Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte clung to Ewan’s hand as she stepped from the carriage. The town of Donburrow was a bustling place, with a thriving inn for travelers, several shops and a village of residents who all seemed to pause to tip their hats to the duke.
She smiled at the deference they showed, though there was part of her that was frustrated. Here Ewan believed he was seen as damaged by all who met him, but his people clearly respected him. His friends adored him. It was like the negative things said and done to him held so much weight that he tossed the positive aside.
Including her.
She sucked in a breath. She was not going to go down that road in her mind. She’d been very careful to be benign on her topics of conversation on the half an hour ride to town. She’d wanted to launch herself into his arms, but had resisted. They’d spoken on the weather and the holiday and compared news of all their friends.
It had been comfortable and normal. Just as she’d intended it to be, in the hopes that he would see how easy their connection could be. How easy and normal their life could be.
“Swords and dollies,” she said, sliding a hand into his elbow and squeezing gently. “Lead the way.”
He saluted her with his free hand and they meandered their way up the street to a general shop called Griffin’s Emporium. He opened the door for her and the little bell above jangled as they stepped into the warmth. She tugged her gloves off and tucked them into her reticule as she looked around her with a smile.
It wasn’t a fine shop like those in London, but it was lovely and cozy, with a wide variety of items within. She moved through the tables of merchandise, fingering a rim of a hat here and picking up a book there.
She felt Ewan watching her, but she refused to return the gaze. Let him watch. Let him long as she was longing.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” came a voice behind her. She turned to watch a thin man come out from the back of the shop. He had a curling mustache and a hawkish stare that flitted from Ewan to her as he came with hand outstretched to Ewan.
“What an honor to have you here, Your Grace. An honor!”
Charlotte pursed her lips slightly at the slavish tone of voice the man used. Deferent to the point of boot licking, and the same one she’d heard used toward her brother, her father, her husband and all her brother’s friends over the years. Some with a title might like it, but it had always been like nails on a chalkboard for her.
Ewan scribbled something on his pad and the man glanced down at it. Charlotte thought she caught a tiny sniff of disgust that he hid as he said, “Ah, Lady Portsmith, I’m Martin Griffin, proprietor of this shop for nigh thirty years. His Grace says that you are here looking for a few items for the holiday. A last-minute shopper, are you?”
Charlotte tamped down her ill feelings about the silly man and forced a smile. “His Grace is absolutely correct. I’m actually finished with my own holiday shopping, but I’ve made some promises to the tenants on the estate that I cannot break. I’m here on the search for dolls and wooden swords. Might you have a few?”
The man’s forehead wrinkled as if he didn’t understand. “For the tenants, you say?”
She nodded. “Yes. There are five little girls and three boys.” She sent a glance to Ewan. “That is correct, isn’t it? I haven’t missed anyone?”
He signed, “You are right.”
She smiled back at the shopkeep. “I hope you have what I need.”
He fidgeted slightly. “Well, I have a few. Let me go in the back and see how many of each I am in possession of.” He gave Ewan another look before he scurried to the back of the shop.
Charlotte pursed her lips as she slid back toward Ewan. “Griffin is…”
“Ridiculous,” Ewan signed with a sigh. “A leftover from my father’s time. He bends over backward, but the deference is false. But his is the general shop, so I keep up the relationship as best I can.”
“A challenge, I’m sure,” she signed, and moved closer to him. It was impossible not to. He was a draw she couldn’t ignore. “Thank you for taking me here and enduring him.”
Ewan held her stare for a beat, two, too long for her not to see the longing in his eyes. The same longing called her back to him, trembling for his touch and his kiss and everything else he claimed must be withheld.
“My lady, it does seem I have what you require,” Mr. Griffin said, his voice tight behind her.
She forced herself to break away from Ewan and smiled at the pile of toys Mr. Griffin now had laid out on the counter before him. “Oh, excellent, I’m so pleased,” she said.
“What else can I get for you or for the duke?” the shopkeep asked.
She was about to close out her order, but before she could, Ewan’s driver stepped into the shop. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but Anthony Alberts just hailed me down on the street. He wished to speak to you about the horses.”
Ewan nodded and turned back to Charlotte. “Alberts is bringing in thoroughbreds this summer and he’s considering putting them up in my stable. I need to speak to him,” he signed.
“Of course,” she responded as she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Take your time. I’ll shop a little more here. You can fetch me when you are finished with your business.”
He offered her a grateful smile, then followed his driver out the door. Charlotte turned back to Mr. Griffin. “I’ll look around, if that suits you.”
