by Erica Taylor
“Exciting?” Andrew asked, his voice low. He cupped his hands around her face and leaned in to kiss her again. “Is it still exciting?”
“Very much so,” she replied. She knew she shouldn’t let him kiss her. It was difficult sometimes to not listen to the rumors, the whispers of other people speculating. They revealed her deepest fears. Why now, after all these years was he showing her attention? Was he keeping her just to have a laugh? She was afraid to hope his kisses meant more. She could not bear the gentle look in his eyes—what if it was not genuine?
She took a step back from his enchanting embrace. “Andrew, please tell me what is going on.”
He kissed her again, softly and yet urgently, his lips strong against hers before setting her away from him.
“We think that Jonathan might want you dead,” he finally answered.
“That is not exactly new information,” Clara replied. “He is not my biggest admirer.”
“No, Clara, I mean he wants you dead so he will inherit your mother’s money.”
“What?” Clara said, her brows pulling together in confusion and took a step back. “That is madness. Jonathan is a horrible brute, but it is difficult to believe he would result to murder.”
“He nearly killed you not two weeks ago,” Andrew reminded her. “And he is broke, and therefore desperate. He has completely spent the entire Morton fortune. He’s had three years of failed crops and several bad investments, not to mention his lavish lifestyle and gambling debts. He is in deep to a set of dodgy moneylenders. When he kicked you out, the day I arrived and brought you here, he had planned for someone to kidnap you off the street. We think he bribed the footman your sister ran away with. They threatened your life if she did not go with them. And Christina went away with them against her will to protect you.”
“Oh my goodness,” Clara gasped, tears rising to her eyes. “Christina ran away to protect me?”
Andrew nodded. “Halcourt believes he has found the footman. He’s been living well off Morton’s payments throughout the years, but since Morton’s funds have run out completely, the payments stopped and the footman has been spinning his tales. Word of that somehow reached Halcourt, I don’t even want to know how, and he sent someone to fetch the footman. And he has the man who shot at us in custody; he should be able to shed some more light. We think he was hired by your brother.”
“I cannot believe this,” Clara said. “You think Jonathan wanted to have me kidnapped? And then what, killed?”
“Raped and killed probably,” Andrew replied, wincing at her shocked expression. “Or sold to a brothel. I’m sorry to be blunt, darling, but I’m trying to be honest and not leave anything out. I’m sure he did not care what they did to you as long as you died in the end. And that we know for sure, we have the men who were sent to kidnap you. They were awfully upset you were gone when they arrived and were more than willing to divulge everything they knew about Morton.”
“That vile pig!” she exclaimed, shaking in anger and hurt that her brother would do something so horrid. She paced the length of the room and back again. Something her brother said rang through her mind, his random statement making sense now.
“He did something to Christina,” she said. “He said something the day after the birthday ball, that morning when he was shouting awful things at me.”
“What did he say?”
“That he’d gotten rid of one sister, and I would be useful payment for something,” Clara replied. “I did not understand what that could mean at the time but now . . . My God, my brother tried to kill me!”
“Clara, they are not coming for you,” Andrew said soothingly. “Morton will not be able to hurt you again.”
“But what about your family, Andrew?” Clara asked, turning towards him. “I cannot willingly put them at risk.”
“You are not putting anyone at risk by marrying me,” he replied. “I would not have you anywhere else. You are safe here; my sisters are safe here. This is not your fault, Clara.”
“But what about Christina?” she asked. “He did something to her! I don’t even know how she died!”
Andrews’s brows furrowed, an internal debate evident across his face as he hesitated to tell her.
“You know?” Clara whispered. “Please, Andrew, tell me what happened to my sister.”
With a tight sigh, Andrew relented. “Christina arrived at a parsonage in West Sussex, filthy, sick, alone, and very pregnant. She died that night giving birth, and the baby died as well.”
Clara leaned into Andrew, his arms coming around her, her emotions coming to a head as her heart broke for her sister. Poor Christina, having to endure all of this alone, knowing what people thought of her when she had only been trying to protect her sister. Christina had hugged Clara and told her she loved her and that she would be happy. She was giving Clara the ability to live and be safe. But Clara was not safe, not really. If Jonathan wanted her money she would never be safe, no matter what Andrew said or who he stationed at the door.
Clara was not aware of time as she sat and absorbed the warmth of Andrews embrace, but the idea that she had money worth killing for stuck out in the myriad of confusion. This lone idea was preposterous, but it found a foothold, and her mind swirled around that one datum.
“Why does Jonathan think my inheritance will save him?” Clara asked, her resolve strengthening around such an absurd idea. “There isn’t enough to live on.”
“Clara, how much do you think there is?” Andrew asked, his confusion evident in his tone.
“I don’t know,” she replied and looked up to meet his gaze. “I never thought to inquire because I don’t have access to it yet. I asked Father once and he said there were only pennies, that Mother had spent it all. Jonathan had told me that nothing split between two sisters was still nothing. I never gave it much thought.”
“The money that your mother spent was on investments which highly paid off, Clara,” Andrew told her. “There is over forty thousand pounds.”
