What the Duke Wants

Chapter Twelve




“Lady Southridge! Damn it all where are you?” Charles shouted from the hall, his tone menacing and impatient.

“Charles what is the matter and why, in heaven’s name, are you bellowing?” Lady Southridge emerged from the library, her expression irritated.

“You! The only thing preventing me from strangling your meddlesome neck is the fact that you have information I need, and if I killed you, I’d never know it. I ask you, where. Is. Carlotta?” He spoke through clenched teeth. He felt like a wild animal barely under control.

That morning he had left at first light to ride and obtain a special license. It had taken him longer than he anticipated due to a miserable rainstorm that halted his progress on the way home. Expecting to sweep Carlotta away at the first opportunity he was shocked, and quite crushed to realize that the very woman he was intending to sweep away, was not in residence.

Betrayal, hurt and anger all fought for dominion in his heart… until he found a target— Lady Southridge. Poor Tibbs had wisely taken a few steps back from the duke when he explained the situation, and who had granted the permission for her to leave.

Truly, he had never been more tempted to commit murder in his life. What had those daft women been thinking? He had been very clear about his intentions with Carlotta. And why in the bloody hell did Lady Southridge let her go?

“Carlotta will be back in a few days, Charles. Settle down. You look positively wild. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, you know.”

Not the thing to say.

He took a very deliberate step towards her, unblinking he stared hard into her eyes. “I dare you to repeat that.”

Lady Southridge took a step back.

Perhaps the woman had some sense after all.

“Charles, she was with her solicitor, Mr. Burrows. Didn’t Tibbs tell you? I’m assuming you know that much since he said I had given her permission.” She glanced up as if exasperated.

She had no idea what exasperated truly felt like.

“Yes, I heard about the bloody investment making a bloody return and giving her back her bloody financial independence and her going to settle everything at her bloody estate. What I want to know is why you couldn’t have her wait for me? I was obtaining a special license… Am I making myself quite clear?”

“I—I wasn’t aware you had an understanding.”

“Yes, well…”

“When I spoke with her last night she didn’t imply…” She trailed off as if catching herself. Her eyes widened.

“You did what? When? When did you speak to her?” Charles took another step forward.

“I—I, well, I felt responsible.”

“In what way could you have possibly shouldered any blame for—” He began to roll his eyes.

“I told you to compromise her.”

“Dear Lord.” He felt his face drain of blood. “You didn’t…” He couldn’t even think of a damning enough swear word to describe the wretchedness of the situation.


“I—er… well I said that I felt responsible because I didn’t think you’d actually do it, and I said that since she left with her virtue intact, she should consider how much self-control you were exhibiting… oh bother… it sounds quite miserable when I re-tell it. But I swear it was quite eloquent last night.”

“Bloody brilliant damning hell.”

“That was quite a list.”

“It’s not remotely long enough.” He wiped his face with his hands. “This is a disaster. I have no words. I… I don’t even know what to say.” He walked away. Of all the wretched things! No wonder she ran away as soon as possible! Hell, he’d have ran away from himself if the tables were turned.

“But if you have an understanding, I mean you are engaged, aren’t you?” Lady Southridge was wringing her hands, trying to grasp at straws that would make the bleak and miserable situation somehow have a silver lining.

There was no silver lining.

Black. The horizon was black.

Especially since he actually never asked her… simply told her that they’d marry.

“You’re not answering,” Lady Southridge whispered.

“No. I’m not.” Charles stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

“There’s no understanding, is there?” Lady Southridge whispered even softer.

“I’m not sure. I rather told her about my plans to obtain a special license rather than ask for her hand.”

“But… you said you loved her… right?”

“No.”

“What did you do?” Lady Southridge’s voice rose in volume. Charles turned towards her and saw her hands firmly on her hips, her lips in a grim line.

“I kissed her quite senseless.” He was seriously wondering if it could get worse.

“Men!” Lady Southridge threw her hands up in the air and walked a few steps away, then paused.

“Berty, dear, this isn’t the time,” she spoke softly to the young girl, her tone kind.

“Your grace, I heard something and Bethanny said I should tell you.”

“Oh? What did you hear Berty?” Charles tried to calm himself and pay attention to the little sprite of a girl.

“I followed Miss Lottie, but she didn’t see me. Just as her and that wretched man who took her away were about to walk outside, he said… well… it sounded like a viscount was meeting them at her home, to marry her.” Berty glanced down, her eyes brimming with tears. “She’ll never come back, will she your grace?” Berty burst into a sob, throwing herself at Lady Southridge’s legs and burying her face in her skirts.

“There, there child. I’m sure she’ll be back. She never said anything to me—”

“Why in the hell would she tell you?” Charles spoke darkly. Of course, things could get worse, why had he even asked?

“Because, I don’t know. I—Berty? Did you happen to hear the viscount’s name?” Lady Southridge asked as she smoothed her hair away from her cherub-like face.

“Banby? Darby? Something like that,” Berty replied, her words muffled by the skirts.

“Darby?” he asked. Recalling the man associated with the title, Charles felt his blood run cold. Darby was from an old titled family, had more than enough wealth, a sterling reputation and was all around respectable. The blasted man was even decent to look at, or so he was told. In all truth, he was perfect for Carlotta.

