She met the dowager’s gaze only once, for there was an uncanny feeling that the woman would know all her secrets.
“And where is the man of the house, the Iron Duke?” Agatha said.
Charlotte’s eyes widened, and her stomach fell. Alfred put a hand over his mouth, not quite successful in his attempts to stifle a laugh. Beatrice adopted a waspish expression, and her eyes narrowed with dislike.
“The Duke of Winthrop has an urgent matter requiring his attention. He will return presently. He, too, is eager to meet you all.”
The words dripped from her lips with venom. Charlotte wasn’t quite sure how, but it sounded like a threat. She privately wondered if the Duke’s absence was either a show, arrogance, or to emphasize his power.
“Perhaps we should refrain from using that moniker, which is quite undeserved, of course.” Mary’s words rushed out of her mouth.
“Oh yes, undeserved indeed,” Alfred muttered.
“Alfred!” Beatrice glared at her son. Charlotte quickly realized that the Duchess used her words as weapons.
This is going to be a long stay, she thought to herself. But at least Alfred’s affection for Mary was beyond question. It was displayed in the way he stood beside her, as though he belonged there, and in the shared looks they gave each other, an unspoken language only the two of them could decipher.
“His Grace, the Duke of Winthrop,” the butler announced. Everyone stopped talking, and there was tension in the air.
“Ah, there’s the devil now. My esteemed brother, everyone, Nathaniel Blackwood, Duke of Winthrop,” Alfred lowered his voice, whispering to the Hartleys.
The Hartley family all turned simultaneously. Normally, Charlotte would have made a careful observation of their reactions. However, in this instance, the world fell away to shadow.
Nathaniel Blackwood strode toward them, each step measured, radiating authority. He had a riding crop tucked under his right arm. He was in the process of tugging leather gloves off his long fingers.
Charlotte noticed his eyes first, however. When she did, it was as though all the blood was drained from her in one instant. All the horrors of the world screamed a mad cacophony in her mind. Her knees trembled. By some miracle, she remained standing.
For it was he.
The rude stranger with the cutting words.
The man she hoped would keep her secret, preventing it from reaching the Iron Duke’s ear.
Instead, she had given it directly to his lips.
He flinched as their eyes met, and she thought she was going to die.
Chapter Four
Nathaniel could hear voices drifting from the foyer. He clenched his jaw, pushing himself forward, reminding himself that he needed to endure these measures for his brother. Still, he would have preferred to remain on his black steed, Bastion.
The guests had assembled and were turning to face him. He faltered a little, the riding crop almost dropping from under his arm.
He did not falter when he saw the older woman with the blank expression, as though she met men of his renown every day. Nor did he react to the wry grin of the Duke of Stonewood. The gentle beauty of the younger lady did not affect him either.
No.
He reacted only toher.
Auburn hair was tied back, revealing a striking jaw. Faint freckles were dusted across her nose. He had seen them in detail. Hazel eyes were frantic, unable to settle.
His jaw clenched, and in one instant, that strange, improper moment exploded like dawning sunlight in his mind. He pinched his glove more tightly while the core of his body became rigid with tension. A mixture of frustration, fury, and indignation settled in the back of his throat.
A woman like her had no place in his home. He would have been well within his rights to throw her out without a second thought, but just as his lip curled, he caught Alfred’s gaze, noticing the hidden plea on his face.
Then, Alfred approached Nathaniel and led him to the group. The Dowager Duchess made the introductions. The words flew through the air.
“Dowager Duchess, Your Grace, Ladies, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope your journey here was untroubled,” he said, bowing to each in turn. He relied on his practiced etiquette; however, the movements and the words were imbued with an automated quality as his attention drifted toward Charlotte.
