Enjoy an exciting excerpt from
The Silent Duke,
out November 2017
Charlotte tossed her maid an apologetic look as the carriage jerked on the slippery, sleety road. Sylvie looked terrified and Charlotte couldn’t blame her. It was the very worst of conditions. Cold permeated the carriage and the blankets tucked around them and rain slicked down the windows, hardening to ice within moments so that one couldn’t rightly see outside.
Not that Charlotte needed to see the house to know it. When Ewan had inherited three years ago, his aunt had insisted on a ball to celebrate. She had come with Nathan and slipped away to memorize every line and cranny of Ewan’s home.
She shook her head and reached out to touch Sylvie’s hand. “We’re almost there now, dear.”
The girl’s teeth chattered as she said, “Y-Yes, my lady.”
And as if she had timed it out, the carriage came to a stop at that very moment and it rocked as their driver and footman began to climb down. Charlotte heard voices, both those of her servants and of others rushing to help. She released her maid’s hand and straightened up, her heart racing as those outside struggled with the door. Finally it burst open and a swirl of cold air greeted her. She turned her face away from it and when she looked back there was Hargrove Castle, Ewan’s estate, looming behind her driver.
“Be careful, my lady, the stairs are rightly slick,” Watson said as he offered her not one but two arms to support herself.
She gingerly stepped down onto the drive and stretched her back, ignoring the icy rain that slashed across her face and dampened her hair. “Home,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon, my lady?” Watson said over his shoulder as he helped Sylvie down the same way.
“Nothing, Watson. Do get as much help as you can with unloading. There is no rush, just be careful. I want no one hurt so that I can have extra gowns, do you understand?”
He faced her with a bow. “Of course, my lady. Would you like Reggie’s help up the stairs to the house?”
She glanced at the stone steps. “No, they look as though Smith has had them salted, smart man. I should be fine. And Sylvie, go in and warm up! There is truly no rush for my things.”
Her maid nodded and followed another servant around to the back entrance to the house as half a dozen men came rushing to help unload the trunks and portmanteaus.
The door opened as she reached the top and she raced inside the warm foyer. Smith was waiting for her and he shut out the cold and left her to drip onto his lovely, clean floor.
“Oh Smith, we have survived,” she said, laughing as she reached up to touch her wet hair. She likely looked like a drowned rat standing before him, but he smiled at her in welcoming nonetheless.
“My lady, how wonderful to see you,” he said, “May I take your coat and gloves? I do not see a hat?”
“I took it off in the carriage and like a ninny forgot all about it when I got out,” she explained. “I must have been too excited to be here.”
“And we are thrilled to have you, my lady. The roads are treacherous, we were worried.”
She nodded. “They were indeed. We slid the entire last quarter mile. I know my servants have earned a good warm meal and a rest after that.”
“We’re ready for them,” Smith assured her. “And their dinner shall be warming, indeed.”
He was likely going to ask her more. Ask her about tea or showing her to her room. But before he could, Ewan stepped into the foyer. Well, into it was going too far. He stepped up to the edge of the foyer and stopped, just staring at her from across the room.
And she stared back. She couldn’t help it. Every time she saw Ewan, he was more beautiful than the last time. He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders and trim hips. He had blonde hair but it was too long and he never wore it in a queue so it fell around his face. A face he tried to cover with a beard, but that never worked. There was no covering up perfection.
His brown gaze never moved from her and she swallowed hard as her body reacted to his presence and his stare and…just him. Always him. Only him. He was her everything and he had been for her entire life.
She shivered and shook off her thoughts. “You are lurking, dear Ewan,” she said, forcing herself to be light and airy so that he wouldn’t see that he made her shake far more than any stormy winter’s day could.
He smiled. A small smile but it brightened his face and made him even more handsome than before. It was quite unfair, really.
Smith nodded to her. “Excuse me, my lady, I will oversee the unloading.”
He left the foyer and then they were alone. She swallowed hard as Ewan stepped closer, closer until he was right in front of her, towering over her, staring down at her and smelling of warmth and man and clean skin.
