Chapter 2 #2
Clara couldn’t quite say exactly what went through her mind in that moment.
It was as if time stood still, and she could see into the future.
Her life with Lord Ayles, how dreadful it was sure to be.
There would be no love. No romance. No sense of happiness.
She would be little more than a slave to him, a prize to be shown off and used at his whim.
It was the end as she knew it, and there was nothing she could do…
Clara was no coward. She was not the meek thing that people assumed of her. She was simply cautious and aware of her own limitations, but that did not mean she was afraid to fight when the need was great. And at no time had it ever been greater.
“Clara… what are you doing?”
She had not even realized that she was walking in the opposite direction from her father.
It was as if she were possessed, unable to control her actions.
Common sense was a dangerous friend right now.
She needed to get away from her father and Lord Ayles.
What was more, she needed to make them understand that she could not go through with this marriage.
“I will be right back,” she said, her entire body shaking as the most dangerous of ideas came to mind.
Her father was truly a terrifying man. Perhaps the scariest she had ever known. Until tonight, she had assumed that no man in this world might frighten her as he did. But that was before she had seen the duke.
He was her salvation, even if he did not know it. And where it might not save her, it would at least give her a chance to… she could not even say! To escape? To breathe! To prove to herself as much as anything that she would not go without a fight.
She crossed the ballroom to where the duke was sitting.
She could feel people watching her in shock and awe.
The duke was none the wiser, looking in the opposite direction, a good thing, as that did not give him a chance to find her in the crowd and glare a warning that she best not do as she was about to. Too late to turn back now, anyhow.
“Ex – excuse me,” she stammered when she reached the duke.
He did not respond. In fact, he did not seem to hear her. Still, he looked in the opposite direction.
“Excuse me,” she spoke louder. That had him going stiff, tilting his head, and then slowly turning to find her standing before him.
She withheld a gasp as their eyes met; his stare was so cold that it felt as if she had plunged headfirst into a pool of ice.
“Might I have this seat…” She indicated the seat beside him.
He said nothing. Rather, he watched her with what might have been anger, might have been surprise—but might have also been curiosity. She could not tell.
“Thank you,” she said, taking his silence as a yes. “I do so appreciate it.” And then, having come this far, Clara sat herself down beside the Duke of Ravencourt.
Nothing was said between them. The tension was heavy.
Suffocating, even. Clara tried to act relaxed, but it was impossible to do so.
Not only did the mere presence of the duke make it feel as if she was seated beside a predator who was yet to decide if she was worth eating, but the attention this brought from the guests of the ball was noticeable, almost loud, as if their bewildered stares screamed at her to run.
Her father especially wore a look of outright fury.
Lord Ayles, too, his face turned pale white as he looked from her to her father for an explanation.
But he did not come for her, nor did her father.
Both stopped dead, careful not to get too close.
This might be the first time I have seen my father afraid. I could get used to it.
“You are either very foolish or very bold,” the duke spoke suddenly without looking at her.
“Oh…” She glanced quickly, then looked away. “Perhaps it is both?”
“I did not say you could sit.”
“You did not deny me either,” she responded, her chin quivering, her good sense demanding that she run.
Finally, he turned to look at her. She stayed looking ahead, for she worried that if their eyes met, she might scream. “What do you want?”
“No – nothing.”
“Tell me.” He said, his voice low yet brimming with command. “And do not lie.”
She swallowed. “I needed someone who is scarier than my father. And you…” She tried for an awkward laugh, but it died on her tongue. “You certainly fit that description.”
Still looking ahead, trying to ignore the way people stared, she caught him surveying the scene before them as if trying to decide what he was going to do with her. “I take it your father is standing with Lord Ayles?”
“That is him.”
He scoffed. “You do not need me to scare away a worm such as that. And I will not be used in your games.”
“I do not intend to use you.” She was feeling more comfortable now.
Still, the duke terrified her, but he was not aggressive or violent by her estimation.
It was more his presence that was a concern, one she sensed he took great pride in.
“All you need to do is sit there.” She chuckled.
“Your warm and approachable mien is sure to do the rest.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“N – no,” she stammered. “I just meant –”
“I know what you meant,” he spoke over her. His voice was not raised, but it did not need to be. “And I know why you are here. If you think that being seen with me is enough to deter a wretch such as Lord Ayles…” He curled his lip. “You are sadly mistaken.”
She sighed. “He means to marry me.”
“I did not ask, nor do I care.”
“I cannot marry him,” she said, ignoring his comment.
No well-bred lady should be spilling her secrets to a stranger, but Clara wanted to pour them all out.
Perhaps it was his brooding silence that did it?
Perhaps his silence meant someone who might listen to her own voice?
Or maybe it was that she saw in him someone whom she understood better than she should have.
A loner. A social outcast. More to him than everyone believes…
“But my father refuses to listen. He does not care that there is no chance of love or happiness or –”
The duke snorted. “Love? Love is a myth, girl. No… it is a trap. Best to be avoided at any cost. Perhaps your father is smarter than he seems.”
“That is not…” She turned now to look at him properly. “That is not true. I refuse to believe such a thing.”
“I do not care what you believe. It is a truth.”
“Is that…” She could not explain why the thought occurred to her. Or why I dare to ask it. Her heart was racing. Her body was shaking with fear. And yet, her dastardly tongue worked on its own accord. “Is that why you… What people say of you… is it –”
“Enough,” the duke growled, his posture turning stiff.
“I do not care for your situation any more than I care to help you with it. You wish to be saved?” He scoffed and curled his lip.
“I suggest you look somewhere else. I do not…” It was subtle, but his shoulders sagged slightly. “… I do not save people.”
“I…” She had no idea what to say.
“You were just leaving,” he finished for her. Again, he looked at her, only this time it was without his usual coldness. There was a fire behind his grey eyes; a warning that she had best run before it was too late.
And for once, Clara listened to her good sense, for it screamed at her to heed the warning as she should have done before sitting down.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” she said, standing quickly. “I… I wish you a pleasant evening.” The duke had gone back to ignoring her, and she was glad for it.
Her heart was still racing. Her body was still shaking. Caught between fear and curiosity, sensing half the ballroom watching her, she put her head down and headed for the balcony toward the back. I need to breathe! Some fresh air ought to do me good.
What she really needed was to question her sanity. Why had she thought sitting beside the Duke of Ravencourt had been a smart idea, and what had she hoped to gain? Nothing good, by her estimation. Then again, where her fate was concerned, what else was new?