No Ordinary Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “You needn’t worry. It is not the first time he’s had to endure a storm and it probably won’t be the last, but it helps to remind him that I am close by and that he isn’t alone.”

  Taking another sip of her tea she glanced toward him and almost choked. “What…?” she sputtered and coughed at the sight of him holding his breeches and smalls in one hand while keeping the blanket in place with the other.

  “You said I had to avoid wetting the upholstery,” he said as he hung the pieces of clothing over the fireplace screen next to his shirt and hose.

  “Well, yes,” she somehow managed to say without stammering or squeaking, “but I didn’t expect you to get completely undressed while I’m here with you.” The notion of him wearing nothing at all beneath the blanket was simply too scandalous to contemplate. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t see anything. The knowing itself was enough to put her in a muddled state from which she feared there could be no escape, because now that her mind had ventured down that particular path, she could not stop herself from trying to form a complete image of what she might see if he suddenly dropped the blanket completely.

  “Do you ever miss your family, Miss Clemens?”

  His unexpected question, coming seemingly out of nowhere, disrupted her indecent thoughts. Blinking, she lowered herself to one of the armchairs. “My family?”

  “Do you ever think of trying to repair your relationship?”

  “I used to,” she said. Shifting in her seat, she made herself more comfortable and took another sip of her tea. “After my anger toward my parents had passed, I considered returning to London for a visit. But then I thought of my younger sisters and the reason my parents banished me in the first place, which was to protect their reputations by adding distance, and I ended up staying away instead.”

  He took a seat opposite her, and for a brief moment, Mary’s discomfort returned at the sight of the blanket parting in order to make space for his legs. But then he asked, “Did they never write to you in all these years?”

  Sadness swept in and she quietly shook her head. “I don’t believe they know where I am, and even if they did, I doubt they would want to associate with me in any way.”

  Mr. Crawford frowned. “I find that a very harsh punishment, based on what you have told me with regard to what happened.”

  “In their minds I was entirely to blame. I brought shame to them and the rest of my family. Getting rid of me was the only thing that made sense to them, I think.”

  “I hope I meet them one day,” he muttered. “And if I were them, I’d hope the opposite.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you, but I have made my peace with that part of my life, and I have come to accept that I will never again be the woman I once was. I’ve experienced too much.”

  He watched her closely, intensely, until her skin pricked with awareness. “I think you’re probably a better person for it.”

  “You believe challenges improve a person’s character.” Not a question but an observation.

  “I have no doubt that it did so for me,” he said. He drew the blanket tighter and reached for his tea. “As angry as I was with my father when I left home, I was also young and inexperienced, with the kind of cocksure confidence only youth can give you.” His lips slanted as he took a sip of his tea. “I raced off to France, certain I’d find someone there who’d love the drawings of houses I wanted to build and hire me straight away. Instead, I was told my ideas were pointless without the necessary experience to realize them – that presenting a mere drawing of an idea to a group of builders would likely lead to an unstable structure.”

  “So what did you do?”

  He grinned. “Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to England and face my father’s patronizing glare. So I took a job with a bricklayer first, then with a carpenter who specialized in making window frames, doors, and roofing materials. After a couple of years I began an apprenticeship with a builder who worked on the sort of houses I had designed. He taught me most of what I know today. Also gave me the chance I so desperately longed for to make my own vision a reality.”

  “He sounds like a good man.”

  “He’s one of the best,” Mr. Crawford whispered. The tension in his blanket had eased a little, making it sag in the middle to show off more of his chest.

  Mary tried not to look. She liked the comfortable repartee they’d been enjoying these past few minutes and didn’t want anything to disrupt it. So she decided to ask a question of her own. “Besides building houses, fixing roofs, and carving fishing rods for little boys, what other things do you enjoy doing?”

  He stared back at her from across the small distance between them, and Mary could feel her blood heat in response to the fire now burning in his eyes. “Spending time with you,” he said as if any other answer would be absurd.

  Warmth filled her heart, and a grin traced her lips. Sinking back against her chair, she nudged him playfully with the tip of her shoe. “Besides that,” she said, shoving aside all physical response to that comment. The only way she’d survive staying here with him dressed only in a blanket was if the tone remained light and friendly.

  Thoughtfulness creased his brow. “History has always interested me. I'm fascinated by the people who came before us and by their incredible accomplishments. Just take the pyramids, for instance; the Viking expeditions to Greenland; or battles fought by the Romans. There's a wealth of knowledge to be found in the past, Miss Clemens. I always grab any chance I get to learn more.”

  “You should take a closer look at our library then. We've a few books I'm sure you'd enjoy. Like The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. I read it myself last year and found it incredibly informative.”

  “Thank you. I'll be sure to take a look at it. And then perhaps you and I can discuss its contents.”

  “Perhaps,” Mary said. She finished her tea and returned her cup to the tray before rising. “I wish you a good night, Mr. Crawford.”

  He stood as well and adjusted the blanket, drawing it tight around his torso. “Same to you, Miss Clemens.” His voice was low and sultry. Desperate to resist it, Mary went to the door while hot little embers skittered along her limbs. “Thank you for the tea and blanket.”

