Chapter 16
“Ithink we can all admit that he’s very handsome,” Ariadne, one of Clio’s cousins, said quietly to the cluster of Lightholder women in which Clio had found herself ensconced during the wedding breakfast.
“Ariadne,” Phoebe said, kicking her friend’s ankle lightly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that someone’s new husband is handsome. Especially in front of your husband.” She nodded to where David was lingering, evidently delighted by the ladies’ gossip.
“Oh, no,” he said mildly. “I quite agree. From an objective standpoint, of course, but with all the gruffness and the scars? He would not find himself a wallflower at one of our parties.”
He and Ariadne exchanged a knowing glance at this reference to the (famously scandalous) parties that the pair habitually threw. Clio had never been to one, obviously, but she’d heard the rumors that they were all-out bacchanals.
“You definitely aren’t supposed to say that,” Phoebe said, darting a glance at Clio.
And, yes, Clio supposed she should mind. But, strangely enough, she felt lighter than she had all week.
She couldn’t say for certain whether that was because of her family or because every time she looked over at Hector … he was already looking back at her.
It felt oddly safe, that knowledge that he would be there. Was that what marriage was, then? The security that another person is always there?
Except, no. He wouldn’t always be there. He was going to leave her behind.
She turned back to her family. They weren’t leaving her, after all.
“I like his accent,” Helen said just as smugly as if she had invented a Northern accent herself. “I believe I’m setting a fashion.”
Catherine Egelton, Duchess of Seaton and Helen’s sister by marriage, pressed her lips together. “You believe that you set a fashion by … having the man grow up in the same region as you?”
“Please don’t use logic to dismantle my fantasies, Kitty,” Helen requested politely. “I am trying to be pleased with myself.”
“By all means,” Catherine said, clearly amused.
They were all in a fine fettle, these women whom Clio loved—and David, who had never found a crowd he couldn’t easily join. They were acting as though this was a normal wedding, as though no scandal had brought this to their doors.
Although Clio thought, as she glanced around the circle, they were a rather scandalous bunch.
Helen had been married by special license after being caught kissing her now-husband at a ball.
Ariadne and Persephone Blackwood were practically walking scandals, between Ariadne’s parties and Persephone’s husband’s past as a gaming hell owner.
And Phoebe was offended whenever someone thought her not scandalous.
So maybe this was a normal marriage for the Lightholders.
It was a strangely comforting idea.
But that comfort couldn’t quite last; for all that Clio enjoyed her relations, they all had their own lives, husbands, and children to attend to. And Clio had to acclimate herself to the fact that she now lived here. In a new place. With a new name.
And a new husband.
Hector found the Lightholders to be … extravagant. Nice, he supposed, though talking to Ezra Swifton, who was a cousin, made him wistful for a conversation with a farmer or something. About cows. Or crops. Something peaceful.
He paused. Was Ezra a cousin? Hector was fairly certain he was; it was wall-to-wall cousins in this place…
Where was Jonathan when he needed him? It was impossible to keep all these bloody people straight.
The women clearly flocked around Clio in support, however, and he could not feel anything other than approval for that. Especially when he glimpsed, once or twice, her full, real smile.
But the very best part of the Lightholders, in Hector’s opinion, was that they went home after the wedding breakfast.
If only he could say the same for his own relatives, who hadn’t even come down to join the party.
Hector couldn’t be too upset about Matthew and his wife making themselves scarce, however, since the only person he really wanted to spend any time with was his wife.
His wife.
They retreated to their respective rooms to change from their wedding finery, and Hector found himself utterly tortured by the sound of Clio moving around with no more than a single wall between them.
How was he meant to stay away from her? How was he supposed to keep his promise?
Except, as it turned out, he didn’t—at least not for tonight. Because when he exited his bedchamber to find that she was coming from hers at the same time, the words left his mouth before he could think about them.
“Have dinner with me, Clio.”
She blinked, and this time, she was there behind that blink, and seeing her—the real her—instead of that blank expression was such a relief that even Hector’s good leg threatened to buckle beneath him.
