He didn’t sign anything in response, but nodded in the appropriate places of her prattling. Finally they reached a door and he released her to open it. She stepped inside and took a breath. It was the same room where she had stayed on her last visit. A beautiful room that overlooked the garden and, farther off, the sea. Or it would once the storm stopped obliterating all evidence of the ocean in the distance.
When she had visited before the room had been plain, but now it was bright and happy. The walls were a soft pink, and there were somehow flowers on the table, despite the time of year. Everything was perfect.
And once again she got that sense that she was home.
She pushed it aside and turned toward him. “Lovely, Ewan. So beautiful.”
He held her stare for a beat too long and then nodded.
“When do you expect the others?” she asked, running a finger along the edge of a pitcher that had been set on the table beside the window. “I hope soon, for the roads are so very treacherous. I worry about Baldwin and mother and Matthew and your aunt.”
There was another flicker across his face, and then he signed, “They may not make it, Charlotte. My servants closed the bridge behind you after you crossed. It is too treacherous for anyone to try to make it over now. The rest will be stopped at the inn in Donburrow and accommodated there until it is safe to travel again.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking as shock settled over her at this unexpected news. “I see. Well, of course, the river was so high under the bridge, it could be overrun.”
He nodded. “It was last year.”
She continued, “And all that ice. So tomorrow then?”
He swallowed, and she watched the action with fascination. Every move he made was so very…elegant. And yet still strong and masculine. Even a swallow obsessed her beyond reason or decorum.
“The rain is expected for a day or two more,” he signed. “It could take even more than that for the water to recede enough to pass the bridge. It might be up to a week before they can pass.”
Her mouth dropped open. What he was saying was sinking in and her reaction was so complicated that she could hardly parse terror from joy from excitement. “Oh. Oh, I see. Are you saying you and I will be…alone…for up to a week?”
He nodded, and to her surprise his gaze slowly flitted over her, from the top of her head to the hem of her skirt. In that one slow stare, she saw what she could not deny.
Desire. Ewan did desire her.
It seemed there was no seduction required to inspire that in him. And suddenly this trip, this storm, everything that was happening seemed like…providence.
“Well, you and I have always been good company to each other,” she said, trying to maintain some normalcy so she wouldn’t scare him off when she felt so very close to having what she wanted. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“I don’t mind,” he signed, quickly, without hesitation.
She nodded. “Very well. Then I’ll ready myself and see you at supper?”
“Seven o’clock.”
“Seven,” she repeated, proud that she could keep the tremble from her voice.
“I’ll have your maid sent up,” he signed. Then he gave her a little wave and left, closing the door behind himself.
When he was gone, she sagged against the table. Since her shocking talk with Meg last week, she had been going back and forth about what to do when it came to Ewan. Take the chance on seduction, or leave things be and never risk another rejection?
She hadn’t been able to make up her spinning mind on the subject, but now the universe seemed to have intervened on her behalf. Like some greater force wanted her to pursue this man.
To take the chance that had always seemed so impossible.
And in truth, she wanted that too. More than anything. More than breath. If this were to be her opportunity, she had to take it and hope that the results would be everything she’d ever hoped for or dreamed about.
Ewan paced the parlor, an untouched drink in his hand. Obsessive thoughts of Charlotte clouded his mind with every step, with every heartbeat in his aching chest. When he wasn’t with her, he could push those thoughts aside. It took effort, of course, but there was a modicum of control he could find within the complex feelings and wants that consumed him.
But the moment she was anywhere near him, the moment he saw her face or smelled her perfume or touched her in any way, control disappeared like smoke in the wind. All he thought of or dreamed about was her. All he could see was her.
He had done everything he could to stop it over the years. He’d told himself she didn’t care about him. He’d reminded himself of all his failings. He’d watched, heart breaking, as she married someone else. Hell, he’d even avoided her during the last year of her marriage because everything he thought when he was close to her was so inappropriate.
Despite Ewan’s best efforts, he was certain her husband, the Earl of Portsmith, had guessed. Sometimes he’d seen the man watching him, a deep frown on his face. Oh, he’d been too polite to do anything about it, of course, but Ewan had felt the shame of his desires.
But Charlotte wasn’t married anymore. She wasn’t even in mourning anymore, if the bright color of her gown when she entered his foyer earlier in the day was any indication. And now they were alone and the thoughts were so loud, and he had no idea what to bloody well do about any of it.
As he pivoted to take another turn about the parlor, the door opened and she stepped into the room. His breath caught. He had thought her beautiful when she was soaking wet from the storm, undone and imperfectly perfect.
But now his hands began to shake. She was stunning. Her blonde hair had dried and her maid had twisted and curled it so it piled high on her head, with tendrils to accentuate her high cheekbones and full lips. And her gown. By God, that gown was designed to make a man mad. The color matched her green eyes almost to perfection and was a mix of velvet and silk. The kind of thing a man wanted to touch before he unwrapped her from it like a present.
“Ewan,” she said, her voice very soft as she stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind herself.
