In the Bed of a Duke Page 22

  He laughed, sounding more carefree than she’d ever heard him. “It’s schoolboy nonsense, Charlotte. I’ve had my share of that.”

  And yet, she sensed that he hadn’t. Justin was proving to be more outgoing than Phillip, more willing to play the clown and entertain. Perhaps because he had not ever had the weight of expectation on his shoulders. She wondered what he would have been like if he’d not been stolen from his parents. Would both the twins be somber and serious?

  At last, they reached Edinburgh. Phillip had no trouble discovering where Lord Monarch lived. His family was an old established one and, although not wealthy, they owned a yellow limestone home in the heart of town.

  “I wish to see Lord Monarch,” Phillip announced to the butler who answered the door.

  The servant looked at Phillip, who stood in shirtsleeves, breeches, and scuffed boots, up and down and didn’t like what he saw. “He’s not at home, sir.”

  Charlotte and Justin would have gone down the steps, but Phillip didn’t budge. “He is at home, and I wish to see him now.”

  He hadn’t raised his voice, but the servant heard the tone of authority. He reconsidered and opened the door wider. “Please come inside.”

  Once they were in the foyer, the butler said, “If you will excuse me, I shall announce you—”

  He paused for a name.

  Phillip smiled. “The Duke of Colster. He knows me.”

  The servant looked from Phillip to Charlotte and Justin, the three of them looking the worse for their travels. “Very well…Your Grace,” the butler said, and backed out.

  “He doesn’t believe you,” Justin said.

  “He believes me,” Phillip answered.

  A minute later, Lord Monarch himself came to greet them and recognized Phillip immediately, or thought it was Phillip. He first walked over to Justin with his hand out, and then stopped when he realized there were two of them.

  Before Phillip could make the introductions, Lord Monarch noticed the sword at Justin’s side.

  His face under his red hair went pale. He turned to the butler. “Harris, go speak to Cook. Tell her we shall have three guests for dinner.” The moment the butler was beyond earshot, he demanded, “How did you come by that sword?”

  “You know the weapon?” Phillip asked.

  “I’ve heard its history,” Lord Monarch answered.

  Phillip moved close to the young lord. “Are you loyal to the king?”

  “What has MacKenna done?” Lord Monarch asked.

  Without answering him, Phillip posed the question again.

  “Aye, I’m loyal,” Lord Monarch said, sounding irritated. “MacKenna is a fool.”

  “Then let’s talk,” Phillip answered. “I’ve got quite a story to tell. But first, let us see to Miss Cameron’s comfort.”

  Lord Monarch went rigid. “Who?” he asked, the word shooting out of him.

  “Miss Cameron,” Phillip said.

  “Cameron?” Lord Monarch repeated in amazement. “The Miss Cameron?”

  Phillip enjoyed Monarch’s reaction although it discomforted Charlotte. Well, they might as well become accustomed to this. “No, not the,” he said, adding to his brother, “He’s talking about Miranda, Charlotte’s sister, the one who jilted me.”

  Justin nodded, noticing Charlotte’s surprise. “He told me.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “We talk.”

  “This is what I mean about the gossip in London,” Phillip instructed him. “Although I’d not imagined you, Monarch, as the sort to take part in tongue rattle.”

  “I’m not,” Lord Monarch assured him.

  “Good,” Phillip said, “because I have a story to tell and must rely on your ability to keep a confidence. By the way, do you have brandy? It’s been a long week.”

  “Why, yes, I do, Your Grace.”

  “Good,” Phillip said. “Lead us to it, and you don’t mind if we stay a day or so? We need clothes and to get this MacKenna matter settled before returning to London.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Monarch said, a bit befuddled as if still in shock that the Duke of Colster had come knocking on his door. He led them into a reception room with a several decanters waiting a thirsty visitor.

  While he poured drinks, Phillip explained in a low voice to Justin and Charlotte, “I’m not correcting him because I believe he is in enough shock. It’s a taste of what we shall meet in London. But don’t worry,” he added cheerily. “Being a bit of a scandal broth isn’t the worse thing that could happen. This will make them all forget about the jilting.”

