What the Duke Wants(21)

“Good evening, your grace.” She curtsied and all but fled.

As her footsteps echoed in the hall, he felt cold and empty. As if the fire he was standing in front of had suddenly been smothered. The emptiness was gnawing at him. He felt like a coward for not saying anything about their kiss, but he didn’t know how to go about it. If she were more than a servant, more than a governess, there might have been a chance.

But she wasn’t.

And he wasn’t the type of man to marry, at least yet. Or so he reminded himself. Strange how he always forgot that piece of information whenever she was around.

Closing his eyes he remembered her expression just before she fled to the safety of her room. She’d had the wide-eyed expression of a woman running from ruin, from certain danger.

Which meant he was the threat, the danger.

That thought didn’t set well with him at all. It also meant that she had quite accurately read his thoughts, though they likely had been quite apparent in his expression. An innocent wouldn’t know how to discern between lust and desire. Few knew that there even was a difference.

Lust was shallower, fleeting and purely selfish; a burn that flashed rather than smoldered. Whereas desire, it was a slower burn that tended to flare up at times, but never truly burn out. Desire required one to think about the other person, it involved restraint for selfless reasons. Desire scorched.

What he felt for Carlotta may have initially been lust.

But he was definitely feeling singed at the moment.

His stomach ached.

He needed to get her out of his house. He needed to distance himself, and her, from the temptation. Tomorrow. The rain had slowed and stopped shortly after their return from the park. If it stayed away overnight, the roads might at least be passable. If so, then he’d see that she and the girls left for his estate in Bath on the morrow. It was the only way. With distance, his body would cool and he’d once again be able to think. Rather than simply act.

He strode towards his chambers with renewed purpose. But with each step, he felt emptiness like a cavern grow within him.

Of course, that could simply be because he was hungry.

He just didn’t want to think about for what…

****

“Miss Carlotta?” Mrs. Pott pulled Carlotta’s attention away from the packed trunk beside her bed and towards the door.

“Yes?” she responded. All morning her presence of mind had been unforgivably absent. When she learned that they were to depart to Bath that morning, conflicting emotions had slammed into her chest, warring for dominance.

They continued to battle.

On one hand, Carlotta felt relived. It would be infinitely easier to take care of the girls, to teach and tutor them without the dark and delicious presence of the duke. She knew that if they stayed, she’d always be distracted, wondering if he were to pass by, or speak to her.

The girls deserved better than that.

Yet, at the same time, her heart stung with the bite of rejection. The venom of insecurity swirled around her mind. Why was he having them leave, and on such short notice? She knew he was intending on moving the girls to the estate in Bath, but as he came to know them, she rather hoped he’d want to be more of a part of their lives.

And maybe of her life too.

But even as her mind whispered the words to her heart, she bit back a sarcastic laugh. She must be delusional to even entertain the slightest thought of the duke paying her mind. While he did kiss her —and oh, what a kiss it had been!— she wasn’t foolish enough to entertain serious thoughts about his intentions. It would only invite heartbreak.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind. “The quality do not fraternize with those who are not. It’s simply not done.”

She relived that particular lecture after her father discovered her frolicking with the stable master’s son, Rory. It had been innocent enough. Rory was a few years her senior, and had been a friend since she was quite young. She had been but twelve, that blessedly awkward stage where she was no longer a child yet, not yet a woman. Rory had invited her to skip rocks and she quickly agreed. They had their usual competitive banter, but then something changed. In hindsight, she realized that Rory was about more than simply skipping rocks, but at the time, she simply noticed how his hand felt warm on hers when he tried to show her a new way to skip the rock. He had whispered the instructions in her ear, in a low tone that had made her skin erupt in goose bumps.

She’d followed his instructions and skipped the rock. Upon turning her head she had realized just how close he was, and how he smelled like leather and cedar.

Her father called her name not a moment later.

As her father beckoned her to attend him to the house, she didn’t miss the piercing gaze he shot to Rory. Once inside, Father had led her to the library.

“Dear Lottie,” he began and proceeded to explain the difference between those titled and those not. It was a lengthy lecture, running all together in her memory, but one part seemed too clear, hauntingly so. It mocked her now.

“Those who are titled never, ever fraternize with the servants.”

Never ever.

Of course, her father could have never foreseen that the daughter he delighted in would one day be forced into the position of governess. No season, no marriage mart, no advantageous match, and no further titled generations roaming the halls of Garden Gate. All of that disappeared when the money was lost. Granted, she still was the daughter of a baron; impoverished as she was, however, she might as well be the daughter of a merchant for all the good her father’s title did for her now.