Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

The world spun as it always did, surely, even if it felt as if time froze when Ian and Charlotte were announced. All eyes turned to them for the briefest moment before everything rushed to spin ahead again.

“Oh lovely, we were able to sneak in without anyone noticing,” Charlotte leaned in to whisper.

He patted his hand over hers, fighting back his grin.

“Careful, Duke, they may not fear you if they see a smile.”

“I don’t need their fear in order to be happy, Lottie.” He led them into the ballroom, searching the crowd.

“You are full of surprises.”

This earned her a genuine smile. It didn’t escape him when she swallowed hard and then tore her attention away to the din before them.

“Follow me,” he said, leading them forward. There by the lemonade table, tucked near the back of the ballroom, was the giant Scotsman and Kate and Lily and Rafe, all deeply engaged in conversation before Kate caught sight of Charlotte and squealed.

“It worked!” Kate cried.

“What worked?” Charlotte asked, pulling back from Ian to narrow her eyes on him. “This was your plan. ”

“We helped!” Lily piped in.

All three women hugged one another, then pulled back to shower each other with praise and compliments, leaving the men to stand around awkwardly.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Rafe said at last. The Scottish giant merely grunted, watching his wife intently.

“Well, we have done our part…”

“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Davies.” Lily plucked the champagne glass out of his hand and steered him by the sweets. “If you will excuse us, my husband is peckish.”

“Your husband wants to go home.”

“Cake will help.”

“Not everything can be fixed by cake, Lily.”

“That’s what you think before you have a bit of cake.”

Kate merely giggled at Lily’s banter with her husband. “It’s cute how she married someone so capable of sparring with her. It was exhausting trying to keep up.”

Charlotte wrinkled her nose, joy bubbling through her. “I can’t believe we are finally all together. I wish it were longer than one evening.”

Ian didn’t wish to interrupt. Nor did he wish to stand by when he was certain Kate and Lily still hated him. But he wouldn’t leave Charlotte.

“That’s the problem with Scotland,” Kate sighed, opening her fan.

“A problem, now?” Gabriel’s deep burr cut the awkwardness.

Ian, at the moment, would have done anything to see Charlotte look at him the way Kate looked at her husband with pure adoration, half hidden behind black fan lace.

He was aware of everyone watching. He felt their eyes on him and Charlotte almost immediately after stepping foot into the ballroom. He never cared for balls, but he had found them tolerable when first courting Charlotte. There had been a thrill then that chased through him as he eagerly moved through a room to find her. Something, if he were honest, he was chasing again tonight.

He had sent letters after that night and showered her with hothouse flowers and taken rides with her in Hyde Park. His friends had thought him a fool, but he hadn’t cared because for the first time in his life, he believed someone loved him.

“It seems my wife was onto something,” Rafe said, returning a few minutes later.

“How goes the shipping business, Mr. Davies?” Gabriel asked.

The two men carried on about whiskey and ships, and Ian remained close by as Lily and Kate laughed and chatted with Charlotte. He would give this to her every day if he made her happy, but he also knew that, in the time he had left, she had watched as her dearest friends moved on with their lives. He had selfishly believed it fine for her to just be a duchess. To think about the time they had wasted because he believed her only after his title, because he had given weight to the advice of others.

His stomach sank.

Charlotte glanced back at him, a smile wide on her lips. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Ian nodded and winked, before turning back to his conversation. Time slipped away as the women moved about the ballroom and he found himself deep in conversation about sailing with Rafe and Gabriel.

Finally, he spotted Charlotte with Lily, before Kate was whisked away by Gabriel to dance.

When his eyes met with his wife, it was as if he were suddenly buried beneath some crushing weight while reaching for some insatiable hope. He craved the light there hiding in her eyes, urging him to soften his edges and reach out for her again as he once had.

Ian slowly wound his way through the crowds and approached Charlotte, a small smile at his lips.

“After all these years, I still find you against the ballroom wall.” He held out his hand for her, thankful she didn’t wait to slip her kid glove into his palm. “No, love.” He leaned closer, feeling her small gasp as he whispered, “You deserve for everyone to see you tonight.”

After a few glasses of champagne, her cheeks were flushed, and all her careful weapons of self-protection were cracking. She followed Ian out onto the dance floor, her eyes fixed on his. Blue eyes as bright and endless as spring in Cumbria, and heavy-lidded, urging him on.

A waltz struck up, and the ballroom nearly collapsed into a hushed horror or glee, depending of course if they were chaperones or debutantes and the young bucks eager to dance.

