The gentle tugging on her scalp was oddly soothing, as was the steady drum of his heartbeat against her back. On a contented sigh she snuggled against him, curling into the crook of his arm as her lashes fanned out across her cheeks.
“That was lovely,” she murmured drowsily.
Thorncroft did not answer. At least not with his words. He just kept combing her hair until, with another long, blissful sigh, she slipped effortlessly into sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Let’s go to the park. It is a beautiful day. How can you possibly stay inside and work when the birds are chirping so loudly?”
Thorncroft glanced up from the papers on his desk to find Clara beaming down at him, her blue eyes as bright as the cloudless sky drifting by outside his window and her smile as wide as the Thames. It took every inch of willpower he possessed not to grin back at her like a love struck fool, but even after employing all of his considerable self-control he couldn’t quite help the corners of his mouth from curving upward. She was simply too damn fetching to resist with her hair all a tumble and her face filled with a glow that rivaled the sun.
“Come here,” he said gruffly, pushing his chair back away from his desk.
Only too happy to oblige Clara skipped around the edge of the desk and perched on his lap, her rounded derriere wiggling between his thighs as her legs kicked up beneath the soft green fabric of her skirts. “You promised,” she reminded him with mocking sternness that was completely overridden when she dipped her head and kissed his cheek. “The day after tomorrow, you said, if it isn’t raining, we can go to the park. Well it is officially the day after tomorrow and I am holding you to your word, good sir.”
“Oh you are, are you?” The impish glint in his gaze was all the warning she had before he took her lips with his own, effectively silencing her with a drugging kiss that left them both breathless and aching for more.
“No,” Clara said decisively when his fingers strayed to the back of her gown and he began to pluck at the tiny pearl buttons that ran the length of her spine. “I will not allow you to distract me this time. This time we are going to the park.” Reaching behind her she playfully slapped his hand away. “You promised, Andrew.”
“So I did,” Thorncroft said on a heavy sigh. It was just as well. In the six days that had passed since their afternoon together in the study he had managed to limit himself to kisses and fondling, but he knew it would take just a moment of weakness to send him plunging over an edge from which there would be no return.
Clara, for all her delightful enthusiasm when it came to matters of the bedroom, was still a virgin and he intended to keep her that way until he either let her go… or made her his wife. Were he anyone but who he was he would have put her in a carriage and made all haste to Gretna Green, but if there was one thing a duke could not do it was marry recklessly.
At least if they were in a public setting he would be forced to be on his best behavior and keep his hands to himself.
For the most part.
“Are you ready to go now?” he asked.
“Yes!” Beaming ear to ear Clara off his lap and raced to the door like an eager puppy wanting to go out. “I only need to put on some shoes.”
“And a hat. I don’t want your face to be burned.”
“And a hat,” she said agreeably. “Do you want to walk to the park or should we take a carriage? Oh, let’s walk! It really is a beautiful day.”
“So I see,” he said, glancing out the window.
Clara rolled her eyes. “Seeing something and feeling something are two entirely different things.”
Though he would never admit as much out loud, Thorncroft could not agree more. The way he felt when Clara was with him was unlike anything else he had ever experienced before. After struggling to come to terms with the lingering endearment he still had for Katherine and the rapidly growing affection he had for Clara he’d decided that loving one woman did not mean he could not love another. Feeling something for Clara did not diminish what he’d felt for Katherine.
He would always love his wife. She had borne him his son and for that – and for everything else she had given him during their short time together – he would be forever grateful. To honor her, to the honor the commitment they’d shared and the vows they’d spoken, he owed it to himself – to both of them – to find happiness again.
Thorncroft had thought that by bringing misery upon himself he was somehow atoning for their deaths. But no amount of misery could bring them back to him. He had learned that the hard way. They were gone, taken before they had a right to be, and a piece of his heart would always remain with them. As for the rest of his heart… It now belonged to someone else. Someone who brought joy with her wherever she went. Someone whose laughter always lifted his spirits. Someone whose unique way of looking at the world had forced him to look at himself… and made him realize he did not like the reflection glaring back.
She had brought him the sun, he thought as he watched her flounce from the room, her infectious laugh echoing down the hallway. And the shine of it had never been brighter.
Following at a slower pace, Thorncroft’s grin spread ear to ear as he slid on his waistcoat and retied his cravat. It attracted the attention of his butler, enough to cause the older man to frown and ask his master if he was feeling well.
“Never better Edwards,” Thorncroft replied. “Never better. Can you have the phaeton brought round? Miss Witherspoon and I are going for a ride in the park.”
“A – A ride in the park, Your Grace? In the middle of the day?”
“Yes.” Never taking his eyes off Clara as she chatted enthusiastically with her friend Poppy (after two days of searching his man had managed to track the maid to an inn one mile south of London and not a minute too soon as she’d been abandoned by the driver and stranded without a single shilling to her name) he held out one arm and then the other so Edwards could fit him with a sleek black tailcoat. “Does that surprise you?”
The butler’s gaze slid from Thorncroft to Clara and back again. “It would have a week ago, Your Grace.”
