A Duke in the Night(89)

“We scandalized everyone the first time we did this ten years ago. Why stop now?” he replied, pulling her closer than was proper.

The quartet, which had hesitated, now started playing, and the first strains of music drifted through the air. August led her in the first steps of a dance that was so familiar, yet so breathtakingly new. She followed where he led, never breaking stride, never breaking eye contact. Their surroundings blurred and then faded altogether.

“I’m sorry, Clara,” he whispered as they floated across the floor. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”

“I know. I am sorry too,” she said.

“For what? You did nothing.”

“Exactly. I did nothing. I didn’t trust you; I didn’t ask you for help when I could have. I shut you out and tried to do everything by myself. And then, worse, standing in your library yesterday, I essentially demanded that you apologize for who you were. Something that I once accused you of doing to Anne, and for me to do it to you was unforgivable.”

“I forgive you.” He tightened his hand on hers. “You were in an impossible position.”

“Not impossible. Just hard.”

He was shaking his head. “It wasn’t fair—”

“Life isn’t fair,” she whispered, moving her hand from his shoulder to touch his cheek. “You know that better than anyone.” She paused as they turned, the music thrumming through her. “It’s made us who and what we are, and I don’t want anyone other than the man who stands before me now. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t ever change.”

His lips twitched. “There might be room for a little improvement. Here and there.”

Clara smiled. “I saw your gift to Anne,” she said softly.

She felt August nearly miss a step. He danced on in silence for long seconds before he spoke again. “I hated what she was exposed to in Marshalsea,” August mumbled. “The filth, the disease, the hopelessness. That’s a hard thing to come back from.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Brookside is not a hotel exactly, but I think Anne will do an incredible job. Especially…”

“Especially because she understands.”

“Yes. Did I do the right thing?” he asked in a voice so low she barely heard him.

Clara tried to find words but failed utterly.

She saw his jaw tighten. “You don’t think I—”

Clara pressed her fingers over his lips. “You’ve done a beautiful thing,” she whispered.

He gazed down at her, his hand coming up to wipe from her cheek a tear she hadn’t even been aware she’d shed. “Thank you,” he murmured. “But don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’m just warming you up for Anne’s reaction,” she sniffled, her hand dropping to his chest.

August laughed, and she felt the vibrations through his chest where her hand rested. “I’ll consider myself warned.” He paused. “Rose told you about Brookside?”

“Yes.” Clara smiled. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I didn’t think your sister held me in very high regard.”

“Then you think wrong. Besides, Rose insists she could never hate a man her sister is desperately in love with.”

August abruptly stopped dancing, and Clara stumbled into him.

“That was not very well done, Your Grace—”

She never finished what she was going to say, because his lips were on hers in the softest, most gentle kiss. She melted into him, not caring who was watching. Not caring if she scandalized the daughters of half the peerage or all of London. He pulled back, a peculiar expression on his face. “August,” she whispered. At some point the quartet had ceased playing, and there was only silence all around them.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out what looked like a delicate piece of ribbon tied in a small circle. He grasped her hand and looked down at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I should have done this ten years ago too,” he said.

“Done what?”

He touched her face. “Danced with you. Discovered what you think of Lapiths. Spied on you from behind stone fences. Learned a thing or two about purpose. Fallen in love with you.”

Clara tried to speak, but her throat had closed up.

August dropped to one knee and looked up at her. “You asked me once when enough is enough. You are my enough. You are my everything.” August drew her hand into his and slid the tiny ribbon over her ring finger. “I love you, Clara.”

She looked down at the ribbon and touched it with her other hand in confusion.

“This ribbon was tied around a deed to a parcel of land. This land has a small cottage in the back that someone told me is being used as an art studio, a pond that doesn’t seem to have any fish in it, some gardens that are rather pretty in summer, and a building that is currently being used as a school.” He tipped her chin up and found her eyes, the love that was coursing through her reflected in his own gaze. “I thought that it, more than pretty jewels or a flashy horse or a fine house, might make a good wedding present.”

Clara made an inarticulate noise and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Yes,” she whispered. “It would.”