The shopkeep was watching her through a narrowed gaze, but immediately nodded. “Of course, my lady. What an honor to have the Countess of Portsmith in my shop.”
Charlotte barely held back a sigh as she began to peruse the variety of items around her. Most were not anything she could use or gift to anyone else, but she kept her eyes on the merchandise so as not to encourage a depth of conversation with Mr. Griffin.
That did not seem to stop him from edging around the room as she did, staying in her line of sight at all times. She was ready to simply leave and go to the milliner’s when she caught sight of an item in the jewelry case that made her stop. It was a silver notebook, one that could be refilled with paper. The detail work on it was lovely, with swirls and crests.
“May I see that piece there?” she asked, pointing at the item behind the glass.
“Certainly, my lady,” he agreed, and slid the case open to pull the notebook out. “Sterling, you know. A fine item. Fine enough for any lord or lady.”
She ignored his prattling and picked it up. It was a rather large piece, but would likely fit perfectly in Ewan’s hand. She opened it. There was paper inside and a small space for a pencil.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “Do you do engraving?”
Griffin was watching her, and he seemed taken aback by the question. “I could manage that, of course. I assume you’d like it delivered by Boxing Day?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He arched a brow. “That would cost a bit extra, for the trouble.”
She lifted her gaze to him and found him smirking at her. Her dislike for the man grew. “That would be fine. May I write to you what I’d like engraved?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling from beneath the counter a sheet of paper and a quill pen with a bottle of ink. “Take your time.”
She stared at the blank page and then scribbled a few words before she handed it back. She watched Griffin read over what she’d said and his eyes widened. She blushed, for her private message to Ewan was now intruded upon by this grasping little man.
“I’ll wrap up the rest, shall I?” he asked, pointing to the pile of swords and dolls.
She nodded and moved to the counter area so she could give him the address for the bill later. Griffin took his time wrapping her items in paper, and as he did so, he said, “May I ask you a question, my lady?”
She shifted, for his tone made her uncomfortable. It was voyeuristic, crude even. “I suppose,” she responded, keeping her own voice cool and distant.
“I noted that you and the duke seemed to communicate in some kind of hand waving,” he said.
She stiffened. “We have a hand language, yes.”
“Very interesting. I don’t know if that is an improvement over his scribbling or not,” Griffin said, lifting his gaze to her. She felt it roll over her in a most inappropriate way.
She glared at him. “You may want to keep in mind to whom you are speaking.”
“Yes, I suppose I should. After all, it seems as though you two are very close.”
She frowned. “You are forgetting yourself, Mr. Griffin. My friendship with the Duke of Donburrow is really none of your concern.”
He handed over the bound parcel of her things with a snide smile. “Perhaps not. Still, one cannot help but take an interest.”
She lifted her chin, unwilling to spend even one more moment with the bastard before her. “Send the bill to His Grace’s man of affairs and they will forward it to me. Good day, sir.”
She turned on her heel and marched from the shop. She was pleased to be carrying a parcel so the nasty man couldn’t see her hands shaking as she walked away. The cool air from outside hit her and she sucked in the sharp bite of it, like she could clear her lungs of the dirtiness she’d felt inside.
Ewan was coming across the lane from his meeting and she settled her breath carefully. He smiled at her, and she knew in that moment that she would not tell him what had transpired in the shop. Having Mr. Griffin point out her connection to Ewan and worse, make a comment on Ewan’s mutism, was not going to make him happy. He would feel conspicuous every time he saw the man.
In addition, Ewan might create a scene on her behalf. That would only cause more talk and discomfort. So she brightened her face and her tone as he reached her. “Did you have enough time?”
He nodded as his driver came to take her parcels. Ewan signed, “I did. The arrangements have been made. Is there anything else you’d like to do before we head back?”
“No,” she said swiftly, forcing herself not to glance back at the store. “I think I have everything I need.”
His brow wrinkled, but he didn’t push the issue, just opened the carriage door and assisted her in. But as she settled back into her seat for the drive back to his home, she couldn’t help but feel that whatever had just happened at the shop was not completely resolved.
And that scared her even though she didn’t fully understand why.
Ewan stared at Charlotte, but she continued to look out the window. Under any other circumstance, he might have decided she was simply enjoying the view of his estate as they rode alone, or thinking about her holiday plans.
But there was something about the way she sat, the way her hands clenched in her lap, the way she seemed to abjectly avoid his stare that made him feel there was something more to her behavior. He leaned forward and hesitated.
