Read Seducing the Duchess Online
Authors: Ashley March
Seducing the Duchess (12 page)
Drawing a quiet breath, she strummed her fingers along the strings once again, trying to mimic her previous performance.
And once again, Mr. Lesser whispered his approval. “Yes, yes. Continue.”
One, two, three, four times in succession, Charlotte played it perfectly, her confidence and pleasure building with each quiet murmur from Mr. Lesser. Soon, she began to believe she could feel the difference in the way she moved. Perhaps it was because her wrist was a little more slack, her motions a little more fluid. Or maybe it was because her shoulder had relaxed after all the shaking, and was no longer hunched up around her ear.
“One more time, and then we shall move on from this simple exercise to plucking individual notes.”
Charlotte nodded.At last. It had taken forever, but she had finally succeeded. They would continue the lesson, and Mr. Lesser would return from London next week as scheduled. He would not leave her to be alone with her stiff, tense fingers and a lonely, unplucked harp.
She stretched her arm and set her fingers over the first string. Then, with slow reverence, she drew her arm toward her. Closing her eyes, she listened to the chorus of notes, trying to pick out the Cs from the Ds and the rest of the harp-sized alphabet.
Then, a third of the way through, she faltered. Her fingers plunked over the strings, and her eyes flew open as her index finger actually sailed through the space between the strings to peek at her from the other side.
“What?” Mr. Lesser’s voice came from somewhere behind her. “What happened?”
Charlotte whirled around on her small seat and searched the music room. Her gaze lingered on the open doorway, her heart pumping in rapid, staccato beats.
She’d thought—
Charlotte shook her head.
She’d been certain Philip had entered the room. How else could she explain the sudden prickle of her skin, heating her every nerve as if someone had lit a fire in the hearth?
Shrugging, she turned around. Perhaps he’d simply walked past.
Mr. Lesser immediately picked up her hand and held it close to his face, examining it. “Your fingers are no longer loose,” he said accusingly.
“I’m sorry.”
Disappointment made the narrow angles of his face even harsher, and he dropped her hand to straighten his spectacles. “I do not think you are yet ready to move on, Your Grace. You must perfect this exercise before you can begin the next. One more time, or a hundred if it must be. Again, again!”
Charlotte nodded and willed herself to relax. But that odd feeling, the one that alerted her of Philip’s nearness, would not disappear.
Drawing a deep breath, she threw a glance over her shoulder, hoping to catch him as he spied on her, but no one was there.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Lesser asked.
Charlotte slipped a small smile to Mr. Lesser and lifted her arm.
“Your fingers,” he warned.
Before he could reach for her, she shook her own hand. For the thousandth time.
“Very good,” he said. “Once more. Begin.”
No other duke would lurk in shadows. Philip was certain of this.
Yet he couldn’t help himself, hiding in the corridor outside the music room, listening to Charlotte attempt to play the harp. A shudder racked his body as she drew out another wretched, painful sound from the instrument.
She was horrible.
Completely, absolutely, utterly horrible. And somehow, it made him love her all the more.
Every few seconds, her fingers would come to a startling halt, the last plucked string vibrating forlornly with its dull echo.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. It would be another half an hour until her harp lesson ended and his husband lessons were scheduled to begin, but Philip could think of nothing he’d rather do than stand outside this doorway.
It was fortunate he had remembered their discussion of her wanting a harp long ago. Sadly, it was one of the few distinct memories he had of her when she was younger. He clearly recalled the way her face lit up, her mouth curving with wistfulness as she spoke of seeing a woman play a harp and thinking she was one of God’s angels come to earth. He’d forgotten that day until recently, when he’d begun plotting ways to woo her again. The harp was one of his more brilliant ideas.
Very well. It had been his only brilliant idea. In comparison, the nausea-inducing poem of epic proportions he’d written in three days had been an utter catastrophe. Thankfully it hadn’t taken nearly as long to burn. Now if only he could think of another thousand gifts to erase the innumerable ways he had hurt her . . .
Charlotte suddenly appeared around the edge of the door frame. “Aha! I knew you were spying on me.”
She was so beautiful. God must have been having a very, very good day when he created her. Philip just stared for a long moment, until he could catch his breath. “I was doing no such thing.”
Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
“I was—”
“Spying on me,” she repeated firmly.
“—merely ensuring you were behaving yourself,” he finished.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “I doubt Joanna would appreciate a husband who constantly monitors her behavior.”
Philip bit back a grin. So this was how she wished to play the game. He cleared his throat and gestured grandly to the music room entrance behind her. “No doubt you are correct, my dear. Do proceed, and I shall return in half an hour to begin our other lessons.” He paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Or do you suppose Lady Grey would take pleasure in having her husband watch her continue her music lessons?”
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, supposedly at the waiting figure of Mr. Lesser. When she turned back, a frown tilted the corners of her mouth downward. “I don’t think Joanna has music lessons.”
Philip took her elbow and gently tugged her inside. “Well, if I were her husband, I would give her anything she wanted. And I think she might like to learn to play the harp as well, do you not?”
“Well, I suppose she might—”
“And she would want to have her husband’s support.”
They came to a standstill a few feet from Mr. Lesser, who tactfully looked away as he pretended to study the various bits of bric-a-brac around the room. Charlotte pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Nonsense. I do not need your support—”
Philip wagged a disapproving finger in front of her face. “Ah, ah. You are thinking of yourself. I know you do not need me. But I am thinking of Lady Grey. If she is to consider marrying me, if I am to be the perfect husband, I must begin now. I must act as I should in the future.” He flicked a hand toward Mr. Lesser. “Go. Pretend you are Lady Grey and I am ...” He paused, then grinned. “Well, I am a much better version of myself.”
