Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

T he following morning, Alexander had a few hours before he was required to meet the duke for a meeting just after lunch. He decided to review the ledgers one last time before discussing the financials for the past month.

The house was quiet at this early hour, the duke and duchess having been out the night before and only arriving home in the early morning hours.

The staff went about opening up the house for the new day, pulling open heavy drapes, puffing up cushions, lighting lamps, and setting out freshly cut flowers—a favorite decoration the duchess appreciated around the house.

He sat at his desk, leaving his door open to observe the comings and goings in the foyer beyond. He told himself it was to ensure the house ran in an orderly fashion, to see who was calling on the duke, but that wasn't the actual reason.

Like clockwork, Lady Charlotte floated down the stairs in her light muslin morning gown. Today's dress sported a fetching floral pattern with a loosely fitted bodice, a modest square neckline adorned with lace, and elbow-length sleeves with soft ruffles. The wide, flowing skirt concealed the natural shape of her body. Yet, Alexander was acutely aware of the subtle curves beneath the fabric that always drew his attention with an intensity he couldn't suppress.

She moved into the breakfast room, alone as usual, rarely breaking her morning fast with her parents. He watched her, unable to tear his gaze away, even though he knew he shouldn't be ogling his employer's daughter.

Lady Charlotte did not look his way, and he didn't expect her to. He was far too beneath her to be noticed, but after gazing at the moon last night, he had been overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her.

To see if the feelings that rioted within him, taunting and tormenting his mind, were his alone or if she shared them too.

Did she feel anything for him at all? If she did, indeed, she would look his way, throw him a secret smile, or touch his hand when no one was about.

And yet, nothing.

He picked up his quill and pushed down a sigh of frustration. He needed to get over his infatuation with her. It wasn't helpful, and he could not go on.

Like all the eligible ladies in society, Lady Charlotte would marry, and he would be forced to watch, wallowing in jealousy as another far-more-fortunate man claimed her as his wife.

All because his father, a marquess could not do right by the woman he supposedly loved.

Bastard.

Alexander turned back to his work, losing himself in the figures, and it wasn't until he heard someone clear their throat in his office that he looked up to see who had joined him.

"Lady Charlotte?" The sight of her filled a void that was forever hollow within him.

"Mr. Richards, I was just eating breakfast," she said, moving around his desk to look at the bookshelves that lined the wall behind him.

He swiveled in his chair and watched her pick up several books, read their spines, and slip them back onto the shelf before she turned and met his eyes.

The teasing grin on her lips captivated him, and he schooled his features to hide how enthralled he was by the chit.

"And I realized that I do not know your name. And then I thought that I really ought to know your name since we're friends—at least I hope we are after moongazing last evening."

"Lady Charlotte…while that is kind of you to say, I do not think the duke and duchess would be comfortable with that arrangement."

She leaned against his desk, reached over, and picked up his letter blotter, turning it in her hand and studying it briefly before placing it back down. "They need never know we're friends or that I know your name. It'll be our secret. You know my name. I think it's only fair I know yours."

"But your name is Lady Charlotte. You're a duke's daughter, that's how everyone ought to address you."

"But can I not be just Charlotte? At least in my own home? My friends call me thus, and I think you should too. When we're alone, of course, like now."

He glanced toward the door and realized she'd shut it upon entering the office. Dread settled in his stomach, and the urge to open it was strong.

Almost as potent as the urge to use that privacy to kiss her and see if their friendship was more than what she claimed.

Would she kiss him back?

Dear God, man, get a hold of yourself before you're fired .

"I do not think it's appropriate, my lady. You were born to privilege, and with that comes status. You deserve to be called Lady Charlotte, as is your right."

She stared at him, and he hated the flash of disappointment his words brought to her eyes. "Mr. Richards, what is your name? I'm adamant that I must know. Unless you wish for me to ask Papa, which I'd prefer not to do, but I will if you leave me no choice."

He cleared his throat, paralyzed between what he wanted and what was the right thing to do.

"Please," she begged, her wide eyes something he could never deny.

Her plea broke the last of his resolve. How could he refuse her anything she asked? He was doomed.

"Alexander is my name, my lady, if you prefer to be less formal."

A small, satisfied twist to her lips made her appear even more beautiful than before. Was she so pleased to know his name?

"Alexander…why, I love that name, and it suits you."

"As I've always thought Lady Charlotte suits you." The words left his mouth before he could pull them back. He stared at her, deciding it was best to ignore that he'd given away a tidbit of his thoughts of her—and her name—possibly more than he should.

"You've thought about me then?"

She was quick-witted, and nothing got past her—not even his faux pas. "I, ah…that is to say, some names do not suit people, and it can be perplexing when considered. I do not wish to overstep my bounds and have you think I often think of you. I do not. That would not be appropriate."

She sighed, clasping her hands before her. "There you are again, being all right and proper, explaining away the little hope I had that perhaps you thought of me when I wasn't around."

Alexander gaped. Had she meant to say that? He met her gaze and found her watching him, determination burning in her blue eyes.

Oh yes, she meant every word she spoke.

"You should not say such things. It isn't app?—"

"Appropriate," she finished for him, cutting him off. She leaned down, nose to nose, and looked into his eyes so profoundly that fear settled in his gut. What would she see when she looked at him? A man utterly infatuated with a woman he could never have. A man unworthy but longing to prove himself deserving of her hand without compromising his values.

"One day, Alexander, I will break through your rigid shell and make you do what you want. It makes me giddy just thinking about it. How much fun we shall have when you no longer care what anyone thinks and merely feel."

She smiled and moved away from the desk. The urge to reach out, haul her onto his lap and show her what he wanted nearly broke his restraint. His hands tightened about the chair's handles, forcing him to remain where he was.

Instead, he watched her flounce out of the room without a backward glance, leaving the door open.

Dear God, he was in trouble.

She was trouble.

And for the first time in ages, he felt alive, hopeful, and, damn it all to hell, scared—all at once.