What the Duke Wants

Chapter Two




Carlotta glanced about her room, still shocked that it had been assigned to someone under employ. The large bed boasted the softest feather mattress and the light blue of the walls gave the room a relaxing atmosphere. How strange, she thought, to feel so at ease in a duke’s private residence. She almost laughed out loud, if not for the tiny fear that someone might hear. She walked to the dressing table and sat. In short work, she unbound and re-twisted her hair into a respectable and much tidier knot at the back of her head. A wave of sadness crashed over her at the remembrance that there would be no season for her, no beautiful gowns, no gentlemen asking for dances, no stolen kisses. But at least she wouldn’t go hungry, and with any luck, Mr. Burrows would find a tenant for Garden Gate. No, she would be thankful for small blessings, for the small blessings added up into large ones. Indeed, things could be far worse.

A knock on her door brought her head up and she rose. “Yes?”

“It is I, Mrs. Pott, dear. Your belongings just arrived,” the housekeeper answered as she let herself into the room.

“Thank you.”

“I, er…” Mrs. Pott stuttered, her cheerful face slightly pinched in concern. “I’m afraid some of your clothes were, shall we say, damaged, in some sort.”

“Yes, I’m aware. It was why I was hesitant for you to collect them. You see, on my way to London, my trunk fell and opened on impact. My dresses and—other things—didn’t manage too well against the mud on the road.” Carlotta felt her face flush with humiliation.

“You poor dear! How wretched! I’ll have them laundered and pressed at once. Whatever can’t be salvaged we shall discard and I’ll endeavor to have new dresses made to replace them.”

“There’s no need, I’m sure what I have will suffice.” The last thing she wanted was to be an imposition.

“Oh fustian! Remember, my dear, your employer is the duke. We cannot have you looking like you work for anyone less.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought—”

“Not to worry, dear. You’ll get used to it. Now, shall I introduce you to the girls?”

“Yes.” Carlotta exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Very well, follow me and I’ll take to you them.”

Carlotta followed Mrs. Pott’s plump figure down the hall and to the left. It was oddly quiet for there being three children about. She expected Mrs. Pott to lead her to another floor, but rather, she paused in front of a large wooden door and knocked softly. Carlotta watched her expression soften. “Girls? I’ve your new governess with me.”

The door cracked open slightly. Two very large brown eyes glanced out warily.

“Yes m’um.” The door continued to open.

Mrs. Pott cut a glance to Carlotta, speaking volumes. She would need to tread carefully.

They entered a large salon decorated in a cream color. A cheery fire danced in the hearth, but the tone, the overall feeling of the room was one of despair. Carlotta focused on the two other girls sitting together on the settee, holding hands. The third girl joined them shortly. Clearly older, she placed a protective arm around the other two as she watched their approach with careful consideration.

It was apparent they were all sisters. Three pairs of chocolate colored eyes were all framed in dark feathery eyelashes. Wide lips were thinned in a wary line and their chestnut hair was plaited neatly and in a similar fashion. In all truth, they looked like the very same girl but in different stages of life. The youngest couldn’t be older than seven and the middle one looked to be about ten or eleven. The oldest was perhaps fourteen but that was uncertain. She was in the first bloom of a young lady but her eyes seemed older, wiser. Pained.

“Beatrix, Bethanny, Roberta? This is Miss Standhope. She is to be your governess,” said Mrs. Pott by way of introduction.

“Berty, my name is Berty,” the youngest corrected with a scowl before being hushed by her older sister.

“Yes, well.” Mrs. Pott tried to hide a grin.

“Hello, sweet girls. I’m pleased to meet you.” Carlotta spoke quietly. Then on impulse, she took a few steps to get closer. Crouching down, she met them at eye level. “Truly, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. You’re all entirely lovely and I’m sure we’ll get along quite well.”

Berty, the youngest, smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. However, the older two simply nodded, their expressions inscrutable.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Dinner will be shortly.” Mrs. Pott left, closing the door behind her.

“Now then, can you please tell me which of you is Beatrix and which one is Bethanny?” Carlotta asked, standing.

“I’m Beatrix,” the middle girl stated, her voice was deeper than Carlotta expected, a true mezzo.

“I’m Bethanny,” the oldest spoke next, her voice clear and pure.

“I’m Carlotta but you must call me Lottie. It’s ever so much easier than Carlotta,” she said with a grin.

