No Ordinary Duke: The Crawfords

by Barnes, Sophie

  “I like Mr. Partridge and his sister,” he said while leading her in a wide turn. “They’re unpretentiousness gives them credit.”

  “It is unusual for people of their class to be without airs,” Mary agreed. “Perhaps it is a result of growing up in the country and with no other gentry nearby. Most of their interactions will have been with ordinary people.”

  “Do you believe such an upbringing to be a prerequisite for humbleness?”

  “Possibly, though I do think life-altering experiences can have a similar effect.”

  His hold on her tightened as he spun her about. “As was the case for you and your friends?” Before she could answer, he said, “That would imply you were high in the instep before you came here. Having gotten to know you, I very much doubt that could have been the case.”

  “Granted, there are exceptions,” she admitted. A warm shiver erupted at the base of her spine as he curled his fingertips into her back.

  “Even for earls, marquesses, and dukes?”

  “I don’t believe so,” she said, recalling the peers she’d once socialized with. Each and every one had believed the world was at his feet. “Being raised amid wealth and with servants to tend to your every need creates certain expectations. It spoils you.”

  “Would you say that there was a time when you were spoiled as well?” His eyes sought hers, holding her captive and demanding the truth.

  Mary thought back on her family home in Mayfair, to the shopping expeditions she’d enjoyed with her mother and sisters, the expensive gowns filling her wardrobe, and the diamond earbobs she’d been gifted on her fourteenth birthday.

  “Absolutely. But leaving all of that behind in favor of a simpler and sparser life has given me more freedom than I ever had before,” she tried to explain. “It is as if material things and the desire for more held me hostage.”

  “Losing it made you realize what truly matters,” Mr. Crawford murmured.

  His insightfulness went straight to Mary’s heart. “It brought everything into perspective,” she said. “As hard as it has been, I cannot imagine ever going back to an idle life. What Mr. Partridge said earlier about how your work must give you a sense of deep accomplishment resonates with me. I have never felt more useful or necessary than I have these last five years.”

  The music started to fade, causing Mr. Crawford to slow his pace. “You are an extraordinary woman, Miss Clemens. Don’t ever let anyone else tell you otherwise.” They came to a halt, and he slowly released her, stepping back so he could bow while she curtseyed.

  “Thank you,” she said, “not only for the dance but for the conversation. You’re pretty extraordinary yourself.”

  “Words I’ll hold close to my heart,” he said, smiling at her in a way that weakened her knees and left her slightly breathless. He offered his arm and escorted her back to the rest of their group while she began wondering if Emily and Cassandra had a point. Perhaps giving in to desire would be worth it if Mr. Crawford would be hers, if only for a brief moment in time.

  10

  It was almost midnight by the time they returned home to a quiet house. After paying the Durhams and seeing them off, Caleb had prepared to bid the three women good night when Lady Cassandra invited him to stay for a cup of tea in the parlor.

  “Mrs. Durham was kind enough to prepare a pot for our return.” She peeled off her gloves and placed them on the small table near the stairs. “Get yourselves settled and I’ll bring the tray.”

  “Allow me to help,” Miss Howard said and hurried after her friend.

  Caleb turned to Miss Clemens and gestured toward the parlor door. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and preceded him into the room where she took a seat on the sofa. He decided to sit beside her even though he probably shouldn’t. But he wanted to be near her. Especially after watching Mr. Partridge convey his keen interest in her. Caleb liked the man well enough, but he’d be damned if he was going to let him swoop in and steal Miss Clemens away.

  She fidgeted with the skirt of her gown. “I enjoyed this evening,” she said. “We don’t get out nearly enough. Doing so was fun.”

  “It certainly was,” he agreed. “I especially liked dancing with you, Miss Clemens.”

  She blushed, which pleased him, for it reminded him of how easily he affected her. She had not blushed a single time while dancing or conversing with Mr. Partridge. Caleb had paid close attention.

  “You must have attended many such events before, considering the skill with which you danced,” Mary said. “I was quite impressed.”

  “Careful now, Miss Clemens. You’re in danger of turning your compliment into an insult.” He smiled wryly, dispelling any embarrassment she might have felt in response to his comment. Leaning back, he stretched out his legs, and glanced at the door. “They're taking a really long time with the tea.”

  “Hmm...” For whatever absurd reason, he wanted to change the subject, and she decided to let him. “I'll see what’s keeping them.” She stood and crossed the floor. “I won't be long.”

  He snorted as she opened the door, and when she stepped out into the chilly hallway, she heard him say, “I've heard that before.”

  Grinning, she hurried into the kitchen where she found Cassandra and Emily deep in conversation.

  “— there were someone like that for me,” Emily said. “Not that I...Oh! Mary!”

  “I see you are both enjoying your tea,” Mary said directing a look at the two half-empty cups on the counter.

  Cassandra bit her lip. “We thought you might like some time alone with Mr. Crawford.”

  “Really?” Marching forward, Mary picked up the tray they'd prepared and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

  Both women glanced at each other and promptly downed the remainder of their tea. “It has been a long day,” Emily said. She stretched and rubbed her back.