  And he was happy, Phillip realized. A week ago, the idea of being the subject of anyone’s gossip would have set his teeth on edge, but today, he didn’t mind. In fact, he really didn’t care what others thought.

  It was such a radical notion, it made him pause, amazed by the transition in himself.

  Accepting a glass of sherry for Charlotte, he realized as he handed it to her that she was the reason. Charlotte and her direct, practical response to the world and situations around her.

  She wasn’t afraid to confront him, to let him know her mind or tell him when he was wrong. He was also beginning to realize there were some things more important than his pride.

  “Your brandy is good, Monarch,” Phillip said. He caught a glimpse of the cautious way Justin was approaching the wine. Just as his brother started to take a swig, Phillip shook his head and demonstrated how to “taste” it.

  “I actually prefer whiskey,” Monarch said.

  “I do, too,” Justin agreed quickly.

  A hint of a smile appeared on the mild-mannered lord’s face. “Would you like one?”

  “If it wouldn’t trouble you,” Justin answered.

  “No trouble at all. I was going to pour one for myself.” Monarch poured two glasses, and then like the Scotsmen they were, he and Justin sampled them without airs and with relish.

  “I wouldn’t be standing if I drank like that,” Phillip said.

  “That’s because you are a lily white Sassenach,” Justin answered, and helped himself to another one.

  Monarch looked between the two brothers, a charmed expression on his face. “This is amazing. Amazing.”

  “You’re surprised? You should see how we feel,” Justin said with his blunt wit, and all of them, including Charlotte, laughed.

  “My wife is in Glasgow,” Monarch said, apologizing. “That’s why she isn’t here to greet you. I know she will be saddened to miss your visit. I’ll have the guest rooms made up.” He rang a bell, a signal for his butler. “I’m certain Miss Cameron is anxious to relax.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Phillip answered, and then almost casually mentioned, “Put her in my room.”

  If he’d hit Monarch over the head with a board, the man would not have had a different reaction.

  Phillip would not apologize, or look at Charlotte. She slept with him. That was what he wanted, and that was what would happen. He couldn’t give her up.

  He also knew Monarch would not challenge him. If there was an uncomfortable silence, Phillip didn’t care. She belonged with him.

  Charlotte felt betrayed.

  It took all her courage to sit calmly and sip her sherry. Her ruin was complete. Lord Monarch, a very capable and earnest young nobleman, knew she was Phillip’s mistress…and there was nothing she could do about it.

  She sat, pretending to listen as Phillip told their story. She dared not look at Lord Monarch. If she did, she’d crumble.

  Justin knew how she felt. And Phillip did, too. He knew, and he’d humiliated her anyway.

  “We have to stop MacKenna,” Phillip concluded.

  “Or?” Lord Monarch asked.

  “Or Scotland will go up in flames,” Phillip answered.

  Lord Monarch glanced at Justin. The two understood each other as Scots.

  It was Justin who said quietly, “Phillip, if the laws don’t change, we’ll go up in flames anyway.”

  Phillip set his b
randy glass down and hit the arm of his chair with his fist. “I will not let MacKenna keep an army up there. More lives will be lost.”

  “Chances are, he’s gone,” Lord Monarch said. “If he hasn’t chased after you, he’s been busy moving his people.”

  “He didn’t chase us because we burned his barn,” Phillip answered.

  “With all due respect, Your Grace, we Scots are more canny than that,” Lord Monarch answered.

  Charlotte thought he was right.

  In the end, the gentlemen decided to invite the local British authorities to dinner the following night. Lord Monarch knew these men and felt they could be trusted.

  It was done. Their adventure was finished.

  Phillip rose and offered Charlotte his arm. She felt as if she moved in a dream. She could have refused. She didn’t. They followed the butler up to their set of rooms. The bedroom was of modest decoration in a very relaxing blue. It overlooked the garden. There was warm water to bathe with in the basin, clean towels, and a bouquet of flowers on the dresser.