He placed his hand on her waist, never breaking eye contact and she smiled up at him. “Far more scandalous than our first dance,” he said.

“I’m not sure I care at the moment.”

He tugged her a little closer as her hand rested against his shoulder, and they began spinning around the ballroom.

“Do you not care or are you distracted?”

She leaned in close enough that he smelled her perfume. He had been driven mad by the mere memory of it once, now he craved it. “Bring me home, Ian.”

He pulled back, narrowing his eyes on her. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

Charlotte laughed quietly. “I wish for this dance, and then I wish to pretend it was all those years ago when we shared a secret kiss out on the balcony.”

He remembered that kiss. How she had followed him outside, and he thought he had lost all good sense to fall all over himself so quickly upon meeting her. And then he had pressed his lips against hers, and he was ruined for every other woman. He had been hers entirely, then and now, and all the years in between even if they hadn’t been together.

“That kiss,” he whispered, desperate to press his mouth against her there, in the middle of the ballroom. Desperate to taste her as if to reassure himself this was not a dream. That he held his wife in his arms, his duchess, in the middle of a London ballroom for everyone to see, and she smiled at him as if she loved him, too.

“Tonight, I can enjoy that kiss and more. I am yours now, after all. And I wasn’t that first night. ”

“You’ve always been mine, Lottie.”

Her hand curled up briefly to trace the curve of where his neck met his shoulder. It was the briefest of touches, the softest. And it felt like a promise between them.

As the music ended, she didn’t let go, drawing him through the crowd, until they were alone in the hallway. She pulled him into the alcove and placed her hand on his chest.

“Do you remember that kiss?”

“I dream of it,” he said, bending down and pressing his mouth against hers.

Like that night, there was an urgency for fear of being caught and for being the first to let go.

“I don’t believe in alchemy, but you’ve bewitched me,” he whispered against her lips.

“You remember?”

“Every damn thing.”

She tightened her arms around his neck, sighing into his mouth as he continued his exploration, far too needy to care about anything at the moment besides finding a bed, perhaps.

“Take me home, Ian,” she repeated.

He laughed, breaking apart and pressing his forehead against hers. “You didn’t say that on that night.”

“I wasn’t your duchess last time.”

“My duchess,” he said, full of wonder. She pressed her hand into his palm and closed her eyes. “I will take you home tonight and every night after.”

Thankfully, it was a short ride to their home in Mayfair.

“Come on,” he said, clutching her hand as soon as the carriage rolled to a stop. He opened the door and helped her down, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead.

She laughed, ducking her head against his chest as they paused for a moment before their home. This would never be a burden, nor would he let it serve as a reminder of what his father had never wanted to be. Ian would do better, and love the woman who wanted to love him, if only he were brave enough to believe it .

As they ascended the stairs, he turned. She collided into him, and Ian caught her, wrapping his arms under her bottom and picking her up.

“You have gone daft,” she laughed, smiling up at him as he carried her up the few remaining stairs and over the threshold.

“You’re dismissed for the evening,” he ordered the butler, never looking back as he carried Charlotte upstairs to his bedchamber.

“Ian, really, I can walk.”

“So can I, and I’m in a rush.”

“Hmm. What is so pressing?”

He peeked down at her, nearly tripping.

“Then I will be honest. I am in a rush to see us in my rooms where I will lock the door, and I don’t believe I will let anyone in for at least a week. All meals will be delivered to the door, and clothing will be optional.”

Instead of answering, her fingers reached up and played with the hair at the nape of his neck, desire racing down his spine. He opened the door, dropped her feet to the floor, and she grasped his neck, wasting no time to press a searing kiss to his mouth.

“Lottie, Lottie,” he whispered against her mouth. Some prayer, some sweet benediction.

He stepped backward, into the middle of his bedchamber, into the soft glow of the fire crackling in the fireplace. His heart ached at the sight of her. He reached for his cravat, eager to untie it.

“No.”

Ian froze.

“You will be patient like I have been. Sit down, Ian.”

Christ.

“You wish to control this, Honeybee? You want to tell me?—”

She grabbed the small chair by the secretary's desk and dragged it before the foot of the bed. “Sit.”

He hung his head, barely able to contain his grin. He walked around the chair, peeking at her as she remained in the middle of the room, still fully clothed, and her lips parted in anticipation. Ian sat down and allowed his hands to relax, waiting, even as everything within him tensed. His cock strained against his trousers as his eyes met hers.

Charlotte licked her lips, then lifted her chin before she reached back and pulled a pin from her hair. For such a small thing to be tossed to the carpet, it was as bright and loud as a match strike in the middle of a dark room.

