Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The following three days passed in a blur. The entire house seemed a whirlwind of activity, as the preparations for the wedding stepped up a notch in both urgency and excitement. Even more guests arrived by the day, and Alexander wondered idly where they were all sleeping. The manor house was big, but it wasn't that big. Perhaps there were additional rooms in the coaching house.

"It's good to be out of the madhouse," Stewart said as they rounded the top of the hill. "I thought we'd escaped London, but it appears my aunt and uncle have invited the entire city to stay here at Hurtle House!"

It had been Stewart's suggestion to take a ride around the grounds and perhaps out into the village, and Alexander had eagerly agreed. The feeling in the house was intense, and he hadn't been able to stop himself searching for Miss Charlotte among the sea of new faces.

And yet she evades me.

"It does feel like London has followed us, doesn't it?" Alexander said.

"At least Lady Lucille isn't amongst the crowd," Stewart said with a snort. "That would be rather dramatic."

Alexander started, realizing he hadn't thought about Lucille once in a number of days, his mind so consumed by Miss Charlotte instead—a much more attractive prospect in more ways than one.

He'd wanted to get her alone again in the hopes of reenacting the kiss, and though she frustrated him beyond measure, he found himself craving her company too. He couldn't think why. He had dreamed about her several times since the kiss, imagining all sorts in that garden.

He pictured himself hitching up her skirt so that he could place his flat palm on the round of her buttocks. Even in his dreams, he could feel her muscles tighten and twitch at his touch.

He knew the smoothness of her flesh instinctively, could easily imagine the way his rough hand would run over her gentle femininity. If only he had thought to pull down the neckline of her silk gown that day in the garden and nuzzle his face into her breasts.

She would have dark nipples, he thought, ones that stood out against the paleness of her alabaster skin. How he'd like to feel her quiver beneath his touch as he flicked his tongue over them.

"You're thinking of her now, aren't you?" Stewart said. "You really need to find a way of getting her out of your head. You'll never find a solution to your financial problems if you are thinking all the time of love."

Alexander shot his friend a glance. "Who said anything about love?"

Stewart scoffed. "You mean to say it is not love? Anyone with eyes would beg to differ."

"Of course it is not love!" Alexander cried, outraged that Stewart was even discussing the matter, let alone accusing him of being in love. Why, he'd hardly met Miss Charlotte in truth, and though she undeniably stirred something within him, to call it love was simply madness.

"If it was not love, then why were you so terribly devasted when she betrayed you with Carmeyer?"

"Carm… er… oh!" It dawned on Alexander that Stewart was not talking about Charlotte but Lucille. "Yes, well, that was…" He cleared his throat. "That was unfortunate."

Stewart threw him a curious look. "You were talking about Lady Lucille, weren't you? You were thinking of her?"

Alexander felt his cheeks flush, and he hoped they hadn't turned red. They must have, though, because Stewart threw his head back in laughter.

"Goodness, I knew she'd caught your eye, but I didn't realize you had it that bad."

"I do not know who you are talking about," Alexander replied, carefully and firmly enunciating every word.

Stewart chuckled. "No, of course you don't. And neither does Miss Charlotte, I'm sure."

They wandered further, down the hill and into the woods proper. Though the conversation fell into a companionable silence, Alexander's own mind was loud. It said a million things to him, though it only said a single thing loud enough to warrant any attention.

Miss Charlotte. Miss Charlotte. Miss Charlotte.

It annoyed him how easily she had wormed her way into his mind. The truth was, he had spent a few days thinking about Stewart's idea. Miss Charlotte, it turned out, was not merely beautiful, witty, amusing, daring, and carefree. She was incredibly rich, too. And though he had initially dismissed Stewart's idea of marrying her as ridiculous, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Of all the women he had met in his life, she was one of the few he would be able to abide living with. She drove him wild, certainly, but he could handle that and if he couldn't, then he would at least have enough money to build himself a private wing and escape her.

And for now, we could have a little fun .

Besides, there was something strangely alluring about her, and that wasn't merely her beauty. He wondered whether it was the appeal of Stewart's idea that had captured his imagination so solidly, or whether it was Miss Charlotte herself.