“And now?” Thorncroft asked.
“Might I speak frankly?”
“Of course.”
“I have found since Miss Witherspoon’s arrival nothing surprises me anymore.”
His answer pleased Thorncroft more than he could say. “She is a light, isn’t she Edwards?”
“A light, Your Grace?” The butler frowned in confusion.
“A light,” Thorncroft confirmed. “Shining down on all of us. Makes one wonder how we saw anything before she arrived, does it not?”
“It does indeed Your Grace,” Edwards murmured. “It does indeed.”
Clara had never been in a phaeton before and she could not help but marvel at its speed. Clutching tight to Thorncroft’s arm as they raced through the park she screeched with delight – and just a little fear – as the two wheeled carriage whipped around the winding curves in the road, going so fast it was a wonder of aerodynamics that it didn’t tip over onto its side.
She sat up a bit straighter in her seat, enjoying the rush of the wind as it blew past her face and caught in her hair. Were it the height of the Season they never would have been able to go so fast or drive so recklessly for the roads and footpaths would have been gridlocked with a myriad of carriages and riders and pedestrians. In the middle of the summer, however, Hyde Park was all but empty for everyone who was anyone had long since retreated to the comfort of their countryside manors.
If Clara were honest with herself she would be forced to admit that she did miss Windmere. Thorncroft’s home was lovely, there was no doubt about it, and since her arrival she had wanted for nothing. But she missed Agnes, and Mr. Plum, and being able to walk outside and see nothing but fields and forest for miles and miles.
London had its charms, to be sure. It truly was a beautiful city if one only took the time to look past the dirt and the grime and see the elegance in its architecture. But it was
also busy and loud and unfamiliar. Were it not for Thorncroft she would have turned on her heel and fled back to Windmere the very night she arrived, fiancé or no fiancé. For Clara now knew one thing for certain: she was not going to marry Mr. Ingle and it turned her stomach to think that had things happened a little differently she very well might have.
How foolish she’d been to even entertain the idea! Foolish and naïve and cowardly. She should have stood her ground, but as always her stepmother had known precisely where to twist the knife and cut her where it hurt the most. If she only had herself to think about then she would have gladly suffered for the sake of her own freedom, but she could never live with herself if her actions put Agnes or Poppy at risk.
And yet how could she go through with marrying a man she did not love when she had finally found one she did? It was a conundrum, to be sure. One that Clara was no closer to solving than she had been eight days ago. She knew she would have to tell Thorncroft eventually, but she was afraid if she did it would burst the bubble they’d been living in. A bubble filled with love and light and laughter. A bubble that held no place for unwanted fiancés and wicked stepmothers and evil stepsisters. A bubble that kept them isolated from the outside world with all of its pitfalls and problems and hard truths.
Were Clara a practical sort of person she might have questioned Thorncroft’s intentions with her. After all, he had not promised her anything. And their current situation was, to put it lightly, quite unusual. Not to mention one that could have serious social consequences were anyone to discover she was, for all intents and purposes, living under the same roof as an unmarried – and very eligible – bachelor. But despite all of that she knew he loved her. Or at the very least he was falling in love with her. Perhaps he hadn’t yet landed in a bed of dreams and rose petals as she had, but she’d witnessed his love in countless other little ways.
It was the way he looked at her.
It was the way he touched her.
It was the way he spoke her name.
Something had changed inside of him since the first time they met. Clara did not have a name for the change or even an explanation, but she felt it just the same.
It was a softening. A growing. A sort of letting go. He was a different man than the one he’d been before. Not in appearance. Not even in demeanor. But deep down where it counted, he was different. And she loved him all the more for it.
“There!” she cried, standing up halfway out of her seat as she spotted a glimmer of blue through the trees. “There it is!”
Cursing under his breath Thorncroft switched the reins to one hand and used the other to scoop Clara in tight against his side. “You little fool,” he said with great affection and just a tiny, nearly imperceptible hint of fear. “You cannot stand up in a phaeton. You’ll break your neck.” He whistled to his horse, signaling for the lathered bay to drop out of its canter before gently applying pressure on the reins. With a snort the horse took a few prancing steps of trot before settling down into a slow, leisurely walk that carried the phaeton to the edge of the pond Clara had spied. Small and secluded, it was separated from the rest of the park by a thick circle of trees and underbrush, giving it the illusion of their own private oasis.
Ducks swimming leisurely by in the glimmering water perked their heads with interest as Thorncroft helped Clara down from the carriage before tying the horse to a nearby tree and loosening the harness.
“Do you have the breadcrumbs?” she asked, nearly bouncing up and down in her excitement to feed the ducks. When Thorncroft had casually mentioned that Hyde Park was only a short ride from his residence she’d made him promise to take her as soon as the skies cleared. After nearly a week spent inside – mostly because of rain and a little bit because Thorncroft was an extraordinarily busy man – she was itching to feel the grass beneath her toes and the sun on her face.
“Here you are,” he said dryly, pulling out a crinkled paper sack from the pocket of his waistcoat. “What do you want me to do with everything else?”
