by Kelly Bowen
“Was it something I said?” she murmured, willing the ground to open up and swallow her so that she wouldn’t need to hear him answer or face him when he did.
“I am not the first man to kiss you,” he blurted, sounding just as confused as she felt.
Clara goggled at him. “What?”
“I thought…I mean to say…I wasn’t expecting…”
“Bloody hell indeed,” she breathed. “You thought I’d never been kissed?”
He had the grace to redden. Good Lord, that was exactly what he had thought. Well, that might explain why he had been so very, very careful. She wasn’t sure whether to be moved by his gentleness or appalled by his astounding arrogance.
“Why would you have thought that?” she breathed.
August shook his head. “I’m not…I can’t…”
A very inelegant snort escaped. “Because I was the wallflower at the ball? The bluestocking who never married and became a spinster?”
“I despise how you make that sound,” he growled. “As if you are…less. You are not.”
“While I am touched by your words, let me assure you I have never considered myself less. Different, of course, but not less for it.” She paused. “Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Been kissed. Before tonight, that is.”
“That is the most idiotic question I’ve ever been asked.”
“I take that as a yes. But you’re not married.”
“Of course not.” Now he sounded cross.
“Do you see my point here?”
“I’m not a half-wit,” he growled. “It just…took me by surprise.”
“Would you like to stop?”
His head dropped, and Clara saw his lips twitch. “That’s what I was prepared to ask you.”
“Ah. Well, I think you had my answer. Before you reacted like a scalded cat.”
His hand tightened at her waist. “I resent being compared to a cat.”
“And I resent being kissed like a schoolgirl.” She wanted those words back the second they were out. Because the humor was wiped clean from his face, to be replaced with something dark.
“I can assure you, Miss Hayward, it won’t happen again.”
She swallowed. “Perhaps that is for the best.” It was true. Her mind seemed to have regained its grasp on sanity, and this kiss, however short and sweet it had been, shouldn’t go any further.
“You misunderstand me.” The duke shifted, bringing his leg forward so that it was wedged between hers. The hand that still rested at the back of her head lifted and stroked the hair that had tumbled down, coming to rest at the small of her back, his fingers splayed possessively. “When I kiss you again, it will not be like a schoolgirl.”
Clara’s mouth went dry.
“Who kissed you before me?” he asked in a low voice.
“What?” It was hard to concentrate with so much of him pressed against so much of her.
“The man who kissed you. Were you in love with him?”
Clara shook her head. “The woman you kissed before me. Were you in love with her?”
Holloway laughed, a low rumble she could hear in his chest. “That was well done.”
“It was a reasonable question. At the least, as reasonable as the one you asked me.”
“Touché.” His hand at her back slid back up to the nape of her neck. “So tell me, Miss Hayward, was kissing part of your impressive education?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
He drew back. “What?”
“Yes. It was.”
“I was jesting, Miss Hayward.”
“And I was not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Clara brought her hands to the front of his coat and ran them down the lapel, picking her words with careful concentration. This was not something that she had ever intended to discuss with this man. But here they were, and she would not retreat. And if he could not accede to what she was about to say, then it was better that everything stop here and now. “The idea that a gentleman should go to his marriage bed well versed in the art of bed sport, while his fine lady should go to that same marriage bed utterly ignorant, is a bit of a conundrum, isn’t it?”
She felt him still. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you know that when my mother, as a very sheltered daughter of a baron, married my father, she didn’t know how babies were made? She didn’t know what parts were supposed to go where. She was told that marital relations were painful, but her duty, and something to be suffered through.” She looked up at Holloway. “I can’t imagine that is the speech given to most young lords, is it?”
The duke was staring at her.
“In fact, as I understand it, if a titled man hasn’t taken his son to his favored courtesan or mistress by the time the young buck is sixteen, he’s failed in one of his principal duties as a father.” She tilted her head. “Am I wrong?”
Holloway was frowning fiercely now.
“Luckily, my mother married a very loving, very patient, very open-minded man. Not every bride is quite so lucky. So when she had daughters of her own, she encouraged us to…educate ourselves. At the very least understand exactly how it is that children are conceived. Empower ourselves with knowledge and understanding. And yes, experience, though that is a personal choice.”
Holloway still hadn’t spoken.
“You don’t approve.”
He shook his head. “Don’t do that. Put words in my mouth again.”
“Your Grace—”
“August.” He touched his finger to her lips. “I asked you to call me August.” He made a funny sound of amusement. “Given the nature of this…entire conversation, I think we are well beyond proper titles. And I don’t think it’s my place to approve or disapprove.”
Clara traced one of the buttons on the front of his coat with her thumb, something squeezing relentlessly in her chest. “I appreciate that, but I’m not sure that is entirely true.”
“What do you mean?”
