A Duke in the Night(81)

He knew why.

He’d been in Dover to collect his correspondence, including a letter from London that the Strathmore ships still hadn’t come in. Harland Hayward had finally been backed into a corner, and August had already shown him the perfect way out. He would approach the baron again once they were back in London. August’s purchase of Strathmore Shipping—or, at the very least, a significant share of it—would get him what he wanted and also ensure that Clara and her family would be taken care of.

He should have felt exceedingly pleased. Euphoric even, because this was what he lived for. The culmination of diligence, logic, timing, patience, and a little bit of luck. Yet this victory was strangely hollow.

August covered the rest of the distance with feet that felt heavy and sluggish. He came to stand beside her, gazing out in the same direction. Clara didn’t look at him, didn’t give him any indication that she was even aware of his company. Presently she pushed herself off the wall and circled the lighthouse, then slipped inside it through a darkened entry. August followed, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light.

“Why do you think they built this?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The Romans.” She gestured to the walls around her. “Why did they spend centuries fighting? Why invest so much blood and effort to build something that, in the end, they simply abandoned?” Clara didn’t move but stayed as she was, leaning back against the rough wall, her head tipped up to the clouds far above, visible through the round opening at the top.

August looked up at the swirl of scarlet-and-tangerine clouds reflecting the setting sun against a darkening sky. For a moment he could almost imagine the light was from the flame that would have burned centuries ago, guiding sailors home safely.

“I would suggest that the men who built this lighthouse had no intention of abandoning it.” He scuffed his boot in the dirt scattered across the floor, scattering a small collection of stubborn, light-starved weeds. “I suspect that they knew they were building something greater than themselves. Something that would survive long after they were gone.”

The wind was whistling through the openings set above their heads in the circular structure, and it tugged at the hem of Clara’s skirts and the curl that was forever escaping. She shoved it back behind her ear. “Do you think greed was Rome’s ultimate downfall?” she asked. “If they had stopped sooner in their quest to take over every corner of the world and had been happy with what they’d already conquered, would they still be here?”

“Perhaps greed is the wrong word. Ambition, maybe. Men will always want more,” August said, his voice echoing against the circular wall. “More land, more wealth, more control, more security.”

“I think my father would have said the same thing.” She sounded bitter. “Both of you would have made good Romans.”

“How so?”

“Enough is never enough. You told me that once. My father, I think, believed that too. I just…” She shook her head. “I just hope that…ambition ends better for you than it did for the Romans.” And my father, he heard her add silently. Because August knew she was speaking of her father’s failed ambitions and the mess he’d landed his children in.

“Clara…” He stopped, unsure what he wanted to say. The guilt was starting to overwhelm his resolve. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell her that he had bought the legacy that her mother had left to her and, after this year, would raze it to the ground. He couldn’t tell her that that purchase had been what had led him to pry into her life and then take very deliberate steps to capitalize on her family’s misfortune. He couldn’t tell her any of that without losing her forever.

In his old life, such steps had made him clever and pragmatic. Yet standing here, in an ancient lighthouse with a woman who had illuminated his world, he didn’t feel clever and pragmatic. He felt utterly wretched. His moment of triumph had somehow become a moment of failure.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. He couldn’t tell her what he had already done. But he could undo this, maybe, without losing her. Without risking her ever discovering what he had done. “I can help.”

She shook her head. “No, you can’t.”

“I can. Is it money that you need?” The words tumbled from him in a desperate rush. “Because whatever you need is yours.”

Clara had gone completely still, her eyes narrowed. “No,” she said after a long minute. “I can’t…We can’t…”

August wanted to shake her. He couldn’t reveal what he’d known all along without exposing his hand. He needed her to tell him the truth. He needed her to ask him for help.

He needed her to trust him.

“There’s nothing you can do,” she said.

Frustration skewered all the foreign emotions that were making it hard for him to think straight. “Horseshit,” he said loudly, his voice bouncing around him. “You won’t accept my help. Why?”

“Because this is a family matter and doesn’t concern you,” she said. “And you are not family.”

That hurt more than it ever should have. “Then what am I?” he demanded. “A friend? A lover? A mere distraction?”

“You were never a mere distraction.”

“Yet you keep me at a distance. You won’t let me in. Just like everyone else.”