He moved toward her and leaned in just a fraction so he could catch the scent of her hair and her skin. Lemons and vanilla, a combination she had carried with her for a decade, perhaps. Something else that drove him mad.
She tilted her face upward and her trembling hand lifted. He caught his breath as she slid her palm across his cheek, her thumb tracing his lips. This was no friendly touch, like a thousand other touches before. This was desire that was culminating in this unexpected moment.
Her pupils dilated and she licked her lips before she whispered, “Ewan,” again. This time softer. Rougher. A question. A plea. A sweet endearment.
He wanted so much to lean into her. To gather her into his arms as he’d dreamed of doing almost all his life. To forget any world that existed outside these walls and simply drown in her. But he couldn’t forget himself. He spent every day knowing that.
“I can’t,” he signed, though he didn’t move away from her.
There was a flicker of pain in her stare. He’d seen it before, years ago, when she’d said…well, he didn’t want to remember what she said. He didn’t have to. It was branded into his soul.
“Why?” she asked, her hand still stroking his cheek.
There was a knock at the door then, and Ewan straightened, turning away from her as he tugged at his jacket to smooth it.
Smith stepped into the room. “Your Grace, Lady Portsmith, supper is served.”
“Thank you, Smith,” Charlotte said, but Ewan could hear the frustration in her voice, just as he saw it on her face.
He drew a deep breath and offered his arm to her. She shook her head slightly, but didn’t turn away. She just took it and let him lead her to the dining room.
But as they entered and she parted from him to take a seat at his right, he knew one thing and one thing only. He had
to gather his senses and get it together. Or else things would happen here that could not and should not be. Not for him.
Not for her.
Chapter Three
Charlotte took a deep breath and a bracing sip of wine. She and Ewan were more than halfway through supper and it had been an exercise in control every moment of the meal. She was fighting so hard to be light, to joke with him. To pretend that the heated, powerful moment between them in the parlor hadn’t happened so that he would be comfortable and not consider running away from her.
But despite all her efforts, the pulse of that moment remained between them, and it had created a tension she’d never felt before. A heat and a desire that made her feelings so much more taut and undeniable.
It gave her hope. But not bravery.
As she set down her fork, footmen swept in to take away their supper plates. They were just as swiftly replaced by dessert. She smiled, for it was a chocolate torte with a sweet raspberry glaze along the top. Her favorite.
But of course it was her favorite. Because Ewan always gave her the things she loved. Her favorite room, her favorite flowers, her favorite food…her favorite man. Oh, but that he withheld, didn’t he? Let her see him, but never get as close as she wanted to. Even when he looked at her like he wanted to sweep the table clean and have his way with her right then and there.
She jolted as he stared at her, for that was exactly the expression in his dark eyes. And that expression made her find the bravery that had seemed so elusive.
“May we talk about what happened earlier?” she asked, her voice thick and shaky.
He turned his face like she’d struck him, and it took him what felt like an eternity to slowly sign, “What happened earlier?”
She pushed aside the dessert and scooted her chair a bit closer. He stiffened in response and a curtain drew down over his face, a distance he normally reserved for strangers.
Having it put there between them made her heart hurt. This was what she was risking by pushing him. That he would set her aside forever, that their relationship would be irreparably destroyed.
It terrified her. But then, so did walking away from what she wanted and what she felt. She’d done that once and had been miserable. If she didn’t risk this now, when all the world had seemed to align to make it happen, she feared the remainder of her life would be a series of regrets over what she hadn’t done or said.
“Ewan,” she whispered.
His hands shook as he signed, “Please don’t.”
“Why?” she asked, reaching out to grip his hands so he couldn’t say more. “Are you going to deny that you…that you…” Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she ignored it. “That you…want me?”
He jerked his gaze back to her, and in that moment she saw everything. Everything she hadn’t understood when she was nineteen, but perhaps it had always been there. She saw his deep pain, his deeper need. She saw his passion, stirring below the surface he fought to maintain. But now it was rising. Boiling. Almost out of control. Just a tiny shove was all he needed.
She was trembling as she tossed her napkin aside and pushed to her feet. He watched her, his gaze never leaving her face. Slowly she edged forward. His chair was angled back from the table a fraction, and she leaned a hand on either arm, pushing it. He obliged her silent order and scooted back even more.
She touched his face as she sank down into his lap. His breath exited his lips in a long, ragged sigh and then his arms folded around her, accepting her. Accepting this.
Her heart was pounding as she cupped both his cheeks. She lowered her lips, reveling in the warmth of his breath against her mouth just before she kissed him.
Ewan could hardly move or think or breathe as Charlotte pressed her lips to his. This was everything he’d ever wanted or dreamed about, and it was here, in his arms. And Charlotte was driven. She shimmied in his lap, grinding her backside down against him in a way that made his cock react. The control he’d mastered over the years was now nonexistent and he was hard as steel. She opened her mouth, tracing his lips with her tongue, and his mind went blank of all arguments or refusals.
