The Duke's Challenge (12 page)

‘And you, my
love, are a baggage! I shall be grey before my time if you continue to behave
in this way.’

She assumed he
didn’t require an answer, she was incapable of making one anyway, her throat
was constricted and her heart leaping like a caged bird in her chest.

‘Come,
sweetheart, we cannot remain dithering in the hall; let us go to the library.’
With her bonnet swinging casually in one hand and the other resting firmly in
the small her back, he ushered her down the passage.

On this
occasion one of the new footmen had followed, he darted ahead to open the door
with a flourish.

‘Shut the door
- we wish to be private.’ He waited until the door clicked before dropping his
hand. ‘Where would you like to sit, my dear?’

Charlotte
looked at him suspiciously; he was being far too polite, too conciliatory. She
stepped over to a small, upright chair, its rattan seat sadly in need of
repair, but ideal for her purpose. She picked it up and carried it to the
centre the room. There she placed it and sat down satisfied he could not sit
within arm’s reach. Her chair was the only portable seat in the room, the rest
were overstuffed, unwieldy armchairs.

She waited for
him to make the next move. He appeared undecided, for a horrible moment she
thought he might cast himself at her feet like a lovelorn swain, but instead he
dropped into a chair, stretching out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle,
as though he had no cares in the world.

His head was
lowered so she couldn’t see his expression. Why didn’t he berate her? She found
his reticence unnerving; she did not know how to react.

‘Sir, if you
intend to ring a peal over me, then please
do
so. I
wish it to be over before my tray appears.’

He raised his
head and she swallowed, it wasn’t anger or amusement reflected there, but
something far more dangerous. He made no move towards her and she relaxed. She
believed she would prefer his anger to his passion.

‘Charlotte, you
didn’t ask my permission to go out. Was it because you were going to church in
a closed carriage with Andrews and you knew I would forbid it?’

‘I needn’t ask
your leave to speak to God. It is my right to do so. You have no suitable
carriage, so of course I accepted the doctor’s kind offer to take us.’ She
paused,
then
unwisely added, ‘and it’s none of your
concern what I do - we are not married yet.’

‘I see.’ His
eyes glittered. ‘Is that what you believe, my dear, or what you hope is the
truth?’ His voice was cool, his tone pleasant, but she wasn’t deceived. He was
furious.

It would be
more sensible to remain mute, to sit and simper, apologize, promise never to do
it again, but he made her so angry it was impossible not to speak.

‘I merely
repeat what you told me not long ago; you said you wished to have nothing to do
with any of us, that we were not your responsibility.’

He nodded, as
though agreeing. He drew in his legs and slowly stood up, towering above her.
Her stomach lurched and she felt cold perspiration trickling between her
shoulders.

‘But that, my
dear, was before you agreed to marry me, before you willingly put yourself and
your brother and sister under my control. I take my position seriously. I do
not wish to be made a fool of in my own house.’

She jumped to
her feet. ‘I went to church, not to the theatre, or to a private supper party,
and I had two children and their nursemaid as company. How can that diminish
your status?’ She was almost shouting by the time she finished her sentence.

He closed the
distance between them and she didn’t back away. She stood her ground. She was
in the right. He appeared to be having difficulty breathing, and beads of
moisture were gathering on his forehead. Was he unwell, about to have an
apoplexy?

Without
conscious thought she stretched out and ran her gloved hand across his cheek,
her eyes concerned. ‘Are you ill,
Jack
? You’re
breathing rather loudly and your skin is decidedly overheated.’

He forced out
his answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am in two minds, Charlotte, whether to
put you across my knee or make passionate love to you.’ His breath was tickling
her ear. ‘Which would you prefer, do you think?’

Her hand
stilled, she could feel the roughness under her fingers through the thin kid
leather of her gloves, she heard his laboured breathing, but her brain refused
to assimilate his outrageous remark. Then she gasped, and her hand left his
face to return with a slap that knocked his head sideways. Aghast at her
behaviour, her hand burning as though it had been plunged in a fire, she stumbled
backwards forgetting about the small chair behind her.

Even his
lightning reactions were not fast enough and her feet tangled in the chair leg
and she lost her balance, crashing heavily to the floor. He was on his knees
beside her, his anger at her defiance and his shock at her blow, temporarily
put aside in his concern for her well-being.

‘Don’t try and
move, my dear. Stay still and recover your breath. Let me check if you’ve
broken any limbs.’

Charlotte felt her
chest begin to function normally as she recovered her breath. She kept her eyes
closed, trying to blot out the memory of her hand striking his cheek. What had
possessed her? She was not a violent person, did not believe in corporal
punishment, had never
raised
her hand to either of her
siblings however vexed they had made her. Why did Jack bring out the worst in
her?

