No Ordinary Duke: The Crawfords

by Barnes, Sophie

“You are up early,” he told his brother as he pulled out a chair and took his seat.

  “Good morning to you too, Caleb,” Griffin muttered while chewing his food. He took a quick sip of coffee to wash it down before saying, “You’re looking very crisp today.”

  “And so he should,” the duchess said. “If he is to win Miss Clemens, effort must be made.” She caught Caleb’s eye. “Have you decided where to take her for your outing?”

  Caleb poured himself a hot cup of tea and reached for the toast. “I’ve a few places in mind.” For some odd reason, he didn’t want to share the specifics, except when it came to his choice of restaurant. “I’m thinking of The Grotto for luncheon.”

  “Oh, she will love that, I’m sure,” the duchess exclaimed. “It’s so romantic.”

  “As I recall,” Griffin drawled, “there’s a private corner behind the stairs. I took a young widow there years ago. It was very secluded and perfect for—”

  Caleb cleared his throat and gave his brother a pointed look, reminding him that their mother was present and might not want to hear of her son’s liaisons. He knew the spot he referred to and had already booked a table there.

  “That list I prepared for you, Caleb,” the duchess began while drumming her fingers lightly next to her plate. “Perhaps I can use it after all, for Griffin’s benefit.”

  “What an excellent idea, Mama.” Caleb grinned. It was high time his brother got a feel for some of the pressure he’d been forced to endure since becoming a duke. “I’m sure there’s a lady on it who will suit him perfectly.”

  “What list?” Griffin asked with undeniable alarm. “A lady suited for what, exactly?”

  “Marriage, dear brother,” Caleb said without bothering to hide his amusement. “Mama has made a painstaking selection of the best potential brides in the land.”

  “Then you should pick one,” Griffin croaked. He looked as though his cravat was cutting off blood to his head.

  “But I am to marry Miss Clemens,” Caleb explained. He was enjoying this. It reminded him of when they were lads and they used to prank each other. Before they’d fallen out with their father and gone off in separate directions.

  “That has yet to be determined,” Griffin said. He’d bolstered himself and was now firing back. At the head of the table, their mother hid a mischievous smile behind her teacup. “She might refuse you, so you may want to wait on handing that list to someone else.”

  Caleb’s smile faded. “If I cannot have Miss Clemens, I will not marry at all.” He looked up with a sudden spark of inspiration. “So there will be all the more reason for you to do so, Griffin, since your son could be my heir.”

  “My son?” Griffin sputtered.

  “Stop it,” the duchess demanded, though she did so with laughter in her voice. “You will both marry in due course, of that I can assure you.”

  Caleb noted that he wasn’t the only one glowering at her. “Being married is the unhappiest state a person can be in, Mama,” Griffin said. “Just consider yourself and Papa.”

  The words were out before Caleb could manage to kick his brother or toss a napkin at him or do something to halt the hurtful words. Shaking his head disapprovingly, he looked at the duchess, whose humorous expression had faded into shadowy lines. “You are right. We were miserable with each other. Your father kept countless mistresses over the years while I…” She pressed her lips together and gave both her sons a devastated look. “I was gifted with four wonderful boys and for that reason alone, I do not regret marrying him for a second. We might not have understood each other very well, but becoming a parent was worth every sacrifice.

  “What I want for you most of all is for you to know the joy of holding your own child in your arms and marveling over the miracle of life. It is the most remarkable thing in the world, and if you are fortunate enough to experience it with someone you care for, then you will have gained more wealth in this lifetime than would ever fit in the Camberly coffers.”

  The duchess had clearly changed her opinion on marriage in recent weeks. It occurred to Caleb that her love for him and desire to see him happy had a lot to do with this, so he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze in a silent conveyance of affection.

  A moment of comfortable silence passed between them, until Griffin spoke. “You do realize a man can father a child without having to get himself leg-shackled, do you not?”