"I must admit, the idea that I could alleviate all my financial problems in one go is a rather appealing one."

"You've reconsidered my suggestion then," Stewart said, glancing over at him through the trees between them.

"Let's just say I've decided to think on it further. I had hoped to get to know Miss Charlotte a little better, but I never seem to be able to get her alone."

"Alone?" Stewart asked, scandalous eyebrows raised.

"Not like that," Alexander tutted. "But I had hoped to perhaps converse with—"

"Converse?" His eyebrows were still raised. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"

" Converse with her," Alexander reiterated, even though that was not what he had hoped at all. "But she seems to always be busy with Chelsea and your aunt."

"There is a wedding to prepare for. What else did you expect?"

"Yes, I know, but if I have any hope of—" He stopped, sitting taller on his horse, his ears pricked to a sound in the distance. "What on earth is that din?"

Loud cries and whooping noises filtered between the trees, the hubbub interspersed with laughter.

"I don't know," Stewart said. "But I'd like to find out. Are you coming?"

He moved the horse forward, looking back over his shoulder at Alexander with a daring glance.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Alexander replied, raising his reins to drive the horse forward. "Whatever it is."

They broke through the trees to find a large open field. A handful of local boys from the village were playing cricket, and Alexander was certain he recognized a few servants from the manor.

"Come on, lady! Just throw the damn ball!"

Lady?

With a frown, Alexander turned to look at the pitcher. It was none other than Miss Charlotte herself, ball in the air ready to pitch, dressed in a pair of loose trousers, staring at them in flustered horror.

***

Charlotte froze when she saw the gentlemen emerge.

What is it with that infuriating man and his insistence on watching me from between the trees?

"Come on, lady! Just throw the damn ball!"

The duke turned and looked directly at her, and Charlotte's entire body stiffened. She had so successfully avoided seeing him that she had not yet dealt with the emotions seeing him caused.

That kiss.

It still swirled around her mind, never letting up, never letting go. She wanted to kiss him again, to feel his hard body against hers, to urge him on. And yet the idea terrified her. The feelings he evoked in her terrified her. She wanted more, but she knew she couldn't have it, especially not as she was so unwilling to give him more. She would never marry; she had decided that already. Thus she could never give away that part of herself.

Can I?

"Well, well, look who it is."

It was Stewart's voice. She heard it in the background of her mind, like something ethereal, not quite there, because all her true attention was on the duke. His chiseled jaw. That kink in his hair at the back of his neck. That amused glint in his eye that he always seemed to have when he looked at her. Those arms that had been around her waist only days before.

"Hey, lady!"

She lowered her arm, gaping. Embarrassed at the way she was dressed, the way she was behaving. She had seen the boys with the cricket bats heading out, and she had impulsively followed them, asked if she could join in. It had seemed such a good idea at the time. Indeed, she'd been delighted they'd agreed, and she was having such a great time. Until the duke and Stewart arrived.

"I told you we shouldn't have let a girl play," someone called in the distance.

"Give her a minute," another shouted.

The duke jumped off his horse, handing the reins to Stewart, and walked to the boy who was leading this group. They spoke in quiet, hurried words, but all Charlotte could hear was her heart in her ears.

She watched intently, terrified that he was telling the lad she shouldn't be playing or that she was a harlot or somehow denouncing her, and perhaps she would deserve it because who was she to be wearing men's trousers in public and playing like a child in the grass?

A graceless, inelegant thing, that's who. Someone that a man like the duke could never want, could never love, even if she wanted him to. Even if she could let down her walls long enough for him to gain access.

The duke trotted back to Stewart, pulled off his gloves, shrugged off his jacket, and handed them to him. The boy, meanwhile, raised his arm in the air to attract attention. Charlotte watched the entire thing play out in wide-eyed fascination.

"All right, lads," the boy called. "The gentleman is joining us! Ernie—give him your bat."

"But—"

"But the man's a duke! Give him your damned bat!"

Charlotte's mouth hung open in sheer surprise as Ernie grudgingly handed over his bat. The duke took it and marched over to the batter's stand to take his place.