She vaguely
heard his voice murmuring soothing words but didn’t register their meaning. She
was lucky he hadn’t retaliated, slapped her back. She deserved it. Then she
became aware that his hands were taking unwanted liberties with her lower
limbs. He was running his fingers up her right leg. How dare he do so when she
was indisposed? The man was a depraved monster to take advantage in this way.

Her eyes
flickered open. ‘Let go of me, sir; have you no decency? No gentleman would
attack a defenceless woman as you are.’ She gasped her accusation to the back
of his head, and didn’t see his expression but she heard his reply.

Indeed the
whole of Thurston Hall heard it, and the unfortunate parlour maid bringing in
the coffee and scones was so shocked she dropped the tray. In the resulting
chaos, the maid weeping amidst her broken cups, Jack swearing as he scraped
strawberry preserve from his head, and the butler and footman flapping about
trying to help, but only getting in the way, Charlotte picked herself up and
slipped unobtrusively out of the room.

She raced
upstairs ignoring her bruises and lumps and didn’t stop until safely in her own
chamber. Her heart was pounding, her hands shaking. Frantically she searched
the door for a key; she must bar the door to prevent him getting in. He
wouldn’t respect the privacy of her boudoir. There was no key, no bolt to push
across, she would have to drag the chair and jam it under the latch and hope
this was sufficient to keep him out. Then she heard a sound behind her and her
legs almost gave way in terror.

‘Miss
Carstairs, is something wrong?’ Mary, her new
abigail
,
enquired, her face anxious.

Charlotte began
to breathe more easily. The presence of her
abigail
would keep her safe. Shakily she smiled. ‘Mary, I’d forgotten you were here.
I’ve come up to change my gown for as you can see, it is sadly mired.’

If her maid
thought it odd her mistress had felt the need to change so urgent she had run
up to her room she wisely held her tongue.

Charlotte was
standing in her chemise, her arms raised above her head, waiting for Mary to
drop over a fresh gown when the chamber door burst open. There was no knock, it
just flew back. The duke froze Mary with his stare.

‘Get out. I
wish to speak to Miss Carstairs.’

Mary released
her hold on the gown and fled leaving Charlotte smothered by yards of limp
muslin unable to find a hole through which to put either her head or arms.

‘Oh, let me to
assist you, my love,’ he said silkily, but instead of pulling the material down
he lifted it clear, leaving her shivering in her under garments.

Chapter Twelve

Charlotte felt the
warmth of humiliation spread from the tips of her toes to the crown of her
head. She burnt with shame, quite forgetting that he had already seen her
bottom totally unclothed. She kept her eyes shut like a child, pretending she
wasn’t there, that he wasn’t prowling round her so close she could feel his
body heat.

He ran his
fingers down her arm and she flinched, then, more boldly, he encircled her neck
his thumbs caressing her chin and tracing the outline of her lips. She
shuddered - hating him for his effrontery but her treacherous body beginning to
enjoy the sensations he was sending coursing round her limbs.

‘Please, Jack,’
she pleaded, her voice little more than a whisper.

‘Please, Jack,
do not, or please Jack, do more?’ His words slipped like silk across her cheek
and she swayed.

‘You must not, not until we are wed, it is not right.’

He laughed
softly and began to drop feather light kisses along her jaw, finally engulfing
her mouth with his. He lifted her from the floor, crushing her to his chest and
even innocent as she was, she could not mistake the tell-tale hardness pressing
into her belly.

His lips covered hers, she opened her mouth and his tongue was inside her
mouth exploring every intimate crevice. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow,
felt as if she was being invaded, taken over,
ravaged
.
This was not enjoyable - in fact it was abhorrent and she changed from
compliant to fighting for her purity.

She began to
struggle but her legs were trapped between his thighs and her hands pinioned to
his chest. She was helpless. She couldn’t stop him; he was too strong for her.
Then, wishing to complete his lovemaking horizontally, he slackened his hold
intending to swing her round and carry her to the bed.

She seized her
opportunity, bringing her knees up hard into his unprotected groin. The result
was better than she could have dreamt. He dropped her and doubled up in agony
his hands clutched to his injured parts. Nimbly she stepped round the writhing
form and, grabbing her gown from the floor, ran across the boards and out
through the servants’ door.

The passage was
pitch
dark and she had no candle. She paused. What
would he do
?.
He was cursing but he didn’t appear to
be coming in her direction. There were grunts and shuffles, then the bed
chamber door opened and his heavy footsteps faltered down the corridor towards
the gallery.

He had gone,
she had escaped unscathed. Cautiously she pushed open the door. The room was
empty. She crept in and quickly pulled her dress over her head. Within minutes
she’d adjusted the neckline, shaken out the skirt and tied the sash.

Where was her
other slipper? It must have fallen off when he lifted her. She spotted it under
the bed and knelt to retrieve it. Her face felt sore where his beard had rubbed
and she could taste blood in her mouth from his kisses.

