“Charity, you have come to my house revealing that you were happy to take the risk of marrying me. You are now standing before me in nothing but your night shift. You would tempt any sane man into becoming a beast.” His voice had become more hooded, deeper and richer, that gravelly tone reaching so far inside of her that she could swear her heart thudded with vibrations.
“You like the way I look, Your Grace?”
“I am not answering that,” he whispered. “I’ve said too much already. Just do me a favor and keep that shawl closed.” He must have moved away from her, for she could hear his footstepsretreating and that sandalwood scent softened. “So, would you like to sleep in the servants’ quarters?”
Charity did not like the idea of sleeping beside Isobel. As lovely as she was, Charity wanted a peaceful night, and there was another she could sleep beside, another who had given her one of the most rested nights of her life the night before.
“I could sleep beside you again.” Her words must have rooted him to the spot, for she heard the floorboards creaking beneath him, then everything halted. “Not in that manner!” she said, rushing, certain her face was blushing the color of a tomato. “Last night, you slept on the floor, and I wouldn’t ask the same again. You could at least take the chaise longue.”
She tried to make it a jest and pointed in the direction of where she presumed it was. “Is it even over there?”
“Close enough,” he said with a deep chuckle of his own. “Are you sure you are happy with that?”
“I am.” Charity nodded. “I would rather that.”
He breathed deeply, though she did not know why.
“Very well.” He moved toward the door. “I have some things to attend to, and then I’ll wash. I shall return in about an hour and sleep on the chaise longue. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Make sure you are covered up by the blanket when I return. Please,” he added the latter word with some desperation. “Or you’ll be the death of me, Charity,” he finished in a lower voice that he did not seem to expect her to hear, though she very clearly did.
She smiled as he walked out of the door. There was something so thrilling about hearing him say such things. With no idea what she truly looked like, the thought that her looks could inspire such words was exciting.
She laid down on the bed and shifted the shawl away, covering herself up with the blankets. She busied herself, imagining how her father would have reacted that day when he found her gone. The hour passed quickly, and when the duke returned, she at first pretended to be asleep, thinking it would help if they did not have to make conversation between them.
She heard him lay down on the chaise longue, for it creaked beneath his weight. Judging by the sounds of cloth being rustled, he had brought a blanket with him too, then he sighed as he leaned back on the settee.
Charity was filled with such heat and anticipation, she couldn’t sleep. The duke was a short distance away from her, and she could not help wondering what could happen between them if she had revealed more of herself to him.
“Your Grace?” she whispered into the air.
“I didn’t think you were asleep,” he said, coaxing a smile to her lips.
“Thank you for this. Truly. I do appreciate it.”
“I am doing what any gentleman would do.”
No, you are not.
Charity had met other men. She knew men like her father and Baron Tynefield, even her brother. Not one had ever understood her fears so much as to take care of her like this. And two of them were her own blood. Maybe the duke didn’t want to believe it, but he had a big heart. It was showing through now, just as it had done the night before when he took her away from that prison.
She heard the distinct sound of fussy rustling once again.
“If you are uncomfortable, you can sleep on the bed.” Her hand trembled as she laid it on the empty space beside her, wondering what it would be like to sleep beside him.
“I think that a poor idea. Keeping in the spirit of candor, I do not think I could trust myself.” He sighed deeply once more. “Not when you are only wearing that nightgown.”
Charity smiled and turned her face toward the pillow, indulging in the rushing feeling of his flirtation.
“Can I ask you something a little… personal?” he murmured after another minute of silence.
“Of course.”
“Your blindness… when did it happen? Have you always been unable to see?”
“No.” Charity blinked and turned her head up to the ceiling. The fire was burning down now, but it still left a soft warmth in the room. “I was eight years old in a carriage with my sister. We were being moved from my father’s country estate to the townhouse in Winchester when there was a storm.”
