Seducing the Duchess (28 page)
Read Seducing the Duchess Online
Authors: Ashley March
“Is it settled then?” she asked, dealing out the cards. “The winning player will have their wager granted. If you win, it’s a kiss. If I win, it’s a swim in the nude. Do you agree?”
Philip grunted his assent. He knew he should hope, for the sake of his sanity, that he might win the wager. Yet as he leaned forward to pick up his hand from the table, he couldn’t help but pray for Charlotte’s victory.
Chapter 16
I
t was a very clever wager.
t was a very clever wager.
And a very foolish one, to tempt her indifference and her discipline.
“I seem to remember we were supposed to swim together,” Philip called from the edge of the small pond.
“No, I merely said it would be a swim in the nude.” The bark of the oak tree scraped roughly against Charlotte’s palms as she leaned back. She forced a laugh to her lips, the sound of it hoarse from the dryness in her throat. “I never said I would join you.”
He gave her a rueful grin over his shoulder, then planted his foot in the water. “It’s freezing.”
“I’m sure it will get better once you go in all the way.” She, on the other hand, felt as if she were being consumed by fire. The muslin was suffocating, pressing down on her chest, restricting her breath. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t turn away. She was supposed to be accustomed to the naked male physique. And although it had been three long years since she had seen a man without any clothes, Philip couldn’t know that. She must act as if she weren’t in the least affected by his nudity.
But though she tried, she couldn’t pretend to herself. Not when the fading autumn sunlight poured over his skin like the sweep of a lover’s hand, painting the lines of his body in golden contrast to the shadows of dusk. Not when her heart betrayed her by beating so furiously, or her mind by imagining what it would be like to have her hands caress his skin, her mouth touch the warmth of his chest.
To be fair, she hadn’t actually thought he’d go through with it, not with the chance that one of his servants or Joanna might see him in all of his ducal glory. But he had surprised her yet again.
“You do realize I shall be ruthless in my revenge, don’t you?” Philip waded into the water, creating small waves which lapped at the sculpted muscles of his thighs.
Charlotte prayed she wouldn’t faint.
His body jerked as the water reached his waist, and a low muttered curse drifted to her ears. “A-are you certain y-you won’t come in?”
“Yes.”
He turned around, and Charlotte was helpless to look away from the broad expanse of his shoulders, his chest, the lovely line of hair trailing over his abdomen and down, down—
“What if I drown?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “I shall fetch Fallon.”
“Surely you will cry?”
“Copiously. A torrent of tears.”
He smiled, his mouth curving in a luscious grin marred only by the clatter of his teeth.
How was it possible that he could make even goose-flesh appear attractive? “Is it truly very cold?” she asked.
He gave her an arch look. “You kn-know it is.”
With a slight bow, he dove into the water, only to appear a moment later with long, even strokes as he swam toward the opposite edge.
Charlotte sighed. And for the first time, she was brave enough to admit to herself that it was with longing.
She wanted him.
Yes, she loved him. She had never stopped.
And she hated him. Or at least, she should, after all the pain he’d caused her.
But oh, how she wanted him.
So much, in fact, that she was tempted to forget that pain, to see if his love could heal her now, when the promise of it had almost destroyed her before.
As he reached the other side of the pond and dove again, loneliness taunted her. Her constant companion, it kept her safe in isolation, but a prisoner of her own fear.
Why could she not trust again? Why could she not believe him?
Would it truly be so terrible to allow herself to be happy with him?
Tormented by her thoughts, Charlotte idly scanned the pond, searching for Philip. Her eyes found only the calm surface of the water.
She surged forward. “No.”
She clutched her skirts and ran, but they were so heavy, and then her shoes sank into the softened soil as she neared the water, slowing her pace even more.
“Philip!”
She would kill him if he was playing a jest. If he weren’t already dead, if he hadn’t drowned from the cold, she would kill him—
“Philip!” She wrenched his name from her throat, past the lump of panic that lay lodged there.
Toward the middle of the pond, a circle of concentric ripples fluttered over the water. Charlotte held her breath, her gaze glued to the spot.
As seconds passed and the water smoothed again, the surface reflecting the darkening sky above with the clarity of a looking glass, something broke inside her.
Seized with a sort of madness, she kicked off her shoes. Then, as she twisted her torso in an attempt to reach the line of buttons at the back of her dress, she saw him.
Walking. Along the edge of the pond. Toward her.
“It was far too cold to swim back,” he said with a sheepish shrug.
Frozen in place, torn between relief and embarrassment, Charlotte could only stare as he came closer.
When she didn’t speak, his gaze drifted to her discarded shoes and then her arms, stretched at an awkward angle behind her. She could only hope he hadn’t seen the fear on her face.
“You thought I had drowned, didn’t you? You were going to rescue me.”
The softness of his tone and the nearness of his large, naked body sent heat coursing to her cheeks. She dropped her arms and studied the sky. “No, I—I decided to go for a swim after all.”
“Liar.”
“No, it’s the truth. You appeared to be enjoying yourself, and—What are you doing?” His hand enveloped hers, his touch somehow warm beneath the cold moisture still clinging in droplets to his skin. He lifted her fingers to his lips.
“Thank you.” His eyes twinkled at her over their joined hands. “It warms my heart to know you don’t truly wish to see me die.”
“Humph.” It was, really, the only appropriate response. Or, at least, the only response she deemed appropriate. The other urged her to hurl herself into his arms. “I think you should put your clothes back on now.”
