What the Duke Wants (6 page)

Mrs. Pott left, leaving Charles brooding in the library. His anger over the girls’ interruption had dissipated, but with the inability to locate them or the governess, he found himself in a temper again.

“Your grace?” Mrs. Pott entered the library once more.

“Yes?”

“Miss Carlotta took the girls on a picnic in Hyde Park. They left a little over an hour ago.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course…” Mrs. Pott was hesitant, her expression concerned.

“Is there something more?” Charles asked tiredly.

“Well, your grace, I’m simply concerned about the children. The weather has gotten ever so severe since their departure and I’m—”

“What do you mean?” Charles growled then turned to a window. Sliding open the drapes he saw what his housekeeper meant. The blue skies of earlier that day were gone, replaced with an ominous and heavy cloud cover that was proceeding to gush water from the heavens. A stiff breeze rocked the window glass, causing it to shudder.

“Bloody hell. Get Murray!” Charles called.

Mrs. Pott didn’t respond, simply rushed out as fast as her plump body could carry her. A few moments later Murray arrived.

“Your grace?”

“I’ll need my greatcoat, and have my mount saddled.”

“Pardon, your grace, but wouldn’t you prefer the closed carriage in this weather?”

Charles paused. The carriage would be slower, but infinitely wiser. When he did locate the girls and governess, he’d not be able to do much on his mount, however a carriage could easily take them all back.

“Very well.”

“As you wish.” Murray exited quickly, clearly tuned in to the impatience in the duke’s voice.

“Just what was the chit thinking in taking those girls out in this weather?” He grumbled to himself. Though he knew the answer. English weather was unpredictable at best. It could have easily been beautiful an hour ago. With the many buildings and being so near the park, the trees also inhibited a view of the skyline, causing one to easily misjudge the conditions. Often a rain-filled cloud was just beyond the line of sight. But surely she could have made her way home after the first few raindrops!

“Here, your grace.” Murray came in the library with Charles’ greatcoat, gloves, and hat. After quickly donning them, he rushed out into the hall and out the front door to his awaiting carriage. The springs rocked under his weight as he entered into the cab and waited for the driver to urge the horses forward.

The
clip clop
of the matched bays’ shoes sounded on the cobbled streets of Mayfair, and soon the large park was in sight. Rotten Row was deserted, puddles of mud making it not only dangerous but also filthy for the next few days. The rain veritably pounded on the roof of the carriage and made visibility short sighted. The heavy cloying fragrance of rain and humidity hung in the air, making it thick.

After taking several paths, he tapped on the roof, causing the driver to halt the horses. There just under a weeping beech, or upside down tree, stood four women clustered together.

“Damn females,” Charles swore and opened the carriage door. Immediately he was in the deluge of rainwater and quickly became soaked to the skin.

He half jogged, half walked across the ground, his boots sinking in the soggy grass. As he reached the tree, he held out his hand to the soaked girls and sodden governess.

“Don’t just stand there! Let’s get going before we all catch our death!” Charles shouted.

Not needing any more encouragement, all four ladies ran to the closed carriage and tumbled in. Charles followed suit. Once all were seated, the carriage moved forward towards his home.

“Would anyone care to tell me whose brilliant idea it was to have a picnic in the park?” Charles asked as a rivulet of water trickled down his nose and dripped off, landing on his folded hands.

The girls all glanced to the floor, their little bodies shivering from cold and wet. Charles had an unfamiliar pang of sympathy.

“It was mine, your grace,” Carlotta replied, her head held high and jaw clenched in defiance. Or perhaps it was clenched in cold.

“I see. That wasn’t your most brilliant of plans, Miss Lottie.” Charles’ words were light, but his tone was menacing.

“I would think that quite apparent, your grace,” Carlotta replied curtly.

Good.
Thought Charles. Let her be upset, let her feel the frustration she’d caused him earlier! He glared at Carlotta.

“Thank you, your grace.” Berty’s unusually quiet voice broke through his vindictive musings.

“Oh, well. Of course…” Charles responded, his brow creasing.

“Yes, thank you, your grace,” Bethanny and Beatrix murmured together, they glanced up then dropped their gazes once more.

