Page 44 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

S eth filled the frame, sun-warmed and shirtless, a light sheen of sweat catching on the muscles of his chest and arms. His once-golden hair was darkened with heat, and a smudge of soot grazed his jaw. He looked as if he’d been carved from the forge itself; honed, focused, utterly real .

His eyes widened the briefest fraction at the sight of her. Then he leaned lazily against the gate, lips curving into a half-smile.

“Well,” he drawled, eyes sweeping over her, “you heard the man, is it hard graft or somethin’ light then, lass?”

Charlotte stared, utterly undone. “How can you—what— why are you here?” she managed, breath catching.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual. “Earning a living.”

“As a blacksmith?! You are supposed to be in London. You are—you are supposed to be a Duke!”

“ Supposed to be a Duke were five words I never cared for much,” he said flatly.

“You told me to leave, and at first, your words made me angry. Got as far as the castle gates before the rage burned off and sense crept in. I saw the road stretching toward Glasgow… and further still. But I couldn’t take another step away from you. Not one.

“But I also knew you would resort to more drastic measures to see me on my way. So I took rooms at the Weaver’s Arms and found gainful employment here. I must think about our future living.”

“ Our future living ?” she echoed, stunned.

“Aye,” he smirked. “I will not leave, no matter how hard you push. Deny me, scold me, send me packing, and I will simply follow you back to Yorkshire like a loyal hound.”

He pushed off the gate and stepped toward her. She retreated, one step, then another, the dirt road giving way to soft grass. Behind her, she could hear the soft murmur of the burn. In front of her, Seth—sweat-damp and stubborn, breathing like he’d been chasing her through dreams.

“I—I do not want you,” Charlotte tried to stammer.

“Lies,” Seth said softly.

“But… but, you cannot give up all that you have for me!’ she implored, voice rising. “Your title, your future—”

“I already have. It is done. The marriage clause expired days ago. There is nothing left to fight. You gave me a choice—Ducal inheritance or you. I chose you.”

Charlotte’s breath caught. She took a step back, but the ground slipped beneath her heel.

She hadn’t noticed how close she’d come to the edge of the bank, and suddenly, the earth gave way.

She let out a sharp gasp—but before she could fall, Seth moved.

His arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her, and he pulled her flush against him.

Suddenly, Charlotte was pressed against his hard, sweat-oiled body. Her hands were flat against his chest, drinking in the feel of his taut, overworked muscles. Before she knew what she was doing consciously, she was kissing him.

A weight lifted from her shoulders.

Amelia would live and be cared for by a doting husband. They would have an idyllic life, a long way from the shallow, fashion-obsessed politics of the capital.

And Charlotte had Seth. He had never left her, of course. But it felt as though he had. And for the two weeks that she had believed herself apart from him, Charlotte had felt as though part of herself was missing.

“Was it… was it you who brought a blanket for me earlier?” she breathed when the kiss broke.

“Of course. I did not want you catching another chill,” he chided gently, still holding her firmly against him. “You must take care of yourself.”

“You have been watching me?” She furrowed her brows.

“ Every day ,” he uttered with true solemnity.

“I know that Amelia is recovered, or on the mend anyway. But I have been mostly concerned with you. I could not reside in this small place with you and not see you. I found ways to watch you when you thought yourself unobserved. It… it made the waiting for you to come to your senses just about bearable.”

He kissed her this time, tenderly but with tightly controlled passion just below the surface.

“Do you forgive me for deceiving you and for disobeying you?” he asked eventually.

Charlotte shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “No… it should be I seeking forgiveness. For trying to push you away. For… for lying that—”

“You are forgiven,” he answered automatically.

She looked into Seth’s eyes and wondered how she could have sent him away. He grinned, boyish and carefree, as though nothing had ever happened.

“What brought you to the smithy?” he asked.

“My horse has lost a nail in her shoe.”

“I will attend to it at once, my lady,” he replied.

“How long will it take?”

“It is not long, but I have a lot of work to get through today. That will take me into the evening. You could wait for me in my room at the Weavers if you like,” he offered.

