Page 18 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

S eth reached for Charlotte’s mask, but she slipped just out of his grasp. He stilled—only for a breath—then surged forward, catching her by the waist and pulling her flush against him. Through the delicate veil of her mask, she met his gaze.

His emerald eyes bored into her own, eroding her will. His hands grazed up her sides, caressing and exploring in equal measure. His lips were inches from hers but separated by the feline facade.

“You do not mean it,” she whispered.

“I... I do,” he murmured, but falteringly.

Charlotte lifted the mask on her own. Her hand fell limply to her side, the disguise dangling from her fingers.

“Then why hesitate?” she pleaded. “Since I met you, I have seen nothing but contradictions. Our betrothal is arranged. Why? You agree to it, but push me away at every opportunity. Were the other betrothals arranged, too?”

He appeared anguished. She thought of the lost boy she had observed through the bookshelf at Hillcrest. Her heart broke for his sadness.

What is torturing him so? Does he not have a life that other men would kill for?

She ran her hand down the side of his face, pressing gently with her fingertips, touching and feeling him. She closed her eyes, picturing his face from the contours she felt. He turned his cheek into her touch as though craving more of it.

When she opened her eyes, he stood with his own tightly shut and an expression of pure rapture on his face. Her touch fell to his throat, savoring the feel of his smooth skin and the pulse of his heart against her fingertips.

“If only I could just enjoy this moment for what it is. If only I could just lose myself with you,” he sighed.

“And why can you not?”

She wanted the answer to be one that led him to abandon himself.

She wanted the barrier to come down. She had brought herself to this place to confront him, thinking to have a battle.

At the end of that battle, Charlotte had expected to be traveling first to the Prescott Estate and then back to Yorkshire.

The adventure would be over one way or the other.

Having arrived here, though, she felt as though she had once again fallen into the Duke of Bellmonte’s magnetism.

Their lips met, finally, after what seemed an eternity of waiting. His embrace tightened, drawing her powerfully against his masculine frame, holding her. That embrace would keep her safe against a horde. Against an army. Nothing could pierce the sanctity of those arms, of that brave heart.

Charlotte forgot herself and her sister.

She forgot her task, to impersonate Amelia.

She lost herself in the kiss. The glorious kiss.

She was spinning through the air and did not know if it was pure sensation or if Seth had actually picked her up.

The answer came when he sat back into the armchair with a thump, her upon his lap.

His lips nuzzled at her neck, biting and kissing in succession, never in the same place twice. She sighed, lifting her chin and exposing more of her throat to his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair when she wanted his lips upon hers again, drawing his head down.

When their lips met, it was with a furious passion. She moaned, a sound drawn out of her instinctively. She whispered his name and heard her sister’s whispered back.

No,” she replied faintly, shaking her head.

“ No ?” Seth whispered, frowning. “To what? To this?”

Charlotte froze in horror.

I was answering no to being called Amelia. I was about to tell him all, and for no reason other than not wanting him to think I am my sister while we...

“No!” Charlotte cried, suddenly keen to prevent Seth from thinking that she wished to stop.

But how could they continue?

“I mean, it is hardly appropriate if I do not even know your heart fully. Do you wish to marry me or not?”

Seth hesitated. It lasted only a heartbeat, but Charlotte spotted it. She rose regretfully.

Must I end this for Amelia’s sake? You have not given me any guidance to say that you wish to marry this man. And he blows hot and cold for you. I do not know which way to go.

Seth rose too, trying to keep her in his arms, but Charlotte stepped away determinedly.

“I do,” Seth pressed insistently.

“Then tell me the reason for your behavior. Convince me!” she implored.

“How can I convince you when you do not know me? Not really. A few meetings at society events. Dances and stilted conversations in the company of the rest of the damned ton.”

“Then give me the chance to get to know the real you,” she pleaded.

A knocking came at the door just then, and Seth roared in frustration.

“God’s teeth, am I to be given no privacy!”

A key swiveled in the lock from the other side, and the door opened a crack. Tewkesbury poked his head around it, looking down at the floor.

“Pardon the intrusion, old man, but it is of utmost urgency. Lady Nightingale was searching for you, and I... ah, I see she found you, and all is well.”

