So instead, Charlotte had to try to maintain her dignity while contorting herself back into her morning gown, which fastened with two ties, one directly below her shoulder blades and one directly above them. Charlotte had to admit the task was beyond her, which meant she had two options: stop the carriage and scandalize the coachman by asking him to help her dress, or summon her most imperious voice and demand that Warrick lend a hand.
Charlotte turned her back to him and lifted her hair, and a breeze wafted gently across the nape of her neck. Such a sensitive spot. How would it feel if Warrick slowly dragged his teeth along—
No! Stop!
He wasWarrick.
His teeth and the clever things he might do with them were none of her concern.
“Your Grace, I require assistance.” She was pleased with the brisk tone she managed, as if she often found herself half dressed in a landau.
“Yes, of course.” He sounded more like a rockslide than a man.
Charlotte waited, but he made no move toward her. “Your Grace, my ties?”
He swallowed. “Your ties.”
His rough knuckles brushed across her spine and it was all she could do to stop herself from stretching into his hand.
No!she commanded her spine.Stand strong!
But obedience wasn’t her forte, and her body paid no attention to her commands. Charlotte could only hold on tight to the front of her dress and hope he didn’t notice how she trembled.
Warrick worked as quickly as he could, doing his damnedest not to touch her again as he tied what felt like two rough knots. Still, the air in the carriage thickened, so hot and sweet that Charlotte found it hard to breathe.
Oh, why should it be Warrick?
Why musthelight her up this way?
“There,” he said gruffly, and his hands fell away from her. “All done.”
Charlotte gave an experimental wiggle and nothing fell off. She shrugged on her spencer, straightened on the seat, and waved him away. “All right. Back to your side, then.”
Warrick shifted to the other seat. “Charlotte, I must—”
“Pleasetell me it’s not time for one of your speeches. Let me guess—you’re dreadfully sorry, you regret everything, and you promise never to kiss me again. There, have I covered it?”
She expected Warrick to bristle or perhaps sling back an arrow, but the wretched man looked…
Oh, hell.
His hair was a mess, though that was hardly unusual, and neither was the state of his cravat, which was just loose enough that she could see interesting shadows beneath his jawbone. His chest was as broad as ever, and Charlotte couldn’t help noticing what a comfortable spot the crook of his arm would make for anyone foolish enough to curl into it. But while she was familiar with the rather sloppy splendor of his grace, the Duke of Warrick, she’d never seen him look soshatteredbefore.
“You mistake me,” Warrick said quietly. “I only wanted to say how much I admire your silk mill, both the enterprise itself and whom you chose to staff it.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sat quite still, unsure what to do next. Damn Warrick. How was she meant to hector him after such a sincere apology? “Thank you?”
“I…” Warrick stared down at his hands. “I tried something similar with the men of my regiment, but my brother’s estate is mostly farmland. Not all of them are suited to the work. Lysander wants to start up an ironworks, but…”
His shoulders went up and down.
Charlotte frowned. “I don’t understand. You’re finding work for men on Lord Lysander’s estate?”
“No, I meant on the ducal estates.Myestates, I suppose, though”—Warrick grimaced—“every time someone says ‘Your Grace,’ I look around for John.”
The fight drained out of Charlotte. Wolfgang looked so grim, but not in his usual way, like a magistrate handing down a sentence. Instead, she saw loss, a sadness old and heavy enough to settle into regular grooves around his mouth.
“I was so sorry to hear about his death,” she said softly.
