No Ordinary Duke: The Crawfords

by Barnes, Sophie

  “Miss Clemens,” Mr. Townsend said with a note of warning. “I would ask you to speak to my sister with respect. After all, you and I are to be—”

  “What?” Miss Clemens's eyes were blazing now. Mr. Townsend leaned away from her as if deeming her unpredictable. “Married? You have not asked me to be your wife, and yet you assume that I will be even though you and I would make a terrible match.”

  “Surely you jest,” Mr. Townsend declared. “The shock you sustained just now has addled your brain.”

  “Indeed it has not,” Miss Clemens insisted. “If anything, coming here this evening has only strengthened my resolve. I will not attach myself to a man who looks down his nose at others and insults my friends.”

  “Miss Clemens—”

  “No, Mr. Townsend. The answer is no.”

  Caleb wanted to cheer in response to her brazen bluntness. Instead, he winced as he pressed the napkin Mr. Townsend had given him to his wounds, blotting at the pebbling blood.

  “The nerve,” Miss Townsend said, earning a withering glare from Miss Clemens.

  “Indeed,” she muttered, prompting Caleb to smile even as he wondered if Miss Townsend and her brother had registered the subtle barb. “If you would be kind enough to escort me, I would like to return home now, Mr. Crawford.”

  He immediately straightened in his seat and rose. “Of course, Miss Clemens. I would be delighted.”

  He followed that statement with a swift halfhearted farewell to his hosts, who remained at the table, most likely too stunned to stand, while he escorted Miss Clemens out of the house.

  “Good grief,” she said when she was back on Apollo and heading for home. “What awful people.”

  “At least you got to see the real Mr. Townsend,” Caleb said.

  “It astounds me to think how badly I have misjudged him.” She made a wretched sound. “My parents told me I was naive to think a marquess would want to marry me. I insisted they were wrong, but apparently I do have a tendency to think the best of people. Even when they don't deserve it.”

  “How could you know what either of these men was truly like before they chose to show you?” Guilt spliced its way through him because he knew he was just another case of what Miss Clemens described: a charlatan taking advantage of her goodwill. But at least if he could make her feel better, then some good would come from the mess he'd created. “Did Lady Cassandra or Miss Howard ever tell you Mr. Townsend was unworthy of your friendship?”

  “No. They were actually in favor of him courting me even though I made it clear to them I wasn't interested.”

  “You see? Everyone was seduced by his charisma. Even I must admit that I never expected him to be quite so insulting. In hindsight, however, the comments he threw my way during his visit last week should have given some indication.”

  They walked on in silence while dusk turned to night. Overhead, a blanket of stars glittered like an endless collection of diamonds haphazardly strewn out on navy-blue velvet. The moon, a luminescent disc in the sky, glowed bright across the crisp autumn landscape. Winter would likely sneak up behind them and when it did, the house would have to be ready to withstand the cold.

  “Thank you,” Miss Clemens said, startling him slightly.

  He’d been so busy making a mental list of what remained to be done he'd forgotten he was trying to navigate a dark dirt road while leading a horse along with him.

  “For what?” he asked

  “For making me feel better.”

  “It is the least I can do,” he murmured.

  “You’re a true friend,” she said, adding to his guilt. “I’ll be sorry to see you go. As will everyone else. The children have all taken such a liking to you. Is there really nothing we can do to convince you to stay?”

  His heart ached with the longing to simply abandon his duty forever and live out the rest of his days in a house with three spinsters and five lively children. And if George were still alive, he might have been able to do so. But fate had put a limit on his options.

  “My mother needs me, Miss Clemens.” The dukedom needs me, Parliament needs me, my estates, servants, and tenants all need me. “As it is, I fear I’ve been gone too long.”

  “I understand.”

