Page 5 of Married to the Icy Duke (Duke Wars #3)

Already, the butler was here, with a short, round-faced woman with dark hair hovering anxiously beside him.

She gave a yelp of relief when she spotted the duke and Tommy.

Barely glancing at her, the duke held out the little boy, and the woman came hurrying forward to take him, hugging him tightly.

Tommy gave the tiniest smile at the sight of the woman, wrapping his small arms around her neck, but he did not speak.

There was a short silence after this. Charlotte realized that she was out of breath. Drawing in a deep lungful of air, she straightened her spine and attempted to call up some dignity. The hem of her gown was damp, and there were damp patches around her knees. The spilled champagne, she imagined.

“I shall ask once, and once only,” Charlotte said, her voice trembling. “What exactly do you think you are doing, Your Grace? I demand to be released at once .”

He folded brawny arms across his chest. “You demand , Lady Charlotte? In my house? Shocking, shocking. Now, tell me again. You asked Thomas’ name, and he told you. Is that correct? He said that his name is Tommy.”

The nursemaid hitched in a breath. When Charlotte glanced at her, the woman was staring with wide eyes.

“He … He spoke, my lady?” the woman ventured hesitantly. The butler, too, was watching her intently. There was an air of breathlessness in the room which she did not quite understand.

“Well, yes,” Charlotte mumbled, baffled. “He only said his name.”

“Do it again,” the duke ordered shortly, gesturing at the little boy. “Ask him again, exactly as you did before.”

Charlotte flushed. “Did you drag me here simply to humiliate me, Your Grace? If so, I …”

In a trice, he was standing directly in front of her, with barely an inch of space between them.

Charlotte’s eyes widened at having him standing so close.

There was a strange, grassy smell coming from him, something unlike the perfumes and colognes which choked the ballroom.

It was a rather pleasant smell, almost like petrichor.

Whatever it was, it was entirely natural.

“If I wished to humiliate you,” he said smoothly, his voice low and sharp, “there are better ways than this. Now, I suggest you oblige me by doing what I have asked. The sooner you obey, the sooner you can be free of my company.”

Charlotte swallowed thickly. She briefly considered the idea of slapping him—his face was certainly close enough to hers to reach—but decided against it. There was no telling what he might do if she did that.

Instead, she turned away and focused on the little boy, curled in the arms of his nursemaid.

“Tell me your name, dearest,” she ventured, her voice catching a little at the edges.

There was a palpable tension in the room after she’d spoken. The butler and the nursemaid seemed to lean closer, breathless. Everyone was holding their breath.

Tommy buried his face in his nursemaid’s shoulder and did not answer. For some reason, Charlotte found herself deflated and a little confused.

“Well, you have probably all frightened him,” she heard herself say staunchly. “He’s—what, three years old?”

“A month off three years old,” the duke muttered. “You are sure he spoke to you? You are sure of it?”

“Yes, of course!” Charlotte responded, piqued. “Why on earth would I lie about such a thing?”

A muscle jumped in the duke’s jaw again. He eyed the little boy and his nursemaid, a frown carved deeply between his brows. There was something distant in his eyes, something she could not quite identify.

Then Charlotte realized that she was staring at the duke in a most unbecoming way. He did have a rather attractive face, that was undeniable, and he was powerfully built in a way she suspected was natural. Most gentlemen required inches of padding to get shoulders like that.

“Well, he’s been up long enough, I think,” the duke said suddenly. “Mary, take him to bed. And ensure he does not escape this time.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the nursemaid murmured. She made a lopsided curtsey and scurried out of the room without a backwards glance, clutching Tommy tightly in her arms.

“You can go too, Perling,” the duke added, passing a hand over his face with a sigh.

To his credit, the butler hesitated, eyes flicking over to where Charlotte stood.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but the lady … Ought I not stay, or perhaps send in a maid?”

The duke glanced at Charlotte, almost as if he had forgotten her presence.

“No need, Perling. I shall be returning Lady Charlotte to the ballroom and her brother shortly.”

Perling pressed his lips together but did not object. He bowed mildly and slipped out of the room.

That left Charlotte alone with the wretched Duke of Arkley. She turned to face him, eyes narrowing.

“Did the child say anything else?” the duke said abruptly, before she could voice her complaints. “Even a single word, a single syllable could be important.”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, not another word. I made him laugh a few times, however. He’s a quiet child, but an exceptionally sweet one.”

“You made him laugh? That isn’t easily done. You must have a knack for children.”

Charlotte shrugged. “No more than anybody else. I do sometimes feel that children make better company than adults.”

He gave a grim smile. “Do you mean that, Lady Charlotte?”

She eyed him, baffled.

Whenever I think I understand this wretched fellow, he says or does something that confuses me once again.

“Of course I meant it,” she shot back peevishly. “I said it, didn’t I?”

He grinned, revealing canine teeth that were a little too pointed.

“I am glad to hear that, Lady Charlotte, since you will be staying with us from now on.”

Charlotte choked. Was she going mad? She must be. Perhaps she’d knocked her head on the underside of that table and was currently lying insensible in the middle of the ballroom, with everybody laughing at her.

“I beg your pardon?”