rich mahogany woods boasted power and elegance as well as strength. Crimson cushions and sapphire colored tapestries gave the distinct impression of wealth and royalty. His father had prided himself in his heritage, the thick blood of nobility that had flowed through his veins, which continued to flow through Charles.

His father was like most dukes, he assumed. Present yet still absent. His childhood memories included his nannies, tutors and various kind servants, but few memories harbored images of his parents. Yet, he knew that if he had a strong need for them, they would have been there. Sadly, or maybe mercifully, he never had such an occurrence in his childhood that required such a response from them. But one thing he did remember about his father was his strength. That was why when he’d passed, over fifteen years ago, it had been quite shocking.

As a child, he never considered that his parents were mortal. That belief carried on into his young adulthood and somehow was still believed even as he passed his majority. A hunting accident. No glory, simply an accident stole the final heartbeats from his father’s chest. His mother had been in London while his father hunted in Sussex that fateful day and upon hearing of her husband’s demise, had taken it upon herself to alert their son.

Never had his mother appeared more fragile, less sure of herself. Always the perfect lady, she looked anything but when she arrived at Charles’ London Town home.

Of course, a few months later he realized why she had appeared so weak. As he sat through
her
funeral service he wondered why he hadn’t asked her about her health when he had the chance. But he was thinking of his father, of himself, not of her. And pneumonia claimed her with silent precision.

“Your grace?”

Charles startled slightly, glancing to his butler but not seeing him for a moment as his memories faded from the room and reality caught up with him once more.

“What is it, Tibbs?” he asked, his voice sounding overly weary to his own ears.

“You asked to be informed when the young wards and their governess arrived from their walk. They have just come in, your grace. And as you requested, they are not aware of your presence.” Tibbs nodded obediently.

“Very good. See that I am the one to speak to them first, not, Lady Southridge.”

“As you say, your grace.” Tibbs bowed and turned to leave.

“Wait. On second thought, would you please bring Miss Lot—er, Carlotta to me, I wish to speak with her in private before the introductions begin.

Tibbs nodded then left.

Charles paced the study. A thousand thoughts filled his head, tempered by a few precious memories that set his blood to roaring. It was madness, to
feel
as he felt, after only such a short time. But it was there nonetheless. Perhaps it was just a passing fancy, he justified. There really was no reason for him to form such a strong attachment to the young governess in such short order. Perhaps all his emotional turmoil was for not. Could it be that in the amount of time passed, his attraction had cooled and he’d now not be as affected? He could only hope.

The sound of light footsteps reached his ears a moment before a knock came at the door.

“Come,” Charles called, his eyes already searching for her face.

Tibbs entered followed by the source of Charles’ sleepless nights;
Carlotta,
siren from his waking dreams.

It was too much to ask to be unaffected. It was too much to ask to even be
as
affected by her beauty as he was in the past.

No. All it took was one glance, one sweeping gaze from the soft golden curls on the top of her head to the slight peek of her slipped foot from her frock for him to lose all train of thought.

He hadn’t even made eye contact yet.

Damn
.

No, for everything he had hoped that time would dull the attraction, he had been deathly wrong.

For if anything, it had increased tenfold and as her clear green eyes searched his, it was all Charles could do to simply keep the fire ignited within him at bay.

Chapter Eight

“Your grace?” Carlotta asked, not quite believing her eyes. When Tibbs had requested her, he hadn’t mentioned that the duke was in residence.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t mentioned that the duke was coming to Greenford Waters at all.

Damn.

She felt her eyes widen as her cheeks blushed vermillion at her shock over her own thoughts. As if she spoke them out loud, she wished to cover her mouth and retreat, humiliated. Never before had she sworn, yet the duke seemed to provoke uncharacteristic reactions from her.

She should not be so surprised since he was the cause for various other reactions she hadn’t previously experienced.

Staring at the deep furrow in his brow, she wondered if maybe she
had
spoken the curse aloud.

“Miss Carlotta.” He nodded seriously, his expression shuttered and cool. As if a gaze could change the very temperature, she stifled a shiver. Already her heart was hammering in her chest, her lips tingling with the reminder that once, not so long ago, his had caressed them. Forcing her thoughts into submission, she took a step forward and curtseyed.

“That will be all Tibbs.” The dear butler nodded but cast a wary glance to her as he retreated, leaving the door still open enough for propriety’s sake.

“How are you and my wards adjusting to the country?” his grace asked with all the emotional attachment of a man inquiring about the weather.

“The adjustment has been minimal, your grace,” Carlotta answered, the fact that he had simply called the girls his ‘wards’ chafing against her. They deserved more than that. They did have names after all. But she supposed that was the way of it in his social circles. He was their benefactor, their protector so to say; emotional attachment wasn’t a requirement.