“Rest now, Your Grace,” she said, smoothing the blankets once more. “I shall see you in the morning.”
Elizabeth murmured something indistinct before drifting off, leaving Charlotte to slip quietly from the room.
Only as she stepped back into the corridor did Charlotte realize her own state of dress, or rather, lack of it. Her nightgown, though modest by any reasonable standard, was far from suitable attire for wandering the halls of a grand manor.
“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath. “What an excellent impression I continue to make.”
She had just begun to make her way back toward her room when a figure emerged from the shadows ahead. Charlotte halted at once, her breath catching as recognition dawned.
The duke stood there, his expression unreadable, though his gaze swept over her with unmistakable thoroughness.
“Well,” he drawled, his voice low and edged with amusement, “if you are attempting to seduce me, Miss Brown, I must confess I am not impressed.”
Charlotte stared at him, her mortification swiftly giving way to indignation. “I beg your pardon?” she said sharply. “I assure you, Your Grace, I have no such intention.”
“Is that so?” he replied, taking a slow step closer. His gaze lingered far longer than propriety dictated, though his expression remained maddeningly composed. “You appear to be making a rather compelling effort.”
Charlotte lifted her chin, her irritation outweighing her embarrassment. “If I were attempting to seduce you,” she said coolly, “you would be in no doubt of it.”
A flicker of interest crossed his face, and something in his expression shifted, something sharper, more intent.
“Would I?” he said quietly. He took another step closer, closing the distance between them in a way that made Charlotte acutely aware of every inch of space.
“You would,” she replied, though her voice felt suddenly less steady than she would have liked.
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze intent in a manner that made her pulse quicken despite herself. “Then by all means,” he murmured, “do enlighten me.”
Charlotte blinked, momentarily stunned. “I… what?” she said.
His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You did say I would know,” he said. “I am merely inviting you to prove it.”
Charlotte’s breath caught, though she refused to step back. “You are quite impossible,” she said, her voice low with frustration.
“And you,” he replied, “are far more interesting than I had anticipated.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something Charlotte could neither name nor entirely comprehend. His gaze had not softened, yet there was something undeniably different in it now, something that unsettled her far more than his earlier indifference.
“Well,” she said at last, forcing her composure back into place, “I have no intention of indulging your curiosity, Your Grace.” Shestepped around him briskly, her dignity firmly intact despite the heat that lingered in her cheeks.
“How disappointing,” he murmured behind her.
Charlotte did not turn. “I am sure you will recover,” she replied crisply.
She walked swiftly down the corridor, her heart beating far faster than it had any right to, and did not slow until she reached the safety of her room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, her breath uneven.
“He is insufferable,” she said aloud, though the words lacked some of their earlier conviction.
As she crossed to her bed, she could not quite banish the memory of his gaze, nor the unsettling awareness that his words and actions had not entirely aligned.
It was confusing and wholly unwelcome.
And yet, as she extinguished the candle and lay awake in the darkness, she found herself thinking not of his arrogance, but of the way he had looked at her, as though she were something he had not yet decided what to make of.
* * *
The next morning, Victor sat behind his desk, a half-finished letter forgotten beneath his hand as his thoughts drifted in a direction he would not have readily admitted. The image of Charlotte Brown in the corridor. Her brown hair unbound, night chemise falling far too softly about her curvy form, returned with irritating persistence. He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his gaze unfocused.
It's nothing. Merely the consequence of encountering any young woman in such a state of night dress.
