The Runaway Duchess (18 page)

“Nothing
happened,” Dobson assured him quickly. “Your wife arrived precisely on time. I
was there to greet her. Mrs. Pinkham gave her a tour of the estate and she
retired early to her room.”

Retired
early? Gavin relaxed onto his heels, but he still frowned. That did not sound
like his Charlotte at all. After being penned up inside the inn for so many
days he expected her to enjoy her newfound freedom, not hide in her room
immediately after arriving. “Is she ill?”

“Ill?”
Dobson repeated. “No, not that I know of. I believe she was tired from
traveling.”

A
plausible excuse. Gavin rested one hand against the desk and leaned into it.
“Then what is the problem?”

Dobson’s
expression was shuttered. “Perhaps it is not my place to say.”

Bloody
butlers and their rules. “Tell me.” 

“Very
well. Upon her arrival, your wife seemed… displeased.”

“Displeased?”
he echoed blankly. “Displeased about what?”

“Shire
House, sir.”

“Shire
House?”

“Yes.”
Dobson nodded. “I do not believe it met her… expectations.”

“I
told Charlotte it was undergoing renovations. She has placed herself in charge
of decorating all the rooms. No oranges, though. She does not like the color
orange. It clashes with her hair,” he explained, smiling ever so slightly as he
recalled their conversation atop the hill. Noting the lines that furrowed Dobson’s
brow, he sighed and said, “Speak frankly, man. Say what you have to say and be
done with it.”

The
butler straightened. “It was not the renovations she disliked so much as the
house itself. I believe she found Shire House to be wanting. I would never dare
speak out of turn, but I believe Lady Graystone – or is it Mrs.?”

“Mrs.,”
Gavin said curtly.

As
the daughter of a Baron, Charlotte’s formal title was no less than, “The
Honorable Mrs. Gavin Graystone”. Before he disembarked for London, however,
they both agreed it should be shortened considerably. It had, in fact, been
Charlotte’s idea. On one of their many walks she told him she was tired of
being a lady, and that being a plain old ‘Mrs.’ would suit her far better than
any fancy title.

“Very
well. I believe Mrs. Graystone was expecting… more.”

More
,
Gavin repeated silently. What the hell did
more
mean?”

“I
am sure she will come around,” Dobson said. “It may simply take her some time
to adjust to the life of a common woman.”

Perhaps
if Gavin had not been haunted by the same thoughts himself he would have been
able to laugh off Dobson’s concerns. As it were, he took the butler’s words to
heart, and when he sat back down in his chair it was with a distinct heaviness
that had not burdened him before. “You can retire now.” He lifted his empty
tumbler and tipped it this way and that, studying the way the light from the
candle filtered through the thick glass. “I will speak with you tomorrow
morning to go over some changes on the third floor.”

“Have
a good evening, sir.” Dobson left, closing the door discreetly behind him.

For
more than an hour Gavin remained unmoving in his chair. His throat was dry, but
he did not get up to pour himself another drink. Instead he sat, watching the
candles as they sputtered and died one by one. He welcomed the inky darkness as
one would a lover, too familiar with the lack of light to be disconcerted by
it. Once upon a time it had been his job to move in the shadows, back before he
had the comfort of knowing where his next meal would come from. Back when he
was nothing. When he was no one.

Now
he was someone. Someone men envied. Someone women lusted after. He should have
been content with what he had, but the gnawing ache inside of him never seemed
to cease, no matter what he fed it. Money. Jewels. Estates. It was never
enough, and Gavin’s deepest, darkest fear was that it never would be.

He
had hoped… but no.

Hope
did not fill coiffures. Dreams did not buy wealth.

Finally
standing, he poured himself another glass of brandy and drank it in one bracing
swallow. He would need the alcohol to numb his thoughts tonight. To make him
forget
her
, even if it was only for a few hours. Finding solace in the
darkness both inside and out, he knocked the glass aside and lifted the bottle.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Charlotte woke at dawn.

