Page 50 of In Need of a Duke
“It has nothing to do with how I used to call you Honeybee?”
She tripped, dropping the netted veil in her hand.
Ian fought back a laugh, not from her tripping, but at how right he was.
“I honestly do not need your assistance,” she said. “And you will likely be stung.”
He closed the gate behind him and squinted, watching as the sun filtered through the giant oak behind Charlotte and danced aroundher. She had always been a magnet for light. There was nothing warm or light about Ian. His moods could be foul, his outlook grim, and he much preferred riding or reading than dealing with the rest of his peers in London. Life, he had discovered while traveling, was so much larger than the social game of theton,but as Duke, he was expected to play by the rules.
“They wouldn’t dare sting me.”
She snickered, shaking her head as she appraised two hives, each in a different frame structure. Wisps of blonde hair curled around her ears and at the nape of her neck, drawing his eyes and stirring more than a memory.
Once, she had issued the softest moans while he kissed her along the column of her throat.
“When will you learn not everything or everyone will do as you please?”
“Aren’t they supposed to? I’m?—”
“A duke. Yes, we all know, Ian.”
He tugged on his jacket, the smirk on his face melting into something a lot like disappointment. “Isn’t that why you married me?”
She grew still a moment, a wrinkle setting in between her brows.
He had meant it as a jest, yet perhaps there had been too much truth there. That had been the rumor he had heard after all, the night of their wedding. She had only been another title hunter and trapped him into marriage. He had believed it as well, given how eager she had been to share a bed with him after his proposal.
Charlotte glanced at him before removing a piece of bark from a bundle wrapped in newsprint. Quickly, she struck a piece of flint and set a small piece of bark on fire. She waved the smoke around the first hive, then pulled on a hat with a veil.
The same question had been the very one to drive a wedge into their union. And it was the same one now that seemed to pull her away when he was almost certain they had been flirting for the first time since he returned to Stonehurst.
Ian had missed that. And he craved for more. He was desperate for another smile, another laugh. Anything from his wife.
But he was discovering she was not so quick to hand out such pleasantries.
The same was said when they had first met. Others claimed she was too cold or too dull, as if any of those would be a mark against her character. When in truth, he had been completely captivated by her. Yes, she was shy in certain company, but she was brilliant. Too many in London would never know how much.
They often rode together in Hyde Park or picnicked and read together, sharing bits about history and architecture and botany. Charlotte had been fascinating, a wallflower who bloomed as they wrote letters and danced at balls and endlessly challenged him to be a better man.
He had fallen once for the wrong woman and knew it was selfish to do so again, but being so blinded by Charlotte, he gave into his desires and pursued her—against the advice of his father, and later, her parents.
“Stand back,” she cautioned.
He was transfixed, however, as the smoke swirled around the hives, lulling the bees as Charlotte removed the top of one hive.
“What are you looking for?” He toed closer, leaning forward to catch a better glimpse of what she was inspecting. Bees flew around as others bumbled over the worktable, subdued by the smoke.
He wasn’t sure what kind of magic she spun at her fingertips, but he felt himself calm as well. Perhaps because, for the first time in years, he watched Charlotte be completely at peace.
“I’m searching for the queen,” she said a moment later. “I have worked hard at building these two hives for observation. They aren’t very practical for harvesting honey. Either way, I refuse to participate in sulphuring.”
“Where’s the king?”
She grinned, not glancing up. “You won’t like the answer.”
His pulse picked up once more, and he leaned in farther. “Why’s that?”
“The males are called drone bees, and they mate with the queenonce, then die. And if they don’t mate, they’re kicked out of the hive and die.”