  “Griffin Nathaniel Finnegan Crawford,” the duchess said in the most authoritative tone Caleb had heard her use since his childhood. A shudder went through him, and when he glanced at his brother, it appeared as though he was shrinking. “You will not suggest such things while under this roof, nor will you think it. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Griffin said with a downcast gaze. “I beg your forgiveness, Mama.”

  The duchess heaved in a lungful of air which had the effect of increasing her height by at least one inch. “It is almost nine.” She looked at Caleb. “I suggest you finish eating so you can be on your way.”

  Caleb downed the remainder of his tea and stood. Griffin apparently intended to follow, but the duchess reached out and grabbed his hand. “Stay,” she said, forcing Griffin back into his chair.

  He gave Caleb a helpless look of desperation that begged for his interference. Instead, Caleb went to the door, wished them both a wonderful day, and left the pair to discuss whatever it was they would be discussing. Caleb no longer cared. He was far more interested in courting Miss Clemens.

  After a quick stop at a nearby hothouse, Caleb arrived at Clemens House exactly five minutes before ten o’clock and was granted entry by the butler.

  “Look who it is,” Peter called, spotting him from the top of the stairs and storming down them to fling his arms tight around Caleb’s waist. Thankfully, Caleb had the foresight to raise the bouquet of flowers he’d brought above his head so they wouldn’t be crushed.

  “Mr. Crawford!” Another pair of arms wrapped around one of his legs, and although he could not see the imp, he recognized the voice as Daphne’s. The rest of the children were soon upon him as well, hugging him from all sides while the butler made a hopeless attempt at reinstating order.

  “Good heavens,” the older and far more mature voice belonging to Mrs. Clemens exclaimed. “Leave His Grace alone. The poor man can barely move!”

  Laughter followed and Caleb glanced toward the stairs where Mary now stood assessing the scene. Dressed in a lilac gown with lace and satin trimmings, she looked both expensive and enticing, like a box of caramels from Gunter’s Tea Shop, just waiting to be unwrapped and savored. But most of all, it was her dancing eyes and joyful smile that drew him.

  Christ, she was beautiful, and God, how he wanted to prove himself worthy. He could not muck up this second chance she’d allowed him, or he’d never forgive himself for it.

  Returning his attention to the little beasts clinging to him, he pinched the nearest one within reach. Bridget squealed and leapt right off him, allowing better access to the rest of the brood, who giggled and screamed as he tickled them each without remorse until they acknowledged defeat and retreated to another part of the house with Mrs. Clemens close on their heels. The butler, who looked unsure about how to handle the ruckus, excused himself and vanished through a nearby doorway.

  “They adore you,” Mary said. She’d reached the bottom of the stairs and was now gazing up at him with inquisitive eyes. She pursed her lips in a teasing way that rendered him utterly speechless. “I wonder why.”

  Intent on affecting her just as viscerally as she affected him, he took a step forward so his chest could graze her breasts as he leaned in to whisper, “They recognize a fellow troublemaker when they see one, Miss Clemens.” Inhaling deeply, he allowed her scent to stir his blood without the slightest remorse.

  He stepped back in case someone happened to chance upon their scandalous closeness and held up the roses he’d brought along with him. “These are for you,” he said, appreciating her dazed expression and
lovely pink cheeks.

  Blinking, she accepted the offering and excused herself for a moment so she could hand them over to a maid. When she returned, she’d managed to regain her composure, which Caleb appreciated since he could not wait to make her lose it all over again.

  “Will you be bringing a chaperone with you?” he asked for the sole purpose of taking her reputation into account.

  She bit her lip. “I asked Mama if she thought it necessary, and she has insisted that a woman of my age and situation does not require looking after with the same sort of diligence a debutante would.” Twitching her nose in the most adorable way, she pensively added, “I believe she wishes to allow you every opportunity you require in order to convince me to marry you.”

