At the Duke’s Pleasure (25 page)

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?”

E
dward 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 honor 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 center 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 honor 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.

“I am sorry,” he said. “It was thoughtless of me and wrong, but you were a child then and I never imagined your feelings might be injured. I did not mean to hurt you, that was not my intention.”

“I am sure it wasn’t.” Her lips tightened, her gaze rising to meet his own. “But you may keep your pity, Your Grace. I have no need of it.”

“You certainly do not,” he agreed. “Any woman as spirited and resourceful as yourself has no need of anyone’s pity, least of all mine. As for being forgotten or dismissed, I am as likely to do that now as I am to disremember my next breath. You are quite memorable, Claire. Even more so after tonight.”

A wisp of color came into her cheeks. “Ah, yes, tonight. I am quite ruined, you know. There’ll be no showing my face in London again.”

“You may show your face in London whenever you like. We put the word ’round that you went home ill. The Ton thinks you’re tucked up tight in bed at Clybourne House. You heard what I said to Islington. He’s not going to dispute our story, not if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Oh.” She lowered her gaze, a tiny frown puckering her fair brows.

“Are you disappointed?” he asked. “I suppose you would rather I’d let everyone think the worst.”

“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

“Do you really want to end things between us?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, her eyes rimmed with surprise.

“No. Despite everything you’ve put me through, I want you, Claire. In my bed. In my life. As my bride.”

“But—”

“No buts. Hear me out, then you can decide. You’re right that we came together for reasons of convenience and obligation. But over the past few months, things have changed between us. I’ve come to know you in ways I never imagined I would. You infuriate me at times—far more often than I might wish—but you also please me greatly. Marrying you is no longer only about duty and honor and responsibility. I want to marry you, and not simply because we were promised to each other as children.”

He moved a step closer. “The plain truth is that I desire you. I’m not sure you realize how much. It’s all I can do not to come to your room at night and make love to you until neither one of us can think clearly. But I’ve been forcing myself to stay away, assuming you needed time and distance in order to acclimate to the idea of our marriage.”

His lips curved into a deprecating smile. “I begin to think now I should have done away with the gallantry and made those midnight visits instead.”

New color rushed over her cheeks, her eyes gleaming with a wealth of emotions.

Reaching out, he took her hand. “As for your assumptions about being required to produce an heir, I want it understood that you are under no obligation to do so.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her.

“I want children,” he explained, “and I hope we shall have several. But as for their gender, either sex shall do. If we have nothing but daughters, I shall count myself blessed.”

“But how can you say that?” she declared. “You need a son to carry on the title. You want an heir.”

He shook his head. “I have an heir, my brother Cade, who could step easily into my shoes and would make an excellent duke. And he has a son already, so the line is assured. Besides Cade, I have four other brothers, who are all Byrons as fully as me. Any one of them would do admirably in my stead. So even if you were to give me no children at all, it would not be the end of the world or of the Clybourne legacy.”

“Yes, but even so—”

“Even so,” he murmured, “I would still want you. I’ve become quite fixed on the idea of having you for my wife, resistant as you may be to the idea.”

“Edward,” she whispered, a tear sliding from one eye.

He brushed it away with his thumb. “Am I Edward again, then?”

A second tear slid over her cheek.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he hushed. “Have I made you unhappy again? Don’t be sad, Claire.” He sighed, resignation sliding over him. “It’s all right. If you’d rather go back to your father, then I’ll find some way to convince him to take you back with no shame coming to bear upon you. I’ll take all the blame and he can rail at me for the rest of his life. It’s what you’ve been wanting, is it not? To be free of me. Is it still your wish?”

Claire could hardly breathe for the pressure in her chest, her thoughts scattered, her emotions in turmoil.

He was letting her go.

He was giving her exactly what she’d struggled to achieve these long weeks past.

Yet nothing he’d said tonight had been what she’d expected. She could barely take in all the passionate things he’d said. She didn’t know what to think or what to do. While it was true that he hadn’t actually said he loved her, he must have feelings for her. Mustn’t he? He wanted her and clearly he was not indifferent to her. Not any longer. But was desire enough to sustain a marriage? Was liking on one side and love on the other enough to last a lifetime? Quite likely, he would still break her heart.

But wasn’t it broken already?

A serious expression darkened Edward’s gaze. “What is it to be then? Shall I send you back home?”

Her mouth trembled, more tears dampening her eyes. Suddenly she shook her head and flung her arms around him. “No! No, don’t send me away. I thought I could leave, but I can’t. Not anymore. Not ever.”

Then before she could draw her next breath, his mouth was on hers, taking her with a savage kiss that staked his claim upon her in a way that left no doubt of his intentions or his desire.