One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(111)

“Spencer.” Wiping her eyes with her hand, she surveyed his torso. “Will I hurt you terribly if I give you a hug?”

“Probably,” he said. “But I’ll take it anyway.”

She moved toward him gingerly and slid her arms beneath his coat, around his waist. And then, with agonizing slowness, she brought her body flush with his and buried her face in his shoulder. It still wasn’t enough. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and crushed her tight to his chest. And yes, it hurt like the devil—but not nearly as much as it was going to hurt when he inevitably had to let her go.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, weeping against his soiled coat. “I’m so terribly sorry, for Jack, Claudia, Juno, everything. I wish things were different.”

“So do I.”

Sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with her wrist, she pulled away. “I’d best go dress and pack my things.”

“Wait.” He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to her, knowing she’d recognize it even without opening it to view the stitching. If she was truly leaving him, he ought to give it back. Somehow he mustered the ghost of an irreverent grin. “Can’t a duchess afford handkerchiefs?”

Wordlessly, she took it. Stared at it a moment. And then she left.

He stood there for a while, exhausted and in too much pain to move. It might have been a short while or a long while—he really didn’t know. He likely would have still been standing there at midday, had Ashworth not rapped on the door.

“I hope they’re here,” he said, “because they’re nowhere between Colford and Gloucester.”

“She’s here,” Spencer replied. “He’s gone.”

Ashworth grunted. “As it should be, then.” His eyes narrowed as he took in Spencer’s gory boots. “Now, when you say ‘gone,’ do you mean …”

“No.”

“Not that I’d blame you.”

“It’s not his,” he said, indicating the blood spattering his boots. “My mare took a bad fall. Had to …” He swore, glancing at the waxing trapezoid of sunlight shining through the window. “I have to get out there and bury her.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ashworth said. “I’ve dug a grave or two in my time.”

“No, no.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been out all night already. I can’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t ask. I offered. And I’ve worked through a night or two in my time, as well.” He kicked his boot against the doorjamb. “It’s no more than any friend would do.”

“Are we friends?”

“We’re not enemies.”

“In that case …” Spencer sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’d be grateful for the help.” He gestured toward the desktop and the aborted card game. “Don’t neglect to take your winnings.”

The soldier’s brow furrowed. “We were interrupted. I don’t recall anyone winning.”

“I left the game first. Anything on the table is my forfeit. Technically, Bellamy never placed a bet. Besides, my cards were rubbish. I would have lost anyway.” He shook his head. “I wanted to end this joke of a club once and for all, but it seems Harcliffe isn’t through poking fun at us yet.”

“You think Bellamy will find the man responsible for his death?”

“I think he finds him every time he looks in a mirror. That’s the damn problem.” Spencer took the note and two tokens and held them out. “Just take them, Rhys. Aren’t you the great believer in fate? Perhaps it was meant to be.”

They took their time returning to Braxton Hall, traveling at a slow pace out of consideration for Claudia’s stomach and Spencer’s healing ribs. He rode with her in the coach. It seemed right to keep her company, and he needn’t worry about giving Juno exercise anymore.

God. There’d been so much lost in the past week, he didn’t know where to begin grieving. Juno, his marriage, Claudia’s innocence—all were casualties. The fault was shared among many, but he blamed only himself. Amelia had been right. If he’d only been more open with those around him, all of it might have been avoided.

Still, he didn’t know how to begin fresh. He and Claudia traveled the entire journey in silence, save for the most banal of discussions. Which inn to choose for their stopover; whether the weather would hold fair. He didn’t want to press his ward to talk until she was ready. They had months yet. Ample time to discuss.

They reached home on the fourth day, rather late. But the days were still long in summer, and an extended gray-gold twilight stubbornly held the night at bay. While the servants brought in the trunks and prepared their rooms, Spencer ordered a light supper brought to his library and invited Claudia to join him.

To his surprise, she agreed.

They shared a tray of sandwiches, and then he watched her eat tarts and sip chocolate. When the hour grew late enough that their rooms ought to have been readied for bed, she addressed him.

“Would you read to me? Like you used to do when I was a girl?” She gave her cooling chocolate a deep, searching look. “I … I rather miss it.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course. Have you any particular book in mind?”