“Is that so?” He patted Sherman on the head once more, recalling the household schedule. The boy was to be ensconced with his governess in the schoolroom at this time, which strongly suggested the governess was not performing her duties. “Then he will have to be our secret, Your Grace. Now unless I am mistaken, you ought to be at your studies. Is that not right?”
The lad looked sheepish. “Yes, but Miss Argent sometimes snoozes into our Latin books, and then I come out here to the garden. You won’t tell Mama, will you?”
Clay had two men stationed on the perimeter of this side of Burghly House, but he did not like the thought of the lad wandering about unchaperoned. What the devil was his governess doing falling asleep in the midst of his studies, anyway?
“From now on when you wish to venture into the garden, find me and I shall accompany you,” he offered.
“The bad men will not come to our gardens, will they, Mr. Ludlow?” the lad asked, his face ashen.
The boy’s question brought a lump to his throat. He did not want to like this boy, who was half Ara and half another man, and yet he did. No young child should have to fear for his safety in his own home.
He met the boy’s gaze, so like his mother’s. “Not while I am here, Your Grace. Now come. We must return Sherman to my apartments before he is spotted by your mama, and we must also return you to your studies.”
“Very well, Mr. Ludlow. I suppose I have been outside taking the air long enough.”
Clay scooped his cat into his arms.
Devil take it, what was that infernal warmth blossoming in his chest?
This will not do. It will not do at all.
Chapter Six
Eight years earlier
There she stood,illuminated in the beam of light filtering through the tree boughs overhead so her hair glowed with fire. Her hat dangled from her fingers, suspended by trailing satin ribbons, and she wore no gloves. Her riding habit was vibrant blue. She looked like a goddess fashioned of ice and fire.
Clay knew damn well he never should have returned for her. He should have left her here, knowing inevitably there would come a day when she no longer waited for him and she would move on with her life. She would find a gentleman who was worthy of her, one who was suitable for her to wed. Some earl or duke. Perhaps the heir apparent. A man who could give her jewels and silk gowns. Who could escort her to the most fashionable balls and soirees.
But he was selfish. He wanted her more than he wanted to take his next breath. And so, he had come back to their meeting place deep in the forest connecting her father’s estate to his, hoping she would be there at the appointed time, as always. He could not halt his forward motion now. He was like a cannonball shot from a gun, speeding his way to her, hell-bent upon destruction.
Her destruction. His.
He was not the man for her. But his heart was stubborn, and it damn well refused to listen to his head. Here he was, hers for the taking even though he knew it was wrong.
“Clay,” she murmured when she saw him, opening her arms and running to meet him.
He caught her against him, burying his face in her sweetly fragrant locks as she pressed hers to his neck. Nothing smelled as lovely as Ara, warm and soft and sun-kissed, rose blossoms, woman, everything forbidden. Everything he had ever wanted and never dared to dream could be his. It had only been one day since she had kissed him, and it had felt as if a lifetime had passed.
How could he ever bear to let her go when it seemed as if she was the other half of him?
Something hard and small distracted him then, a sharp corner cutting into his thigh.What the devil?It seemed to be coming from her dress.
“What are you hiding in your skirts, Ara?” he could not resist asking.
“Oh!” Flushing and sending him a coy smile as she stepped back from his embrace, she reached into a hidden pocket in her gown and extracted a small, red leather volume. “This is for you, Clay.”
Warmth suffused him as he accepted the book. No lady of his acquaintance had ever given him a gift before. He looked down at the volume in his hands. “Poems.”
“These are not just any poems.” Her smile widened to reveal a slight dimple in her left cheek. “This book is from my favorite collection. There are two volumes. Now you will have the first volume, and I shall have the second. Two pieces that go together.”
His heart thumped as he opened the cover and read the inscription she had left for him.To Clay from Your Ara. When you are ready for Volume II, you know where to find it.Something trickled through him. His gut clenched. He looked up to find her watching him intently, her nose adorably scrunched as she awaited his verdict.
Bloody, bloody hell.
“Thank you. I have never received a more perfect gift.” He hauled her back into his arms, kissing her crown. “Ara. My sweet, foolish Ara. Why did you come back when I told you I am not the man for you?”
“Why did you?” she returned.
