A Duke in the Night(49)
“Start a very lewd, very public affair with him in the next few days that I should know about?”
“You’re not funny, Harland. Mr. Stilton is a friend. One whose honesty I value.” Clara knew she sounded like a shrew, but she didn’t care.
Harland shrugged. “Then there you have it, Your Grace. My sister has proven quite capable of managing her opinions, herself, and, in this case, Mr. Stilton. It is not my place to dictate whose company she can and cannot enjoy.”
August’s hand was wrapped around his glass so hard that Clara could see his knuckles were white. “So you’re content to let the man take your sister on a drive. Alone.”
“His sister is standing right here,” Clara snapped. “And his sister drove all over Kent with you alone yesterday, didn’t she?”
“That’s not the same,” August gritted.
No, it certainly wasn’t. Mathias Stilton had never had her up against a stone fence, his hands in her hair and on her skin. Stilton had never kissed her senseless or made her whimper with want. Though those things were never going to be repeated. Clara had misjudged Holloway completely. She’d almost made the biggest mistake of her life because she had allowed a decade of romantic daydreams to obscure harsh reality.
“But it is the same.” Harland put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Don’t mistake me, Your Grace. If I thought a man was a danger to either of my sisters, I would cut off his balls and nail them to his front door. As a battlefield surgeon, I’m handy with a knife like that, you see.”
Clara pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. For the love of—
“Good.” August held Harland’s gaze.
Clara closed her eyes and tossed back the last of her whiskey, letting the liquor burn a trail of fire down her throat. She opened them to find Holloway standing directly in front of her, his eyes like blue fire in the light from the window.
“You and I need to have a conversation very soon,” he said in a voice low enough that only she could hear. “Alone.”
Clara pressed her lips together. “No, we don’t. I’ve said everything I need to say.” It was a harsh whisper.
“And I haven’t.” His eyes dropped to her lips, and need arrowed through her. Dammit, how, after everything, did he still do this to her?
“I don’t—”
“Soon, Clara.” August glanced over his shoulder to where her brother had returned his attention to his maps. “But in the meantime, there are some sheep pastures that need another inspection.”
Chapter 12
Your Grace!” The shout, accompanied by the sound of pounding hoofbeats, broke his thoughts. August looked up in the late-afternoon light to find Miss Baker flying toward him on a lathered horse, her short curls disheveled, her expression panicked.
August vaulted over the stone fence of the sheep enclosure, reaching for the reins of his own horse as Miss Baker reined hers to a sliding stop.
“YourGraceyouneedtocome.” Her words were breathless and hard to understand as her horse danced sideways.
“Steady, Miss Baker.” He caught hold of her horse’s reins in his free hand.
“There are soldiers at the Silver Swan,” she said, making a visible effort to speak more clearly. “They’re tearing it t’ pieces.”
“What?” August froze for a moment before he let go of Miss Baker’s animal and swung himself up into his own saddle. “Why?”
“They’re lookin’ for smuggled goods hidden there. They’re sayin’ they got anon—amenen—”
“Anonymous?”
She nodded her head, her eyes wide. “Anonymous information stating so.”
“What are they looking for?”
“They wouldn’t say. But they’re makin’ a terrible mess.”
August cursed under his breath as his horse surged forward, Miss Baker right behind him. Anonymous information his ass. He might not live on the coast of Kent, but he knew very well that almost every soul on its chalky edges was quite aware of the covert trading that went on all along the shores. And if they weren’t involved, either directly or indirectly, at the very least they certainly had a family member or a friend who was.
And there were very few who were willing to sabotage a system that often offered their only means of survival.
He had no idea why the Silver Swan had been targeted, but it didn’t matter. August urged his horse to greater speed. If he hadn’t already been spoiling for a fight with an officer who let his troops use children for target practice, he certainly was now.
It didn’t take them long to reach the town. He slowed his horse only enough to navigate the busy main road that ran parallel to the harbor. Within minutes he’d reached the Silver Swan, the commotion audible even before he pulled his winded horse to a stop in the chaotic stable yard. Soldiers milled about, boxes of supplies that had been dragged from the rear storehouses strewn across the yard. Near the stables two soldiers were bent over a large crate, tools being tossed carelessly from its confines. A third soldier stood in front of Miss Baker’s brothers, keeping them immobile against the exterior stable wall with the threat of his gun. From somewhere in the stables, a loud crash could be heard.
August dismounted, leaving the animal with Miss Baker, his fury rising with every passing second. Nearer the rear of the tavern, where the kitchens were accessible by large doors that led through an attached storage building, a cacophony of angry voices rose. He stalked forward and yanked the heavy door wide. And stared.