Page 34 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

C harlotte sat before the mirror of a rickety dressing table, high in a draughty room at the top of a Derbyshire inn—a modest stopover, a third of the way through their journey.

Damp from her bath, she wore only a linen nightgown, her skin still flushed from the heat as she slowly drew the brush through her dark, curling hair.

A soft knock came at the door, followed by the quiet click of a latch. She turned as Seth stepped inside.

“Our rooms connect,” he said, grinning like a schoolboy caught in mischief. He gestured to the narrow door behind him. “I thought I’d test the theory.”

She turned back and met his gaze in the mirror, one brow arching in feigned disapproval. “Yes. The innkeeper entrusted me with the key, thinking it better that I should have it rather than you. I see now why he reached said conclusion.”

Seth’s grin only widened.. His golden hair was tousled from travel—or perhaps from running a hand through it too often. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with that maddening, wolfish glint in his eye, entirely too pleased with himself.

“A wise man.”

She turned back to the mirror, aware of his gaze and shamelessly enjoying the weight of it.

“At Towcester, you arranged for us to sleep at opposite ends of the corridor,” she reminded. “Are you trying to tell me something by acquiring adjacent rooms this time?”

He gave a theatrical sigh, all mock suffering.

“I didn’t sleep a wink at Towcester, plagued by thoughts of you drifting too far from my reach.

Naturally, I sought to correct the oversight.

Besides”—he moved farther into the room to sit on the end of Charlotte’s bed—“I find road travel dreadfully dull. Why must I suffer solitude on top of it?”

His shirt hung open. The laces were loose, as if purposefully baring the sculpted lines of his chest and the dip of his collarbone.

Damp curls clung to his neck, and his breeches fit far too well for her peace of mind—low-slung and worn in all the right places.

He looked like he could pin her to the bed with one hand and still have the other free to undo her completely.

Heat bloomed low in her belly.

Her brush faltered. Just once. She resumed her brushing with haste.

“Was the innkeeper not scandalized at letting adjoining rooms to an unmarried couple?” she asked.

“He was, which is why I named myself Tewkesbury,” he smiled.

Charlotte burst into a fit of laughter. “You are wicked! I am a respectable woman.”

“We both know that you can be as wild as I when... provoked,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip, saying nothing.

“Tomorrow evening, we will be arriving at Hamilton House,” he broached the comfortable silence. “Are you intending to be yourself?”

She pondered his question for a moment. It would be simpler to end the charade now, but returning to her cousin’s home as herself would lead to a host of new problems, and she did not care to seek permission from her Uncle Henry and Aunt Judith before continuing their excursion.

Besides, they would certainly be far more amenable to Seth and Amelia spending their time together, than Charlotte herself.

“No, I think I will continue to be Amelia until we have caught up with her,” she decided.

She caught a disappointed expression on his face and looked over her shoulder.

“What is it? You do not like the idea of continuing with our pretense?”

“No. And frankly...” His voice dropped to a murmur as he rose from the bed and crossed the space between them.

He touched her face, one hand cradling her cheek, his thumb brushing along her jaw.

“I am simply counting the days until I can tell the world that my betrothed is Charlotte Nightingale,” he continued, “and not her sister.”

Charlotte blinked, stunned. “We are... betrothed? Your engagement with my sister was arranged. No such arrangement has been made for us. And you have not asked me.”

He gave a short breath of laughter—half amusement, half disbelief—and then, without hesitation, dropped to one knee before her. She turned sharply on the stool, heart hammering.

“Charlotte Nightingale,” he began, looking up at her. “I cannot offer you a title that is free of besmirchment, nor fortune that I yet stand to lose. But I can give you everything else—my body, my loyalty, my godforsaken heart, such as it is.”

He paused.

“Will you be my wife?”

Her breath caught. She hadn’t meant to blush, but it warmed her skin all the same.

Then, with a sly curve to his mouth, he added, “Though I suspect you’ve already claimed all three.”

She bent to kiss him. It was slow, delicate, like tasting a promise she wanted to last a lifetime. Every brush of her lips said yes, though she hadn’t spoken it yet. She didn’t need to.

I do not ever want to become immune to this feeling. Or accustomed to it.

