What do think of the view?” Stilton asked her.
Clara stepped sideways, as the man was just a little close for her liking. They were standing on the edge of the cliffs, the castle looming behind them, the carriage left up on the narrow, snaking road above.
Stilton had insisted that they walk down the sloping land, following the thick outer wall that led away from the castle proper and down toward the sea, and Clara had agreed, if only to pass the time before she could ask to return without appearing rude. To her right the town sat far below them, nestled at the edge of the ocean in its nest of rolling green fields and jagged white cliff faces. Above them gulls wheeled and cried.
“It’s very lovely,” she said, trying to keep her smile from slipping. Anne had been right. She should never have agreed to come. While she enjoyed Stilton’s company in small doses, an entire afternoon of his nonstop talking was starting to wear thin. He meant well, she knew, and she couldn’t really blame him for her lack of enthusiasm or her distraction. That was solely on the shoulders of one Duke of Holloway.
“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation,” Stilton said, sidling closer once again. “There is a matter I wished to discuss with you.”
“Oh?” Clara asked, wondering what he would say if she insisted that he take her back to Avondale now.
“We’ve known each other for quite some time,” he started. “And I have enjoyed your company immensely.”
“And Rose and I have enjoyed yours, Mr. Stilton—”
“Mathias.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I think we’ve known each other long enough that we can dispense with the formality, don’t you think? I’d like to call you Clara, if I may.”
Clara frowned. “Mr. Stilton, I don’t think that is entirely appropriate. While I value you as an acquaintance—”
“And that is something I’d like to change.”
“I beg your pardon?” Clara felt alarm start to slither through her. Surely Stilton wasn’t about to suggest what she thought he was going to—
“I’d like you to be my wife,” he hurried on, reaching for her hands and clutching them in his.
Clara stared at him. This was not happening. “While you flatter me, Mr. Stilton, I am going to have to respectfully decline.”
“But why?” He looked genuinely confused.
“Because I don’t wish to marry you.”
“It’s not like you’re going to get a better offer,” he said, and there was an edge to his words now. “Especially at your age.”
“Mr. Stilton, I can assure you that even as a younger woman, I—”
“No one wanted you when you were younger,” Stilton told her. “Even your family’s wealth wasn’t enough to buy you a husband then. Do you honestly think anything’s changed?” He drew their hands up to his chest. His palms were cold and sweaty, and Clara resisted the urge to yank her hands from him in revulsion.
“Again, Mr. Stilton, I do not wish to—”
“No one else wants you,” Stilton continued. “But I am prepared to make you my wife.”
Clara felt a familiar anger rise, tempered with disgust. “I am not prepared to have you as my husband.”
“Is it because I’m not a duke?” he hissed. “You think you’re too good for me?”
“That’s not it at all.” She tried to extricate her hands, but he tightened his grip.
“You won’t do better than me,” he told her coldly. “With your wealth added to mine, we could live in grand style.”
Clara tried pulling away again, but Stilton held fast, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hands painfully. “Mr. Stilton,” she said through clenched teeth, “you must understand that I have no desire to marry anyone. Yourself included.”
“You know nothing of desire,” he said, yanking her closer. “But you will soon.”
His strength caught Clara off guard, and she stumbled into him. Stilton let go of her only to dig the fingers of one hand into her hair and use the other to grasp her underneath her chin, pressing it against her throat. He made a sound of satisfaction and dragged her mouth to his. His kiss was wet and slimy, and Clara struggled to wrench herself away, but he only twisted her hair more painfully in his fist.
“Stop,” Clara snapped, letting her fury overwhelm the very real fear that was starting to thrum through her. If she screamed, there would be no one to hear her. There had been no one in sight when they had walked down to the cliffs’ edge. She pushed on his chest with her hands, managing to shove herself back a few inches, even though his fingers still held fast in her hair and against her throat. “This isn’t what I want. This isn’t what you want,” she grated.
She’d never seen this coming. Looking back, she wondered if she’d missed the signs. Perhaps she simply hadn’t been paying enough attention. Today, or at any point in the last two years that she’d counted him an acquaintance. And now she was paying for that lack of vigilance.
“I know exactly what I want,” Stilton breathed. His hand slid from her throat to her breasts, and he shoved his fingers into the top of her bodice. She heard and felt some of the stitching give way.
His breath was hot on her face. “I want more. And you can give me that.”
Clara twisted her head vainly.
“You’ve teased me for long enough,” Stilton said, and his voice had a coldness that Clara had never heard before. “Years I’ve catered to you and your oddities. I’m done waiting. You will marry me. I’ll make sure of it.”
“She can’t marry a corpse.” It came from behind Stilton.
Stilton’s head jerked up, and his hands loosened in Clara’s hair enough for her to jerk herself away. She staggered back a few steps, out of his reach, her breath coming in harsh gasps.
The Duke of Holloway was standing just behind Stilton, his hands loose at his sides, his body perfectly still. But it was his expression that sent chills shuddering through her. His eyes were feral, his expression black, and there was a dark, barely leashed promise of violence rolling off his body in palpable waves.
“What are you doing here, Holloway?” Stilton spit.
“Deciding if I should just toss you off the cliff, or if I should kill you before I do it.”