At once, the anger burning in Charles’ chest was doused like a fire caught in the rain. Unable to resist baiting his pretty governess, he allowed a mischievous grin to twist his lips. Raising his eyebrows expectantly, he tilted his head as he held her steady gaze, waiting for her gratitude as well.

“Yes. Thank you,” Carlotta obliged him, her cheeks flushed with a deep crimson, and he fancied that it was more from his expectant behavior and arrogant nature than true gratitude.

“It’s of no matter. We’ll be back shortly and I’ll have Mrs. Pott bring you some hot tea.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Carlotta spoke again, this time her tone was softer, full of gratitude.

Charles turned his gaze back towards her. She offered him a repentant smile then lowered her gaze to her lap, studying her soiled and sodden gloves as she fidgeted.

Her lashes were spiked from the rain, making them darker and fuller against the pale glow of her skin. She worried her lower lip, causing it to bloom in richer color, heightening its allure and plumping it further. Charles bit back a groan at the sight she presented. Surely, she was more alluring in even the most unbecoming of circumstances. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze towards the girls.

Bethanny had been watching him, a curious expression on her face. Her curious gaze shifted from him, to Carlotta, then back, her expression full of questions.

Charles cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the young lady’s awareness. “Bethanny, will you please see to your sisters while I speak with your governess?” He asked, hoping to eliminate any conclusions the girl might draw between himself and the governess.

“Y-yes your grace,” she stammered, her wide eyes darting between him and Carlotta, fear evident in her gaze.

“Thank you.” He nodded then turned to Carlotta.

Her eyes were still downcast, her body slightly trembling. Was she that cold? At once Charles was concerned. After all, he didn’t want to be bothered with finding a new governess.

Though he’d never been bothered with finding one in the first place.

However, he refused to dwell on that lie and rather accept it as truth. Denial being simpler and all that.

They arrived at his town residence and after a footman opened the door, they exited. Charles waited until the ladies had stepped out before he did so himself. He straightened his greatcoat, and bounded up the steps, entering into the warmth of his home. Bethanny and the two younger girls paused then made their way to their rooms.

“Girls! I was so worried! Let’s get you dried off and I’ll have some hot tea and biscuits for you. Come along.” Mrs. Pott appeared from down the hall and ushered the girls along like an old hen with her chicks.

Charles couldn’t help a small grin at the sight.

“Your grace?” Carlotta’s soft query reminded him that he had intended to speak with her.

“Follow me.” He didn’t turn but strode to his study. The clicking of her heels on the marble hall floor notified him that she was indeed following behind. He opened the thick wooden door and waited for her to enter the study. Squaring his shoulders, he followed, closing it firmly behind him.

He saw her glance to the closed door then back to him, her eyes slightly panicked, though to her credit, she didn’t say a word.

Charles didn’t know if that meant she was afraid or if she thought he was a threat to her reputation. Neither idea sat well with him.

“Miss Lottie, I’m sure you’re aware of why we are having this conversation,” he began as he made his way to the crackling fire.

“Yes, your grace. My sincerest apologies. I’ll simply pack and be—”

“Pack? What ever for?” Charles turned, scowling.

“Am I not dismissed?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Charles took a moment to study her. Her dress was soaked, as was her pelisse. Her gloves were ruined and the once tidy, if not far too strict, bun on the nape of her neck was dripping. In fact, between her hair and clothes, a puddle had begun to form at her feet.

“Bloody hell,” Charles cursed, earning a gasp from Carlotta. Oh well, let her feminine sensibilities be offended. He wasn’t the least bit repentant. Angry at himself for not noticing her soaked state, he glanced about for a blanket or something to aid her. What was she thinking? Not asking for a moment to refresh herself! Though he doubted she felt the freedom to ask such a thing, he still wished she would have!

“Here.” Charles shrugged out of his greatcoat, at a loss for finding anything else.

Carlotta’s eyes widened, but she obeyed and slipped her arms into the coat as he held it out for her.

He pulled it over her shoulders, settling it. Tugging on the lapels, he tugged her forward and towards the fire. As he did, he felt how her body was shivering and saw the telltale trembling of her jaw. But not once did she complain.