Clara stepped back, blinking in amazement. “What? Are you certain?”
Andrew nodded. “You are a very wealthy young lady.”
“But it is not mine, not yet anyway,” Clara said. “I will not have access to it for another two years.”
“Or until you marry,” Andrew reminded her.
Clara glanced at him, worrying again over her decision to marry him. The closer and closer they got to her self-imposed deadline, the more likely it seemed she might have to go through with it. Jonathan was no less contained than he was a fortnight ago when this entire nightmare began. It did not look like that was to change any time soon.
But, she had money to live on, on her own. She simply needed to survive her brother until her twenty-fifth birthday. But it was something.
Clara looked up to Andrew’s face, and her heart tightened at the thought of leaving him. She actually wanted to marry Andrew. She wanted to love him and be his wife, but she would not do so if he could not feel the same about her.
“Thank you for this information, Andrew,” Clara said, stepping away, completely dislodging herself from his limbs. “It is horrible to think that Jonathan literally wants me dead for my money, but I feel better knowing. I only wish we hadn’t been shot at. It upset your sister terribly.”
“Susanna will survive,” he replied. He crossed the study to the decanter of the amber liquor sitting on the side mantle and poured another hefty portion of it into the glass before tossing it back, draining the contents.
Clara could sense she was being dismissed, though she was not sure why it bothered her.
“Good night, Andrew,” she said quietly before turning.
“Clara, I—” he began but clamped his mouth shut.
“Yes?” she asked, spinning around, her eyes searching his, watching as his bright blue eyes melted into smoldering warmth and then hardened bac
k into ice. The distance between them when his icy façade was in place was alarming. How could he be so amazing and yet so terrifying? She understood why people in society avoided him. The Stone Duke was menacing and frightening. She was fairly certain she did not care for the Stone Duke at all.
“I hope you sleep well,” he said.
“Thank you. I hope you sleep well too,” she replied. She turned to leave again, and this time he did not stop her.
Gentle reader, what began as a prime opportunity to examine the relationship between our favorite society couple, turned into a night of disappointment. Though arriving with the M— family, Lady C— danced many sets with varying gentlemen before disappearing for the night. One can only wonder what was so important to exit a lovely jubilant ball with such lively entertainment and company. Perhaps we will never know.
Chapter Thirteen
Andrew spent the following day in Parliament, arguing over farmer reforms. As a glorified farmer himself, he had a particular interest in the outcome of the bill, but it seemed all his peers wanted to do for now was argue. By the time he arrived home, his sisters had left for the evening, and he wanted to think about anything but politics.
“Is it proper for me to be annoyed with you?” Clara asked as he wandered into the library in search of a book to settle his mind. He turned to survey her, a startled expression flashing across his face.
“That is a two-part answer, my dear,” he said, turning back towards the bookshelf. He had come in here with a purpose, now just to remember what it was. Clara’s presence had completely befuddled him. He glanced back at her and noted her confused frown. The sight of her, in what looked like a night gown, curled up on the sofa was all too enticing.
“How is that a two-parted answer?” she asked.
“Well, for one, it begs the question of why it would not be proper for you to be annoyed with me,” he responded and ran his hand along the spines of the book, trying to get the sight of her out of his mind, the way the soft shadows from the dimming fire were dancing shamelessly upon her creamy complexion.
Ah yes, the book Sarah and Susanna had suggested to him, what was it called? Pride and Prejudice, he remembered. Sarah had raved about the unknown author’s other work, Sense and Sensibility, and Andrew was willing to read nearly anything. He scanned the shelves for the thin volume, but did not see it sitting in its place beside its sister.
“And secondly,” he continued, wondering if one of the meddlesome females in his house had it tucked away somewhere, possibly on their third or fourth read before he had a chance to read it once. “It makes one wonder what I could have possibly done to annoy you. I say, have you seen—” He stopped his question as he saw the book in her hands and realized she had the blasted novel. Clara glanced down at the book she was reading and frowned again.
“Never mind,” he said abruptly. “What is it I have done to annoy you?”
Clara smirked at the book, but appeared to keep that bit to herself, which he was fleetingly grateful for.
“You left Lord Kensburg here to watch me,” she accused. “Just as last night, you deployed your lackeys to protect me. It is a little excessive, Andrew.”
“Last night and today were necessary,” Andrew replied. “Or have you forgotten you were shot at?”
“Yes, but I doubt anyone could have gotten into Bradstone House,” she replied. “Have not you told me how safe I am here?”
“Yes, and you were exceptionally safe today with Redley on post,” Andrew replied. “Redley has a keen mind and is more than capable of watching over you.”
“I thought you said the shooter was in custody?”
“Yes, but who knows what else your brother has up his sleeve,” Andrew acknowledged. “We cannot find him so we don’t know what other dredges from the underworld he has conjured to wreak havoc on our lives. Redley was merely a precaution.”
Clara studied him for a long moment, turning over his words. “I thought you would have joined your sisters on their outing,” she said. “You need not stay in on my account.”
