What the Duke Wants(9)

He fingered the thick envelope then called for Murray.

“Yes, your grace?” Murray asked, his lean face emotionless.

“Please have this delivered to the address specified. Immediately.”

“Very good, your grace.” With a bow, he left.

It’s done. Charles thought to himself, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders.

He couldn’t determine if it was the influence of having those wards in his home, or the allure of his pretty governess, but the thought of a mistress had turned decidedly sour.

It was an impulsive action, but one he didn’t regret. Céline had been very gracious, but… the idea left him empty, hungering for something more, something deeper. Something he didn’t quite understand or know how to attain but needed nonetheless. Taking the first step, he wrote the letter releasing her from his protection. No doubt she had quite a few gentlemen waiting for her availability. There was no worry about her welfare.

He felt lighter, somewhat confused at his rare inclination at emotion, but pleased nonetheless and so, with a somewhat sunnier disposition than the one with which he had begun the morning, he left his study and wandered down the hall.

And was immediately bored.

Blasted rain.

And, because he was curious and, indeed, he found it far too entertaining of a prospect, he wandered towards the nursery. He told himself it was not to see Carlotta, as he had taken to calling her in his mind, but to check on the wards. They were his responsibility, after all.

He chose not to remember that just a few days ago he was wanting to ship them off to Bath without ever having to set eyes on them again.

So, with a blissfully ignorant decision made, he paused at the nursery door and waited. It was curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more. But he was spending an awful lot of time pressed against doors recently. He smiled wryly. To think, Charles Evermore, Duke of Clairmont, listening through doors. What had the world come to?


But as much as he tried to deny the truth, it didn’t stick.

It was her voice. The soft melodic tones were full of life; unpretentious and free, they didn’t have a sharp edge or double meaning. It was astoundingly refreshing, like an unexpected English rain shower just when one was overly warm from a long ride through the countryside. He hadn’t even realized how jaded he’d become.

“Girls, wait here.”

The words barely registered in Charles’ mind before the door swung open, knocking him soundly on the forehead.

“Bloody—”

“What—oh! Your grace! Pardon me. I had… are you injured? Should I call for Murray?” Carlotta asked, her face etched in concern.

Charles studied her. Her eyes were wide with fear but also, concern. Her gaze roamed his features, no doubt searching for injuries. Her eyes focused on a point just above his brow.

“Your head.” She spoke softly, then reaching out she placed the softest touch to his forehead, grazing his skin before her eyes widened as if realizing just what she was doing. “I’m so sorry, forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive.” Charles nodded, but his body was still humming from her gentle touch. Like a shock, only infinitely more pleasurable, her touch had created the softest glow of warmth that started at his head and traveled through the rest of his body, slowly growing into the familiar burning of desire.

He swallowed. Now was not the time to think about bedding the help. Come to think of it, it wasn’t ever a good time to think of bedding the help.

“Was there something you needed?” Carlotta asked, her face still concerned.

Wrong question, because he could think of a great many things he… needed.

“I’m quite well. Just a… bump.” He winced as he touched the tender place on his forehead.

“Again, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need.”

Carlotta nodded, and turned to go back into the temporary nursery.

“Wasn’t there something you needed, Miss Standhope?” Charles asked smoothly, inwardly grinning that she was so flustered.

“Oh, yes. I’m needing, well, my hair pins actually.” She glanced downward, a humble smile teasing her lips.

Her very pink and delicious looking lips.

“Hair pins?” His curiosity completely piqued, he crossed his arms and waited for her to explain.

“Yes, it’s a game of sorts.”

“Very well, don’t let me stop you.”

She bobbed a curtsey and left.

He thought about leaving as well, but found himself too curious.

She returned shortly, and paused in walking through the door as her gaze rested upon him, sitting in a chair. He grinned at her expectantly.

“His grace wishes to play too!” Berty exclaimed, her face lighting up in a cheerful smile.

“My, well, I’m sure his grace will at least find our game diverting.” She spoke hesitantly as if she didn’t quite believe the words she was speaking, but said them nonetheless.

She laid out several pins, most of which were open in the shape of a ‘V’.

“This is how we play. Everyone select a pin.”

Everyone did, including Charles. He lifted his hand to cover his lips to prevent his grin from breaking through at the color blooming to his governess’ cheeks. The enticing shade of pink only heightened her beauty, causing his grin to falter. Forcing his thoughts back to the game, he cleared his throat, earning a questioning glance from the object of his desire.