Charlotte glanced across the green to the large, square building that stood at the crossroads leading to one of the two churches in the town. It seemed a clean, respectable place.

“Would you… like me to wait?” she asked.

“I would,” he grinned.

“Then I will wait for you in your room— our room. I will have my things sent from the hospital.”

“I could almost…” Seth pressed his hands to her cheek and kissed her again, harder this time.

There came a loud harrumph from behind him. A large man with black hair and the build of an oak tree had emerged from the gate, a hammer held casually in one hand.

“Ah, Mr. McCreavie, I was just about to hammer in a new nail for this animal,” Seth laughed.

“Aye, looked like it,” McCreavie rumbled, eyeing them both. “Ye’ll find it a damn sight easier to swing a hammer wi’ both hands free, lad.”

He laughed again. “Ah, may I introduce my wife, Charlotte.”

McCreavie gave her a nod, his voice softening, “Well met, lass. But mind ye—this is a forge, not a parlour. Save the courtin’ for after hours, aye dearie?”

Charlotte took her leave then, her stomach fluttering as she walked along the green toward Seth’s accommodation.

He had been here for the entirety of the last two weeks watching over me. He sacrificed for me something that few men of his rank would be willing to.

To her surprise, the landlord of the Weaver’s Arms Inn was expecting her and directed her to the room Seth had taken for himself. From the room’s window, Charlotte could see the smithy. She was high enough to see over the fence that bordered it and watched Seth working throughout the day.

She watched the lean muscles of his arms and shoulders glistening with sweat.

Watched him carry out the repair on the horseshoe with competence, then proceed to check the others.

When he straightened from his task, she bit her lower lip, gazing at his Herculean physique from the front.

She wondered if he could see her watching him and found herself willing him to look in her direction.

He did not, but found other tasks to do in the yard. Charlotte smiled, lost in a fantasy that he knew she would be watching him and was putting on a show.

My husband. My beautiful, magnificent husband.

Eventually, he went into the smithy, and Charlotte experienced a moment’s disappointment. It vanished as he emerged, pulling his shirt back on and striding towards the gate that led out onto the green.

Charlotte stood suddenly, heart fluttering. Seth’s long-legged stride was carrying him back to her.

She wanted him to hurry—and wanted him to wait. Wanted the stretch of seconds where she could picture his hands on her, could savor the knowing he was close, just outside, and not quite here, and what would happen when she was finally in his arms.

She dashed to the bed and sat, tugging off her boots in quick, jerking motions.

Stockings next. She peeled them down her legs, stuffed them into the boots, then stood again.

Her fingers moved to the buttons of her dress.

From downstairs came the creak of the front door.

Her fingers fumbled faster. Male voices murmured from the common room.

The last button slipped. The dress dropped to the floor. She kicked it aside, smoothed her petticoat with trembling hands, then stripped it off too, leaving it to crumple beside the rest.

Nude now, she stood still, the sunlight from the window painting her skin in sharp lines.

Her pulse pounded. Her breasts lifted with each shallow breath.

Someone laughed outside, far off, irrelevant.

The only sound that mattered was his footsteps on the stairs.

Slow. Measured. Each one drawing louder until they stopped—just the other side of the door.

She crossed the room to the door and took hold of the handle just as she saw it begin to turn. The movement stopped when she tightened her grip. She held it. Paused. Then pulled it open.

Seth stood in the doorway, hand extended for the doorknob. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her nakedness. She refused to cover herself. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she backed up. He followed. The door slammed behind him with force.

Then his hands were on her waist.

He lifted her without hesitation. Bare thighs locked high around his waist, calves pressing into his back, skin meeting cloth in an overwhelming rush of sensation.

Her arms locked around his shoulders, nails scraping his neck.

She clung to him, her mouth grazing the line of his jaw, already tasting salt and heat.

He was solid beneath her, strong, hot—she could feel the thick press of him straining through his trousers with every step.

Her breath caught at the way his fingers gripped her bottom, bruising and without pretense.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured hoarsely.

She tilted her head and kissed the underside of his throat. “Then don’t stop!”