Page 39 of Tamed By a Duke
Well, she thought with a grin, it's true that while you can lead a horse to water you can't make him drink. Penrith, for all that he was trying, was still as fusty as ever.
"Oh," Charlotte feigned innocence, "I dare not address you in such an informal manner, your Grace. What might people think?"
Again, a thick eyebrow was raised, but this time it was with suspicion. The duke stiffened his posture and glowered down at Charlotte from his lofty height.
"Are you poking fun at me, Miss Drew?" he queried.
"Only slightly," she confessed, "It's just that Penrith is the name of your title. It is not your name. To call you as though you were merely a walking-talking title would not be very roma—"
Charlotte bit down on her tongue, before the word romantic could slip from her treacherous lips. She could feel her face burning as Penrith deduced what she had been about to say, but to her surprise his eyes did not show contempt, but rather desire.
Burning desire which set his ice-blue eyes alight.
"It's not very romantic," he conceded, taking a sip of his ratafia and wincing at the taste of it. "I cannot imagine that a wife calls out her husband's title when she performs her marital duties. When we marry, I will demand that you call me Hugh; for now, Penrith will have to do. For I could not be held responsible for my actions if I were to hear my name upon your lips tonight, Miss Drew."
Well. Charlotte nervously gulped down a large sip of her drink.Thatserved her for being impertinent, she thought with a nervous shiver. Penrith's words had not so much been laced with intent, but drowning in it. And had he saidwhenthey were married?
Her head was all a muddle, and her body ached with a longing that she had not known existed until now. Dash that man, she thought skittishly, as Penrith smirked at her over the rim of his glass.
If the man was thinking to marry her—amongst other things—then there was no denying it. Charlotte would have to tell him the reason for their union.
"If I am to address you in a more familiar manner," Charlotte stammered, keen to rid herself of guilt, "Then I must confess to something, your Grace."
"Penrith," he reminded her, before waving for her to go on.
"I initially sought your company because my father had delivered an edict that in order for my sister to be allowed make her come-out, that I had to behave myself and procure the attentions of a duke."
"Is that so?"
"Y-yes," Charlotte stammered, feeling rather wretched. Had she not teased him for thinking himself as only a duke? And now, here she was, confessing that the only reason she had spent time with him initially was because of his title. The hypocrisy of it left her shame-faced and, worse, wracked with guilt at having hurt his feelings.
"I am sorry," she continued, "I will understand if you have no desire to see me ever again."
Penrith made a sound akin to a strangled cat, and Charlotte glanced at him with worry. Was he alright? She peered closely at the duke, and to her surprise, she found that he was—
"Are you laughing?" she queried, perplexed at his reaction to her heartfelt confession.
"Yes," Penrith wiped tears of mirth away from his eyes, before sobering up considerably as he realised Charlotte's confusion. "Forgive me. I just found it all rather amusing. Miss Drew,mostwomen who set their sights on me, do so because of my title. That you felt the need to confess that you too had the same motivations—albeit more altruistic—does not surprise me. Nor does it offend me. We did not get off to the most civil of starts, and I am only glad that your papa declared that you needed to snare a duke, for it forced us together."
"Oh," Charlotte was a little dumb-founded by Penrith's elegant soliloquy, but never the less grateful for his magnanimity. She was not entirely sure that if the shoe were on the other foot, that she would be as gracious.
"Are you certain?" she ventured.
"Quite," Penrith was decisive, "Though I had rather hoped that your confession would be about something more pressing; the reason as to why you felt the need to pawn your jewels. Are you in trouble of some sort, Miss Drew? If you are, I beseech you to trust me. Your concerns are now mine, and I can remedy matters, but only if I know what they are."
His offer to help was so heartfelt, that Charlotte had to close her eyes momentarily to avoid reading the anguish on his face. She had hoped that Penrith might have forgotten about her little escapade at Rundell and Bridge but, of course, the tenacious duke had not.
How easy it would be, Charlotte thought, to tell him everything. She was certain that the duke would do everything in his powers to help. That he would ease the burden which worried her daily. But the secret that she hid was not hers to reveal.
Charlotte opened her eyes, and was about to politely refuse Penrith's offer to help, when the very man who had caused her so much anguish and worry, came barrelling into her in a drunken sprawl.
"Beg pardon," Charles Deveraux slurred, though as he caught sight of just who it was that he had nearly toppled, his contrite demeanour disappeared.
"Ah, Miss Drew," he said with a drunken sneer, so deep in his cups that he did not note the towering duke standing behind him, "Fancy seeing you here. Shouldn't a busy-body like you be out sticking her nose in where it's not wanted, and not swanning around at a ball?"
Charlotte, who had not spoken to Charles since the fateful evening when he had broken her fairy-tale view of the world, recoiled in horror. Both his words and his breath were abhorrent, whilst his face—once handsome—had now given away to fat. It was a wonder that she had ever considered marrying the man, when now she could barely stand to look at him.
Still, as much as she might sniff at his appearance and manners, Charlotte found that her voice had become stuck in her throat, at the very sight of Charles.
