“I must say you’re talented enough to tread the boards,” he said. “Your maidenly sensibilities do you every credit. If it will make you feel better, I promise to let you cry no at all the appropriate intervals tonight. You girls always like to say no, don’t you, when what you really mean is yes?”
Dear heavens, was that what he thought? That she was putting on a show in order to invite his attentions? That she’d made this assignation tonight in order to climb into his bed? Her stomach flipped over again, making her glad she’d eaten so little.
Sliding his chair back, he patted his thigh. “Come here then, and let’s have a sample of that fine resistance of yours.”
“How dare you!”
He laughed. “No, I dare you. Claire the Dare, you delicious little hoyden.”
“Lord Islington, you are quite mistaken about my intentions or my desires. I have no interest in you, at least not in an…amorous sense. Nor do I wish to stay the night with you here in an accommodation. I want to return to London, now! And when I say no, I assure you that no is exactly what I mean.”
His eyes narrowed, the smile falling from his lips. “This had best be more of your game, dear girl, or I warn you that I shall be very displeased.”
Head held high, she forced herself not to tremble. “Then I am afraid you must be displeased, my lord. I am leaving.”
His eyes turned viciously dark. “Why you little tease. You think you can lure me here, then refuse to put out? I don’t think so.”
Her lips parted on a silent gasp. “I did not lure you anywhere. I merely agreed to go driving with you and that is all.”
“At night! No lady goes driving with a man at night unless she expects to be taken, and for far more than a simple drive. Well, I provided the first ride and now I want the second.” Springing to his feet, he strode toward her, reaching out fast to catch hold of her arm.
Leaping away, she eluded him. Moving in the only direction available, she put the dining table between them. “Stay away, my lord. Leave me alone.”
He tried for her again, but she escaped him once more.
Abruptly, a thought occurred, making her cringe. “That girl, the one you were trapped with in the storm. You really did ruin her, didn’t you?”
His mouth curved into a smile, one that froze her to the bone. “Of course I ruined her. But then she wanted it, same as you. And just like then, I was no more inclined to marry that little tart than I am to marry you. But I forget that you already have a fiancé. I wonder what Clybourne will do? Do you think he’ll take you back once I’ve had a chance to sample your wares?”
Breath hitched in her lungs, her chest squeezing tight. Why hadn’t she listened? Edward had told her what Islington was, he’d warned her to stay away. If only she hadn’t been so stupidly naïve, if only she hadn’t been so prideful and arrogant. But she wasn’t giving up. She would never stop fighting.
“You won’t be sampling anything of mine, my lord. Go away and I’ll say nothing,” she told him. “Leave now and we shall act as if this evening never happened.”
“Leave, shall I?” He tossed his head back on a laugh. “You are amusing, dear girl. Why should I leave, especially when the fun part is just starting.”
She darted a glance toward the door, knowing she’d never get it open before he caught her. And even if she did, even if she made it all the way downstairs, she didn’t imagine the men she’d find below would offer her much protection. No, she would have to protect herself. Reaching forward, she grabbed a knife off the table and held it straight out.
Islington laughed again. “And what’s that for?”
“Defense. Now, stay away.”
“Or what? You’re going to stab me with a fruit knife? Deadly for sure.” Stalking forward in a quick rush, he lunged at her.
Jumping back, she slashed at him with the knife, silently horrified when she saw she’d drawn blood.
He hissed and drew back his injured hand. “So you want to play rough, do you?” Pausing, he took a moment to wipe the blood on a discarded napkin before flinging it aside. “I like it rough.”
She held the knife more tightly, trying to find some means of holding him at bay while she made it past him to the door. Pointing the sharpest side of the weapon, she gestured with as much menace as she could muster. “I’ll cut you again. I’m warning you.”
“Oh, I’m scared,” he taunted. “Trembling, in fact.” His lips thinned, his eyes cold and vicious. “Come here, you little bitch,” he demanded, “before I really have to hurt you.”
Suddenly the door slammed against the wall. And there stood Edward, magnificent as an avenging angel. He filled the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered and more wonderful than any sight she could have imagined.
Claire nearly cried out, wanting to run to him. But she held herself back, not trusting what Islington might do. She didn’t completely trust Edward’s reception either, not sure how to interpret the barely banked fury smouldering deep in his gaze.
Edward’s attention was fixed on Islington. “Perhaps you’d like to try hurting me,” he said to the other man. “I’m more your size, after all. Or do you only have the courage to assault defenceless young women?”
“Defenceless, hah!” Islington tossed back his head on a nasty laugh. “She’s about as defenceless as a cat with a full set of claws.”
“Then you’d best clear out before she scratches you again,” Edward remarked. “I see you’re bleeding already.”
Islington cursed beneath his breath, glancing between her and Edward, as though he were weighing his options. “Fine then, take her. Though you’re a fool if you keep her, since she’s naught but a tease and a trollop. Hardly the sort worthy of the title duchess despite her excellent lineage.”
Claire gasped at the insult, nearly dropping the knife still clutched in her hand. But she refused to let down her guard with Islington so near. She waited, expecting him to leave, praying that he would just go away.
