Page 29 of The Duke’s Impossible Match

“Not today. I made sure to clear my schedule. I didn’t want anything to interrupt us.”

“I suppose that is natural when a man entertains the woman he is courting,” Clara said. “May I ask what detained you yesterday?”

“It was an important delivery. A delicate antique I recently ordered. It arrived sooner than anticipated, and I needed to be present to make sure that it was handled properly.”

“I see,” Clara said, unsure how she should feel about being outranked by an antique. Gerald made another comment, but then Clara said that she preferred to work in silence.

“It is more conducive to the concentration the art demands,” she said. Gerald nodded once and then fell silent. This was a little test of hers, a way to see how devoted he was to the pretense. Would he break the silence? Would he grow restless and leave her by herself? Clara smirked to herself as she sketched. It was far easier for her to be in silence considering she had something with which to occupy herself.

However, as time passed, Gerald didn’t make any attempt to move, nor did he speak. The most he uttered was a soft, interested murmur when she made a certain stroke. It was not a particularly warm day, but Clara felt a certain prickle upon her skin. She could not escape his attention, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed that he was looking at her just as much, if not more, than her sketching.

When Clara finished, she flexed her fingers and turned her wrist around, making sure to avoid any cramp.

“There,” she said.

“My goodness, it looks wonderful. You’ve managed to capture the movement of the flowers, somehow. When I look at it, I can almost feel the wind.”

Clara beamed. “It will look even better when I have added color. Let us find the next location,” she said. They rose together, Gerald helping her with the drawings. Clara roused Agatha, who spluttered awake and nodded, yawning as she shuffled behind them.

Clara gazed at her surroundings, waiting for the perfect scene to leap out at her. It came to her attention out of the corner of her eye. Nestled between two drooping trees, their branches and leaves so dense it almost obscured the path completely, lay a narrow path.

“What’s down there?” Clara asked.

Gerald turned to follow her gaze.

“That? Oh, it’s just the old rose garden. It’s in a state of disrepair. I’ve been promised that it will be seen to, but it doesn’t seem to be a priority. I’m afraid that it’s all overgrown with thorns. I can’t think there would be much of interest to you there.”

“I’m not sure about that. Sometimes great beauty can be found in neglected places,” Clara said. Without waiting for permission, she headed off towards the path. She ducked below the branches. The path was shrouded in verdant shadows, with only glimpses of sunlight breaking through. Towards the end of the path lay a stone wall and a bridge, both of which looked in disrepair.

“Is that bridge safe?” Clara asked.

“As far as I know,” Gerald said.

Clara turned back. “Come on, Grandmother, this way.”

Agatha took one look at the bridge and shook her head. “I think I shall stay here and stand against the gnarled old tree. I feel as though we have a lot in common, don’t we?” Agatha turned towards the tree, chortling to herself as she nestled against a low branch and rested her hand against the trunk. “You go on, I can still see you from here.”

Clara and Gerald approached the bridge, which looked worse the closer they grew. It was an arching bridge that was supposed to have two wooden railings on either side, but the right-hand side had fallen off, leaving it open to the ground below.

“The river was diverted a long time ago,” Gerald said, gesturing to the empty muddy ground that had been shaped by flowing water. Beyond the bridge lay the rose garden, jagged, thorny branches twisting around with small bursts of color where the roses had bloomed.

“Perhaps it would be safer if you took my hand,” he said, offering his palm. Clara stared at it. The stubborn part of her wanted to refuse, but another part of her wanted very much to accept, and this wasn’t entirely the practical, safe side.

It was the heart that fluttered when they danced, the soul that tingled when rowing across the lake, the mind that was calm when he was sitting beside her, attentively watching the movement of her hands, not in any way eager to disturb her.

Clara inclined her head and allowed her palm to drop into his. Breath rushed out of her as their skin met. So far that morning she had grown used to the roughness of the paper, and now she was met with his pliable flesh. The warmth seeped into her as though he had the sun in his palm. His fingers trembled with strength as they curled, encompassing the width of her hand with ease.

Together they stepped across the bridge, Clara a step ahead of Gerald, her hand trailing behind. It was as though they were stepping into another world, one from a fairytale, so obscured were they from the outside world. London didn’t exist here. The carriages, the ton, the expectation… none of it mattered. Everything was quiet, apart from his breathing and the thump of her heart and the creaking bridge.

The creaking bridge.

They were about halfway across when a rotten piece of wood gave way. There was no time for her to react, other than to gasp in surprise, but just as she felt her foot slipping off the bridge, Gerald’s hand tensed.

He dragged her towards him with such force that gravity held no sway. She slammed against his solid chest, her head tilting up. The breath rushed from her lungs. He still had hold of her hand, while his other hand gripped her arm, his fingers digging in so deep it felt as though they reached beneath her clothes, although his grip wasn’t strong enough to hurt.

There was barely any distance between them. She was so close to his face that she could see the vein pulsing at his neck, the faint hint of stubble along his jaw, and the way his pupils had dilated to deep, searching wells. The air was warmed by his exhalations, and now her heart was going thumpthumpthump and he must have felt it. He simply must have.

Clara’s knees buckled. Weakness had never come easily to her, and so it was at this moment. She angled her head away, although she could do nothing about her body. That seemed intent on facing Gerald.