“I like you,” Berty stated.

“Well I like you as well.” Carlotta reached out and patted the girl’s shoulder tenderly. “So, why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves? Bethanny? Would you start please?”


“Well, I’m sixteen. I’m fond of reading and have done quite well with my embroidery.”

“How ladylike.”

“Thank you. Momma—”

She stopped, her eyes darting to her lap as she bit her lower lip. The two other girls took similar postures.

“Your mother? Was embroidery important to her?” Carlotta went out on a limb, hoping she wasn’t hurting their fragile relationship.

“Yes,” came a low whisper.

“You know, I lost my parents as well when I was about your age, Bethanny,” said Carlotta, keeping her voice gentle.

All three girls gave her their rapt attention, pain and understanding clear on their faces.

“Really?” Beatrix asked.

“Yes, they took ill. My mother died of pneumonia and my father took to his bed shortly after. I think perhaps, he didn’t know how to live without my mother. He died about a month after her. “

“That’s horrid.” said Berty.

“It was indeed.”

“What did you do?” asked Beatrix.

“I wept…a lot. Tears clean your soul, you know. They help wash away the pain. And with time, the pain becomes less and less. You forget how sad you are and remember how happy you were when they were alive.”

“I miss Momma and my father too,” Berty confided.

“I’m sure you do.” Carlotta reached up and smoothed a stray lock of chestnut hair on the child’s head. “But you’re not truly alone. You have your sisters. And together you can all remember all the lovely things about your parents that made them so special. And as you get older, you can share the most delicious secrets together, and encourage one another.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Bethanny said, a thoughtful expression flitting across her beautiful face.

“It is true.”

“Do you have sisters, Miss Lottie?” Beatrix asked.

“No. I always wished I did. So you see how lucky you are?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now. Tell me about yourself, Beatrix.” Carlotta coaxed.

“I’m eleven, and I hate to read. I’d much rather be outside. I love riding but…” She leaned forward as if to impart some great secret.

Carlotta leaned in, an indulgent smile tickling her lips.

“I hate sidesaddle. Father let me ride astride, like a boy!”

“Heavens!” Carlotta feigned shock, her lips spreading into a grin.

“Truly! But he always said as I grew older I’d need to learn sidesaddle.” She pouted.

“That’s wise.”

Beatrix regarded Carlotta with a curious expression. “Do you ride sidesaddle?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you can teach me.” She nodded.

“I’m sure there will be a great many things we’ll learn from each other.” Carlotta replied. “Now then, little Berty, your full name is Roberta, correct?”

“Yes, but I hate it. Roberta.” She said the name in a whine. “It’s just a boy’s name with an ‘a’ at the end. Honestly, couldn’t Mother think of a proper girl’s name for me? They said they were glad I was a girl but I think they wanted a boy. You know, to name him Robert. They were stuck with me so they just added an ‘a’ to the end.”

“My.” Carlotta blinked, not quite sure how to address such a statement. “I’m sure your parents were thrilled to have another girl. And, I’ll have you know, Roberta is quite a popular name for a girl. You’re parents didn’t just make it up on a whim.”

“That’s what I keep telling her.” Bethanny rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t like it. Call me Berty, please.”

“Fine, Miss Berty. You know, you even look like a Berty, now that I think of it.”

“I always thought so too.” The seven-year-old nodded sagely.

“Now then, shall I tell you about myself?” Carlotta asked the girls.

“Yes!” Berty shouted while the other two nodded.

“Well, I’m a bit older than your oldest sister, so I’ll have plenty to teach you. I’m versed in Latin, French, and all the other studies you’ll need to learn. But also of equal importance, I’ll be teaching you how to be ladies of quality. Was your father titled?”

“Yes, he was a baron,” Bethanny said.

“So was my father,” Carlotta spoke before thinking.

“Then why—” Bethanny’s expression was confused.

“It’s not important. You are now the wards of a very powerful and influential duke. You’ll need to be properly trained in the ways of the London elite.”

“Will we go to balls?” Beatrix asked, her eyes alight.

“I’m sure you will.”

“And drink champagne?” Berty said enthusiastically.

“When you’re much older. So you see, you have so many wonderful things to look forward to.”

“I suppose.” Bethanny nodded with a thoughtful expression.

A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Carlotta answered.

Murray entered. “Dinner is served.”