  Caleb decided he was starting to like Mrs. Clemens immensely. Next time he called, he’d bring roses for her as well. “A fine plan if you ask me,” he said and offered his arm. As he led her through the front door and out to the awaiting carriage, he quietly murmured, “One I’m more than ready to execute to the best of my abilities.”

  She sucked in an audible breath, and Caleb’s body tightened in response to the sensual sound. Hell and damnation, they’d only just started their day together, and already she had him wondering how much she would protest if he chose to abandon his carefully crafted plan to court her and simply whisked her off to a bedroom somewhere.

  “Mr. Crawford?”

  Caleb blinked and realized he must have handed her up into the conveyance without even noticing. Shaking his head to dislodge the dazed effect she’d had on him, he climbed up and took the opposite bench as propriety demanded. But it wasn’t all bad, for although he was too far away to touch her except with his foot, he could now take his time to admire her face, her hair, the perfect slope of her neck where it joined with her shoulder, the swell of her breasts, and her narrow waist.

  Setting his hat beside him, he cleared his throat, crossed his legs, and prayed he’d survive the day.

  “I like your carriage,” she said while looking out the window at the buildings they were passing. “It is very grand, is it not?”

  “My father commissioned it,” Caleb said. “He loved flaunting his title with material things.”

  “And you don’t?” She shifted her gaze to him, and he saw she was genuinely curious to know his answer.

  “I find there are more important things in life than carriages with silk velvet seats and gilded trimmings.” Placing the palm of his hand on the bench, he stroked the plush surface with his thumb. Deliberately lowering his voice to an intimate tone, he said, “Like you, for instance. I would sell everything I own if that were the price you demanded of me.”

  “Would you really?” Just a whispered question with the promise of complete surrender.

  He halted the movement he was making. “I am still the same man who pulled rotted floorboards out of the Clearview attic, who helped you prepare the roses for winter, who—”

  “Crafted fishing rods for the boys and saved Raphael from what Daphne insists was certain death.” She met his gaze, and he held his breath. “But you are also a whole lot more, and that is the part that concerns me, Caleb.”

  Hope spilled through him at the sound of his given name spoken for the first time since their falling out. “I cannot rid myself of the title, Mary. I shall always be a duke, and if you marry me, you will become my duchess.” Seeing the disheartened look in her eyes, he hastened to say, “But that doesn’t mean we have to allow it to change who we are or who we want to be. If anything, the title should open a world of possibilities to us. It should allow us to choose the paths we want to follow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked too skeptical for his liking so he forged ahead. “There is no rule book demanding I must live on one of the Camberly estates. We can buy a small cottage if that is what you desire and enjoy a peaceful existence there without any servants. It could be on the Yorkshire moors, if you wish.”

  A reluctant grin teased at her lips. “The Yorkshire moors?”

  “Or anywhere else of your choosing. We can even remain at Clearview House if Lady Cassandra and Miss Howard allow it. I certainly don’t object.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but his comment must have struck her dumb for not a single word emerged. And then the carriage drew to a halt, and the door was swung open. Caleb alit and helped Mary down. She looked thoroughly befuddled, which was just as it should be.

  “Have you ever been here before?” he asked.

  She stared at him for a second, then glanced at the narrow timbered building that stood before them in the cobblestoned street. “No. I have not.”

  Pleasure surged through him, followed by eager excitement. “Wonderful,” he said, feeling much like a young boy about to show off his favorite toy to his friend. He led her toward the door and opened it for her.

  Mary stepped into the tiny foyer, and Caleb followed, brushing past her so he could address the man who welcomed them. “Two tickets please,” he said, placing the necessary entry fee on the counter.

  “What is this place?” Mary asked. She glanced about in search of a hint.

  Caleb accepted the tickets and parted a thick velvet curtain that hung to his left. “A miniature museum with miniature things,” he replied and waved her through the narrow opening.