  Apollo clopped toward the garden gate of her home, and Caleb leaned over the side to unlatch it. Once inside, he led the horse back to his spot beside the cottage and helped Miss Clemens dismount. Remembering her earlier request to stop flirting with her, he made a deliberate effort to minimize their contact and stepped away quickly, as soon as she was on the ground.

  “Allow me to walk you to the door.” Light from behind the kitchen window served as a guide.

  “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea or a glass of port?” she asked. Reaching the door, she stopped to look up at him, and in spite of the darkness, expectation and hope were visible in the depths of her eyes.

  “Perhaps another time, Miss Clemens.” He saw the disappointment before she looked away. “It has been a trying evening, so I think I’d prefer to retire early and get some rest.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She opened the door, paused for a second, and swung back toward him. Before he was able to determine her purpose, she placed a swift kiss on his cheek. “Thank you once again, Mr. Crawford.” Her words were soft, whispering across his skin in the sweetest caress. And then she was gone, back into her house, leaving Caleb more alone than he’d ever felt before in his life.

  He stood there for long moments after, paralyzed by Miss Clemens’s innocent show of affection. Pressing his hand to his cheek, he imagined still feeling her lips, warm against his skin. When he finally managed to move, it was with an urgency he could not explain. He had to get back to the cottage before he did something foolish, like tear the kitchen door off its hinges in order to have her.

  Miss Clemens with her golden hair, inquisitive gaze, and boldness had lit a fire inside him that could not be quenched. It strained his nerves and threatened his temper, resulting in nothing but pure frustration. And her chaste little kiss only made it worse. Damn! It had quickened his pulse and hardened his muscles in ways that could not be healthy.

  Yanking the door to his cottage open, he strode inside, located the tinderbox, and lit an oil lamp to light the small room. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wall and struggled to gain some measure of control. Blood thrummed through his veins, and his mind played tricks on his senses, conjuring images of what could be if they’d both just surrender to their desires. He’d have her out of her gown in a trice, naked on the bed and with her hair fanned out across the pillow.

  And then he’d taste her. Every inch of her perfect body.

  Yes, that was what he wanted. Something no other man could claim to have had with her. Something that would only ever be his. Groaning, he snuffed out the light and collapsed on the bed fully clothed, anxious for sleep to claim him.

  “There’s a dance at the assembly hall on Saturday,” Cassandra announced a few days later at breakfast. “I’d love for us to attend.”

  She’d always enjoyed dancing and socializing, but there had been little time for it in recent years with the children to look after, since it did require getting someone to watch them for a few hours. The village teacher, Mrs. Durham, and her husband had helped with this a few times before. In exchange, they’d received ten pounds, so it went without saying that it was a luxury the three women couldn’t afford too regularly.

  “It has been a while since the last time we went out to such an event,” Cassandra said. “And just imagine how thrilled all the ladies will be if we bring Mr. Crawford with us. I daresay most will swoon at the very sight of him. Don’t you agree, Mary?”

  Mary licked a bit of jam off her fingers and tried not to cringe at the idea of every woman within a five-mile radius competing for Mr. Crawford’s attention. “He may not know how to dance,” she said, but as she did so, she knew he probably did. After all, he had a talent for surprising and impressing her in the most unexpected
ways.

  “A man who climbs about on a roof as nimbly as he does is bound to possess some skill on the dance floor,” Emily said with a meaningful look directed at Mary.

  When she’d returned from dinner with the Townsends on Friday, she’d told Cassandra and Emily everything. They’d both been just as appalled by Mr. Townsend’s and his sister’s behaviors as she was, but of far greater interest to them had been the kiss she’d given Mr. Crawford. Both had questioned her about it relentlessly, drawing all manner of conclusions and insisting she must be in love with him already.

  She’d denied it and claimed that the kiss was intended as nothing more than friendly appreciation. Which was nonsense, of course. She’d been meaning to kiss him properly, but had lost her nerve on her way to his mouth and had consequently settled on his cheek instead.

