The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series (12 page)

“I understand that,” Charlotte said, “but can anyone in this room claim to have waited for a man to decide whether he’d rather fight a duel than marry you? Think of it. He has to choose death or me.”

The group subsided into a guilty silence until finally all eyes turned to the only one in the room who had not ventured an opinion: Eloise, who, as a former governess, understood the value of keeping her opinions to herself. “Do
you
want this marriage to take place, Charlotte?” she inquired softly.

Charlotte sighed. “I can’t lie. I—”

She looked up—everyone did—at the imperious rapping against the door. She crossed her fingers. She held her breath and hoped.…

Jane weaved a path across the room to answer the door. Her husband, Grayson, stood in the hall, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “He has agreed to our terms— What is that empty bottle doing in your hand at this hour of the day?”

Charlotte felt like a snowflake melting in the sun.
He has agreed.

“Agreed to our terms?” Jane said with a sniff. “You make it sound as if they are two warring nations.” She
handed Grayson the bottle and glanced over her shoulder with a smile at Charlotte. “Let us all go downstairs and toast the happy couple.”

The Fates had decided in Charlotte’s favor. She would marry the man she had wanted from the moment she saw him. Charlotte forced herself not to rush down the stairs to greet him, even though she had watched his arrival from Jane’s window with the same rapt fascination as the domestic staff below.

She’d already shown herself to be smitten with the man. If she was to be the cause of ruining his carefree life and thwarting his aimless existence, she would have to make the most of the situation and carry herself with confidence.

Unfortunately all her resolve went to pot as she took the stairs one step at a time, pretending polite indifference, and he turned to look at her.

It didn’t take any effort on his part to affect her composure. Not a word. Not an overt gesture. The promise of retribution in his eyes, the twist of his lips, undid her. But she would
not
dissolve with half the house watching. She would—

“Is anything wrong?”

The deep voice laced with mockery roused her from her musings. At that moment she knew everything in her life would change. For a time she had fooled herself into thinking she could manipulate this man with her quill. Now the duke’s imposing presence hovered over her like a dark angel who had been waiting for a moment of weakness to descend and take advantage. Except that
she
, in truth, had ensnared him.

She shook her head. His thoughtful gaze locked with hers. “I’m fine,” she said, willing herself not to wilt from the heat in his eyes. “And you—”

“I have faced the inquisition.”

“It will be my turn next.”

“I trust you will survive.”

“How good of you to wish your captor well.”

“I have many wishes,” he said, and offered her his arm with a dark smile that reminded her that while he’d agreed to marriage, she could trust he had no intention of being good at all.

Roman statues lined the walls of the chamber where the small party met for a subdued celebration. Gideon decided that Charlotte could be mistaken for a goddess herself at first glance. Fortunately, after last night, he knew he could bring her to life. There could be joys to discover in this marriage. He watched her raise her champagne flute to her mouth. A kissable mouth, indeed. Then she caught his gaze and smiled.

His blood flared with familiar instincts before he turned away to gather himself. Conquer, caress, overpower. Possess. But somewhere, mingled in the midst of urges that didn’t need an explanation, another emotion arose. For a moment he tried to identify what it was.

Was it excitement at a challenge? Gideon felt a stab of surprise as he turned back toward Charlotte. “I can’t guarantee that you will find love or happiness as my wife, because I don’t know whether I’m capable of providing either.”

“I can’t expect you to love me.…” Her voice trailed off.

“Meaning I shouldn’t expect the same of you?”

“I didn’t say that, Your Grace.”

He hesitated. He and Charlotte stood apart from the
others, a ploy on her family’s part that he assumed was meant to force them together.

“I want to warn you, that is all,” he said to her. “I might not live up to your expectations. Some ladies seek my company. Others swear I am the devil’s spawn.”

“Yes,” she said. “I can understand their concerns. I hope to find a compromise in your character.”

He inclined his head to hers. “I hope to sleep with you soon. In my experience sex is an excellent prelude to an association.”

“How profound of you,” she said.

