The Silent Duke

by Michaels, Jess

  “Yes,” he agreed. “And very likely inappropriate.”

  She blinked and then pushed the door shut behind her. She motioned to the chairs set up before the fire. He hesitated before he took one, though he sat far to the front and ramrod straight.

  She smiled to ease his anxiety. “What is it?”

  “You have known His Grace for a very long time,” he began slowly.

  She nodded. “Almost all my life.”

  “And I know you have, like his very good friends have, seen him through some of the worst times of his life.” She tilted her head, uncertain where this conversation was going. He flushed. “I mean to say, you have been there.”

  She thought of the years when she was married. She thought of how the relationship between her and Ewan had stretched a little thinner, an avoidance on both their parts, she thought now. And for the same reason. Neither wanted to violate the marriage vows she had spoken, and if they came too close…

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve tried to be.”

  “I have also been there from the beginning,” Smith said with a sigh. “Do you know that I served the last duke?”

  Charlotte tilted her head. “I think I did. As butler?”

  “I had been a mere footman under the current duke’s grandfather. I was elevated to butler under his father. I was a servant in the home when His Grace’s parents married and when they welcomed their first child.”

  His face twisted with what could only be pain, and Charlotte leaned forward. “When did the cruelty start?”

  “He hardly made a sound as a baby,” Smith said. “Even as he grew older and other children began to goo and gah. The duchess used to brag about it, claim that he was the most disciplined. Some of us in the household feared there was something wrong, but what could we say?”

  “Nothing,” Charlotte reassured him. “Not to those people.”

  He nodded. “Soon enough it became clear there was something terrible amiss and…and things became quite awful swiftly thereafter. I remember the duke screaming, just screaming, into the face of a two-year-old, abjectly terrified child who could not give him what he wanted.”

  Charlotte bent her head as tears welled in her eyes. “I cannot imagine ever treating a child as such.”

  “I watched them torment him and then, slowly, as they had more children and it was clear those children were not…damaged is the word they used…I watched them all but abandon him.”

  “It must have been very difficult,” she whispered.

  “Almost impossible,” he said. “I wanted to quit the household, I was so—”

  He lifted his chin and Charlotte was taken aback. Smith was the best of butlers. He had been trained to be stoic and calm, yet here he was, face red, mouth twitching, hands clenching. And she liked him all the more.

  “You must have been angry,” she suggested.

  He jerked out one nod. “I spoke to my brother about it. He served in the Earl of Listonwood’s home. Frank told me that if I left, there would be no one to protect the child. That the other servants would follow the lead of whomever managed the home.”

  “You stayed for…him?” Charlotte whispered.

  He turned his face. “I did. And after he was cast out by his father, I stayed because his…his uncle asked me to do so. So that there would be someone in the house to report to the Duke of Tyndale about anything the Duke of Donburrow was doing to undermine his rightful heir.”

  Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “You were Ewan’s uncle’s spy?”

  “I was,” he admitted. “And never sorry once about doing so. The current Duke of Donburrow is the best man to have graced that title in several generations.”

  “Does Ewan know what role you played on his behalf?” she asked.

  He stiffened. “He does not. I would prefer it stay that way, for you know that he would feel uncomfortable knowing I had been his protector behind the scenes.”

  She nodded. That was, of course, correct. “I wonder, though, why tell me the secret?” she asked. “What is it you want me to understand?”

  He worried his hands together. “That—that old habits die hard, my lady.”

  Charlotte stared at him, uncertain and then his expression and his meaning became clear. “You’re talking about protecting Ewan from—from me.” Smith wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Are you asking my intentions?”

  He shook his head slowly, still not looking up. “That would not be my place.”

  “It seems like it has been, like it is,” she said gently, for she felt no animus toward this kind and steadfast man. He had, after all, protected the man she loved. For that she would be forever grateful.

  He glanced at her at last. “I recognize the absolute inappropriateness of my question.”

  “I’m glad someone is here to ask it on his behalf,” she said. Then she shook her head. “Smith, if it were up to me, I would spend my life with him. Right now I am like you. I am doing everything in my power, proper or not, to make Ewan see that a future with me is possible.”

  He seemed to take those words in, digesting them fully before he leaned a little closer. “My lady, I have never seen you as anything less than the very best of women. I do fear, though, that His Grace could be hurt on this path you are traveling. I fear you could be, too.”

  She blinked at sudden tears. “You mean you fear he would not let me close, no matter what I do.”

  Smith was clearly uncomfortable. His feet shifted constantly and he stammered when he said, “I-I don’t know. It is hard for him.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “But I hope he will,” Smith added swiftly. “And if there is anything I can do to help you in this endeavor…”

  She reached out and caught the butler’s hand. She squeezed gently. “Thank you, dear Smith, for that kindness. I appreciate it and you more than you know.”

  The butler opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the sound of a light rap on the door. Together they stood and faced the sound. Charlotte caught her breath, for it was Ewan standing in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowed as he observed her with his most trusted servant.

