The Grace of a Duke

by Linda Rae Sande

  Dismounting, Joshua tied his reins around the thin trunk of a tree next to the water and then hurried to assist Charlotte from her saddle.

  Still breathless, Charlotte turned sideways in the saddle, and as Joshua reached up to place his hands at her waist, she placed hers on his shoulders. She was careful not to press too hard on his left side. Noticing the raw burn scar that covered the left side of his face and extended past what was left of his ear, she schooled her features not to react and continued to smile. His face is healing, she realized, the ropy texture an unfortunate side effect of the burned flesh. Although still very red, it was an improvement over what she remembered from when he was at hospital.

  Joshua easily lowered her until her feet could touch the ground, but he did not remove his hands from around her waist. And his eyes focused on her joyful look. God, she is beautiful, he thought suddenly. “You look as if you enjoyed that a great deal,” he teased gently, trying not to imagine what he could be doing with her so far from prying eyes.

  “I did. Very much, Your Grace,” she replied smiling, her hands still resting on the front of his shoulders. As he continued to stare at her, the smile slowly faded. Is he about to kiss me? she wondered, seeing a change in the way he looked at her. His eyes had suddenly darkened, his face had become unreadable. “I have never been properly kissed,” she murmured then, unaware she’d said it aloud.

  “Indeed?” Joshua replied, an eyebrow cocking suggestively while he felt an odd sense of relief. “They don’t teach that in duchess school?” he said then, trying to keep the mood light.

  “No,” Charlotte said with a quick shake of her head, her eyes never leaving his. “Nor do they teach one how to …” She was about to say, “Make love to a duke,” when his mouth suddenly covered hers, his lips sliding over hers until they seemed to lock into place.

  Charlotte thrilled at the sensation his lips created. Their touch was soft, but his hold on her was firm, as if he dared her to break the kiss or back away from him. She did neither as she allowed herself to feel everything – the heat of his body as it pressed against the front of hers, her eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, his hands at her waist. She attempted to mimic his moves, returning the kiss just as her lips were parting at the urging of his tongue. An entirely new sensation overwhelmed her, a melding of pleasure and wanting and giving and taking. Perhaps he will take me as his wife, she considered, happiness surging through her as she lifted her right hand to the side of his face, gently cupping the scarred flesh as one of his hands moved to her cheek. And the kiss might have continued if not for his lips’ sudden departure from hers as he straightened and his breath caught. He stepped back and stared at her. It took a moment before her eye lids opened and her eyes cleared enough that she could look back at him with a modicum of reason.

  “Did I … did I do something wrong?” she wondered, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. Oh, my, he thinks me wanton!

  Joshua’s brows furrowed as he stared at her, his left hand suddenly covering her right hand and forcibly removing it from his face. “What … what have you done?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, a hint of anger tingeing the words.

  Her eyes wide with fright, Charlotte stared back at him, not understanding his meaning. “Nothing, Your Grace,” she whispered in response, still not sure what he meant. Other than allow you to kiss me, she thought, and then wondered if maybe she had been the one to initiate the kiss. His hand still gripped hers, lowering it so he held it near his chest.

  “My mask! What have you done with my mask?” he asked then, the bit of anger more evident in his voice. How can she look at me as if nothing is wrong with my face? he wondered then.

  “Nothing, I assure you, Your Grace,” Charlotte replied, her head shaking back and forth. When she saw his bewildered look, she glanced around where they stood. “I thought you removed it after we left the village,” she added, finally realizing the reason for his panic.

  “I did no such thing!” he responded, annoyance evident in his voice. He released her hand rather harshly before scanning the area around them.