Charlotte gave him a withering glare. “No more than three months.”
Philip inclined his head. “Only three months.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Bloody hell. It sounds like such a long time. Why not two?”
“Remember, you are Lady Grey. And Lady Grey—”
“Let me guess. She doesn’t swear?”
He looked over her shoulder, tried to muster some sort of dreamy expression. Hopefully he didn’t appear as much of an idiot as he felt. “No,” he said, “Lady Grey is an absolute angel. I have never heard her utter one word—”
Charlotte snorted. “Horseshit.”
Mr. Lesser coughed in the background.
Philip returned his gaze to Charlotte, stared at her down his nose.
“Who always won the cursing contests when we were younger?” she asked.
Philip hesitated before answering. “You did.”
Her lips curved in a knowing smile. “And who came in second?”
“Joann—Lady Grey?”
“Exactly.” Charlotte nodded, then paused and cocked her head to the side. She took a step toward him. She might as well have thrown herself at him bodily, for the instant jolt of arousal that rocked his senses as she neared. “It is most curious.”
“What is?”
She took another step forward, and Philip took a deep breath as he inhaled her jasmine scent.
Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.
Charlotte leaned toward him and peered into his face, balancing herself by placing her hand on his shoulder.
She really should not have done that.
He’d give her ten seconds to step away before he hauled her over his shoulder.
Even though he had cast aside his first plan to imprison her in his room, he would not be averse to reverting to that old idea. Using his lips and his tongue and his hands to convince her to stay appealed to him far more than some desperate, impulsive proposal that she teach him to become a better husband for his next wife.
“I never noticed it before. But you’re cross-eyed.”
Philip jerked his hand away—mere inches from making contact with the deliciously rounded swell of her hip. “I beg your pardon.”
She held up her finger, waved it in front of his face as she had done yesterday when she thought he’d hurt his head.
Philip gripped the annoying appendage and, only through the most supreme amount of self-restraint, resisted the urge to draw it into his mouth and suck on her soft, tender flesh. Instead, he lowered it to her side, relishing the brief contact. “I am not cross-eyed.”
“You are when you look down your nose at me that way.”
Philip growled and pushed her toward Mr. Lesser. “Continue your lesson.”
Charlotte grinned and crossed her own eyes before turning away. She murmured something to Mr. Lesser which had him looking at Philip curiously, his mouth crooked as he tried not to smile.
At Philip’s scowl, he immediately returned his attention to Charlotte. “Ten more minutes, Your Grace. Surely you can master the exercise in ten more minutes.”
Philip had told himself he would be nice. Indeed, he had woken up this morning feeling refreshed and renewed, ready to begin with a new outlook. Even his injured leg had healed quite nicely overnight. He had decided he would charm Charlotte, show her how he had changed, how he could behave like the man she wanted him to be.
But he didn’t feel nice any longer. And he didn’t want to restrain himself.
He stalked around the perimeter of the room, his hands behind his back, his gaze pinned to Charlotte as she studiously ignored his presence.
Amazingly, her performance on the harp became worse.
Despite Mr. Lesser’s desperate last words of encouragement, her fingers flailed over the instrument, getting tangled together until Philip feared she would either somehow mutilate herself or break every last string.
“Enough!” Mr. Lesser threw himself in front of the harp before she could reach forward to try again.
Charlotte’s gaze flew to Philip, and he saw the flame of anger and defiance in her eyes before she looked again at Mr. Lesser. “Perhaps if His Grace would be so kind as to take a seat or remove himself from the music room, so I may concentrate ...”
Mr. Lesser glanced back and forth between them as he pulled on his gloves.
Philip paused in his circuit of the room to stand behind Charlotte, purposely allowing his breath to sway wisps of her hair as he spoke. “Is my presence disturbing you, my dear?”
The only answer he received was the stiffening of her spine.
“Very well, then. I shall take a seat, as you suggested.”
Philip grazed his hand along the vulnerable skin at the nape of her neck as he moved past.
He chose a nearby chair, positioning it so he faced her, the harp obscuring his view of the left side of her body.
Mr. Lesser, however, seemed disinclined to continue the lesson, even with this show of good behavior from Philip. “I will return next week. You must practice, Your Grace. Practice until your fingers grow numb and your arms grow heavy. I expect much improvement.” Then, because Mr. Lesser was, above all, a wise and prudent man, he gave a flourishing bow and added, “It has been a pleasure to work with you today. I have never had such a lovely pupil.” He turned to Philip and bowed again. “Your Grace.”
Philip inclined his head and watched the harp instructor leave, all the while pretending not to notice Charlotte’s intent stare.
Finally, when a full minute had passed and he could feel the palpable touch of her glower begin to brand the side of his jaw with its heat, he turned to her and raised a brow. “Yes?”
She gestured toward him, a motion he supposed was meant to encompass his chair and the two feet of space around him which he dared to darken with his evil, ducal presence. Her wrist flicked, a question mark to her unspoken inquiry.
Philip wondered whether she even realized her lips were pouted. Probably so. She had become an expert at bringing men to their knees, and if anything could make a man beg, it was the sight of her mouth. Full and plump, teasing a man to lose his sanity for just one taste.
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