Chapter 17
Seventeen
They rode home in silence. One that was wrought with tension.
Several times, Clara thought to break it, only to catch her tongue as she watched her husband closely, wishing that it was he who would do so.
That he might explain himself! That he might admit to me why he acted the way that he did.
That he might finally admit it to himself!
It was all just so confusing. The way he constantly changed his stance and his actions.
The way that he pushed her away, only to grab her and then pull her back in without explanation.
She realized quickly, however, that he was not going to say what she needed him to. Or anything, for that matter. As soon as they climbed into the carriage and it took off, he shuffled into the corner and turned to face the window, cutting his body off from her entirely.
As to Clara? She spent the entire trip glaring at his head, hoping he might turn around and see her sitting there. That he might see her at all! His wife. Someone whom he so clearly cared for. Not a burden. Not an imposition. But the woman whom she knew he was falling for. That’s who she was!
Yet, there was nothing. Just that silence, growing heavy and awkward the longer they both stewed in it. And when they did finally arrive at the castle, the second the carriage came to a stop, the duke threw open the doors and leapt outside without so much as a backward glance.
Clars stayed where she was, staring at him as he went, fury raging inside of her, disbelief battering her down. Is that it then? Our last outing as man and wife? My last chance to break through the duke’s walls? Is this how it ends…
Times that Clara might have left it there.
The old her, the one who had been raised in a home where she was treated as less than nothing, certainly would have.
She had known better than to argue with her father.
She had been shaped by his antipathy and the fear which came whenever she imagined herself standing up to him.
The old Clara was a wallflower, not brave, not capable of fighting for what she believed in. But the new Clara…
She felt a sudden surge of passion. She heard a voice inside her head, screaming at her not to let this go.
Time and time again, she had convinced herself that this marriage was over, only for the duke to prove otherwise, only for him to then turn his back on the progress he had promised her.
It was confusing. It hurt as much as anything.
And, quite frankly, she was tired of it.
If this were to be the end of her hopes, she would not go down without a fight. And so, that is exactly what she did: she fought.
Clara swept from the carriage. She raced across the drive and to the castle, reaching the stairs just as Alaric walked inside. Up those stairs she hurried, reaching the foyer as Alaric came upon the base of the interior staircase.
“Alaric!” she cried after him, “Where are you going?”
“That does not concern you,” he said without turning back.
“Do not walk away from me!” she strode across the foyer, her feet echoing off the marble and crashing throughout the open chamber. “Look at me!”
He paused on the first stair, his body turned rigid, his hackles rising. “What did you say?”
“I said, look at me!” She reached the lower landing so that she was standing under him.
He was always taller than she was, but now he looked like a giant.
Not that she was scared of him. Not that she was scared anymore about what he might say and do.
Things could not get any worse, Clara reasoned. Or so I hope…
Slowly, Alaric turned about. As expected, his expression was one of fury, although it looked forced, meant to scare her away. “I would ask that you take care in how you speak to me.”
“And I would ask that you do not treat me as if I do not exist.”
“I –” He caught his tongue, tempering his rage. “I treat you exactly as I have promised. No more, no less. Do not act surprised.”
“Is that what you think?” she laughed coldly. “Is that truly how you see the way that you have behaved? That this…” She gestured vaguely. “That this is what was promised me?”
“Is it not?” he shot back. “You knew well what this marriage was when you came to me – when you came to me,” he emphasized. “You came begging, and I told you exactly what to expect. No more, no less. To pretend now that you were promised something different is beneath you, Clara.”
Her eyes brimmed with fury. “And if you had kept your promise, then maybe I would agree with you. If you had done as you said you would, I would not care as I do! But you and I both know that nothing about this marriage, your actions, is as you claim. Do not pretend otherwise.”
“I…” He hesitated, and behind his eyes, Clara saw that same battle raging that had existed in him since the day they wed. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Ha!” she laughed. “Is that your excuse? Ignorance.”
“Careful…”
“I am through being careful,” she snarled at him.
“I am through being treated as if… as if… as if I do not matter! If you wish to ignore me, fine, do it! Slink back away to your tower and hide as you so love to do. If you wish to treat me like your wife, I am here, Alaric!” Her expression turned pleading.
“But what I cannot stomach, what I am sick to death of, is being used! One minute, you act as if you care for me. The next, you spurn me. It is –”
“As I said,” he cut over her, then bellowed, “As you know!” He drew a ragged breath.
“I explained well enough what was expected from us today. I explained the reason as clearly as I could. Am I to blame that you…” He hesitated, guilt passing behind his eyes so that he reared back slightly.
“Am I to blame that you read too much into what I warned you was to be a performance. Nothing more.”
“And the Whitcombe Ball?” she shot back at him, looking up, refusing to break her stare. “Was that also a performance? Bravo, if it was.”
He grimaced, looking away, his voice dropping. “It was not what you think. You have allowed your imagination to run away with you. I cannot be blamed for that.”
“You do not mean that.”
“I do.”