He drew away, delighted at her show of fire. This was more like the uninhibited lady who wrote delicious lies about him. “For the moment I am forced to behave.”

Her eyes glinted. “That is wise—especially if you are going to be part of the family.”

“And you’re to become part of mine.”

They broke apart as the marquess approached them.

At least, Gideon reflected, he had acted with honor today, if not last night. Charlotte seemed relieved that he had come up to scratch. He could give her his name. He could offer her pleasure. If she expected more, well, it was time she learned the past had stolen his capacity for hope. He saw no point in making plans that he’d learned from painful experience might never be fulfilled.

Charlotte sighed when Gideon excused himself from the party and took his leave. He might have agreed to marry her, but she had to face facts. He wasn’t brimming over with enthusiasm about their engagement. He had made his decision for honor’s sake, not romance. She
wandered across the room and found herself suddenly standing in front of Jane.

“Charlotte,” Jane said. “He will be back.”

“What if he runs away?”

“We’ll run after him.”

She saw no pity on Jane’s face, but only the strong will of a woman who had tamed her beast and made him worship her.

“He is yours,” Jane said. “You do want him, don’t you? It is obvious to me.”

“Yes. But I want him to…to burn for me as I do for him.”

Jane’s smile said she understood. “Then you need to be fire with fire.”

“That’s from Shakespeare.” Charlotte felt oddly consoled. “Of course. I will bear those words in mind.”

“Put them to work,” Jane whispered, then glanced up as Weed approached her with a bow.

“The master would like Miss Boscastle to meet him in his study for a confidential talk,” he said in a hushed voice.

“A lecture,” Jane said. “It was inevitable. Bear up, Charlotte. Grayson is more growl than bite.”

C
harlotte braced herself for a long, well-meaning lecture. Grayson had his hands full protecting a family known for its passionate scandals. But she had never been called into his presence before.

“Sit down, Charlotte,” he said, motioning her to an armchair. “First of all, congratulations on your upcoming marriage.”

“Grayson, I’m ashamed—”

“It came about in standard Boscastle style,” he said, brushing aside her apology. “Are you content to marry Wynfield?”

Content?
“More than I can say.”

He frowned. “He is a man of the world.”

“Yes.”

“And you”—he shook his head—“are not as sophisticated. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

She nodded. He was warning her that she had fallen
into an unfathomable well—at the bottom of which she hoped to see Gideon waiting to catch her.

He looked at her closely. “I have to admit you’re remarkably composed about the whole thing. But then, what else can you do? Our next problem is to find that diary of yours. Knowing you, I doubt there is anything in it to concern us.”

She slid down in her chair. “I’m afraid there is.”

“Such as?”

“Personal reflections.”

He raised his brow. “Could you give me one example?”

“No.”

He rose from his chair, frowning in concern. “I thought I’d heard you were writing the family history.”

“I was. And then I…I…I never meant to expose myself in any way.”

“What do you mean by ‘expose’ yourself?” he asked in alarm.

“I—I am afraid I revealed my secret desires in the pages of that diary.”

“Oh, God.”

He strode across the room to the bell cord. “Thank you for giving me the truth. I shall deal with this as I must. I am not the expert in these matters that Jane is, but I suggest you spend your spare hours shopping for a wedding trousseau instead of spilling the soup. Chronicles are all well and good, but there are some secrets that should stay buried.”

“Grayson—”

“Charlotte, remember that you are about to take a place in the peerage. Do not acknowledge your mistakes with an apology but with your actions.”

“Thank you, Grayson.”

“In a short time Gideon will be one of us. The betrothal will be announced in the evening papers with mention that a formal supper party will be held here at a later date to celebrate the event.”

She hid a smile. Few people would have seen this union from Grayson’s lofty view. The Boscastle men were simply too accustomed to ruling supreme to ever change.

“One more thing, Charlotte. Sir Daniel Mallory is waiting in the antechamber to ask you a few questions about the diary. He is in my employ. I would advise you to be more…well, I hesitate to use the word, but I think you should be more revealing with him than you were with me. Details could prove useful in his pursuit of your missing diary.”

