The Duke's Challenge (6 page)

The wretched
man was grinning down at her, his face alight with amusement. He had obviously
worked out for himself her reasons for refusing to remount. She glared her
disapproval and faced forward, her shoulders stiff with dislike.

He settled
her more comfortably against him, and murmured. ‘I am a scoundrel for teasing
you, sweetheart, but you are so impossibly lovely when you blush, I cannot
restrain myself.’

Before she
could think of a suitably crushing riposte to his outrageous comment, he
clicked his tongue and Pegasus obediently lengthened his stride and she was
flung backwards as they cantered the last mile.

Jethro, the
head groom, was in the yard to take the horses. The duke lowered and released
her. Like a frightened fawn she raced off, ignoring the agony from her boots,
in her desire to return to the privacy of her chambers.

Thankfully
Annie wasn’t there. That was one hurdle overcome successfully. The second would
be to remove her boots herself. She unfastened her ruined breeches and removed
the shirt tails from between her legs. Only then she noticed how chafed her
inner thighs were. Free from the restriction imposed by the material, she
collapsed onto the floor desperate to remove the hated footwear.

She spent a
fruitless fifteen minutes before abandoning the task. Her feet must have
swollen inside and she would never get them off without assistance. She hobbled
over to the bell-strap Jenkins had replaced the day before. She would call her
maid - far too late to worry about receiving a bear-garden jaw for her
indecorous exploits. The boots had to come off.

This time she
pulled it more gently for she did not want a repeat performance and find
herself standing in a fresh pile of plaster. A scant ten minutes were left to
cover her semi-nudity. She tugged at the waistband and it tore, making removal
easy. In desperation she dropped to her knees and crawled across to the chair
on which her green day dress was still draped. She scrambled up using the chair
for support and then sat down gratefully.

After removing
the waistcoat she tugged the shirt off over her head. She doubted she could
manage to put on her chemise and petticoats before Annie arrived. She would
have to wear her gown without the underpinnings. The cambric felt rough against
her overheated skin but at least she was decently covered. She scooped up her
discarded boys clothes, and used undergarments,
then
on her knees, she shuffled back to the tester bed and stuffed them under the
coverlet.

Next she sat
firmly on the bed, making certain her maid’s sharp eyes could not see beneath
her. Oh dear! There was mud on the soles of the boots. On examination of the
leather she spotted tell-tale traces. She groped under the comforter and
removed her chemise, and spitting on it, she scrubbed first one and then the
other sole until satisfied they would pass inspection. She pushed the ruined
garment back into its hiding place not a moment too soon.

The door in
the dark wood panelling opened and her maid bustled in. ‘Is something wrong,
miss
?
The bell nigh fell off the wall
downstairs.’

Charlotte’s
eyes checked the ceiling; the bell was still firmly attached. She had not
realized how hard she’d pulled. ‘There is, Annie. I tried on my old riding
boots and find I cannot remove them. Could you please do it for me?’

‘Certainly, miss. I’m surprised you didn’t realise they were too small
when you put on the first one.’

‘It felt
snug, but not too bad. When I tried to walk around I became aware they pinched
my toes horribly. And by then they were firmly stuck.’

Annie bent down
and took Charlotte’s right foot firmly in her two hands. She tugged - it didn’t
budge. She pulled harder and Charlotte shot off the bed landing with a thump on
the boards only just managing to hold down her skirts.

‘My word, Miss Carstairs.
I’m that sorry. I
don’t know my own strength. Are you hurt?’

Charlotte scrambled up hastily knowing any assistance might reveal her
lack of undergarments and that would be impossible to explain. ‘Not at all, it
was
no
more than a bump.’

‘I’ll try the
other way, shall I, miss? I’ll turn round and you put your foot through my
legs.’ Charlotte did as instructed. ‘Now, you push on my rear end whilst I
pull. I’ve seen your father’s valet remove his boots this way.’

It all seemed
very unorthodox but she was prepared to try anything to remove the wretched
things. But however hard they tugged neither boot shifted. Hot and flustered
they admitted defeat.

‘They’ll have
to be cut off, miss. There’s no other way.’

‘Cut off? How?
They are so close fitting a blade wood cut me as well’

Annie shook
her head. ‘Not if it’s real sharp. I’ve seen a doctor do it, years ago, after
one of the grooms broke his ankle.’

