A Duke in the Night(22)

“That’s not it at all.” He shook his head. “It’s Anne who doesn’t trust me.”

“Trust you to do what?”

“To take care of her.” Why did he need to state the obvious?

“Be more specific.”

“What?” The question threw him.

“What, specifically, is it that you believe you can do for your sister that she cannot do for herself?” Again, there was no judgment, only curiosity, and her words held shades of the question he had asked her at the very beginning.

“I can protect her from every manipulative, greedy bastard who will wish to use her for his own gain. To get to me, or maybe just my money. I can make sure that the spiteful gossip that is the currency of the ton never touches her.” He stopped abruptly, aware his voice had risen.

“Mmm.” Miss Hayward’s noncommittal sound was almost as discomfiting as his outburst.

“What’s mmm supposed to mean?” He had no idea how he’d managed to be drawn into this conversation, but he seemed powerless to retreat from it now.

“Keeping in mind that I too have a brother who cares very much about both my sister and myself—”

“Just say whatever it is that you’re going to say.” It was rude, but frustration had eroded his patience.

“Very well.” She didn’t look offended. Or even surprised. “You can’t control your sister, even though I understand that your motives are honorable.”

“I don’t want to control her,” he snapped. “I want to make sure she makes the right choices that will ensure her happiness. This role she’s found herself in, one of the sister to a duke, does not come naturally to her.”

“How so?”

August threw up his hand. This was absolutely none of Miss Hayward’s business, but he had been the one to bring it up, and there had been something strangely cathartic about the torrent of words that had escaped. Whether he liked it or not, Clara Hayward was going to be Anne’s teacher for the foreseeable future. Perhaps she would be able to talk some sense into Anne.

“She holds herself aloof from the other young ladies of the ton. Makes no effort to blend in socially. Takes no interest in her future.” He shook his head. “She refuses to believe that if she doesn’t make the right choices, her happiness cannot be guaranteed.”

“I see. And what, exactly, are the right choices required for happiness?”

“The same as anyone’s. A place in society. A good, sensible marriage—” August stopped suddenly.

Miss Hayward’s expression hadn’t changed, nor had she uttered a word, but something in her dark eyes had shifted. There was unmistakable disappointment there now. “Ah. You don’t want her to end up like me.”

“That’s not what I meant. That’s not at all—”

“I understand, Your Grace. You don’t wish your sister to be the oddity at the ball, tolerated because of a title or perhaps because of her wealth, or both. You do not wish Lady Anne to be the girl who gets asked to dance only on a dare.” She said it with not a trace of self-pity.

August took another step toward Miss Hayward, needing to say something that would erase the disappointment he’d seen in her eyes. Needing to say something that would ease the regret that had settled heavily in his chest. That feeling that he was losing something—that something was once again slipping through his fingers—returned. God, he was making an epic mess out of this.

“Do not put words in my mouth, Miss Hayward. Because that’s not who I see when I look at you.” The force of his words made her eyes widen. “I see an intelligent woman, the same one who once put an ignorant buck in his place and taught him that things are rarely as they seem. I wish I had understood that then.”

“And what would you have done differently if you had?” she asked quietly.

“I would have asked you to dance again.” August reached for her hand and caught it, bringing it up between them, his thumb sliding over her bare knuckles. “I wish I had asked you to dance again.”

She was silent for a long minute, a gut-wrenching, electrifying mix of desire and longing flitting across her usually unreadable features.

Her fingers tightened on his. “I wish you had too,” she said, and August felt the breath leave his lungs.

She had told him once that regrets were nothing but excuses, but he was having a hard time recalling what excuse had prevented him from kissing this woman witless. What excuse he might think up to prevent himself from doing it now. All he had to do was catch her face in his hands and dip his head. Capture her lips with his own and be done with wondering what might have been. Be done with regrets and excuses and take control the way he should have a very long time ago.

He gazed at her, the sinking sun kissing her skin a golden color and setting fire to the mass of thick tresses that had surrendered to the breeze and defeated their pins. A curl she had so valiantly tried to stuff behind her ear trailed down the side of her face, the end drifting to touch the skin near the lace-trimmed edge of her bodice. His found his eyes slipping over the gentle swell of her breasts concealed by her modest gown. The deep color of it was the perfect foil for her fair skin, and for a brief second he wondered how she might taste if he pressed his lips to the delicate shadow of her cleavage, her throat, and then her lips. Wondered again what would have happened if he had kissed her that night a decade ago. Wondered what would happen if he did so now. His gaze stalled on her mouth. Her lips were generous, the upper slightly more voluptuous, begging for attention and stirring all sorts of erotic thoughts far south of his brain.