Seth’s hands slid down her sides, slow and sure, tracing the curve of her hips with a touch that made her tremble.

He moved lower—over the swell of her derrière, down the length of her thighs, his palms gliding over her knees, her calves, all the way to her bare feet.

Every inch he touched left her aching for more.

She looked into his emerald eyes, and everything else vanished.

No more than a month ago, he had stormed into her rooms full of arrogance and provocation, hell-bent on pushing her away. Now... he was here, stripped bare in every sense, gazing at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And she knew— felt —that he would give up everything for her.

He already has.

At this very moment, his title might be slipping from his grasp, all because of her.

“You should write to Mr. Monkton,” she whispered. “Tell him you are securing Amelia’s consent to dissolve the betrothal. Save your birthright.”

Seth’s gaze did not waver. “I don’t need to.”

“I would like you to,” she said softly.

“No,” he murmured. “It wouldn’t change a thing. Monkton wants the dukedom for Tewkesbury, and likely a tidy sum for himself. You think a letter will stand in the way of that? He’ll burn it before he lets it be read.

“No. I’ve already made my choice,” he affirmed. “And I’d make it again, even if it cost me everything.”

Charlotte exhaled, but he leaned in then, pressing a tickling kiss to the hollow just beneath her jaw. “I cannot be suitable recompense for an entire dukedom,” she whispered.

He met her eyes, his voice rougher now. “That’s where you are mistaken, Charlotte. You have always been a recompense for everything I was born to lose.”

He knelt before her, the tension between them humming like a drawn bowstring. And then—without haste—he lowered his mouth to the tip of her foot, his kiss reverent against the silk of her stocking.

Charlotte blinked, startled. A breathless laugh bubbled in her throat. “You are utterly incorrigible.”

“Only with you,” he murmured, brushing his lips along her ankle.

She felt the heat of it through the fabric, a sensation that bloomed slowly, curling behind her knees, settling deep in her belly. Her thighs shifted restlessly as his mouth climbed—inch by slow, deliberate inch—up her calf.

“What are you doing?” she asked, though her voice was already breathless, more want than protest.

He didn't answer. Just lifted her leg and began to roll down her stocking with a patience that was more provocative than haste ever could be. The silk rasped against her skin as it slid down, exposing her inch by inch, until he tossed it away with a lazy flick over his shoulder.

Then he reached for the hem of her nightgown.

Charlotte froze.

He rolled it up to her knees. Then higher.

When he reached her thighs, she caught the fabric at the center, instinctively pushing down and hiding herself.

Not fully denying him— no , that wasn’t what this was.

She simply… didn’t know what to do with the storm building inside her.

Her hands clenched the nightdress like it could anchor her.

Seth's eyes flicked up. He smiled, not smug, not triumphant, but devastatingly tender. As though her reticence was just another part of her he intended to adore.

“Such shapely legs,” he murmured, lifting one to his shoulder again. “I could spend the rest of my life kissing them and never be quenched.”

Charlotte felt her heart lurch and her toes curl as he pressed his lips along her inner thigh. It wasn’t just arousing, it was deferential, indulgent, as though he worshipped her.

She sank deeper into the chair. Every kiss was an offering. Every breath he took against her skin seemed to feed her fire. When he reached for her other stocking, she let him, helpless to do anything else.

When he finished, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, and then sat back on his heels, studying her. His gaze swept slowly over her, and she felt every pass of it as if it were a touch.

“I want to see you,” he murmured.

She faltered for a heartbeat.

But then, wordlessly, she lifted her arms.

He took the hem of her nightgown in both hands and drew it upward—slowly, achingly slowly—dragging the fabric over her thighs, her hips, her stomach. The way his eyes followed every newly exposed inch of skin made her feel as though she were being unwrapped like a gift.

Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, and when the nightdress passed over them, Seth let out a sound, something soft and reverent, like a prayer. He tossed the garment aside, and she remained there, stretched out in the chair, utterly bare, heart galloping in her chest.

His eyes didn’t devour. They drank... Like he was dying of thirst and she was the only thing that could sate him.

Charlotte was trembling, but not from shame. There was no room for shame. Only anticipation.

“Tell me,” she whispered, voice like silk. “What you are going to do to me.”

Seth’s eyes darkened. “Something you’ll never forget.”