  “’Tis better for you if you do not wear it all the time, Your Grace,” she countered defensively, her voice back to a normal level. When she realized his panic was real, though, she swallowed. “I am sure if we double-back, we can find it,” she offered, turning to see that their path through the tall meadow grass was still apparent. She set off to walk through the parted grass, scanning the ground for the missing mask. After about ten steps, Joshua, already on his horse, rode past her in his haste to find the leather covering. Sighing, Charlotte continued her search on foot, her horse joining her, unbidden, as she walked. Taking the reins, she walked along side the bay, murmuring to it even as she was aware of hoofbeats ahead of them. She looked up to see that Joshua had already ridden to the edge of the meadow and had turned around to head back in their direction. The camel colored mask was suddenly apparent against the green of the tall grasses, and Charlotte hurried to lift it from its resting place. As Joshua slowed his horse to stand next to hers, she held the leather piece up to him, its ties streaming in the breeze. “Do you require assistance in tying it in place?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral while noting his look of relief at her discovery. He has no reason to feel self-conscious around me, she thought. He must realize I have seen all of his wounds.

  Angry at himself for his outburst, and embarrassed at having allowed himself the kiss, Joshua stared down at Charlotte, keeping his right side toward her. “I can manage,” he replied in a quiet voice as he took the mask. “Thank you, though.” For a moment, he thought he should dismount and help Charlotte back onto her side saddle, but he was aware of the sun on his face and thought it better to get his scars covered before the tender flesh suffered even more damage. He lifted the mask and began tying it around his head, wondering how to go about apologizing. Chiding himself for his overreaction, he considered what to say. He couldn’t admit he felt affection for her, that he might even be in love with her – not when she did not seem to feel affection for him. She would only marry him because she had been betrothed to the Earl of Grinstead – the heir of the Duke of Chichester – and because she felt a sense of responsibility in fulfilling the obligation made on her behalf. Perhaps she could grow to love him someday, and they could have a marriage much like his parents, but that meant a marriage of convenience in the meantime. He wasn’t about to wed a woman because she felt a responsibility to do so. And he certainly didn’t think it fair that she be betrothed to him when he looked like a monster. No, it would be better if he ended their betrothal and sent her back to London.

  Not sure of Joshua’s mood, Charlotte stayed mute as she pulled her bonnet back atop her mounded curls. Then she turned to her horse, speaking softly in its ear as she retied the ribbons of her bonnet. The horse lowered his back end to the ground and Charlotte mounted the side saddle, feeling a great deal of pain across her back as she did so. The horse lurched a bit as his back legs returned to a standing position. Stunned by the sight, Joshua stared at her. “How did you do that?” he wondered as he completed his task, his opinion of her equine skills growing as the day went along.

  “I believe your sister trained him well,” Charlotte replied coldly, holding herself very erect in the saddle as a means to lessen the pain from her wound.

  Joshua had noticed her wince as she seated herself on the saddle. He wondered what had caused her pain or if she winced because she was annoyed with him. He also didn’t miss the tone of her voice. “I wish to apologize for my … outburst,” he said, his head lowered in supplication. “Please forgive me.” He might apologize for thinking she had removed his mask, but he had no intention of apologizing for kissing her.

  Charlotte regarded her host, her heart heavy as she had come to realize that, despite the kiss, he did not seem to have feelings of affection for her. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied with a nod. She caught her swollen lower lip with a tooth, wondering how it
had all gone so wrong. The kiss had been magical. As she thought about it more, she was sure that Joshua was the one that initiated it. It was his lips on hers that had coaxed her to respond in kind, matching his moves, his touch, his breaths, all while he held her so close. Feeling her cheeks suddenly flush, she took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. “Perhaps we can resume our tour?” she suggested, trying to school her voice in a lighter tone.

  Furrowing his brows, Joshua studied her for a few seconds before nodding. “If you’re up to it, there are still the lands on the western perimeter of the duchy to review,” he replied, still wondering what had caused her to wince when she remounted.

  “Lead the way, Your Grace,” Charlotte responded, giving him a wan smile. She was a bit relieved that he didn’t insist they return to the house. The day was too beautiful to spend it anywhere but out of doors.