  “How intriguing.” Mary entered the next room and immediately went to study the first thing she found on display. Leaning forward, she stared through a magnifying glass while Caleb waited for her reaction. She took a sharp breath and Caleb smiled. “There is a painting of Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper on a grain of rice, Caleb. Have you seen it? It is absolutely incredible!” She returned her attention to the rice, shifting her gaze to study the grain both with and without the magnifying glass. “I don’t know how the artist did it. I really don’t.”

  Moving toward her, Caleb stepped so close his hip touched hers. When she didn’t shy away, he glanced around to ensure that they were completely alone, and then placed his palm lightly against her waist and leaned forward over her.

  “I imagine he must have clamped it in place somehow and used very fine brushes, no more than a hair or two thick.” Leaning down further, he allowed his chest to connect with her back while his hand stroked gently against her waist.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Just trying to see.” His voice stirred the hairs at the nape of her neck, and for some bizarre reason he was tempted to lick her, right there on the sliver of skin between the collar of her pelisse and hairline.

  Instead, he pulled back and tried to slow the thunderous beat of his heart. “Look here,” he said. “There is a portrait of Henry the Eighth on a pinhead.”

  “Really?” She pushed him aside without any apology, and Caleb allowed it, both pleased and amused by her delight over the exhibit.

  “Shall we move on?” he asked moments later when she’d thoroughly perused three more items, and he’d started wondering if studying the rounded shape of her bottom each time she leaned forward might put him in physical danger. “There is an upstairs section as well.”

  She flew past him and hurried up the steps while he laughed at her exuberance. “It says this one is from China,” she called, directing him toward her. As he approached, he recognized one of his favorite pieces.

  “Impressive, isn’t it.” There was a whole village on a mountaintop carved from a piece of bone smaller than a penny.

  “It ought to be impossible,” she said. Straightening herself, she glanced around the small upstairs area. It was pristinely kept, with polished wood floors and crisp white walls. “All of this…” She struggled to find the right words and eventually shook her head in surrender.

  “It is a testament to man’s ability to accomplish whatever he sets his mind to,” Caleb said. “I have loved coming here since my nurse first brought me and my brothers years ago. I cannot have been more than six years old at the time and just as enthralled as you by the wonder o
f it all. Later, when I grew older, it gave me the courage to choose my own path – the path my father refused to allow – because I realized that if an artist could paint The Last Supper on a grain of rice, then I could bloody well go and build houses if that was what I wanted.” Reaching up, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “Anything is possible if you are determined enough, Mary. I have complete faith in that.”

  “I don’t want a cottage in Yorkshire,” she said, “and I am not sure if staying at Clearview would be right either.”

  “What do you want then?” God help him, he’d find a way to give her whatever she asked for.

  She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Do you have an estate to spare?”

  Intrigued, he slowly nodded. “I have three, as it happens.”

  “Would you consider…” She crossed her arms and started pacing while giving him the occasional glance. Caleb watched, increasingly curious to know her idea. She suddenly drew to a halt and faced him boldly. “What would you say to creating a larger sanctuary for children in need?”

  “You mean an actual orphanage?”

  “In a way. I suppose so. Yes.” She tipped up her chin and waited for him to respond.

  Caleb took a moment to do so. “I wouldn’t be opposed. In fact, I think it is a fine way of putting the dusty old edifices to some good use.”

  The smile she gave him was radiant. It threatened to knock him right off his feet. “That is good to know,” she said with an added nod to convey her approval.

  “Does that mean you might want to marry me?”

  She gave him the sultriest look he’d ever seen. “Maybe,” was her answer. Relief coupled with endless yearning fizzed in his veins. “If you ask me, that is.”

  “I plan to,” he assured her though he’d leave her guessing as to when. They descended the stairs and exited the museum. “Are you ready for luncheon?” He ushered her forward and opened the door to the carriage. “The Grotto was one of my favorite restaurants before I left England. Have you ever been?”

  “No. I cannot say I have.”