“Lovely. Thank you.” Carlotta stood, her charges mimicking her movements.

“Let’s follow Mr. Murray while he escorts us to dinner.”

They went down the hall and soon the heavenly fragrance of roasted duck with some sort of rich sauce assaulted Carlotta’s senses. It had been an age, it seemed, since she had enjoyed a proper meal. At least since the fretful day Mr. Burrows had come to call. She’d found her appetite had quite disappeared, and then when it returned, she was already on her way to London and the fare she procured wasn’t of the tempting variety.

They entered a gilded dining room with gleaming picture frames and polished sconces that reflected the candlelight in a deep glow. Velvet-covered chairs of deep crimson offered soft and luxurious respite as they all sat down to the table. While the room was large enough to accommodate at least fifty, the extra leaves had been removed from the table, which made it much smaller, though still far too large for the small party about to dine.

Dinner was served with a grand flourish, each dish as beautifully displayed as it was delicious. Carlotta kept her eye on the girls, watching their table manners and tucking little observances into the back of her mind for later instruction. A voice boomed in the hall, startling her.

“I don’t care if it’s the bloody Noah’s flood! They can’t be here tomorrow! I’m… entertaining,” the dominant male voice shouted, clearly the duke and therefore not accustomed to other people in hearing distance within his own home.

Carlotta heard Murray’s voice but was unable to distinguish his words. It was quiet then, too quiet. Carlotta glanced at the girls. They were all staring at their plates, their eating long ceased as they clearly understood the meaning behind the loud shouts.

They weren’t wanted.

And nothing could have angered Carlotta more. Right then she decided, regardless of what Mrs. Pott said about the duke caring about his servants, all the gossip concerning him had to be truth. He was arrogant and thought only of himself. Truly, it was maddening for someone with so much power, wealth and influence to be so concerned with just himself. However, she didn’t need the girls sharing her opinion, though she rather thought they’d figure it out soon enough. As their guardian, they needed to respect the duke, regardless.

“Girls, in spite of what you heard, remember that the duke is taking very good care of you. You’re fed, you have a warm place to sleep, and now you have me. I imagine it is quite a difficult adjustment for him as well. Let us have grace for, well, his grace. Shall we?”


****

Charles wiped his face with his white-gloved hand at the gentle and unaccountably forgiving tone of the woman just on the other side of the door. Thoroughly shamed, not only by his butler, who had calmly reminded him that his guests were nearby and therefore privy to his loud declaration, but now by the lowly governess also. There was only so much humbling a duke could survive without taking to an evening of fine brandy.

A copious amount of fine brandy.

Her words were gentle, but it was primarily what she said. In all of this, no one had even considered his feelings. As he thought of it, it did sound rather selfish. The poor girls had lost their parents and now were forced to deal with the likes of him. But still, it was a miserable adjustment for him, regardless of the fact that they’d be in Bath shortly. Before, all he had to worry about was his land, his title, and his person. Now, he had the lives—the destinies—of three young women, and as much as he truly was the monster the ton gossiped about, he wasn’t completely heartless. He took his job seriously, and those girls wouldn’t go without a single necessity or want. He’d make sure of it.

He listened closely, waiting to see if she’d speak again.

“Yes, Miss Lottie. I suppose your right. Truly, we’ve not even met him yet. So it wouldn’t be fair to judge him.”

“At least yet,” chimed in another voice.

Charles grimaced. He’d been avoiding them for a few days now, conveniently leaving before they were about and returning when he knew they wouldn’t be awake. He truly had no idea what to say to them.

So he said nothing at all.

“I’m sure his grace is quite busy.” The governess spoke again.

Was it his imagination or did her voice sound beautiful? Like it belonged to a beautiful woman, that was. He would know, he’d heard the voices of a great many women, most of them beautiful.

Curiosity captured his fancy and he decided that there was no time like the present, so he straightened his stature, tugged his gloves into place and took a deep breath. Pushing the door open, he was greeted by four gasps of surprise.

The young girls all looked remarkably alike, and strangely enough, reminded him of his mother’s portrait of when she was younger. His eyes then moved to the governess.

And his mouth went dry.

He would have to have a very serious word with Mrs. Pott.

Mentally, he ran over his requirements for a governess for the girls. Appearance had never been spoken about, but in his head, he’d been thinking along the line of someone like…well, like Mrs. Pott.

