He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the door, calling to mind the image of Susan in the green gown she’d worn to the opera tonight. She’d looked radiant, as she always did. Her small, lush form was barely contained by the gown’s rounded neckline and straight skirts.
And then when Lorrie had been injured in that ridiculous commotion, Susan had gone into the rain after their daughter before Mostyn had stepped in. Charles could not quite forget the way Susan’s skirts had clung to her legs when she’d climbed in the carriage.
He wanted her back. He wanted her body, but more than that, he wanted her heart.
And if he couldn’t muster the courage to take what he wanted now, he didn’t deserve her. Before he could turn and walk away, he knocked on the door and pushed down on the latch.
To his surprise, the door opened. He had expected it to be locked, though he never called on her and there was no reason for her to lock it. So when the door opened, he all but stumbled inside the pretty chamber done in greens and golds. Sitting at her dressing table, her maid brushing her long dark hair, Susan looked up, hazel eyes cool.
If she was surprised to see him, she did not show it. “Alice, leave us, please.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The woman who had been Susan’s lady’s maid for more than a dozen years gave a quick curtsy and all but ran from the room. This might very well have been the first time the servant had seen the duke enter the duchess’s bedchamber.
When the door closed and they were alone, Susan lifted her brush and pulled it through her hair again. “I assume you came to ask about Lorrie. I had Nell give her a warm bath and put her to bed. She is fine. Very little rankles that girl.”
Charles nodded. “She is much like her mother.”
Susan set the brush on the dressing table, turning to face him. She wore a white robe over a thin nightgown. He could not see the nightgown, but the V of the robe showed a generous amount of cleavage. Her breasts were still high and ripe, and he wondered if her skin would still smell faintly of roses.
“What do you want, Charles? Surely you have not come to claim your conjugal rights.”
She was nothing if not direct, and he was actually rather thankful for the opening. “And if I have?”
“I will tell you to go back to your bed.”
“Because your lover would object.”
“I have no lover at present. Wouldn’t your mistress object?”
“I have no mistress.”
“I see.” She rose with all the grace of a dancer, though she had the body of a goddess. “Am I to fill the gap until you find another light-skirt?”
Charles curled his fingers, anger seeping through him. How dare she act as though this rift were his fault? She was as guilty of infidelity as he. But if he allowed his anger to get the better of him, he might never have another chance to speak to her like this.
He took a breath, tried to calm himself. “The truth is, Susan, I don’t want another mistress.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and his pride with it.
She stared at him, uncomprehending.
“I don’t want any woman…other than you.”
She did not speak for a long, long moment. “Those are lovely words, but I think they come a few years too late. Go back to your room, Charles. You’re not welcome in my bed any longer.”
“I don’t want to take you to bed.”
When she lifted her brows, he spread his hands. “What I mean is, my purpose tonight was not to take you to bed. At the moment, all I want is to regain your affection.” He had hoped for some reaction from her, but she only stared at him with those cool hazel eyes. “I will fight for you, Susan.”
And he would fire the first salvo now. He took half a dozen steps until he was within arms’ reach of her, then he took her hand in his. Her skin was soft and supple and slightly moist from the cream she put on it before bed.
He bent his head to kiss her knuckles, then at the last moment, turned her hand and placed a kiss in her palm. The scent of roses wafted up to him, and he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be surrounded by it.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, his lips drifted upward until they caressed the skin at her wrist, where he felt her pulse flutter.
She snatched her hand away, and when he looked up at her, her face was impassive. “Goodnight, Duke.”
He bowed and left the room. Closing the door, he leaned against it and smiled. She might pretend she had been unaffected, but he had felt her pulse jump. He knew he could still fire her blood.
Now he just had to make her love him again.
*
Ewan stopped at Langley’s to change his clothing before returning to the Duke of Ridlington’s town house. He had brought clothing and a few other necessities to the duke’s establishment, but he had no desire to arrive mud-streaked and soaking wet.
By the time the Ridlington’s butler opened the door to him, it appeared most of the house was asleep. He saw no sign of the duchess or Lady Lorraine. The duke, wearing a banyan, emerged from his library, glass of amber liquid in his hand. “I wondered when you would reappear. What the hell happened tonight?”
Ewan held his head up. “I failed you, Your Grace. It won’t happen again.”
“Failed me? You pulled my daughter from the middle of two numbskulls so drunk they failed to notice the lady in their path. And then you went back and took them to task. I trust you didn’t kill the poor bastards.”
Ewan shook his head. The men were alive and whole, though the pain of their recovery might make them wish they were dead for a day or so.
“That’s not failure,” the duke explained. “Why didn’t you ride home in my coach?”
Ewan looked at his clean clothing. “I was wet.”
The duke laughed, and Ewan’s head jerked up. He was wary of laughter. It usually indicated he’d said something wrong. Again.
“We were all wet,” Ridlington explained without malice. “Next time, get in the bloody coach.”
Ewan nodded.
“You’ll sleep here tonight.”
“Yes,” Ewan said, though the duke hadn’t exactly asked a question.
“Good. We’ll have plenty to break your fast. You know where your room is?”
“I can find it.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ewan was left alone in the library. The house was quiet, and Ewan could only assume everyone had gone to bed. He was in no hurry. Sleep did not come easily to him, and when it did finally overtake him, it was not restful. The Survivors didn’t discuss the nightmares often, but even a lackwit like Ewan noticed the shadows under his friends’ eyes and the way many of them stayed at the club late into the night to avoid their beds.