“Clayton,” she called after him in her most authoritative tone.
Blast.No one called him that but his mother. He spun on his heel, facing her once more. “Yes, madam?”
She smiled. “Be happy. You deserve it. The three of you are a family, and you belong together. Don’t tarry. Life is too short, too precarious. Far too precious.”
Damn it, those words hit him, poking beneath his armor to find the most vulnerable parts of him. Because she was right. Every bit of it. But he didn’t know what to do next or how to find his happiness after so many years living without it. All he knew was that he wanted Ara as his wife. He wanted the life together they had been denied.
He nodded jerkily and offered her a half bow, all he could manage. “That it is, Mother. Life is entirely too abbreviated. I can only assure you that I will do as I must, when I must. I will be a part of the lad’s life going forward. I will have him know I am his father when the time is right. As for the lad’s mother, that remains to be seen. Good day, Mother, I really must attend to my men now.”
“Of course, my son. One more thing: be brave.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ara stalked throughHarlton Hall, determined to find Clay. Already, she had checked the fledgling library—not yet brimming with books but an excellent beginning. She had examined his study, which looked as if it had never even been entered by him. She had searched in antechambers and the main saloon and everywhere she could fathom he might be hiding.
She could only reach one conclusion.
It was possible—likely, in fact—that he was avoiding her. She had spent the afternoon with Edward and Clay’s cat Sherman since Edward’s new governess, Miss Palliser, had yet to arrive from London. In the uproar before their abrupt departure from Burghly House, Ara had discovered Miss Argent kept a bottle of gin in her apartments, and that the woman had been sleeping during each of Edward’s romps from the schoolroom, suffering the ill-effects of imbibing too much the night before. She had dismissed Miss Argent immediately, but there had not been time for the woman’s replacement to accompany them on the journey to Oxfordshire.
The afternoon alone with her son had been a much-needed reminder that life could be normal for them. That it would once again return to normal for them one day, God willing. It had also proven to her that the time for telling Edward the truth was long overdue.
He needed to know Clay was his father.
When she had exhausted every last corner of Harlton Hall in search of Clay, she found herself outside. Alone. The sun was bright and high in the sky. The air was so quiet, sweetly perfumed with freshly budding fauna, and altogether distinct from London’s familiar busy sounds and lack of fresh air. Being outside was invigorating. She stretched her arms wide, threw her head back, and tilted her face to receive the sun.
And then she realized she was not alone at all.
Two of Clay’s men stood sentinel nearby.
Her brief moment of freedom was effectively dashed. But perhaps she could locate her quarry at last. She straightened into a semblance of what a proper duchess ought to look like, dropping her arms to her sides and otherwise composing herself.
“Excuse me, sirs,” she addressed them. “Where might I find Mr. Ludlow? I have an urgent matter I must discuss with him.”
Two pairs of eyes shot to her. A dark-haired man with a build similar to Clay’s—though not as large—spoke first. “He is in the copse of trees on the eastern side of the manor house, Your Grace.”
Ah, Clay was in the trees.
How fitting.
How utterly perfect.
It was where they had first met, after all, beneath the leafy boughs a lifetime ago.
She cleared her throat. “I shall go and search for him there. Thank you, kind sirs.”
“I’m afraid we can’t allow that, Your Grace,” one of the men said hesitantly.
She raised a brow, giving him her most frigid expression, daring him to deny her free will. “Oh?”
The man swallowed. “Well, perhaps we can as long as you remain within eyesight.”
“Just so,” she agreed, flicking her skirts and descending the front steps. “I will be safe with Mr. Ludlow. You need not fear on my account.”
At least, that was what she hoped.
But her legs were already moving, carrying her to Clay, her heart thumping with the knowledge she was about to lay her heart bare at his feet. And pray he didn’t crush it beneath his heel. The walk from the steps of Harlton Hall, across the gravel drive and a well-manicured swath of lawn, felt as if it were endless. Until she reached the forest and found him standing there, a tall, hulking, beloved figure, and it felt as if the journey to his side had taken no time at all.
He saw her at once, just as he had so long ago, his keen senses alert. He wore no hat and neither coat nor waistcoat, the ends of his longer-than-fashionable hair brushing his shoulders. In the cool shade of the forest, his white shirt was like a beacon stretched over his broad chest. He looked fierce and uncontainable.