“All is not well with knocking at my door all night,” Seth snapped.

“Yes, well, as to that… Lady Nightingale did rather anger a patron… in a physical manner , and Mr. Catesby is quite upset. I thought it only fair to warn you that he is looking for her. He believes her to be a serving girl who has stepped well beyond the pale.”

“You slapped someone?” Seth quirked a brow.

“A drunken fellow who had the audacity to make suggestive remarks,” Charlotte bit back.

“The Duke of Hull,” Tewkesbury affirmed.

“That jackanape!” Seth snarled, “I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget!”

He started for the door, but Tewkesbury blocked it, bracing his arm against the door frame.

“Can’t allow it, old man. Hull is one of the wealthiest dukes in the kingdom, not to mention considerably influential. You would condemn both of your reputations. I suggest you take the Ladies’ Stair and exit the building by the back door.”

Charlotte took Seth’s hand, squeezing it.

“Please. Let us leave this frightful place at once.”

He glanced at her, then nodded reluctantly.

“You wish me to take you home?” he asked.

“And what insights would that give me?” she replied. “You said that I do not know the real man. The man that stands behind the title and the name. So show me. Take me somewhere dear to you. Whether that be a tavern or a sitting room.”

Seth regarded her for a long moment, and then grinned. Tewkesbury stepped aside, and Seth strode from the room, hauling Charlotte along with him by the elbow. She shuffled to catch up and caught a look of chagrin on Tewkesbury’s face. But perhaps it was simply the poor light.

They ran the length of the corridor and to a narrow, wooden staircase at the far end.

It descended steeply into darkness. Seth led the clattering way to a paved corridor with windows that looked out onto a stable.

He turned away from it, leading her back along the lane she had used to bypass the doorman.

“Do you not wish to ride?” she asked. “Where precisely are we going?”

“Fleet Street, eventually. But we will see what the night has in store for us first, eh?” he smiled.

Charlotte found herself smiling, too. She had been on the verge of complete abandon while she was huddled in his arms. She had been recalled to herself brutally when he had used her sister’s name.

Now, it felt as though she were on the verge of freedom once more.

This was the kind of adventure that she daydreamed of when imagining Amelia’s life in London.

Fairy tale balls, handsome dukes. Dancing on the frozen Thames at the frost fair, racing horses around Hyde Park, or... this . Flying into the night on a mad whim.

The pair turned corners and flew down streets past the astonished faces of ladies and gentlemen promenading on this summer’s evening. They were in the fashionable parts of London still, the streets wide, well-paved, and home to well-dressed people outside of tall, well-kept homes.

“Where are we going?” Amelia asked again, laughing and quite almost panting. “I must stop and catch my breath.”

Seth slowed, also breathing hard.

“This is The Strand,” he began, gesturing to the far distance with an odd pride. “Over there is the river, behind that maze of lanes and alleys. Fleet Street and my London residence, the top floor of a building that is also home to a tailor’s shop, lie along this road. Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. She blushed a rosy red. “Was it so obvious? I was supposed to be dining out this evening, so I have not eaten since breakfast.”

“Ah, I feel somewhat to blame,” Seth grimaced bashfully. “Well, fret not, I have the very solution. Not that stuffy old Wilkins. No, this is the true food of London. The food of the streets!”

With that, he was ushering her away again, across The Strand after him and to the mouth of an alley. A rusting, dirty sign nailed to a brick wall announced Villers Street . Just within the alley was a man tending a brazier on which a suckling pig was roasting.

“Charlie boy, two roasted pork rolls if you’d please,” Seth bellowed out to the son of his former butler as they approached.

“Your Grace!” returned a delighted squawk.

Within the alley, a group of men tossed dice against the wall and exchanged pennies.

More stood about the brazier, munching on rolls of bread with large slabs of meat sticking out.

There was a chorus of greetings from the men, and the proprietor of the brazier promptly began cutting two healthy portions of meat from the roasting joint.

Amelia certainly did not relish the idea of eating it, but smiled and tried to put on a brave face. Seth grinned as he took his roll and bit into it.

“Try it,” he coaxed.

She closed her eyes and bit tentatively at the meat. Her eyes shot open.