  “I have to go to the village today to buy some more flour and milk,” Emily said. “I’ll stop by the school while I’m there and ask Mrs. Durham if she and her husband are free to watch the children on Saturday.”

  “What’s happening on Saturday?” Mr. Crawford asked in a low tone as he entered the room.

  His voice sent ripples of awareness through Mary’s body and filled her head with the memory of him after she’d kissed him, staring back at her as if he wished to shove everything between them aside and pull her into his arms. But then he’d returned to his cottage, snuffed out the light and gone to bed, and she’d done the same. Disquieted by a peculiar state of unrest, she’d found sleep eluded her every night since. Exhausted, she would drift off hours later and be up once again at dawn.

  “There’s a dance at the assembly hall,” Emily said while Mary stifled a yawn. “We hope to attend.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Mr. Crawford said. He pulled out a chair next to Peter and poured himself a cup of tea. Smiling brightly, he grabbed some toast and started buttering it while humming a merry tune.

  He’d adopted this cheerful demeanor for the past three days. Since Saturday morning, to be exact. And just like on each of those days, Cassandra and Emily both raised their eyebrows while looking at Mary. Clearly, they thought this was all due to the kiss she’d given him, but that couldn’t possibly be true because he’d grown even more distant than usual since then, addressing her only when absolutely necessary. For the most part, he worked, ate his meals, and retired to the cottage without staying for story time after dinner or even to enjoy a glass of port once the children were put to bed, as he had done before.

  Which had to mean that he feared she wanted an attachment, and this was his way of telling her he wasn’t interested. She accepted that, because she had to. What she did not like was how much she missed his company. Chatting with him had become the best part of her day. She’d cherished each conversation, even though they’d brought her closer to heartbreak.

  “You must join us,” Cassandra said. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. “Do you dance by any chance?”

  Mary coughed and took a quick sip of her tea.

  “On occasion,” Mr. Crawford said slowly. “Depends who I’ll be partnering with.”

  “Ho! What a fine answer that is,” Emily hooted. “Will I do for the reel?”

  Mr. Crawford grinned. “It would be an honor, Miss Howard.”

  They finished their breakfast without Mr. Crawford agreeing to dance with anyone else, and Mary tried not to feel overlooked. A difficult task now that her emotions were fully engaged. And the fact that he chose not to sit directly beside her and continued to avoid being alone with her in the days that followed only made her feel worse. It was as if she were suffering the same kind of heartache she’d felt five years earlier, except this time she’d nowhere to run – no way of avoiding the man who’d stolen her heart.

  9

  Saturday arrived with the first breath of winter. Waking, Mary felt the chill sweep through her the moment she stepped out of bed. Dressing quickly, she hurried downstairs and opened the kitchen door, almost colliding with Mr. Crawford, who stood poised to enter.

  “Good morning,” she muttered, her breath swirling toward him like mist on the moors.

  “Miss Clemens,” he said and dipped his head by way of greeting. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Is it?” she asked, unable to hide the pain stealing through her. Setting her mouth, she pushed her way past him and marched toward the pile of firewood kept in a small covered enclosure.

  “Of course,” he said, sounding surprised. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  She grabbed three pieces of wood and hefted them into her arms. “You have been ignoring me.” Plain words that could not be misunderstood.

  “Have I?”

  She blew out a breath, muttered an oath, and started back toward the house, not caring at all if he followed. Entering the kitchen, she set the wood down, filled the kettle with water and proceeded to ready the fire, ignoring the presence she sensed looming somewhere nearby. She absolutely refused to look at him.

  “I have clearly upset you,” he said, following her into the dining room. When she crouched in front of the fireplace and reached for a log, he stalled her by placing his hand over hers. “That was not my intention, Miss Clemens.”

  In spite of the hot little embers now sneaking their way up her arm, Mary knew she had to be strong for her own sake. She could not give in just because he filled her with longing. “Then what was it?” she asked.