She sank back
onto the stool in front of the mirror. She hardly dared to raise her eyes to
stare at her reflection. She saw a wanton stranger gazing back, a hoyden with
huge green eyes, swollen lips and russet hair tumbling in disarray around her
shoulders. She didn’t have the appearance of a woman who had been fighting to
save her virtue, but looked like a courtesan who had just bid farewell to her
lover.

She put two
fingers to her mouth and felt a tremor run through her. She was no better than
a light skirt. Had she encouraged him to behave like that, given him permission
to make love to her? Tears trickled down her cheeks and she dropped her head
into her hands and rocked from side to side. She hadn’t have lost her virginity
but she might just as well have done. She had certainly lost her self-respect
and probably his, by her behaviour.

She didn’t hear
her maid returning. ‘Miss, Oh, Miss Carstairs, I’m that sorry I ran away. I
should have stayed, fetched someone to help you.’

Charlotte
sniffed and sat up accepting the damask square Mary handed her. ‘It’s not your
fault, Mary. I’m unhurt; the duke and I were settling a difference of opinion
in a rather unconventional way.’ She offered a watery smile. ‘However, I
believe Lord Thurston came off worse in this particular encounter.’

She tossed the
screwed up handkerchief onto the table top. ‘My hair has come
down,
please will you dress it for me?’

As the girl
removed the remaining pins and began to brush it out, Charlotte’s jangled
sensibilities began to settle. She had come out of her confrontation physically
unscathed. It was he who had received a slap, a tray of scones and coffee on
his head, and her knee in his most delicate place. Maybe he would think twice
about
molestingher
again. Satisfaction at her
thwarting of his authority buoyed her up, pushed reality aside.

As Mary pushed
in the last pin and she saw herself restored to her usual tidy,
unflushed
appearance, she realized the full implication of
what had transpired. Jack was not the man she wished to spend the rest of her
life with. She could have tolerated his filthy temper and arrogant manners if
he truly loved her as she loved him. Her head flew back in shock, knocking the
silver-backed hairbrush flying from Mary’s hand.

In the time it
took the girl to scramble about under the bed to retrieve the brush, Charlotte
managed to recover. How could she have fallen in love with a man who shouted at
her, bullied her and almost
forced
her to share her body with him? But that was only a small part of the whole; he
was also kind and gentle, caring and sensitive, intelligent and charming, and
when he wasn’t angry, his kisses made her head spin and the blood fizz through
her veins.

But she
couldn’t marry him, not even to save the children. Mary returned. ‘Thank you,
Mary. My hair looks splendid. I am going to write a note,
then
I shall require you to deliver it for me. I shall ring when I’m ready.’

Charlotte
opened her
escritoire
, selected a
quill and sharpened it, then uncorked the ink bottle. This was going to be even
more difficult to write than the letter she had sent to her grandfather two
years ago. It was strange writing to a different Lord Thurston.

Dear Lord Thurston,

It is with deep regret that I find I can no
longer agree to become your wife. I wish to be released forthwith from our
engagement. I shall remove myself and my brother and sister from Thurston Hall
as soon as I can make suitable, alternative arrangements.

Yours sincerely,

Charlotte Carstairs, Miss.

She read it through
a second time. It would have to do. She sprinkled sand the wet ink and then
folded it. She had no sealing wax so tied it neatly with a red ribbon. She rang
the brass bell and her maid appeared.

‘Please take
this down to Meltham. Ask him to hand it to his grace, but do not, under any
circumstances, deliver it yourself, is that clear?’

‘Yes, Miss
Carstairs.’

Charlotte
handed her the square of paper, her heart heavy. She had done the right thing,
had been given no choice in the matter, for a loveless marriage was worse than
no marriage at all. Whatever he said about ‘business arrangements’ she wanted
none of it. Unless he told her he loved her she would not marry him. She
snorted inelegantly, knowing that was as likely as snow in July.

Her small
ormolu mantle clock chimed the hour. Good gracious! Was it only eleven o’clock?
How could so much have happened in just an hour? She decided to go down to the
kitchen, Betty would find her something to eat, and surrounded by servants she
was fairly sure she would be safe.

If Jack managed to find her alone he was quite capable of charming her
into changing her mind. She paused on the gallery, checking the hall was empty.
Had the butler delivered the letter yet? Was he about to erupt from his
chambers in search of her?

Downstairs was
strangely quiet. Perhaps Jack had been relieved to have the matter taken from
his hands, after all he had only offered for her because he was concerned about
her reputation. She met no one, not even a footman, on her way to the kitchen. She
lifted the heavy latch and pushed open the door.

