Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Later that evening, Charlotte pinned her hair up with diamond-tipped pins, sliding each into a curl. She watched her own reflection in the looking glass and found herself paying extra attention to the neatness of her hair. She pinched her cheeks to add a little pinkness and smiled to herself. She felt pretty, something she so rarely cared about.

"He already thinks you're pretty," Chelsea said, coming up beside her in the looking glass. It was as if she had read Charlotte's mind, the deep dark thoughts she wished would stop coming.

"I don't know who you are talking about," Charlotte replied. Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink without the aid of her pinching nails.

Chelsea giggled. "The duke. Alexander."

Charlotte rolled her eyes in the most exaggerated way she could muster. "Honestly, Chelsea. You do say the strangest things."

"Don't think I didn't notice it when we were out today. There is something between you, and you know it."

It was true that they'd had a lovely day. Charlotte hadn't expected it. When Chelsea invited the gentlemen, Charlotte's gut reaction had been one of disappointment. But actually, the foursome got on remarkably well, and Charlotte had found she enjoyed herself.

She had intentionally steered herself away from the duke, though. She couldn't very well spend time with him, not when he caused a fluttering of feeling throughout her entire body. It was not merely a desire to be near him but also an almost irresistible desire to touch him. The image of him as he was in her dreams, bare and wet, returned to her often. And so, talking with Stewart had been the safer option.

That didn't mean she didn't glance over at him often though. She sneaked a look at the sharp angle of his jaw and the way his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck, just below his hat. She watched him stride across the cobbles, the fabric of his trousers tightening around his buttocks as he went.

"You're right," she said with a sigh, turning away from the looking glass. "I find the man endlessly infuriating. We just seem to clash."

She glanced over her shoulder at Chelsea to find her friend smirking at her. She frowned, then set about putting on her shoes ready for dinner.

"Clash indeed," Chelsea said, still smirking.

"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked, looking up at her from the couch, her finger still slid into the back of her shoe. "And why are you looking at me like that?"

Chelsea giggled and joined her friend on the couch. "Mother once told me that there is a very fine line between tension and passion. Perhaps your clashing means more than you realize."

Charlotte once again rolled her eyes. She sat up straight and eyed Chelsea from beneath her brow. "Your mother also told you the sandman sprinkled dust into your eyes to help you sleep."

Chelsea let out a mock gasp, her hand to her chest. "You mean to say he doesn't?"

"No," Charlotte replied with a giggle. "Just as any tension between the duke and I is certainly no precursor to passion."

She stood up, preparing to descend for dinner.

"You may call him Alexander," Chelsea said as she, too, got to her feet. "He said as much. And we're all friends now. I'd wager you and he will be more than friends eventually."

Charlotte put her nose into the air. "I would far rather maintain a little formality, thank you very much."

"Because, of course," Chelsea added as they left the room, "your irritation absolutely could not mean anything but pure irritation itself."

They moved down the corridor and started down the stairs to the entrance hall. "Just because you're in love, Chelsea, it doesn't mean everyone else is. Honestly, it's like that's all you can think about at the moment."

"Perhaps not love," Chelsea said. "But what of lust? We both know you feel it."

"Of course I feel it. I am human. And there is no denying that a man as handsome as the duke would tickle any lady's fancy. But my irritation is nothing to do with how he looks nor any secret desire that I harbor to be touched."

Chelsea pursed her lips. She didn't believe Charlotte at all, but there was nothing Charlotte could do about it.

"We'll see," she merely said in her singsong voice, then she skipped into the dining room.

Charlotte paused outside the door and sighed. She was glad to be there, supporting her friend. She only wished it was just the two of them. From inside, she heard laughter, and so, with a deep breath, she walked in.

"Did you get lost between the corridor and the dining room?" the duke said as soon as she entered.

Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek. It was as though this man was intentionally going out of his way to annoy her!

"No," she snapped back. "I was simply hoping that you had."

"All right now, children," Chelsea said, looking up at Charlotte with a twinkle in her eye. "Shall we sit down and enjoy a meal? It is rare that we get to eat together—and without Mother, too."

"Let's," the duke replied, rubbing his hands together at the sight of the feast in front of them.

Charlotte took the remaining empty seat. It was next to Stewart and directly opposite the duke. There would be no way to hide from his gaze.

"I must say, it looks delicious," Stewart said.

"Indeed," the duke said. "I, for one, cannot wait to dive in." He looked up, capturing Charlotte's gaze. "Miss Charlotte, would you like to dive in ?"

Charlotte glared at him across the table. He played a dangerous game, but it was one she most definitely would not lose. "I have sampled many meals here at Hurtle House," she replied simply. "I know how wonderful the cook is."

"She certainly is," Chelsea said.

She nodded to the maids who began dishing up from the big tureens in the center of the table. There were roast potatoes and steaming boiled carrots. There were peas as green as green can be, a little knob of butter melting into them on top, and a whole leg of baked mutton that the butler now carved. Charlotte licked her lips in anticipation. She could ignore the jibes of the duke in return for such a tasty meal.

"How are you finding your stay here, Your Grace?" Chelsea asked, turning politely to the duke.

