It still swirled around her mind, never letting up, never letting go. She wanted to kiss him again, to feel his hard body against hers, to urge him on. And yet the idea terrified her. The feelings he evoked in her terrified her. She wanted more, but she knew she couldn’t have it, especially not as she was so unwilling to give him more. She would never marry; she had decided that already. Thus she could never give away that part of herself.
Can I?
“Well, well, look who it is.”
It was Stewart’s voice. She heard it in the background of her mind, like something ethereal, not quite there, because all her true attention was on the duke. His chiseled jaw. That kink in his hair at the back of his neck. That amused glint in his eye that he always seemed to have when he looked at her. Those arms that had been around her waist only days before.
“Hey, lady!”
She lowered her arm, gaping. Embarrassed at the way she was dressed, the way she was behaving. She had seen the boys with the cricket bats heading out, and she had impulsively followed them, asked if she could join in. It had seemed such a good idea at the time. Indeed, she’d been delighted they’dagreed, and she was having such a great time. Until the duke and Stewart arrived.
“I told you we shouldn’t have let a girl play,” someone called in the distance.
“Give her a minute,” another shouted.
The duke jumped off his horse, handing the reins to Stewart, and walked to the boy who was leading this group. They spoke in quiet, hurried words, but all Charlotte could hear was her heart in her ears.
She watched intently, terrified that he was telling the lad she shouldn’t be playing or that she was a harlot or somehow denouncing her, and perhaps she would deserve it because who was she to be wearing men’s trousers in public and playing like a child in the grass?
A graceless, inelegant thing, that’s who. Someone that a man like the duke could never want, could never love, even if she wanted him to. Even if she could let down her walls long enough for him to gain access.
The duke trotted back to Stewart, pulled off his gloves, shrugged off his jacket, and handed them to him. The boy, meanwhile, raised his arm in the air to attract attention. Charlotte watched the entire thing play out in wide-eyed fascination.
“All right, lads,” the boy called. “The gentleman is joining us! Ernie—give him your bat.”
“But—”
“But the man’s a duke! Give him your damned bat!”
Charlotte’s mouth hung open in sheer surprise as Ernie grudgingly handed over his bat. The duke took it and marched over to the batter’s stand to take his place.
“I’ll see you back at the house, then, Your Grace,” Stewart called from atop his horse.
“Just leave my tailcoat by my horse,” the duke called back, but his eyes were on Charlotte.
He stared at her intensely. Or was it the ball he stared at? She couldn’t be sure, but neither did she care. All her tension had melted away, replaced by unabashed joy that he was joining in. So few gentlemen would do so, thinking themselves better than these boys or too good to get their shiny boots muddy. Perhaps there was hope for this man after all.
She smiled a wide smile. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Your Grace?”
“Take careful aim, my lady, for I will knock it into the trees!”
By the end of the afternoon, the duke’s face shone with a thin sheen of sweat. Charlotte had no doubt that hers did, too, but the afternoon had equally been filled with laughter and friendly competition. As the game came to an end, they each shook hands with the opposite team.
“I guess you are the better cricket player, my lady,” the duke said as his hand touched Charlotte’s.
A thrill of electricity shot through her, the warmth of his touch bringing her alive. “But you gave me a good run for my money,” she replied.
She avoided his gaze, worried that if she looked into his eyes, she might fall in, lost in a dream. She wondered if he had the same flushed cheeks after other forms of exertion—whether lovemaking exhausted him in the same way as cricket. The way he had yielded the bat, firm in both hands, had sent a shiver down her spine as she imagined him holding her.
“But alas, it’s time to return to the real world.”
She looked up at him and pouted. “Oh, must we really?”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid we must. They shall be wondering where we are. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather like to bathe before this evening. Your guardians arrive this evening, do they not?”
Charlotte groaned. “Don’t remind me. But yes, I suppose I ought to make myself presentable. Aunt Lydia would be horrified to know what I was up to today.”
“As would most people,” he said. He raised his eyebrows as if he disapproved and for a moment, her heart stopped. But then he leaned in and whispered, “but not me. I thought it was delightful.”
