Gavin was courting.
He stood on the front step of the address on Mulberry Street and took deep breaths to calm his nerves. Dukes could not fear anything. They lived to lead, and confidence was vital to that process.
However, from the first moment he’d received word Lady Charlene would be honored if he called, his initial elation had quickly turned to a cold sweat. Gavin had never wooed a woman before. He’d never even paid a call on one.
For most of his life, he’d been promised to Elin Morris in a betrothal his father had arranged back when they were children. His father had explained that having a wife chosen for him freed Gavin to prepare to be the duke he should become. His father had high expectations. He’d wanted his heir to focus on becoming a man of importance, a man of history.
Nor had Gavin balked at following his father’s dictates, not like Jack had. Jack had always been surly over their father’s demands.
In contrast, Gavin had actually enjoyed the challenge of meeting his father’s standards and often bettering them. He’d come to gain confidence ineveryfacet of his life from the political to the social... except for one area.
Women.
They were a mystery to him. Because he had Elin, he’d shied away from forming any attachments to them other than his female relatives. And those women seemed a bit capricious to him, even his mother. He was never certain what they were going to think or do. It was only logical to assume the rest of womankind would share this trait, one that served no purpose to his way of thinking: Facts were facts. A schedule was set and to be followed. Black could not be white.
Elin should have been his wife... but her heart had taken a different direction, something Gavin wasn’t certain he understood. He was never comfortable with talk of emotions.
However, he’d had the good sense to realize that she belonged with his brother Ben.
Now he had to find another woman to take to wife. He could do this. He knew he had looks that attracted them, even if his title hadn’t. Even Jack had managed to marry.
His twin’s admission had rattled Gavin a bit. He and Jack had once been very competitive. That Jack had achieved matrimony and he hadn’t, well, the thought gnawed at Gavin a bit.
And he wasn’t going to win a wife unless he knocked on Lady Charlene’s door. He lifted his hand and rapped smartly.
The weather door opened immediately, which told him Lady Charlene’s household knew he’d been standing there. Perhaps they had noticed his phaeton pulled by smart grays that his tiger was walking while he paid his addresses. Perhaps they had been aware of him standing on their stoop and had wonderedwhenhe would knock.
The maid, her hair hidden under a huge mobcap, lowered her eyes modestly and curtsied. “Welcome, Your Grace,” she murmured in a strangely subdued voice. “Please, come in.”
He offered his coat and hat to her. As he did, he caught a glimpse of her eyes—cat eyes. Green ones. Quite unusual.
Something else bothered him as well. The maid seemed to be playing at being subservient. He sensed, and it was an odd notion, that she was anything but dutiful.
He looked around the cramped hallway. The house was exactly what he expected for this neighborhood. The appointments were modest and yet the energy was good, as if the occupants liked each other.
Gavin had learned to detect the moods of a place early in his youth. He’d used the skill to divine his father’s often mercurial tempers.
He looked into the front room of the house and all thoughts of maids, fear, nerves, and father were banished by the sight of Lady Charlene standing demurely in front of the hearth, waiting for him.
There had been times, over the hours since he’d last seen her, that Gavin had questioned if she was as lovely as he remembered. His feverish yearnings had pictured her as perfect, exquisite. His common sense warned that he might have just been caught up in the intent of the ball. Everyone had been dressed their best. In everyday life, there would be flaws, imperfections... but if there was a blemish anywhere on Lady Charlene’s person, he did not find it.
Her very presence lit up the winter afternoon.
She was glorious, a Viking goddess come to life dressed in rose-hued muslin. Her eyes were the color of cornflowers, her skin as lustrous as the Scots pearls that were the pride of his family—and would be his bride’s gift to the woman he would choose.
Lust was a new and intriguing emotion. Gavin had never felt it as sharply as he did now. And certainly, the fire in his blood was encouraged by the way the fire in the hearth behind her illuminated the shadow of her shapely legs beneath her skirts.
He walked into the room and bowed. “Lady Charlene.”
She curtsied. “Your Grace.” She gave him a tentative smile that was charming in its shyness. “You do remember my chaperone, Lady Baldwin?”
No, Gavin hadn’t a memory of anyone but her. Beautiful, luscious, delectable her.
Dame Imogen had been correct. The sort of children he should breed was an important consideration and their children would be magnificent. In fact, he was ready to breed right now.
It was a struggle for him to tear his attention away from Lady Charlene and bow over the hand of the older woman with a lace cap covered with cherry-red ribbons over her powdered hair. She had risen from her seat on the settee. “Lady Baldwin,” he managed.
“Your Grace.” She gave a small curtsy. “You honor us with your presence.”
