Runaway Duchess (London Ladies Book 1)

by Jillian Eaton

  “Have notices been sent out in regards to my delay in returning to London?” he asked brusquely.

  “Aye,” Ernie replied. “All of your meetings have been pushed back as well.”

  “And the Newmore deal? What of that?”

  “Payment should have been delivered yesterday.”

  “Do we have confirmation?”

  “Not yet.”

  Gavin turned and fixed Ernie with a cold stare that had made lesser men flinch and look away. Ernie merely waited with his head tilted to the side and his mouth open, rather like an unsuspecting guppy about to swallow a hook.

  “Then you need to get it,” said Gavin. “Send a letter. Go back to London if you have to. Hell, fly there for all I care. But Newmore owes me a debt, Ernie, and it’s time to collect.”

  “Consider it done. Is there anything else?”

  Gavin drummed his fingers on the sill. “How is the maid?”

  “The maid?” Ernie repeated blankly.

  “The maid, the maid, my wife’s maid.” What the hell was her name? She was a mouse of a woman with a face easy to forget, but Gavin knew she meant quite a bit to Charlotte. Her welfare shouldn’t have mattered to him one way or another, and yet…“Tabitha. Her name is Tabitha.”

  “The brown-haired chit with the lump on ‘er head?”

  Did she have brown hair? Gavin had no idea. He knew he had met her. Talked to her, even, but every other woman seemed to pale in comparison to Charlotte. “Yes, that’s her.”

  Ernie jerked a bony shoulder. “She’s good enough, I suppose.”

  “I want the doctor to look at her again today.”

  “Today?” Ernie scratched the side of his head. “But he was jest here last night.”

  “Yes, and I want her examined again. My wife as well.”

  Now the valet looked truly confused. “Is Lady Charlotte ill?”

  “No, she is not ill,” Gavin snapped. “I just want her examined! Today. Immediately, in fact.”

  “I don’t know where the doctor has gone to, but—”

  “Immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ernie’s brow furrowed as Gavin muttered something about a walk and stormed out, closing the door forcefully behind him.

  Ernie had never seen his boss in such a state before, snapping orders left and right. Jumping from one thing to another. Something had certainly gotten up under his britches, and Ernie was pretty sure he knew what–or rather, who–that was.

  He just never thought he would live to see the day the notoriously hardhearted Gavin Graystone fell in love.

  Rocking back on his heels, Ernie crossed his arms and rubbed his chin where a pitiful excuse for a beard grew. He tugged at it thoughtfully.

  He owed Gavin his life, a debt he had been struggling to repay for more than half a decade, ever since Gavin lifted him up–quite literally–from the gutter, shook the filth from his clothes, and made him his personal valet (among other less glamorous job titles). Maybe, at long last, he’d finally found a way to repay him…if Gavin’s new bride was agreeable, of course.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlotte was not feeling very agreeable.

  She wanted to check on Tabitha – just a quick peek, no talking…well, not much talking–but she had no idea what room her maid was staying in. Short of knocking on every door, her only other hope of finding her rested with Gavin who, coincidentally enough, was nowhere to be found.

  Mrs. Clemens, the proprietor of the inn along with her husband, had been of little help. It seemed they were so overbooked they did not know which room belonged to whom, and neither of them had a recollection as to where Tabitha had been taken when they arrived last night.

  After luncheon (a scarce meal consisting of two slices of cold ham, a stale piece of bread, and watered down lemonade) Charlotte began her rounds again in the vain hope that by wandering the halls she would somehow run across Gavin. As luck would have it, she ended up with the next best thing: her husband’s valet.

  When she’d asked him where Gavin was, he had directed her to a walking path that wound up behind the inn into blossoming fields of heather. Not a woman who minded a brisk walk now and again, Charlotte had attacked the hill with enthusiasm.

  Now, however, after an hour of hiking up a remarkably steep path, her blisters had blisters and, while she was almost at the top, she was no closer to finding Gavin than she had been when she started.

  “Hell and damnation,” she cursed, stopping to rest her weary calves. Her right ankle in particular throbbed, and she knelt to loosen the laces on her boots in an attempt to give herself some relief. A hank of hair fell into her eyes. Pursing her lips in annoyance, she pinned it ruthlessly back into place. Then her gaze caught on a pair of Hessians in the middle of the path that had not been there a second ago.

  The boots were attached to gray trousers, the trousers to a white shirt, and the white shirt to…

  “Gavin?” Standing a bit clumsily, Charlotte rubbed her eyes and squinted up at her husband.

  The afternoon sun was behind him, silhouetting his towering frame, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders and square chin for anyone else’s. His dark mane was slicked back and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. There was a thin sheen of perspiration on his chest indicating that he, too, had been walking at a brisk pace. But how had he gotten behind her?

  “What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked, his tone making it sound more like an accusation than a question.

  “Looking for you,” she retorted, pushing herself to her feet, the pain in her ankle forgotten. “You disappeared, and I haven’t been able to find Tabitha, and—”

  “And you decided it would be a good idea to go searching for me in the bloody wilderness?” he said in disbelief. “Have you no regard for your safety?”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said, proudly lifting her chin.