What type of woman didn’t complain?

She simply stood before the fire, holding out her sodden gloved hands and shivered.

“Take off your gloves for pity’s sake,” Charles grumbled and reached for her hands.

“But—”

“No arguing. You’ll never warm up with wet gloves.” Though as soon as the words flew from his mouth he bit back a groan. Wet gloves were the least of her worries when her entire dress was dripping on the floor.

“Thank you,” she said with quiet grace.

“You’re welcome. Now. I’ll not have you think I’m dismissing you. To be sure I’m not keen on the fact that I was interrupted not once but four times this afternoon, but that’s no bloody reason to gallivant about the city and get soaked.”

Carlotta’s lips thinned into an irritated line as she glanced to him after his speech. “I wasn’t gallivanting about town.”

“Oh, and what exactly do you call, whatever it was you were doing?” Charles asked, crossing his arms.

“Having a picnic,” she said dryly.

“In the rain?”

“It wasn’t raining when we left.” She spoke through clenched teeth.

“Have you no understanding of London weather? Just because it’s not raining doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way! One must always assume it will rain at some point.” Charles huffed indignantly. Just where had the girl grown up if not London? As he thought the question, he realized just how little he knew about Carlotta. A strange prickling in his chest made him realize how much he resented that fact. He wanted to know about her.

Nothing could have scared him more.

“I’ll keep that useful information in mind,” Carlotta retorted.

“Very well,” Charles responded weakly, still rocked by his realization of the depth of his emotional involvement.

His
futile
emotional involvement.

Of course, that didn’t seem to be stopping him from being captivated by her lips.

Her green eyes reflected the firelight, giving them an orange halo in the center. Luscious lips parted as her pink tongue caressed her lower lip before biting it.

Charles bit back a groan. The minx wasn’t even trying, and she was fully seducing him.

Without thinking, because had he
thought
, he certainly wouldn’t have
acted
, he took the two steps towards her, which brought them nose-to-nose. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t back away. Which was all the invitation Charles needed.

Slowly, he lowered his head, caressing her face with his gaze until the last moment when he allowed his eyes to slip closed. A fraction of a second later, he felt the soft pillowy bliss of her lips touching his. Her breath was sweet, warm and inviting, so he kissed her again, lingering a moment longer. When she didn’t move, he reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her as his lips caressed hers once more, teasing them, tasting them and tutoring them to accept his attentions. The fragrance of cedar and fresh rain mingled around her, adding to the heightened awareness that had already woven a spell over him.

Tentatively, she kissed him back.

****

Certainly, Carlotta had thought about what it would be like to be kissed. But not ever having experienced it personally, her imagination could only be so creative in its daydreaming.

Nothing could have ever prepared her for what the real experience held.

Never could she have imagined the softness of a man’s lips, not when his frame was so muscled and hard. Never would she have guessed a kiss could be gentle and not chaste. The heat from his hands as they rested on her shoulders surely anchored her to the spot, a delicious weight that added to the already heady pleasure of the kiss.

A kiss she was beginning to return. At first, she was so shocked, she was quite frozen, even keeping her eyes open as he gave the first kiss. But slowly, as his warm mouth teased hers, offering her gentle coaching, she found herself wanting—no, needing—to return the kiss. She mimicked his movements, the flick of his tongue and the nibbling of his lips till she heard him groan softly. He deepened the kiss, surprising her once more with the
pleasure
of it.

His tongue tickled her lower lip, breaking the seal of her own lips and caressing the edge of her teeth.

Never once had she imagined a tongue being part of a kiss.

For now on, she’d not be able to imagine a kiss without one.

Her heart beat wildly, surely pounding hard enough for the duke to feel, pressed up against as tightly as she was. Absentmindedly, she wondered when that had happened. But as he softly broke the seal of their lips, she found she didn’t care. He drew back slightly, his eyes cloudy with… passion? Was that what it looked like on a man? It was deliriously delicious, and she wondered if she looked the same. His eyes, so light normally, had darkened. His irises were wide giving his gaze a smoldering quality that burned her from the inside out. His lips were still slightly wet from their exchange. She gazed at them, wondering at their softness.