  She had no idea how much he had overheard of her conversation with Smith, his expression was too unreadable to guess. Smith also seemed uncertain, for he hustled out of the circle of chairs and toward the door. “Hello, Your Grace. Is there anything you need from me?”

  Ewan’s gaze shifted and then he shook his head.

  Smith bowed slightly. “Then I shall go see to the final breakfast preparations. Good day.”

  When he was gone, Charlotte drew a deep breath, rose to her feet and advanced on Ewan. He tracked her every step, withdrawn, wary even. She smiled to put them both at ease and then lifted to her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek.

  “Good morning,” she whispered. “I missed waking up with you.”

  His expression softened and he signed, “Good morning, Charlotte.”

  She could feel so many things coming off this man in that moment. Desire was paramount. He was leaning into her slightly, his body heat curling around her and making her knees weak when he hadn’t even touched her. She could play that desire. If she reached behind him and shut the door, they would make love and it would wonderful.

  But it would do nothing to combat the other emotion she felt from him: reluctance. The closer they grew, the more he pushed against that bond that was forming. The one he truly believed wasn’t one they could make or sustain.

  So as much as she wanted to touch him, pleasure him, seduce him, what she was beginning to realize was that she needed to do more. She needed to connect with him. To remind him of their friendship, of their bond, and to show him how wonderful a life of that bond could be.

  She had to do that. And she had to forget her fears that Smith was correct in that Ewan might never allow it, or her, to be a permanent part of him. She refused to believe it. And she’d fight to make sure it wasn’t true.
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  Chapter Nine

  Ewan often felt negative emotions when he was around other people. Strangers set him back a step, made him wonder at what they thought of him. With Charlotte it had never been that way. He’d never been nervous around her.

  Until this moment. Standing in his office, with her smiling up at him just as she had a thousand times before, he felt…different somehow. Like he had to be ready to defend himself.

  Perhaps it was that she’d been sitting so close to Smith when he entered. Ewan was good at reading people. When one didn’t speak, sometimes people forgot one was there at all. Plenty of times, Ewan had been very aware of the tells of others. Charlotte had her own, as did Smith.

  They’d been talking about him.

  The two people who probably saw deepest into him: Smith because he’d been privy to Ewan’s childhood, Charlotte because…

  Because she was Charlotte. She looked deeper into him than anyone else ever had. She saw everything. Almost everything.

  Charlotte tilted her head. “You are looking at me as if I’m mad. Did I put my dress on backward?”

  The question, asked in her laughing tone that always put him at ease, drew the tension from him. He shook his head as he signed, “No, you look lovely.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” she said as she gave him a twirl. “Though I do admit I am happy to be back in color. Black and gray and violet are so dour.”

  She caught both his hands and backed him across the room, then motioned to the chair Smith had vacated moments before. He took it, for he had no way of refusing her, and she took the other. “Smith said you’d gone to inspect the dam and the bridge,” she said.

  He heard the worry in her voice, anxiety for his people that warmed his heart. “Everything is fine, Charlotte,” he reassured her. “The water is receding now that the rains have let up. My men are still monitoring the situation, but the families will return to their undamaged cottages as early as tomorrow.”

  She sighed in relief. “Oh, that makes me happy. Will they need assistance?”

  His heart throbbed as he stared at her. The daughter of a duke, the wife of an earl, she so easily suggested taking on what many would consider a menial task far beneath them. Certainly, he could not picture his mother being so kind to people so far below her rank whom she barely knew.

  “No,” he signed. “The moving back in will involve far less immediacy than moving out did. My people will help each family and they can take their time.”

  “Very good,” she said. “But please do let me know if there’s anything I can do for your tenants. I really do want to be of service.”

  He drew a long breath, for the way she was behaving was how she would act if she were his wife. The lady of the manor might very well offer such care and consideration for her people. And for a brief moment he could so very easily picture her in that very role. So easily that his chest hurt.

  “Charlotte, I don’t think you—” he began to sign.

  She pushed from her chair and turned her back, essentially cutting him off as she walked to his window and looked out at the gray morning. “Do you know what I was thinking as I sat with Smith in this lovely study of yours?”

  He sighed as he stood and moved to stand with her. “What?” he signed.

  “That I have never really had a tour of this place,” she said with a bright smile.

  “Really?” he signed, searching his mind. “How is that possible?”

  “I’ve only been here the one time,” she said, her smile faltering a little. “When you inherited. There was so much going on and so many people here to celebrate you, I feel as though it was a whirlwind. I wanted to ask you to show me every nook and cranny, but…”

  She trailed off and her cheeks flooded with sudden color. He pursed his lips at it as he slowly signed, “But?”

  She worried her lip a fraction. “I was still married to Nathan,” she whispered. “I knew if I asked you to take me on a private tour of your home that he—that he would know—see…”

  His lips parted. They had never spoken of her husband. Ewan had always been polite to the man, even if there was some dark part of him that hated the Earl of Portsmith.

