A Duke in the Night(45)

“While you were dabbling in the tobacco trade?” Clara sneered, wondering for a moment if she shouldn’t leave now. Before she said something that she would really regret.

From across the table, Harland laced his fingers together. “Good heavens, Your Grace, is that what you call what you do in the tobacco trade? Dabbling?” He glanced at Clara. “Did you know that Holloway is the largest importer of tobacco in southern England?”

His empire is bigger than most people realize.

Clara swallowed with difficulty, the wine turning sour in her gut. That certainly explained how he had discovered their financial struggles. If Holloway was that deeply entrenched in import, then he would have access to all sorts of information when it came to the London docks. She was such an idiot.

Holloway stared stonily back at her brother. “You are unusually well informed, Lord Strathmore.”

“And so, apparently, are you.”

“You have damaged, idle ships that will rot before you can repair and crew them. Without the capital to correct that, it will be difficult to recover. I am prepared to offer you a very fair price—”

“No.” Harland said. “We are the custodians of the legacy left to us. We will ensure that it survives and, with time, continues to flourish, by whatever means necessary. It is not something that can simply be disposed of on a whim so that we might indulge in personal fancies or because it becomes difficult.” He paused. “I can assure you, Your Grace, we have matters well in hand.”

“Your Grace, your Lordship, pardon my intrusion.” A uniformed servant suddenly appeared at Harland’s shoulder carrying a salver. “A message for Lord Strathmore just delivered,” he said, holding out the small tray. “I am made to understand it is an emergency.”

Harland’s eyes finally slid from August as he took the note, cracking a plain red blob of sealing wax. He scanned the message, then stuffed the paper inside his coat.

“Do you wish to send a reply?” the server asked. “The messenger is waiting just outside the tavern.”

“No need. I’m on my way.”

“Very good, Lord Strathmore.” The man departed with brisk efficiency.

“I have to go,” Harland said unapologetically. He glanced at Clara.

“I’ll see her safely home,” August said without looking at her.

“That won’t be necessary, Your Grace,” Clara replied through gritted teeth. “I’ll make my own arrangements. I’ve done it many times.”

“I insist.” The duke wasn’t budging.

Harland’s eyes flickered between Holloway and Clara. She bit her tongue against a scathing retort. Her brother would expect her to be angry at the duke’s duplicity, but not irrationally so. And she had no desire to explain the extent of it. She just wanted to be left alone. Long enough to lick her wounds and collect what was left of her dignity.

“Very well.” Harland turned his attention toward the duke once more. “I trust we have made our position clear regarding Strathmore Shipping,” he said coolly.

“You have.” Holloway had yet to look at her.

“Good. Then I bid you a good night, Clara. Your Grace.”

Clara watched as Harland took his leave. “It never would have worked, you know,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Holloway finally turned to her.

“Using me to get to my brother. Did you think that if you could get me into your bed, I would put a favorable word in my brother’s ear?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “What happened between you and me had nothing to do with—”

Clara laughed, but it was without humor. “Save your breath, Your Grace. You came here because you discovered our family company was struggling and wanted it for yourself.”

He held her eyes with his. “That was one of the reasons,” he said finally.

She already knew that, but the confirmation was like a slap. “Everything has been contrived, hasn’t it?” Clara asked, feeling almost ill. “Your sudden appearance at the museum. Your convenient service to Rivers. Your concern over your sister. Us—”

“No. I care a great deal about Anne.” He reached for her hand. “I care about you. You and I were—”

“A mistake.” Clara snatched her hand away. “Just a titillating diversion for you while you pursued what you really wanted.”

The duke looked away, his face set in hard lines. “No.”

“I don’t understand you,” Clara said, forcing herself to keep her voice down, aware that they were still in a very public setting. “You have everything. Money, power, position. Yet you come after us like a vulture circling a wounded animal.” She fought for composure. “When is enough enough for you?”

He turned back to her. “Never.” The answer was swift and harsh. “Only a fool rests on his laurels.”

Well, at least he was finally being honest. But it was too late. Clara stood, the duke rising as well.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to Avondale.” She started toward the door.

“I’ll see you home.” Holloway was on her heels.

“Please don’t do me any more favors,” Clara said, threading her way out into the long shadows of the evening. She sucked in a deep, steadying breath of cool night air.