  “It certainly has,” Cassandra agreed with a yawn. “I think I'm off to bed.”

  Mary stared at the pair of them. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Good night, Mary,” Emily said, passing her on her way to the door.

  “I can see right through you. You're so transparent,” Mary called after her as she disappeared into the hallway.

  “Enjoy your tea,” Cassandra said as she, too, headed for the door. “And please apologize to Mr. Crawford for our inability to join the two of you.”

  “I shall do no such thing,” Mary told Cassandra's back.

  Her friend merely laughed while she hurried off, leaving Mary alone in the kitchen with a tea tray in her hands. Sighing, she walked back to the parlor, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  “What happened to Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra?” Mr. Crawford asked when it became clear that the two would not be joining them.

  “They're being held for treason,” she said and set the tray on the table before him.

  He grinned. “Indeed. On what grounds, if I may ask?”

  Picking up the teapot, Mary proceeded to pour Mr. Crawford a cup. “Conspiracy to cause a scandal.”

  “How intriguing.” He sipped his tea while she filled a cup for herself. “What sort of scandal are we talking about exactly?”

  “What do you think?” Her voice was testier than she'd intended, and her hand shook because of her over strained nerves, causing her to spill a few drops.

  “I'm hoping it's the sort that will give me the chance to kiss you.”

  Her head shot up, her gaze locking with his. “Mr. Crawford!” Good grief, her face was probably hot enough to roast a chicken if she stood close enough to it.

  The cheeky man simply smiled with all the rakish charm in the world. “Tell me you haven't thought about it, and I shall apologize straight away for offending your sensibilities.”

  Mary swallowed. Rendered speechless and completely immobile, she searched her mind for an appropriate response. And failed, because to deny it would be dishonest, and she wasn't a liar.

  Mr. Crawford's smile broadened with und
erstanding. He patted the spot beside him on the sofa. “Come sit with me, Miss Clemens, and let us enjoy our tea.”

  Mary eyed him warily. The way his eyes glittered when he said, “Let us enjoy our tea,” made her wonder if it might be a euphemism for something else.

  In a way she hoped so, but at the same time she feared for her heart. And yet, if it were a choice between one kiss with Mr. Crawford and no kiss at all, would it not be better to know what it was to enjoy such intimacy with him—if only one time?

  Making her choice, Mary picked up her cup and went to sit beside him. She took a long sip of her tea, savoring the soothing effect of the hot liquid as it slid down her throat and warmed her insides.

  “I'm afraid of where this will lead,” she confessed when he took her cup from her trembling hands and set it aside. But the real truth was she feared where it wouldn't lead because he had no intention of staying.

  “Where would you like for it to lead?” he asked as he raised her hand to his lips and proceeded to kiss every knuckle.

  “I...” Her breath caught as sensation took hold, scorching her skin in the best way possible. “I’m not sure.”

  “Mary,” he said, the unexpected use of her given name forging a closeness she'd never experienced with anyone else before. “There are things I must tell you – things about me you're not going to like.”

  “Such as?”

  He stared down at their joined hands. “I'm not who you think me to be.”

  She'd no idea what he was talking about, but it certainly wasn't getting her that kiss she now wanted more desperately than she did her next breath.

  So she twisted around in her seat and faced him.

  Leaning in, she raised her hand to his cheek. “You're a kind, thoughtful, hardworking man, Mr. Crawford. Whatever you may have done before I met you, please know that it will have no bearing on my high regard for you.”

  “I could be a criminal,” he warned.

  She smiled and shook her head with conviction. “That's impossible.”

  But maybe he had a fiancée he’d promised himself to. If that were the case, she didn't want to know, because once she did, she would have to walk away and never look back. And since that wasn't what she wanted to do, she closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his.

  Stunned by her unexpected forwardness, which had in effect prevented him from confessing, Caleb sat completely immobile for a moment while options and their potential outcome played out in his head. But then her mouth moved against his, and whatever hope there had been of easing her away and insisting she listen to him first was outweighed by the need to reciprocate.

  So he wound his arms around her and pulled her roughly against him, using her stunned little gasp to deepen the kiss in the most provocative way. Groaning in response, he pressed his hand against her back and held her to him. Her mouth was sweet and delicious, her body so soft and pliable it threatened to make him go mad. Hell, he was half mad already, the feel of her fingers threading through his hair inciting a want beyond any he’d ever experienced before. It brought every wicked fantasy he’d had about her these past few weeks into sharp focus.

  Her skill was not what he would have expected, considering this wasn’t her first kiss. It was innocently hesitant, which made him wonder what his brother had been thinking, even as he took pleasure in knowing that the two had not shared a wild passion-infused experience. It had not been like this, that was for sure, and the added information only made his heart beat faster.

  Drawing her lower lip between his teeth, he nipped at the tender piece of flesh and delighted in the faint little moan of pleasure she made. She was just as desperate as he, following his lead and responding in kind until she drove him to distraction.