  Someone had even been kind enough to provide a brush for her use.

  Charlotte washed, taking her time and not quite wanting to meet Phillip’s eye. She could feel him watching but still, she was surprised when his hand took her arm and he swung her around.

  Before she could speak, he kissed her.

  She wanted to resist. She tried. But she couldn’t. Her body always responded to his.

  And even though she knew she had to give him up, that her pride, her sense of decency demanded it…she wanted one more night in his arms.

  He moved her toward the bed, and she let him. Sex, the intimacy between a man and a woman, was the finest sort of communication. Words involved pride, but here there was no place for pride.

  Charlotte used her body to let him know what she feared to say. She used it now to let him know she loved him. Inviting him into her, she held him tight, not wanting to ever let him go. He was her mate. A half of her soul.

  But then, she grew angry. Why couldn’t he love her? Why did he not speak to her of what was in his heart? Or was she just a distraction?

  She let him know what he was missing. She became demanding and furious and wicked—sliding her tongue across his skin, nipping him with her teeth.

  Phillip didn’t stand a chance. He met her every step of the way. He thrust deep and hard…and brought to her eyes tears of pure, savage joy.

  It would not be like that with anyone else. Ever.

  And yet, he would not love her. If he did, he would have spoken of it by now.

  Later, when all was done and the house was quiet because everyone else had gone to bed, she held her sleeping lover in her arms and waited for the sun to rise.

  The adventure was over. Charlotte knew she had to return to the true world. She prayed she had the courage.

  Lord Monarch was an early riser, much like Charlotte herself. The met in the breakfast room overlooking the garden. Phillip was still asleep upstairs.

  His lordship greeted her pleasantly enough and offered a cup of tea. “Or do you prefer coffee?”

  “Tea is fine,” she said. She’d dressed the best she could in what she’d been wearing for the past three days and had pulled her hair back in a modest and demure braid.

  He set her tea by her place on the table while she helped herself to hot rolls on the buffet. Charlotte sat down.

  There was a moment of awkward silence. She was just getting ready to frame the request she’d been mentally rehearsing all night when he blurted out, “I don’t wish to insult you, Miss Cameron, but you seem a sensible young woman, and I must beg your indulgence a moment.”

  “Yes?” she asked, stirring her tea.

  “My wife and two children are expected to return home today.”

  Shame rolled through her. She set her spoon down, dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap.

  “It would be awkward if you and the duke are sharing the same room when they return.”

  “I know.”

  “Thank you,” he said, sounding as if it had been as difficult for him to bring up the subject as it was for her to hear it. A long silence stretched between them.

  She knew what must come next, what decent people would expect—and the weight of her decision was lifted.

  “We were thrown together unexpectedly,” she admitted. She took a sip of her tea. Her hand was surprisingly steady, a sign her decision was right. “I did not anticipate the turn of events.”

  “How could you?” He had hardly touched his breakfast and she pitied him this awkward moment.

  She reached over and lightly touched his hand. “Please do not feel poorly. I appreciate your honesty. You’ve helped me realize, I’m not good mistress material.” She glanced away, not daring to meet his eyes as she said, “I do believe he cares for me…but not enough.”

  “Then he is a bloody fool,” came Justin’s blunt voice from the doorway. He too was wearing the breeches, shirt, and well-worn boots of the last several days, but he’d combed his hair, and she was surprised to see that he had shaved, something he’d done every day since she’d taken off his beard.

  She smiled, appreciating his support. “You’re right.” Reaching her decision, she turned to Lord Monarch, her head high, “My lord, I don’t want to move to another room.”

  He paled. “What do you wish to do?”

  “I want to return to London.” She should see Constance at Madame Lavaliere’s boarding school, especially since she was so close, but a visit to her sister would have to wait. She needed to return to her friends Isabel and Michael’s house. She wanted to know if there was word of Miranda and Alex. She had to return to that life and peace of mind. The one she’d had before she’d accepted Laird MacKenna’s invitation.