But before he could, Edward was across the room, springing into action so quickly she hardly had time to register his movements. He was on Islington, shoving the man backward across the room and slamming him hard against the wall. He rammed a fist into Islington’s face—once, twice, drawing a howl of agony before his fingers wrapped around the other man’s throat.
Islington fought, twisting against Edward’s grip and throwing a few punches of his own. But they had little effect, Edward sloughing off the blows as he tightened his grip on the other man’s jugular until Islington’s face turned a ghastly red.
“Can’t breathe!” Islington wheezed. “Stop!”
“Not until I hear you apologize.”
Islington grimaced, clearly struggling against being compelled to do so. But Edward’s relentless grip soon convinced him otherwise. “S-Sorry,” he rasped.
“Don’t say it to me. Say it to the lady. Apologize to Lady Claire!” Transferring his punishing hold to the back of Islington’s neck, he whirled him around so he faced her.
She’d rather Edward hadn’t, though, since she didn’t care about Islington’s apology. But she could tell there was no gainsaying Edward. In the past, she’d never seen him look anything but calmly controlled and urbane. But there was something half wild, almost ferocious about him tonight. It was a quality that made her wonder, with an inconsequential turn of mind, if this was how one of his ancestors might have looked centuries ago, when they’d sacked castles, conquered enemy lands and fought at the side of kings.
Then all such musings went out of her head as Edward shook Islington with merciless force. “Go on, you good-for-nothing scoundrel,” he ordered. “Make your excuses.”
Islington stared at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. “My pardon, Lady Claire, for any offense I may have caused.”
With a growl of disgust, Edward dragged Islington to the door, then gave him a shove. “I ought to kill you. Or at the very least beat you to a bloody pulp. But frankly, you aren’t worth the exercise.”
> Islington laid a hand on the door frame, resting against it as he caught his breath and his balance.
“I want you out of London immediately,” Edward told him. “Don’t even return to pack your clothes. You can send for them once you reach whatever distant place you plan to settle in. The farther away the better.”
Reaching up, Islington rubbed a hand over his abused neck, his voice raw. “I could go to Timbuktu and everyone will still know she was here with me tonight.”
“They don’t know anything and they won’t, not unless you tell them. And I’d strongly advise that you don’t. If I hear so much as a whisper in connection with this evening, I’ll make sure you’re sorry. Extremely sorry. If you give me cause, I’ll be administering more than a beating.”
Color drained out of Islington’s cheeks, making the bruises forming on his neck and jaw stand out even more. Shooting them both venomous glances, he wheeled around and stalked from the room.
Only when the pounding of his boot heels on the stairs faded away did Claire relax. Only then did she finally let down her guard. Shuddering, she let go of the knife, the wooden handle clattering against the floorboards. Across the room, she met Edward’s bright gaze.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “How badly did he hurt you, Claire?”
Chapter 20
Edward stood, muscles knotted with strain, as he waited for her answer.
When he’d reached the inn scant minutes ago and flung himself off his lathered mount, he’d still been in a race against time. After questioning the innkeeper, he’d bolted up the stairs only to hear Islington’s vicious threats coming through the thick wooden door. He hadn’t known what sight might greet him on the other side, but he’d prepared himself for the worst.
And yet, there’d been Claire, glorious in her defiance, fierce and brave, even in the face of imminent danger. It was a scene he couldn’t possibly have imagined, nor one he would ever forget. Leave it to Claire to defend herself in such a creative, resourceful manner—and using no more than a fruit knife!
Even so, now that Islington had been sent on his way and she was safe, he could see the lingering terror in her eyes, her pupils so wide and dark only a tiny sliver of blue iris remained.
“Well,” he demanded again. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t touch you?”
“No,” she said, folding her arms around herself. “At least not in the way you mean.”
He scowled and slammed the door closed. She flinched at the noise. Swinging around, he noticed her regarding him with those same wide, frightened eyes.
Well, she ought to be frightened, considering the jeopardy she put herself in. A fresh surge of anger coursed through him, as he imagined everything that could have gone wrong.
“Do you have any idea what he might have done to you?” he asked, deep and harsh. “Do you realize how close you came to being violated? Or was that the chance you were willing to take in order to let yourself be ruined tonight?”
Her lips trembled. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Was it not?” he challenged. “Isn’t that why you went with him tonight? To test me again? To push me to the point where I really would cry off for good this time? How far were you willing to go, Claire? Were you planning to let him bed you, but changed your mind when the time came?”
“No!” The fright went out of her face, replaced by shock and affront. “How can you think such a thing?”
“I don’t know what to think, not when you run off in the middle of a ball without a word to anyone. Not when you put yourself at the mercy of a man, who hasn’t so much as a scrap of honour or conscience.”
“He said we were going for a drive in his carriage,” she defended. “He told me we would go no farther than the countryside just outside of London, then turn back. But he kept driving and brought me here instead.”
Edward made a sound of disgust. “And you got out of the carriage with him?”
