Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Ian stood for a moment, brushing back the hair falling across his face, then glanced up at the sky. It was still early morning, and he should be in bed. But he couldn’t sleep.

For the past week, he had risen early, checking in with the nurse, before riding out to the river.

“Ho,” Nathaniel called out as he approached on horseback. “Is this where you have been disappearing?”

Ian shrugged, reaching down to grab another large stone from the dilapidated wall. His hands were rough and calloused, his body sore, and still there was much to do.

“I asked to have it repaired, but they couldn’t start for a few weeks.”

He spoke to his calloused hands, too focused on removing each stone and repairing the stone wall section by section. It would take him the summer at least to fix it before it would be safe for jumping.

Ian merely grunted, not wishing to be disturbed. He tossed down the stone and threw his hands on his hips. “I’ve a lot to do. Enjoy your ride.”

“You can’t be serious, Brother. You’re a duke!” Nathaniel cried incredulously .

“Yes, and this wall nearly killed my duchess.”

“ Yours ?”

Ian glared at his brother. He never considered himself a possessive arse, but there was time for everything.

“Mine.” His voice took on a menacing edge.

One day.

Charlotte would be his again. He would win her back.

“Repairing a wall will not do that,” Nathaniel said, dropping his voice with concern. “She is back at Stonehurst, recovering, and could use a companion.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Ian grumbled. He reached down for the stone once more and lifted it, turning to his left to toss it into the pile. He would need to take the wall down almost to the earth before rebuilding it stone by stone.

“I think she might if you could only act civil and not growl.”

“It’s nearly spring, and the fields are being prepped for planting. There is no extra help at the moment. I may hire someone when I choose to because I’m the bloody duke, but I’m telling you now, don’t say a word to her about this wall.”

Nathaniel laughed.

“You are far too bookish to be working.”

It was precisely his years of studying which gave him the blind faith that he could repair the wall.

“There is a time for everything,” Ian said, returning to his work of picking off each stone. At least fifty feet of the wall would need to be taken down and restacked. Given the wall was at least two feet deep, it was a big project. But considering his wife wouldn’t speak with him, and he was too stubborn to leave, it helped pass his days.

“She needs to know you will stay because you wish to,” Nathaniel said. “I’m not sure being out here all day will help.”

“How long are you planning on staying?” Ian asked instead. He wedged the pickax under a large stone to gain better leverage. “I have everything well in hand.” He grunted, gritting his teeth, to move the large stone to the side. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. His knuckles whitened under the pressure before the stone moved, allowing a better grip.

“Monty and I will leave this afternoon then,” Nathaniel said.

But it didn’t matter because Ian heard the doubt in his little brother’s voice. And the hurt.

“Thank you,” he said, “for being here.” Ian felt a pang of guilt, first at dismissing his brother so quickly, then realizing he had let another visit pass without telling him the truth.

“I didn’t want to return to London, anyhow.” His brother circled the horse, then grinned down at Ian.

But Ian knew the truth then. Nathaniel might have been the second son—he certainly acted the part—but there was a chip in his armor. It broke Ian’s heart a little more.

“Take care of yourself,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. What do I have to worry about, anyway? I only live off your generous stipends, right?” Before Ian could counter, Nathaniel continued, “You’re more generous than you want to believe, Brother. Show some grace to yourself and win back your wife. She needs you.”

Whether it was the truth or not, Ian was through with questioning it, and he was done lying to himself. It wasn’t an heir which brought him back or Nathaniel’s reckless behavior. It had been Lottie. Always.

He was going to win her back.

It was nearly time to clean up and dress for dinner when Ian returned to Stonehurst later that evening. Everything within him ached, and still it wasn’t enough.

There was no stillness to be had since the accident. His mind was always busy, or he forced his body to help quiet his mind.

He knocked on his bedchamber door, surprised when there was no answer. Charlotte was still recovering in his room. Or so he had thought .

But the bed had fresh sheets, untouched, and the curtains pulled back for the first time in weeks.

He entered, discovering the window cracked slightly to allow in fresh spring air. A few of her things remained behind, scattered around the room. A book, a handkerchief, and her green shawl.

The door to her dressing room was closed.

The knot in his chest tightened as he swallowed his disappointment. She must have felt well enough to finally move rooms today.

Very well.

He grabbed an empty claret glass from the sideboard by his dressing room, added a splash of water, and plopped the wildflowers he had picked for her in it. Ian placed them by his bed if she decided to return. The delicate snowdrops swayed as the water sloshed over the side of the engraved glass.

The problem was, as he stood alone in his grand room, Ian discovered he didn’t much care for finding pieces of her here, left behind like memories. But when he left the night of their wedding, he hadn’t ever experienced what it would be like to share this space with his wife. Of seeing her smile, the way her blue eyes lit up, or hearing her laugh.

As well as the baser things—such as hearing her name on his lips as he brought about her pleasure, of hearing her moan as he drove himself deep inside of her…

Charlotte had always been something he craved, from the moment he set eyes on her. She was a sweet temptation and after coming off a broken engagement, he should have known better than to have fallen for her.