  The one she’d had when she’d thought hers the most pressing problems in the world. “Life takes strange twists, doesn’t it, gentlemen?”

  “Are you and the duke leaving?” Lord Monarch asked.

  “I don’t believe he is,” she answered.

  His Lordship set his elbow on the table and buried his face in his hand. “He will not be happy if you leave alone.”

  “Well,” Justin said cheerfully, “sometimes each of us has be a little unhappy. You go, lass. Leave my twin to me.”

  “I have no money,” she confessed. “I shall need a loan. I will pay it back as soon as I arrive, but right now I’m without funds or very much clothing.”

  There, she’d said it, and she felt completely exposed.

  Lord Monarch looked as if he wished she hadn’t spoken. She understood. She’d placed him in an awkward position.

  “Give her help,” Justin growled. “I’ll be the new duke, and you and I will be the best of friends.”

  “I suppose I don’t really have to worry about him,” Lord Monarch said.

  “No, just worry about me,” Justin said, grabbing a warm roll from the basket on the sideboard. “If you can loan her the money, Monarch, give it to her. There’s no honor in loving someone who holds all the cards. And if he doesn’t come for you, Charlotte, he isn’t worth it.”

  “Will he come for me?” she dared to ask, hope in her voice.

  The light of a thousand devils danced in Justin’s eyes. “I could guarantee it. But first, let’s give him a scare, and then you won’t have problems in your future.”

  Within two hours, and while Phillip still slept, Charlotte found herself wearing one of Lady Monarch’s dresses and crammed on top of the stage for London.

  The first thing Phillip did when he woke was reach for Charlotte. It had become his habit.

  She was not there.

  He sat up and looked around the room, listening. The house was quiet. A glance out the window told him he’d slept unusually late.

  She was probably downstairs.

  Phillip washed, using the razor they’d purchased in the inn, and dressed. He was growing tired of these clothes. He looked forward to taking her shopping. Edinburgh was known for it
s tailors, and he planned on sampling several.

  The hallway outside his room was silent.

  He went downstairs. Breakfast had been cleared from the dining room. Voices could be heard farther on down the center hall.

  Phillip followed their sound and found his brother and Monarch in a companionable game of chess in the library. He looked around the room, expecting to find Charlotte tucked in some place.

  She wasn’t there.

  “Oh, hello, Phillip,” Justin said, and moved his pawn to take Monarch’s bishop.

  Monarch pounded the game table. “I just taught you this game an hour ago, and now you are beating me.”

  Justin smiled. “It’s not that hard.”

  “It’s torture,” Monarch countered. “I’ve studied it for years.”

  “Do you want me to put your game piece back?” Justin offered.

  Phillip interjected himself into their discussion. “Where’s Charlotte?”

  “Gone,” Justin answered, not bothering to look up at him.

  “Gone where?” Phillip asked with undisguised impatience.

  “Gone to London,” Justin said.

  “She left?” Phillip couldn’t imagine such a thing.

  “Aye,” Justin confirmed. “She said she wasn’t good mistress material. Isn’t that right, Monarch?” He grinned up at Phillip as if he’d just performed a trick. “Did you admire the way I spoke to him? Very ducal. Monarch.”

  Phillip wasn’t amused. “You let her go?” The tension in his voice sucked the air out of the room—but Justin appeared unbothered.

  “Monarch, would you give my brother and me a moment alone?”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. Monarch shot up and left, shutting the door behind them.

  “What is there about you, Phillip, that makes some people so afraid? Is it because you are the duke?”

  “Or because they should be afraid?” Phillip suggested tightly. “You let her go. You probably encouraged her.”

  “No, brother, you let her go. I just didn’t stop her.”

  Phillip doubled his fist. He could have hit Justin right in the face. His brother knew it. “Go ahead. I know a bit how you feel.”