“He told me he was hungry. He said he wanted tea.” She stared at the floor, obviously realizing how naïve she’d been to believe such patent lies. “I thought I could handle him.”
“Humph. Well, we both see how you handled him.” Stalking forward, he bent and picked the knife up from the floor. “I believe this might have held him off another two or three minutes at best. What do you think?”
Rather than cowering, her head came up again, her gaze locking with his. “That I was an idiot, is that what you want to hear? I misjudged him, badly, and were it not for your timely intervention, Your Grace, I would likely now be in the bedchamber for which he’d arranged, my chastity quite beyond reclaiming.”
A vein throbbed in his forehead. “He reserved a room?”
“Apparently. Though it certainly wasn’t with my knowledge or consent.”
Pacing a few steps, he stopped and stabbed the knife deep into the wooden fruit and cheese board that sat in the centre of the table. The blade stood straight up, vibrating from the force of his thrust.
Claire shivered, but made no comment.
“Then it is a good thing that I arrived when I did.”
“H-How did you come to arrive?” she asked. “How did you even know I was here?”
“Gresham saw you. He was in the garden when you left the ball.”
“Oh.”
“He came looking for me immediately afterward, but had the forethought first to send a servant to track your movements. Otherwise…”
He stopped, unable to keep from imagining again all the horrible things that would have transpired. He fisted his hands and willed himself to drive away the thoughts.
“It seems then,” she said in a soft voice, “that I have Lord Gresham to thank as well. I shall do so at my earliest convenience.” She shivered again.
“Are you cold?” he asked, suddenly taking in the fact that she stood in the same thin, yellow silk ball gown he’d admired so many hours ago.
A lifetime now, or so it seemed.
She shook her head. “Merely tired. It is quite late.”
And so it was. Nearly two in the morning, if he had to guess. It would be a long, dark, wearying trip back to London. He had no desire to make the journey, though, at least not until the situation was resolved between him and Claire.
Yet could it be resolved? Considering her actions, especially tonight, he was actually beginning to have his doubts.
Before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out. “Is it so bad between us then, Claire?” he asked. “Is the idea of marrying me so repugnant that you would rather run off with a cad than become my bride?”
Her skin paled, her lips opened, but no sound emerged.
“You can tell me.” Crossing to her, he reached out and clasped her shoulders between his hands. “There need be no restraint between us, no secrets. Be frank and don’t spare any concern for my feelings. I shall not condemn you for speaking the truth. If you hate me, just say it. Be plain and let’s have done with this.”
Her eyes filled with pain. “I do not hate you.”
“Just the idea of marrying me, then? Why? Why do you refuse to be my duchess time and again? What is it you want? Make me understand.”
She shook her head, refusing to answer.
“You’ve made it plain you don’t want to be married for the sake of honour and obligation, but there’s more, isn’t there?” Emotion boiled inside him, threatening to spill over. He gave her a little shake. “Tell me, Claire. Tell me what it is you really want.”
For a moment, he didn’t think she was going to respond. But suddenly her eyes flashed, tears overflowing. “I want you!” she cried. “I love you and I want you to love me back.”
His hands fell from her shoulders, his mind fighting to wrap around her unexpected revelation.
“But you don’t love me,” she said in anguish. “And I can’t abide the thought of being married to you knowing you’re taking me as your wife because of some pledge our fathers made before
either of us were old enough to refuse. You only asked for my hand because it was expected and convenient and because you require an heir. Well, I don’t want to be your broodmare, bought and paid for because I happen to possess the right bloodlines. I want to be wanted for myself. I want to be loved for me.”
Turning her back, she walked away from him, her arms hugged close, her voice almost too low to be heard. “I’d rather be ruined and alone than spend my life knowing that I’m just another possession you’ve acquired. Like some trinket you purchased that’s entertaining and pretty to look at on occasion, but easy to dismiss, simple to forget.”
Slowly, he crossed to her. “You greatly underestimate your worth, if you imagine I could ever dismiss or forget you.”
“Why not? You’ve done it before.”
“Before? When was that?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t signify.”
“Clearly, it does.” With a gentle hand on her shoulder, he compelled her to face him. “When did I supposedly forget you?”
“When have you not, Your Grace? I am two-and-twenty years of age and in all that time you have never once remembered that my birthday is in March, not even this year after we reaffirmed our engagement. And until you decided it was time for us to marry, I recall seeing you precisely twice in my life. When I was ten and you dropped by with your mother for a visit, then again when I was sixteen. It seemed on that occasion as though you couldn’t wait to get away. And once you did, you had no trouble forgetting I even existed, not until it suited you again to remember.”
He looked into her shuttered face, astonished by the knowledge that he had hurt her at a time when he hadn’t even imagined he had the power to do so.
And she was correct.
He had forgotten her through most of those long years. He’d wanted to forget her then, avoiding anything that might remind him of their betrothal. He supposed he’d even resented her, though he’d had no right. She’d been just as much a pawn in their fathers’ schemes as he, perhaps more so since she’d been only an infant when the agreement had been made. They hadn’t given her a choice, and neither had he.
At The Duke's Pleasure Page 25
