Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Charlotte woke before anyone else in the household, as she always liked to do. In a sleepy daze, she ran her fingers over her nightgown, twisting and pulling the fabric until she could feel the brush of the bedsheets on her bare skin. Her own touch was so soft, so daring, that it made the muscles in her stomach twitch and jump.

She walked her fingers down to the fine hair that pronounced her a woman, already matted with the slickness of her morning desire. She slipped a finger between her lips and allowed it to turn around and around the nub of her pleasure.

Charlotte closed her eyes. Her movements were slow at first, though they quickened along with her breath as she pictured herself as Chelsea had been. The bark of the tree rough against her back, a man's stiffness eagerly pressing into her thigh. Her fantasy was so real that she could almost smell him, feel his hot breath on her neck as he pulled up her gown, searching, searching.

It was as he slipped a finger into her that she felt the release. The knot in her stomach unraveled, and Charlotte pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying out. The tension broken, she laid back on her pillow and caught her breath. Slowly, slowly, she opened her eyes again, welcoming in the world and that rush of shame she always felt when she had satisfied her urging.

She dressed quickly and quietly in simple attire, twisted her hair into an easy knot, then slipped silently from the room. She tiptoed down the corridor, seeing not even a maid preparing the rooms at this early hour, and she left the house by the servants' side entrance so as not to be seen.

The morning air was cool against her face, bringing her to full wakefulness. She raised her head, enjoying the sensation of the morning mist prickling against her cheeks. This had become something of a habit for her since arriving in Hampshire, and she rather liked it.

The mornings were so peaceful, so quiet. Most of the staff were yet to rise, and Charlotte had the sensation of being free. As if she were able to do whatever she wished without interference or opinion from anyone. It was a feeling she valued above all else, being who she wanted, whenever she wanted.

I should imagine this is how a man feels.

With a spring in her step, she made her way to the stables and saddled up the dappled gray mare. With her foot in the stirrups, she lifted herself up and over, making full use of the split in her skirt to straddle the horse as a man would. She grinned to herself. It was both deliciously naughty and wonderfully freeing, and with no one around to see her, it mattered not.

It was how her father had taught her to ride, after all, when she had worn trousers in secret. Indeed, she so rarely rode when other people were around because she never wanted to compromise on who she was. So many people found her odd, but she was just Charlotte, and she cherished who she was more than she cared for their opinions.

"Atta girl," she muttered to the mare, leaning over her neck and brushing down her fur. "Let's go to the lake, shall we?"

As if answering her, the mare began to move. The horse had learned the way by now, not needing much direction from Charlotte herself. They wound through trees thick with dew, across fresh paths not yet trodden, and over the hill until Charlotte saw the lake glittering below.

She paused, sitting tall upon the horse, and surveyed her surroundings. She wondered if that was how it felt to be lord of the manor. She giggled at her own silliness. She had no desire to be a man—goodness, why would she? She rather liked her own softness, her own tender flesh, and she knew how very lucky she was.

But that didn't mean she couldn't also recognize how gentlemen seemed to have the far easier life. Far freer, too. Her upbringing and her natural feistiness had given her glimmers of that life for herself.

I will never give that up. Not for anyone.

She pushed her heels together and the mare began the descent to the secluded lake Charlotte had first discovered when she visited as a child. It had been a dreamy, magical place then, and it still was.

Hidden by the surrounding trees, the cool water called to her, luring her in to a secret, rejuvenating bath that smothered her in the secret sensuality she so dreamed of. Every time she swam, the water touched every part of her, caressing her as she so longed to be caressed.

She tied her mare to a nearby trunk, slipped off her shoes, then buried her toes in the sandy earth around the lake. Today, she decided, was going to be a good day.

***

Alexander woke feeling reinvigorated, if only for a peaceful night's sleep in a comfortable bed. Despite the cool air of his room, the sun poured in through the crack in the drapes. He stretched and yawned, smiling to himself for the first time in a long time.

Mornings were always particularly hard, when lustful ideas broke through his sleepy mind and encouraged him to follow his body's desires. A hand lingered on his manhood for a long moment, the tease of a touch barely there.

He wanted it so very badly, but he knew he shouldn't. It was shameful in his own home, let alone someone else's. And the more he thought of Lucille, the longer she remained in his mind, even if it was as a harlot. He pushed all thoughts of her away, pulling his hand up to rub his tired face instead. He wouldn't give into himself again.

Today is going to be a good day, he decided. He hopped out of bed and quickly dressed lest he be further tempted by the sins of the flesh. He stretched, feeling good. He'd always been a fan of early mornings, relishing in the peace that settled over a house while most were still asleep. In his own house, the staff had long become accustomed to waking after the duke and in the countryside, it seemed, it was no different.

As he walked through the corridors of the house, he didn't hear a single stirring. That particular morning, he felt a boundless energy, a new certainty that the day was going to be a good one—no, more than that. That life was on the cusp of turning. That soon all his problems would be solved.

He didn't know how, of course. He simply trusted that it would happen. That was the magic of such an early hour, that hopefulness, that optimism, the brightness as yet undimmed by the world around him. It had been quite a while since he had woken up so positively, and he supposed he could only thank Stewart for that. Perhaps London was more stifling than even Alexander himself had realized.

He needed to burn off some of his excess energy and so, he slipped from the house without investigating the breakfast room. The air was still heavy with dew, the countryside silent as even the animals were yet to stir. He raised his face to the sky, feeling the mist settle on his cheeks, and the sensation made him smile.

With a deep breath and a gentle smile, he looked around the gardens, deciding what to do with himself. A walk had its appeals, but it didn't feel intense enough to match his mood. Instead, he set off to the stables.