  “You're welcome,” she said without daring to look at him again, because she saw where this ended now, and while part of her yearned for his kiss and everything else he was willing to give her, another part screamed in protest, too loud to be ignored.

  7

  To say he'd slept comfortably on the narrow sofa that was roughly a foot shorter than his body would be a lie, but he did stay warm and he did wake up with the most delightful memory of Miss Clemens's flustered response to his state of undress the night before.

  He grinned as he recalled the shock in her eyes when she'd realized he was naked beneath the blanket. Her entire face had turned red. But there had been interest too, a flare of curiosity she'd valiantly tried to hide by affecting a serious tone.

  Ah, but he longed to discover the depth of her passion, to be the man who stoked her desire. But then he'd have to marry her because that was what she deserved. So he had to ask himself if he were really prepared for that. Did he know her well enough? She certainly didn't know him, and if she ever did, would she accept him for who he was?

  He had no answers but he knew one thing: His parents had married for practical reasons, for duty and convenience, and they'd been mostly estranged from each other. Caleb didn't want that for himself. When he married, if he married, he wanted it to be to a woman who would be his friend, companion, and lover.

  An image of Miss Clemens stole into his mind, and he immediately stood, eager to get on with the day, assess the damage the storm had caused, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the woman who’d somehow managed to possess his every thought.

  When he discovered she'd not yet risen, he went outside to check on his horse. Apollo whinnied when he saw him approach and greedily accepted the carrots Caleb offered. Untyi
ng Apollo, he led him to a grassy patch so the horse could enjoy a good breakfast while Caleb inspected potential damage to the house.

  To his relief, it was minimal. A couple of tiles had blown off the roof, but he'd been planning to remove them anyway. And a shutter had been torn off its hinges. Caleb found it some distance away on the ground and with both of its hinges missing.

  By the time he finished fixing it, he learned that Miss Clemens had risen, eaten her breakfast, and gone for a walk. Since she'd not come to greet him, he could only surmise that she wished to avoid him right now.

  “I need to ride into the village,” he told Miss Howard, who was giving the children handwriting lessons. “Is there anything you need?”

  “Not really. The butcher will be stopping by tomorrow with our weekly supplies, but Miss Clemens does enjoy the strawberry tarts from Wilson's Bakery. If you were to purchase one for her, I believe she'd be very grateful.”

  Caleb grinned on account of the woman's transparency and promised to keep that in mind. But he'd have to be careful how he went about the purchase since offering gifts to a woman was not deemed appropriate unless it constituted flowers. And even then it would be assumed that intentions were being announced.

  In the end, he solved the problem by buying strawberry tarts for everyone even if it did seem like an extravagant gesture for a mere laborer, but he wanted to please the children as well, just as much as Miss Clemens in fact, which was something of a curious thought.

  Carrying the box of pastries with him, he visited the tailor next. With only four days until Mr. Townsend's blasted dinner, he had to put in an order for a proper pair of trousers with shirt, vest and jacket to match.

  “I'll take this charcoal-colored wool,” he told the tailor, deliberately selecting a fabric that wasn't too costly or cheap. “And this black satin for the lining.”

  “That will be twenty pounds, sir,” the tailor said after taking Caleb's measurements.

  Caleb promptly produced the necessary sum. “It's a good thing I just got paid then, isn't it,” he said to avoid any gossip about a laborer with enough blunt to splurge on a brand new outfit. That was the last thing he needed if he wanted to maintain anonymity. Which he did since the alternative was to have the world intrude upon his privacy with the exact same problems he'd come here to escape.

  The strawberry tarts were well received by everyone. Caleb laughed at the sight of the children’s eyes as they took in the treats and at their custard-covered mouths once they’d each had a bite. Miss Clemens, he noted, smiled with pleasure as she consumed her tart as if it were the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

  “I also like going for long leisurely walks,” he told her later that day when he found her alone in the garden. She was adding fir branches around the base of the rosebushes next to the house in preparation for winter. Hearing him, she looked up from her crouched position, her expression slightly tense as if she weren’t sure whether to stay where she was or run. “Being out in the middle of nature comforts my soul.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she quietly asked.

  “Because you inquired about my interests, and I only mentioned history. But I enjoy a variety of different things, like chess and whist, provided I have a decent opponent, Gothic novels, especially those written by Ann Radcliffe, and gardening to some extent. In France I had a small vegetable and herb box outside my kitchen door. I used to love taking care of the plants and watching them grow.”

  “Forgive me,” she said as she straightened herself and peered up at him, “but did you just say that your interests include Ann Radcliffe?”

  “I’m a complex man, Miss Clemens,” he said with a shrug.

  He added a smile and she laughed as expected, her entire face glowing with unrestrained humor. “Indeed it would seem that you are,” she said. “How very unexpected.”

  “Because I’m a man?”

  “Well…yes…I suppose so, though I hate to admit it. After all, Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels are romantic in nature, and her female characters do tend to dominate her stories, taking on the primary roles traditionally held by male characters.”

