Page 28 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)
C harlotte stripped out of her paint-splattered frock with a sigh.
Perling had told her that Joan was eating her dinner and had offered to fetch her anyway.
Charlotte had declined, since poor Joan worked quite hard enough already without being hauled away mid-meal.
Besides, Charlotte could quite easily undress herself, at the very least.
The door to the washroom was open, with steam billowing out. She could almost feel the hot water on her skin. The maids—the ones not yet sitting down to dinner—had toiled up and down the servants’ staircase with endless buckets of water, sloshing and splashing until the bathtub was full.
The paint had soaked through her layers of clothing, staining her calves and forearms. Charlotte tutted to herself, picking at the already-dried stains.
Well, it didn’t matter. A good, long soak should do the trick.
Standing in her chemise before the mirror, she unpinned her hair, letting it fall down over her shoulders.
Pausing, Charlotte inspected herself, biting her lip.
What does he see when he looks at me?
This thought seemed to come from nowhere, exploding in her mind like a cannonball.
Sucking in a breath, Charlotte angrily shook her head and concentrated on pinning her hair up on top of her head again, to keep it from soaking in the water.
She didn’t intend to wash her hair or even scrub herself vigorously.
No, this soak was all about peace and relaxation.
Stepping into the washroom, she pushed the door closed behind her and eyed the steaming bathtub. Gingerly, she eased one foot into the hot water. It was deliciously warm, and a red flush spread over her skin. Slowly, she stepped fully into the bath and lowered herself in properly.
With a sigh, she leaned back against the sheet draped over the rim and closed her eyes.
One of the maids—bless her—had thought to sprinkle a handful of lavender into the hot water, and the rich steam was scented delicately.
It was a soothing scent, and Charlotte concentrated on breathing in and out, calming herself.
Isaac, she had decided, was a problem. If he were old or ugly, or somehow different , the problem would be a more manageable one. Charlotte had realized a long time ago that love in a marriage could be troublesome.
Gabriel and Thalia had found love, and she was happy for them, but the plain fact was that most couples did not marry for love and did not find such lofty sentiments after marriage. Practicality was the order of the day, and that was why she had seriously considered marrying Sir Peter.
Isaac was … different. That was the only word that seemed to sum him up. His intense gaze set her skin on fire, tightened her chest, and caused her heart to leap up into her throat.
Worse than that, his very presence conjured up feelings which, she was quite sure, respectable ladies were not meant to feel. Letting out a ragged sigh, Charlotte allowed herself to sink lower into the hot water until only her nose and above peeped out.
She’d imagined his hands on her, and not just above her clothes. She’d imagined his warm, broad palms cupping her knees, maybe even sliding higher. She’d imagined his lips, not on her lips, but on her throat, kissing downwards towards the dip of her neckline. She’d imagined …
Charlotte’s eyes flew open, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the rush of desire that followed.
This was not correct, she was sure of that.
Respectable ladies did not even let their husbands-to-be kiss them before the wedding day, and Charlotte had certainly done that already.
It wasn’t as if her reputation could withstand any additional blows.
Clearing her throat, she sat up a little more. Leaning forward, she could catch glimpses of her own reflection in the rippling water. She stared at herself, biting her lower lip. To be sure, the angle was not the best one, but she was not ugly .
Lifting a tentative hand, Charlotte touched the point of her chin with one forefinger and allowed the finger to trail downwards, past the curve of her throat to the hollow between her collarbones.
Sinking her teeth deeper into her lip, she trailed her hand lower, to where the swell of her breasts jutted out above her water.
He touched me like this, above my gown. Why should it feel so very intense?
But then, if he wished to kiss me and touch me in that manner, why did he agree so easily to my rules regarding our marital relations?
Try as she might, her thoughts came back to this matter again and again.
She had insisted that they should not touch or share a bed after their marriage, and he had agreed.
He had agreed readily, without complaint or demurral, even without trying to haggle.
He clearly did not care in the least whether she shared his bed or not.
But perhaps I care, Charlotte thought, with dawning misery. Perhaps I care a good deal more than I ought.