Sir Daniel Mallory expelled a sigh. This was an embarrassing interview for both him and Miss Boscastle. Perhaps he was handling it badly. Perhaps he was too brusque for a gentlewoman of her delicate sensibilities.

“You can describe this book, Miss Boscastle?” he asked again, pen ready to jot down the normal fare.

“Of course.”

Then silence.

He gestured with his pen. “And the contents?”

She swallowed, turning her comely face to the window. “I should think that its nature would be obvious or else there would not be this fuss.”

“Miss Boscastle, the world is full of innumerable books, and if I am to help locate this diary, it would behoove you to give me an honest description.…”

He paused. She appeared to be fascinated by a boy rolling a hoop behind a cart in the street. Then she turned back to him, her eyes evading his.

“There is some erotic material in my writings,” she whispered in a small voice that he had to strain to hear. Or perhaps he hadn’t heard her at all. He couldn’t have.

“Excuse me?”

Not erotic. She must have said
exotic
. Or
erratic
. Or possibly even
quixotic
. “You will have to forgive me. I was not listening as closely as I should have. You said—”

“
Erotic
.” She turned her head and looked him in the eye. “Yes. That was what I said. I’m sure I do not have to explain the meaning of the word to a man in your profession.”

He looked deeply into her blue eyes. He thought he was a good judge of character. She seemed so demure and reserved. “It is true,” he said in the most detached voice he could manage, “that I have investigated many aspects of vice—I mean
life
. However, that does not make me an expert on the erotic arts.”

“It doesn’t make me one, either,” she burst out. “It is my imagination and indiscreet desires that have gotten me in this trouble, sir. Not my practical experience.”

“I see.” But he didn’t. He frowned. “I’m trying to understand. You have kept a diary in which you have written sexual content?”

“You will have to describe exactly what you mean by that if I’m to be able to answer you.”

The deuce he would. Not to a young schoolmistress who seemingly never raised her voice and wrote…erotic something or other in her diary. “With all due respect, Miss Boscastle, I do not completely understand what you’re telling me.”

“Oh, does it
really
matter?”

“If I may speak honestly—”

“I expect nothing less from you. Besides, we are bound to be truthful and trust each other.”

“Yes. Quite right. But is there anything in the diary that would incriminate any living persons?”

“There would be a prison built if one could be tried for amorous exploits.”

“One can, in certain cases. I daresay, and I intend no discourtesy, but your family has probably been accused of even greater misdeeds than you could have devised.”

“Perhaps.” She folded her hands in her lap, her eyes full of remorse. “But never have my fictional ones been so vividly described.”

He blew out a breath. “Unless you have libeled the Duchess of Wellington, for instance, or—”

“The Duke of Wynfield,” she said, nodding morosely.

“Did you?” He chuckled. “Well, I’m sure he is used to being the topic of controversy.”

She was silent.

“Fine, then. Now for a physical description of the diary itself…”

Charlotte reached behind the chair and produced a handsome brown vellum book, beautifully bound with gilt pages.

“This is empty, I assume? For now, at least?”

“Forever,” she said with a sigh.

He left the Park Lane house with an empty journal and an enormous wrapped ham that the marchioness said he must give to his housekeeper. “She’ll make some tasty sandwiches for you and the children. You look a little peaked, Sir Daniel.”

“Madam, I apologize.”

The Marchioness of Sedgecroft lowered her voice. “Do you think you’ll be able to find this diary?”

“Eventually, madam. The problem will be locating it before the public is aware of its loss.”

Charlotte returned to the academy and drifted through the rest of the day. It was evident by their sly smiles that the news of her betrothal had reached the girls and that Miss Peppertree had warned them it was not a subject to be discussed.

But anarchy erupted at teatime, when Charlotte received a message from Grayson informing her that he, Jane, and Gideon would accompany her to the theater tonight.

“The theater?” she said aloud, the note in one hand, a teacup in the other. “This will be my first public appearance as His Grace’s intended, and I have nothing suitable to wear. I’ll have to refuse.”