A Duke in the Night(40)

“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.

Clara Hayward seemed to want less.

And now that he’d kissed her, that was simply unacceptable. She had shaken him to his toes. Just the thought of her mouth on his, the memory of how her thighs had wrapped around his waist, had him hard and restless all over again.

It was a good thing August had insisted he drive. If he’d had to make this journey seated next to or directly across from Clara, he was quite sure he would have done something exceedingly ill advised. Like pull her into his lap and kiss her. And then skip dinner entirely so that he might take her someplace and finish what they had started. Which would have been equally unacceptable.

Because until he had pulled into this damn stable yard, he had forgotten why he was really here. And now that he had been reminded, an unpleasant guilt was starting to brew, seeping into the crevices of his mind and undermining his sense of purpose. He’d never intended to reveal his ownership of the school—certainly not while he was still in pursuit of Strathmore Shipping. But then, he’d never intended to become wholly besotted with the school’s headmistress either.

August hardened his conscience. He had never experienced such a feeling before, and he didn’t like it. It reeked of weakness. Flawed ambition. And August Faulkner had never been weak. What was done was done. If he hadn’t bought Haverhall, someone else would have. Feelings and emotions did not have a place in business, because feelings and emotions made clever men make stupid decisions. One never knew what was around the next corner. What disaster might occur, what emergency might crop up. He needed to ensure his family was looked after forever, even after he was gone. He needed to make sure that what he had survived, and how Anne had been forced to live, would never be repeated. Not while he could control their circumstances.

August squared his shoulders and turned from the yard, making his way to the side of the barouche. “Your servant, Miss Hayward.” He gave her a slight bow as he opened the small door.

She’d repaired her hair admirably on the drive, but her cheeks were still flushed the way they had been when he had had his mouth and his hands—

Arousal streaked through him instantly, and he averted his eyes.

“Your Grace—”

“Dukes can still open doors for their ladies, just as easily as they can drive themselves places,” he said, pleased with how smoothly that had come out. “I’ve discovered that becoming a duke hasn’t impeded my mobility or my coordination overmuch. Though it often creates an unwelcome distraction wherever I go. I’m generally not recognized in Dover, and I prefer to keep it that way. There’s only so much bowing and scraping and clinging a man can take.”