Not the tempting beauty regarding him calmly. Calmly? Shouldn’t she be at least mildly afraid? He was a duke after all, and his reputation did precede him. Surely, she knew, unless she was foreign?

“Hello, ladies.” He bowed crisply then strode over to the head of the table.

Murray appeared in short order, filling his wine glass and setting a place for him.

“Your grace,” the beauty replied, the girls echoing her voice in quick succession.

“I trust you are the new governess?” he asked.

“Yes, I was hired by your housekeeper just this morning,” she replied, clearly not foreign but proper English.

“Very good, and you lovely ladies, must be the misses Lamonts.”

“Yes, your grace,” they murmured in unison.

“I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of such lovely ladies.” He nodded, but his gaze slid over to the governess.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as if seeing through him.

Perhaps she did know his reputation then. No matter, in a few day’s time, at the most, she would be gone to Bath with the girls, removing the temptation.

****

As his bloody luck would have it, it rained. Not the typical English spring shower, but a monsoon-like torrential downpour.

And after the first day, he had tried to escape the confines of his house and ended up soaked before he made it to the second step, even with an umbrella. No longer feeling adventurous, he decided he needed to catch up on his business.

By mid-afternoon, his eyes blurry and fully ready to direct themselves somewhere other than fine print, he strode out to the library.

And found it already occupied. Before he was noticed, he began to close the door then paused.

“Miss Lottie? How do I waltz?” one of the girls asked, he assumed the oldest.

“Waltz? Well, first you should learn the cotillion, quadrille—”

“Oh! I know those! I just never… well we were going to learn the waltz next but…” Her voice trailed off, distinctly hesitant and… sad?

Belatedly he remembered the ward’s loss of their parents. He knew the empty ache of loss that accompanied the death of one’s mother and father, but he suspected that his wards had been far more attached to their parents than he had been to his.

“We shall remedy that, then.” The governess spoke again her tone overly bright, as if she had heard the sorrow as well. Carlotta. He practiced the name in his mind, letting its cadence float to his lips in a whisper. It was a beautiful name, a passionate name. The sound of it evoked the idea of color and desire.

It was not the name for a governess, he decided, but a temptress.

Which was all too accurate.

A governess masquerading as a temptress. Heaven help him.

“Now, Beatrix? Can you play the pianoforte for us? Slowly, if you please.”

“Yes, Miss Lottie.”

“Bethanny, I’m going to lead. But first, you must know that before you waltz, you must have permission from a patroness of Almack’s. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Lottie.”

“Now, then. My hand will hold your waist, and your hand will rest on my shoulder. Very good. Beatrix? If you will?”

The music began, painfully slow and all other instruction given was unclear. Charles stood to leave, took a full step away from the door and then—

She laughed.

It was a glorious sound, deep and rich, unabashed and unapologetic with a joy that came from deep within. It was artless, it was full, it was perfect.

Turning back around, he stared at the door, willing for the beautiful laughter to ring again.

He wasn’t disappointed, and to his amazement, he felt himself grinning, then chuckling as he heard the other girls join in with the governess’ amusement.

Unable to resist, he knocked.

Then entered, because well, it was his house.

“It seems that you are having entirely too joyful of a time in here,” he said as he entered.

The music stopped.

The girls stood up straight.

The laughter…ended.

And his grin left at the same time.

“Is there a problem, your grace?” the governess, Carlotta, asked.

“No, no problem. I seem to be needed, however.” He felt a roguish grin take the earlier one’s place as a wicked thought entered his mind. “It seems that you are attempting to teach a waltz, am I correct?” he asked, walking forward.

“Yes, your grace,” Carlotta responded, her clear green eyes alight with curiosity.

“It is very difficult to learn unless observed first. Er…” He turned to the oldest girl, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember her name.

“Bethanny,” Carlotta helped.

“Yes, Bethanny, have you ever seen a waltz?”

“Once, my parents showed me but it’s been quite a while, your grace,” she stammered, her cheeks high in color.

“Then allow me to assist.” He turned towards Carlotta, took three steps and held out his hands. “May I have the honor?” He bowed.


“Of—of, course, your grace.”

Her cheeks were blooming with a delicate shade of rose, her eyes widening in surprise as she caught her lower lip in her teeth in what appeared to be a show of anxiety.

