Page 7 of In Need of a Duke
“Anything is possible, Lady Charlotte. That is the thing I enjoy most about being a duke.”
She coyly looked away as the band struck up.
“Say yes,” he urged again, leaning closer. “I have never seen anyone so beautiful in my life, and I wish to keep you in my arms as long as socially acceptable.”
“Then I believe you mean to propose marriage.”
“You are teasing me, Lady Charlotte.”
“It’s possible, though most of my conversations are with plants not dukes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Plants?”
Beyond her better judgment, she continued, “Mother claims it is unladylike, but I enjoy gardening and collecting rare plants. I…”
She stopped herself, wishing once more that she could slip away and disappear. How perfectly mortifying admitting her best companions were green? He could speak to anyone in this room, have his choice of any debutante, and instead she was prattling on about plants?
“What is your favorite among them?”
The question disarmed her, so much so she barely noticed he had been slowly drawing them out onto the dance floor until he backed away and stood in line with the other dancers. Her smug duke winked at her as she quickly glanced left and right and found herself in line for another quadrille.
Yes, he was temptation and more. He left her curious, and dare she say, nearly fearless, as she reached out and accepted his outstretched hand.
“I have a great many, Your Grace. I wish to be surrounded by them.”
“Name them so I may secure them all for you.”
“What a pretty thought.”
“Lady Charlotte, you only need to say the word. I will make you the happiest woman in all London.”
“I’m dreaming,” she whispered, feeling her lips as she pulled away as the music ended.
“No, you and I are only beginning.”
Charlotte laughed, edging back, testing if he would follow her. He moved like her shadow, stalking toward her, handsome and determined. She was nearly giddy.
Yes, it must be the lemonade.
“May I call on you tomorrow?”
She nodded, knowing full well she would be touring the art gallery with her father, the Earl of Drake.
He gave her a courtly nod. “Then tomorrow you will tell me.”
Charlotte tested that word on her lips—tomorrow, as if it was some unanswered prayer, some promise. It was certainly worth more than the lemonade which made her head fuzzy. Her heart beat in her chest as he smiled that wickedly decadent half smile once more.
Tomorrow.
Charlotte glanced around, searching for some constant in the room, but everyone moved around and carried on, unaware her life had just been completely upended. The duke stood a few feet apart, altogether polite and respectable, but it didn’t explain the thoughts racing through her head—like where to find the nearest alcove or balcony. That wasn’t Charlotte. Kate, perhaps. But Charlotte was meant to be up against the wall, watching everyone else enjoy their night, not have a handsome man waiting on her every word.
“I do believe you have wicked intentions, Your Grace,” she said, only half teasing.
“My brother is the rake, Lady Charlotte.”
“Dukes are upstanding characters, then?”
“Icanbe if that is what you wish.”