‘That’s as
maybe, Annie. But the groom’s boots would not have been glued on to his legs as
these are to mine. I swear they have shrunk since I put them on.’

‘Don’t fret
now, Miss Carstairs. We’ll soon have this sorted out. You wait quietly, and
I’ll send for Dr Andrews to remove them.’

Charlotte
flopped back on to the bed with such force it shook a cloud of dust out of the
hangings. She closed her eyes in disgust. It could be some time before help
arrived, perhaps she would have a nap to pass the time.

She ached all
over, her face stung, her thighs were sore and the pain in her feet, after all
the pushing and pulling, was excruciating. In fact she was thoroughly wretched.
She hoped if she kept still, tried to relax, the throbbing would subside.

What was the
time? It must be past noon; Betty must have brought in the children and given
them their luncheon. She frowned. How could she have allowed herself to neglect
her duties in this way? She was becoming a hoyden. Scarcely more than a month
pad passed since her mother had died and already she was behaving as though she
had no cares in the world.

Mama had made
her promise not to mourn, to move on with her life, but all of them appeared to
have done so with indecent haste. What had come over her since she had arrived
at Thurston Hall? She heard voices in the corridor and heavy footsteps. The
door opened and the duke came in his face etched with concern.

‘You little idiot!
What were you thinking of? You should
have asked for assistance.’

Shocked
speechless by his sudden appearance she could only wave her hands, gesturing
him away. He ignored her and continued his approach. She found her voice.

‘Lord
Thurston, this is no concern of yours. My maid has sent for Dr Andrews. He will
be here soon. I prefer to wait for him.’

‘I do not.’
He picked up a chair and dropped it by the bed. Then he slid a silver blade
from the top of his Hessian. Seeing her eyebrows shoot up into her hair, he
grinned. ‘All soldiers carry a blade in their boot. I have not given up the
habit.’ She edged across the bed, trying to remove herself from his reach.
Annie intervened.

‘Miss, let
his grace help you. He has done this many times before and I reckon he will be
better than a doctor. And he’s right here, not two miles away.’

She could not
let him; he would discover her state of undress. Had she not suffered enough embarrassment
for one day? Sensing her distress, he ducked his head, speaking softly so only
she could hear.

‘What is it,
little one? I promise I shall not hurt you. I have done this many times and
have never injured anyone in the process.’

‘It is not
that,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I… I am... not properly dressed.’ She glanced
down at her skirt and he understood. His smile vanished and he became as
impersonal as a physician. He sat back, glancing over his shoulder.

‘Annie, come
sit on the bed with Miss Carstairs. She is apprehensive and could do with your
support.’

‘Of course I
will, my lord.’ The maid came forward.

‘Sit there,
between me and Miss Carstairs; I believe she will be happier if she cannot
observe what is going on.’

Annie did as
she was bid. Charlotte closed her eyes and prayed the ordeal would soon be
over. He took her right leg and held it firmly, then there was a hiss and the
boot was off. She had felt nothing- the blade had not touched her.

‘Christ in
his heaven! What a mess!’

Annie almost
fell off the bed in horror at his profanity when he saw Charlotte’s
blood-soaked stockings.

‘Hold it.
Wait until I have removed the second, then you can deal with it.’

This time
Charlotte watched as he deftly slit the boot along the seam and peeled the
leather away from her leg. The left foot was equally shocking.

‘There, my
dear, it is done. I shall leave your maid to tend to your injuries. When you
are sufficiently recovered I should like to speak to you in the library.’

‘Thank you,
my lord. I am sure that I will be able to get around again tomorrow. I shall
send word when I am available.’

He smiled and
her heart turned over. Her eyes followed him until the door closed and she was
alone with her maid. She sank back on her pillows, her mind full of contradictory
thoughts and unexpected emotions.

If Annie
wondered how walking around her bedchamber had caused such injuries, she did
not say so. Charlotte was just relieved to have her crushed toes free from
constriction and quite forgot that she disliked and despised the duke and could
do nothing but sing his praises whilst Annie bathed and bandaged her mangled
feet.

‘You will not
be able to walk easily for a while, but it looks worse than it is, I’m happy to
say.’

