A Duke in the Night(62)

Her eyes were shining. “That’s not true. You made me your partner. And there is nothing in the world I value more.”

August opened his mouth to say something, but words escaped him. There was so much joy emanating from Anne right now that he just wanted to take a moment to bask in her happiness.

“I’ll just head upstairs,” Duncan murmured tactfully from where he still waited.

“Very well,” August replied, still distracted.

“Was there any other information regarding Stilton that you needed before I go?”

“Stilton?” Anne stood up from her crouch and put a hand on top of the sign. “Mathias Stilton?”

“Yes.” August frowned at her. “How do you know him?”

“I just met him. Not a half hour ago. He came to collect Miss Hayward for a drive.”

August’s eyes met Duncan’s over her shoulder, and those dark suspicions that had been brewing bubbled up again.

“Land titles are public records, Your Grace,” Duncan said, telling August that his mind had fallen down those dark paths too. “And they wouldn’t have been changed that fast.”

“Where did they go?” he asked Anne.

His sister shrugged, her forehead creasing in confusion. “I’m not sure. But there was a hired carriage waiting out in front.”

“I have to go.” It was absurd, he knew. It was likely nothing. August would probably find Mathias Stilton nattering away in the sunshine, waxing poetic about the breathtaking views of the cliffs and the sea. Because even if Stilton believed that Clara still owned Haverhall, that knowledge did him no good. If the man was angling to gain control of the land, he would have to marry her and convince her not to convey the property to trustees before he did. Which seemed wildly far-fetched. Didn’t it?

Mr. Stilton is a friend. One whose honesty I value, Clara had said.

Marriages had been built on far less than that. Forget the land, the purported wealth behind the Strathmore name was still legendary. And very desirable, especially when attached to a beautiful woman.

August ran an agitated hand through his hair. He was overthinking this, and he needed to temper his paranoia and jealousy. But he couldn’t. Not where Clara Hayward was concerned.

“August?” Anne’s beautiful blue eyes were full of concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “Just something I need to check on. I’ll come and find you when I return,” he said. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

“I’ll probably be in the art studio, then,” she told him.

He bent and gave his sister a brief kiss on her forehead before he stepped away, leaving the tavern sign in her grasp.

“Would you like me to accompany you, Your Grace?” Duncan asked.

“No,” August said, already headed for the door. “I’ll take care of it myself.”





Chapter 15





What do think of the view?” Stilton asked her.

Clara stepped sideways, as the man was just a little close for her liking. They were standing on the edge of the cliffs, the castle looming behind them, the carriage left up on the narrow, snaking road above.

Stilton had insisted that they walk down the sloping land, following the thick outer wall that led away from the castle proper and down toward the sea, and Clara had agreed, if only to pass the time before she could ask to return without appearing rude. To her right the town sat far below them, nestled at the edge of the ocean in its nest of rolling green fields and jagged white cliff faces. Above them gulls wheeled and cried.

“It’s very lovely,” she said, trying to keep her smile from slipping. Anne had been right. She should never have agreed to come. While she enjoyed Stilton’s company in small doses, an entire afternoon of his nonstop talking was starting to wear thin. He meant well, she knew, and she couldn’t really blame him for her lack of enthusiasm or her distraction. That was solely on the shoulders of one Duke of Holloway.

“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation,” Stilton said, sidling closer once again. “There is a matter I wished to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” Clara asked, wondering what he would say if she insisted that he take her back to Avondale now.

“We’ve known each other for quite some time,” he started. “And I have enjoyed your company immensely.”

“And Rose and I have enjoyed yours, Mr. Stilton—”

“Mathias.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think we’ve known each other long enough that we can dispense with the formality, don’t you think? I’d like to call you Clara, if I may.”

Clara frowned. “Mr. Stilton, I don’t think that is entirely appropriate. While I value you as an acquaintance—”

“And that is something I’d like to change.”

“I beg your pardon?” Clara felt alarm start to slither through her. Surely Stilton wasn’t about to suggest what she thought he was going to— “I’d like you to be my wife,” he hurried on, reaching for her hands and clutching them in his.

Clara stared at him. This was not happening. “While you flatter me, Mr. Stilton, I am going to have to respectfully decline.”

“But why?” He looked genuinely confused.