Victor frowned into his glass. She looked at the world as though people ought to care for one another without expecting anythingin return, and somehow she had managed to look at him the same way when she worried over his grandmother.
It unsettled him.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts before they could wander further.
“What?” he called impatiently.
The door opened slightly as Baxter stepped inside. “Pardon me, Your Grace,” the butler said smoothly, “but Miss Brown requested writing materials be brought to her room and asked whether she might send several letters tomorrow morning.”
Victor stared for a brief moment before letting out a quiet breath.
“Of course,” he said. “Ensure she has whatever she requires.”
Baxter inclined his head. “Very good, Your Grace.”
As the door closed once more, Victor leaned back against the desk, rubbing a hand slowly over his jaw.
Whatever she requires.
The words echoed strangely in his mind.
Victor exhaled sharply and drained the rest of his drink. This arrangement would end eventually. Charlotte would help soothe his grandmother, her sisters would be launched properly into society, and then everything would return to normal.
At least, that is the plan and it better work. For I will not allow anything beyond that to happen.
CHAPTER 7
That evening, Charlotte sat at the small writing desk in her chamber, though the letter before her remained unfinished for nearly half an hour. Her thoughts refused to settle properly, drifting instead toward the duke with irritating frequency.
She dipped the pen into ink once more before realizing she had not written a single new word.
“This is absurd,” she muttered softly to herself.
The truth was, she had begun seeing Victor differently.
Not entirely differently, certainly. He was still arrogant, infuriating, and far too aware of his own charm for any reasonable person’s comfort. Yet his effortless agreement to sponsor her sisters had shaken something loose in her understanding of him.
A selfish man would not have done such a thing so easily. Would he?
Charlotte frowned slightly as she stared toward the window. Perhaps she had judged him too quickly upon first arriving at Mulford Manor. She had assumed his teasing concealed cruelty, his confidence concealed indifference, but now she was no longer entirely certain.
Which was dangerous.
Worse still was this growing awareness she felt whenever he entered a room. Since they had begun pretending to be betrothed, she noticed everything about him far too sharply, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hand against hers, the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she was not looking.
It unsettled her thoroughly.
A knock sounded at the door, and Charlotte straightened so quickly she nearly knocked over the ink bottle. Foolishly, absurdly, her first thought was Victor.
She hurried to smooth her skirts before opening the door. Instead, Hannah stood there with polite composure. Charlotte felt strangely disappointed for precisely one second before scolding herself internally.
“Miss Brown,” Hannah said with a curtsy, “the dowager duchess has asked for you.”
Charlotte immediately smiled. “Of course,” she replied. “I shall come straight away.”
She followed Hannah through the quiet corridors toward Elizabeth’s private sitting chamber. Upon entering, she found the older woman seated comfortably beside the fire with embroidery abandoned in her lap.
“There you are, my dear,” Elizabeth said warmly. “Come sit beside me.”