He kissed her hand again before slowly lowering it. But he didn’t release her, instead intertwining their fingers. For some reason, that simple gesture sparked another blush.
“Afraid you’ll not be able to control yourself, are you?” he teased as they turned to walk back toward the oak tree.
“Quite so.” Approximately thirty more seconds until they reached his discarded clothing, and then perhaps another two minutes while he dressed himself. All she had to do was continue to look straight ahead and count the time. Soon this weakness would pass.
One ... two ... three ...
“There is still the matter of my revenge to discuss,” Philip said. “Clearly you intended to trick me. If I weren’t a gentleman, I might be inclined to voice my suspicions as to the likelihood of you possessing the queen of clubs at the exact moment when it appeared I would win our little wager.”
Would he question her if she insisted he not talk? Because when he spoke, the sound of his voice dragged her gaze toward his mouth. And then all she could do was stare at him, watching with avid fascination as his lips moved and curved and drew a hint of a smile to the corners.
She cursed and glanced away.
“Charlotte? The queen?”
“On the chair, under my skirts. I picked it up when the cards fell.”
A moment of silence. “Ah.”
They had arrived at the tree. Charlotte glanced down at the neatly folded stack on the ground: cravat, shirt, waistcoat . . .
Confounded elaborate fashions. It would take him forever to dress, certainly longer than the two minutes she had promised her self-restraint.
Deciding it best to continue to the manor alone, Charlotte gave a short wave. “I shall see you at supper. I just remembered I have to—”
She was whirled around, her back pressed against the oak, the dampness of Philip’s skin wetting the bodice of her dress.
His breath was hot against her ear. “I believe you owe me a kiss.” A drop of water fell from his hair to trickle over her collarbone and down her chest.
Charlotte shivered.
“Unfortunately,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking the pulse points at her wrists, “the unbridled joy of having my nether parts exposed for all the world to see has disappeared, and I must keep it brief.”
Then, with a gentleness she didn’t know he could possess, he turned his head and placed a lingering kiss against her temple.
“I love you.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t pretend she hadn’t heard him, and she didn’t deny his words or argue with him.
Instead, she simply closed her eyes and breathed. And in the silence which followed, as the darkness wrapped around them and the heat of his body seeped into her bones, she allowed herself to believe it was true.
Supper was a quiet affair, the mood far less volatile than usual.
It was, Charlotte decided, almost intimate in nature.
Philip questioned her about her opinions and preferences: her thoughts on industrialization and what it meant for the nobility as well as commoners; whether she preferred chocolate with or without sugar; and if she liked to read Austen more than Shelley.
He attempted to convince her that William Macready was a far better actor than Edmund Kean, then expressed his shock when she informed him that she hated not only the theater, but opera as well. She laughed at the way his jaw gaped open, but quickly quieted, her interest piqued, when he began to teach her how to curse in Italian.
It reminded her of the conversations they’d had years ago, when he would sneak her out of her parents’ house to stroll with him through the woods separating the estates. Sometimes their words were mingled with stolen kisses and long embraces, but he always listened when she spoke, and acted as if everything she had to say was important. He’d been the only person besides Ethan to treat her so.
After dessert was finished and Charlotte announced her intent to retire for the night, he escorted her to the stairway.
“Nine more days,” he said as she began to climb the steps.
Charlotte paused and turned to him. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders rigid with tension. What did he expect her to do, to say? Her heart was still too fragile; even she was hesitant to take it out of the shadows and examine its scars, let alone voice her longing and desires to the man who had created the wounds.
Tilting her head, she gave a long, sly grin. “Take heart, Your Grace. Only a few weeks ago I would have gladly watched you drown.”
His eyes followed the curve of her neck and lingered upon her lips before lifting to meet her gaze. Charlotte’s fragile and scarred heart trembled.
“Then I have made progress,” he said.
“So it would seem.”
“And yet I couldn’t help but notice how you didn’t immediately come to my rescue this evening. I had time to swim to the far end and walk halfway back to you before you even removed your shoes.”
Charlotte lifted her shoulder in a shrug—a gesture subtle and elegant, meant to draw attention to the fit of her bodice. As his eyes once again followed her movement, she scolded herself for provoking him. She knew he desired her, and her body’s response to the heat in his silver gaze proved she was playing a dangerous game.
Grasping her skirts in one hand and the banister in the other, she continued to climb backward up the stairs. “You are the ninth Duke of Rutherford, all that is just and true and wonderful. Surely God would not dare allow you to die. But if it eases your mind, I will tell you the truth—it was the dress.”
Philip’s brow furrowed. “The dress?”
She turned when she reached the landing, sending him an innocent glance over her shoulder as she said, “Yes, the green muslin, the one you bought for me. Mud and grass stains are impossible to remove. It would have been a terrible waste.”
His laughter followed her as she disappeared around the corner and entered her bedchamber. The rich sound lit a smile on her face as she closed the door and leaned against it, the wood smooth beneath her cheek and hands.
She sighed, wondering at her hope to hear his footsteps chasing after her, helpless to understand the extent of this longing for him.
All she knew was that each minute with Philip made it more difficult to maintain her pretense of indifference. At the same time she worked so hard to hold on to her facade of the seductive temptress, she feared he would see through her at any moment. And when he realized her deceit, that she still loved him, had never stopped loving him, and that she had always loved him and
only
him, she would be helpless.
only
him, she would be helpless.
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