Ian didn’t budge, not even as she removed another and another, until her hair fell to her waist, her chin held high in challenge.

“Don’t move,” she cautioned as she reached to her side and slipped a button free from the yellow gown.

“I can’t?—”

“Wait,” she said again. “You will. I had to.” She padded closer, remaining just out of reach. “All these years.”

“And you hated me.”

“I never stopped thinking of you,” she corrected. “Eight years is a very long time.”

He nodded, nearly groaning as her gown cascaded down to the floor, revealing the shiny sateen of her petticoat.

“What did you think about?”

She shook her head, reaching down to lift up the petticoat above her head, then tossing it at him.

He held it in his hands.

“I can help,” he offered, his mouth dry at the sight of her tightly drawn stays over her chemise.

Charlotte stepped back.

Ian groaned.

“Patience, Ian.”

“Then tell me what you thought of.”

“This,” she answered as she turned around and slowly approached. “Please, just untie my stays.”

He swallowed, reaching out to untie her, never moving from his chair, and then, in what might be a Herculean effort, dropped his touch.

“Thank you,” she said, backing away .

Ian wasn't thankful. He felt like a man condemned, waiting out his last few moments. And still, he wouldn't move. He would wait.

She removed her stays, leaving her in the chemise and stockings. He could make out the silhouette of her body, the full, soft curves that waited for him to touch and kiss. Her breasts, the patch of soft curls between her legs, waiting for him to kiss and lick until she called out his name in pleasure.

And if he would do anything tonight, it would be to see her pleased properly because she deserved it.

With her chin still high, he watched her take a quivering breath before clutching the hem of her chemise. Slowly, she pulled it up her body, revealing her soft white skin, higher still to reveal her breasts, before it too was thrown in his direction, and she stood before him in stockings.

“Those,” he said, his hand clutching the knees of his trousers, “stay on.”

Her brilliant blue eyes met his, and for a moment, he swore she might not be as affected, but her breathing quickened at his demand.

“Now come here. I want to touch you.”

She shook her head. “Not yet.” Charlotte closed her eyes and ran her hand from her hip, skirting it over her stomach, then up to her breast.

“I thought of you touching me, Ian. I still do, but you know that now, don't you?”

“Yes.”

Watching her touch herself, just out of reach, was sheer torture. He felt his control slipping, knew this was more than temptation or control but trust.

Above all else, Ian wanted her trust. Needed it if they were to ever have a chance.

She tilted her head up toward the ceiling, revealing the graceful line of her neck. It was then he noticed it wasn't only that she stood in front of him out of reach, but in front of the mirror.

She was a woman meant to be savored. It was easy enough to fall in love with Charlotte. To resist her? Impossible .

He groaned as she rocked her hips from side to side. Her firm bottom reflected back to him in the mirror.

“I want you,” he nearly growled.

She opened her eyes and flashed the most devastating smile. “I know.”

She slowly walked forward this time, coming within reach, and still, he kept his hands at his side. Charlotte raked her hand through his hair, then tugged, pulling his gaze up to meet hers.

“I’m yours, Ian. Always have been. I wanted to know that you were mine as well if I am to give you my heart once more.”

He moved his head to the side and kissed her arm. “Let me show you.”

She reached forward and slowly untied his cravat, her body so damn close. She tossed it to the floor, then reached for his vest but paused.

“Charlotte,” he said half in warning. “I can be patient, but I’m no damn saint.”

She backed away. “Stand up.”

Ian shot to his feet, desire pulsing through him. He wanted Charlotte, craved her. He wished to taste and touch her, feast on her until she cried out his name and lay there in his arms, knowing it had been her and only her all these years and for years to come.

He stalked toward her, his eyes focused on her mouth, and the way she worried her full bottom lip between her teeth. Pink, lush. So inviting.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, his voice rough.

She nodded.

He closed the distance between them, cupped her face in his hands, and bent his forehead against hers. “I've waited too damn long as it is.” She whimpered beneath his searing kiss. “I would have begged if you made me wait one more minute.”

She reached for his jacket and helped shove it down his arms and to the floor, then his vest, and finally his shirt. She pulled it from the hem of his trousers and drew it over his head. Her hands instantly skimmed over his chest and down his abdomen. Sweet torture .

“Tell me what you want, Lottie. Tell me, and I will make sure you are happy.”

She smiled as her hands stopped at the fall of his trousers, his erection straining against the seam, so damn uncomfortable.

“I want to touch you, Ian. To feel you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, a rush of air leaving his lungs.

“Yours, Honeybee. I’m yours.”