As
was her habit she remained perfectly still for several minutes, giving her body
time to catch up with a mind that was already racing. Outside the deep set
windows that ran the length of one wall and overlooked the back gardens she
could hear birds chirping merrily as they hopped from branch to branch, doing
all the things little birds did in the early morning. Oh to be a sparrow,
without a care in the world.

She
closed her eyes and let herself imagine it: the sensation of wind beneath her
wings, the ease of flight, the bright, cheerful songs, the cats and the hawks
and the snakes. Her eyes flew open and she grimaced. Every creature, large or
small, had its own set of problems. Even darling songbirds were not exempt.

Jumping
out of bed, she wrapped herself in a pale blue dressing robe and padded barefoot
down the hall. No one stirred in any of the rooms she passed, giving her cause
to wonder if she was the only one awake, or if the rooms were simply empty.

Tabitha
had been given a room on the fourth floor. Charlotte hoped the maid slept in,
and had already told her to take the day off, for today was for exploring. She
wanted to
know
her new home. She wanted to
feel
it. In all of her
life she had never been charge of anything, and now it was her responsibility
to bring Shire House back to life.

Certainly
Gavin had begun the process. Although her tour yesterday had been brief,
Charlotte was able to admire the work that had already been put into the grand
old lady. That was how she thought of her new home. Not a mansion or an estate,
but a grand old lady, one whom had fallen on hard times only to be plucked from
the brink of ruination by a generous benefactor.

Her
fingertips trailed down the oak banister as she descended the curving staircase
that led to the front foyer. The wood felt grimy against her skin and was in
desperate need of a good polish to make it gleam. She could only assume
cleaning had been put by the wayside as walls were plastered over and floors
were replaced, but now that the construction had ceased the first thing on her
agenda would be to have everything thoroughly swept, scrubbed, and dusted.

She
kept an eye out for Dobson as she tip toed from the foyer to what Mrs. Pinkham
described yesterday as the music room, even though no instruments, not even a
piano, were in attendance. With all the natural light Charlotte rather thought
the room would make an excellent library, although she had not shared her
thoughts with Mrs. Pinkham. The tall, thin woman had the look of someone who
was perpetually annoyed and had exerted the same amount of enthusiasm as Dobson
upon meeting her, which was of course to say none at all.

In
fact, with the exception of a fair haired scullery maid who flashed a brief, hesitant
smile when Charlotte popped her head into the kitchen, she had yet to meet any
member of the staff who seemed happy about her arrival. Not only that, but all
of those she met thus far seemed distinctly
un
happy about it, and for
that Charlotte blamed Dobson.

As
she feared, the butler had complete control of the staff. What he approved of
they approved of, and what he disliked – which, as of right now, was her for
reasons she could not fathom – they disliked as well. She would have to win
them over bit by bit, or she feared they would all have to be replaced.

A
household of servants that did not listen to their mistress was a household
that did not run well and she was determined it would do so, if only for
Gavin’s sake. Despite their problems, he had given her so much and asked for so
little in return. One of the things she could give him – one of the things she
would
give him – was a house that ran seamlessly.

Crossing
to one of the windows she drew back the heavy curtains, sneezed from the dust
that billowed into the air, and pressed her fingertips against the already
smudged glass. The view provided to her was one of the front lawn. It rolled
away from the house, sloping slightly down towards the black iron fence that
wrapped around the entire property.

A
lone phaeton rolled down the street, pulled by a sleepy looking gray gelding.
Waiting until it passed to drop the curtains back into place, Charlotte
continued her singular tour of the house, wandering from room to room until she
found herself in a wing she was quite certain Mrs. Pinkham had not shown her
the day before. Unable to suppress her inquisitive nature, she opened the first
door she came across and came up short at the sight that greeted her.

Gavin,
wearing nothing save an unbuttoned pair of rust colored breeches, lay sprawled
across a leather chaise lounge, his feet propped up on one end and his head
lolling off the edge of the other. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with his
soft snores, and as Charlotte stepped into the room she spied the reason for
his deep sleep on the desk behind him.