“You’re soaked,” he signed in the old language they had concocted over the years. It had been meant to make it easier for him to communicate with his friends, but it had become so complicated that no one else seemed to be able to learn it.
And so, as Meg had suggested a week ago, it was theirs.
She shifted at the words he’d used. If only he knew. She was soaked, but not just from the storm. She wanted him. And his double entendre, even if it was unintended, did not help matters.
“I am,” she whispered, her voice husky in the quiet room.
There was a flicker over his face and then it was gone. He signed, “Smith will see to everything. Let me show you up to your room so you can get warm.”
She nodded. “That would be wonderful, thank you Ewan.”
They stood for a breath and then he slowly extended his elbow. She reached for him, everything coming in half-time and when she touched him, her body jolted with electric awareness. It was always like this with him.
He guided her through the foyer and up the stairs as she said meaningless words about the roads and the weather and the bridge that one had to cross to get to his estate.
He didn’t sign anything in response, but nodded in the appropriate places of her prattling. Finally they reached a door and he released her to open it. She stepped inside and took a breath. It was the same room where she had stayed on her last visit. A beautiful room that overlooked the garden and further off, the sea. Or it would once the storm stopped obliterating all evidence of the ocean in the distance.
When she had visited before the room had been plain, but now it was bright and happy. The walls were a soft pink color, there were somehow flowers on the table, despite the time of year. Everything was perfect.
And once again she got that sense that she was home.
She pushed it aside and turned toward him. “Lovely, Ewan. So beautiful.”
He held her stare for a beat too long and then nodded.
“When do you expect the others?” she asked, running a finger along the edge of a pitcher that had been set on the table beside the window. “I hope soon, for the roads are so very treacherous, I worry about Baldwin and mother and Matthew and your aunt.”
There was another flicker across his face and then he signed, “I’m afraid they may not make it, Charlotte. You see, my servants closed the bridge behind you after you crossed. It is too treacherous for anyone to try to make it over now. The rest will be stopped at the inn in Donburrow and accommodated there until it is safe to travel again.”
“Oh,” she said, blinking as shock settled over her at this unexpected news. “I see. Well, of course, the river was so high under the bridge, it could be overrun.”
He nodded. “It was last year.”
She continued, “And all that ice. So tomorrow then?”
He swallowed and she watched the action with fascination. Every move he made was so very…elegant. And yet still strong and masculine. Even a swallow obsessed her beyond reason or decorum.
“The rain is expected for a day or two more,” he signed. “It could take even more than that for the water to recede enough to pass the bridge. It might be up to a week before they can pass.”
Her mouth dropped open. What he was saying was sinking in and her reaction was so complicated that she could hardly parse terror from joy from excitement. “Oh. Oh, I see. Are you saying you and I will be…alone…for a week?”
He nodded and to her surprise his gaze slowly flitted over her from the top of her head to the hem of her skirt. In that one slow stare, she saw what she could not deny. Desire. Ewan did desire her, it seemed there was no seduction required to inspire that in him.
And suddenly this trip, this storm, everything that was happening seemed like…providence.
“Well you and I have always been good company to each other,” she said, trying to maintain some normalcy so she wouldn’t scare him off when she felt so very close to having what she wanted. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“I don’t mind,” he signed, quickly, without hesitation.
She nodded. “Very well. Then I’ll ready myself and see you at supper?”
“Seven o’clock,” he signed.
“Seven,” she repeated, proud that she could keep the tremble from her voice.
“I’ll have your maid sent up,” he signed. Then he gave her a little wave and left, closing the door behind himself.
When he was gone, she sagged against the table. Since her shocking talk with Meg last week she had been going back and forth about what to do when it came to Ewan. Take the chance on seduction or leave things be and never risk another rejection?
She hadn’t been able to make up her spinning mind on the subject, but now the universe seemed to have intervened on her behalf. Like some greater force wanted her to pursue this man.
To take the chance that had always seemed so impossible.
And in truth, she wanted that too. More than anything. More than breath. If this were to be her opportunity, she had to take it and hope that the results would be everything she’d ever hoped for or dreamed about.