“No,” Alvan said ruthlessly. “It will be good for them. And Cecily will see the funny side.”
The Villins had laid out a huge tea in the coffee room, with lots of little delicacies and bread and butter, scones and pastries. A sense of unreality began to creep over Charlotte, although she used the time to persuade Thomasina and Dunstan that life would be so much more comfortable if they went to Audley Park and were married from there.
“It will be better for Henrie, too, if you don’t cause a scandal,” she said bluntly.
“Says the girl who ran away to be married in an inn!” Thomasina retorted.
Charlotte shrugged. “It’s close enough to home. And Alvan’s family are nearby. Everyone will assume we were married there. A bolt to the border is a very different matter, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Thomasina admitted. She gave a reluctant smile. “It just goes against the grain to be lectured by my younger, much more reckless sister who almost lost her own reputation by chasing thieves across the country!”
“In company with my husband,” Charlotte said as Alvan joined them.
“Not at the time you weren’t, but you are managing social conventions much better than I ever gave you credit for, now that you are a duchess!”
“Oh dear, so I am.” For the first time, Charlotte felt in awe of what she had just done. Alvan took her hand, a gesture of reassurance and comfort, and she knew everything would be well.
*
After tea, Thomasina and Dunstan left for Audley Park, chaperoned by Charlotte’s groom. Charlotte and Alvan went for a walk, while the Villins reopened their inn.
For Charlotte, it was a little like the first time she had come here. A sense of pleasant isolation, of being almost in a different world, crept over her. The day seemed timeless and she grew increasingly content as she settled into her husband’s company. They walked hand in hand, talking and laughing. And when they returned to the inn, they ate a light, simple dinner in their private parlor. As the light faded and the candles were lit, the sense of intimacy grew, and with that came a new, not unpleasant tension. He had loosened his coat and his cravat, and she remembered from when she had met him in the taproom that first night, that his throat was muscled and strong, the glimpse of his chest enticing. The memory made her body tingle.
They had one bedchamber.
Dinner had long been cleared away, but they still sat opposite each other in the candle-light. Alvan reached across and took her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist.
“I’m glad you married me,” he said softly. “But I know I rushed you. I can wait until you’re ready to give yourself to me.”
She searched his warm grey eyes, wondering how they ever appeared cold or hard. “Is that what you would like?” she asked with difficulty.
Something wildly exciting ignited in his eyes before his lashes swept down, squashing it, or at least hiding it. “No,” he said steadily. “But I want you to be happy with everything.”
“I am,” she whispered. “I have never been so happy.”
“I will try to make you happier yet. Come.” He rose from the table, still holding her hand, and in almost courtly fashion, conducted her from the parlor to the stairs. The shouts and laughter from behind the taproom door did not disturb her as she climbed the stairs with her husband and walked along the passage to the bedchamber which had been his on their first visit.
Either Hanson or one of the inn staff had lit the lamp and made it welcoming, laying night gowns on the bed and toiletries on the dresser. Alvan left her to light a few candles. She wanted to move forward and sit on the bed, but it seemed her legs would not carry her.
Alvan shrugged off his coat and tossed it on chair, then came back and took both of her hands, raising them to his lips, one after the other. “Do you love me?” he asked softly.
“You know I do.”
“And you trust me now?”
“I have always trusted you.”
He bent his head and very gently kissed her mouth. It was sweet and heady and she parted her lips to enjoy it. The heat of desire surged within her, melting and yet more forceful than she had ever experienced.
Too soon, he raised his head, a faint smile playing around his lips. He began to speak, but Charlotte was suddenly beyond words. From pure instinct, she reached up and took back his mouth with pure hunger.
Groaning, he closed his arms around her and dragged her close against his body. His growing hardness excited her beyond belief. His mouth was different, too, wild and abandoned as it moved on hers, devouring and demanding.
She gasped for air, throwing back her head and felt his lips tracing sensual, arousing patterns down her throat. He pressed her hips into his with one hand, while the other swept around to caress her breast, slipping beneath the fabric of her old riding habit which had somehow become unfastened. When his mouth found hers once more, her whole body flamed in barely understood passion.
With one tug of his hand, her habit fell around her elbows. His arms enclosed her, sweeping her off her feet. He strode to the bed, and when he laid her upon it, the habit and stays were gone. With another shocking sweep of his hand, her chemise whipped over her head and vanished.
Her breath came in wild, short pants as he paused, his eyes ravishing her.
“My God, you are beautiful. And mine.”
“You feel beautiful, too,” she said, her hands roving under his shirt over his smooth, hot back which seemed to undulate to her every touch.
He sat back, hurriedly removing his waistcoat and pulling his shirt up over his head. His skin seemed to glow golden brown in the candle light as he bent, shoving at pantaloons and underwear. Charlotte’s heart thundered with anticipation and a need she didn’t quite understand. She could not help reaching for him with both arms, and then he was lying over her naked, skin to skin. Spontaneously, she arched into him, glorying in the heat and weight of his body, trembling as he kissed and caressed her with ever increasing intimacy.
When he caressed between her legs, she cried out, shocked by the sudden intensity of the pleasure galloping through her. And then he was within her, moving, stroking inside and out as she shattered into joy.
He buried his face in her hair and groaned so profoundly that she was afraid he was hurt.
“What is it?” she whispered, when she could speak. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” he gasped, raising his head and smiling as he kissed her deeply and thoroughly. “Absolutely nothing.”
She hugged him with relief as he slid down beside her. “Good,” she said shyly. “Because you did make me even happier.”
He ran his fingers through her hair, “I shall always aim to make you even happier.”
She smiled at the very idea that this could be possible. Then, more anxiously, she said, “And you?”
His arm tightened around her. “Oh, my love, did you not feel my joy?”