  “Because you’ve been doing such a good idea so far.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Everything. Have you ever considered that trouble seems to follow you wherever you go? First you were engaged to a man who could have passed as your grandfather–”

  “That wasn’t my doing!”

  “–and then you married a man you hardly knew.”

  “A decision I am seriously beginning to question.” Was Gavin trying to provoke her? To what end? Couldn’t they go more than a few hours without arguing? She hated this tension between them. It was suffocating. Even more so because it didn’t have to be this way.

  Then a glint of sunlight caught on a bead of sweat trailing down Gavin’s chest…and suddenly all of that tension took on an entirely different meaning.

  Warmth bloomed between her thighs as she followed that glistening line of perspiration until it disappeared into his shirt. She dragged her gaze up to his face and found him staring straight at her, his gray eyes scorching in their intensity.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he growled.

  Her eyebrows arched. “I shouldn’t be where?”

  “Here!” He did a broad sweep of his arm, gesturing at the endless hills of rolling heather and the woods beyond, all blanketed by a sky of the clearest blue. “I hiked out into the middle of bloody nowhere to clear my head, and yet here you are! You’re damned well everywhere I turn around.”

  Her fingers dug into her hipbones as anger shot through her. “I’m sorry for existing!” she shouted loudly enough to startle a rabbit from its burrow. It zig-zagged up the path before disappearing over the crest of the hill in a flash of furry feet. “I’m sorry whatever I do seems to enrage you! I’m sorry you’re a miserable lummox!”

  “The devil did you call me?” he demanded.

  Her eyes flashed. “A. Miserable. Lummox. It’s what you are. I’ve never seen anymore more miserable in my life, and for what reason? From all indications, you’ve more wealth than you know what to do with. You’re in good health.
You have a new bride who actually likes you, maybe even loves you, although God himself knows why.”

  Gavin went completely still. “What did you say?”

  “I said you have more wealth than–”

  “No.” His eyes deepened to slate as he took a step in her direction. A breeze swept through the air, stirring a curl against her cheek. As if in a trance he reached out and caught the auburn tendril, allowing it to wrap around his finger. “After that.”

  “I like you,” she whispered, “maybe even lo–”

  He silenced her with a kiss. A burning, all-consuming kiss that put their embrace in the study to shame. She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to anchor herself against him as his tongue thrust between her lips.

  The tension that had been radiating between them gave way in a burst of flame, and she gasped when his hands swept up her spine and over her shoulders, following the sloping line of her collarbone before delving lower to cup her breasts, squeezing and petting the sensitive globes through the soft fabric of her dress.

  Her fingers twisted in his hair as his thumbs glanced across her aching nipples. The rosebud tips tingled in response, and when he gave them a gentle pinch she arched her back and flung herself against him, unprepared for the explosive reaction.

  She was a keg of black powder, and Gavin held the match.

  All of their arguments, all of their reasons for staying apart, all of it, melted away as they slowly sank down into the sweet-smelling heather.

  Purple flowers surrounded her as Gavin’s body burned above her like hard, hot steel. With a muffled groan he dragged his mouth from her lips and skimmed down her throat, nipping with his teeth and soothing with his tongue until she was writhing helplessly beneath him, every inch of her demanding more.

  More passion.

  More desire.

  More heat.

  He yanked at her bodice, and she faintly heard the sound of stitches popping before her ivory breasts spilled into the sunlight. His eyes glinting with wicked intent, he lowered his head and took her left nipple into his mouth.

  “Honey,” he murmured against her flesh. “You taste like the sweetest honey.”

  Charlotte bucked her hips as a shock of pure lust whipped through her. She cried out, her nails digging furrows into his back before her hands swept down his long, lean torso and she yanked impatiently at the hem of his shirt. As soon as it was free she skimmed her fingers up his chest, delighting in the way his muscles tightened and twitched.

  “Bloody hell,” he gasped when she pinched his nipples, and then he took her mouth in a kiss so fierce it stole her breath.

  Before she’d had time to reclaim it, he rolled onto his back and set her down hard on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. His hands on her hips, his eyes heavy on hers, he dragged her a few inches lower…and every inch of her being went still with shock when his cock pulsed between her thighs.

  Her first instinct was to scoot up and off, but then he lifted his buttocks, and she experienced what it felt like when the little nub hidden amidst her damp curls rubbed against that part of him, and she immediately wanted more.

  Their gazes remained locked as he began to guide her back and forth across his swollen member. Discovering the rhythm wasn’t unlike being on a horse, she gradually took over, her head lolling onto her shoulder as an unspoken pressure began to build inside of her.

  “Aye,” Gavin said throatily. “That’s it. Let if take you, love. Let it take all of you.”

  He touched her breasts, supporting their weight in his palms, and just as she reached the peak he flicked his thumbs across her nipples and it was as if a bolt of lightning had been set loose inside of her.

  She shot upward on a mewling cry, her knees closing convulsively around Gavin’s legs as she quivered from head to toe. Her fingers curled into the folds of her skirts before she slid bonelessly to the side, the thick heather blanketing her fall. She blinked up at the sky.

