What the Duke Wants (8 page)

Squaring his shoulders, he pulled his coat up, and smoothed his shirt, tightening his cravat. With purpose and victory brimming his chest, he strode to the dining room… finding it empty. Of both food and people.

“Bloody—”

“Your grace?”

“Murray!” Charles jumped slightly, casting his butler a severely annoyed expression.

“Your grace, are you quite all right?” Murray asked. His tone was monotone but his grey eyes narrowed slightly, as if concerned.

It was possibly the first hint at emotion he’d ever seen from his butler.

And enough to cause him to lose his train of thought.

Perhaps that was simply the brandy, however.

“Your grace… are you… well?” Murray drew out the words, his lean body leaning forward as he studied Charles.

“Of course. I was just wondering when we planned on dining.”

“Your grace, my sincerest apologies… dinner was served quite a while ago. Mrs. Pott searched for you, but when she was unable to locate you, assumed you had gone out, your grace.” Murray nodded nervously.

Charles glanced down to the polished floor. He did have a faint memory of Mrs. Pott knocking on his study door. Why had he not said anything?

Ah yes, the governess. He was hiding.

No, not
hiding.

He was thinking. Yes. That sounded ever so much better than hiding.

Which he wasn’t.

“Your grace?”

Murray probably thought he’d lost all his sense. “Yes, well… please have Cook send a tray to my chamber.”

“Of course, your grace.” Murray bowed and departed to the kitchens.

Charles strode out into the hall. “That worked well,” he mumbled to himself.

“What worked well, your grace?”

“Ack! Berta, Roberty. Whatever your name is!” He calmed his racing heart and adjusted his coat, trying to at least appear in control of himself.

“Berty. My name is Berty,” the little girl said a wry tone.

“Where… no… what are you doing?” Charles’ nerves were already shot, if one more person startled him, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

The little girl shrugged.

“Where are your sisters?” Charles asked, glancing up and down the hall quickly.

“In their room.” She leaned forward. “They’re… wait. I can’t tell
you.”
She gasped and covered her mouth.

“Tell me what…?” Charles leaned down to Berty’s eye level.

“Well if I told
you
then it would be a disaster. You’d ruin it!”

“I’d ruin it? How so?” Curiosity mixed with severe apprehension clenched in his chest.

“Because well… it just would.”

“Your logic is indisputable.” Charles spoke tiredly.

“Thank you, your grace.” Berty curtsied.

Was she mocking him?

She batted her dark eyelashes.

She
was
mocking him!

“Now see here Berty—”

“Berty! What are you still doing up?” Carlotta’s voice floated down the hall.

Charles found himself swallowing hard.
So much for avoidance.
As she walked towards them, he found himself lifting his gaze to watch her approach. She had changed from her wet gown into a deep green dress that showed off the curve of her hips and the smallest swell of her breasts. Her eyes were fixed on Berty but he could swear he saw the faintest hint of a blush deepen the pinkish hue of her cheeks.

She was delicious.

“Berty?” she asked again.

“They were too loud!” Berty whined.

“Pardon?”

“They were whispering, loudly. And every time I asked a question, they’d tell me to hush. So I left.”

“Understandable,” Charles commented.

Carlotta raised an eyebrow.

“I’m simply stating that if someone told
me
to hush, I’d have left too.”

“I highly doubt you’d simply
leave
if someone spoke to you that way.”

“Perhaps you’re right…” Charles felt his lips twitch into a smile.

Carlotta regarded him for a moment before turning her attention to Berty. “Love, you need to return to your room. Remember what we spoke about this afternoon?”

“But Miss Lottie! I’m in the hall. The
hallway!
I
am
obeying you! Ask his grace! I was not disrupting anybody.”

“Any one.” Carlotta spoke the words at the same time as he did. He glanced to her, their eyes meeting.

“Any
one
.” Berty sighed, correcting herself… and breaking the spell.

“Be that as it may… you still should head to your room. It’s quite late and you’ve had a busy day.”

