A Duke in the Night(68)

August stared at her.

Clara exhaled loudly, her cheeks pink. “I’ll stop talking now. Although you’ve passed on my earlier invitation to collect your sister and run screaming back to London, I wouldn’t blame you if you did so now.” She sounded as if she was only half joking. “But if you’re sending the Bedlam stewards after me, can you at least wait until the end of next week?”

“You think I find any of what you said crazy?” he asked.

“I hope not, but it would put you in the minority.”

“Good. I prefer to be in the minority. The masses don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Oh.” She looked up at him. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

“Always, Clara.” He bent and brushed his lips over hers, the softest of gestures. “Let me show you how much.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Very deliberately August turned and walked to the studio door. Just as deliberately he turned the lock, the click sounding overly loud in the empty room. He returned and stopped just in front of her. He bowed low and straightened. “Dance with me.”

Her lips parted. “I beg your pardon?”

“May I have the privilege of this dance, Miss Hayward?”

“Here? Now? But—”

“No regrets, Miss Hayward. And no excuses.”

“And no music either,” she said with a slow smile.

“Inconsequential details,” August scoffed. He held out his hand. He saw Clara swallow before she reached out and took it.

Her hand was warm in his, and he pulled her to him, his other hand coming to slide around her waist. Her fingers tightened in his, and he heard her slight inhalation. “Close your eyes,” he said.

“August—”

“Close your eyes.”

She gazed at him for a second longer before her eyes fluttered shut. Her free hand went to his shoulder, her fingertips just brushing the back of his neck. “Perfect,” he whispered before he led her in the first step.

It wasn’t the reckless waltz that they had danced a decade ago, surrounded by glittering lights and glittering people. There was no orchestra to keep the time, no constant hum of those trying to make their voices heard over the voices of others. This was a private affair, meant only for them, danced in a small space and danced in silence. But it was no less powerful for it.

August tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him as they moved in slow circles across the floor in front of the dais. Clara’s hand slid farther around the back of his neck, her fingers tangling gently in the back of his hair. He could feel her body, hot and supple against his, her chest rising and falling. She matched him step for step, and August wondered idly if she could feel the way his heart was thundering in his chest.

He drew the hand that held hers into the space between their bodies, tucking it securely against his chest, and lifted his fingers to stroke her cheek. She kept her eyes closed but her lips curled, and she tipped her head into his touch. God, she was so beautiful like this. So beautiful always, but like this, she was his. She belonged to him in this moment.

He bent his head and caught her lips with his, their steps slowing until they stopped altogether. As before, their kiss started slowly, only for different reasons this time. This time August wasn’t afraid of scaring her or hurting her. This time he was afraid only that he wouldn’t make this last the way he wanted it to. That he wouldn’t be able to make good on his promise to her that he would take his time, learning what made her whimper and writhe with pleasure.

Because holy hell, he wanted her. Wanted her so badly that he ached everywhere. His skin felt two sizes too small, and his cock throbbed. The need to take her then, right there, on the floor in the middle of the damn studio, was pounding through him, making him dizzy with want. His hands slid from her face and over her shoulders and down her back, where they gripped her as though he was afraid to let her go.

And then she moaned, and her mouth opened and her tongue stroked his, and he was completely lost. His hands dropped to her ass, and he hauled her up against him the way he had done once before. She wrapped her legs around him, but her skirts hampered her movements, and it wasn’t enough.

“I want you naked. Now.” His voice was rough.

“Yes.” She slid down the length of him, the friction sending all sorts of uncontrollable shudders through him. He set to work at her bodice, realizing that his hands weren’t entirely steady. He fumbled slightly at the ties until he felt her hands on his, pulling them away.

“You can watch,” she said, looking at him though heavily lidded eyes, her lips parted and her color high.

He cock twitched, and he groaned with need.

Clara took over where he had left off, with a slow, subtle tease as one by one the laces and ties that held her gown and her stays were undone, the garments falling to the floor soundlessly. She stood before him in her shift, the outline of her body a tantalizing breath away. So close and yet so far.

Her eyes dropped to the bulge at the fall of his trousers, and a sultry smile touched her lips even as her fingers played with the ribbon at the neck of her shift. “Steady, Your Grace,” she whispered.

August remained still, his breath coming far too fast. Very deliberately she pulled the end of the ribbon, and the top of her chemise loosened, slipping over one shoulder and then the other before it too joined the pile on the rug at their feet. And Clara Hayward stood before him wearing nothing but a smile.