"It's a good day for a ride," he muttered as he went. Indeed, he enjoyed a good ride any day, but the mornings were particularly ripe for the picking.

After saddling the midnight black steed he'd been offered upon arrival—and for the duration of his stay—he swung his leg over, dug his heels in, and they set off to explore the area. It was a perfect way to spend the morning, allowing the tightness in his mind to unspool. Thoughts slid soundlessly, and he let them pass rather than dwelling on them until his head hurt.

He thought of his cousin, Norman, locked away but being well cared for by a wonderful group of nurses. No matter how angry Alexander was about the situation he had been put in, he could never have seen Norman incarcerated in a gaol as so many madmen of the past had been. It took up a great deal of his expenses, money he could barely afford to part with, but it was worth it. He was not a cruel man, and he could not bear the thought of poor Norman punished for something that was only God's fault.

That thought slid into next, the one which revolved around debt and fear of the future. But he pushed it away, refusing to allow it to ruin his day. He wanted only to enjoy the peace and quiet, to make his anxiety rest for a while. He hoped that would allow a solution to all his woes to show itself, as so often happened.

He drove the horse harder, its hooved pounding against the morning-soft grass, thundering through fields and across pathways until they came to the woods. Alexander pulled on the reins to slow the beast, and they weaved through the trees, enjoying the silence they brought, cutting out the madness of his thoughts as much as it cut out the madness of the world around them.

Alexander leaned forward and stroked the steed's neck and in doing so, he noted how hot his flesh was.

"You need a drink," he muttered, realizing that perhaps he had driven the poor thing too hard.

He stopped, sitting tall upon his horse, and surveyed the area for a river or a lake. Even a stream. That's when he heard it, the sound of rushing water. He grinned and motioned the horse to turn, following the sound.

As they broke through the trees, Alexander was immediately hit by the beauty of the water, gently rippling in the breeze, the light bouncing off it. He slowed and let out a long breath, one that he felt he'd held onto since the moment he became duke. He was enveloped by peace and nature, and the flutters in his stomach settled.

He jumped off the horse and began walking him through the trees, leading him down to the water. That's when he spotted her. The woman. She jumped out of the lake, the water cascading around her, and climbed onto a large rock that jutted out over the lake. His body responded instantly, its silent stirrings begging for her attention. Begging him to keep watching.

Alexander took a step back, allowing the branches to fall together in front of him, and he peered forward, watching her. He assumed her to be a servant from the house or some such, one who liked to rise early as he did. And though he knew he should leave, that he should not be watching her, he found himself entirely captivated.

He blinked, his gazed fixed on her form, his mouth hanging open. Her dark bathing gown was already soaked through, clinging to her body, and somehow the folds of the fabric made it look all the more appealing, emphasizing rather than hiding her shape.

She was a petite thing, and despite the modesty of her gown and slimness of her figure, he could make out the gentle curve of her neck. Water droplets ran down, slipping inside her gown, and Alexander found himself wishing that was him, that he followed the curve with his tongue until he discovered the softness of her breasts.

He swallowed, still staring, not quite able to control his roving emotions. He felt that familiar tightness in his core, the one that warned him of the dangers of lust all while encouraging his actions. His eyes moved over her entire body, taking in her slender waist, the shape of her hips. She was beautiful. The water shone like glitter over what bare flesh he could see, her hair loose but thrown back.

She raised her arms above her head, putting her hands together as she prepared to dive. Alexander let out another breath, almost a gasp, as he watched. Her movements were graceful, like those of a noblewoman, yet her carefree abandon showed her to be of lower status. A maid, perhaps, or a woman from the local village. But more than her body, more than her grace, more than her abandon, it was her simple, unconventional beauty that drew him in.

Something within him stirred again. Lust, most likely, but there was something else. Some attraction he had never before felt. Some pull, as if he needed to know her, to see her, to talk to her.

To enjoy her.

He licked his lips as she moved her feet, shifting to the very edge of the outcrop. His body tensed as he watched, his breath held deep within his chest. And then she leaped. She flew through the air with such elegance, the weights in the hem of her gown ensuring her modesty. She cut through the water with barely a splash, and when she reemerged, she wore the biggest, most genuine smile he thought he had ever seen on anyone. Her eyes sparkled like the water itself, and she shook the residual water from her hair.

She clambered out and onto the rock again, her movements nimble and quick, her childlike delight endearing. He was impressed by her abilities and her strength. Her laughter rang through the trees and despite himself, Alexander took a step forward, his heart—and his body—wanting more.

He should have left. He knew that. He should not have been watching at all. It was ungentlemanly, immoral, and he had no doubt she would be mortified to discover…

Crack!

Alexander gasped, his eyes looking down at the steed. In his impatience to get moving again, the horse had shuffled, stamping its feet. Another twig snapped beneath its hoof, and Alexander gasped again, his eyes darting to the woman, praying she hadn't heard or that she assumed it was a fox or something.

He was not so fortunate.

When he looked again, the woman was staring directly at him, a scowl written across her features. Her hands had curled into irritated fists at her sides, and fury burned from her eyes. Somehow, that only made her more beautiful.

Alexander swallowed and stepped further back into the trees, his chest thrumming with fear and shame and guilt.

What is wrong with me?

He clenched his teeth, remounting his steed and turning to leave. They had barely taken a few steps when he stopped. He sighed and lowered his head. Despite knowing he should not have been there, should not have watched her, he could not stop thinking about her.

The woman in the water took up firm residence in his mind. He needed to apologize. He jumped off his horse once more, tied the reins to a grand trunk, and stepped through the bracken to face her.