What the Duke Wants(30)

Bloody blooming damning hell.

“Swearing in your mind is just as much of a sin as speaking it out loud Charles,” Lady Southridge chided. “Besides, do you really think I’m going to let you and Graham get away with your bachelor status for much longer? Both of you have a responsibility to produce an heir. I’ve reminded you both often enough that there is not a possible way you’ve forgotten, so I must simply assume that you need help.” She leaned back, her expression full of assurance and… pity.

When one thought of hell, certainly fire, brimstone, and torture sprang to mind. The torture was indeed correct, but Charles was sure that hell looked a lot like his carriage and the devil looked like Lady Southridge.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s the only possible conclusion.” She shrugged delicately.

“I fail to see your logic,” Charles whispered hoarsely. He was still recovering from the idea that Lady Southridge thought he needed… help. Good Lord.

“Neither you nor Graham seem to have the slightest inclination—”

“Ah-ha! You said inclination! That implies that we are choosing to, rather than doing so out of necessity! You’re logic is faulty.”

“You know it’s rude to interrupt. I’ll pretend you did not. As I was saying…” She pierced him with a steely glare. “While no one in London with ears can argue that you’ve had your fair share of… experience with women—”

“How delicately put.” Charles grinned.

“When one is dealing with the decidedly indelicate, there is no other way to do it,” she replied. “Are you finished interrupting? While we have two days, I’m not fond of continuing one topic of conversation the entire length of the trip.”

“Forgive me, continue.” Charles gestured to her, holding out his hand and nodding.

“Thank you. Now, as I was saying, while you certainly don’t lack in the experience department, you do lack in the longevity department.”

“I can—”

“I don’t want to know.” She gave him a withering glare.

Charles chuckled. He was about to say that he had never once been told he lacked in the longevity department. Not once.

“I’m speaking of the length of your liaisons. They are abysmally short and not with the type of women that someone of your status should consider as a wife.” She nodded.

Charles felt the humor drain from him. He wondered what she’d think of the idea of him falling for a governess. However, she seemed to suspect it. Again, he was confused.


Blasted bloody woman.

Maybe she was jesting… perhaps she thought he was not sincerely at risk at falling for her. And if she were to learn the truth…

First, she’d think he was joking. Then she’d stare at him as if he had lost his mind. Which, he would have to wonder himself. After she got past the shock, she’d enter into a lengthy lecture on why it was completely insupportable.

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t win. He was not to consort with the type of ladies that were readily available, nor could he be tempted to marry the one woman who seemed to manage that impossibility.

Hell.

“Charles? I do say, you’ve gotten quiet. Don’t hurt yourself with all that thinking,” Lady Southridge mocked.

Charles pulled his attention back to her. There was a slight smile in her eyes that negated the sarcasm in her voice.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to do about all of this?” Charles asked. Better to get her plotting out in the open.

“This season, I’ll compile a list of suitable women. Now, before you object—”

Charles had just opened his mouth,

“I will be very selective. You won’t have to worry about a silly chit that thinks batting her eyelashes will land her a duke. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But I know of a few ladies who would be fantastic matches for someone of your status and who can carry on intelligent conversation.”

“Miracles do happen.” Charles sighed.

“Indeed,” Lady Southridge commented wryly.

****

The carriage ride was miserable, everlasting and Charles had seriously considered throwing his person from comfortable coach just to make the torture end. However, once he considered that his torture might just be beginning, should he end his life —after all, hell wasn’t known for its luxury and peace and that’s surely where he’d find himself— he considered throwing Lady Southridge from the carriage. She was light enough, but with his luck, she wouldn’t die. Nope. She’d live, her legs and arms might not work but her mind, voice certainly would, and that would be far worse than any eternal carriage ride with her.

Funny how a person could love someone, yet still wish she would disappear.

Greenford Waters began to come into view and Charles exhaled the largest sigh he’d ever heard, from himself or anyone else for that matter.

“I haven’t been that bad.” Lady Southridge sniffed.

“Of course not,” Charles responded, feeling much more charitable since the end was in sight.

“Well, I might have meddled some…” She waved a gloved hand as if it were a trivial matter.

“Some?” Charles felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop. Some was a gross and pathetic understatement.