She accepted his praise with a nod. Yet bitter regret weighed heavy on her. Confused by her reaction, she turned it over as she sat, and was shocked to realize she did not want him to see her as prim and proper. She wanted to let loose her inhibitions, to follow her heart. To show him she was not all rules and lists.
A sentiment that she was swift to nip in the bud. What the devil was wrong with her? Following her heart had given her nothing but ruin and shame, and a secret heartache that haunted her to this day.
“Do you know where Peter is?” he asked as the silence stretched between them. “Before she left, Lady Tesh said I might find him here.”
And any generous thoughts Clara might have been harboring for her great-aunt went right out the window. The woman had known well and good that Peter was out, and that Clara had planned to spend the day working on the wedding preparations. Her polite smile turned to a grimace. “I’m afraid my aunt was mistaken. Peter left this morning to accompany Lenora on a painting expedition.”
A gleam of understanding lit his eyes, and Clara thought she might melt from embarrassment. Of course he would have seen Aunt Olivia’s ill-concealed attempts at pairing them up. She had been a fool to think otherwise.
“Do you know when they might return?” he asked.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t.”
For a moment the cheerful mask slipped, and he appeared absolutely disheartened. Her humiliation disappeared, compassion and a burning curiosity taking its place.Don’t ask him the reason, don’t ask him the reason.The litany repeated in her mind, stern and unyielding, yet she found she was helpless against the words bubbling up in her when faced with his downcast expression. “Was there a particular reason you needed Peter?”
The man flushed—actually flushed. “It’s silly, really.”
Well, now she was truly curious.
She bit her lip and scooted forward in her seat. “Perhaps I might help in Peter’s stead, if you’re comfortable sharing.”
He let loose a chuckle, though there was an undercurrent of strain to it. “Truly, it’s so ridiculous as to be laughable. I’d hoped to meet with my mother this afternoon. There’s only so much I can glean from papers, and there are certain aspects of the dukedom I find…unsettling.” His lips twisted in a pained smile. “I admit, I’m dreading it. We’ve never had the healthiest relationship.”
“And you had hoped to bring Peter with you as support?” Clara asked quietly.
The warmth in his eyes sent her heart right up into her throat. “You’re uncommonly perceptive. Yes, that is exactly what I’d hoped. I should perhaps have planned more in advance for this. But once the idea took hold I only wanted to get it over and done with.” He let out a breath. “You must think me a veritable coward, that I would need my friend to accompany me.”
“Oh, certainly not cowardly,” Clara was quick to declare. She leaned forward and laid a hand on his sleeve, heart aching from the self-disgust barely concealed in his dark gaze. “This situation cannot be easy on you. We all need support from time to time; there’s no shame in it.”
He looked down at her hand as if trying to make sense of it, making her realize just how forward she had been. Just as she was about to pull it away, however, he laid his hand over hers.
Every one of her senses centered on her fingers, trapped between the hard muscles of his forearm and the strength of his hand. A longing in her belly reared up, swift and potent. How starved she must be for physical touch to react in such a way to something so innocent. A feeling that only intensified as his eyes darkened and dropped to her lips. She found herself swaying closer to him—
The butler’s voice tore through the moment like an arrow through the heart of a target. “The Duchess of Reigate.”
***
It took Quincy several long seconds to comprehend what was happening. One minute he was transfixed by the deep blue of Clara’s eyes, the rosy fullness of her lips.
The next she’d pulled away with a gasp as the butler announced…his mother?
Well, hell.
“Reigate.”
The title, spoken in that hard, bitter voice, latched onto the base of his skull like talons. And any peace he might have found in Clara’s presence went right out the proverbial window. He lurched to his feet, spinning to face his mother, his breath leaving him in a low hiss. She’d purposely come here with no warning, knowing how much he would hate being caught unawares. It was a wonder she hadn’t stormed the solicitor’s offices.
Quick to recover, he sketched a shallow bow that would be certain to infuriate the woman, rearranging his features into an unconcern he didn’t feel. “Your Grace. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Her hard eyes traveled to Clara before settling on him again. “You have remained absent since your abrupt departure from Reigate House. It was only after some effort that I learned you were staying with the Duke of Dane. I’m glad to see you’re at least not bringing your uneducated American ways back with you, and are embracing your status by consorting with your own kind.” She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Though I certainly did not expect to find you entertaining a light-skirt in His Grace’s home.”
Fury pounded, swift and fierce, through his blood. He was not one to anger quickly, and it hit him all the harder for it, a crashing wave that drowned out his intention to remain aloof. He took a step forward, unable to control the trembling in his clenched hands. “You will not insult Lady Clara. Apologize to her. Now.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed. “LadyClara?”
Her tone dripped with disbelief. Before he could demand she leave, however, Clara moved to his side, her hand light on his back, grounding him as nothing else could have.
“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “In my cousin the Duke of Dane’s absence, I welcome you to Dane House. I am Lady Clara Ashford.”