Charles cleared his throat.

Carlotta glanced at him, her eyes unreadable but he could have sworn he saw mirth dancing in their green depths.

“Very well,” Berty conceded, shrugging and then skipping down the hall.

Charles watched her leave and as she ducked around the corner, he reluctantly glanced back to Carlotta.

She was still watching where Berty had gone.

So he waited, studying her profile, memorizing the way her pert nose turned up slightly, and the way her jawline angled into the most delicate bow just below her ear. He wanted to kiss her in that precise spot.

“You can’t avoid me forever.” Charles spoke in a low and seductive whisper. Wincing inwardly at how the words should be aimed at him.

“I’m not avoiding you.” She gave him a sidelong glance.

“Oh?”

“No, I was… wondering.”

“About what? Or whom, perhaps?”

“Do you have siblings, your grace?” Carlotta turned the full power of her gaze to him. It was stunning. Her green eyes had flicks of yellow in them that almost appeared gold.

“Your grace?”

“No. No siblings. Not for want of trying on my parent’s part, however,” he added, though as he spoke the words he wondered why he had thought that information was important.

“Oh. Nor do I…” Her gaze traveled back down the hall where Berty had disappeared.

“You suspect something,” he stated.

“Yes. But I haven’t a clue as to what. Which, I’ll admit, makes me slightly nervous.”

“There are three of them.” Charles nodded. “And all quite intelligent. I shudder to think what they might be planning.”

“You and I both. I’ll have to keep a keen eye on them.”

“As opposed to?” Charles couldn’t help but grin.

“As opposed to giving them any chance to… interfere with the lives of others.”

“Sounds utterly wise.”

“I rather thought you’d agree.” She turned back, flashing a saucy grin. But as soon as the alluring expression crossed her features, she withdrew it, shuttering her expression into a polite mask.

Charles wanted the saucy expression back. He wanted to see the merriment dancing in her eyes, hear the dry whit of her humor and see the way her cheeks squinted her eyes slightly when she smiled.

“Carlotta, I…” he began, not quite sure what he had intended to say.

“There’s no need, your grace.” She offered him a damnably polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes and quickly glanced down at the polished floor.

Charles opened his mouth, intending to say… something but words failed him. He rather wanted to
show
her what he meant, but knew that would be disaster. He could not kiss her again.

Ever.

Ever, ever, ever.

But oh, he wanted to.

He was sure that a kiss to that delicate spot he was lusting over earlier would surely break through the miserably shuttered expression in her eyes. He was sure that he could coax more than a polite ‘your grace’ from her lips. At once he wanted to hear her voice whisper his name. Not ‘Clairmont’, not ‘your grace’, but his actual name.
Charles.

She lifted her head, her eyes slowly trailing her movement till they met his. With a small gasp, her eyes widened and she stepped back.

“Good evening, your grace.” She curtsied and all but fled.

As her footsteps echoed in the hall, he felt cold and empty. As if the fire he was standing in front of had suddenly been smothered. The emptiness was gnawing at him. He felt like a coward for not saying anything about their kiss, but he didn’t know how to go about it. If she were more than a servant, more than a governess, there might have been a chance.

But she wasn’t.

And he wasn’t the type of man to marry, at least yet. Or so he reminded himself. Strange how he always forgot that piece of information whenever she was around.

Closing his eyes he remembered her expression just before she fled to the safety of her room. She’d had the wide-eyed expression of a woman running from ruin, from certain danger.

W
hich meant
he
was the threat, the danger.

That thought didn’t set well with him at all. It also meant that she had quite accurately read his thoughts, though they likely had been quite apparent in his expression. An innocent wouldn’t know how to discern be
tween lust and desire. Few knew that there even was a difference.

Lust was shallower, fleeting and purely selfish; a burn that flashed rather than smoldered. Whereas desire, it was a slower burn that tended to flare up at times, but never truly burn out. Desire required one to think about the other person, it involved restraint for selfless reasons. Desire scorched.

