Seducing the Duchess Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ashley March
lady.
“Apologies,” he murmured. “That was badly done of me.”
Charlotte swallowed. It was the first time he’d ever apologized to her—for anything.
But it was too late to pretend to be civil now. One moment could not undo the years of animosity and indifference. The chasm of silence and distance could never be bridged.
Not even by an apology and a kiss.
Or by revealing the truth.
Yet if he thought he had hurt her, he was mistaken. His cruel words might have crushed her spirit a long time ago, but now they only wounded her pride.
Charlotte lifted her chin and smiled. “No apologies, Your Grace. It isn’t becoming to one of your station. Remember, you are a duke, after all.”
Philip gritted his teeth as he watched Charlotte’s dark form sashay back to the bed, the lines of her body caressed by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains.
“Shall I call for your maid to help you undress?” he asked, silently berating himself for losing his temper. While he had been determined to resist the temptation she presented, her seductive touch had nearly been his undoing. It seemed the longer he was around her, the more difficult it became to maintain his composure. Worst of all, he’d lashed out at her for it, giving her yet another reason why she should hate him.
She stilled. “Yes, please do.”
A few minutes later the candles were lit again and Philip stood next to the door as Charlotte’s maid unbuttoned, untied, and unhooked her layers of gown, petticoats, and corset. He had only a brief glimpse of her cotton shift before she slipped on a dressing gown.
At Charlotte’s dismissal, the maid curtsied to them both and hurried out of the room.
“This is new.” She turned around, her eyes narrowed. “You’ve begun purchasing clothes for me, Philip. How . . . strange.”
He wasn’t sure why his heart pounded so as she fingered the ties of her dressing gown. He had bought it for himself, not for her. He’d wanted to see if the royal blue color would match the hue of her eyes. He had thought of how lovely she would be, her rich, luxurious hair a contrast to the jeweled tone of the robe.
His imagination had not come close to doing her beauty justice.
In comparison to the sparkling sapphire brilliance of her eyes, the gown appeared faded and worn, the fabric less lustrous as her hair shone like spun silk in the candlelight.
She smoothed the material over her waist, her hips, before glancing up at him. “Thank you.”
Philip pried his hands apart behind his back, but he didn’t step forward. He didn’t trust himself to get within a foot of her at the moment. “You like it, then?”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes. It must have cost you a fortune. I’ve never seen a design so simple, yet so intricate.”
He swallowed. Civility. He was tempted to barge into the other room, grab the entire trunk of clothes he had brought along, and dump it out at her feet—if only to gain him five more minutes free of her contempt and hatred.
It was maddening how easily she made him forget that he was a duke, that he was not the type of man to engage in spontaneity, someone who would give in to his impulses to do everything he could to be near her, to make her happy.
If it had been the least likely, he might have considered that she was changing him. For a moment—only ten seconds, if one were to be exact—Philip was uncertain of what he should say, what he should do.
And so he stared at Charlotte, ensuring that his expression was impassive, that it gave nothing away he didn’t want her to see. Eventually her small smile slipped and, lowering her arms, she returned to the bed.
Philip hesitated. “I—”
She shifted to her side, her back toward him.
He closed his mouth. He snuffed out the candles with his fingertips, but did not remove his own clothing. Sharing a bed with her was a difficult enough test to his willpower.
Lying down, he concentrated on his breathing for what seemed an interminable
“Apologies,” he murmured. “That was badly done of me.”
Charlotte swallowed. It was the first time he’d ever apologized to her—for anything.
But it was too late to pretend to be civil now. One moment could not undo the years of animosity and indifference. The chasm of silence and distance could never be bridged.
Not even by an apology and a kiss.
Or by revealing the truth.
Yet if he thought he had hurt her, he was mistaken. His cruel words might have crushed her spirit a long time ago, but now they only wounded her pride.
Charlotte lifted her chin and smiled. “No apologies, Your Grace. It isn’t becoming to one of your station. Remember, you are a duke, after all.”
Philip gritted his teeth as he watched Charlotte’s dark form sashay back to the bed, the lines of her body caressed by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains.
“Shall I call for your maid to help you undress?” he asked, silently berating himself for losing his temper. While he had been determined to resist the temptation she presented, her seductive touch had nearly been his undoing. It seemed the longer he was around her, the more difficult it became to maintain his composure. Worst of all, he’d lashed out at her for it, giving her yet another reason why she should hate him.
She stilled. “Yes, please do.”
A few minutes later the candles were lit again and Philip stood next to the door as Charlotte’s maid unbuttoned, untied, and unhooked her layers of gown, petticoats, and corset. He had only a brief glimpse of her cotton shift before she slipped on a dressing gown.
At Charlotte’s dismissal, the maid curtsied to them both and hurried out of the room.
“This is new.” She turned around, her eyes narrowed. “You’ve begun purchasing clothes for me, Philip. How . . . strange.”
He wasn’t sure why his heart pounded so as she fingered the ties of her dressing gown. He had bought it for himself, not for her. He’d wanted to see if the royal blue color would match the hue of her eyes. He had thought of how lovely she would be, her rich, luxurious hair a contrast to the jeweled tone of the robe.
His imagination had not come close to doing her beauty justice.
In comparison to the sparkling sapphire brilliance of her eyes, the gown appeared faded and worn, the fabric less lustrous as her hair shone like spun silk in the candlelight.
She smoothed the material over her waist, her hips, before glancing up at him. “Thank you.”
Philip pried his hands apart behind his back, but he didn’t step forward. He didn’t trust himself to get within a foot of her at the moment. “You like it, then?”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes. It must have cost you a fortune. I’ve never seen a design so simple, yet so intricate.”
He swallowed. Civility. He was tempted to barge into the other room, grab the entire trunk of clothes he had brought along, and dump it out at her feet—if only to gain him five more minutes free of her contempt and hatred.
It was maddening how easily she made him forget that he was a duke, that he was not the type of man to engage in spontaneity, someone who would give in to his impulses to do everything he could to be near her, to make her happy.
If it had been the least likely, he might have considered that she was changing him. For a moment—only ten seconds, if one were to be exact—Philip was uncertain of what he should say, what he should do.
And so he stared at Charlotte, ensuring that his expression was impassive, that it gave nothing away he didn’t want her to see. Eventually her small smile slipped and, lowering her arms, she returned to the bed.
Philip hesitated. “I—”
She shifted to her side, her back toward him.
He closed his mouth. He snuffed out the candles with his fingertips, but did not remove his own clothing. Sharing a bed with her was a difficult enough test to his willpower.
Lying down, he concentrated on his breathing for what seemed an interminable