A Duke in the Night(56)

She made a soft noise in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I am not going to accept less of you, Clara Hayward. I will have you, and you will have me. You will show me everything that you have ever learned about pleasure, and then I will show you more. I will be the man who kisses you until you can’t breathe and you can’t think.” He leaned closer to her, pressing her back against the wall, his mouth inches from hers.

She looked up at him, the raw desire in her eyes unmistakable, and it sent lust ripping through him. He didn’t just want her. He needed her. Needed to have her mouth, so hot and wicked, on his. Needed to have her skin, bared and slick, pressed against his. Needed to stroke her, to sink himself deep within her. A vision of her as she had been last night, wrapped around him, her heels digging into his back, made his knees suddenly unsteady. He was so aroused it hurt.

“Say yes, Clara. And keep in mind that I’m not accepting no.”

The sliver of space between them was suddenly full of pressure, like the air just before a storm. Just before the elements unleashed everything that was wild and terrifying and thrilling.

“Yes,” she whispered again.

“Good girl.” They were both breathing hard. “Part of me wants to take you right here, right now, against this wall.” He brushed her lips with his, just the briefest of touches. “But the other part of me wants to have you somewhere where I can lock the door. Somewhere where I will take my time exploring you, where I will learn what makes you whimper and writhe with pleasure. Somewhere where no one will hear you when you scream my name. Because I like to understand what I possess.”

He could see his own arousal mirrored in the liquid brown pools of her gaze. Her eyes dropped down to his mouth, and he leaned into her, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. Her lips parted. When she was looking at him like that, it was impossible to think beyond his scorching need to have her. But they were standing in a hallway, in plain view of anyone who opened the door.

“I know how much your position means to you, Clara. And I will do nothing to jeopardize that with my actions.” Which wasn’t exactly true, if one considered that Haverhall would soon be nothing but a memory, her position along with it. The guilt washed through him again, and he shoved it aside.

You should tell her that you own it, a small voice whispered.

But to what end? To become the man who had taken everything from her? To have her accuse him of using her again? Nothing would change what had already been done. Haverhall would still be demolished and developed. It would be better to focus her attention on the future. She could start over. The school was more than just a building—in reality it could be run anywhere. A new property could be purchased eventually. In fact, he could help her find one if it came to that. It wouldn’t be Haverhall, of course, but Clara could continue to do what she loved.

She’d be happier if she still had Haverhall, a small voice whispered. The legacy left to her by her parents.

August ruthlessly smothered another wave of conscience that assaulted him. There was still no world that existed in which he would turn his back on profit for the sake of sentimentality, legacies be damned. August knew all about legacies. He had, after all, survived his.

So for the moment he would take Clara Hayward’s words to heart and not live with regrets and excuses. He would not live with another decade of regret that he hadn’t made her his when he’d had the chance. “I will see you tonight,” he breathed.

“Tonight?”

“I’m taking you out to dinner again. When you’re done here.”

She pushed a piece of hair back from her face. “Yes.”

August took an unhealthy amount of pleasure from the slight wobble to her voice. “And for the record, I am sorry I intruded. I promise it will not happen again.”

Clara suddenly smiled, a low laugh escaping under her breath. “It will be difficult to forget the look on your face anytime soon.”

“I don’t think I was adequately prepared for the idea of my sister painting naked women.”

“You would prefer her to paint naked men?”

August glared at her. “That’s not funny. Nor is it appropriate.”

The smile slid from her face. “What is appropriate for Anne? Flowers? Trees? So long as they have all their foliage on, of course?”

August could feel his teeth grind. “Do not mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you, I’m asking you a reasonable question about a young woman who has shown herself immensely capable in class. And at the Silver Swan.”

“I’m glad you brought that up. Because I’m not convinced that’s appropriate either,” August growled.

An elegant brow rose. “I’m sorry to hear that.” It was brittle. “For the life of me, I can’t fathom which part of her skill you find so…inappropriate.”

“She deserves more.”

“More than happiness?”

“You’re twisting my words.”

“And you’re making me wonder why you think Lady Anne should apologize for who she is.”

August bit back a curse. This wasn’t how he wanted to end this conversation at all. “Seven,” he said abruptly. “Be ready at seven for dinner.”

She didn’t respond, just gazed at him steadily with those dark eyes. He did not look away.