Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, the four of them gathered outside the front door to greet Lord and Lady Hurtle.

"Mother!" Chelsea cried, running to her. For all her complaints about her mother, Charlotte knew that Chelsea would never be without her. "I've missed you."

Lady Hurtle, long known to Charlotte as Aunt Rebecca took her daughter's embrace lightly then shooed her away.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Chelsea, but really. I'm positively exhausted and could do with a bath. Give me a little space."

"Was it a dreadful journey?" Charlotte asked. She avoided embracing Aunt Rebecca, though she rubbed her arm affectionately.

"We survived, didn't we, dear?" Lord Hurtle declared. "Now, who are all these people in my home?"

Aunt Rebecca tutted loudly. "Honestly, Graham. Surely you recognize Chelsea and Charlotte!"

"I do," he said. He wore a sour expression, but beneath that, his jolly friendliness shone through his chubby cheeks.

"And Stewart?" Aunt Rebecca said, shaking her head at him. "Your own brother's son? Surely you remember him! Sometimes I worry you're turning mad in your old age."

He frowned at her. "Yes, yes. Stewart. Of course."

With a laugh and a hand held out to shake, Stewart stepped forward. "Uncle Graham, let me introduce you to the Duke of Ashbourne, my lifelong friend."

Charlotte eyed the duke carefully. He'd almost kissed her the night before, in the dim and fading light of the corridor. It had been late, she'd been tired. She'd so almost given into him. Not that she liked him. Most definitely not. In fact, she'd go so far as to say she actively disliked him.

Don't I?

And yet she had wanted his lips upon hers more than anything in that moment. She had wanted his arms around her waist.

His manhood pressed into my thigh.

He had been so close that she could smell him, a heady mix of stale wine and rich, manly sweat. When he'd touched her cheek, she'd nuzzled into him, so close to begging him to take her, to show her what it means to be a real woman.

But how could she? She couldn't, not when she wasn't willing to give him the rest of her.

And besides, I dislike the man!

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Hurtle. I must thank you for extending Stewart's invitation to me. We are all very excited about Lady Chelsea's upcoming wedding."

The duke stepped forward and bowed magnanimously to Lord Hurtle. Even this irritated her. Why did he always have to be so nice ? Charlotte already knew that the entire family would just fall in love with him, and she would be the only one who could see the annoying truth about him.

Lord Hurtle's false testiness slipped away, replaced by bombastic welcoming. "Ah yes. My darling girl is getting married. We, too, are very happy of course, though I must admit, I shall miss her greatly when she leaves our family."

Chelsea tutted. "I'm not dying, Father. You'll still see me often."

"And in the meantime," Aunt Rebecca said, "we shall celebrate. Come. I don't like standing here in the rain. Let's celebrate inside."

Lord Hurtle looked up at the bright blue sky with a deep frown. "Are you sure it's not you turning batty, dear? The sun is shining."

Aunt Rebecca picked up her skirt and marched inside. "Perhaps," she called over she shoulder as she entered the house. "But mark my words, it will rain very shortly."

As if by her command, as her footsteps rang out on the marble floor of the entrance hall, the heavens opened. Charlotte squealed, looking up at the clouds as the rain began to pour. Together, the group ran into the entrance hall, laughing together and shaking off their clothes.

"Told you," Aunt Rebecca said without turning back, sauntering instead in the direction of the drawing room.

Charlotte paused in the hall, catching her breath around the laughter that still filled her mouth.

"Is she a seer?" the duke asked.

Charlotte jumped. She hadn't realized that he was right next to her, but now that she had noticed him, she could feel every part of him as if through some additional sense. Her own body began to prickle all over, alive with the possibilities, the curiosities, the desire.

She giggled. "A seer? No. She just feels for the moisture in the air—and she is never wrong."

"A seer, then," the duke said with a firm nod.

"No," Charlotte cried in protest. "She's not… I mean, she's just… ohm dash it all!"

She growled in frustration when she saw the tease in his eyes. Every time she was coming around to him, thinking that perhaps he wasn't so bad after all, he did something that infuriated her. Why did he insist on teasing her so? Did he think that his extreme good lucks gave him the permission to behave in such a way?

"Do you not believe me, then? Is that it?" she snapped.

The duke laughed. "I am teasing you, my lady. Nothing more. Not everything needs to be so serious, you know?" He leaned in and whispered. "I remember a time when you yourself were carefree, and I look forward to the day when I see you as such again."

Charlotte's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. With her fists clenched at her side, she huffed then marched away. That handsome, amusing man would not get the better of her, no matter what he thought.

***

Over the following few days, Charlotte did her level best to avoid him. Every time she saw him, her body flashed with heat and her mind flashed with irritation. She was as much annoyed at herself as she was at him, the betrayal of her body as it yearned for his touch. She dreamt of him almost every night, and now she felt as though she knew his touch intimately. As though she could taste him truly.