  “Yes. But I enjoy her novels because of the psychological suspense, the supernatural elements, and fast-paced action. She’s an excellent author. My only regret is the limited number of novels she’s written, for I have read them all numerous times.”

  She bit her lip and hesitated briefly before saying, “I must confess I rather enjoyed The Mysteries of Udolpho. That castle gave me chills and had me looking over my shoulder a few times while reading.”

  Caleb grinned. “I know. There’s the bolted door that somehow opens in the middle of the night, strange voices, and even a ghostly apparition. I couldn’t put the book down the first time I read it.”

  “There are similar elements in Northanger Abbey.”

  “Yes, but that novel focuses more heavily on the romantic relationship between the main characters while the mystery hovers in the background.” He pondered that statement for a second. “What I love about Ann Radcliffe is the balance between the two. I never really felt as though I was reading a romance novel. It was more of an adventure story for me.”

  “I hope you won’t take offence to this, but I’m surprised by how well-read you are. Books aren’t cheap, and well…you didn’t go to university so—”

  “Why would you think that?”

  She stared at him, and he knew he’d said too much, but he didn’t want her forming inaccurate opinions about his level of intellect. More importantly, he wanted her to view him as her social equal.

  “I…er…I confess your choice of profession led me to believe you hadn’t completed any higher levels of education.” Her embarrassment was clear in the tiny frown puckering the skin between her eyebrows and the way she pressed her lips together.

  Leaning in, he inhaled the sweet scent of rosewater clinging to her skin. “People are often more than they appear on the surface, Miss Clemens. Also, one doesn’t have to have attended university in order to be well read, but I do happen to have done so for a couple of years. I studied architecture, as a matter of fact.”

  She gaped at him. “But that must have cost your family a fortune!”

  “It did.” He leaned back so he could study her face more easily. She was clearly having trouble understanding who he was and where he belonged in the world. “You’ve made a lot of assumptions. For one, you immediately believed I was poor because I choose to work with my hands outside in all manner of weather. But don’t forget, Viscount Aldridge is my friend.”

  He was treading dangerously close to the truth right now, and although he was tempted to confess it, he also knew doing so would make her loathe him. Which was something he wasn’t prepared to allow. Not when he enjoyed her company as much as he did. And not when he had no duty toward her beyond the bounds of friendship.

  If he kissed her however…

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and he drew a shuddering breath. If he surrendered to that temptation, he’d have to tell her everything. That sort of intimacy demanded the truth. Which was yet another reason to keep some distance between them.

  “Are you saying you’re gentry?”

  “I’m not saying anything at all, Miss Clemens, besides the fact that there’s more to me than meets the eye. Which is also true about you. Tell me, what are your interests, besides the children you care for and your friendships with Lady Cassandra and Miss Howard?” Crouching down, he grabbed some fir from a nearby pile and proceeded to place it as he’d seen her do.

  She joined him momentarily and together they worked for a number of seconds before she said, “I enjoy nature walks for the same reason you mentioned earlier. But I prefer Miss Austen’s works to Mrs. Radcliffe’s, and as far as her works go, I favor Pride and Prejudice.”

  “I haven’t read that novel,” Caleb said while patting down the fir around the base of one rosebush. “But if it is your favorite, I shall have to give it a try.” He glanced acro
ss at her and was briefly distracted by the loose tendrils of hair brushing her cheek. His fingers itched to tuck them behind her ear and savor the brief contact such intimacy would afford. He cleared his throat. “If you have a copy, I’d like to borrow it if I may.”

  She darted a look in his direction and suddenly smiled. “Of course, Mr. Crawford, though I must warn you that it is a very romantic read. It will not satisfy your appetite for the ghoulish.”

  “Is there at least some amusing dialogue?”

  “Certainly there is. Miss Austen wrote with both intelligence and wit. Her stories also have the most wonderful endings, oftentimes with some poor impoverished woman marrying the wealthy man she never thought she could have.”

  Caleb could see why such stories would appeal to Miss Clemens. They provided her with the happily-ever-after she herself had been denied. Placing the final piece of fir in the flowerbed, Caleb stood and brushed off his hands before offering Miss Clemens his hand. She accepted it and he pulled her up, ever conscious of her cool palm resting securely against his much warmer one.

  “I should be finished with the roof by the end of the week,” he said, still holding her hand. “Once that is done, I’ll replace the rotted planks in the attic.”

  “How long do you expect that to take?”

  He swallowed and tightened his hold on her hand. “Another couple of weeks, I should think.”

  “And then you’ll be gone.” She dipped her head, refusing to meet his gaze, but her voice cracked on the last two words, and his heart broke in response.

  Without even thinking, he pulled her into his arms and held her to him. “I have to,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again.”

  “Of course,” she murmured against his chest.

  Her warm breath whispered through him, and closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. He was a duke and she was a woman who hated nobility. So what future could they possibly have together when she would refuse any offer he made? And she’d do so in anger, with the pain of knowing he’d deceived her – something he never would have done if he’d known from the start how fond he’d become of her. But it was too late now. He’d led her to believe he was just an ordinary man, and he’d done so for weeks.