Page 22 of In Need of a Duke
Ian tugged at his cravat, slowly undressing. He was capable of doing it himself, contrary to the opinions of others. He was not so high in his step that he required constant assistance. And if he saw Daniel right now, he might say something he would regret, and he didn’t care to search for another valet.
With a frown, he approached his bed, noticing a green shawl on the floor, likely forgotten in her retreat.
Ian neatly stepped over it, then climbed into bed, curious if she had slept between his sheets while he was away. Did she lay there and think of him? Or did she hate him as much as he hated her?
He rolled over, whacking his pillow and settling in, frowning as he smelled her perfume again.
Ian hated Charlotte. He was almost certain of it. Or he had been. He’d found it easier in Italy, but now that he could see her and nearly touch her?
Fine, he did not hate her. But then, what did he feel toward her?
He had loved her once. And still after all these years, she haunted him, nevertheless. Even a room away, she left pieces of herself behind for him, almost guiding him toward her.
They would discuss their marriage in the morning. His plans still had not changed. As duke, he needed an heir.
There would be no divorce.
CHAPTER 5
At the firsthint of daylight, Charlotte crept out of her room and made her way to the stable. Sleep had been near impossible as she tossed and turned in bed throughout the night, her mind consumed with fury toward Ian.
Wanted an heir? If that was why he returned, he would be sorely disappointed.
She couldn’t bear the thought of allowing him to touch her, let alone sharing a marriage bed with him after what he’d done to her. How he’d deserted her. The thought of it nearly made her gag.
Her heart drummed in her chest as she pressed her horse harder, galloping through the early morning mist that clung to the fields past the gardens. Riding was her only escape now, the wind whipping through her hair as she rode faster, the rhythm of her horse's hooves matching the furious beat of her heart.
Suddenly, she pulled the rein, bringing the horse to a halt before the crumbling wall by the river.
Monty had been correct, it desperately needed repair. It would be reckless to attempt to jump it in its current state.
“Not today, Daisy,” she murmured, running her hand along themare’s neck. “I might be feeling a bit stuck at the moment, but I have no intention of breaking my neck today.”
An hour later, the sun now higher in the sky and the chilly early morning slowly warming, Charlotte returned to the stable. She found the duke pacing outside, his expression drawn as the groom led Daisy back into her stall.
Even at such an early hour, even as the other guests were likely still asleep, he was perfectly turned out, his clothes immaculate, and his face freshly shaven.
The dimple in his chin was the only soft thing about him, and Charlotte was struck with the thought that she much preferred the stubble shadowing his jawline the evening before.
“We need to speak,” he said, clasping his hands behind him.
Charlotte removed her gloves, the tips of her fingers chilled. The cool wind still bit at her cheeks.
“Very well. Here?”
“The house is full of eager ears waiting to spread gossip to London. I believe now is best.”
She bit her tongue, not wishing to bait him with a sarcastic comment. Instead, Charlotte gestured for him to continue, bringing her fingers to her mouth to gently warm them.
Ian glared at her, then her fingers. “Are you cold?”
Even as the wind crept through her emerald-green wool riding habit, she refused to admit she was indeed eager to venture inside and warm up. “What do you wish to speak about?”
“Last evening did not go as planned.”
She shrugged. Ian was used to marching around as if he were Napoleon, ordering everyone and everything to do his bidding.
“I’m curious, how was it supposed to go?”