Glancing over to the piano player, he lifted his chin and then lowered it, signaling for her to begin.

He placed his hand at Carlotta’s waist, squeezing it slightly as he drew her in so that their bodies were separated by a respectable distance. A moment later, her hand rested on his shoulder, even as her gaze was firmly set on the location of his cravat. After grasping her hand and arching it out, he began to lead.

And all semblance this waltz had to a million others he had danced in his past ended in a breath. He had danced with a great many women in his day, but none of them compared with her.

His hand burned where it touched hers, causing the heat to crawl up his arm, burst through his chest and ignite a passion he would rather have remained hidden. The scent of lemon and lilac rose from her skin, inviting and fragrant and intoxicatingly alluring. Her steps were light, her body the perfect size and shape, the shape being all too close to the forefront of his mind as his hand rested on her waist.

He guided her through the steps, using the subtlest of cues for his direction and finding her flawlessly attentive. Her steps were graceful, and though her gaze hadn’t lifted to his, he was shamelessly memorizing the heightened color of her cheeks, the delighted curve of her smile and her enjoyment made his complete.

Till she glanced up.

And he was reminded just how dangerous this dance could truly be. The music continued, reaching a crescendo that pulled him into the melody, and without forethought, he pulled her in tighter till he could feel her warmth.

Only when she stiffened and her gaze shifted back to his cravat did he realize what he was doing.

Only then did he remember that they had an audience.

A very young audience.

“That, Miss Bethanny, is how you waltz.” He slowly released Carlotta as the music ended, his gaze never leaving her face. Then he lost himself in her green depths as her gaze rose to meet his.

“Oh,” came Bethanny’s breathless reply.

“Thank you, your grace.” Carlotta curtseyed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was deeper, husky… affected.

“The pleasure was mine.” He bowed and then glanced away and into the faces of his three wards, all wearing very different expressions.

Bethanny’s lips were split into an excited grin. The one on the piano, Beatrix? She was blushing as she averted her gaze while she stacked her music and the youngest… Robert-something, started twirling with an invisible partner.

With a bow to the governess, he quit the room, his lips curving into a grin as he relived the sensation of her in his arms. But as soon as the delightful thoughts tumbled through his mind, he remembered her station.

And his.

And how foolish it was to entertain even the slightest attachment.

But bloody hell, if she wasn’t perfection in his arms, then he didn’t know what was.

****

“Let’s have some tea, shall we girls?” Carlotta said as soon as the door closed behind the duke. She needed something, anything to distract her from the spell he had expertly woven around them while they danced.

If she’d ever doubted the rumors of his nature before, she believed them now. The man had practically turned the waltz into a ruining experience.

It was delicious.

And wrong. Very, very wrong.

He was her employer, and a duke, for heaven’s sake! She could not let herself be affected by him.

She would not let him affect her.

“Miss Lottie! Do you think his grace will dance with me when I’m older?” Berty asked, her eyes wide with hope. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!” She sighed happily as she danced around the room, mimicking the waltz.

“Perhaps,” Carlotta answered, her composure returning as she watched Berty twirl.

“He’s a very good dancer,” Beatrix commented as she stood from the piano. “You both are. I hope I’m as graceful as you, Miss Lottie,” the girl added with a shy smile.

“I’m sure you’ll be much more graceful than I, Beatrix,” Carlotta answered with an answering grin.

“Is…I don’t mean to question, Miss Lottie, but was that how close the waltz is?” Bethanny asked, her brow pinched.

Carlotta felt her face flush. “Not exactly, when you dance you’ll want to maintain a bit more distance.”

“Why?” Berty asked, pausing in her dance.

“For propriety’s sake. The waltz is a very controversial dance, you see.”

“Why?” she asked, again. Carlotta was discovering it was the child’s favorite question.

“For many reasons, first, you are only with one partner not moving about like in a reel. Second, you are holding hands with the gentleman you are dancing with.”

“Oh. That was my favorite part.” Berty’s shoulders slumped.

“If it’s not proper though, why did you and the duke dance so close?” Beatrix asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

Carlotta opened her mouth to give some sort of reply, one she hadn’t quite thought up yet, and was interrupted.

“Because… he’s the duke and he may dance how he wants,” Berty answered with a decisive nod.

“And there you have it.” Carlotta nodded as well, thankful for the little girl’s statement.

