A Duke in the Night

by Kelly Bowen

  “Maybe,” he finally settled on.

  Clara was silent for a long minute. Then she rose, setting the book aside, and he could hear her soft footfalls as she crossed the room. It was like a physical pain, her departure. He wanted to call her back, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work.

  “Clara?” he finally asked.

  There was a sound then. The soft snick of a lock sliding into place. He remained frozen, his hands wrapped around the arms of the chair.

  The candle was suddenly snuffed out with a sigh and a spiral of smoke.

  He felt her hand on his neck first, the softest of touches as she came around the back of his chair. Her fingers caressed his cheek. “You were quiet at dinner,” she said.

  “You were extraordinary at dinner,” he replied.

  “Thank you. Though your flattery will not distract me. That’s my trick, remember?”

  He reached up and caught her hand. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  He felt the brush of her hair at his cheek before he felt the soft press of her lips on his skin. “And I you.”

  “I wanted to come to you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” That at least was the truth. He didn’t have an answer.

  Just as he didn’t have an answer for why he still hadn’t been completely honest with her about Haverhall, other than that she hadn’t been honest with him either. Which was no excuse at all. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t recognize himself any longer. Every vow he’d made to himself, every driving ambition he’d pursued with a single-minded determination sat uncomfortably on his skin now. His old self didn’t seem to fit quite right.

  Clara pressed another kiss to the hollow behind his ear. “What’s bothering you?”

  August closed his eyes, letting his head tip back. “I think Anne is in love with my man of business.” It was the coward’s way out of that question.

  “I agree,” Clara murmured, pulling her hand from his and letting her fingers slide through his hair, smoothing it back from his temples in a hypnotic rhythm. “And he is very much in love with her. One doesn’t need to sit through three chess games to see that.” She paused. “Is he a good man?”

  “The best,” August groaned, and Clara laughed softly.

  Her fingers were at his cravat and were deftly loosening the knot. “So what is bothering you, then?”

  I think I’m in love with you.

  It was there, a truth threatening to be freed. But he didn’t want to be in love with Clara, because that made everything impossibly complicated and confusing and went against all the meticulous plans and preparations he’d so carefully put into place for his life.

  “I don’t know why I’m here anymore,” he mumbled.

  “Well, first, there was your pursuit of Strathmore Shipping. Unwanted, unsuccessful, but understandable, given what you do,” Clara replied. “And then there was the requisite crawling around on your hands and knees spying on your sister. Probably best no one gave her a pistol earlier,” she mused.

  August chuckled, even as self-reproach stabbed at him. Because none of those reasons were the truth. Not really.

  “Clara, there’s something—”

  “But then,” Clara whispered, cutting him off, the knot of his cravat unraveling in her hands, “there was this.” She pulled the linen away from his neck and pressed her mouth to his heated skin, her lips sending bolts of electricity straight through him.

  He was hard instantly, his body straining for something he was starting to need the way he needed air. Straining for her. He reached back and caught her hand, pulling her around the side of the chair. He didn’t care that he wasn’t gentle. “I want you,” he said thickly.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Clara felt it the moment he changed.

  There had been a strange air of unsettled…something about him this night. Something unsure. Uncertain. Something that was not August Faulkner. But then he took her hand and all of that went away, his intention blindingly clear even in the darkness of the library. Which was good, because her intentions had also been clear from the moment she had left her rooms in search of him. Soon she would return to London. Soon whatever this was that existed between them would be over. But for now, she would not think on that.

  August leaned forward, his hands finding her hips and tugging her toward him. He dragged her onto his lap, shoving her skirts up her legs so that she could straddle him on the wide chair. She lowered herself against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection bulging through the fall of his trousers.

  “Clara.” His hips flexed, his hands tightening on her waist.

  She angled her own hips just slightly. Just enough to send scalding pulses of pleasure tearing through her. She rocked against him, unable to help herself.

  His hands slipped up and caught her face, forcing her head down. He found her mouth with his, stroking with his tongue, his teeth scraping her lips.

  Clara wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest. August dropped his mouth from hers, and his tongue played over the column of her neck, into the hollow beneath her jaw. “Undo my trousers,” he ordered, his breath hot against her skin, his teeth pulling at the soft flesh of her earlobe.

  Clara shuddered. She unwound her arms and pushed herself a little higher on her knees, sliding her hands between them. She worked the buttons, taking her time, letting her fingers caress his cock.

  “Witch,” he hissed.

  Clara leaned forward and set her lips to the side of his neck. The tendons beneath his skin were corded and straining, and Clara traced them with her tongue.

  “You don’t know what you do to me,” he groaned.

  “I have an idea.” The last button slipped free, and she pushed the fabric aside, allowing his erection to surge free.

  August hissed again as she took him in her palm, running her fingers over the head and down his shaft, cupping his balls. He groaned again, his breathing becoming ragged. Lust raced through her veins at the sound. God, this man aroused her like no other. He made her feel all-powerful and utterly vulnerable all at once. A devastating combination of emotion that left her feeling drunk and dizzy.

