Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Clementine didn’t know what to do or how to react, so she did the first thing that flittered through her mind.
She fled.
She ran from the ball, heedless of those who watched, who whispered as she passed by, and started for the front of the house, needing to get away, to be free of all the eyes boring down on her. William’s too.
She heard his hasty footsteps coming behind her as she reached the front steps.
“Clementine,” he called.
Only one carriage stood waiting, and she started for it, heedless of whoever owned the vehicle. A strong, insistent arm wrapped about her waist and hauled her around, and she came up hard against a masculine chest. A very nice chest.
“Let me go, William. There is nothing left to say between us,” she lied, knowing there was much to say. So many words, she could not think of everything they needed to discuss. To speak, argue, and debate.
“You know that isn’t true.” He all but carried her to the carriage and opened the door. “Get in, we need to talk.”
She glared at him, not wanting to do anything he told her, yet they did need to speak. If only to end this farce of an engagement once and for all. Although she had believed it to be so already. Yet, William being here tonight, what she had witnessed, told her otherwise.
Reluctantly, she climbed up the steps and sat on the seat.
He joined her and attempted to sit beside her.
She moved to the opposite side and crossed her arms, unwilling to give an inch after his recent treatment.
He may have defended her tonight, but he hadn’t several days ago, and she would not forget that cruelty.
For hours she had cried over his indifference, his inability to see she was not her father. That he was not his brother, and nor would she punish him merely because he was related to Lord Hartwell.
The carriage lurched forward, and she narrowed her eyes. “Well, speak if that is your wish. You do not have long until I’m home, so make your remarks quick.”
His lips thinned into a displeased line. “We’re not going back to the Ravensmere townhouse. We’re going to Brook Street. Our home.”
“We do not have a home.” She glanced out the window, attempting to dispel the curiosity that coursed through her at seeing the property he’d been preparing to open for their use after marriage. Was it a pleasant space? Or dark and in need of renovation, not just cleaning.
“It is ready,” he said quietly. “It has been since yesterday. I only…had not the courage to bring you there.”
She turned back to him, her frown deepening. “How very convenient that you admit to having a lack of courage. Seems to be a consistent problem for you.”
Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating, the steady roll of the carriage wheels over cobblestones filling the space where words ought to have been.
Clementine kept her gaze fixed firmly out the window, though she saw nothing of the passing streets, her heart beating too loudly, her thoughts too scattered.
She could feel him watching her. Of course he was.
Let him. She would not make this easy for him.
“You said you loved me,” she said at last, her tone cool, measured, though the words burned on her tongue, anger simmering in her blood that she had spoken first. “Before half of London, no less. A rather dramatic declaration for a man who only days ago could not even look at me without seeing my father.”
He flinched—the smallest movement, barely noticeable—but she saw it. Good. She hoped he felt shame. She wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt her.
“You have every right to be angry,” he said. “I deserve that.”
“Yes, you do.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the pain that she saw on his handsome features, tried to ignore how much she still loved him. Damn him for being spineless when she needed him most.
He nodded once, accepting her words. “And more besides.”
Clementine said nothing. She would not help him through this, would not soften the path he had made so jagged for her.
“I was wrong,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, stripped of the arrogance she had once found so infuriating. “About everything.”
Her fingers tightened against her arms. Do not relent, Clementine. Do not.
“You knew what kind of man my father was, even if unaware of how cruel and deceiving he’d actually been,” she said, turning to face him.
“And yet when an opportunity to end our betrothal came to light, you jumped at the chance to be rid of me. Stated to my face that when you looked at me, you only saw him. How could you be so cruel?”
“I know.”
“Do you?” she pressed. “Do you truly understand what that felt like? To be shamed through no fault of my own?” She paused. “I could have done the same to you, but did not. For I would not lower myself to think such a heinous thing.”
His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to hers. “I do now. I see now how wrong I was.”
She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “How convenient for you to now be so self-aware.”
“It’s not convenient,” he said, more firmly this time. “It’s true. One that came far too late, I will admit, but please, Clementine.”
The carriage turned sharply, the movement rocking them slightly, but Clementine barely noticed.
“You wounded me,” she said, the words quieter now, but no less sharp.
“Not because of what you believed about my father, but because you believed I might be the same. That I was somehow deceitful and cut from the same cloth. I could say the same for you, and you know it.”
“I did not think you were the same,” he said quickly. “Not in my heart.”
“But you allowed yourself to act as though I were,” she countered. “For days, not a word. No attempt to reconcile, and that is worse.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as though the truth of it struck deeper than any blow. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”
Silence settled between them, a heavy cloak that covered them both.
“You wish to know why?” he continued after a moment. “Why I found it so difficult to see past?”