Brandy
,
she decided after taking a whiff from the empty bottle. Wrinkling her nose, she
took a long, hard look at Gavin, determined he was not going to be waking
anytime soon, and began a slow, thorough exploration of his study.

Unlike
the rest of Shire House, the room was furnished from top to bottom. Large
paintings of hunting scenes in gilt edged frames hung on the walls. Besides the
desk and lounge there was a table and chairs, two leather benches, and a long
cream colored settee. Towering shelves were built along the entire length of
one wall and were filled to the brim with books and expensive looking knick
knacks, from a gold pocket telescope to a small crystal swan with a gracefully
curved neck.

Picking
up the swan she held it high in the air and, feeling rather mischievous,
slanted the crystal this way and that until it caught the light from a window
and turned Gavin’s face into a rainbow.

He
snorted, his nose twitching and eyelids flickering. She persisted, and when he
opened his eyes and leaned up on one elbow to glare directly at her over the
back of the lounge she could not help but laugh.

“Did
you know I was here the entire time?” she asked.

“Of
course I did.” Wearing an expression of disgruntlement, Gavin scooped his
discarded shirt up from the floor, sat up, and shrugged into it before
reclining once again. “You made enough noise to wake the dead.”

“I
did not.” Mildly offended, Charlotte set the swan aside and perched on the edge
of the lounge by Gavin’s feet after demurely arranging her wrapper. “I was
hoping to see you yesterday when we arrived.”

“I
was in meetings all day.” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair,
and she suppressed a smile. “What?” he said crossly. “What are you smirking
at?”

“You.
Do you often return home and drink yourself into oblivion?”

“I
did not drink myself into oblivion.”

She
merely glanced askance at the empty bottle of brandy still sitting on the desk
and lifted one eyebrow.

Gavin
grunted. “Maybe I had a few glasses. Or an entire bottle,” he admitted with a
grin that was an adorable mixture between drowsy and sheepish. “I do not drink
very often, if that is what you are thinking.”

“It’s
not.” She was, in fact, thinking how wonderfully intimate it felt to be having
a playful conversation with her husband first thing in the morning when she was
dressed in nothing more than a silk robe and his chin still boasted stubble
from the day before.

She
had feared they would lose the easy banter they had found in Scotland, and it was a great relief to know it was still there. Perhaps Gavin did not see
her as a woman – not yet, anyway – but he did see her as a friend, and for that
she was grateful.

Reaching
out, she flicked the sole of his bare foot with her finger. His response was
immediate, and she laughed out loud when he snatched his leg away as if she had
burned him.

“Stop
that.”

“Why,
are you ticklish?” Grinning, she did it again.

“Charlotte…”

“What
are you going to do?”

“This.”
He moved with lightening quick speed. One second she was perched on the edge of
the lounge and the next she was sprawled on top of him in a pile of limbs and
wild red curls. His hands moved across her ribs, tickling her mercilessly until
she squealed and giggled and begged him to stop.

“Gavin!
Gavin, no, no, enough—”

“Do
you give up?”

Catching
the victorious gleam in his eye, Charlotte shook her head from side to side,
temporarily blinding him with her hair. Taking full advantage she straddled his
hips and streaked her hands up his sides to attack underneath his arms. His
hearty shout of laughter took her by surprise and she froze, her fingers
hovering in midair.

“What?”
Sweeping her hair the side, Gavin leaned up on his elbows, his smile slowly
fading when he saw her expression.

“I…
I have never heard you laugh before,” she whispered.

“That
is because I don’t.”

“You
don’t?”

“No.”

She
sat back on her haunches and studied him beneath a thick fringe of russet
lashes. “But you just did.”

“Only
because you are here.”