“Now, I believe I mentioned tea?” She spoke with a smile. Anything to get their little minds off the most beautiful waltz she’d ever experienced.

****

It was day four of the horrific rain. And Charles was feeling all the good will of a spring stag. He had finished all his paperwork, his estate business and anything else he could find. There was one final piece of business to which he had to attend.

He fingered the thick envelope then called for Murray.

“Yes, your grace?” Murray asked, his lean face emotionless.

“Please have this delivered to the address specified. Immediately.”

“Very good, your grace.” With a bow, he left.

It’s done. Charles thought to himself, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders.

He couldn’t determine if it was the influence of having those wards in his home, or the allure of his pretty governess, but the thought of a mistress had turned decidedly sour.

It was an impulsive action, but one he didn’t regret. Céline had been very gracious, but… the idea left him empty, hungering for something more, something deeper. Something he didn’t quite understand or know how to attain but needed nonetheless. Taking the first step, he wrote the letter releasing her from his protection. No doubt she had quite a few gentlemen waiting for her availability. There was no worry about her welfare.

He felt lighter, somewhat confused at his rare inclination at emotion, but pleased nonetheless and so, with a somewhat sunnier disposition than the one with which he had begun the morning, he left his study and wandered down the hall.

And was immediately bored.

Blasted rain.

And, because he was curious and, indeed, he found it far too entertaining of a prospect, he wandered towards the nursery. He told himself it was not to see Carlotta, as he had taken to calling her in his mind, but to check on the wards. They were his responsibility, after all.

He chose not to remember that just a few days ago he was wanting to ship them off to Bath without ever having to set eyes on them again.

So, with a blissfully ignorant decision made, he paused at the nursery door and waited. It was curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more. But he was spending an awful lot of time pressed against doors recently. He smiled wryly. To think, Charles Evermore, Duke of Clairmont, listening through doors. What had the world come to?


But as much as he tried to deny the truth, it didn’t stick.

It was her voice. The soft melodic tones were full of life; unpretentious and free, they didn’t have a sharp edge or double meaning. It was astoundingly refreshing, like an unexpected English rain shower just when one was overly warm from a long ride through the countryside. He hadn’t even realized how jaded he’d become.

“Girls, wait here.”

The words barely registered in Charles’ mind before the door swung open, knocking him soundly on the forehead.

“Bloody—”

“What—oh! Your grace! Pardon me. I had… are you injured? Should I call for Murray?” Carlotta asked, her face etched in concern.

Charles studied her. Her eyes were wide with fear but also, concern. Her gaze roamed his features, no doubt searching for injuries. Her eyes focused on a point just above his brow.

“Your head.” She spoke softly, then reaching out she placed the softest touch to his forehead, grazing his skin before her eyes widened as if realizing just what she was doing. “I’m so sorry, forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive.” Charles nodded, but his body was still humming from her gentle touch. Like a shock, only infinitely more pleasurable, her touch had created the softest glow of warmth that started at his head and traveled through the rest of his body, slowly growing into the familiar burning of desire.

He swallowed. Now was not the time to think about bedding the help. Come to think of it, it wasn’t ever a good time to think of bedding the help.

“Was there something you needed?” Carlotta asked, her face still concerned.

Wrong question, because he could think of a great many things he… needed.

“I’m quite well. Just a… bump.” He winced as he touched the tender place on his forehead.

“Again, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need.”

Carlotta nodded, and turned to go back into the temporary nursery.

“Wasn’t there something you needed, Miss Standhope?” Charles asked smoothly, inwardly grinning that she was so flustered.

“Oh, yes. I’m needing, well, my hair pins actually.” She glanced downward, a humble smile teasing her lips.

Her very pink and delicious looking lips.

“Hair pins?” His curiosity completely piqued, he crossed his arms and waited for her to explain.

“Yes, it’s a game of sorts.”

“Very well, don’t let me stop you.”

She bobbed a curtsey and left.

He thought about leaving as well, but found himself too curious.

She returned shortly, and paused in walking through the door as her gaze rested upon him, sitting in a chair. He grinned at her expectantly.

“His grace wishes to play too!” Berty exclaimed, her face lighting up in a cheerful smile.

“My, well, I’m sure his grace will at least find our game diverting.” She spoke hesitantly as if she didn’t quite believe the words she was speaking, but said them nonetheless.