The heat hit
her like a wave. The permanently burning fire glowing in the enormous grate
made the kitchen unbearable during the day. The kettle was hissing gently, an
aromatic stew bubbling over the flames, but the room was empty. Where was
everyone? She heard voices outside in the yard and smiled. The children and
Annie were returning from somewhere. Her smile faded as she wondered if they
had heard about the incident. Had Mary ran downstairs to gossip about what
she’d witnessed? She sincerely hoped not, trying to explain to a four-year old
would have been nigh on impossible.

Harry entered
first, dressed in clean clothes. ‘Lottie, we wondered where you were. Cousin
Jack has ridden off with Captain Forsythe and he wouldn’t take me with him.’

Beth laughed.
‘Of course he wouldn’t, you ninny. They were going to speak to the villagers at
Thurston,
he could hardly take a child with him.’

‘I’m not
little…’ Harry whined.

‘That will do,
Harry,’ Charlotte told him sharply. He
stopped,
his
mouth round. He was unused to hearing his beloved sister speak like that.

‘Yes, Lottie,
I’m sorry. Do you have the headache coming?’

‘No,
sweetheart, I’m just a bit out of sorts. I was really looking forward to
attending service this morning and I’m disappointed we missed it.’

Harry looked
even more crestfallen. ‘That’s my fault too, Lottie. I’m a very bad boy today.’

Charlotte
knelt, hugging him close and kissing his tears away. ‘You’re not bad, darling,
you are a lovely boy and I’m sorry to be a grouch.’ Annie and Betty came in,
followed by the three kitchen maids. ‘Where have you all been? I didn’t expect
to find this place empty. The kitchen is normally the centre of activity.’

‘Miss
Carstairs, we beg your pardon, but we went out to wave off the militia,’ Betty
said. ‘They are escorting his grace to the village and then they’re returning
to Ipswich.
A handsome body of men, if ever I saw one.’

‘They have
obviously found nothing untoward. Let’s hope their presence here has driven
whoever it was, away.’

‘Amen to that,
Miss Carstairs,’ Annie replied.

‘Mrs Thomas says more girls and women will be here
tomorrow to start a real clean up and the men from the village will be starting
on the outside at the same time.’

‘That is good news,
Betty. Now, I’ve come down to find something to eat, I’m afraid your delicious
scones were dropped.’

Charlotte ate her belated breakfast and then left the children with their
nursemaid. She had to know if Jack had received the letter before he left. She
was also concerned about the imminent arrival of the journeymen, for they
always had to be paid at the end of each day, and as far as she knew there was
no money in the house to do this.

She hoped the
lawyers would bring some ready cash with them. If someone from the village was
behind the attacks it would not help the situation if they didn’t receive their
wages at the end of their labour.

Meltham was
exiting Jack’s room as she arrived in the hall. ‘Has Lord Thurston read my
note, do you know?’

‘Yes, miss, he
read it before he went out.’

She knew it
wasn’t correct etiquette to question a member of staff but she had to know.
‘Err… how was he- how did he react?’

The butler
smiled. ‘He was happy to receive it, miss. He laughed and tucked it into his
waist-coat pocket, close to his heart.’

Charlotte
blushed. Good grief, Meltham believed her note had been a
billet-doux.
‘Thank you. I’m going to go for a walk. If Lord
Thurston asks for me, please tell him I am not available.’

Mary was
pleased to accompany Charlotte on her perambulation around the overgrown rose
garden, the walled vegetable garden and the maze. She spent a couple of hours
upstairs in the freshly whitewashed schoolroom with Harry and Beth and then
retired early. Jack hadn’t returned and she wished to be in her bed-chamber
before he did so.

Charlotte was studying her notes in the library the following morning
when the door opened and his lordship strolled in as though yesterday’s
incident had never happened. He tossed her note onto the desk.

‘You are a
pea-goose, Charlotte. I have no intention of releasing you; we’re to be
married, as planned, three weeks from today.

‘I cannot marry
you, you are…’

‘A depraved monster, a brute!
Yes, yes- my dear, that is
stale news. But, my love, you have no choice. You have nowhere else to go and
can hardly tramp the streets with Harry and Beth in tow— so accept it. I have.’
He perched on the desk, smiling in a way that made her forget her firm
intentions. ‘It’s far easier when you’ve swallowed the pill, the anticipation
is much worse. Did your mama never tell you that?’

What was he
talking about?
‘Pills?
Jack, I have no notion what you
mean. What have pills to do with anything?’

‘Swallow them,
then you cannot taste the noxious centre, I have always thought it an excellent
analogy.’

She was even
more confused. Should she be outraged that he compared marrying her to taking
unpleasant medicine? Or had she completely missed his point?

‘Are you
suggesting I am unpalatable, that you have to
force
yourself to marry me?’

‘Yes, my love,
but you see, I have no wish to marry anyone, your objections are to myself
alone, therefore it’s much harder for me. And,’ he finished, openly laughing at
her, ‘if I can be happy then so can you.’