All
at once Charlotte became aware of their intimate position. She was all but
sitting on his lap, her wrapper and nightgown pushed up past her knees. His
hands rested lightly on her thighs. She bit her lip and attempted to scoot
further back, but that only served to rub her sex intimately against his and
she gasped, her spine going rigid at the flood of sensation that pooled in that
most secretive part of her.

She
wanted to say something witty and playful that would dismiss the sudden surge
of electricity that had sprung up between them as harmless, but when she opened
her mouth words failed her, for it wasn’t harmless. He wasn’t harmless and when
she met his dark, tumultuous gaze she imagined this was very much how a rabbit
felt before it was devoured by a big hungry wolf. “I…”

Gavin’s
hands tightened around her thighs, his fingers digging into the soft, pliant
flesh to the point of bruising but instead of being painful it felt wonderfully
erotic. She leaned forward and her hair tangled around them, forming a curtain
they could use to hide from the rest of the world. He pulsed his hips, arching
up off the lounge ever so lightly, a half-inch at most, but it was enough. Oh,
it was most definitely enough.

Ignoring
the bells of caution that were tolling wildly inside her head, she burrowed her
hands in his hair and sank into him.

It
felt as though everything were happening in double time. One moment he was
sleeping as a dead man would, and the next his arms were filled with Charlotte.

Gavin
knew he should push her away. This was everything he said he didn’t want… and
everything he desperately craved. He should have demanded she leave. Instead he
drew her closer, racing his fingers down the slender curve of her back to cup
her trim little derriere and squeeze. She nipped his lip in response, a playful
bite of her teeth that she immediately soothed with her tongue. The scent of
her – lavender and sunshine – invaded his nostrils and the feel of her skin –
pure silk – was heaven. His cock was hard and pulsing, his breathing already
ragged.

Christ,
but he wanted her.

He
wanted to roll her beneath him, pin her hands above her head, and take her with
all the ferocity of a rutting beast. He wanted to pound inside of her until she
cried out his name and he spent his seed, claiming her in the truest way a man
could claim a woman. The dark violence of his needs caught him off guard, and
the disgust he felt for his vile thoughts caused his body to tense and his head
to the turn to the side.

Charlotte
was not a riverside doxy selling her wares to the highest bidder. She was a
lady, a lady far too good for the likes of him. She deserved a man who could be
gentle and soft and recite lines of poetry, not one who was ready to take her
virginity on a damn chaise lounge.

“Gavin,
what is it? What’s wrong?” Her hazel eyes were anxious, her face flushed. She
hovered above him, affording him a clear view of her creamy breasts beneath the
low hanging front of her nightgown. The dusky centers were hardened to points,
betraying the state of her arousal, and it took every fiber of strength he
possessed not to slide underneath her and take a nipple into his mouth.

“I
cannot do this,” he rasped, forcing his gaze to the ceiling as though by not
looking at her he could somehow force her out of his mind. Forget he had a
beautiful half naked woman sprawled on top of him? He groaned and closed his
eyes. Not bloody likely. “Charlotte, I cannot.”

“No,
no, you can,” she urged. “
We
can. I need…” She broke off with a soft
mewl of distress and lowered her mouth to his ear. “I need you,” she whispered.

Three
little words, sliding across his skin like silk.

They
were his undoing.

He
closed his hands around her slender waist and picked her up easily, positioning
her breast until it fell into his waiting mouth and he could taste her through
the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She
moaned and arched her back, her hands bracing on either side of his as he
nipped and licked and nibbled. Impatient to feel her bare flesh against his
lips and already half lost to reason, he pulled at her clothing, skimming it up
over her thighs until it bunched in a frustrating ball around her waist.

“Here.”
Laughing, Charlotte lifted her arms high over her head and he was able to whisk
the offending garment off. It fluttered to the floor, landing on top of the
wrapper she had shrugged out of when he pulled her down on top of him. She
remained above him now, a titian haired siren with the body of a goddess. Her
smile turned shy as he devoured her with his gaze and she started to raise her
arms to cover her exposed breasts, but he stopped her with a desperate shake of
his head.