A Duke in the Night(34)

That gesture of possession still sent chills through her, accompanied by a strange feeling of vertigo. Much the same way she felt when standing on the edge of the cliffs, looking down at the crashing sea far below. Not safe or wise at all.

“You’re pacing, dearie.” The voice came from the stairs.

Clara looked up and saw Lady Tabitha coming down the wide staircase. She was dressed in one of her walking outfits. “On your way out?” Clara asked.

“Yes.” She pulled her shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders. “Theo is waiting for me outside. There is a section of the beach where the cliffs have sloughed in the last day that we’d like to take a look at. You never know what you’re going to find in unexpected places.”

“No, I suppose you don’t,” Clara muttered.

“A gentleman stopped by earlier asking after you,” Tabby said. “While you were with your students.”

“A gentleman?”

“A Mr. Stilton? He mentioned that he was in the area visiting friends and that he would return at a later time to call on you.”

Clara frowned slightly. Stilton hadn’t mentioned anything about traveling to Dover the last time she had seen him.

“Is he someone you would rather avoid?” Tabby asked, her eyes narrowed.

“No, no, of course not. He is a London acquaintance who has graciously lent his company for an occasional outing.”

“Mr. Stilton asked after His Grace as well. Are they also acquaintances?”

Clara shook her head. “They are familiar, but from what I could tell, I don’t think that there is much love lost between those two.”

“Mmm.” Tabby gazed at her. “Well, speaking of His Grace, I understand you are dining with the duke this evening,” she commented casually. “At a tavern.”

“Yes.” All thoughts of Stilton’s unexpected appearance evaporated at the mention of the impending evening.

“Not that I’ve had a great deal of experience dining with dukes, but one might have thought he’d insist on a proper dinner in a proper dining room. We have a perfectly opulent one here.”

“His Grace does not always conform to the expected.” Clara glanced at the clock again.

“Including punctuality?”

Clara squirmed. “I’m not sure he hasn’t rescinded his offer of dinner entirely. I might have incensed him beyond repair.”

“The duke does not strike me as a man who easily gets his breeches in a twist.”

“I don’t think that applies when broaching the subject of his sister.”

“Protective, is he?”

Clara sighed. “I believe I might have accused him of being a controlling dictator. And suggested that he alter his behavior before he further alienates the very person he wishes to understand.”

“Yes, well, Julius Caesar learned that lesson the hard way, didn’t he?” Tabby murmured.

“I did not point that out,” Clara said, though she felt a smile tug at her lips. “I didn’t think it would help the situation.”

Tabby shrugged. “I was married for thirty-seven years, dearie. Sometimes men need to figure these things out on their own.”

“Figure what out on their own?”

Clara’s head whipped around as the Duke of Holloway strode through the door, pulling at his gloves. He was dressed in rough breeches, an unadorned coat, and dusty boots, and save for the unmistakable aura of power that emanated from his person, he might have passed for a simple country gentleman just coming in from a ride.

Except that a simple country gentleman would never steal Clara’s voice and scatter her wits the way this man did with a single smile. A simple country gentleman would not turn her insides into molten heat. The room suddenly felt suffocating.

“Figure out that a lady does not like to be kept waiting,” Tabby said smoothly into the silence.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Tabitha,” Holloway said with a charming smile. “Which is why I am”—he pulled a battered-looking watch from his pocket—“a full three minutes early. Though I confess that our ride is somewhat delayed. I had a hankering to drive, so I asked for the earl’s barouche to be prepared, only to discover that one of the horses had thrown a shoe. It is being reshod as we speak, and should be ready shortly. I did not wish you to believe that I had abandoned you.” He looked around with interest. “Is Lord Strathmore not here yet?”

As if on cue, a footman rounded the corner, his heels ringing over the polished marble floor of the hall. “Miss Hayward, a message from his Lordship.” He held out a gleaming silver tray with a creased, smudged, and hastily folded scrap of paper on it.

Clara plucked it from the tray, and the footman disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. She opened the note, although she already knew what it was going to say.

Late. Meet you at the S. Swan. H.



“It would seem my brother is running a little behind schedule,” she said, using the note as an excuse not to have to look at Holloway. She wasn’t sure if she was ready yet to weather the full attention of those intense eyes. “He asks if we will meet him at the Silver Swan.” She smoothed the paper with her finger, frowning at the rust-colored stains at the edge. Good Lord. Was that blood?

“That works for the best, doesn’t it?” Holloway replied amicably, and Clara did look up at him then, wondering at his cheerful, charming demeanor. After leaving him angrily scowling in the middle of a field earlier, she’d rather expected at least an air of reserve. Even Lady Tabitha was eyeing him somewhat suspiciously. “I am honored that his Lordship entrusts me with your safety and well-being.”