“You wouldn’t.” Stilton was backing away from him now.
“You have no idea what I would and wouldn’t do.”
“Stealing my birthright wasn’t enough for you, was it? You need to steal my woman from me too?” There was utter hatred in those words. “She’s been mine all these years, not yours, Holloway. It’s been me who has put the time and effort into this. I know you think you can take whatever you want whenever you want it, but I came here to make sure you didn’t. To make sure I finally got what is mine.”
August moved faster than Clara would have thought possible. In a single second he had his hands fisted in the front of Stilton’s coat and was lifting and pinning the man against the thick curtain wall of the castle. Stilton’s boots twitched above the grass.
“I didn’t steal your birthright. I bought a business that had been ruined. And Miss Hayward has never been yours,” August growled.
“She damn well is.”
“The lady’s struggles beg to differ,” August said conversationally.
“She is to be my wife!”
“Your wife?” His eyes flickered to Clara, lingering on her neck and the redness that she knew would be visible where the man’s hand had squeezed. His gaze slid back to Stilton. “I didn’t hear her say yes.”
“She will.” Stilton struggled to no avail.
“Do you wish to marry this cockroach, Miss Hayward?” the duke asked.
“No.” Her voice was rough.
“I didn’t think so.” He pressed his forearm against the man’s throat. “Should I kill him?”
“That would be messy.”
“But satisfying. And the tide’s going out. It would be at least a day until they found the body, if they ever did.”
“Don’t kill him,” Clara said unsteadily. “He was just leaving.”
“He was? Well, then, I suppose that is a lucky coincidence for you, Stilton.”
Stilton was sweating, though his eyes were mean and hard. “You don’t want me for an enemy,” he spit.
Clara saw something shift in August’s eyes. “You should go now, Miss Hayward,” August said in a voice so chilling it made her shudder.
“No.” Clara took a step toward him.
“Go, Clara.”
“Don’t do it. He’s not worth it. Please.”
She saw August hesitate, every muscle in his body rigid. He suddenly stepped back, and Stilton collapsed in an undignified heap at his feet.
“Leave here. Leave London,” August snarled. “Or I’ll make sure you’re on the next hulk destined for Australia, provided I don’t just kill you first. If you dare show yourself to Miss Hayward, her family, or myself again, Miss Hayward’s words will not be enough to save you.”
Stilton struggled to gain his feet, stumbling like a drunken jester. He yanked on the front of his gaudy coat and fled past August, staggering up the incline and to his waiting carriage.
Clara watched him go, suddenly racked with shivers. There was a maelstrom of emotion swirling through her, and the individual feelings were difficult to sort out—fear, disappointment, anger, shame, regret, relief.
August closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his strength, hating how unnerved she felt. “I was so foolish,” she mumbled into the front of his chest. “I never should have come out here alone with him.”
“You are not foolish to trust someone you’ve known for years,” August told her forcefully. “What happened just now is entirely on Stilton, not you. You did nothing to deserve that.”
“I never encouraged him,” she said miserably. “And I certainly never wanted to kiss him.”
“I noticed.” August’s voice rumbled in her ear.
“God.” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly before pulling back. “How did you find me?”
“Anne told me you had gone for a drive. It wasn’t hard to follow the sightings of a peacock in a chartreuse coat.”
Clara made a muffled noise. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you come looking for me?”
August was silent for a long moment. “A brilliant woman once told me that jealousy did not become me.”
“That woman knew nothing.”
August was silent.
“I would never have married him,” Clara said fiercely. “No matter what he did.”
“I don’t think Stilton anticipated that.”
Clara bit her lip. “Would you really have killed him?”
“Yes. If it had been necessary to protect you.” His voice was flat.
“How very barbaric of you,” she said, and the tremor she could still hear in her words was no longer just from her ordeal.
“Did you know that barbarian was a term that the Romans gave to everything and everyone who wasn’t them?” he asked, and Clara knew he was trying to distract her now.
“The Greeks used it first,” she mumbled.
August made a funny noise. “That is not the point. My point here is that in truth the barbarians were courageous, cunning, and ruthless and, in the end, drove the Romans all the way back to where they had started.”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Your Grace?” She felt the pull of a smile.
“Possibly. Probably.”
“Then I rather like your barbarian tendencies,” she said wryly. “All of them.”
“Good. So you won’t mind if I do this.” Without warning, he bent and scooped her up into his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you back to Avondale.”
“What? You can’t— Where— I don’t—”
“Once we are there, if you are so inclined, you will ask me to stay for dinner.”
“I will?”
“Yes. Because I finally have an answer that is good enough for the question you once asked me.”
“Oh.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “I’m having dinner tonight with the students. Lady Tabitha and Lady Theodosia as well.”
“Splendid. I’ll join you.”
He heard her laugh softly. “You might be the only male in attendance.”
“Splendider.”
“That’s not a word.”
“It can be for a man who took to slaying dragons on behalf of his fair lady,” he said lightly.
“You insult the dragon family, for Stilton is not so noble.”
“You’re right. I always fancied dragons to be green or blue and not chartreuse.”
Clara sobered suddenly. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
August pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her forehead. “You’re welcome.”