Chapter Three #4
“No,” Pearce cut him off with the force of a hurricane’s wind on a single candle.
The room went silent; only the popping of the fire filled the space between them.
Pearce lowered his voice and examined the dregs of his drink.
“I want no heir, and the title will pass to a distant cousin whom I’ve already located and investigated. I’d never made plans to find a wife.”
Sensing this was a conversation best held in private, Hart and Swanleigh exchanged a look, polished off their drinks and rushed from the room, muttering something about checking on the children and wanting a good night of rest.
Kempton and Pearce sat in mute silence for several minutes after their retreat, neither meeting the other’s eyes as they were lost in their fraught contemplations.
“Is this true?” Kempton finally asked. “You never intended to marry at all? Nor sire children?”
Pearce slowly shook his head and emptied his glass.
He knew Kempton well enough to recognize the war taking place behind his eyes: He was torn between wanting to save his best friend from a life he did not desire and protecting his sister from a life of shame.
Pearce knew which option would win out—and rightfully so—so he could only reassure Kempton that this would not be the end of their longstanding relationship.
“I am sorry. You must believe me that I did not go to the gardens to meet Clara. I’d never betray you like that—especially after giving you my word that I would not touch her.
” The memory of the kiss he and Clara had shared exploded in the back of his mind.
Again. How bloody inconvenient. “Well, that I would never touch her again.”
There was a moment of tense silence before Kempton said, “I know that; deep down, I do. But you realize my word means little when it comes to the vicious tongues of the ton. I know how Clara can be, and I do not doubt that she put herself in such a compromising situation—be it unwittingly or not. You must know that I appreciate you doing the right thing. I’d no idea the depth of the compromise you were making. ”
Pearce read in the stiffness of his posture and the lines bracketing his mouth that Kempton wished to know more about the reason behind his decision to remain unwed and childless, but Pearce waved the words away before they could be spoken.
That was not a conversation Pearce wished to have—not now, not ever.
Kempton knew Pearce had lost his mother to a sudden illness many years prior, and his relationship with his father was on shaky ground at best. Let him assume those were the reasons behind his decision.
“I will take care of her,” Pearce said softly. “She will want for nothing.”
“Except a child of her own,” Kempton said, the words with such a flat affect that Pearce half believed he’d imagined them. His friend’s intense, dark eyes told him he was waiting for a response, however.
“I cannot.”
“You cannot, or you will not?”
“Can it not be both?”
He was silent at that.
“Listen,” Pearce said, trying a different approach, “I will give Clara safety and security, a good name and wealth—everything which could be denied to her should this marriage not take place following these circumstances. This seems like a small price for her to pay in return. How can you be certain she even desires children; perhaps this will serve her just fine?”
Kempton shot him an immensely droll look, rolling and warming his dwindling glass between his palms. “Clara, mischievous mother to all living things, not desire children? Have you seen her with Archie and the dogs even once?”
Pearce cringed and scratched at his temple with the side of his thumb. “Right.” He seemed to have forgotten her penchant for nurturing even the most unruly and unlovable of creatures.
Kempton sighed. “I suppose there is not much choice, is there? If that is the way things are to be, then that is it.”
Pearce nodded his head, knowing the statement was intended for all parties involved.
“You will try not to kill one another, won’t you?”
Pearce could not quell his small smile. Kempton hadn’t been immune to their squabbles over the years, which seemed only to have grown in voracity instead of lessening with maturity.
“I will do my best,” Pearce replied. “I am sure we will eventually find some common ground.” Though what that common ground might be, Pearce could not even begin to guess.
Kempton eyed him and then held out his hand. “I never thought I’d be calling you ‘brother.’”
Pearce felt a sudden wave of relief as he realized Kempton was becoming relatively accepting of the situation—or as accepting as one might hope, given the circumstances.
Pearce set down his empty glass and accepted his friend’s proffered hand.
They shook, but Kempton suddenly tugged him closer instead of releasing him.
“Just know that my threat still stands, despite the circumstances. If you ever harm her in any way, I will kill you myself.”
“Agreed,” Pearce replied solemnly, knowing better than to argue.