More honestly, he was everything that Charles was not, at least in the character department. Oh, he knew he had enough wealth and his title alone would recommend him, but character? He was severely lacking, that and self-control, and the ability to ask the woman he loved to marry him.

Yes, that sin was at the top of his list right now.

“Thank you, Berty. Can you please tell your sisters I’d like to speak with them?” Berty glanced up with shining eyes.

“Yes, Lady Southridge.” She scampered off to find her sisters and Charles watched her, his soul completely hopeless.

Just last night he was on top of the world, he didn’t even sleep but left at first light to secure a special license so that he could marry her before she had a chance to escape.

Apparently, she had a chance to escape and took it.

“This is an unforeseen road block.” Lady Southridge tapped her chin.

“Road block? This is a bloody massacre.”

“It’s not as if she’s married Darby already.”

“But she should.”

“What?”

“She should. He’d be perfect for her.”

“But—”

“But I’m not… perfect for her. I can’t even remember to say I love you when it’s needed most. I fail at simple communication.”

“But you feel it?”

“Like Zeus’ lightning bolts every time I see her.”

“Then why give up?”

“I—

“Your grace?” Bethanny asked, her soft voice tentative as she approached with her sisters.

“Yes, Bethanny.” He sighed, numb.

She glanced to her sister, Beatrix, then turned back to him, her eyes wide. “You have to go after her, your grace. I… I think she might be in danger.”

“Danger?” Charles echoed; he fought between fear and disbelief. Mr. Burrows was anything but dangerous. “How so?”

“She was quite distressed, she was… crying.”

“Crying?” he asked, his eyes widening.”

“Yes.” Bethanny nodded vigorously. “She was sobbing really, and that man, Mr. Burrows? He said something about her being too attached to us and… I’m not sure but it looked like he forced her into the carriage.”

“He did what?” Charles felt his blood boil. Could it be? Was there perhaps hope? Not that he wanted her forcibly taken from his home, but maybe she didn’t actually want to leave in the first place!

“So you see, you simply have to go after her, your grace. What if something horrible happens?” Bethanny was waving her hands about, her eyes wide with fear.

“Lady Southridge, you say here at Greenford Waters. If Car—Miss Lottie returns before I do, keep her here. Am I understood?” He leveled his most stern gaze at the woman.

“Yes, we’ll tie her up if need be.”

“I doubt that will be necessary… but if it is, do it,” Charles amended.

“Tibbs! Get over here man!” he bellowed down the hall. Tibbs rushed forward. “I need my horse ready immediately!” he shouted to the frenzied butler.

“Yes, your grace.” Tibbs bowed then ran.

Ran.

“Charles, you don’t know where Garden Gate is!” Lady Southridge called after him as he rushed down the hall.

“No, but I can ask. Surely, someone in Bath will know. I’ll ask Lord Whipple’s wife, she knows everyone around these parts.”

“Very well, please… send word as soon as you know something.”

“If I’m able. Now, excuse me.”

Rushing to his room, his valet helped him dress in fresh riding breeches and a warmer coat. Losing patience with his slow pace, he ran to the stables and mounted his chestnut stallion that had just been readied and was waiting. The magnificent beast pawed the earth, anxious to be off.

Charles understood the feeling.

Moments later, he was thundering down the lane towards Bath, praying that Lady Whipple was in residence and accepting visitors. He was a desperate man and was not above resorting to desperate measures. But in the interest of time, it would be far more expedient if she simply told him the information he needed to know.


Less than two hours later, he was following the route given by Lady Whipple’s butler to the estate of Garden Gate. It was far closer than he anticipated, only a two hour ride from Bath. By his account, he had only an hour left of travel, which was providential since the sun was beginning to set lower in the western sky. As his horse galloped towards his destination, Charles gave his mind its freedom as well.

A thousand different scenarios flashed through his head as he considered why Mr. Burrows had forced Carlotta’s departure from Greenford Waters.

Was there a sinister side to Lord Darby? One that was hidden? Was Mr. Burrows using her for his own treacherous purposes? Charles felt that scenario quite unlikely, he had known the solicitor for many years, but just how well did he know him? Well enough to trust him? With his money and affairs, yes, with Carlotta? No. Truth was, he wouldn’t trust anyone with Carlotta.

Including himself.

But he was in love with her; that had to make up for his multiple sins in lacking to communicate that affection.

At least he hoped.

By the time he saw the modest estate in the distance, he had worked himself into a lather, both physically and mentally. Without hesitation, he dismounted as his horse skidded to a halt just before the front steps. Taking the stairs three at a time, he didn’t knock, but opened the door and strode in. His heels were loud on the tile floor, but he didn’t care. Let them know he was coming, let them quake in fear and wonder just what avenging force was coming for them.

He heard voices and turned towards the sound, stopping short when he saw Carlotta, smiling.

Laughing really.

What hurt worse was that her smile which filled his veins with fire, and that laugh that stirred his very soul… fell silent as soon as she saw him.

And for the first time since riding out to rescue her, he entertained the miserable thought that perhaps, she didn’t need him after all.

Maybe he just needed her.

Maybe he was the one in need of rescuing.

Damn.