He tightened his embrace, tugging her flush against him, and met her tongue with his. He drove into her, tasting every inch, stroking her tongue, memorizing her unique flavor. He could feel his fingers squeezing and releasing her hips, rocking her against him out of some ancient knowledge.
And if she disliked any of it, she made no indication. If anything, his ardor seemed to stir her own. She mewled in pleasure against his lips, arching against him, dueling with her tongue, grinding that supple backside harder and harder until he felt like he would explode with it.
What he wanted pounded inside of him, a driving drumbeat that echoed, “Take, claim, make mine. Mine. Mine. Forever.”
He jerked at that last thought, and with a sharp breath, he pushed to his feet, setting her aside to stagger for balance as he walked away.
“Ewan!” she gasped, her voice rough with the same want he felt in his chest.
He pivoted to face her and shook his head hard.
“You want me,” she snapped, pressing forward, with emotion snapping in those captivating green eyes. “Damn it! Why can’t you just…allow this?”
His hands shook as he jerked out the letters that spelled out his pain, “Because once I do, everything changes.”
For a moment, she paled and he could see she feared that, too. But she shook her head, denying both their hesitations. “Why does it have to? Why do we have to tangle our lifelong friendship with our…desires? Certainly you’ve had sex with women before when it has meant nothing.”
His cheeks flamed and he turned away once more without answering. He stood there, back to her, praying she would let it go. Praying she wouldn’t push this sensitive issue.
But she was Charlotte. Pushing was in her nature. Pushing was what she did. He felt her move behind him, her hand curled around his bicep, and she turned him to face her.
“Haven’t you?” she whispered, her gaze seeking his.
He pursed his lips. Shame and embarrassment had always followed him. His father’s voice, telling him he was worthless, had been joined with whispers of the crowd as he grew older, looks from men and women alike as he strode through their halls. It was why he avoided Society gatherings at all costs.
“Ewan, have you…been with a woman?” she pressed.
He shook his head slowly.
She gasped at the words, releasing his arm as she took a long step away from him. She looked shocked. She looked confused, though he had no idea why.
“How is that possible?” she whispered.
He cocked his head, for he wasn’t certain she was asking the question of him or just to herself. Either way, he signed, “I am damaged.”
She lunged forward, her eyes snapping again, this time in anger. “Stop that. Stop it. You are not damaged.”
He lifted both eyebrows, which was the best argument he could make when his hands and body were shaking so hard. She read the expression and threw her hands up at it.
“You aren’t!” she insisted, her voice elevating to a level he’d never heard from her before. Charlotte was always gentle. Soft. “You must have felt the stares of women before.”
He flinched. “I’ve felt the stares of everyone,” he signed swiftly, not meeting her eyes.
“And what do you think those stares have meant?” she asked.
“They wonder if I’m stupid, as my father told them. They wonder how damaged I am. They wonder why I wasn’t put in an asylum years ago, where I wouldn’t darken their halls with my brokenness.”
Her lips parted and tears flooded her eyes. She blinked, somehow keeping them at bay. When she had regained her composure, she moved forward, slower this time. Her voice was soft again as she said, “I’ve stood with women when they looked at you, Ewan. I promise you, that isn’t what they were saying. It isn’t what they were asking me.”
He sw
allowed and somehow forced himself to keep his stare on her. It was almost impossible when she was delving so deeply into the well of his insecurity. His fear. His pain.
She continued, “They knew we were friends, so they would ask me about you. They would coo over you. They would wax poetic about how handsome you were. They would wonder out loud what you were capable of doing with those…” She shifted. “Those lips of yours. They would whisper about your body and your hands and your…just you and how beautiful you are.”
He tried to turn, but she caught his arm again, holding him in place.
“And I hated them for it,” she continued as she slid her hand up his arm, to his shoulder. Her other hand came to rest on his stomach, and his knees began to shake with the power of how much he wanted her. “I hated them for talking about you in the ways I couldn’t. I hated them for wanting you like I wanted you. Ewan, you have been desired by a great many women. But none more than me.”
His breath came short and fast now, the only sound in the quiet room for a beat, two, three, until the silence stretched out between them. Then she lifted on her tiptoes as she slid her hand around his neck and drew him down.
He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. Not with her. Their mouths met, and this time she was gentler, slower as she kissed him. He couldn’t pull away. He didn’t want to pull away. She was breaking down the distance he had always chosen to keep between them and he was too weak not to admit to himself that he was not going to deny her.
He could never deny her.
He opened and their tongues met again, swirling and circling each other until he felt dizzy and hot and heavy with need. Only then did she pull back a fraction, only then did she part from him long enough to sign to him, “Come upstairs with me, Ewan. Now.”
She didn’t wait for him to sign something back, or to nod or shake his head. She merely slipped her hand through his and, without breaking eye contact, led him from the dining room.
He followed her up the stairs, shivering every time she stroked her thumb along the webbing between his thumb and finger. He followed her down the hall to the chamber where he had placed her for her time at his home. A chamber he’d chosen not just because it was beautiful, but because it was so far from his own on the other side of the house.
The Silent Duke Page 3