  His hands left her face to slide over her shoulders, finding the edge of her bodice and yanking it down. Her breasts spilled into the cool night air, heavy and tight with need. He covered them almost instantly with his palms and fingers, and every one of his touches sent new spirals of pleasure swirling deep within her. Her inner muscles clenched, and dampness pooled hot and slick between her legs.

  He took her nipple in his mouth, and Clara whimpered, her hand tightening on his shaft.

  “Jesus, Clara.” His thighs were like rock beneath her. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Soon.”

  “Now.” His hands dropped to her waist, his fingers digging into the flesh at her hips as he urged her down.

  She allowed herself to sink lower, her hand still stroking the length of him. Very slowly she guided the head of his cock to her entrance, letting it slide through her wetness. His hips bucked, and he made a rough, desperate sound. She closed her eyes and sank down on him, letting him fill and stretch her, spasms of pleasure already flickering through her at the friction.

  “Oh God, Clara, yes,” August managed through clenched teeth.

  She rocked her hips, feeling him slide deep within. A hunger slammed through her, so intense it stole her breath. This was what she wanted. Him. Here, just like this, deep within her where he was hers.

  He was hers.

  His hips thrust up and back. Clara grasped his arms, feeling his biceps flex through the thin fabric of his shirt. Beneath her touch, his body trembled, shaking with restraint.

  “Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely, finding his lips with hers in the darkness. “Don’t hold back.”

  He caught her lower lip, his teeth tugging as he thrust again, and she rocked her hips in time. His strokes beca
me faster and harder, and Clara bore down on that pressure, feeling the beginnings of her release building within her.

  “Harder,” she begged.

  He tore his mouth from hers, his head buried in her neck, his body straining as he pumped into her. “Clara,” he gasped, “we have to stop. I can’t—”

  “You can,” she said hoarsely. “I want you to come inside me, August.”

  He faltered, though she could feel him still hard and throbbing deep within her. “Clara—”

  “Trust me,” she said against his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck again. “Take me.”

  He made a tortured noise and surged up and into her, thrusting with hard, deliberate strokes. She hung on to him, closing her eyes, letting the waves of unrelenting pleasure build. They came, more quickly now, until they crested with a sudden explosion, sending fiery sparks ripping through her as she bore down on the tidal wave of ecstasy. Brilliant spots of white light danced behind her lids, and she might have cried out.

  August was panting, and she felt his cock pulse within her, and then he drove up into her with a shout, holding her tight against him as he jerked in the throes of his own pleasure. She collapsed against him, her head on his shoulder, her own breath coming in heaving gasps. She made no effort to move, wanting to keep him with her just a moment longer.

  It was long minutes before she felt him stir under her, his hand coming to stroke her hair where it had tumbled over her back. “You were quite extraordinary after dinner too,” he said, his voice low against her ear.

  Her fingers played with the collar of his shirt. “We were extraordinary.”

  “I can’t— You are— This is…” He stalled.

  “Yes,” she agreed. If she’d had to put the last moments into words, she wouldn’t have done any better. If she’d had to put their entire time together into words, she wouldn’t have done any better.

  “I’ve never come inside a woman,” he said after a moment of silence. “I don’t—”

  “There is more than one way to be responsible,” she said, “if that’s what you were worried about.”

  He stilled. “Yes,” he said after a beat of hesitation.

  “A pessary, soaked in an infusion and placed before—”

  August pulled back to stare at her. “You came down here to seduce me.”

  “I did.” Clara ran a finger over the shape of his lips. “I hope you are not—”

  “Don’t you dare ask me if I am shocked. Or if I disapprove. Or if I found any of this to be unexpected.”

  “Very well.” Clara grinned. “How did I do?”

  August’s head fell back on the chair, and he chuckled, the sound rumbling through him. “You almost killed me. And no, I don’t disapprove. I’m hoping you’ll try it again.”

  Clara leaned forward and kissed him, a slow, languid kiss. “I hope so too.” She rested her head on his shoulder, silent for a moment. “Will you stay?” she asked.

  “I’d prefer to take this somewhere with a real bed, but if you insist, I won’t move. Not sure if I can, anyway.” His hand was stroking her hair again.

  “No.” She listened to the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear. “Will you stay in Dover? For the time left before we return to London?”

  August’s hand paused, and she felt his fingers slide against her scalp. His other arm wrapped around her back, and he pulled her even more tightly against him.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  Chapter 19

  The ships are missing.”

  As the weeks had passed, Clara had known she had to be prepared for the very real possibility, but that hadn’t made it easier to hear. Her brother was sitting in one of the embroidered library chairs, his head in his hands and utter exhaustion etched into his face. The rays from the setting sun were slanting through the windows and spilling across the fine rugs, their golden color seemingly mocking in its splendor.

