Chapter 5

Five

T he sun shone against the snow-dusted gravel, as Charlotte glanced out the parlor window. Against all odds, she had slept well last night and enjoyed a bountiful breakfast in bed before dressing and joining the duke in the parlor.

“How shall we spend the day, Lady Charlotte,” Grant asked. “Perhaps you would enjoy a walk? The weather is fair.” The gentleness in his expression belied the keen intelligence in his gaze.

She hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. Her gloved fingers slipped into his, a brief touch that somehow left her skin tingling before he tucked her hand through his arm. As they made their way outside, a misty cloud of breath formed in the frigid air, and she straightened, reminding herself not to be impressed.

“I trust you enjoyed a goodnights rest?” he inquired, his deep voice tinged with an unexpected warmth.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” she replied evenly, masking her conflicted emotions with a practiced smile. “And now I must admit, I am eager to explore your grounds.”

Grant’s eyes glimmered, a challenge clear in their depths. “Perhaps a ride, then? I would be honored to show you the grounds—and test your equestrian skills, if you’re willing to indulge me.”

Charlotte’s competitive spirit flared despite her reservations. “I would be delighted, Your Grace. Though I warn you, I may prove a more skilled rider than you anticipate.” She smirked. “Even in my day dress and cloak.”

He tilted his head in admiration, lips curving in a half-smile. “I would expect nothing less.”

As they made their way to the stables, Charlotte’s mind raced, torn between her determination to fulfill her purpose and the alluring presence of the man who had, inadvertently or not, brought ruin upon her family. And yet, here he was, no hint of his reputed coldness—only a warmth that left her wary of her own reactions.

At the stables, a groom presented them with two sleek horses. Charlotte approached her mount, a spirited chestnut mare, and stroked its nose with practiced ease. But as she prepared to step onto the mounting block, Grant stepped forward.

“Allow me,” he offered, hands hovering near her waist.

Charlotte’s heart hammered, a flush rising unbidden to her cheeks. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am quite capable.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” he murmured. “But I would be remiss in my duties as host.”

After a brief hesitation, she nodded, and his hands closed around her waist. Even through her layers of clothing, she felt the heat of his touch, the ease with which he lifted her into the saddle sending a strange thrill through her.

As she settled herself, their eyes met. For a fleeting moment, she thought she glimpsed something vulnerable, a softness at odds with his reputation. But then, just as quickly, his usual composure returned.

“Shall we?” he asked, mounting his own steed with practiced grace.

Charlotte nodded, her fingers tightening around the reins as they set off at a brisk trot. Snow dusted the landscape, and the path they took was a ribbon of pristine white that wound through the grounds.

Grant leaned toward her as they neared a starting point he’d had a footman mark. “I do hope you’re prepared to lose gracefully, Lady Charlotte.”

Her eyes sparked with defiance. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Your Grace. I have been riding since I was small.”

They urged their horses forward, hooves pounding against the packed snow. Charlotte leaned low over her mare, feeling the power beneath her, each stride a thrill as they gained speed. Grant was just beside her, his tall frame confident and in sync with his steed, every inch the commanding figure she’d tried so hard to loathe.

“You ride well,” he called out, a note of admiration in his voice. “But can you keep up?”

“Perhaps you should be the one to worry about that,” she retorted, urging her mare forward. A laugh bubbled up unbidden as she matched his pace, a strange, exhilarating freedom filling her with each stride.

As they rounded a bend, he glanced her way. “Finding it hard to concentrate, Lady Charlotte?”

“Merely admiring the scenery,” she shot back, her eyes glinting with a playfulness she couldn’t seem to stifle. “Some views are more distracting than others.”

The words slipped out before she could catch herself, and a blush crept over her cheeks. She, Charlotte Ashbourne, was flirting with the Duke of Ravenscroft. She should be ashamed, but at the moment she was far to busy enjoying herself. And was it not her goal to make him fall in love? Flirting could only aid in that endeavor.

Grant’s rich laughter rang out, sending a thrill down her spine. “I’m flattered, my lady, though I must warn you, it may cost you the race.”

With a final burst, his stallion surged ahead, crossing the line just before her mare. As they slowed their mounts, Charlotte couldn’t suppress a laugh, caught between exhilaration and frustration.

“Well ridden, Lady Charlotte,” Grant said, dismounting, his grey eyes alight with triumph. “Though I daresay your competitive spirit may have cost you in the end.”

Charlotte slid gracefully from her saddle, cheeks flushed from the crisp air and the thrill of the race. “Perhaps,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Or perhaps I merely allowed you the victory—to spare your fragile ego.”

His brow arched in amusement, and he stepped closer. “Fragile ego? I assure you, my lady, there’s nothing fragile about me.”

Her heart skipped, a warm flush blooming unbidden. She forced a light laugh. “Is that so? Then I suppose you won’t object to a different sort of challenge?”

“Lead on, Lady Charlotte,” he replied, his voice low and rich. “I’m finding your challenges quite… invigorating.”