Andrew sighed. “A night off once in a while can be a good thing. I am not required to attend every event I am invited to.”
Clara snickered. “No, but you do.”
Andrew shook his head turned away. “I do what is expected of me.”
Clara straightened and set the book down. “You, my dearest duke, have made it your life’s purpose to be exactly what society expects you should be, and that is your problem. It is as if you looked up ‘duke’ in the dictionary and beside it found a list of attributes, and you set out to master them all. What you have failed to realize, Andrew, is that you can be whoever you want to be, and you will still be the Duke of Bradstone. Nothing can take that away from you now. You can fail or succeed, and it will still be yours.”
Andrew shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“I think I understand all too well, and it scares you,” Clara said, folding her arms across her chest. “But enlighten me.”
“I was not supposed to be the duke,” he said, urging her to understand, his voice strained with years of frustration over that one fact. “I ran free and wild while Sam was drilled for this position. And suddenly he was not there and I was supposed to step into his shoes.” He sighed, pulling his hand through his hair, his eyes burning with long buried outrage. “Everyone expected me to be Sam, to be my father, to be perfect and ducal and take up the reins and not look back. So no, I had no idea what I was doing. And yes, I have strived to make sure I do it correctly, what I think society deems as correct. I have endeavored to make sure no harm or trace of anything negative befalls my family. I have tried to do right by my ancestors and my ancient title and prove that even though I was not born to be the duke, I could still do a passable job.”
“Do you not see that in doing so you have sacrificed yourself?” Clara asked, rising and moving to stand beside him. “No one expected you to be Sam or your father. Everyone expected you to be you. You can be both, Andrew. You are Andrew Macalister and you are the Duke of Bradstone. You don’t have to sacrifice one for the other. When was the last time you did something you enjoyed? Something fun that made you laugh? Do you even enjoy your life?”
Andrew turned to look at her, realizing she was not aware of the impact she had on his existence. He pulled her closer to him, setting his hands on either side of her face, running his thumbs across the soft plains of her cheeks. She was warm and soft, and her brown eyes turned to molten chocolate as he leaned down and kissed her firmly on the lips, hoping she could understand some of the intensity he was feeling, even if he could not properly voice it.
“You, Clara,” he whispered. “You are what I enjoy. You make me laugh and smile in ways I have not done for years. With you in my life, by my side, I have learned to live again.”
She was his and, whether she knew it or not, he was never letting her go.
Clara could sense the transformation in him, the intensity of his kisses, the urgent way he moved his hands along her sides, roaming across her back. The strength of her own passion nearly took her breath away, her knees swaying beneath her, and she groped for him, eager to be closer, to feel more.
Gently but with an unmistakably erotic force, Andrew’s tongue rolled with hers, loving and stroking in a metaphorical mating game. She met him thrust for thrust, matching her actions to his, willing and eager to accept what he had to teach. He wound a hand into the soft tresses of her hair, massaging her scalp, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her close into him. Her body fit into his as if she had been created specifically for him. The proof of his arousal pressed hard against her belly as she wound her hands into his hair, pulling him to her, closer, wanting more.
Andrew’s mouth moved to her neck, along her jaw, nipping at the delicate patch of skin just below her ear. Her throat hummed with a breathless moan, every nerve in her body jumping
alive, eager and willing to feel. Tingles shot down her arms, her torso, pooling into a spot between her legs, tightening and pulling. What wanton things she was feeling . . . but she did not care. Perhaps it was time she lived up to the rumors everyone whispered behind her back.
“Clara, you need to leave,” Andrew whispered against her neck, his voice hoarse with desire. She shook her head. Pulling his lips away from her skin, he stared into her eyes, his blue eyes flittering back and forth between her brown, searching for the truth, the permission she was giving him.
“I’m not leaving, Andrew,” she said defiantly, leaning up on her toes to press a wet kiss at the pulse beneath his jaw. His eyes closed and his jaw dropped open as he sucked in a breath. She wanted him—this—more than anything. She wanted a piece of him, one tiny piece of the man he kept so hidden from the world, one thing to take with her when she left, to remind her of true happiness.
With a feral sounding growl, he claimed her mouth again, pulling her down to her knees with him, and then her back was on the ground, a scratchy rug beneath her. Kneeling, Andrew pulled off his jacket and waistcoat, and yanked at his neatly tied cravat. He moved to the buttons holding up her silk nightgown and undid them with ease. Tugging the gown off her shoulders, he ran his hands over her bare breasts, his eyes dark with desire. She shuddered with pleasure, gooseflesh peppering across her skin, from the coolness of the air or from the intensity of his gaze, she did not know. She did not care.
“You are so beautiful,” Andrew whispered, trailing a single finger down between her breasts, swirling under one and up around her nipple before doing the same to the other. His touch burned, or froze, or left a trail of sparkling magic, she could not know for certain, but it was glorious. It pulled at the tightening between her legs, pleasure shooting down from her nipple as he trailed his finger across, pinching between his thumb and forefinger, rolling back and forth. He bent and took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue hot and wet as he swirled it around the tight peak, smiling at her sharp intake of breath at each pass.