Charlotte risked
flexing her toes and discovered the pain was bearable. ‘Thank you, Annie. Like
Lord Thurston, you have done a splendid job.’

‘If you’re
comfortable, miss, I’ll get back downstairs and check how the children are.’

‘Yes, please
do so. I have been anxious myself about their well-being.’

Left alone in
her sparsely furnished room with nothing to read and not even her embroidery to
occupy her hands, she stared about with displeasure. The first thing she must
do was send Jenkins up into the attics to find her a
chaise-longue
and a side table and perhaps a comfortable armchair.

‘Good
heavens!’ She exclaimed aloud when she remembered that she had, in fact, sent
Jenkins out to deliver a note to Dr Andrews hours ago. Why had he not returned?
He was a fit young man and could have walked there and back in an hour and a
half with no difficulty. Whatever could be keeping him?

Chapter Six

Charlotte was
tempted to crawl across to the bell strap but it would be Annie who was obliged
to answer her summons and her maid’s first concern must be for Beth and Harry.
Her curiosity about the tardy footman would just have to wait.

It could only
be a matter of time before someone pointed out to Lord Thurston he had
compromised her. He had not wished her to move in and if it were not for her
injury by the stone, she was sure he would not have admitted them. This
appalling situation was her fault; and she could not allow him to sacrifice his
freedom because of it.

She banged her
hands on the cover. The situation wasn’t all her error- if he had done his duty
- then there would not have been angry villagers and the missile wouldn’t have
been thrown. She smiled, happy she could lay some of the blame for their
predicament at the duke’s door. Strange warmth bathed her limbs as she daringly
said his given name in her head. Jack - it suited him.

Her discomfort
grew until her crumpled green gown felt too tight. Why did thinking of Jack
(she risked his name again and a corresponding wave of heat coursed round her)
make her feel so strange? Admittedly he was monstrously tall, and his shoulders
were broad and his chest well-muscled but he was badly disfigured and had a
fearsome temper.

She fanned her
hands ineffectually in front of her face but they did little to reduce the glow
of her cheeks. She couldn’t stay in bed. She needed to be up; needed something
else, but wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was that her restlessness was
linked to him.

He might be
Jack in her thoughts from now on, but she could just imagine his reaction if
she was unwise enough address him so familiarly to his face. She sat up and
carefully put her bandaged feet the floor. She applied weight, winced and sat
back. Her toes were too painful to carry her, but perhaps if she walked on her
heels? Holding tight to her bedpost and balancing in this way was difficult,
but relatively pain free.

It would be
wise to remove the evidence from beneath the comforter and don some
undergarments before her maid returned. She pulled out the discarded riding
clothes and her petticoat and chemise then, tucking them under her arm, she
shuffled her way over to the closet.

Her heels were
sore by the time she’d achieved her objective but at least she hadn’t fallen. She
pushed the riding clothes into a dark corner and tossed the undergarments into
the laundry basket. Manoeuvring in here was easier as she had the shelves to
hold on to. She edged her way around the tiny room until she reached the pile
of freshly washed and pressed, petticoats and chemises.

Shrugging off
her ruined gown she stood naked for a moment, enjoying the feel of the cool air
on her skin. She stared down critically at her body. Was she too plump? Her
breasts were full, her torso tapered to a satisfactorily small waist, her tummy
was flat and her hips rounded. She peered awkwardly over her shoulder, almost
losing her balance, to check that her bottom was acceptable.

A young lady of
her height was considered overly tall. She had topped her mother by several
inches but next to Jack she had felt almost dainty. A shiver of excitement
flicked through her and instinctively she covered her breasts with her hands.
Without their support her weight transferred to her injured toes and agony
replaced excitement. Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. The
touch of the cold boards on her naked skin banished all thought of Lord
Thurston. She got to her knees and pulled herself upright. This would not do!
What if Beth or Harry had come in and found her cavorting in her closet,
totally unclothed?

She snatched a
chemise and pulled it down over her head. The ribbons and tiny buttons would
have to wait until she could sit down. Next she selected a petticoat and draped
it over her arm. She viewed the meagre row of gowns hanging on the rail. She
chose a serviceable brown cotton dress, its high neck, long sleeves and lack of
decoration, ideal for someone who did not wish to draw attention to her
femininity. She ignored the pile of stockings neatly rolled on the shelf. She
couldn’t put shoes or hosiery over her bandages

Twenty minutes later she was dressed. As her hair was hanging in a long
braid down her back it didn’t require any further intervention on her part. She
glanced into the speckled mirror to check if she had any stray spots of mud on
her cheeks. Her eyes widened in horror. Good grief! She looked like a clown.