After she’d gotten his promise to take her to the park, Clara had devised an entire afternoon filled with activities including a picnic lunch, something she had not done since she was a child. With the cook’s help she had packed a large wicker basket to the gills with thick slices of roasted beef, hunks of cheese, warm bread, fresh fruit, and an orange marmalade spread that she knew Thorncroft was partial to. A smaller basket held a bottle of wine cushioned by a large blue and white checkered blanket.
“Find a shady spot and set everything out on the blanket,” she said before she grabbed the paper sack of breadcrumbs, gave him a quick kiss, and dashed over to the edge of the pond. Quickly kicking off her shoes and stockings and tying up the hem of her skirt so it hovered at mid-calf she waded fearlessly into the warm water.
The bottom of the pond was a mixture of sand and pebbles, giving her a sturdy base to stand on while she waited for the ducks to approach. They came in a feathered rush, their webbed feet making tiny waves as they rushed to be the first one to the breadcrumbs. With a delighted laugh Clara threw out handful after handful until the brown paper sack was empty.
“I am very sorry,” she apologized when the ducks had gobbled up all of the crumbs and were looking up at her for more. “That is all I’ve brought with me. If there is anything left over from the picnic I will be sure to let you know.”
Wading back to the shore she left her shoes and stockings where they were and raced across the grass to where Thorncroft was lounging on the blanket under the shade of a large elm tree. He sat up on his elbows as she approached, a lazy grin lifting his mouth to the side.
“How were the ducks?”
“Hungry,” Clara replied before she sat down in front of the picnic basket and began pulling out food. Making up a plate for herself and one for Thorncroft she let him pour the wine while she sliced the bread into three large chunks, one of which she stashed discreetly into the paper sack for her feathered friends to eat later.
They ate in silence, content to enjoy one another’s company and the quiet, soothing hum of nature. When her stomach was so full she couldn’t stuff another grape into her mouth and Thorncroft had polished off everything on his plate save a few crumbs Clara packed the rest of the food away and joined Thorncroft at the base of the tree. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her back from trunk’s rough bark. On a soft sigh Clara leaned against him, letting his chest support the full weight of her head and neck. After a bit of squirming she worked her way down into his lap, stretching out her legs and using his strong, muscular thighs as a pillow.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” She peered up at him beneath her lashes. “Just doing nothing.”
“I suppose,” he said, although he did not sound entirely convinced.
“For a duke, you seem to work very hard.”
“I work very hard because I am a duke.”
“Really?” Her lips curved. “And here I thought all dukes did was ride about the countryside looking important and go to fancy parties.”
He tugged on one of her curls. “Brat.”
“Beast,” she said cheerfully.
“The truth is some dukes are like that, but I have never been content to sit back and let others manage my money for me. The only reason I came to London in the first place was to meet with my solicitor.”
“I am glad.”
Thorncroft lifted a dubious brow. “You’re glad I have spent more time with my solicitor than with you over the past three days?”
“No, I am glad you came to London. If you hadn’t, who knows when our paths would have crossed again?”
“Do you know this park was originally King Henry the eighth’s private hunting ground? It wasn’t until 1637 that it was opened to the general public.”
Clara bit back a sigh of frustration. No matter how many times – or how many different ways – she tried to broach the topic of their relationship Thorncroft always changed the subject. At first she’d thought it was mere
ly a coincidence of bad timing. Her mind was on one thing while his was on another. But now she suspected he was doing it on purpose. What she didn’t know was why.
If he did not love her, then he at least cared for her. She was convinced of that much. Thorncroft was not the sort of man to waste his time, not with business and certainly not with women. So why couldn’t he admit he had feelings for her? Was he going to make her wait forever? Not that seven days was an exorbitant length of time, but still… it was the point that counted. And she would expect him to know better than most just how precious time could be.
“Tell me about your wife. Please,” she added softly when a dark shadow rippled across his face and the hand that had been absently combing her hair abruptly stopped. “I know you were married before and I know what happened to her.”
“Then what else is there to know?” he said, his tone as sharp and bitter as a cold winter’s night.
“What was she like? How did you meet? What were her hobbies? My father used to love to talk about my mother.” Tucking a loose curl behind her ear she sat up on her elbows and looked at him in earnest, her blue eyes silently pleading with him not to shut her out. Talk to me. Confide in me. Trust me. “It helped him remember her, I think.”
“I do not need to talk to you about my wife in order to remember her,” he said flatly. Pushing her off his lap none-too-gently he stood and stalked away, leaving a big boot print right in the middle of the blanket.
“Andrew, wait!” Scrambling to her feet she hurried after him and caught up just as he reached for his horse’s reins. Me and my big mouth, she thought with a surge of annoyance. Why couldn’t she have just kept silent? It Thorncroft had wanted to tell her about his wife he would have done so. Just because she was in love with him did not mean she had any right to go prying into his past. “I did not mean to upset you.”
The muscles in his back tensed. “Then what did you mean?” he asked without turning around.
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