She kissed him. “Yes, but I have been thinking and despite what my mother told Tommie, I don’t believe I want you to go to… to tavern wenches and stage floozies.”
“Good.” He took her face between his hands. “I have no interest in any woman but you. Neither am I a complacent husband.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean I may not keep lovers?”
But he must have seen the twinkle in her eye, for a breath of laughter escaped his lips. “No, you may not,” he said firmly. “Are we in agreement, wife?”
She kissed him. “Yes, my husband,” she said contentedly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Henrietta tripped into the blue salon of the London house, dressed in the most becoming walking dress of embroidered white muslin, and a pink spencer of exactly the same shade as the embroidery. She looked, she knew, as pretty as a picture, and she fully expected her mother to tell her so.
Lady Overton, however, was gazing out of the window at a hackney which had just deposited a prodigiously elegant young lady and gentlemen in the street below. “They are coming here,�
� she said in surprise. “It is a little early for morning callers.”
“Who are they?” Henrietta asked with a hint of impatience, for she had been promised a new ballgown on the strength of a wealthy baronet’s interest in her.
“I can’t see their faces. Go and listen, Henrie, so we’ll know whether or not to take off our bonnets again.”
Obediently, Henrietta went out onto the landing and glanced downstairs. The Duke of Alvan stepped over the front door. The lady beside him was dressed in a stunning shade of deep, dark blue, the jauntiest little hat perched on her shining dark hair. Whoever she was, she had taste, style, and beauty. As though sensing Henrietta’s scrutiny, the lady tilted her head and looked up. She looked vaguely familiar—those large, curious eyes and expressive, humorous mouth. For an instant, the radiant beauty of the lady prevented recognition.
Then her name spilled in astonishment from Henrietta’s lips. “Charlotte? Charlotte! Mama, it’s Charlotte and the duke!”
Charlotte smiled and walked toward the stairs with confidence as well as impetuosity. She was exquisite.
“Duke, what duke?” demanded her mother, hurrying out into the passage.
“Alvan,” Henrietta said blankly.
“But what is Charlotte doing here? Is everything well at ho—” Lady Overton broke off, her jaw dropping. “Good God, Charlotte, where did you get that ravishing gown? Why in the world are you here?”
“I got the gown from my husband, and we are just in London for a few days before sailing up the coast to Lincolnshire in Alvan’s yacht.” Charlotte arrived on the landing, the duke behind her.
“But… but why?” Lady Overton said, bewildered.
“Wedding trip,” Charlotte said succinctly. “I could have written, but we came almost as quickly as the post. His grace and I were married by special license on Tuesday.”
Lady Overton swayed until Charlotte steadied her with an arm at her waist.
Henrietta knew how her mother felt. “You?” she said in disbelief. “You and the duke?”
“Well, you must admit she looks well on it,” her mother said tartly, clearly recovering from the shock. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Felicitations would be well received,” Alvan drawled.
“Oh lord, you’ve set me all at sixes and sevens! I’ve never been more surprised in my life, but I am thrilled to welcome you to our family, Alvan.” To prove it, she gave him her hand and offered her cheek to kiss.
“Perhaps you’d better sit down for the next news.” Charlotte said, drawing Henrietta with her back into the salon away from the flapping ears of the servants. “Which is that Thomasina is engaged—truly this time—to Lord Dunstan. The bans will be called on Sunday.”
Henrietta, who had been preening herself as the center of the family’s attention for several weeks, felt her nose distinctly out of joint. “Then both of you will be married before me,” she said indignantly.
“Henrie, you’re seventeen and have been out for a month,” Charlotte said dryly. “I don’t believe you’re on the shelf.”
No, it was Charlotte who had been on the shelf since before she was even old enough to marry. For the first time, Henrietta questioned the way they had thought about Charlotte, and the way she had been treated.
“You were never unmarriageable,” she said in surprise.
“People aren’t,” Charlotte said, “if they meet the right husband. Or wife. And if one doesn’t, I believe one can still be happy and useful.”
“But you’re much happier being married,” Henrietta said shrewdly. “I can see that just by looking at you.”
Charlotte smiled and took Alvan’s hand. “I have exactly the right husband.”
Looking from her shining eyes, to the way Alvan’s fingers closed possessively around Charlotte’s, Henrietta rather thought she did. Unexpectedly, she felt happy for her once-sickly sister. More than that, she felt as if she were seeing her afresh, which wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Her mother said in awe, “My daughter the duchess. I never thought it would be you, Charlotte.”
“Neither did I,” Charlotte said lightly.
Lady Overton drew her down on the sofa beside her and hugged her convulsively. “Do you forgive me, Charlie?”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Charlotte said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
Lady Overton gave a little gasp and a slightly watery smile as she drew back. “But this is wonderful! We ignored the diamond in our midst and you have saved us anyway!” She bestowed a more dazzling smile upon Alvan. “I knew you were comfortable with us, I just didn’t quite understand why! So, what was it that drew you to my Charlotte? Her kind nature? Her sense of fun?”
“Yes,” Alvan allowed. “And more, much more.” He hesitated, then gave a faint, crooked smile. Henrietta didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before. “When I was with her, I felt… whole.”
“So did I,” Charlotte said in wonder.
“Goodness,” Henrietta said, awed. This was more romantic than any novel she had ever read. “Two lost hearts finding each other.”
Charlotte’s gaze met Alvan’s, and for an instant, Henrietta was overwhelmed by the intensity of love she read there. And then laughter sprang up, too.
“At the Hart,” Henrietta exclaimed, delighted to understand. “They should change the spelling of the inn!”
“Villin says it is a lucky house,” Alvan recalled.
Charlotte smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “I believe he is right.”
The Deserted Heart: Unmarriageable Series (Unmarriagable Series Book 1) Page 23