They walked arm-in-arm toward a clearing, her senses heightened by his closeness. The ground crunched beneath their boots, and as they rounded a copse of trees, she saw a line of targets against a snowy backdrop.

“Archery,” Grant announced with a gleam in his eye. “An excellent choice, my lady. Though I warn you, I am rather skilled.”

“As am I,” she replied, her gaze steely. “Shall we see who truly has the superior aim?”

Grant handed her a bow, and she nocked an arrow, fingers steady despite her racing heart. She took aim, her muscles taut, and released. The arrow thudded into the target, just shy of the center.

“Impressive,” Grant murmured, his admiration evident.

She felt an odd satisfaction at his praise, a warmth that defied her guarded intentions. He took his turn, his arrow landing mere inches from hers, and she met his gaze with a challenging smile. “It seems we are evenly matched, Your Grace.”

They continued, each shot filled with playful rivalry, her resolve slipping further with each laugh, each glance.

“Your form is excellent,” he observed, stepping closer. “Though may I suggest an adjustment?”

Before she could answer, he was behind her, his hands guiding her elbow and shoulder. His touch sent a shiver down her spine as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

“Like this,” he murmured, voice low and intimate.

Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to release the arrow, watching it land on target. She turned to find him watching her, his gaze lingering.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she managed, her voice almost a whisper.

He gave a nod, his gaze unreadable.

They returned to the manor as the light began to fade, the day slipping into a wintery dusk that cast an ethereal glow over the estate. Inside, they found themselves drawn to the warm embrace of the grand parlor, where a fire crackled invitingly.

“Perhaps a game of chess?” Grant suggested, gesturing to the polished chess set on a mahogany table. “Or would you prefer cards?”

“I would be delighted to join you for chess, Your Grace.”

As they settled into their seats, the firelight danced across Grant’s features, softening his expression and illuminating the intelligence in his eyes.

“Ladies first,” he said, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

Charlotte moved her pawn, each strategy calculated yet laced with her own guarded purpose. As they exchanged moves, she found herself drawn not just to the game but to his gaze, the way his brow furrowed in thought or his mouth quirked when she surprised him.

“You’re proving to be a formidable opponent, Lady Charlotte,” he said, lingering over his knight.

Her heart fluttered, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “You sound surprised, Your Grace. Did you expect less?”

He chuckled, his voice like rich velvet. “On the contrary, I have come to expect… great things from you.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just them. Charlotte’s heart pounded, her resolve wavering as an unfamiliar warmth surged within her. How could this man—this rogue she was meant to despise—make her feel so alive?

He made his move, accidentally toppling a pawn. They both reached to right it, their hands brushing. The spark between them was undeniable, the air thick with tension before they both laughed, breaking the spell.

“Apparently, neither of us is immune to a bit of clumsiness,” Grant said, his eyes twinkling.

Charlotte’s laughter faded, and she fought to regain control over her racing emotions. Her family’s plight, the reason she was here—it all came crashing back, sobering her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his gaze sincere.

She straightened, forcing a polite smile. “All is well, Your Grace. Shall we continue?”

As she refocused on the board, she vowed silently not to let herself be swayed by fleeting connections or captivating smiles. Her family’s future depended on her resolve, yet each look from Grant made that resolve harder to keep.

After three games of chess, they stood by the bay window, snowflakes drifting lazily from the sky. Grant’s presence beside her was both a comfort and a reminder of her purpose.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice filled with a rare softness.

Charlotte nodded, her thoughts a tumult of emotions she barely understood.

Grant shifted slightly, his arm brushing hers. “Moments like this make one reflect on choices… responsibilities.”

Charlotte turned to find him watching her, his grey eyes reflecting a depth that both intrigued and unsettled her. “And what do you reflect on, Your Grace?” she asked, a trace of vulnerability in her voice.

He held her gaze, his expression pensive. “The weight of decisions, the legacies they leave.”

His words struck a chord, stirring feelings she had fought to bury.

“It grows late,” she said, the strain of her internal conflict evident. “Perhaps it is time to retire.”

Grant’s gaze lingered on her, as if searching her face for answers. “Of course, Lady Charlotte. Allow me to see you to your chambers.”

As they walked through the opulent corridors, her mind raced. Her purpose was clear, her resolve firm. But as he bid her goodnight with a gentle smile, she couldn’t help but wonder if the price of her revenge might be higher than she’d anticipated.

When she closed the door to her chambers, her fingers trembled as she pressed a hand to her chest, her heart a tempest of emotions she could no longer ignore. She leaned against the door, staring at her reflection in the polished mirror across the room.

“What a fool I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with confusion.

Crossing to her vanity, she removed her hair pins, each clink a reminder of the burdens she carried. She met her own gaze in the mirror, searching for the determined woman who had first arrived here.

“I cannot falter now,” she told herself, her eyes reflecting her uncertainty. “Too much depends on it.”

Yet even as she spoke the words, her heart whispered a dangerous question: was her revenge worth the cost of her own heart?