"I'll see you back at the house, then, Your Grace," Stewart called from atop his horse.

"Just leave my tailcoat by my horse," the duke called back, but his eyes were on Charlotte.

He stared at her intensely. Or was it the ball he stared at? She couldn't be sure, but neither did she care. All her tension had melted away, replaced by unabashed joy that he was joining in. So few gentlemen would do so, thinking themselves better than these boys or too good to get their shiny boots muddy. Perhaps there was hope for this man after all.

She smiled a wide smile. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Your Grace?"

"Take careful aim, my lady, for I will knock it into the trees!"

By the end of the afternoon, the duke's face shone with a thin sheen of sweat. Charlotte had no doubt that hers did, too, but the afternoon had equally been filled with laughter and friendly competition. As the game came to an end, they each shook hands with the opposite team.

"I guess you are the better cricket player, my lady," the duke said as his hand touched Charlotte's.

A thrill of electricity shot through her, the warmth of his touch bringing her alive. "But you gave me a good run for my money," she replied.

She avoided his gaze, worried that if she looked into his eyes, she might fall in, lost in a dream. She wondered if he had the same flushed cheeks after other forms of exertion—whether lovemaking exhausted him in the same way as cricket. The way he had yielded the bat, firm in both hands, had sent a shiver down her spine as she imagined him holding her.

"But alas, it's time to return to the real world."

She looked up at him and pouted. "Oh, must we really?"

He chuckled. "I'm afraid we must. They shall be wondering where we are. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather like to bathe before this evening. Your guardians arrive this evening, do they not?"

Charlotte groaned. "Don't remind me. But yes, I suppose I ought to make myself presentable. Aunt Lydia would be horrified to know what I was up to today."

"As would most people," he said. He raised his eyebrows as if he disapproved and for a moment, her heart stopped. But then he leaned in and whispered, "but not me. I thought it was delightful."

Her heart began again but faster than it had before, and she couldn't stop the grin from growing across her cheeks.

He thought it delightful!

She gazed up at him. She shouldn't care what he thought. She never cared what anyone else thought. And yet hearing him approve of her actions filled her with a joy she had never before experienced.

"I suppose we ought to go then," she said, though neither of them made a move to leave.

"I suppose we ought to."

Still, neither moved. The air between them fizzed with passion, and as she stared into his eyes, she silently willed him to kiss her again. To take her as a man would.

Answering her plea, he raised his hand to her cheek and moved toward her. But she tensed suddenly, brought back to the real world.

"Yes, let's get back," she said and turned swiftly.

Too swiftly.

In her attempt to get away from her own feelings, she managed to trip over a rock. She would have tumbled to the ground had the duke not reached out and steadied her.

"Woah! Are you all right?" he asked.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. He fully embraced her now, the hand that had grasped her arm to catch her now snaking across her back and pulling her in. Charlotte swallowed.

"Yes, quite." Her voice had turned hoarse, her yearning for his touch caught in her throat.

Kiss me , she asked him in silence, her eyes pleading. He opened his mouth as if to speak, his eyes searching hers. Kiss me , she asked again, fearing he hadn't understood.

And then he did. His lips touched hers tenderly. He tasted of salt and passion, and she straightened her back in a desperate attempt to get closer to him.

His hands roved over her body, searching as they had done before. Over the curve of her back, across her buttocks. Charlotte considered putting her own arms on him, touching him in those places she had longed to touch, but she could only kiss him, the soft moistness of his tongue against hers rendering her useless.

His hand moved up her side, his flat palm spread so that he could touch more of her at once. He ran up her waist and reached her breasts, pushing her away just far enough to gain access. He cupped her, the firmness of the squeeze enough to make her moan into his mouth. His fingers worked at the edge of the neckline, his bare skin against hers, hot at every touch. Her breath became heavier, more rapid, and she wanted it. She wanted it more than anything.

But then a finger snaked down between the fabric of her clothing and her skin. The tip of his nail brushed against her nipple, sending a shiver down her spine, causing her most private part to tense and clench.

With a gasp, she leaped backward, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, quite unable to meet his gaze.

"I-I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I can't. I just can't."