What the Duke Wants(10)

She regarded him then continued explaining. “Now, I’ll place the rest of the pins on the table in a heap. Using your own pin, you must try to remove as many pins from the heap without moving any others, save the one you’re trying to remove. If you jostle the pile or move a pin other than the one you intended, your turn is over and the next person has a chance. The person with the most hair pins wins.”

“I think I remember a game like this, but I don’t remember stealing my mother’s pins to play it.” He spoke conspiratorially as he leaned slightly towards her. The air around her was fragrant, reminding him of lemons and honey. He inhaled deeply. Why couldn’t there be something about her that didn’t lure him? Why couldn’t she have smelled like damp clothing or boiled cabbage?

She stiffened as he lingered near her. “I’m improvising.” She spoke wryly.

Charles couldn’t suppress a grin.

The girls took their turns. Beatrix collected four pins, Bethanny secured six before moving the heap and thus losing her turn. Berty’s little pink tongue stuck out while she made a valiant effort to get two. Then it was Charles’ turn.

He studied the pile and began to select pins, withdrawing them one by one with practiced care. He collected ten, leaving only four on the table. He leaned back, raising a challenging brow to Carlotta, daring her to beat him.

“Miss Lottie! We haven’t enough pins!” cried Beatrix.

“I should have brought more back, but it’s no matter. His grace is the winner.” She offered him a bright smile.

Charles tried to ignore the stab of desire her beautiful expression gave him. “Miss Lottie,” he crooned, watching her eyes narrow slightly at the use of her shortened name. “I insist you try to beat my record. After all, I hate winning without a fair game.”

“I haven’t any more pins…” she replied, then paused as Charles gave a pointed look at her hair.

“I can’t very well take down my hair, your grace,” she replied, a bit of an edge to her tone.

Good, thought Charles, it was best if she had more of a prickly demeanor around him. It might remind him that he wasn’t interested.

Because he wasn’t.

At least that’s what he was telling himself that very moment. Though his body and mind weren’t in accord.

“Why ever not?” he asked casually, biting back a smirk at the annoyed glint in her eyes.

“Because,” she spoke carefully, though her eyes were flashing green fire. “I’m to train the girls in the way of proper society. A lady does not unbind her hair in the company of gentlemen.”

“Why not?” Berty asked.

“Yes, Miss Lottie. Why not?” Charles repeated the child’s question. At Carlotta’s disbelieving expression, he began to chuckle, earning him a glare.

“It, er, well it gives a feeling of… intimacy.” She blushed to the roots of her hair.

“But it’s just us! And the duke, but he’s old, Miss Lottie,” Berty quipped.

Charles choked and began to cough. Old! She thought he was old? Well, compared to a seven-year-old, he supposed he was…older. The idea of being old chafed him, yet it played into his little plan quite well.

“Er, yes, Miss Lottie. I’m quite ancient. Therefore, not a threat.” He grinned wolfishly.

“You are quite… advanced in your years,” she returned, her eyebrow arching.

That stung more than Charles would let on. Ever.

With a defiant gleam in her eye, she began to pull out her pins.

One by one.

If she were an opera singer, he would swear she did it as a ploy. But he was convinced of her thorough innocence, at least in that aspect. After all, no ruined woman would blush as easily as she. But as she took out each pin, Charles found himself unable to even swallow. Her hair tumbled down gently, curling and waving over her shoulders in a golden halo.

And the fragrance.

It was lemon and lavender, intertwined with a fresh scent he had no name for but knew was unique to her. It was far more potent than when he had leaned in earlier. Its potency was almost his undoing.


At last, the final pin was removed and she shook her head gently, letting the entirety of her beautiful mane settle.

Charles finally was able to swallow, but his mouth was dry. If he ever needed brandy, it was now. The ploy to tease had indeed turned on him.

With a small smile, she put the pins in a pile, equaling fourteen in all.

Grinning she began to extract them one by one till none remained.

“I believe you won, Miss Lottie.”

“I believe I did.”





Chapter Three




“Lord Graham to see you, your grace,” Murray informed Charles.

“See him in, of course.”

“Yes, your grace.” Murray left; the soft clicking of the door was the only sound, save a few crackles of the fire as it glowed in the hearth in his study.

Charles had been lost in his own thoughts. Ever since that ridiculous hairpin game yesterday, he hadn’t been able to cease thinking about Carlotta Standhope. Of course, if he were honest with himself, he would have included that he’d been having a rather hard time not thinking about her even before the hairpin game. But he wasn’t being honest with himself. He rather liked living in denial. It seemed far simpler. After all, when one admitted to attraction, so many more emotions and questions arose.