It mattered little, of course. Their wedding would take place soon, and from what she’d heard, nothing cooled passion as readily as a marriage ceremony. They would marry and begin their separate lives, and soon she would …
Footsteps thumped in the hallway outside, and the door swung open to her room with a crash.
Charlotte sucked in a breath, sitting up, and stared in faint horror at the door.
“Joanie?” she managed weakly.
“Why in heaven’s name is there a trail of paint leading up the stairs? What is …”
The door to the washroom swung open, and Isaac appeared in the doorway.
Their gazes fell on each other, and there was a moment of dawning realization. Isaac’s eyes flicked down her bare skin, landing on her naked breasts, visible above the water. His gaze skidded across the surface of the bathtub, as though he might see what was beneath the water there .
Charlotte managed a strangled, undignified squeak and plunged herself into the water up to her eyes.
“Turn around!” she demanded, through a mouthful of water. “Turn around at once !”
Belatedly, Isaac obeyed, presenting his broad, velvet-clad back.
“Heavens, woman, don’t you lock the door?” he growled.
Charlotte could not quite bring herself to leave the water to reach her drying sheet, not even with his back turned.
“How dare you!” she gasped. Her face, she was sure, was as red as a beetroot. “You barged into my private washroom without knocking!”
“I did not know you were taking a bath,” he responded tartly. “It is the middle of the afternoon.”
“Well, I was covered in paint.”
“That explains the trail of paint, then,” Isaac muttered. “I won’t ask you how you came to be covered in paint, as I rather think I don’t want to know.”
Charlotte summoned her courage and leaned forward, snatching up the drying sheet.
“Is that what you came here for, then?” she muttered. “To scold me for getting paint everywhere?”
He diligently kept his back turned, but she was sure she saw his shoulders stiffen.
“If you must know,” he answered tartly, “I came to apologize.”
She gave a short laugh. “Apologize? You?”
“Hmph. Yes, me. I find myself thinking about the kisses you and I shared. The fact is, you had requested to be left alone. I ought to have respected that. And so, I am sorry.”
There was a brief pause after this. Charlotte sat upright, a little uncertainly, and eyed his back.
“I am not sure that an apology is necessary,” she ventured at last. “It isn’t as if you stole those kisses. Besides, we will be married soon, and then it will not matter.”
She rose carefully to her feet, water splashing around her, and hastily wrapped the sheet around herself. It was a good, long sheet, long enough for the edges to dangle in the bathwater, but Charlotte still did not feel covered enough.
“That is what I came to discuss with you,” Isaac answered, his voice steady. “Once we are married, schedule and routine must be the order of the day. That is how I want to raise Tommy, and we should start as we mean to go on.”
She gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You must be joking.”
He made an abortive movement as if planning to turn around, but stopped himself in time.
“I am entirely serious,” he responded coolly. “Children need structure.”
“Well, yes, to a certain degree,” Charlotte answered, pulling a handful of wet hair over her shoulder and squeezing out the water.
Despite her best efforts, the ends had trailed in the water anyway.
She would need to dry it properly before dinner.
The bath sheet was sticking to her body, too.
“Children require a little structure, but mostly, they need love. They need love, freedom, and fun. I won’t follow your rules if I believe they are not in Tommy’s best interests. ”
Abruptly, Isaac spun around and came stomping towards her, his eyes narrowing. Charlotte, still knee-deep in bathwater, flinched away, eyes wide.
“Tommy is my nephew, I’d thank you to remember.”
She lifted her chin, trying desperately to ignore the fact that she was standing with only a thin sheet covering her modesty. A very wet thin sheet.
“And when we are married,” Charlotte said firmly, “he will be my nephew too. I mean it, Isaac. I will not follow your rules in this matter.”
He was so close now that his knees brushed the rim of the bath. Charlotte could have reached out and touched him, but of course, she kept her sopping limbs to herself. She concentrated on breathing evenly, on appearing cool and composed, and most importantly of all, on holding his gaze.
There was heat and hunger in his eyes. Despite his best efforts, his gaze broke away first, traveling down the length of her sheet-clad form and back again.
Charlotte felt warmth rush to her cheeks, and that familiar ache of wanting surged in the pit of her stomach, pooling between her legs. In an effort to control herself, she pressed her thighs together in the hopes of making the feeling go away.