She laid out several pins, most of which were open in the shape of a ‘V’.

“This is how we play. Everyone select a pin.”

Everyone did, including Charles. He lifted his hand to cover his lips to prevent his grin from breaking through at the color blooming to his governess’ cheeks. The enticing shade of pink only heightened her beauty, causing his grin to falter. Forcing his thoughts back to the game, he cleared his throat, earning a questioning glance from the object of his desire.

She regarded him then continued explaining. “Now, I’ll place the rest of the pins on the table in a heap. Using your own pin, you must try to remove as many pins from the heap without moving any others, save the one you’re trying to remove. If you jostle the pile or move a pin other than the one you intended, your turn is over and the next person has a chance. The person with the most hair pins wins.”

“I think I remember a game like this, but I don’t remember stealing my mother’s pins to play it.” He spoke conspiratorially as he leaned slightly towards her. The air around her was fragrant, reminding him of lemons and honey. He inhaled deeply. Why couldn’t there be something about her that didn’t lure him? Why couldn’t she have smelled like damp clothing or boiled cabbage?

She stiffened as he lingered near her. “I’m improvising.” She spoke wryly.

Charles couldn’t suppress a grin.

The girls took their turns. Beatrix collected four pins, Bethanny secured six before moving the heap and thus losing her turn. Berty’s little pink tongue stuck out while she made a valiant effort to get two. Then it was Charles’ turn.

He studied the pile and began to select pins, withdrawing them one by one with practiced care. He collected ten, leaving only four on the table. He leaned back, raising a challenging brow to Carlotta, daring her to beat him.

“Miss Lottie! We haven’t enough pins!” cried Beatrix.

“I should have brought more back, but it’s no matter. His grace is the winner.” She offered him a bright smile.

Charles tried to ignore the stab of desire her beautiful expression gave him. “Miss Lottie,” he crooned, watching her eyes narrow slightly at the use of her shortened name. “I insist you try to beat my record. After all, I hate winning without a fair game.”

“I haven’t any more pins…” she replied, then paused as Charles gave a pointed look at her hair.

“I can’t very well take down my hair, your grace,” she replied, a bit of an edge to her tone.

Good, thought Charles, it was best if she had more of a prickly demeanor around him. It might remind him that he wasn’t interested.

Because he wasn’t.

At least that’s what he was telling himself that very moment. Though his body and mind weren’t in accord.

“Why ever not?” he asked casually, biting back a smirk at the annoyed glint in her eyes.

“Because,” she spoke carefully, though her eyes were flashing green fire. “I’m to train the girls in the way of proper society. A lady does not unbind her hair in the company of gentlemen.”

“Why not?” Berty asked.

“Yes, Miss Lottie. Why not?” Charles repeated the child’s question. At Carlotta’s disbelieving expression, he began to chuckle, earning him a glare.

“It, er, well it gives a feeling of… intimacy.” She blushed to the roots of her hair.

“But it’s just us! And the duke, but he’s old, Miss Lottie,” Berty quipped.

Charles choked and began to cough. Old! She thought he was old? Well, compared to a seven-year-old, he supposed he was…older. The idea of being old chafed him, yet it played into his little plan quite well.

“Er, yes, Miss Lottie. I’m quite ancient. Therefore, not a threat.” He grinned wolfishly.

“You are quite… advanced in your years,” she returned, her eyebrow arching.

That stung more than Charles would let on. Ever.

With a defiant gleam in her eye, she began to pull out her pins.

One by one.

If she were an opera singer, he would swear she did it as a ploy. But he was convinced of her thorough innocence, at least in that aspect. After all, no ruined woman would blush as easily as she. But as she took out each pin, Charles found himself unable to even swallow. Her hair tumbled down gently, curling and waving over her shoulders in a golden halo.

And the fragrance.

It was lemon and lavender, intertwined with a fresh scent he had no name for but knew was unique to her. It was far more potent than when he had leaned in earlier. Its potency was almost his undoing.


At last, the final pin was removed and she shook her head gently, letting the entirety of her beautiful mane settle.

Charles finally was able to swallow, but his mouth was dry. If he ever needed brandy, it was now. The ploy to tease had indeed turned on him.

With a small smile, she put the pins in a pile, equaling fourteen in all.

Grinning she began to extract them one by one till none remained.

“I believe you won, Miss Lottie.”

“I believe I did.”