“We’re here,” he said shortly.
“This is where you live?” Clara asked, her eyes rounding to the size of two silver shillings as she leaned across his lap in her effort to look out the window. His jaw tensed when he felt her small palms press against his thigh, fingers sinking into the hard knotted muscle. “It’s enormous!”
“It’s a house,” he said through his teeth. Damn her. How was it possible that even after being drenched in the rain she still smelled like strawberries? Fresh and ripe and plump for the picking.
“An enormous house.” Bracing her weight on one hand she tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “You know, you haven’t yet told me your name. Should I try to guess it?”
Seeing her smile – her brilliant, unassuming, spontaneous smile – was like seeing the first ray of sunshine after a dark, stormy night. It hit him like a punch in the gut, robbing his air of lungs and his mind of thought. He stared at her blankly as she began to rattle off names in alphabetical order and it wasn’t until she’d gotten all the way to Harrison that he managed to shake himself free of the spell she’d cast upon him.
“Thorncroft,” he managed. “You may call me Thorncroft.”
Clara sat back. “Just Thorncroft? That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”
He was saved from explaining himself when the door was suddenly opened by a footman formally attired in dark gray livery with yellow piping. Even though he rarely frequented London, Thorncroft still kept a staff at all of his in-town residences regardless of how often he visited. Selected for their work ethic and attention to detail all of his employees were of the top tier and were paid handsomely for their services... as well as their discretion.
The footman did not bat an eye upon seeing Clara seated beside Thorncroft. Instead he merely slid a wooden step into place, opened the door and a bit wider, and greeted his employer with a courteous, “Your Grace.”
“Your Grace?” Clara echoed as Thorncroft helped her down from the carriage. “Does that mean–”
“Yes,” he said curtly. He slanted her a discreet sideways glance to gauge her reaction as he escorted her up the short brick walkway. In his experience, women usually responded in one of two ways once they learned of his title and the wealth that accompanied it. They either threw themselves at him – a reaction he’d found vaguely amusing when he was a young lad of eighteen – or they dissolved into a giggling, blushing caricature of their former selves.
“I have never met a duke before.” Her expression thoughtful, Clara paused at the bottom step. “Are they all as prickly as you, or do you find yourself to be an exception?”
Thorncroft blinked. Behind him the footman wisely muffled a snort of laughter.
“I do not mean any offense,” she added quickly. “It’s just that… well… you do seem rather ornery at times and I cannot help but wonder if all dukes are predisposed to an irritable nature.”
“Come on,” Thorncroft growled as he took her by the elbow and pulled her the rest of the way up the steps and through an arched doorway. The sooner he had her back in his carriage and on her way to wherever it was she was going the better. He did not have the time nor did he have the temperament to deal with an impertinent fairy princess who saw nothing wrong with blurting out whatever thought happened to pop into her head. He was accustomed to people respecting him. Sometimes even fearing him. He was not accustomed to a small sprite of a woman with tangled red hair and doe blue eyes telling him he was prickly and irritable.
“Oh,” Clara gasped suddenly, causing Thorncroft to tense and spin towards her, his dark gaze darting over her head as he searched for any signs of immediate danger.
“What?” he demanded. “What is it?”
“Everything is so high.” With eyes full of wonder she tipped her chin back and gazed up at the vaulted ceiling that towered a good twenty feet above their heads. It was an architectural marvel; one that had persuaded Thorncroft to purchase the house the moment he stepped through the front door. Of all his residences this one was the smallest, but he liked the clean lines and understated elegance. It was decorated sparingly. A sofa here. A table there. Just enough to make it comfortable for when he came to visit but not so cluttered that it looked lived-in.
“One of the maids will show you to a guest bedroom where you can bathe and change into clean clothes,” he said dismissively. “When you are finished a doctor will be waiting to examine you.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a housemaid, dressed in the same gray as the footman, materialized from seemingly out of nowhere and greeted Clara with a small, shy smile.
“This way, my lady.”
Clara glanced back over her shoulder as she followed the maid up the winding staircase and Thorncroft, feeling a bit cowardly, made it a point to look in the opposite direction. Feigning sudden interest in a painting hanging on the far wall he walked briskly across the foyer, needing to put as much literal – and figurative – distance between himself and his unexpected houseguest as possible.
The damn chit is tying me up in bloody knots, he thought with a scowl as he studied the large hunting scene complete with horses, hounds, and a sleek red fox disappearing over a distant hill. Katherine had never tied him up in knots. No woman had. He had always known what they were going to say. How they were going to act. What they were going to do. But Clara didn’t say or act or do anything she was supposed to. The woman was a damn puzzle. One he should have had no interest in solving. She was a common housemaid, for God sakes. A maid who cleaned chamber pots by the stream and kissed perfect strangers with wild abandon and conducted herself with all the bearing of a young queen.
Who was Clara Witherspoon? Where had she come from? What the devil did she want?
Before their time together came to an end he had every intention of finding out.