  Joshua nodded and dug his heals into the stallion. Charlotte’s bay followed and soon they were galloping neck and neck as they headed west toward Wisborough Green and then north. Only two trees were down on the border, although the trails they followed were sometimes impassable due to downed limbs. “I’ll have Mr. McElliott send some men to cut these up for firewood and clear the road,” Joshua commented, checking for landmarks so that he might provide exact location information to his estate manager.

  “Do you often have this kind of damage during a rainstorm?” Charlotte wondered as her horse picked its way through the littered trail. She was sure she heard Joshua snort in reply and turned to look at him.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” he said as he returned her gaze. “This is the first time I’ve been out this way since …” He suddenly stopped his comment, realizing he’d probably never traveled the perimeter of the duchy in his entire life. The enormity of the area struck him. I own all of this, he thought, a bit overwhelmed. No wonder Garrett is having trouble managing everything. Joshua realized he would have to take on more of the day-to-day operations, especially of the household, if he was to properly restore and then keep the dukedom intact. There is no way I can do this alone, he reasoned, glancing at Charlotte as she guided her horse around a log that blocked the path. If she’d truly been trained in how to be a duchess, and if she really was betrothed to the Duke of Chichester, then she could be his.

  But not until he could win her heart.

  Eventually, the two made their way south back to Wisborough Oaks, allowing their horses to set the speed as they approached the house. The split oak tree, once a majestic fixture, was still quite awesome in appearance. With its main trunk divided nearly down the middle and its lower branches now cut and stacked nearby, it would still be an attractive tree when fully blossomed. Charlotte led her horse in the direction of the tree, allowing it to pick its way among the splinters and branches that littered the lawn. When the horse suddenly stopped and snorted, Charlotte looked down to see a piece of curled paper, its edges singed, resting in the grass. She dismounted on her own and reached down to pick it up, ignoring the pain that shot from her back.

  “What is it?” Joshua asked as he rode up alongside her mount.

  But Charlotte’s attention had moved from the paper she held to another piece of debris closer to the tree trunk. She hurried forward, lowering herself to the ground to pick up the cylindrical object. Holding it arm’s length, she regarded it at first with curiosity and then with horror. Her gasp was quite loud as she dropped it and stepped back suddenly, pulling her arm to her waist as if she’d been burned.

  Although she’d not seen such an object up close, she’d grown up knowing how mining was done in this part of England, heard stories of how the ground was opened up to allow entrance into the coal-rich earth. But there were no mines near the house, no obvious reasons as to why there would be a stick of dynamite lying on the lawn. So how did a stick of dynamite get near the tree? she wondered. Her eyes suddenly widened in horror. This is why the window broke!

  Joshua was off his horse and by her side in a moment. “What is it?” he repeated, his eyes following hers to the object. He reached down to pick up the cylinder as Charlotte’s attention was drawn to the space in the tree where the trunk had split in two. Although there was a burn mark at what had been the top of the trunk, there was no continuation of the blackening as there would be in a lightning strike. In fact, there were few burn marks to indicate lightning. There was instead a hole where the trunk would have been, its splintered wood now scattered about the lawn. A part of another cylinder lay in the large roots that spread out in a huge circumference at the base of the tree. Charlotte turned to find Joshua staring at her, his face showing at least as much confusion as she was feeling horror.

  “This tree was not struck by lightning,” she murmured, her breath held in fright. “It was deliberately… blown apart.”

  Joshua nodded, still holding the stick of dynamite in his gloved hand as his face paled and his breathing stopped. His mind raced. He was sure the loud crack of the tree splitting had awakened him early that morning, but perhaps it was the sound of the exploding dynamite. And he remembered he was about to investigate when Charlotte appeared in his room, frightened out of her wits. She had to have heard the explosion, had to have thought it was lightning and come running for comfort. The rain had started shortly after the explosion; if the tree had begun to burn, as it appeared to have done near the space where two large branches met the trunk, the rain would have doused the flames or at least prevented the tree from burning. And the stick of dynamite he held was whole, which meant it hadn’t detonated along with the other sticks that had.