“I … thought you planned to keep your distance,” she said. He couldn’t quite read her tone, to his endless regret.
His chuckle lacked any true humor.
“I would like to pretend that I possess the strength to resist you, princess,” he said. “But when you’re right here, in my own house? Please. Join me for a meal. Just a meal.”
She paused in careful assessment before nodding.
“Yes,” she said, and though she didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about it, this was some of the best news that he’d received in ages. “Let’s dine together.”
She even took his arm when he offered it and let him escort her down to the stairs.
That was the sole victory he was granted.
They made it all the way through the first course in utter silence before Hector couldn’t take it any longer, which was a first for him. He generally found silence preferable to aimless chatter, but this was Clio, and nothing she said was unimportant, at least not to him.
“Clio,” he said, striving for joviality—something else that did not come naturally to him. “Come along now. Can we please talk? This marriage cannot have both of us brooding, and that is my role, don’t you think?”
This went over exceedingly poorly.
The light went directly out of her eyes.
“Oh, right,” she said, the only emotion in her words a faint trace of bitterness. “Your job is to lead, right? You do what you want—act as you wish, and I am to stand around behind you and look pretty?”
He felt his own temper flare in response to her caustic words. He didn’t understand why she seemed to think that he wanted to hurt her. Hadn’t he tried to give her what she wanted? Wasn’t he still trying?
Or maybe asking her to bear his presence even in this small way was too much.
Maybe she wanted him gone immediately, the way his parents had.
Maybe she would never forgive him for trapping her, for not being strong enough to send her away when he ought to have.
He could have pressed harder for her to leave his bedchamber that night, couldn’t he?
He could have avoided her from the start.
Maybe that first bit of gossip would have died down, and now she wouldn’t have been trapped with a husband she’d never wanted, a scarred, limping brute with uncivilized manners and a rough aspect.
It scraped against an old wound inside him, one he had assumed was long since healed.
“Fine,” he said. “If that is how you wish to see it, fine.” He stood abruptly enough that it shot a twinge of pain through his leg, which preferred him to move more gradually.
He ignored it. He’d been dealing with pain like that all his life, after all.
“What’s done is done. We shall just … tolerate one another as long as necessary. Will that satisfy you?”
Clio was on her feet now, too, and some hungry and furious thing inside him thrilled to see her fighting back. Her rage was much better than her apathy.
“Will that satisfy me?” she demanded. “What in the hell about this do you think satisfies me?”
“For the love of—” He cut himself off with a growl of irritation. “You really are a princess, aren’t you?”
What else could he give her to satisfy her, after all? He’d protected her, and he was cutting himself to pieces trying to give her the freedom she craved. And yet she considered it insufficient? What would be enough for her?
She turned her head so he could only see her in profile.
“You only think I’m a princess because you are determined to never act the gentleman,” she accused. He could see a sliver of her teeth where they bit into her lip. “You have made it perfectly clear that you have nothing in common with the people of the ton—with people like me.”
Hearing her list it so plainly, these things that were the greatest flaws to the fussy Society folk, burned him viciously.
“And you’re such a lady?” he snapped back, knowing that he was reacting like a wounded animal. “You, with that mouth of yours? Who courts scandal at every turn?”
She smacked away his pointing finger, and he realized that they’d come close to one another. At least she was looking at him now, though, even if she was looking at him like she hated him.
“Oh, right,” she said. “I courted scandal. Me, alone. Because it’s only the woman who is ruined, right? Because you could have walked away at any point without any injury done to you?”
“What in God’s name makes you think I can walk away?” He all but roared it, and she flinched at his volume, but she didn’t back down, didn’t pull away from him. Instead, she leaned even closer, a ferocious look on her face, a gleam in her starburst hazel eyes.
And then he grabbed at her, or she lunged at him, or both—or, hell, maybe some magic intervened, catching them right up in the hand of fate—and then their mouths fused together.
And, despite the fury still thrumming in his blood, it was the most right that Hector had felt in days.