She kept her eyes firmly on the button beneath her fingers, reluctant to look up. “There is an old midwife who lives just outside Dover,” she went on. “During the summer, I hire her to speak with my students. Fill in any gaps in their education when it comes to…amorous congress and childbearing. Answer questions about a woman’s health that most of the world they live in deems inappropriate or scandalous to ask. Some of my students are fortunate enough to have women in their lives who have already taught them much, but others are as ignorant as my mother was.” Clara paused. “Your sister will be part of that class.”
The duke stepped back from her, his hands falling away, taking his heat with him. Part of Clara, the part that had managed to find a little sanity, was relieved. The other part of her wanted to weep with frustration, loss, and regret. She tried to read his expression, but his features gave none of his thoughts away.
“If ever there was a time you’d like to collect your sister and storm back to London in a self-righteous rage, now would be it,” she muttered.
“Have you lost your mind?” Holloway demanded.
Clara’s chin came up along with her indignation. “I’ve had young girls confess to me that they thought they were dying the first time they got their monthly courses because no one had taken the time to explain even that. I cannot abide by such—”
“Stop. You misunderstand me again,” he said, sounding a bit strangled. “Completely.”
“Your Grace—”
“August.”
“August.” She squared her shoulders.
“Thank you. And I’m not…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words. “I am not sure that I am the…source of guidance my sister needs when it comes to…feminine matters. The fact that you have taken it upon yourself to provide such guidance is a relief.” He exhaled heavily. “So, yes, you’ve lost your mind if you think I think I can do better. If that makes any sense.”
“Oh.” The strange feeling that had been sque
ezing her heart returned.
August braced his hands on the stone wall and leaned forward, studying the horizon. “You are full of surprises, Miss Hayward.”
“Clara.”
He turned his head.
“Given the nature of this entire conversation, I think we are well beyond proper titles.” She echoed his words, trying to make it light, but she wasn’t sure if she had been able to keep the longing from them.
“Well, then, I’m glad we got that sorted.” He straightened and stepped toward her again. “Clara.”
The sound of her name on his lips set her pulse pounding. Cocooned as they were by their sun-kissed privacy, it was tempting to forget that reality existed. “I understand if you’re scandalized. Horrified. Given what—who—I am supposed to be. Though I’m not prepared to apologize for it.”
“Which is what? What are you supposed to be?”
“A woman of modesty and virtue. A woman who is deemed fit to tutor her young charges not because of her experience and knowledge of the world, but because of her lack of it.”
“I don’t want the woman you’re supposed to be,” he said, his voice low. “I never have. I want the woman you are, and everything that that encompasses. I wanted her ten years ago, and I want her now.” He stepped closer to her, his hand coming up to toy with the ribbon at the front of her bodice. “A woman who knows her own mind. A woman who can make a man lose his. Make him do reckless things.”
“August—”
He closed the remaining distance, once again pressing her back against the stone fence. His hands went to her lower back and then suddenly they dropped to her buttocks, and she was being lifted up, coming to sit on the edge of the cool stone. He ran his hands down the backs of her thighs, shoving her skirts up slightly and bringing her legs to rest on either side of his hips.
Desire streaked through Clara. She tightened her legs around him, her heels pressed firmly against the small of his back. August made a guttural sound of approval and leaned into her, and she could feel his own arousal, pressed firmly against her core.
His breath brushed against the side of her neck, and she shivered. “You should be kissed, and kissed often,” he whispered. “Kissed often by a man who knows how. A man who will kiss you until you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Someone who will set your blood on fire and make you feel like the only woman in the world.”
Clara was pretty sure he had accomplished everything on that list before he had even kissed her. His hands roamed over her rear and then up her back, urging her even closer. “But tell me what you want, Clara.”
“I’d like to be kissed by a man who knows how,” she whispered back. “Until I can’t breathe. Can’t think.” Her fingers found the sides of his face, skimming over his cheeks before she let them delve into his hair the way she had longed to, tangling them in the silky thickness. She brought her mouth to his, starting the way he had. Gentle, soft brushes of her lips over his. Controlled, measured tastes. He let her, for long seconds, and only the increasing pressure of his fingers at her shoulders betrayed the steady fraying of his control.
And then his hands moved, and he caught the base of her head, curling his fingers in her hair and tipping her head back so that his mouth could slant over hers. She gasped, and he angled his head farther, his tongue now stroking deep against hers as he claimed her. This wasn’t a gentle kiss. This was hot and hard and demanding and stole every lucid thought other than her need to belong to this man. She kissed him back, all the pent-up emotion and longing she had ever suppressed channeled into a language he seemed to understand perfectly. It could have been seconds or minutes or hours that he kissed her, but it was difficult to tell, because time ceased to have meaning. Sensation coursed through her, making her ache and throb with need. She tightened her legs around his hips, and he made a tortured noise, his hands sliding from the base of her skull to skim her bodice.