  “What–what was that?” she asked dazedly.

  “Something that isn’t going to happen again,” said Gavin before he stood up, shoved his shirt back into his trousers, and then offered his hand.

  Ignoring his stretched out fingers, she adjusted her bodice and got to her feet on her own. She yanked a flower out of her hair, then regarded her husband in amazement as the hazy sense of pleasure hanging over her head like a lazy summer cloud began to fade away.

  “How can you say such a thing?” she asked, stung by both the meaning of his words as well as his poor timing.

  Despicable timing, really.

  One moment she’d been on fire, and the next she’d had a bucket of freezing cold water dumped over her head.

  How dare he ruin this for her?

  How dare he?

  It wasn’t as if having her nipples licked in a field of purple was something that happened every day! This was a rare occurrence. A special occurrence. And now he’d destroyed it.

  The lummox.

  “I’m sorry,” he began, but she cut him off by jabbing a finger at his nose.

  “Don’t you dare start that nonsense. We’re married. I’m your wife. You’re my husband. We’ve done nothing to apologize for! In fact, I’m willing to be if we did a little more of that”–she pointed to their outlines still pressed into the ground–“and a little less of this”–she motioned between them with her hand–“neither of us would have a reason to say sorry ever again.”

  His jaw clenched. “This is not the kind of marriage I intend to have.”

  “And what kind is that?” she said scornfully. “A marriage with passion? A marriage with feeling? A marriage with love?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice quiet as silk and all the more potent for it. “To all of the above.”

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  He looked away.

  “Coward,” she muttered under her breath.

  His gaze snapped back to hers. “What?”

  “I called you a coward, which is exactly what you are!” Her amber eyes flashed with fury. “You won’t let yourself have those things because you’re afraid. Well, I’m not! But I’m also not going to allow myself to be dragged about on a whim. If you want a cold, emotionless marriage, then you can have it. I’m not going to keep fighting for something you obviously could not care less about.”

  It will be easier this way, she consoled herself. Easier to feel nothing than too much. Easier to keep her expectations too low than too high. Maybe…maybe Gavin had a point. Maybe it was better to keep your heart closed off and protected than to keep it open and risk having it broken.

  Because rejection hurt.

  It hurt worse than anything else she’d ever felt before.

  “What room is Tabitha in?” she said as calmly as she could.

  “Seven.” His brow creased. “Charlotte, I–”

  “Don’t,” she hissed. “I don’t want empty platitudes. And I don’t want you to follow me.”

  Spinning around, she marched back down the hill without a backwards glance.

  What the hell had just happened?

  As he walked swiftly towards the stables, Gavin fought the urge to go running after Charlotte. The woman, he predicted darkly, was going to drive him mad.

  Stopping in front of the barn, he leaned against a wooden beam and buried his head in the crook of his arm as he reflected back on the rapid-fire changes that had taken place over the past seventy-two hours.

  He had gotten engaged, gotten married, lived through a death defying carriage accident, been slapped, and topped it all off by ravishing his new bride on the bloody ground. For a man so accustomed to having every facet of his life meticulously under control, it was both frustrating and bewildering to realize he had no control over Charlotte.

  She said something one minute and did something entirely different the next. He felt as though he was constantly two steps behind her, struggling in vain to catch up. And just when he thought he had her figured out, she spun him
around all over again.

  What the devil was so hard about a marriage of convenience? The ton did it every day! No one actually loved each other. And they damned sure didn’t desire one another. That’s what affairs were for.

  So why did he desperately want to have an affair…with his wife?

  “No.” Gavin spoke loud enough to startle a young stable hand as he was walking by with a chestnut mare.

  “Sir?” the boy said uncertainly, reaching up to scratch beneath his plain wool cap. “Is there something I can do for ye?”

  Gavin started to excuse the boy, then recalled why he had come to the stables to begin with. He wanted–needed–to learn how quickly they could get out of this Godforsaken country that had brought him nothing but misery and blue balls.

  “The carriage that is due to arrive from London. Is it here yet?”

  “Are ye Mr. Graystone, then?”

  Gavin gave a curt nod.

  The boy tugged hard on the brim of his cap, then peered at the ground.

  Never a good sign, in Gavin’s experience.

  “I’m sorry tae tell ye this, Mr. Graystone, sir, but your carriage is going tae be a wee bit delayed.”

  “Delayed?” The corners of his mouth tightened. “What do you mean, delayed?”

  This couldn’t be happening. He needed to get back to town immediately. It all made sense there. He had his routine there. He could stay busy there–busy enough not to be constantly consumed with thoughts of a siren with fire in her hair and nectar on her lips.

  “The r-road is out from the storm a few furlongs down the way, sir,” the lad stammered. He peeked up at Gavin from beneath his hat, then quickly looked back down. “No carriages can get out or in until they bring in fresh gravel.”

  “How long?” Gavin asked, making an effort to gentle his tone before he scared the poor boy up into a tree. It wasn’t the stable hand’s fault, he reminded himself. It was the bloody Scots and their damned cow path they had the audacity to call a road.