A Duke in the Night(77)

He spent the rest of the meal simply listening. Watching as Clara encouraged her students to present opinions on a variety of topics, prompting them to fill in gaps in their reasoning with logic and evidence. That kind of clever guidance was something that August might have expected at a medical school or a philosophy class taught at Cambridge.

And Clara should be teaching at Cambridge, he thought fiercely. The more he observed, the more he understood that her skills went far beyond mere intelligence and competence. She was a truly gifted teacher, something that very few could say. Any school would be lucky to have her.

Starting with Haverhall.

August looked away, that chronic leaden guilt bursting his fragile bubble of happiness. He was taking that away from her.

No, he forcibly reminded himself, he had simply bought a property. A very lucrative property that he’d wanted for years. Clara, with all her skill and ability, would easily find another position with another girls’ school. She was simply too good at what she did not to. People faced changed circumstances all the time, and they adapted. Moved on. Thrived. He knew that better than anyone.

And perhaps, if she would allow him, August could even help her do just that. A title like his could open a great number of doors, he had discovered. This could be a great opportunity for her, even if she didn’t know it yet. Yes, he decided, he would quietly do everything he could, even if she refused his help. Especially if she refused his help.

That decision should have assuaged his guilt, but it didn’t. Not entirely. Instead August was left doubting himself and his motivations and his ambitions in a way he never had before. If he thought he’d felt adrift before, he was well and truly lost now.

He didn’t return to the dower house after dinner. Instead he slipped into the library on the pretense of finding something to read should anyone ask, but he was met only with a silent room. He discarded his coat, chose a book from the shelves at random, not even looking at the title, and sat in one of the wide leather chairs that flanked the massive hearth. He should go, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Couldn’t bring himself to return to more empty rooms, devoid of the laughter and happiness that had surrounded him here.

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat silently in the library, lost in his thoughts, but the house grew dark and quiet around him. The single candle that he’d brought with him into the library had burned down to almost nothing and now flickered and threatened to extinguish altogether.

“The Mirror of the Graces, or The English Lady’s Costume,” a voice beside him said. “Are you reading that for research or is it a new business venture you’re planning?”

August jerked upright, the book that had been left forgotten on his lap crashing to the floor. “You could make a man’s heart stop doing that,” he accused, his pulse proving that his was still working just fine.

“Mmmm.” Clara retrieved the book from the floor and perched herself on the edge of the chair. It was all August could do not to simply reach for her and draw her into his lap.

His heart was still pounding, but for a different reason entirely now.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, looking up at her. The tiny pool of light his struggling candle afforded put her features into shadow and made her expression difficult to read.

“I saw you come in earlier. The better question is, What are you still doing here?” she responded.

“Waiting for you.” It wasn’t something he’d intended to say, but he recognized it for the truth that it was.

“Mmm.” She paused. “Will you be returning to London with Mr. Down tomorrow?”

August hesitated. He should. There was no reason for him to stay. Anne didn’t need him here. His report to Rivers was complete. There would be any number of things demanding his attention in London. And being in the city certainly had the added advantage of immediate and direct access to information from the docks. There was no logical justification for lingering here. But then, when it came to Clara Hayward, logic was in short supply.

“Maybe,” he finally settled on.

Clara was silent for a long minute. Then she rose, setting the book aside, and he could hear her soft footfalls as she crossed the room. It was like a physical pain, her departure. He wanted to call her back, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work.

“Clara?” he finally asked.

There was a sound then. The soft snick of a lock sliding into place. He remained frozen, his hands wrapped around the arms of the chair.

The candle was suddenly snuffed out with a sigh and a spiral of smoke.

He felt her hand on his neck first, the softest of touches as she came around the back of his chair. Her fingers caressed his cheek. “You were quiet at dinner,” she said.

“You were extraordinary at dinner,” he replied.

“Thank you. Though your flattery will not distract me. That’s my trick, remember?”

He reached up and caught her hand. “God, I’ve missed you.”

He felt the brush of her hair at his cheek before he felt the soft press of her lips on his skin. “And I you.”

“I wanted to come to you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” That at least was the truth. He didn’t have an answer.

Just as he didn’t have an answer for why he still hadn’t been completely honest with her about Haverhall, other than that she hadn’t been honest with him either. Which was no excuse at all. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t recognize himself any longer. Every vow he’d made to himself, every driving ambition he’d pursued with a single-minded determination sat uncomfortably on his skin now. His old self didn’t seem to fit quite right.