He cupped her breasts through the fabric, filling his hands with them, rubbing his thumbs over her aching nipples. It was excruciating to have him touching but not touching. To not have his hands on her skin. His mouth dropped to her neck, his tongue and lips leaving trails of fire everywhere they went. Her head tipped back as she arched against him, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Clara,” he whispered against her skin.
She could hear her heart thundering in her ears, growing louder with each passing second. It vibrated through her veins, a relentless pounding that couldn’t be ignored. Her head fell to the side, her gaze unfocused, spots of color dancing before her vision.
And then she blinked, and with horror she realized that the thunder was not just that of her pulse, but also that of two dozen horses pounding their way across the grassland below them.
August suddenly yanked her hard against him, gathering her tight and dropping to his knees just behind the wall. His hands were wrapped around her back, keeping her steady. She looked up at him in the pale light, and he nodded, releasing his grip slightly so that she was able to relax her legs and slide away from him. She came to rest on her hands and knees and cautiously peered over the top of the wall, praying that they hadn’t been spotted.
The soldiers didn’t seem to have noticed them at all. Instead they had reined in their horses and had their attention fixed on the glittering sea. Clara could hear faint shouts as orders were issued, though the breeze was not strong enough to carry their words. The horses milled about restlessly for a minute before the riders split into two groups, one heading farther north, and the other angling inland, back in the general direction of the town.
“Do they ever stop?” August whispered roughly beside her. “The damn soldiers?”
She turned to him in surprise. “What do you know of them?”
“Enough.”
She frowned slightly at his incomplete answer. “It’s going to be a clear night with a full moon. Easy to see anyone out who shouldn’t be. Anyone along the beaches. Small craft out on the water. They must have received a tip.” Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal. She slid back down the stone fence and turned, leaning her back against it. “The soldiers come to Avondale from time to time. Asking if Tabby and Theo have seen any suspicious activity, given the proximity of the house to the coast. On occasion they interrogate Harland when we’re here.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a doctor who gets called out at all hours of the day and night. And there is probably little that he hasn’t seen in his travels.”
“Will the soldiers go there now?” August was frowning. “To Avondale?”
“I don’t think so.” She pushed herself to her feet. “We should go.” The men were distant smudges of color down the coast, while the soldiers who had gone inland had vanished over the rise.
“Yes.” August stood beside her but caught her arm before she could turn away. “Are you…Are we good?”
“Good?”
“I don’t want what just happened to make things awkward between us.”
“You’re having regrets already?”
His expression hardened, and he suddenly pulled her to him, kissing her long and hard, ravaging her mouth and promising far more carnal things to come.
She should pull away. She kissed him back instead.
“Does it seem as if I have any regrets?” he growled against her lips.
“No,” she replied a little unsteadily.
“Then I’m glad we got that sorted too.” He raised his head slightly. “Because I’ll kiss you again.”
“Is that wise?”
“I don’t care if it’s wise. It’s what I want. And I think what you want.”
Yes, she wanted to tell him. Yes, yes, and whatever else he thought she wanted when it came to him, yes to that too. Because he would be right. And that wasn’t wise at all.
“Where is this going?” she asked suddenly.
“This?”
“Us.”
He reached up and pushed her hair away from her face. “Wherever
you wish it to.”
“August, I don’t regret what just happened here either. But it can’t ever become…anything,” Clara said, loss and loneliness stabbing at her as reality took hold. She shoved it back. “I cannot be the mistress of a duke and still have any hope of running Hav—a school for young ladies. If it became known that we were an us, I would lose my reputation and my livelihood. And I will not sacrifice that for a temporary tryst.”
His expression was unreadable, and he remained silent.
She went up on her toes and brushed her mouth against his. “Let’s go,” she said, and this time he let her pull away.
Chapter 10
The stable boy who came out to take the horses wasn’t a boy at all, though it was rarely noticed.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said as August drew the barouche to a halt in the busy stable yard. If the thirteen-year-old was surprised to see him, she hid it as well as she hid her gender.
“Good evening.” He jumped out of the equipage. “I trust your brothers are about?”
“They’re about all right,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Busy night.”
“Good.” He took a moment to survey the bustling yard and the tavern that was already alive with light and noise beyond it. Out of proprietary interest, of course, but also to give himself a moment to collect his wits before he faced Clara.
Temporary tryst.
The words continued to flicker through his consciousness like a peat fire that could not be extinguished. It sounded almost…tawdry. As if they were simply a pleasing diversion to each other in which a modicum of pleasure might be found and then discarded once they tired of it. No different, really, from any of his past relationships, if one could even call them that.
He had never really cared to get to know a woman the way he wanted to know Clara. So long as he and his paramour rubbed along well enough in the scant time they spent together and the bed sport was enjoyable, that was enough. Until they inevitably wanted more from him. Broad hints of marriage or a more permanent arrangement as a mistress. More jewels, a fine house, expensive clothes. They all wanted more. Predictable.
