The Grace of a Duke by Linda Rae Sande Read Free Book Online Page A

stood there holding her for one minute longer, she would find herself even more frightened ... of me, he thought.
    Leaving one arm firmly against the small of her back, he bent down and captured the back of her knees with his other arm, lifting her and taking her to the bed. A wisp of a thing, he considered, trying not to notice that her dressing gown was no longer completely closed around her waist and what she wore beneath was shiny and slippery and clung to her body like a glove. He lowered her onto the bed and lay down, quickly covering his body with the bed linens in an attempt to keep his nakedness hidden in the event another lightning flash lit the room. He also wanted to ensure she ended up on his unscarred side. She was clinging to that side of his body even before he could cover himself completely. Settling his head into his pillow, he was aware of her entire body trembling along the side of his body, aware of her hammering heartbeats through the smooth satin of her gown, aware of the scent of her as he wrapped his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her head to rest in the hollow of his shoulder. And he tried not to think of her right breast resting against his chest or of her satin-clad leg that was slowly sliding between his legs as her pulse slowed and her breathing turned slight. And when her right leg came to rest between his legs, he found he could not ignore the fact that her hip was pressed quite firmly against his hardened manhood.
    Sighing lightly so as to lessen the rise and fall of his chest, he considered the mental torture he was experiencing as a result of Charlotte Bingham. He wanted this woman, he realized. Had wanted her even when she was to be his brother’s wife. He could admit that to himself now. She was beautiful. She was educated. She was refined. And she conducted herself as if she was ... a woman. A woman much older than her twenty-one years, he decided.
    How could that be? he wondered.
    Charlotte didn’t engage in chit-chat or spend her days deciding what frippery to buy on her next shopping trip. Her family was rarely the topic of gossip. Her charity was St. Bartholomew’s, a calling she took very seriously. There was an air of responsibility about her and yet a cloak of defeat, too, as if she’d taken on too much at one point in her life and found she could not live up to the expectations placed on her.
    And she was frightened of something – besides lightning, he thought – or perhaps someone. 
    He would have to ask her about that.
    So why deny her the marriage she was so determined to have? If she has been training her entire life to be a duchess, then why not take her as my wife? he wondered to himself. She could be considered betrothed to him, even though he knew nothing of the particulars with regard to dowry or age or ... details, he considered suddenly. He’d have to dispatch Garrett to London to learn what he could about the Bingham family and the arrangements made so many years ago for a marriage between their daughter and the future Duke of Chichester. Charlotte had made it clear over dinner she had no wish to return to London; Joshua was left wondering where she would go if he didn’t offer hospitality at Wisborough Oaks.
    Had her parents sent her here because she was almost old enough for the wedding to take place? It seemed odd that her mother or a relative hadn’t joined her for the trip from London. What parent would allow their daughter, who had not yet reached her majority, to travel over four hours by coach to a duke’s estate where, besides the servants, only men lived?
    Questions about Lady Charlotte continued to mount in his mind, and although he might have found them puzzling, they were far more entertaining to consider than his aching wounds and the concerns of the duchy. He could just ask her the questions, he thought suddenly. Or, perhaps, if she were given enough time, she would offer the answers.
    Joshua took a deep breath and sighed.
    He would