She had not put her gloves back on after the shop. He had removed his, as well. When he touched her, it was going to be skin on skin, and that felt so very dangerous right now. It had been hours since he kissed her. Since he felt her body pressed against his. It felt like a lifetime, and he was starved for her taste on his lips, her warmth on his skin.
He drew a deep breath and caught her hand, desperate not to react to the electric connection that arced between them. His touch forced her to look at him, and it was clear from her dilated pupils that she was just as moved as he was by the physical connection they now shared.
“What is it?” he signed.
She tilted her head and a smile brightened her face. But this was Charlotte. He had made a life out of the study of her expressions and moods. This smile was not real. None of them had been real since the moment he left her in Griffin’s shop.
“What is what?” she asked. He tilted his head and held her stare, not signing, not demanding, just waiting. She huffed out her breath. “Gracious, don’t do that.”
“What?” he signed with a flick of his wrist.
“Read me like I’m a book in your library,” she said, tugging her hand from his. She smoothed her skirt. “I promise you, nothing is wrong.”
She was lying and it stung. It shouldn’t have. In truth, he shouldn’t be the place she took her troubles. He’d already told her why a future wasn’t possible for them. To demand that she give him something as deep as her pain wasn’t fair now.
But he still wanted it, damn him. He still wanted to be the place where she rested her head or whispered her secrets. He never wanted her to take those things someplace else. To someone else.
“Did Griffin say something to you?” he signed slowly. Her gaze darted away and it answered his question. He sat back, quiet a moment before he carefully spelled out, “When my father took me here years ago, back before the abandonment, he’d take me to Griffin’s shop. They’d talk about me like I wasn’t there.”
She shut her eyes and a shudder went through her. Not of pain, though. Not of embarrassment. No, when she opened her eyes, there was only one emotion there: rage. She was angry.
“I wouldn’t have spent a farthing there if I’d known,” she snapped, folding her arms. “Awful man.”
He shrugged. “His shop gives a job to two men in my shire.”
“And that makes his horrible behavior acceptable?” she asked.
He scrubbed a hand over his face before he signed, “My job as duke is to protect those in my care. What would you have me do, march into his shop and destroy his merchandise? Raise his rent until he had to go?”
There was a wicked twist of her lips for a moment. “He’d deserve no less.”
He felt his cheeks burn as he signed, “I don’t know what he said to you about me to get you so vengeful on my behalf, but I’m accustomed to it, Charlotte.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she whispered.
“But I am.” He leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. “You prove my point by despising him. If you had a life with me, I can well picture you’d spend it slaying dragons on my behalf. You’d hate me for it after a while.”
He began to draw away, but she caught both his hands and kept him on the edge of his seat. She scooted forward too so they were face to face. Nose to nose.
“Ewan, if I had a life with you, I would gladly live it slaying your dragons. I would expect you to slay mine. Ask James and Emma or Simon and Meg or Graham and Adelaide—I think they would say that is what love is.”
He shut his eyes, as if he could block her out that way. But he couldn’t. She was tenacious, as always, and she kept talking.
“You want to pretend that I don’t love you. Or think that if you refuse to accept it that it will hurt me less. But look at me.”
He slowly opened his eyes. Hers were filled with unshed tears and his stomach turned at the sight. He shook away her hands. “I don’t want to cause you pain.”
“Then let me love you,” she whispered. “Take a chance that love won’t be anything like what you experienced in your past. Give me the credit that I could be better. That we could be better.”
His head spun. She was saying things that he wanted to surrender to.
“You don’t have to answer me,” she said, tracing his cheek with her fingertips. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But I hope you’ll think about what I’m saying. Really consider what I’m offering and what you are so easily throwing away.”
He wanted to argue that nothing about this was easy, but she didn’t allow it. She leaned forward and kissed him. It was deep, passionate, and his mind emptied as he caught her waist and pulled her even closer, almost off the seat. She tilted her head, granting him all the access he could want, making soft sounds of pleasure in her throat as their tongues tangled.
He wanted to take it further. To draw her into his lap and claim her body as he kept telling himself he couldn’t claim her heart. But the carriage slowed and stopped, and he pulled back to find they had arrived at his home.
She smiled again, but this time there was nothing false about it. She touched his cheek once more and slid back into place, like they’d never done anything inappropriate, like everything was fine and normal.
But it wasn’t. He knew it. She knew it. The time they’d spent alone together had changed everything, no matter how he’d tried to convince himself that he could ensure it didn’t. Now he just had to decide what to do about it.
Before it was too late.