Luckily, more and more people had begun to arrive, and there was a great deal more distraction than before. She was able to easily blend into the crowd or feign great interest in the conversation of another, all while secretly watching the duke from the corner of her eye. He still irritated her, but she managed to maintain her composure by staying away. For the time being, too, the duke seemed to respect her wishes, though she caught many longing glances across the room.

"Are you coming, Charlotte?" Chelsea asked, poking her head around Charlotte's bedchamber door. "Stewart has organized a scavenger hunt for everyone. It's going to be so much fun—and the sun is finally shining."

Charlotte jumped up, eager to be part of the games. She'd always had something of a talent for scavenger hunts. By the time she had slipped on her shoes, and they'd made their way outside, the rest of Chelsea's family were gathered there.

"Ah, just in time for the final pairing," Stewart declared, looking up from the parchment in his hand.

Charlotte looked at Chelsea and grinned. "We always make the best team in everything, don't we?" she said.

"Oh! You're not with me, I'm sorry," Chelsea said. She did manage to look at least a little pitiful. "Mother isn't feeling very well, so I said I'd pair with Father. You don't mind, do you?"

Charlotte looked around at the sea of faces staring back at her. "No, no, of course," she said with a forced smile. "It's just a silly game, isn't it? I don't need to play."

"Don't be silly," Stewart said with a laugh. "I made sure that everyone had a pair. We don't want anyone to be left out, do we?"

"But who—"

Charlotte's words were cut short as the realization dawned. The duke strode from the back of the small crowd to meet her in the center of the semi-circle.

"Did I hear that you're looking for a partner?"

"No," she said firmly. "Absolutely not. Stewart assured me that everyone has a pair and—"

"And Alexander is yours, Miss Charlotte," Stewart said.

Charlotte ground her teeth together in irritation. From the flash of amusement in Stewart's eyes, he had paired them together purposely—and a quick glance at Chelsea told Charlotte that her friend was in on the plan as well.

"Unless you'd rather not play the game with me," the duke said. "I am happy to sit out if you'd rather."

Charlotte smiled weakly again. How could she say she didn't want to play with him while all these eyes were upon her? "No, no. It's quite all right. I'm sure you'll know some answers at least."

"Excellent," Stewart declared. He went around the pairs, handing out a small square of parchment. In tiny, neat handwriting, he had written a number of clues. "The rules are simple. Find all the items on the list. The first pair to get back here with all the items wins. All right?"

Charlotte stared down at the list intently as all the other couples began meandering away. To say she was furious was an understatement, but what could she do? He was so close to her, peering over her shoulder so as to read the clues. She felt his body near, a beacon calling to her, and yet the distance of inches between them felt like miles.

The fabric of his jacket brushed against that of her gown, tickling her bare flesh beneath it. Her breath came slow and heavy, and the words on the parchment in front of her blurred as she tried to focus. Why hadn't he put his arms around her and pulled her into him? Why wasn't he nuzzling her neck with those delicious lips?

"Do you think perhaps you might show me the clues too?" he asked, breaking her out of her fantasy.

She huffed, annoyed that he had disrupted her. Indeed, annoyed that he was there at all. She didn't want to be near him.

Or perhaps I want to be near him too much.

"You won't know any of them," she bit back.

"Try me."

With his mischievous grin, he snatched the parchment from her. His hand brushed hers, and even through her glove she could feel his warmth. They were quite alone now, everyone else busy on their hunt, and she allowed the sensation to wash over her.

"Listen," she said plainly as he stared down at the parchment. "In no uncertain terms, I want to win. We shall have to make an extra effort to put our differences aside and get along in order to reach our mutual goal."

"Differences?" he asked, looking at her from beneath his brow. Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and pouted until he finally said, "All right, yes. I agree. I'd like to win as well. I rarely lo se at anything."

"Then let's get moving ," she said.

"Let's see," he muttered, looking back down. He hadn't moved away from her, and her entire body thrummed with his closeness. "Five cryptic clues—very typical of Stewart—and five unusual items to find." He looked up at her questioningly. "Shall we start with the cryptic clues?"

Charlotte examined her nails and huffed at his slowness. Was he really that unintelligent? "They're all flowers," she muttered.

He raised his head and looked at her in surprise. "How on earth do you know that?"

"I read them before you, remember?" she asked.

"Yes, but how did you know they were flowers?"

"It's obvious! Look at the first one."

He looked down again, one hand holding the parchment and the other holding his chin as if that might help him think. "Sun… follower," he said slowly. "Sun follower. Hmmm."

Charlotte tutted and took the parchment off him again. "Really? Which flower follows the sun? I should have thought an infant could work that one out."

"Oh! Ha!" Alexander grinned in delight. "Of course. Very clever."

She froze, staring at him. How did he manage to get more handsome every day? Her eyes roved over his entire body, stopping only where she knew his manhood to be. She swallowed, wondering if she'd ever get to see it. To touch it.