“I imagine you will tell me regardless.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“She was my older sister. I loved her and could not save her. I was probably angrier at myself for not being able to fix her life. I loathe the ton, have for years, because of their treatment of her. The society that made her the way she was. Always striving for perfection, never quite good enough. But when I found I was going to marry the child of the very man who put her into the cold, dark ground, I hated myself even more.”
Clementine stilled, unsure of what to say, if anything. What could she say to that? To make it better. “Why?” she asked after a length.
“Because even knowing all that I did of my sister's life, I still wanted you for myself. I hated myself even more for my treachery, my disloyalty to Sarah. Another man, disappointing her yet again.”
Clementine let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
He leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees, his gaze fixed on her now with an intensity that made it difficult to look away. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Her breath caught, and her resolve wavered.
“No matter the cost, I cannot lose the one thing in my life that had begun to feel…right.”
“You should have trusted me,” she said, softer now.
“But I believe I’m starting to understand.
” She looked at him then, really looked.
The man before her was not the same man who had stood in Ravensmere’s library and spoken with such cold detachment.
There was no distance in him, no guarded reserve, only honesty—and something else, something deeper.
Love…
Her vision blurred. Blast him.
He took her hands and pulled her close. “I am sorry,” he repeated, softer now. “Please forgive me and give me a second chance.” He paused. “I love you, Clementine.”
Everything stilled—the carriage, the world, her very heart. She stared at him, searching his face for any hint of hesitation, any trace of doubt. There was none. Only truth.
“I think I have for some time,” he went on, a faint, almost self-deprecating smile touching his lips.
“Though I was too much of a fool to see it. A bachelor determined to remain so. To not let love and affection touch my life, not when it has the ability to cripple you, but still, I couldn’t resist. I could not deny you piercing my soul and taking control of everything. ”
Her blood pounded in her ears for what he said could be said for her as well. She hesitated for one heartbeat, then moved, closing the distance between them before she could think better of it. Her hand cupped his jaw, her fingers brushing the bruise forming there.
“You fought for me,” she said quietly.
“I should have done so sooner.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You should have.”
His hand lifted, as though unsure if he might touch her. She leaned into his embrace—the smallest permission, but it was enough. He cupped her cheek, his touch reverent now, nothing like the commanding man who had hauled her into the carriage.
“May I?” he asked, his voice low.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.
His lips met hers gently at first, careful, as though she might break—but she would not. She melted into him, reveling in his warmth, in everything that lay between them.
Her fingers curled into the lapels of his coat as she pressed closer, her earlier restraint forgotten, replaced with something far more dangerous.
He deepened the kiss, as though giving her every opportunity to pull away.
She did not, could not, because this—this felt right.
The kiss seized her soul. She tentatively touched her tongue to his, and he returned the gesture.
Heat pooled in her stomach, want and need thrummed through her blood, and she pressed herself against him.
He reached for her, pulling her close, one hand firmly about her waist, the other sliding slowly down her hip, her leg…
“William…” His name came out in a whisper, a plea for what, she didn’t even know.
“I’m finding it harder and harder not to touch you. To want you. I thought of nothing else these last days,” he admitted. “The thought of you marrying someone else, of being parted from you, almost drove me insane.”
“I thought of you, too.” Their gazes met, held, and something profound, solid, and real passed between them.
Love…
“I want you.” She reached down and covered his hand with hers, pressing his touch farther down her leg. “Touch me, William.”
“I cannot.” A pained expression crossed his handsome features. “We’re not married, and I will not take your virtue. In a carriage no less.”
The idea that the act could even be performed in a carriage had not occurred to her, but now that she knew that tidbit of information… “Maybe the wedding could be brought forward?”
He chuckled and kissed her neck, her ear. “I have another idea.”
A shiver ran over her skin as he reached for the hem of her gown, lifting it slowly. His hand pressed against her calf, her thigh, his fingers playing with the bow on her silk stocking a moment before slipping higher still.
Her breath caught, and she stilled when his hand pressed over her mons, a featherlight touch before becoming firmer. She let out a soft moan at the new, but exciting knowledge.
“I’m going to make you feel so good, Emmie.”
She held on to his shoulders, his mouth devouring hers, and his hand slipped between her folds. He rolled his thumb against her sex, teasing her. She moaned, pressing into his touch, wanting more of the sweet, sinful sensation he produced there.
“William.” She could say no more. The feelings he evoked were new and unknown. What was this magic he was capable of? A sensation of pleasure grew, teased, ebbed, and flowed, and she didn’t know what to do with herself. “Please, do not stop.”
“Never,” he stated, sliding one finger into her wet heat.
She gasped at the foreign intrusion. His thumb rolled over her cunny, and a responsiveness she’d never experienced before catapulted through her body.
Tremor after tremor of pleasure pulsated between her legs, growing in strength as it moved throughout her body.
“William, kiss me,” she demanded as gratification pounded through her blood.
He did as she asked, taking her lips in a kiss that stole her wits, her breath, and before she even knew what, her heart…