  How many were in the tree? he wondered, glancing about to find curled papers and several sticks that were in pieces. Perhaps only one had actually blown up. The rest … too wet to explode? Or too poorly packed? Or too old, perhaps?

  Had the dynamite been set in order to cause the tree to catch fire and burn? Or to blow up as much of the house as possible? The tree was very near a bedchamber window, the bedchamber Charlotte was using, in fact. Had all of the dynamite exploded, as it was no doubt expected to, she could have been killed. He and Garrett might have been, as well. The entire east wing might have been blown apart or caught fire and burned.

  Before he could say anything, Charlotte reached out with a hand to touch his sleeve and then quickly pulled it back to her body. “One of the windows in my room is shattered. I thought it was due to the storm, but this has to have been the reason it broke. Someone tried to destroy your home,” she whispered, her face pale and her arms wrapped about the front of her body.

  Having come to the same conclusion, Joshua suddenly wondered about the fire that had burned the entire west wing, killing his family in the process and leaving him with burns that would leave him scarred for life.

  He had always thought it was a candle that had started the fire that night. But perhaps … He leaned closer to Charlotte. “An arsonist, yes,” he whispered hoarsely. But he found himself in a quandary. Who could he trust? Who could he ask about such a possibility? Who would want his family, and him, for that matter, dead?

  Who benefited from the death of the Wainwright family?

  Even as he considered possibilities, he was aware of Charlotte thinking the very same thoughts as he was. “What will we do?” she wondered, a bit of horror still showing on her pale face.

  What will we do? Joshua repeated to himself. Not, What will you do?

  He shook his head. “Nothing, for now,” he answered urgently. He took one of her hands in his. “You mustn’t say anything to anyone of what we’ve found here,” he ordered, his voice kept low. “I … I will speak with Garrett, and we will get to the bottom of this,” he vowed.

  Charlotte watched him for a moment, aware of the questions he was no doubt asking himself and knowing, too, that there were no answers. At least, not yet. “Of course,” she nodded in agreement. It would do no good to alarm the servants. If Joshua had enemies in the ton, she wasn’t aware of them; she had heard nothing in the gossip
circulating in London that would indicate anyone had a problem with Joshua Wainwright inheriting the dukedom. “We should probably get the horses to the stables before anyone notices we’ve been here too long,” she suggested, moving to take her horse’s reins.

  “Agreed,” Joshua replied, hiding the dynamite in his coat pocket. At Charlotte’s raised eyebrows, he added, “It’s quite damp. I doubt it would work as intended.” He did not add that it should have exploded when the other one – or others – detonated.

  With the sun already well past the zenith, they left their horses with a stableboy and walked to the house, both deep in thought.

  “Thank you for the tour, Your Grace,” Charlotte said as she gathered her riding habit skirt with one hand and climbed the stairs to the front door.

  “Wainwright,” Joshua said suddenly. At Charlotte’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “I think you should call me ‘Wainwright’ when we are in public.”

  At the top of the stairs, Charlotte let go of her skirt and regarded the duke. “Wainwright,” she repeated, searching his eyes for some kind of sign. Only those very close to a duke would be allowed to call him by his given name, she thought happily. “Then you should call me ‘Charlotte’,” she offered lightly as they entered the house.

  Joshua nodded, wondering how long it should be before he could have her calling him by his first name. She had already shared his bed, although not quite in the way he would have preferred.

  Once in the vestibule, Charlotte’s nose wrinkled. “I smell like horse,” she murmured with a shake of her head and then realized Joshua had easily overheard her comment. “A bath will take care of it,” she said, her face blushing with the first color Joshua had seen on it since her discovery of the dynamite under the tree.