Her cheeks were
mottled red-and-white where the nettles had stung and her scar was a livid line
slashed across her forehead, the sutures showing black along it. Thoughtfully
she ran her fingertips over her face. Perhaps now was a goodtime to attempt to
make her way down to the library. Her appearance was so unimpressive the duke
would no longer find her desirable. He had said he wished to speak to her and
she was eager to know the whereabouts of Jenkins. She decided, however
difficult it might be, she wouldn’t languish upstairs like an invalid.

Her stomach
made a most unladylike noise and she giggled. It must be hours since she had
broken her fast. Once she was downstairs she would make her way to the kitchen
and find something to eat. Then she would send word to Lord Thurston that she
was ready for her interview.

If she walked flatfooted, the weight on her heels, her toes didn’t hurt
too much. She made slow progress and a further twenty minutes passed before she
arrived in the gallery. She paused here to capture her breath and rest her
feet. She flopped gratefully against the balustrade forgetting about the
intricately carved animals that lurked to damage the unwary. The horn of a
unicorn poked sharply into her abdomen.

Startled she
reared back, lost her grip, and fell backwards, her arms flailing wildly. Her
cry of distress echoed round the vaulted roof. Charlotte was shaken by her
tumble but not seriously injured, the damage being mainly to her dignity. She
sat up and looked for a smooth handhold to pull
herself
up. She could hear Jack taking the stairs three at a time. She barely had time
to cover her legs before he appeared beside her.

‘My God!
What the hell are you doing here? You should be
resting in your room and not wandering unaided about the place.’

She hated being
told something she already knew. ‘As you have told me several times, what I do
is none of your concern, my lord.’ It was hard to be cold and disdainful when
sitting on one’s bottom on the boards.

‘You, my dear,
are impossible.
A sore trial indeed!’
He reached down
and slid his arms under her, lifting her smoothly.

‘Put me down,
at once, my lord.’ She struggled but he just tightened his hold.

‘Keep still,
you ninny, do you wish me to drop you down the stairs?’

‘I wish you to
release me then the question of stairs will be irrelevant.’

He ignored her
protests and carried her down. ‘I shall take you to the library.’

‘No, take me to
the kitchen—if you please,’ she added hastily, as she felt him stiffen.

Again he ignored her and strode down the endless passages to the library.
He was forced to put her on the floor in order to open the heavy oak door. How
she wished she could pick up her skirts and run away. She didn’t like being
held in his embrace, it made her pulse race.

The door swung
open. ‘There, it is done.’ Without asking her leave he picked her up again and
carried her in. He walked across the once blue and green carpet and deposited
her on a convenient chair.

‘Thank you so
much, my lord,’ she said caustically.

He reached out
for the chair the butler had used earlier and, swinging it round, he straddled
it. Then, folding his arms across the back, he stared at her. She bridled; she
looked a fright, and it was rude to stare. She lowered her eyes, hiding her
face from him.

‘Don’t look
away, sweetheart, I cannot tell you how long it has been since a beautiful
woman has looked at me without turning aside in revulsion.’

Her head shot up,
surprise loosening her tongue. ‘What fustian you speak, my lord. You have a
scarred
face, that
is all; your body is magnificent
and undamaged. In my opinion it would be far worse if you had lost a limb.’

She saw his
expression change and his jaw harden. She wished her words back. He stood up
gently placing the chair to one side, his expression unreadable. Charlotte
couldn’t move. Was he going to strike her for her insolence? Her stomach
contracted and she closed her eyes, too frightened to watch his approach.

But he didn’t
raise his hand but dropped to his knees beside her. He was so close his breath
caressed her face. Then his fingers touched her cheek and she shuddered, but it
wasn’t fear that shook her. Something she didn’t understand was happening. Her
limbs were weak and her eyelids too heavy to lift. A delicious heat ran through
her, pooling in a most unexpected place. Her hands left her lap and, without
conscious thought, found their way to rest tentatively on his chest

‘Open your
eyes, sweetheart, look at me, please. I need to see your lovely green eyes.
Need to know you don’t find me repulsive.’

