A Duke in the Night(65)

Clara sobered suddenly. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

August pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her forehead. “You’re welcome.”





Chapter 16



The ride back to Avondale was a slow one, August not willing to risk the legs of his already-tired horse that now carried two. Which was just as well, because it took him nearly the entire journey to rein in his emotions and compose himself in a manner that wouldn’t terrify the next unsuspecting person he came across.

When August had seen Stilton forcing himself on Clara, a rage such as he had never experienced flooded through him. When the red had receded from the edges of his vision, colors had seemed brighter, noises louder, every movement a little more pronounced. Looking back, he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t killed the man. How he hadn’t simply ripped Stilton apart limb from limb or beaten him to a bloody pulp.

Perhaps he had recognized the need to defuse the situation for Clara’s sake instead of making it worse. Battering a man to death would not have helped, though the man certainly deserved it. He did not want to take a chance that Clara would feel guilty about that too.

August hoped Clara’s watching the man scurry away with his tail between his legs had lessened the impact of what he’d tried to do. What had happened had not been her fault in any way. Stilton was a coward and a cretin and not worthy of any further thought, and he hoped that Clara believed that.

Clara seemed to recover on the way back. She regained her color at least, and he engaged her in a debate over the theories of Aristarchus that had her talking and occasionally laughing. The feel of her body as it rested in front of his was torture. Her warmth and her scent enveloped him, and he wanted to keep her there forever, wrapped in the safety of his arms.

He reined his gelding to a stop in the drive and helped Clara dismount. She looked up at him, her eyes troubled. “Please don’t say anything about what happened this afternoon. Not yet.” She put a hand to where her bodice had been torn. “I’m going to change, and then I will speak to Rose. And Harland, when he returns.”

Given the baron’s chronic absences, August rather thought it might be Christmastide before her brother returned. But he refrained from pointing that out.

“No one else needs to know. Not the servants. Not my students.” She was looking at him imploringly.

“I understand. So long as you understand that it wasn’t your fault.”

“I do.”

“Good. I’ll see you in and up to your room.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Humor the barbarian.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

“Besides, I have my own conversation to finish with Anne. She said I could find her in the studio when I returned.”

“I might remind you to wait after you knock this time,” Clara teased, and it made August happy to see her smile.

August led the way up the stairs. The house was silent, everyone seemingly occupied somewhere else, including the servants. Clara hurried down the south hall toward her rooms while August wandered in the direction of the studio.

He was almost at the end of the hall when the studio door opened and a woman stepped out, her blond hair tumbling in ringlets around her face. She was wrapped in a heavily embroidered robe, more suitable for a boudoir after midnight than a grand house in the middle of the day. She turned, and with shock August recognized her. More than recognized her. In fact, five years ago he would have recognized her more easily had she been wearing nothing.

“Lady Shelley,” August said dumbly.

The woman froze. “Aug—Your Grace?” she replied with the same incredulity, her green eyes widening. “I beg your pardon for my appearance. I was hoping to make it back to my room undetected. We thought the house was empty.”

“We?” August blurted.

“Miss Hayward. Rose Hayward,” Lady Shelley clarified. Her initial surprise faded, and her lush lips curved into what August could only describe as a smug smile. “I’ve commissioned a portrait.”

“In a robe?”

“In costume,” she said vaguely, that same smile still playing about her lips, seemingly unconcerned about her dishabille. “I was on my way back to my room to change.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Just for the day. I did not know you were staying here as well. Goodness, it’s like a house party.”

“No such luck,” August replied. “I’m here on business for the Earl of Rivers.”

“Too bad. You know what they say about all work and no play, Your Grace,” Lady Shelley teased. “And you work entirely too hard.”

Rose suddenly appeared behind her, wiping her hands on a paint-smeared rag. “Who are you—” Her eyes went to August and narrowed, and her lips thinned. “You again. My apologies, Lady Shelley. I should have insisted you change in the studio. I should have known His Grace might be lurking about the hallways. This is unacceptable and most embarrassing.”

“Oh, it is of no consequence,” Lady Shelley said easily with a throaty chuckle as she headed down the hallway toward her room. “His Grace has seen me in far less than a robe.”

August cursed inwardly.

Rose’s eyes narrowed even further. “Of course he has.”