“Are you ready?” her mother asked, rising. “We have a Duke to meet.”
The walk to the park was crisp and cold. The last fall leaves drifted from the trees in a riot of color, and Charlotte buried her hands in her muff, glad she’d thought to wrap up warmly. Several other young ladies were out walking, too, and in her plain walking dress, she felt as though she blended so utterly with them that she half wondered whether the Duke would find them at all.
And then he was there, dressed in a fine overcoat that fitted his broad shoulders exactly. “Ladies,” he said, bowing, “well met indeed.”
“Your Grace.” Charlotte sank into a curtsy. “A pleasure to see you.”
Her mother fell back, giving the Duke opportunity to take Charlotte’s arm as they walked. “I trust you received my gift this morning,” he said.
“I did—and I must say, I was not expecting you to send me anything at all, never mind something so generous.”
He waved a hand. “A trifle.”
“To you, perhaps, but you know I should not accept such things when…” she lowered her voice, “we are not truly engaged.”
“I would not be a true betrothed if I did not give you gifts.”
“And it’s very kind of you, but I cannot keep them.”
He looked at her closely as though he was seeing her for the first time, but instead of arguing, he merely said, “As you wish though I should have you know that I expect you to wear it at our engagement ball.”
“I already told you—”
“My aunt is in the process of arranging one now. I quite agree it should not fall to your family—and considering your cousin is less than amenable to the match, I suspect he would oppose one regardless—and so I decided we should take up the mantel.”
“Your Grace—”
“As we are engaged now, I think it appropriate you call me Aaron.”
“I could not.”
“You say that a lot, Charlotte. Might I persuade you to reconsider?”
“You are very familiar,” she managed. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but—”
“May I remind you that we have been rather closer than I fancy you’ve been with most gentlemen?” His smile was gently mocking though not cruel, and the heat in his eyes suggested he was recalling their kiss just as she, too, now was. “If we are to meet on a regular basis, I insist you call me Aaron. I cannot tell you how exhausting it is to be referred to by one’s title always.”
“And you would call me Charlotte?” She frowned. Only family called her Charlotte, but he was right about one thing, at least: if they were engaged, they were almost family. And husbands and wives endured more intimacy than merely referring to each other by their first names. “Very well.”
“Say it,” he prompted. “Ideally without cringing. You’re very expressive, you know, and while that gives me a fair idea of what you’re thinking—and how many times you’ve wished me to the devil—it may also give watchful eyes something to see.”
Odious man. “Aaron,” she said.
“There, was that so hard?” His grin had moved past mocking to wickedly amused. “We’ll make a con artist of you yet.”
“I have no wish whatsoever to be a con artist.”
His smile dropped as abruptly as it had arrived. “What do you wish?” he asked. “To be married to a man like your cousin, who would parade you about when he fancied and lock you up the rest of the time?”
“I would beg you not to speak of my family in that way,” she said coldly.
“Very well.” With an air of obnoxious grace, he turned the conversation to casual observations of society. Charlotte hated the effortless way he was able to discuss any topic she brought to him. He might be arrogant, but he had good breeding, and it was never more obvious than it was here.
After thirty minutes in the cold during which he had invited Anastasia to talk with them, they bid him goodbye, and Charlotte made her way back home with her mother.
“What a charming gentleman,” Anastasia said in delight. “I hadn’t thought we would find him to be so pleasing.”
“Oh, no doubt he can please where he chooses.”