“It is… delicious,” she whispered in awe.

“Hillcrest’s finest, eh,” Seth rubbed the boy’s nape with pride.

“Finest in all of London, I say!” Charlie guffawed.

Taking one for the road, Seth jerked his head to the alley, leading Amelia past the gamblers. It ended at a low wall, and beyond it was the river. He leaned on the wall, looking eastward at the Thames.

As suspected, it was a divine sight.

The moon had risen and cast a bright, sharp, white glow over the water. The silhouette of St Paul’s rose up against that stark light. Stars peppered the sky. The light was exquisite.

“Charming, is it not?” His breath fogged in the cool evening air. “Now, I will wager that you have rarely ventured out of doors to sample the night light. Is this not more beautiful than your uncle’s chandeliers or your aunt’s jewelry collection?”

Amelia shook her head and took a moment to swallow her mouthful. “In fact, I have seen many a starlit night in Yorkshire where there are very few lights to spoil the dark and obscure the stars.”

He arched a brow. “ Yorkshire ? You lived there?”

She hid a guilty face behind another healthy bite of her pork.

“I grew up in Carlisle with my mother and sister. I have visited Yorkshire, where she lives. My sister Charlotte, that is.”

She stepped closer to the wall, leaning on it next to Seth.

“And your mother?” he asked sincerely.

“She passed away some years ago,” Amelia sighed. “My sister and I were separated so as not to be a burden on our families. I went to… I came here, to my mother’s family, the Willoughbys. Charlotte went to my father’s people, the Nightingales, near York.”

He pondered her words in the rustling evening breeze. “Hmm. I have little memory of my mother.”

Amelia peeked up at him.

He went on, “I grew up in my father’s house. Now mine. A prison to be sure. I strove to escape every day, and he kept me more and more tightly trapped.”

“That sounds… awful,” she frowned, brushing his arm lightly. “Do you have any fond memories of her? Your mother?”

Seth’s keen gaze fell upon her visage. He regarded her for a long, silent moment. He could feel her blue eyes graze him like an icy brand.

“She… she loved to dance.” He broke eye contact first, looking back out over the river.

“We would dance on the lawn in the summer, in the evening when the moon was bright. Until my father put a stop to it. It was anathema to him, said it was frivolous. I should have been learning how to be a gentleman .”

Amelia bit her lip. “She sounds very like my mother, I think. I do not remember my father much,” she said wistfully, “my mother once told me that he was an officer and very brave. A hero. I don’t suppose the real man would have lived up to the myth that a little girl built him into.

Perhaps it is for the best that I did not know him. ”

“Reputation does often differ from reality,” Seth nodded, musing out over the river. “Take mine, for example.”

“A notorious rake?” She raised her brows challengingly.

He shrugged a single shoulder. “I saw first-hand the misery of my parents’ marriage and wished to avoid ever becoming so imprisoned as my mother was. Imprisoned by the expectations of family and duty.”

With that, he tossed the remnants of his meal down into the water, and there came a flurry of feathers and splashing as ducks fought for it before it sank. Amelia laughed at the natural world present even here in the heart of the greatest city in England.

She tossed her own food in next.

“My father would thrash me for patronizing a street vendor and for throwing food to the ducks and swans,” Seth chuckled, though it came out forced.

“Well, he is not here, but I am. What will you show me next?” she asked, swiftly maneuvering the topic while wiping her hands on her dress with little compunction. He grinned at her sincere efforts to lighten his mood.

Abruptly, he vaulted the wall, prompting Amelia to cry out.

But he descended only two or three feet before his feet hit solid stone.

She peeked over the edge, and he caught a sightly glimpse of her aghast face against the backdrop of the moonlit sky.

A rowboat was tethered to a metal ring at the bottom just beneath his platform. He laughed.

“Come on. I know the finest way to see the city and escape the crowds.”

“We are going on the river?” she gasped.

“Of course! Or would you rather visit a stuffed dining room where the servants gossip about you and the other patrons spy on you in order to have something to talk about at tea the next day? What’s it to be? A proper lady or a proper rogue?”

After a breath, she threw her hands in the air, and said, “Oh, bother,” before skipping down the steps after him.