Lesson learned. Even after all these years, he couldn’t rid her from his mind. And perhaps like an animal, chained and cornered, he had worked these last several years to free himself of her. To prove to himself he was stronger than whatever silly sentimental feelings consumed him.

He was not a man of feeling. Never had been. That only made a mess of things .

But he didn’t wish to repeat what his father had done, either. Even if he was the only one who now knew the truth.

Ian scratched his brow and glanced up at the ceiling, heaving a sigh, before ringing for a bath. There was no one to blame but himself for the way Charlotte responded to him. He had wished for so long to rid her from his life, and that was exactly what she had asked for at the very moment he decided they weren’t quite through.

The water was warm as he climbed into the tub. He grabbed a cheroot off the small table beside him and lit it, desperate to distract himself from the ache in his chest.

The ache was nearly unbearable.

It was a pain he didn’t understand. It wasn’t solely from his work with the wall. It had crawled into his heart and made a home there after feeling the weight of Charlotte’s nearly lifeless body against him. He thought it would fade once she finally woke, but it had only deepened in the weeks since.

She wished to leave him now.

The ache had twisted and grew, rooting itself in his chest until he couldn’t breathe. So, then he decided to rebuild the wall and keep his hands busy to distract his mind, which only kept him up at night. He hadn’t slept much since returning to Stonehurst.

Once, this had all been easier.

Hell, even a month ago, he had been on a yacht off the coast of Italy, enjoying the sun and the salt air. He had taken up sailing and quite enjoyed it.

Nearly half an hour later, he stood in his rooms with his trousers on and reached for a shirt when he heard the bedroom door close. He thought nothing of it until a shiver chased up his spine, and he realized someone was standing near the doorway, watching.

Charlotte .

“I’m so sorry,” she said, slamming her eyes shut.

He laughed to himself, slipping the oversized linen shirt over his head. After the accident, there wasn’t much urgency for fine suits as he worked on the wall.

She swayed, reaching for the wingback chair he had positioned by the window to steady herself. But someone had returned it to its place beside the fireplace.

Ian rushed forward, holding out his hand for her to grab. Her fingers brushed across his skin in a fluttering touch, as if too afraid to hold on.

He reached around and braced an arm on her shoulder to steady her. Charlotte sighed, whether in frustration or disgust, he didn’t know.

“Do you need help settling into bed?” he asked. “Where’s Susan?”

Her eyes popped open, then blinked hard. She licked her lips before pulling her gaze away, a deep crimson blush burning the tips of her ears and coloring her pale cheeks.

He dropped his touch as she shrank away. “I apologize, it’s only…” He couldn’t manage to speak. His words were trapped in his throat at the sight of her. “You looked as if you had seen a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Charlotte rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. “No, it’s only…”

“I thought you were out. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“This is your room, Your Grace. I believe I was the one who intruded.”

Your Grace?

“Don’t call me that, please.”

Charlotte tilted her head. The air was charged with some awkward sad current that buzzed around them.

He followed her gaze, noticing his shirt still hung open. With a raised brow, he made quick work of his buttons.

“I don’t recognize you with your beard,” she said at last, stepping around him to make her way toward the bed. Her glance shot to his hands, then returned to the bed.

“I’ve been meaning to shave…”

He swallowed the rest of that sentence as she ran her hand over the coverlet to grab the green shawl. The sun shone through her shift, creating the perfect shadow of her body underneath.

He was the very devil for even glancing at her .

“It suits you,” she said, slowly turning and spreading the shawl on her shoulders.

Suited him?

“Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?” he asked, suddenly remembering he needed to grab his boots, too distracted by her interruption.

“I’ve a headache.” She shuffled forward, her face paling. Her long golden hair, almost always shining and bright, hung heavy around her shoulders. Charlotte seemed smaller, or maybe she was more distant.

He clenched his hands to stop himself rushing forward.

Whatever the matter was, she wasn’t his any longer. And until recently, he had convinced himself he didn’t wish for her to be his.

“I will leave you then. I apologize for startling you. Are you sure you do not need help?”

She gently shook her head, then wrapped her arms around herself, standing in a long beam of spring sun.

An angel washed in light.

He swallowed.

She was… beautiful. And wholly untouchable.

And there was nothing he wanted more in life at that moment.

“Very well,” he repeated, clearing his throat. He grabbed his boots and quickly put them on. “Good night, then.”

He walked for the door, his hand gripping the doorknob when she called out. Ian froze, looking over his shoulder.

“They’re lovely flowers. Thank you.”

He nodded, not wishing to see if her eyes held a reminder of the last time he had given her those same flowers because he was a coward. Years ago, those flowers had held a promise.

These?

Well, Ian guessed they held a promise as well.

He would win back Charlotte not to secure an heir, but because he was no longer interested in living his life without her in it. He would win back her love and prove he wanted her for his own.