What he felt for Carlotta may have initially been lust.

But he was definitely feeling singed at the moment.

His stomach ached.

He needed to get her out of his house. He needed to distance himself, and her, from the temptation. Tomorrow. The rain had slowed and stopped shortly after their return from the park. If it stayed away overnight, the roads might at least be passable. If so, then he’d see that she and the girls left for his estate in Bath on the morrow. It was the only way. With distance, his body would cool and he’d once again be able to
think.
Rather than simply act.

He strode towards his chambers with renewed purpose. But with each step, he felt emptiness like a cavern grow within him.

Of course, that could simply be because he
was
hungry.

He just didn’t want to think about for what…

****

“Miss Carlotta?” Mrs. Pott pulled Carlotta’s attention away from the packed trunk beside her bed an
d towards the door.

“Yes?” she responded. All morning her presence of mind had been unforgivably absent. When she learned that they were to depart to Bath that morning, conflicting emotions had slammed into her chest, warring for dominance.

They continued to battle.

On one hand, Carlotta felt relived. It would be infinitely easier to take care of the girls, to teach and tutor them without the dark and delicious presence of the duke. She knew that if they stayed, she’d always be distracted, wondering if he were to pass by, or speak to her.

The girls deserved better than that.

Yet, at the same time, her heart stung with the bite of rejection. The venom of insecurity swirled around her mind.
Why
was he having them leave, and on such short notice? She knew he was intending on moving the girls to the estate in Bath, but as he came to know them, she rather hoped he’d want to be more of a part of their lives.

And maybe of her life too.

But even as her mind whispered the words to her heart, she bit back a sarcastic laugh. She must be delusional to even entertain the slightest thought of the duke paying her mind. While he did kiss her —and oh, what a kiss it had been!— she wasn’t foolish enough to entertain serious thoughts about his intentions. It would only invite heartbreak.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind. “The
quality
do not fraternize with those who are not. It’s simply not done.”

She relived that particular lecture after her father discovered her frolicking with the stable master’s son, Rory. It had been in
nocent enough. Rory was a few years her senior, and
had been a friend since she was quite young. She had been but twelve, that blessedly awkward stage where she was no longer a child yet, not yet a woman. Rory had invited her to skip rocks and she quickly agreed. They had their usual competitive banter, but then something changed. In hindsight, she realized that Rory was about more than simply skipping rocks, but at the time, she simply noticed how his hand felt warm on hers when he tried to show her a new way to skip the rock. He had whispered the instructions in her ear, in a low tone that had made her skin erupt in goose bumps.

She’d followed his instructions and skipped the rock. Upon turning her head she had realized just how close he was, and how he smelled like leather and cedar.

Her father called her name not a moment later.

As her father beckoned her to attend him to the house, she didn’t miss the piercing gaze he shot to Rory. Once inside, Father had led her to the library.

“Dear Lottie,” he began and proceeded to explain the difference between those titled and those not. It was a lengthy lecture, running all together in her memory, but one part seemed
too
clear, hauntingly so. It mocked her now.

“Those who are titled never, ever fraternize with the servants.”

Never ever
.

Of course, her father could have never foreseen that the daughter he delighted in would one day be forced into the position of governess. No season, no marriage mart, no advantageous match, and no further titled generations roaming the halls of Garden Gate. All of that disappeared when the money was lost. Granted, she still was the daughter of a baron; impoverished as she was, however, she might as well be the daughter of a merchant for all the good her father’s title did for her now.

“Carlotta?” Mrs. Pott called again.

Pulled from her musings, she turned to the housekeeper who had just let herself in.

“Forgive me, but when you didn’t respond, I thought perhaps you were finished and had already left to see the girls.

“I was woolgathering I’m afraid.”

“No need to apologize.” Mrs. Pott gave her a warm and maternal smile. “Are you almost finished?”

“Yes, I don’t have terribly much to pack. In fact…” Carlotta stood and smoothed her skirt. “I believe I’m finished.”