She forced them
open. His face was inches
from her own
. She sighed and
the fingers of one hand reached out to gently trace the scar from the corner of
his mouth up to his forehead. She felt him tremble under her touch and wondered
at it.

With his thumbs
he followed the outline of her lips, her cheeks, and her insides melted. Her
lips parted and she buried her head in his thick dark hair, glad he hadn’t had it
cut short as was the current fashion.

He bent his
neck and his mouth brushed across hers, sending spirals of pleasure twisting
down her spine. Then his tongue followed the same path and she tugged his hair,
pulling him closer, unconsciously demanding he kissed her properly.

His lips
crushed hers and she was transported to a place she had never dreamed of. Now
she understood why poets wrote of physical love, why men and women risked their
very lives for it. After several blissful minutes he unlocked her fingers,
removing them from his hair and sprung to his feet. His voice, when he spoke,
sounded husky - different.

‘My God,
Charlotte, Miss Carstairs! What was I thinking? I have run mad.’ He turned his
back on her giving her time to compose herself and to rearrange her ruffled
clothing. When she was settled behind him, he folded himself on to a chair on
the far side of the room.

‘My dear, I must apologise once again for my outrageous behaviour. You’re
a green girl, not a society sophisticate, and I took shameless advantage of
you.’

‘No,
my lord, you did not. The… the embrace was reciprocated, I can assure you.’ She
sounded too earnest, like a pleading schoolgirl caught out in a misdemeanour,
but she didn’t wish him to believe he had offended her.

His rich laugh
filled the space between them, removing the tension and awkwardness. ‘I rather
think it’s time you call me by my given name, it is Jack, by the way. I am
heartily sick of hearing your grace, my lord, and Lord Thurston tumble from
your lips at every opportunity.’

‘The use of
given name is only permissible between close relatives and siblings. It would
be very forward of me to call you thus.’ She giggled. ‘However I have prepared
to call you Cousin
Jack,
or perhaps Uncle Jack might
be more appropriate?’

‘Uncle!
You had better not, you baggage! - I am eight and
twenty, not in my dotage.’

She grinned.
‘Then Cousin Jack it shall be. And you may call me Cousin Charlotte, if you
wish.’

‘
I
shall
call you Charlotte.
You
may do as you
please.’

She gave way –
arguing with him was pointless - he was obviously a man used to having his own
way. ‘What rank were you, Cousin Jack?’

‘Major; I was a
major in the Hussars.’

‘My papa was a
major also.’ She nodded. ‘But in the infantry. We travelled with him until my
mama,’ she hesitated, and then ploughed on, far too late to worry about
propriety. ‘Until my mama was expecting Harry, and we were forced to return to
England.’

She frowned as
she recalled the cramped dark house in Romford, their lack of horses, the
shortage of money. ‘I much preferred it in Spain and Portugal in spite of the
deprivations we encountered.’

‘You are a
constant surprise, Charlotte; but the fact you followed the drum explains a lot
You’re
obviously not a young lady who allows
convention to hold her back.’

Her eyes
flashed. ‘Are you impugning my honour, Lord Thurston? ‘

‘Don’t poker
up,
sweetheart,
I was referring to your bravery and
excellent seat on a horse.’

At the
unfortunate mention of her seat she flushed crimson and to her chagrin he threw
back his head and roared with laughter. Reluctantly she found herself joining
in.

Meltham had to
knock twice in order to make
himself
heard. ‘Come in,
damn you,’ Jack shouted.

‘I apologize
for disturbing you, your grace, but I have urgent need to speak to you in
private.’

Jack was on his
feet as he spoke. ‘What is it, man? What has happened? Speak freely - Miss
Carstairs needs to know as well.’

‘It’s Jenkins,
my lord. I was becoming anxious about his non-appearance and sent a groom to
seek him out.’ The old man stopped, too overcome to continue.

‘Tell me,
what’s happened to Jenkins?’ Jack inquired
softly,
his
arm resting on the butler’s shaking shoulders.

‘He’s dead!
Murdered most foully, your grace.
Some wicked person has
struck him down.’