  Rose got up from where she had been sitting and went to a tall window to run her hand down the edge of the velvet curtain, staring out onto the sun-washed grounds. “How do you know that?”

  Harland reached into his coat and pulled out a crinkled, folded paper. He read it again, as though he hoped to discover something different within, before he tossed it on the small table beside him. It missed and fluttered to the floor, and he made no effort to pick it up. “There are reports from other vessels that have come in of unusually stormy weather. Our ships could be a thousand miles off course or at the bottom of the Atlantic for all we know. We need to make a decision.”

  “I think we’re past that,” Rose said quietly. “We all knew it might come to this. We need more money, and there’s no more to be had. We’re out of options.”

  “I might be able to—” Harland stopped.

  “To do what?” Clara prompted.

  Her brother shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, we’re out of options. Save one, of course. Sell a share of Strathmore Shipping.”

  Clara took a deep breath. “That’s not true.”

  Harland pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “You have a buried treasure stashed somewhere nearby that you didn’t tell us about?” His attempt at humor echoed hollowly.

  “I could ask His Grace for a loan.”

  Rose turned from the window, and Harland’s head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?” her brother said into the silence.

  “I could ask Holloway for a loan.” She held up her hand at Harland’s expression. “Just a loan. Not a share in the company, but a short-term loan until our ships return.”

  “At what price?” Harland demanded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Duke of Holloway is not known for his charity,” he said darkly. “You might as well sell him the entire company right now. If we offer a share of the company to someone looking for a simple investment, but who is not interested in swallowing the entire business whole, we will still retain control. We will still have the ability to make our own decisions, control our future. If Holloway covers our debt, he will take away that control. Maybe not at the beginning, but eventually. The second we lose a load of cargo to bad weather or bad luck, the second we default on a loan payment, we’ve lost. The duke will annex Strathmore Shipping into his own empire without even blinking. He’s made his desire to do so very clear already.”

  Clara winced. “But maybe he would consider—”

  “If you think he’d be more forgiving based on sentimental reasons, or because he has a soft spot for you because you were his sister’s headmistress, think again. Better yet, ask Walter Merrill, who lost the Silver Swan to him.”

  “You make him sound so…mercenary,” Clara said.

  “Because he is. Because he’s had to be,” Harland replied wearily. “If he thought there was even a chance that he could take advantage of our circumstances, he would do so with no hesitation. Not because he is cruel, but because he is a shrewd businessman and the interests of his family will always take precedence over the interests of anyone else. No matter what.”

  Deep down Clara knew that Harland was right. It didn’t mean that she didn’t hate it.

  “Promise me you will not talk of this with Holloway,” Harland said. “Promise me that you will keep him out of this.”

  “I promise,” Clara mumbled. She stared sightlessly at the rows of books towering silently around and above her. The sacrifice of Haverhall hadn’t been enough in the end, and it made her want to scream with frustration and unhappiness. “I should never have sold it,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Harland asked.

  “I should never have sold Haverhall. Because it was for nothing.”

  “Not nothing,” Harland said fiercely. “Without that money we wouldn’t have a ship at sea, let alone two. We would have had no chance at all of fixing this.” He suddenly reached into his coat and pulled out a second letter. “This was also waiting with the post.”

  “What is it?” Clara asked despondently.

  “A notice
from the solicitor that the new owner of Haverhall has expressed his willingness to allow the school to operate as per usual for a full year. You will not be required to vacate the premises unless, of course, you wish to.”

  Clara stared at him. “Why would he do that?”

  Harland shrugged. “Probably because you are already a convenient tenant he can collect a rent from? Or because it suits his purposes to have the buildings occupied?”

  Rose had come to stand closer to Harland. “But if that’s the case, the fall term’s tuition—”

  “Still won’t be enough,” Harland told them heavily.

  A dismal silence fell.

  “We’ll fix this,” Harland said into the silence. “Together. Haywards always find a way.”

  Clara nodded. Harland was right. No one had died. Her family was still together, safe and healthy. They were not destitute, nor would they be forced onto the streets. They would be able to afford rooms, food to eat, coal to keep them warm.

  “Whom will you ask?” It was Rose’s question. “To invest?”

  Harland looked away. “Leave that to me. The Duke of Holloway is not the only wealthy man in London who might be counted on for discretion. I had hoped never to have to do this, but we no longer have a choice.”

  * * *

  It had been her hair that had first caught his attention.

  It whipped behind her in the wind, and the sinking sun set fire to it, sending flames of dark red streaming behind her. August had been on his way home from Dover, along the worn road that skirted past the castle, when he’d seen Clara trudging up the incline toward the small church that sat in its shadow. He hesitated before he reined his mare toward her, urging the horse into a canter as it surged up the hill.

  The church grounds were deserted at this time of evening, and August dismounted, leaving his horse grazing in the long light. She hadn’t gone into the church but was standing against the ancient Roman lighthouse that flanked it, staring out in the direction of the sea. She had her arms wrapped around herself, her expression distant and drawn.

  He knew why.