“What can you tell me about Thorncroft?” Picking up a sponge that smelled like roses, Clara brought it up one arm and down another, languidly covering her sun-kissed skin in frothy white bubbles. Warm water lapped against her collarbone as she sighed in blissful contentment and sank lower into the claw foot tub. When was the last time she’d been able to do something as simple and luxurious as take a bath?
She could not remember.
“You want to know about the duke?” There was a faint note of censure in the maid’s voice as she stepped up to the side of the tub and carefully laid a thick white towel down over the curved edge. She was a pretty girl, albeit a bit plain-faced and of average height and build. Her hair – what could be seen of it beneath her white cap – was brown, as were her eyes. The only thing of note about her appearance was a mole high on her left cheek. “We are not allowed to gossip, my lady.”
“Gossip is fiction,” Clara said with an airy flick of her wrist that sent bubbles floating up into the air. “I want fact. He saved my life, you know. Or at least I think he did.” Her brow furrowed. “I cannot seem to remember. But I do remember that he kissed me.”
“His grace kissed you?” The maid’s brown eyes shot wide, giving her a mousy appearance. “Are – are you certain?”
“Certain if he kissed me? Yes. I do recall that much. He is a very good kisser. Or at least I think he is. I’ve never been kissed before,” she confessed. “So I do not have anyone to compare him to. But I imagine if I did he would be top of the list. Do you know if he kisses many women?”
“Not for the past seven years,” the maid blurted before she could stop herself. With a tiny gasp she covered her mouth with both hands and stepped away from the tub. “I – I should not have said that,” she whispered between her fingers. “Please do not tell his grace, my lady.”
Clara frowned. She did not like the fear she saw in the maid’s eyes. To her mind, no human should be afraid of another no matter how great the disparity in their social standing. Did Thorncroft intimidate his staff on purpose, as Lady Irene did, or by accident? She hoped it was the latter. The duke struck her as a callous sort of man, but not one who was purposefully cruel
.
“I won’t breathe a word,” she said reassuringly. “I promise. I’m merely curious.” Her mouth stretched into a rueful grin. “I always am, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten me into more trouble than I care to admit. What is your name? You can call me Clara if you like. It suits me much better than my lady, I think.”
The maid’s hands slowly fell away from her mouth. She even managed a shy, hesitant smile. “Emily.”
“Emily that is a lovely bracelet you’re wearing. Is it from an admirer?”
The maid immediately grasped her wrist, covering the silver bangle that had caught Clara’s eye. “No.” She shook her head once. Twice. Three times. “It was… it was given to me by my mistress. I really shouldn’t be wearing it.”
“Why not?” Filling the sponge with water Clara raised it above her head and closed her eyes as soap ran down through her hair. “It’s beautiful. If I had a bracelet like that I would wear it every single day.”
“He would not be happy if he saw I was wearing it.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Clara’s eyes popped open. “Thorncroft?”
The maid bit her lip. “Yes.”
“Why ever not?”
“I – I shouldn’t speak of it.”
“Come now.” Clara’s smile was sweet and cajoling and irresistible, even to a maid she’d only just met. “I have already promised I will not say a word. I know it is terribly intrusive, but I can’t help but want to know more about him.”
Emily fiddled with the ties on her apron. “Did he really kiss you?”
“He did.” Clara knew she probably should not have been sharing such intimate information with a woman she hardly knew, let alone one of Thorncroft’s own servants, but she felt a connection to the shy, timid maid. It was the same connection she felt with Poppy and Agnes. A recognition of sorts, as though they’d met before. “And I must confess I wish he would do it again.”
“Because he is a duke?”
“No,” Clara said, genuinely surprised Emily would even ask such a question. It did not cross her mind that a woman would try to get close to Thorncroft solely because he was a duke. For her his title was secondary. Given that she’d never had any use for her own, why would she care about his? “Because I thoroughly enjoyed it and I think he did too, although I imagine he’d rather cut off his own hand than admit as much. He’s so very gruff! I don’t believe I have ever met a man so ornery in all my life.” Nor one so handsome, she added silently. Scooping up a handful of frothy soap she pursed her lips and blew lightly into her palm, sending little bubbles floating up into the air. “Although I suspect he has a reason to be. I can see it in his eyes. Do you know what that reason might be, Emily?”
The maid diverted her gaze to the side and mumbled something under her breath. Water splashed over the sides of the tub as Clara sat up a little straighter.
“What was that? I am afraid I couldn’t hear you.” She really did not want to berate the poor girl. It was obvious that Emily was reluctant to break her employer’s trust, and were these normal circumstances Clara would never have been so pushy. But these weren’t normal circumstances and any information she could glean about Thorncroft would be especially helpful given that during their time together the only thing she’d managed to learn was his name!
“His Grace had a wife and a little boy. She was the one who gave me this bracelet. She was… she was a beautiful lady, inside and out.” Emily cleared her throat. “His Grace was positively smitten with her. And then she died, along with his son, and he hasn’t been the same since. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“I – I am so very sorry.” Stricken to her very core Clara sank down into the water and wished she could disappear entirely. Of all the things she had been imagining, it had never been this. No wonder Thorncroft was so cold and distant. To lose the woman he loved would have been enough to bring any man to his knees, but to lose his child as well… She could not fathom it.