"You have the most beautiful home, Lady Chelsea. I must commend your gardeners on such a magnificent job."

"We are very lucky to have such a wonderful staff here," Chelsea agreed. "Walking through the gardens is always a delight—and there is always something new to see."

"Of course, it won't be your home for much longer, Chelsea," Stewart pointed out as he sliced through the meat on his plate. "You'll be moving to Leming's estate soon."

"His townhouse, I hope," Chelsea said. "I am not quite tired enough of London yet."

Charlotte kept her eyes on her plate, delicately cutting up her roast potatoes and trying not to think of the duke.

"But you'll want to start a family, surely," Stewart said.

Chelsea slid the fork out of her mouth and nodded. "When the time comes, I will be happy to move to Lord Leming's country seat. It would be the best for the babe, after all."

"Perhaps somewhere with a lake would be nice," the duke said.

Charlotte's head shot up. She threw him a warning glance, silently reminding him to keep his mouth shut on their true meeting.

"There is a lake on his property, actually," Chelsea said, not noticing the quiet war that raged beside her. "I do love to swim—as does Charlotte. Don't you, Charlotte?"

Despite herself, Charlotte's cheeks reddened once more. She nodded with a weak smile. "I have been known to swim once or twice," she said, studiously avoiding the duke's amused gaze.

"I'd far rather go for a walk between the trees myself," he said.

Charlotte could feel his eyes on her, burning into her. She squirmed in her seat, her flesh hot and prickly. Though she didn't raise her eyes, she could see the movement in his strong hands as he grasped the cutlery. She licked her lips, once again forcing him from her mind.

"You ought to be careful about what you might find in the woods, Your Grace."

She looked up at him in time to catch his single eyebrow raising. "Very true, my lady. One never knows when one is going to happen upon a strange creature who bites."

"Walks in the woods?" Stewart said with a snort of laughter. "Creatures who bite? You've been reading for too much literature, Alexander. And I've never once seen you walk in the woods."

"Ride, then," Alexander corrected. "You know how much I adore an early morning ride."

His focus left Charlotte to go to Stewart, and she felt herself relax. The conversation moved forward, and she no longer felt in danger of being revealed. The duke talked about his love of riding, and Charlotte couldn't help but imagine herself in his arms atop his horse.

Or perhaps between those powerful thighs. He had as much as called her a creature, after all.

Dessert was trifle, the rich strawberry jelly topped with cream. As Charlotte tucked in eagerly, she found herself thawed out a little. The note of irritation that had thrummed beneath her surface was replaced with light laughter and simple, good conversation.

She realized that perhaps the duke was not the man she had once thought him to be. Indeed, his conversation was intelligent and interesting, and he held them captive with his witty repertoire.

"I must say, Your Grace," she said finally. "You are far more knowledgeable about far more than I had given you credit for."

He shot her an uncertain look. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

She giggled. "You ought to, yes, for that's how I meant it. So many gentlemen know only of politics or only of fencing, but you seem to know a little of everything."

"Something of a jack of all trades," Stewart teased.

"And yet I've mastered them all far more than you," the duke replied with equal jest.

Charlotte giggled, as did Chelsea, the wine they had drunk going to their heads . She could see the men had a close relationship, perhaps as close as her own friendship with Chelsea. And though she didn't much like the duke of course, she was strangely pleased that he had someone he could lean on.

"And you?" he asked eventually. "What do you enjoy doing? Apart from swimming, of course."

Charlotte looked up to meet his gaze, but her eyes got caught on his lips instead. He licked them to moisten them, and Charlotte's own mouth fell open. How plump, how luscious his lips were. How desperately she wanted to lean over and kiss them.

"She rather enjoys a game of battledore," Chelsea said, noticing Charlotte's sudden distraction and jumping in to help her. "And very good at it she is too."

"An athletic lady then," Stewart said with an appreciative nod. "You still have that same boundless energy you had as a child, then."

Gathering herself, Charlotte turned to Stewart and smiled. "Yes, but I have learned better ways of directing it than pestering those around me."

"She also enjoys a debate on the role of women in society, don't you, Charlotte?"

Charlotte's mouth dropped open again, and she stared at her friend wide-eyed. Such conversations were ones to be had in certain company only.

"I…" She stuttered for a moment, but when she locked eyes with the duke once more, her nerves seemed to fall away. His eyes seemed to be telling her to continue, that he was interested and wanted her opinion. "I believe that women have a lot more to offer than they are currently given the opportunity to."

"I quite agree," Stewart said as the maids cleared away the plates and the butler poured them all a glass of port. "There are plenty of charitable causes which would greatly appreciate the input of more ladies. Certainly a great number who would accept more donated goods such as knitted socks and fresh pies."

The duke laughed. "While there is nothing wrong with a knitted sock or a fresh pie, I'd wager that's not quite what Miss Charlotte meant. And I must admit, I quite agree. Sometimes, we gentlemen get so caught up in the beauty of a lady that we rather forget her intellect."

Charlotte watched him as he spoke, her entire opinion of him changing. She smiled gratefully at him, wondering whether he truly meant it. If he did, there was far more to the duke than she had ever realized.

Perhaps I could come to like him after all.