  “Did he know?” he asked.

  She held his stare for a beat before she ducked her head. “I think so, yes. I don’t think I was ever very good at hiding what I felt, especially if you and I were in a room together.”

  He considered the earl, the times he’d caught Portsmith watching him. Ewan had sensed his hesitation, his discomfort. That was part of the reason he’d begun to avoid close contact with Charlotte. He knew he had no right to interfere in her marriage.

  Now he felt compelled to ask, “What did he think of that?”

  She shrugged. “He never said anything to me directly, but he didn’t seem angry when the subject of our friendship came up. He was just careful when he asked about you. Nathan did not…love me,” she admitted slowly. “And I did not love him either. So I suppose if I loved another, it was just as happy a thing for him. As long as I didn’t betray him or humiliate him, it freed him from having to deal with any inconvenient emotions I might develop through years of marriage.”

  Ewan stared at her. How was it possible that a man could be with Charlotte, could touch her, could hold her, could spend any time with her and not love her? Had the earl been mad?

  But there was another reaction that her quiet confession revealed to him. One that was very dangerous considering their current situation. Ewan was glad. Glad that she hadn’t loved another man. Glad that the earl hadn’t loved her. He might have touched her body, but he’d never gotten near her heart.

  Ewan hated himself for that. He could well imagine her years of marriage must have been empty if there was so little connection between them. That was no reason for celebration, especially since his own love for her could lead to so little.

  He forced a smile on his face and signed, “I have been a poor host. We have a little time before breakfast will be ready for us. Would you like your tour now?”

  Her expression brightened, the darker expression on her face fading. “I would love that. Please, lead the way—I cannot wait to see it all.”

  He hesitated a fraction, then held out an elbow to her. She looked at his face, then the offering and slowly slid her hand into the crook of his arm. He felt the weight of it there, the gentle pressure of each of her fingers. He felt her body pressed against his and God, how it made him think dark and dangerous thoughts.

  Ones he pushed aside as he led her from the study and up the hallway for a glimpse into the life he now led. The life he knew could never include her.

  Charlotte couldn’t control her gasp of delight as Ewan took her into the next room on their grand tour. Every time she thought she’d seen the most wonderful part, something else made her even happier. They’d seen several lovely parlors which looked out at the sea, returned to that library that made her heart skip a beat, and now they entered a huge music room with instruments strewn about, just waiting to be played.

  She turned toward Ewan with a clap of her hands. “You saved this because you know how I love to play.”

  His wry smile gave him away even before he nodded and signed, “Seeing you play is one of my greatest pleasures.”

  Her heart leapt at the compliment, at the expression on his face when he said it. There was desire there, of course, but also something deeper. Something that she wanted so very, very badly.

  She stepped toward him, the allure of the musical instruments muted by the allure of him. His eyes widened a fraction and he turned partially away as he signed, “Come, there’s much more to see.”

  She frowned, but forced herself not to argue, to push as she followed him into the hallway. They were crossing from one wing of the house into another, and as he reached the double doors that made up the pass way, he let out a long breath. She stopped, staring as he opened them and revealed a portrait gallery.


  These pictures weren’t like the happy ones he kept close to him in the master bedroom. These were of dukes past, a family that had rejected Ewan, and from the look on his face, he felt that as keenly as she did. He stayed stock still, staring into the room like just entering it might make those portraits come alive and the people within would begin to bully him.

  She pushed past him gently and stepped into the room. Dozens of staring eyes looked down on her. It was eerie, but then she’d never liked a portrait gallery in any home, including her brother’s. For Ewan this experience had to be far worse.

  “They’re always painted so sternly, aren’t they?” she said, a way to gently break the tension and unguarded pain that now flowed across his handsome face.

  He nodded. “The ones I had the displeasure of knowing were stern,” he signed swiftly. His fingers faltered and he shook them out before he continued, “There was no kindness in my father, nor in his brothers. Nor in my own.”

  She was silent in the face of his admission. This was yet another topic they very rarely broached. She had always wanted to avoid paining him with a reminder of the past that had been so difficult, but now she moved toward him and took his hand.

  “I remember how he spoke about you,” she said, “That terrible day when he abandoned you to Matthew’s family. I know that he was worse to you when you were alone with him. Will you tell me a little?”

  Ewan squeezed his eyes shut at her soft question. Just the words brought back a cascade of memories that flowed over him, pushing him under, drowning him with their weight and the depth of the pain they stirred.

  “I was damaged,” he signed slowly, using letters rather than signs for words so that the tide of the confession was slowed a bit. So that he was forced to focus on what he was spelling out rather than what those words meant. It didn’t help. His chest still hurt. “He saw me as a reflection on himself. He hated me for making him look…weak.”

  He could see his father now. Tall, broad, red with anger. Screeching at him to speak. His mother, standing by impassively, watching it all with a rather bored expression. How he had tried, straining his throat until it felt raw, pushing air until there was none left in his lungs.