Emily expression softened ever-so-slightly. “I do not know who you are or what you mean to His Grace, but I do know you are the first woman he has brought here since Lady Katherine passed.” Gathering up Clara’s soiled clothes and putting them in a basket, she started to leave the bedchamber, only to pause in the doorway. “Be kind to him, my lady. It has been far too long since he has had any kindness in his life.” She bit her lip. “I know he seems like a hard man, but he wasn’t always.” And with that she left the room, leaving Clara with only her troubled thoughts to keep her company.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Clara must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew she heard a faint knocking on the door. Cold water splashed as she braced her arms on either side of the tub and struggled to sit up, her body feeling as groggy as her mind.
“Come in,” she called out automatically, thinking it was Emily with a change of clothes. But when the door opened it was not a maid who stepped through.
“You are not Emily!” she gasped as she slid back down into the tub and brought her hands up to cover her naked breasts. Unfortunately most of the bubbles had long since disappeared, taking away any natural cover she could have used to protect herself from Thorncroft’s wolfish stare.
“A keen observation,” he said dryly. He shut the door behind him with an ominous click but remained standing in front of it, arms crossed and expression inscrutable as his gaze drifted from the damp curls clinging to her neck and shoulders to the top of her knees peeking up through the water. “The doctor is here to see you.”
Flushing a deep, dusky red from her hairline all the way to the slender curves of her collarbone Clara sank even deeper into the tub until the water lapped against her chin. “Thank you. I will be down momentarily.”
With a brusque nod Thorncroft turned to go… but as though an invisible string was pulling him in the opposite direction he deliberately pivoted away from the door and began walking across the room, his stride slow and sleek and silent as a jungle cat’s.
“What – what are you doing?” Clara asked nervously. It was one thing to wish Thorncroft would kiss her in a carriage. It was another thing entirely to be naked and helpless before him with nothing to shield herself from his hungry stare.
For the first time it occurred to her that she was completely at his mercy. He could do with her what he wanted and she would be incapable of stopping him. A tiny chill of alarm followed closely by a jolt of anticipation ran down her spine as she drew her knees up closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around the silky wetness of her calves. Tiny goose pimples that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water and everything to do with the man looking at her as though she were a tasty treat he couldn’t wait to devour rose up on her flesh, causing her to shiver and hunch even further forward until she was little more than a blushing ball of naked, rose-scented female.
“Thorncroft…”
“You’re absolutely stunning, you know.” It was an observation rather than a comment. One he did not seem any more pleased to make now than he had when they first met at the stream. “The most stunning woman I have ever seen.”
“Thank you?” Clara ventured.
“There are some matters which I would like to discuss.” Picking up a wooden chair with velvet armrests from the corner of the room he placed it down a few feet away from the tub and sat on it facing backwards so his long legs were sprawled on either side and his arms were folded across the back. He’d removed his waistcoat and cravat, exposing a column of tanned flesh that Clara couldn’t help but peek at beneath the thick curve of her lashes. Her blush deepened as she wondered if the rest of his skin was as golden as the top of his chest and she quickly averted her gaze.
“You wish to discuss these matters n-now?” Clara hardly ever stuttered, but if there was ever a time to do so it seemed this moment was highly appropriate. How had she gone from never kissing a man to sitting before one completely naked? Were she a sensitive woman prone to vapors and hysterics she might have swooned. The idea did hold some merit, but t
he last thing she wanted to do was be naked and unconscious in front of Thorncroft.
She did not think he would harm her and she was not afraid of him. Not exactly. But he did intimidate her, in the way she was intimidated by most things unknown. Best to keep all of her wits about her when he was around. Especially since she’d been unable to keep her clothes.
“I think now is the perfect time,” he drawled. There was a roguish glint in his gray eyes as he lifted one dark brow. “Or do you have somewhere else to be? If so you are more than welcome to leave at any time. Do you need help with your towel?”
“No,” Clara said hastily. “I am fine right here, thank you very much.”
“Really?” His second brow arched to join the first. “The water looks a bit cold.”
“Perhaps if you leave the room–”
“I find I rather like the view.”
Clara blinked. Was he teasing her? Surely not. Thorncroft was not the sort to tease… except she thought she detected a hint of amusement crinkling one corner of his mouth. A hint of amusement that gave her a brief glimpse of the man he must have been before his wife and young son were tragically taken from him.
Had he laughed before his wife died? She liked to think so. He had the face of a man meant for laughing.
“What would you like to talk about?” Self-consciously sweeping a wet strand of hair off her cheek she inadvertently exposed the top of one breast. When Thorncroft’s jaw suddenly clenched and his eyes suddenly took on a dark, virile gleam she followed his potent gaze down… and hunched forward over her knees with a gasp, splashing more water over the edge of the tub and onto the floor.
“Stunning.” This time there was a huskiness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. More goose pimples broke out on Clara’s flesh and she shivered, drawing Thorncroft’s frown. He stood up, and though she tensed in anticipation of his touch, he merely dipped one hand into the water up to the first knuckle.
A Duchess by Midnight Page 11
