What the Duke Wants(25)

Life was never this complicated before. He closed his eyes, remembering her face, her scent, and the wide-eyed expression of wonder after the first time he kissed her.

She was gone. He sent her away. Could the day get any worse?

“Your grace? You have a caller. Lady Southridge,” Murray said.

Apparently, it can get worse.

“Ah yes. I’ve been expecting her. Show her in to the green salon, I’ll be there shortly.”

“Very good, your grace.” Murray bowed and left.

“Blast it all, Graham. You owe me,” he muttered under his breath as he left his study and walked down the hall towards the green salon. Better to get this over and through with.

“Lady Southridge! What a delight to see you!” Charles gave her his most charming grin.

“Your grace,” she responded, her eyes studying him in the most disconcerting manner. Charles always felt as if she saw through him, examining his very thoughts.

Heaven forbid.

Lady Southridge was one of the few people who wasn’t intimidated by him. She sat demurely on the settee, her posture perfect, her hair immaculate and her clothes impeccably fashionable. Few knew the iron will beneath the silk. But he did, and he was trying very hard not to be nervous.

Though Graham was several years younger than he, they had become fast friends, which led them into a few scrapes. All of which Lady Southridge had known about, lectured them over and promptly executed judgment. Charles’ parents weren’t alive to do so, so she took the role upon herself. She was really quite a maternal figure in Charles’ life as well, much as he reluctantly admitted. Which was why he was so apprehensive. For all intents and purposes, he felt like he was the brother taking the fall for the younger sibling.

“I’ll not keep you. I’m assuming you’ve been delegated to tell me of my brother’s recent retreat to Scotland?” She spoke with a bored tone.

“Why, yes. Did Graham tell you himself then?”

She gave him a withering glare that seemed to say, you can’t be serious.

“My brother wouldn’t tell me if he were leaving for China. That’s why I have to find out these things for myself, you know. By the way, how are your wards?”

“My wards? But—”

“I have my ways. Don’t worry your secret is safe. Lord knows how many secrets I’m keeping safe for you. I’ll simply add this one to the list.” She held up a gloved hand and seemed to study the leather, her brow creasing for a moment. She turned her gaze to him, a lack of patience quite clear in her expression.

“Well, they are in Bath, or on their way at the moment,” Charles said. After answering, he had the overwhelming urge to loosen his cravat.

“Bath? Why did you send them away? Hoydens are they?”

“No, not particularly at least. They are actually quite… nice…”

“Don’t choke on it, your grace.” She raised a delicate eyebrow.

“You can quit with the ‘your grace’s’ Lady Southridge.” Charles grew irritated.

She grinned. “Of course, Charles. But why? Why move them to Bath? Surely, the city has more diversion for them? What are their ages?”

“Bethanny is sixteen, Beatrix is twelve, and Berty is seven.”

“The oldest will need a season soon,” she remarked.

“Indeed.”

“I must object to your sending them away. As a young lady about to make her debut, she must be in London to learn some of the more intricate social graces. Of course her governess… you did hire a governess for the girls.” She narrowed her eyes. “And please tell me you were wiser than I’m anticipating and you hired an old woman.” She closed her eyes as if in silent prayer.

“Of course I hired a governess! I’m not daft! What do you think?” Charles shook his head and stomped to the fire, purposefully not answering her second question. Something about being in the presence of someone parental brought out the inner child of even a duke.

“Good. What’s her name?”

“Who?” Charles asked stubbornly. He didn’t want to think about her, not around Lady Southridge. She’d smell the smoke from the smoldering heat of desire still swirling within him.

“The governess.” She drew it out, likely thinking him daft.

Better daft than emotionally involved.

“Miss Carlotta Standhope.”

“Standhope? Any relation to the Standhopes of Garden Gate?” Lady Southridge’s tone was curious. “I thought Sinclair had a daughter named something similar. But I think they called her Lottie. I can’t be sure. Was quite a while ago. They both died you know. I wonder what happened to the girl. Hmm, she would be quite young.” She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts and Charles was happy to let her wander there however long she wanted.

Whatever it took to keep the attention off him and the blasted governess. Though he did sense an underlying reason for her question.

“Charles?” she asked after a moment.

“I’m not sure who her relations are. I’ve only had her acquaintance for a short time.” But not nearly long enough, yet at the same time, far too long. A price he was paying for dearly.

“Ah.”

Charles refused to rise to her bait. She was only quiet for one reason; hoping someone would fill the silence and say more than they intended.