Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Charlotte spun around and ran across the rough grass before the duke could reach out and stop her. She couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes. The desire. The disappointment. Everything she felt in herself and more.

Why did I run when this is what I have craved for so long?

But craving something and experiencing it are very different, and Charlotte's body yearned for things she did not yet understand. It was no longer a naughty dream, some silly thing she could keep to herself. To experience it with someone else, with a man, was salacious and wrong, and she found her mind clouded with shame.

She had no right to act in such a lascivious way with a man who was not —and would never be—her husband. She had no desire to, either. Or at least, she didn't until she saw him, and then her resolve fell away. He made her weak; he made her hungry. He turned her into an animal searching only for satisfaction.

Upon returning to the house, she sneaked around the side and into the servants' entrance, as she had done so many times before. She had no desire to see anyone, let alone speak with them, but she needed to bathe and change for dinner.

She was only glad she'd had the forethought to ask the maid to prepare a bath for when she returned to her room, the tin had already been filled in front of the fire. She'd always hated using the family's main bathing room, preferring instead to wash in the privacy of her chamber.

The maid had left her a large towel to dry herself off and a jug of wine for refreshments. Charlotte shed her clothes quickly, the fire hot against her naked back as she stepped into the water.

It was tepid but pleasant enough, and she sank into its welcoming embrace with relief. She rested her head against the curve of the tin and closed her eyes. She could forget all about the silliness of the day. He had probably only kissed her because he thought her loose of moral in her trousers.

Except, as soon as she had decided to forget it, images of the duke came back to her, and her body was immediately stirred. The feelings, the desire, it seemed only to increase and never go away, but she knew one way to rid herself of it. She knew she would hate herself for it afterwards, filled with guilt at her wantonness, but the temptation was too much. She let her hand fall between her legs.

As she parted herself, probing her secret chamber, the water flooded into her. She mewled, shifting her weight, and then teased herself as she had trained herself to do. That feeling that only the duke could evoke in her built, twisting and pulling and tightening.

She replayed the moment when his fingertip touched her nipple, the way it made her feel, the way she had shuddered at his touch. The way she wanted him to stop but never to stop all at the same time.

She replayed it over and over until finally, the thread snapped. Charlotte pushed her head against the hardness of the tin, pushing her lips together as hard as she could to prevent herself from crying out. This strange sensation, the one she had discovered in the dark, alone, it overwhelmed her. It was stronger now than it had ever been, stronger still when she pictured the duke.

Finally, her body relaxed, and she slumped deeper into the bath, the water splashing over the side. She allowed herself a minute to catch her breath but no longer. If she waited any longer, she would be consumed once more by shame. Instead, she got up, wrapped herself in the towel, and called for the maid to help her dress for dinner.

"Ah, there she is, our beautiful niece," Uncle Elliot said as she walked through the door to the drawing room. She had dressed in a gown of fine scarlet red silk and draped a lace shawl over her shoulders. It was quite different to the muddy trousers she had just changed out of.

"Good evening, Uncle Elliot, Aunt Lydia. I'm so pleased you got her safely."

"We were wondering where you'd got to," Aunt Lydia said. "You were dangerously close to being late for dinner. And what have you done to your hair? I can see several strands falling out of their pins already!"

Charlotte ducked out of the way as Aunt Lydia leaned into the ‘fix' the hairstyle that Charlotte happened to like. "Yes, sorry I was late," she said. "I took a little nap this afternoon."

"Oh, I do hope you're not feeling unwell?" Uncle Elliot asked.

"Not at all. Planning a wedding is tiring, nothing more."

She picked up a glass of wine from a passing maid and took an immediate sip as she surreptitiously scanned the room for the duke. The rich taste of the Bordeaux reminded her somehow of him, and she frowned, annoyed at the way she seemed to make that link with absolutely everything. She turned and smiled to her aunt and uncle, more at ease now that she couldn't see him.

"I trust you had a good journey?" she asked.

"It was bearable," Aunt Lydia said.

"It was perfectly fine," Uncle Elliot added. "We stopped off at this lovely little coaching house that served the most tremendous chicken pie. Didn't we, Lydia?"

"It was acceptable," she replied.

Charlotte smiled. Her aunt rarely showed appreciation for anything. She had grown somehow bitter as she aged. But Charlotte didn't mind it. If anything, at the moment, her aunt and uncle provided the stability she needed, the ‘normal' life that didn't include thoughts of naked men or the duke's hand brushing against her breast. It felt a welcome relief against the confusion she'd been feeling, though she was certain she would bore of it soon.

"There are a lot of people here," Uncle Elliot said.