  “Mary,” he murmured against her jaw before kissing his way down the column of her neck.

  “Yes,” she murmured. She dug her fingertips into his scalp and arched against him, offering herself to his ministrations.

  Tight with need, Caleb pressed his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. His breaths were coming hard and fast, his blood roaring through his veins in furious pursuit of more. Christ, she was beautiful, but she was also innocent and respectable and he could not – would not – take that from her.

  Not until they were married.

  He kissed his way down to the swell of her breasts and licked the edge of her décolletage. A devilish grin pulled at his lips when he heard her whisper his name. Marriage had been a vague idea lately, enhanced by his increased fondness for her. Now, after tasting her like this, it had become a necessary course of action from which he could not retreat.

  She shifted closer, her body increasingly restless as she pushed against him with greater fervor. His mouth found hers once more, kissing her as if he were drowning and she were his lifeline, as if he’d just crossed the desert and she were the water that would quench his thirst. Her hands slid down his neck and across his shoulders as they moved to his front. And then they were delving beneath his jacket, her fingers working the buttons of his waistcoat.

  Caleb caught her wrist and leaned back, undone in a heartbeat by her dazed expression and kiss-bruised lips. Her hair was partially down, with several loose tendrils falling softly against her cheeks. She looked so delicious and ready for more that he almost wanted to die, knowing he could not allow it.

  “We mustn’t,” he told her even as his brain screamed for him to ignore his conscience and play the scoundrel.

  “But…” Her voice was so bloody sensual, he feared he’d embarrass himself in the worst way possible. “I just want to touch you.”

  Oh God!

  Of all the things she could have said.

  Taking a moment, Caleb closed his eyes and fought for some measure of deeply held control. “If you do,” he told her carefully, “there will be no stopping me, Mary. I will want more. A lot more. Do you understand?”

  She was quiet for a while. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.” Leaning forward she pressed her mouth to his once more and then whispered against his lips, “I want the same thing.”

  He would deserve a medal one day for turning away such a wonderful offer. But he had to, for her sake, because he knew she did not know what she asked for. Not when the plainest kiss with his brother had managed to break her heart. If he were to bed her before she knew the truth about him, there was no telling what that would do to her.

  “Not here,” he said, searching his brain for a way to dissuade her. “I will not be the man who takes your innocence on the parlor sofa in a fit of passion, Mary. You deserve better than that.”

  She flinched and drew away slightly. Giving her attention to the floor, she quietly said, “This isn’t a decision I made lightly, but I am looking at a life devoid of passion. All I wanted was to experience every possible facet of it at least once. With you. So to say I deserve better is absolute rubbish, Caleb, for there will be nothing better for me.”

  Her voice shook with emotion and to his dismay, she swiped at her cheeks with the palms of her hands. Damn him, if he hadn’t just hurt her anyway by trying to do the honorable thing. She stood before he was ready for her to do so, before he could think of the right thing to say. And then she was at the door, her hand poised on the handle.

  “Thank you for the kisses. They’re the best I’ve ever known.”

  “Mary.” He was on his feet and moving toward her, desperate to get her back in his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you. Surely you must realize that. But my regard for you—”

  A sob had her looking away from him. “I’m too proper for a casual bit of sport, aren’t I?”

  “It’s more than casual. This is your innocence we’re talking about.”

  She looked at him with watery eyes, and Caleb’s gut wrenched in response. “And I would happily give it to you,” she said fiercely, “if only to know what a night in your arms might be like.”

  “Mary…” Words failed him.

  “Good night,” she said as she
pushed down on the handle and opened the door. “I trust you can let yourself out.”

  And then she was gone, leaving Caleb with a sinking feeling deep in his chest. He glanced at the sofa where passion had reigned for a few glorious minutes. Raking his hand through his hair, he turned away from it and made his way out to the kitchen and back to his cottage. Tomorrow he’d give her the explanation she deserved and hope she’d still speak to him after.

  11

  How could she ever face Mr. Crawford again? The question pressed on Mary's mind when she woke the next morning and recalled what had happened between them. The way he'd kissed her had made her previous experience with Wrenwick seem unschooled and immature. Even now, her body thrummed with the memory of Mr. Crawford's touch. The way his mouth had moved across her skin, gentle yet somehow aggressive as well, had been intoxicating. He'd called to the wanton inside her, a creature she'd not even known existed, and she had answered by offering herself to him in the most elemental way possible.

  Groaning, Mary flung one arm over her face. Because rather than accept, he'd told her she deserved better, which was just another way of saying he wasn't interested in that, most likely because he didn't want the attachment such intimacy usually led to.

  She'd thought of telling him she'd make no demands, that no matter what happened he'd have no obligation toward her or any potential child. But by then the amorous mood had cooled, and the idea of tackling such details had seemed exhausting.

  A knock sounded at the door. Suspecting who it was, Mary answered with a groan.

  “I brought you a cup of tea,” Cassandra said.

  Mary listened to the sound of her friend closing the door and crossing the floor. The bed dipped moments later, and Mary peeked out from under her arm and met Cassandra's gaze.