Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Charlotte braced her arms around her middle as she coughed. Weeks after the accident, she was steadily improving, but broken ribs and pneumonia were nothing she wished upon her worst enemies.

Including Ian.

Like the way the earth was warming as spring approached, she felt as though there was a small part of her opening to her husband. He saw she was cared for, asked after her, gave her space, all without leaving.

The sun was taking its time to set. She enjoyed the way the light lingered among the clouds, whispering promises of summer and late evenings and giving hope after the dark winter.

She smiled as she slowly shuffled through the foyer and found a giant vase stuffed with sunny daffodils. The very first ones that broke through the cold earth to harken the rest of March along. It had been years since she had planted those bulbs. Hundreds of them. Determined to bring light to the grand house that, at the time, felt like a punishment.

Like she was sentenced to live out the remainder of her years alone, deep in the English countryside .

She lightly touched a petal as she passed by, wincing at the uncomfortable tug at her shoulder freshly out of its sling.

If Kate were here, she would lecture Charlotte about giving herself grace, a concept much easier to grant others than to follow herself.

Instead, she pushed herself forward, seeking out a book in the library. At first, she thought she was alone until the room suddenly shrunk as her eyes fell upon the duke in the corner of the library, wearing reading glasses, and clutching a book.

“It’s too drafty for you in here.”

That may have been true, but his words were also cold.

She was halfway across the room before she could think better of it.

Something about him now, in the candlelight, with a shirt that was much too big for him and no cravat. Her gaze lingered at the small triangle exposed at the base of his throat.

Perhaps it was the beard shadowing his jaw or the way he nearly glared at her from over the rim of his glasses, but she thought, for a moment, he was extraordinarily handsome.

Which was unfortunate as she was also quite certain she despised him.

“I have a shawl. I will be fine.”

He raised his brows, then returned to his book, even as she stood before him.

“You weren’t at dinner this evening.”

“I had a headache.” Charlotte clasped her hands in front of her and puzzled over her husband. There was something different about him. Maybe it was the telling crease between his brows or the dark circle beneath his eyes, but all his hard edges had softened.

“You shouldn’t be up then,” he said, speaking to his book.

The duke swallowed hard and tapped his boot against the floor.

“Have you been laying out the daffodils?” she asked. “I hardly see you.”

“I didn’t believe you wanted to see me. You burned my suits and fled to Scotland.”

She nearly gasped, straightening her shoulders .

Before she could respond, the duke shut his book and stood. The library fell to an unsettling hush. Charlotte’s heart thrummed in her ears as Ian strode toward her. She remained still, refusing to let him chase her away.

“Would you like me to read to you?”

“Pardon?”

He walked past her, forcing her to spin around as he settled on one end of the large sofa he had moved back to replace the settee, and reclined, throwing his arm over its back. So casual and powerful.

A king.

“You haven’t had a tailor here to replace your suits?”

“You could have burned down Stonehurst.”

“As if you would miss this house. You have others.”

He nodded. “Several in fact.” He narrowed his dark eyes as she stood before him, clutching the end of her shawl in her hands. It was such a small gesture, and yet, she felt entirely unmoored in that instance.

“You are right. I could have burned the house down. I didn’t think it through, and it was selfish,” she admitted.

“How unlike you.”

“I don’t believe you know the first thing about me. Good evening, Your Grace…”

“Ian.” He dropped his hand from the back of the sofa and leaned forward. “And please stay.”

“We can’t stand one another. I don’t see why we must suffer for the sake of appearances.”

He scratched his jaw, puzzling her over. “No appearances. There is no one here to perform for.”

Charlotte exhaled. This frustrating man… If he hadn’t returned, none of this would have happened.

“Come sit, and I will read. Close your eyes. Should I ring for tea?”

“No, that isn’t necessary.”

“I won’t say anything to exasperate you further.”

His very nearness troubled her. And yet, she missed him or maybe, the memory of the man she had loved once .

“I would love a small glass of sherry, please.” She dropped down onto the opposite site of the sofa and propped herself up with a pillow. The fire crackled in the fireplace, and she was certain she would fall asleep now if it wasn’t for how she enjoyed watching Ian move across the room.

He was powerful still. Just as he had been when he crossed the crowded ballroom the evening they met and made her forget how comfortable she was hiding along the wall.

“Here you are.” He held out a glass for her.

“Your hands!” Charlotte reached for his free hand, bruised, cut, and rougher than she had ever witnessed.

So very unlike him.

“It’s nothing.” He snapped his hand back, flexing it by his side, before sitting opposite her on the sofa. “I was reading Valperga . Would you care for me to continue, or should I find something else?”

“You don’t have to read to me at all. I don’t wish to impose.”

He scratched his jaw and glanced at her, studying. Always studying.

“I want to read to you,” he said at last. “It would be no imposition.”

Charlotte only sipped at her sherry instead of commenting further, wishing to move beyond the verbal sparring. It was exhausting, and her head hurt.

She placed her sherry down and reclined against the pillow, sighing as the rest of her body refused to relax.

The duke began to read, his voice raspy and edged with exhaustion, but the low timbre somehow magically curled around her and melted her body against the sofa cushions. The velvet pillow brushed against her cheek as she nestled closer, a shiver crashing down her spine when his hand brushed against her ankle.

Like this evening, nothing had made sense then, either.

The duke suddenly stopped reading, and she was much too tired to open her eyes to discover why. She heard him move across the room and then felt the weight of a blanket cover her body.

She smiled into the pillow, dreaming of those lost years. Of his soft smile cutting across the hard features of his face or the way his laugh had always spurned her own laughter further. Of his hands and lips touching her, always on the brink of driving them both into madness.

Those were the same memories that flooded back to her as the laudanum had taken hold of her in her sickbed while recovering after her accident.

“Charlotte?”

She opened her eyes slowly, her heart breaking all over again to be met by what was left. She braced herself for a cold comment or sneering smile, but Ian had turned to her on the sofa, the book in his lap, and one arm tossed on the back of the sofa once more.

“Hmm?”

“I realize we… I mean to say, I know I have behaved in a way unfitting of a duke.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows to face him.

“But will you allow me to try to be better? Give me through the summer, and if you cannot stand me, I will grant you a divorce.”

It felt like a trick, like a way of placating her further.

“You wish to stay?”

He stood and reached his hand out for hers. “With you. Yes.”