At the sight of him, her lips parted. She smiled her welcome as if she was truly delighted to see him. She had one hand on the door handle and another on the doorjamb as if opening her arms wide for him.
All he had to do was step forward and he would be in her embrace—
A movement behind her caught his attention. A tall, redheaded woman had followed her into the hall. Her brows were drawn in concern. “Char, who is it?” she asked, and then stopped at the sight of him.
Lady Charlene acted as if she had been as mesmerized by the sight of him as he had been with her. She gave herself a shake and said, “It is Baynton’s brother, Mr.Whitridge. Sir, this is my aunt, Mrs.Pettijohn.”
“Mrs.Pettijohn,” he said with a bow. The aunt. Gavin would approve of her. She was an attractive woman. Now there would be nothing to stop him from asking for Lady Charlene’s hand.
“Sir. Are you here on some errand for the duke?” Mrs.Pettijohn asked. “Will you step in?”
How to explain himself? Mrs.Pettijohn did not appear as if she would be patient if he said he was here because...well, he had a need to gaze longingly at her niece. To be this close to her, to talk to her, to listen to her breathe.
“I do have a message. However, it is for Lady Charlene’s ears alone.”
Mrs.Pettijohn wasn’t about to let him have a private moment, but Lady Charlene was ahead of her. “Yes, thank you. We shall only be a moment, Sarah. One moment. We will be right on this step.”
Without waiting for permission, she came out to Jack, closing the door behind her, holding it shut with her hand. Darkness had fallen but the light flowing from the front windows highlighted her hair, her nose, her eyes.
Raising her voice so that it was loud enough for Mrs.Pettijohn to hear, she said, “What is it the duke wishes me to know?” And then she lowered her voice, “I had hoped to see you this day.”
“Why?” He was conscious that he held his breath, as if anxious for her answer.
“The Seven are following me,” she said. “I thought I caught sight of one of the youngest spying on me this afternoon.”
Her answer deflated his—what? Hopes? He should not have hopes. Lust? Well, there was that. He had not come to London for Cupid’s purpose. And yet, every time he looked at her, all the sharp lines in his world eased and being this close to her felt right.
Jack pulled the hat from inside his coat and gave it to her.
She recognized it immediately. “Leo gave you this?”
“We came to an understanding.”
“What sort of understanding?”
“One that has freed you from any obligation to him.”
Her face lit with relief. “Are you serious? Oh please, Whitridge, be serious.”
“I am,” he said, charmed by the way she called him Whitridge. Of course, she could have called him anything and he would have been happy, and in that moment, he knew. He was capable of falling in love with her. He might alreadybein love with her.
“Thank you,” she said. And then she reached up and gave him a hug. It was a quick gesture, one of supreme gratitude.
His hand involuntarily went to her waist and for a wild, blessed second, their bodies were pressed against each other, their eyes locked—and he saw the truth.
She loved him.
Jack leaned in. His lips hovered over hers. Dear God, he wanted a taste. He breathed in her breath, her scent, her heat.
This was madness. It could not be. If he kissed her, he would betray all that he was trying to become, including this new reconciliation with his brother, his family.
If she kissed him, then all that a marriage to Gavin promised would be lost. He could not let her make that sacrifice. If anyone deserved to be a duchess, it was Charlene Blanchard.
He stepped back and broke the spell between them.
She lowered her head, nodded as if she had expected him to be the sane one.
Mrs.Pettijohn opened the door. “Char? Is everything all right?”