  The edge of his mouth lifted, affording him with a roguish smile. Mary swallowed, refusing to let it affect her, even though it was far too late for that. Her traitorous body already hummed in response to his nearness, calling for him to…to do something besides simply touch her hand.

  “It was the only way I could think to resist you after you kissed me.” His eyes glittered somehow while his thumb began drawing lazy circles on her skin.

  “It was just on the cheek,” she whispered.

  A gruff sound rose from his throat. “Nevertheless. You should know how I feel since I’ve told you as plainly as I know how.”

  I want you too. But ruining you would be a crime, Miss Clemens, so I fear I must refrain.

  The words he’d spoken two weeks earlier echoed in her head. She hadn’t forgotten, but she’d thought he might have lost interest.

  “But that kiss…” he continued. “It tore at every restraint with incredible force. So if I’ve added distance between us, that is why. Not because I do not want you, but because I want you too damn much.”

  He stood, gave a curt nod, and strode from the room as if somehow unable to stay and face her for one more second. Trembling, Mary placed the log in the fireplace and watched it ignite as she lit the kindling. Staring into the flames, she allowed a new question to press on her mind: what if you simply surrender?

  For the rest of the day, Mary listened to Mr. Crawford banging away in the attic as he removed rotted planks of wood and carried them from the house. He’d completed his work on the roof, so all that remained was for him to fix the attic floor, his presence never forgotten because of all the loud noises he made while he worked.

  It was oddly soothing, Mary decided, and strangely unsettling once it ceased. Glancing at the clock she saw it was almost five. They would eat dinner soon, then the Durhams would arrive. Mr. Crawford had probably stopped work for the day so he could freshen up and prepare himself for their evening out. Cassandra and Emily were both in the process of doing so, and she really ought to follow suit if she was to be ready on time.

  “You should wear your white muslin gown,” Cassandra said. She’d entered her bedchamber while Mary stood by her wardrobe, considering her limited selection of clothes.

  “It is too cold for that,” she said, eying one of the few things she’d taken with her when she’d left London. It was exquisite, too fine for a mere village dance, but also tempting because of the man who would see her wear it.

  “You have a cloak,” Cassandra said. Mary toyed with the fabric, torn between practicality and looking her best. “If he
sees you like that, he’ll never forget you, Mary.”

  There was no point in asking whom she was talking about. They both knew. “I want him so much it hurts,” she confessed.

  “Then conquer your fear.”

  Mary sighed. “It is not that simple. He doesn’t want to give in to temptation. I…I do not know why, but he is determined to avoid an attachment with me at all cost, Cass.” She glanced at her friend, completely unsure of how to proceed. “He doesn’t want marriage. That much is certain.”

  “Is that what you want?” When Mary didn’t answer, Cassandra moved closer to her and quietly asked, “Do you love him, Mary?”

  Mary blinked. “I do not know. Maybe.”

  “And you don’t think he feels the same?”

  She shook her head. “I am certain he does not.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” Cassandra said. “The way he looks at you suggests he cares for you deeply.”

  “Then why not tell me?” Mary asked.

  Cassandra chuckled and reached past Mary to retrieve the white muslin gown. “As you have told him?” Mary bit her lip in response to that pointed remark. “Perhaps he is just as afraid of doing so as you are.”

  “But he’s leaving,” Mary said. She accepted the gown Cassandra offered and held it limply between her hands.

  “Have you given him a reason to stay?” Mary shook her head slowly. “Get dressed and I’ll do your hair. I want Mr. Crawford to be rendered speechless the moment he sets eyes on you.”

  She was stunning. So stunning it took Caleb a moment to find his tongue when she entered the dining room. Dressed in layers of sheer white muslin with tiny puff sleeves and a décolletage so low it showed off more skin than it hid, Miss Clemens looked divine. Even the children took notice with Daphne likening her to a princess and the boys staring at her with the kind of wonder one felt when coming face to face with a goddess.