As she parted herself, probing her secret chamber, the water flooded into her. She mewled, shifting her weight, and then teased herself as she had trained herself to do. That feelingthat only the duke could evoke in her built, twisting and pulling and tightening.
She replayed the moment when his fingertip touched her nipple, the way it made her feel, the way she had shuddered at his touch. The way she wanted him to stop but never to stop all at the same time.
She replayed it over and over until finally, the thread snapped. Charlotte pushed her head against the hardness of the tin, pushing her lips together as hard as she could to prevent herself from crying out. This strange sensation, the one she had discovered in the dark, alone, it overwhelmed her. It was stronger now than it had ever been, stronger still when she pictured the duke.
Finally, her body relaxed, and she slumped deeper into the bath, the water splashing over the side. She allowed herself a minute to catch her breath but no longer. If she waited any longer, she would be consumed once more by shame. Instead, she got up, wrapped herself in the towel, and called for the maid to help her dress for dinner.
“Ah, there she is, our beautiful niece,” Uncle Elliot said as she walked through the door to the drawing room. She had dressed in a gown of fine scarlet red silk and draped a lace shawl over her shoulders. It was quite different to the muddy trousers she had just changed out of.
“Good evening, Uncle Elliot, Aunt Lydia. I’m so pleased you got her safely.”
“We were wondering where you’d got to,” Aunt Lydia said. “You were dangerously close to being late for dinner. And what have you done to your hair? I can see several strands falling out of their pins already!”
Charlotte ducked out of the way as Aunt Lydia leaned into the ‘fix’ the hairstyle that Charlotte happened to like. “Yes, sorry I was late,” she said. “I took a little nap this afternoon.”
“Oh, I do hope you’re not feeling unwell?” Uncle Elliot asked.
“Not at all. Planning a wedding is tiring, nothing more.”
She picked up a glass of wine from a passing maid and took an immediate sip as she surreptitiously scanned the room for the duke. The rich taste of the Bordeaux reminded her somehow of him, and she frowned, annoyed at the way she seemed to make that link with absolutely everything. She turned and smiled to her aunt and uncle, more at ease now that she couldn’t see him.
“I trust you had a good journey?” she asked.
“It was bearable,” Aunt Lydia said.
“It was perfectly fine,” Uncle Elliot added. “We stopped off at this lovely little coaching house that served the most tremendous chicken pie. Didn’t we, Lydia?”
“It was acceptable,” she replied.
Charlotte smiled. Her aunt rarely showed appreciation for anything. She had grown somehow bitter as she aged. But Charlotte didn’t mind it. If anything, at the moment, her aunt and uncle provided the stability she needed, the ‘normal’ life that didn’t include thoughts of naked men or the duke’s hand brushing against her breast. It felt a welcome relief against the confusion she’d been feeling, though she was certain she would bore of it soon.
“There are a lot of people here,” Uncle Elliot said.
“Yes. I didn’t know this many people could fit in a single house,” Charlotte replied in jest. “But it shall be a wonderful day tomorrow, and if anyone deserves a true celebration, it’s Chelsea.”
“Ah yes,” he beamed. “It is going to be a lovely wedding by all accounts. It is nice to be doing something happy for a change.”
“It’s only a shame they decided not to marry in London,” Aunt Lydia muttered. “It would have saved a great deal of hassle for a great number of people.”
“But then you would never get out of the city, Aunt Lydia,” Charlotte said with a weak smile. “And it does us all good to get out now and then, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” she replied, though her tight lips told Charlotte she didn’t agree.
Maids and footmen circled the room, carrying trays ofhors d’oeuvresand tall, thin champagne flutes. Dinner would no doubt be some time later, and this gave the guests a chance to mingle. Aunt Lydia quickly became caught up in conversation with another, equally sour looking woman that Charlotte didn’t know and before long, her Uncle Elliot began chatting to an elderly gentleman about the state of the banks these days.
She was left quite alone with her thoughts, and that terrified her. The more time she gave her thoughts, the more power they seemed to yield over her. She disliked the duke intensely and yet… yet she wanted him. His behavior infuriated her. He seemed to skulk around, to tease her with his eyes, to always be amused by her. But she was drawn to him in ways she had never before been drawn to anyone.
And his touch is more than I can bear if I ever wish to control myself.
To distract her from these thoughts, Charlotte moved around the room, weaving between the throngs of people, smiling but not allowing herself to be drawn in.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Charlotte froze at the voice whispered just behind her. He was far too close for any situation, let alone when they were surrounded by others.
“Your Grace,” she whispered back, though she didn’t turn to look at him.
The air around them became thick, the scent of him filling her nostrils.