I can see the fight within him. He is so determined to push me away, but I know he does not mean it. The guilt. The shame. It is as clear on his face as I have ever seen.
“You don’t…” She softened her tone and stepped in closer.
Then, she took the step up, which had him backing away.
“I know you think you need to push me away, Alaric. I know you have convinced yourself that you are…” She laughed and shook her head.
“I do not even know. Protecting me? Protecting yourself? But this is not the real you.”
“You do not know me as you think.” The fight was fading from him. He could not look at her, body shrinking back from shame. “This is who I am. Everything else is a lie.”
“No.” She reached out and rested a hand on his arm. He winced, but he did not pull it away. “I have seen the real you. I saw him at the Whitcombe Ball. When we danced. When we laughed. When you looked at me as if nothing else mattered…”
“A performance…” his voice dropped so low she barely heard it.
“And just now? With Lady Brickstone?” she pressed, her grip on his arm strengthening. “You work so hard at pretending you do not care, but the moment you let your guard drop, you reveal who you truly are.”
“I am not… that is not…”
“You are kind,” she spoke over him softly. “More gentle than you realize. You care for me, I know you do. But you are so desperate to pretend otherwise, and I cannot work out why? Why are you so determined to be alone?”
He did not answer right away. He stood with one foot on the same step as Clara’s, the other behind, so that he was leaning back.
Her hand on his arm. His head bowed, eyes staring at an empty space that seemed miles away.
His expression was tight. His jaw was clenched.
And his breathing was heavy… he is fighting himself. More than I have ever seen.
“Everything I do, I do it for you,” he said finally, his voice distant, as if he was speaking to himself. “When I push you away, when I ignore you…” His breathing shuddered. “It is for you.”
“I never asked for it.”
“You will thank me,” he said. “You might not know it now, but one day –”
“I do not care for one day,” she cut him off. “I care for now. Us. Here! Why can you not see that?”
“It is not that simple.”
“Tell me why! Please,” she pleaded. “That is all I ask of you. You want me to go. You want me to pretend that you do not exist, as you pretend that I do not. Tell me why.”
She widened her eyes as she held him in her desperate stare. She forced him to notice her standing there, so that he could not look away or turn and leave. Her hand still gripped him. Her body was inches away. She then stepped up closer, onto the same landing as he, giving him nowhere to go.
Slowly, Alaric lifted his head, his gaze, and looked at her. His brow was furrowed. His chin trembled. But it was his eyes that she met and noticed. The cold grey of them, fear and worry both, no longer hidden but brought to the fore as he looked not through her but right at her.
He saw her. Possibly for the first time. The world around them faded into darkness. Their fight, whatever it had been, suddenly meant nothing. It was just the two of them in that moment, eyes locked, bodies close, breathing as one.
“I…” he began, eyes flicking to her lips, his hand lifting and resting under her chin. “I cannot tell you. I… you would never understand.”
“Try me,” she said, moving her hand to his waist as her heart began to thunder and her legs began to shake.
“No…” He shook his head. “Not now.”
“When?”
He gave her no answer. Not with words, anyhow.
He was one with explaining. Done with fighting.
Done with pushing her away, for he must have seen it was all for nought.
The fight that the duke had been battling against now for weeks was lost in that moment, and with that loss came a victory that neither could have expected.
He kissed her. His hand moving her chin up, his face craning down, his lips nearing until they pressed against her mouth in an explosion of desire and want and passion that had been building in them since the first time they had met.
She gasped but then gave in. She relaxed and allowed the kiss to take hold.
She left herself, her mind turned blank, all worried melting away; the kiss they shared was the only thing that mattered.
How long did it last? She could not say.
The duke’s hands held her face. His tongue explored her mouth.
His lips moved slowly, and his teeth nibbled gently.
It was Clara’s first kiss ever, and she knew the wait was well worth it.
Just as she knew that everything she had thought about the duke was right.
Just as quickly as it started, it ended.
The duke pulled away as if coming into himself. He staggered back, his expression written with pain. The fight he had just won resumed with a vengeance. And even before he spoke, Clare knew what he was going to say.
The only thing he can say, for it is not such an easy thing to change one’s entire way of being in an instant.
“I… I am...”
“Do not say you are sorry.” She reached for him, but he pulled back his arm.
“I should not have done that.”
“I am glad you did.”
He shook his head. “No, that was… I must go.” Which is exactly what he did.
The duke stepped around her, striding across the foyer and then out the front door without looking back.
He ran from her, from his feelings, from what she knew he wanted.
Oh, there could be no doubt now how he felt about Clara, but that made things no simpler.
So determined was he to keep her at arm’s length that Clara knew the duke would risk happiness and her love, all because he was convinced he was doing the right thing.
It broke her. She gasped, and her chin trembled.
Her legs collapsed, and she grabbed hold of the banister to keep herself from falling.
Worse off than she had been before she had accosted the duke, just as confused, Clara was so utterly broken that she could not begin to comprehend how she truly felt.
And all the while, the taste of the duke’s lips tingled on her own.