"Yes. I didn't know this many people could fit in a single house," Charlotte replied in jest. "But it shall be a wonderful day tomorrow, and if anyone deserves a true celebration, it's Chelsea."

"Ah yes," he beamed. "It is going to be a lovely wedding by all accounts. It is nice to be doing something happy for a change."

"It's only a shame they decided not to marry in London," Aunt Lydia muttered. "It would have saved a great deal of hassle for a great number of people."

"But then you would never get out of the city, Aunt Lydia," Charlotte said with a weak smile. "And it does us all good to get out now and then, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," she replied, though her tight lips told Charlotte she didn't agree.

Maids and footmen circled the room, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and tall, thin champagne flutes. Dinner would no doubt be some time later, and this gave the guests a chance to mingle. Aunt Lydia quickly became caught up in conversation with another, equally sour looking woman that Charlotte didn't know and before long, her Uncle Elliot began chatting to an elderly gentleman about the state of the banks these days.

She was left quite alone with her thoughts, and that terrified her. The more time she gave her thoughts, the more power they seemed to yield over her. She disliked the duke intensely and yet… yet she wanted him. His behavior infuriated her. He seemed to skulk around, to tease her with his eyes, to always be amused by her. But she was drawn to him in ways she had never before been drawn to anyone.

And his touch is more than I can bear if I ever wish to control myself.

To distract her from these thoughts, Charlotte moved around the room, weaving between the throngs of people, smiling but not allowing herself to be drawn in.

"There you are. I've been looking for you."

Charlotte froze at the voice whispered just behind her. He was far too close for any situation, let alone when they were surrounded by others.

"Your Grace," she whispered back, though she didn't turn to look at him.

The air around them became thick, the scent of him filling her nostrils.

No, no, no.

She wouldn't allow herself to be drawn in again. She stepped forward. It would no longer be impolite to leave as they had greeted one another.

Except, behind her and with urgency, he said, "Wait! I wanted to… apologize."

Apologize?

Her pulse thrummed through her body, but she didn't hesitate any longer. She turned and smiled to him as if he were just another guest.

"For what, Your Grace?"

He tilted his head and looked at her as if to say you know what for.

"I didn't mean to…" he looked around at the other guests. "To startle you earlier. You disappeared so quickly that I—"

Charlotte cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I am sorry too, Your Grace."

She turned and scurried to the far end of the room, huddling into the corner by the window, half-hidden by the large damask drapes. To her surprise, the duke followed her.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. "I didn't… I wouldn't…" He shook his head. "I don't want you to feel as though anything has changed."

"But everything has changed, Your Grace."

"Will you please call me Alexander? I have asked before, and now that we have kissed, I should think formality is no longer an issue."

To hear him say the words so openly, so plainly, shocked her almost as much as the kiss itself had. It made it feel more real, more tangible. Like something that had happened in real life and not merely in her over-active fantasies.

"I appreciate your kindness, Your Grace," she said, not quite ready to remove the formality. "I am quite all right, but what happened this afternoon—and the other day at the hunt—it was a mistake. It should not have happened."

The duke straightened, a barrier having come down between them, and Charlotte wanted to reach out to him, to tell him she was a fool, that there was no mistake. That she loved every second of it, and she wished he would kiss her again.

"Yes, quite right," he said. "I am glad we have that sorted. Now, if you don't mind..."

He bowed and turned. Charlotte let her breath out slowly, both relieved that he had gone and wishing he would come back all at the same time. She watched as he moved between the guests, nodding and smiling at various people, stopping to talk to others.

"Who is that?"

Charlotte jumped at the sound of Aunt Lydia's voice, silently cursing the fact that she had a back at all. Why did people always insist on sneaking up on her?

"Oh, no one important," she replied, turning to her aunt with a smile. "The Duke of Ashbourne. He is here as a companion to Lord Stewart Stanhope, cousin to Chelsea."

"And he has been here the entire time you have?" she asked, eyeing him carefully.

"No, not at all. He arrived some weeks later," Charlotte replied. It wasn't entirely a lie. "I don't know him all the well, if I'm honest."

"You seemed to know one another very well," Aunt Lydia replied, looking Charlotte up and down as if trying to find the lie. "Indeed, your conversation looked positively private."

Charlotte giggled nervously. "Only if you think talking about the weather is private. The duke thinks it is going to rain tomorrow, whereas I am certain it will be clement."

Aunt Lydia let out a disbelieving hum. "Very well," she said. "But he doesn't look the gentlemanly sort, and the fact that I have yet to meet him in a social setting makes me wonder about his background. You would do well to stay away from him. Do you hear me?"

"Of course," Charlotte said. "I find him most disagreeable anyhow."