What the Duke Wants(53)
“I’m not a prude, you tasted…?”
“Her desire… her attraction. She wanted me, but she doesn’t want me. I don’t understand it. It’s so bloody confusing.”
“Compromise her.”
“Excuse me?” Charles felt his jaw drop and his eyes blink in shock.
“Compromise her.”
“No.”
“Why ever not? It would solve so many of your issues and you’d have to marry her.”
“Yes… but… It’s not what she wants.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“So you’re more concerned about her than yourself?”
“Of course.”
“Then you are truly in love. Show her this side of yourself Charles.”
“You just said for me to be charming, to win her not bare my bloody soul.”
“Forget what I said. Bare your soul, Charles. Then thank me later.” She smiled genuinely and excused herself, leaving Charles spinning with disbelief.
****
“Foolish, foolish, foolish.” Carlotta continued to chide herself over and over for her weakening that afternoon. Thankfully, she was given a tray for her meal and didn’t need to face the duke. She paced the floor while losing herself in her thoughts.
The truth was that she wanted him, more than anything she’d ever wanted in her whole life. Forbidden fruit. Never had there been a more accurate description for the duke.
As the night wore on, she became more and more restless. Her emotions kept her mind spinning, refusing to allow a moment of relaxation let alone sleep. It was almost midnight when she grew exasperated enough to trek outside her room and borrow a book from the library.
Anything that would get her mind off his smile.
The glow of his gaze.
His taste.
She walked soundlessly down the hall, a few flickering candles lit the path she already knew quite well. She reached the door and opened it slowly, lest it make any noise and alert someone of her whereabouts.
The last thing she wanted was to be caught in her nightgown and robe. But, anticipating a quick return, she didn’t bother to dress simply to borrow a book.
A low fire burned in the grate, offering orange light to the grand library. Ceiling-high bookshelves were carved out of the walls, offering a myriad of tempting distractions for her overwrought mind. She padded softly to the corner where she knew to find poetry. Something metered, preferably rhyming that would lull her to sleep. She pulled out an especially thick volume with a red spine when she heard the door open. Gasping she drew herself back into a corner, hoping the darkness would shield her.
And because fate wasn’t kind, the duke walked in, wearing nothing but his breeches and thin white shirt.
He looked like a wealthy pirate. His usually combed hair was tousled like he had been fighting sleep just as furiously as she. The soft light didn’t illuminate his features well, but cast shadows across his face giving him a darker, more dangerous appearance.
Her heart raced.
Her lips tingled.
Her breathing increased till she could smell him— cedar and smoke. Peppermint and something so dangerously alluring it made her knees feel weak.
He didn’t see her, or else didn’t act as if he had. As he made his way to the fire, she noticed his shoulders sagged slightly, as if bearing a burden too heavy to bear. He sighed, a bone-weary exhale that sounded full of sorrow, and her heart constricted with sympathy. Her arms ached to hold him, to encourage him to share his burden with her.
The fire crackled loudly, sending a fury of sparks in the air. Carlotta jumped, startled by the eruption when her attention had been so arrested by the duke.
He turned.
His eyes widened, his shoulders straightened and his eyes, now illuminated by his close proximity to the fire, burned gold.
Her mouth went dry.
“Carlotta.” He spoke. Not questioning, simply stating her name.
“Your grace.”
He nodded slightly then turned back to the fire.
“You should go.” He spoke quietly, not in the usual commanding tone she was accustomed to hearing. He closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Are… are you well, your grace? Is there something I might help you with?” she asked tentatively, stepping forward. Forgotten was her lack of proper attire, all she could think of was the burden in his expression. A burden she wished to relieve him of.
“Y—no, I thank you for your offer but I believe under the circumstances you should go. Preferably running down the hall and locking the door behind you. I would not want to do something, as I did earlier today, that would go against your wishes. I… admire you deeply but my self-control has distinct limits.” His tone was soft, raw.
“I see.” He was abiding by everything she asked.
Then why did she feel so… empty?
It was the wise thing to do, to heed his advice. His self-control wasn’t the only one that had limits. She started towards the door, placed her hand on the cool knob and paused. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him stare into the fire.
“Go, Carlotta.”
She twisted the knob.
Opened the door, and watched his eyes close as if pained. She closed the door, the loud clicking of the mechanism echoing in the room. The duke, his eyes still closed, leaned forward, his head resting on the stone hearth. Reaching his arms out, he braced himself against the wall. His shoulders, usually covered in his coat, rippled beneath his thin shirt, impossibly broad. His tousled hair combined with the golden hue of the fire gave him the appearance of a pagan god chiseled from bronze. He pushed back from the wall, his muscles tightening with the motion and he turned.