Stop it!

Grinding her teeth again, she looked down at the list. "The second is a fastener for a sailor's garden . Surely you know that one too."

"Let me see," he muttered. He raised his eyes to the bright sky, tapping his chin. Charlotte stared at his lips, the way his tongue darted out to moisten them. "A fastener could be a button, I suppose. And a sailor… seadog? Or maybe matelot?"

"Button seadog?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Which flower does that resemble then?"

"No, quite right," he muttered. "Not that one then. Fastener… fastener…"

"Snapdragon," she replied simply. "It's very obviously a snapdragon."

The duke laughed again. "Oh, of course it is! You have a good head for these types of puzzles, I see."

"I have a good head for most puzzles," she said. "Come along. If we don't start finding the items on the list, we'll lose, regardless of my head."

She shoved the parchment back into his hand, this time intentionally brushing it, and marched in the direction of the flower garden. She knew exactly where to find the snapdragons. She led them both there as he puzzled over the parchment.

Kneeling down on the gravel, she leaned in and pushing her nail against the stem, she snipped off one of the biggest snapdragons. It was flaming red like the fire in her stomach. The duke stood over her. Though his nose remained in the parchment, he stood close, so very close that Charlotte could have leaned back and into his legs. She held every muscle in her body tense as she resisted the urge.

"I've got this one!" he cried. " Heavenly scent . That can only be lilac, surely."

Charlotte swiveled around and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Well done," she said. "That is one of the two I hadn't got. How did you work it out?"

Gazing up at him, he seemed so tall, so imposing. She had to crane her neck to see him, and she was acutely aware of the position of her head near his hips. She dared not looked forward, only up.

"Why lilac is known for its heavenly scent, is it not?"

"Do you… do you like lilac, then?" she asked. The words came out as a whisper, though her body screamed at him to take her.

He lowered his arm to his side and looked down at her directly, the clues forgotten. "I do," he whispered back. "It is… heavenly."

Charlotte's lips dropped open, and she prayed for him to get down on his knees, to put his hand on the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss. But instead he cleared his throat and turned away.

"Wherever shall we find it?" he asked, the huskiness in his voice replaced with formality. Charlotte sagged with disappointment, then climbed to her feet.

"I know where," she snapped coldly. "Follow me."

She marched away, and the duke ambled after her, his attention seemingly lost to the parchment once more. She wanted to scream at him that if he couldn't stay away from her, then the very least he could do was kiss her, but she knew she couldn't. She would sound like a madwoman and besides, from the way he liked to tease her, she was certain he would not want to kiss her.

" A swift thistle ?" he asked.

"Very obviously a speedwell," she snapped. "The only clue I cannot get is a well-dressed cat ."

Charlotte sensed rather than saw the duke's surprised glance at her from behind. She didn't hesitate to consider it, instead finding the lilac and snipping it a bit off, placing it into her reticule along with the snapdragon which poked comically from the top.

She stormed next to the sunflowers and though she picked the smallest one, it would not, of course, fit into the tiny pouch she carried from her wrist. When she straightened, holding the flower and looking about her for a solution, she caught the duke gazing at her and smiling.

"Why on earth are you looking at me like that?" she demanded.

"Because the yellow of the sunflower is reflecting off your face, and it looks simply beautiful. You are both as tender and as hardy as any flower, my lady. Did you know that?"

"I…" Charlotte tried to speak but the words did not come. She had never before been compared to something so dainty as a flower, and yet in the same sentence he had recognized her strength. "Thank you…" she said, her eyes glued to his. "For your kindness, I mean." She stumbled over the words, her heart loud in her ears, the yearning crying out for him. "Yes, thank you."

The duke smiled such a gentle, loving smile, and he stepped closer to her. She tensed as he raised his hand and brushed a curl of hair around her ear.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a whisper.

"Give me the sunflower," he replied.

He held out his hand, but he did not look. He didn't pull his gaze away from her. She handed it over wordlessly, and he slipped it behind her ear with the curl. When he stepped back to admire his work, she wanted to reach out and pull him back to her. But he looked at her so openly, so full of appreciation, that she coyly smiled in return.

"There," he said brightly. "That's the perfect spot for it. A flower for a flower."

He'd broken the tension with his brightness. "I am not a flower," she snapped and turned to march away again.

He rolled his eyes as he caught up to her. "No, of course not," he replied plainly. "May I ask what it is I have done to offend you this time?"

"Nothing."

"Evidently," he muttered. "I often notice that the mood turns sour when there is absolutely nothing wrong."

Charlotte spun around, suddenly furious again. At him, for existing. At herself, for expecting anything more than she had ever received. At her body, for its betrayal of her frustration. At him, for not kissing her.

At him.

"It is not I who turned the mood sour, Your Grace."

"What did I do?" he cried.

"You should not tease a woman who has never been kissed with the potential of a kiss!"