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‘And other gentlemen have not offered the same?’

Her eyes warmed. ‘Oh, they have. But theirs were not nearly as large as yours. The size is simply breathtaking.’

He nearly choked when he realised she didn’t at all seem aware of the double entendre. ‘I would expect you to have some marriage rules of your own, Lady Charlotte. I will pay a call upon you tomorrow and learn what they are.’

With that, she smiled and put his coat around her shoulders.

‘Charlotte, please come into the drawing room,’ her mother bade her. ‘Your father and I wish to speak with you.’

It was the early afternoon, and she had fully expected the duke to call, as he’d promised. But she hadn’t expected a discussion with her parents. Normally, they waited until six o’clock for their single hour to visit each day. Ever since she was a child, there had been a designated hour for her to see them. No more. Sometimes less. It was a routine ingrained within their household.

She followed her mother and asked, ‘Is something wrong?’

Alice shook her head. ‘No. But His Grace, the Duke of Severn, is waiting to speak with you. Your father and I wanted to have a conversation with you first.’

So the duke had come. Her mood brightened to know it. Although she supposed it was rather mercenary of her to marry a man for his garden, the more she grew acquainted with the duke, the more she was starting to wonder what he would be like as a husband. He was more handsome than she’d imagined, and he had strong ideas about what he wanted—and what he didn’t. And yet he had never seemed overbearing, only practical.

Underneath it all, the duke held a quiet power. Not only the power of his title, but the way he made her heartbeat quicken. She sensed that if he were to ever lower the invisible boundaries, he would become a man of passion. A man who would not ask for what he wanted—he would take it instead. And Heavens, it intrigued her.

The single touch of his hand had made her imagination flare with forbidden images of his hands upon her skin…and what that would feel like.

She shut down the vision at once. No. This marriage was only a convenient arrangement. She’d been quite clear about that from the start, and she would make sure he knew it.

Once Charlotte reached the blue and gold drawing room, her mother closed the doors behind her. ‘We haven’t much time. But Charlotte, are you aware of the stir you caused last night at Lady Garwood’s ball?’

‘Because of my conversation with His Grace?’ She supposed it had been rather scandalous to step outside with him in the garden.

‘You were seen wearing the duke’s coat,’ her father noted.

‘It was only for a moment,’ she reassured them. ‘It was very cold outside while we were speaking.’

‘Charlotte, you know better,’ Alice chided. ‘Everyone was talking about it.’

She did know, which was why she’d done it. Whether His Grace had intended it or not, he had essentially established his claim upon her as a bride. And when she had settled his coat about her shoulders, she had accepted the bargain.

The coat had held the spicy scent of him—like cinnamon and cedar wood. The warmth from his shoulders had offered comfort, and she’d worn it for less than a minute before she’d returned it to him, and they’d entered the ballroom together.

‘Be that as it may, we shouldn’t keep His Grace waiting,’ Charlotte pointed out. ‘This is something we can discuss later, at six o’clock.’

Her father cleared his throat. ‘You should know that your other suitors withdrew their marriage proposals this morning. I have received notes from all of them.’

‘Oh.’ Now that was something she hadn’t expected. Was it because of the coat? Her conscience warned that it was likely.

And yet she refused to feel guilty about it. The duke was here now, which was promising enough. She would speak with him again and determine whether they would have a future together. Last night, she had jotted down a few possible rules of her own.

To the footman, she said, ‘Please show His Grace inside.’

She wondered what sort of flowers he would bring her. Would they be lilies or roses? Or something else?

A moment later, her father led the duke inside the drawing room. ‘Good afternoon, Your Grace.’

Charlotte’s mood dimmed when she saw that he had not brought any flowers at all. But she forced a smile on her face when she greeted him.

He wore all black, except for the white cravat at his throat, and the colour only seemed to emphasize the deep grey of his eyes. His mouth was firm, but there was something in his gaze that made her remember what it was like to wear his coat, feeling the heat of his body amid the aroma of cedar.

And she didn’t know how to feel about it.

‘Would you care for tea, Your Grace?’ her mother offered.