Chapter 24
Kit was certain he'd heard her wrong.
A torturous evening of small talk and forced laughter had rotted his brain and left him witless. That was the only explanation.
He was hearing things because he could have sworn she'd just said—
"I love you." She said it again, and her eyes were wide and just as frantic as her tone. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't say it, but I can't not, and—oh, I'm making a mess of this. I know that you have a mistress who you no doubt care for. And maybe you love her, but—"
"Clarissa—" He tried to intervene. His heart was galloping like a wild horse and his grip on her tightened as he tugged her close.
"No, don't say anything. I shouldn't have said anything." Her words were tumbling out faster now. Her pitch grew higher as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry if I've ruined everything, but I cannot do this. I can't go through with this—"
"Go through with what?" Panic spiked as he tried to keep up. She loved him? But she didn't want to marry him?
He gave his head a little shake as she hurried on, but her words made less and less sense as his mind reeled.
Truly, all he registered was that first part. I love you. The words echoed in his skull.
Did she mean it? Could it be true?
He opened his mouth to cut her off. To ask her to say it again. But before he could—
"Kit! There you are." His father's words cut through everything.
Even Clarissa's torrent of words.
Her eyes widened in surprise and they both turned to find the duke striding toward them with a broad grin.
The Duke of Ashworth looked every inch the proud father. His smile was broad and warm, his arms were open. He was, Kit thought numbly, putting on a very fine performance.
"My dear boy." The duke clapped Kit on the shoulder. "And Lady Clarissa. What a delight."
He took Clarissa's hand and bowed over it with a gallantry that would have charmed anyone who didn't know him. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am. When I heard the news, I said to myself—at last. The boy has finally shown some sense."
Clarissa's face was white. Kit could feel her panic radiating off her in waves. She'd just said I love you—twice—and now the Duke of Ashworth was beaming at her as though she'd won a prize at a country fair.
And Kit hadn't had the chance to respond to any of it.
"Your Grace." Clarissa's voice was remarkably steady, albeit slightly dazed, as she dipped a curtsy. "How kind of you to say."
"Nonsense. I mean every word." The duke turned to Kit with an expression of such paternal pride that Kit's stomach turned. "This is precisely the sort of decision I've been hoping you'd make."
Kit said nothing. He was watching Clarissa, who was watching the duke, who was watching them both with the satisfied air of a man whose plans had come together.
"I do hope you'll forgive me for arriving late," the duke continued, addressing Clarissa now. "I had business to attend to, but I would never miss such a joyous occasion."
"Of course, Your Grace," Clarissa managed. She glanced at Kit—a quick, desperate look that said help me and I'm sorry and please forget everything I just said all at once.
"You must call me Father," the duke said. "Or at the very least, Ashworth. We're to be family, after all."
"How kind." Clarissa's panic was turning to desperation, and Kit was utterly powerless to help because he was fighting the same frantic sensation.
There was no way he could wait one more second to tell Clarissa how he felt. But his father was there, ruining everything. Like always.
For one irrational moment, Kit considered shoving his father over the balustrade just to be rid of him.
To be clear, they were not high off the ground. The intention was more ridiculous than murderous. But before he could do anything so foolish, Clarissa began backing away.
"I— If you'll excuse me, I should— My mother will be wondering where I've gone." Clarissa didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked away, heading not for the doors she'd come out of but farther down the house toward another set of doors that led to the library.
Of course she couldn't walk back into the fray right now. Not like this. Not after she'd told him she loved him and gotten nothing in return. Kit watched her go. Everything in him wanted to follow.
Had she really said she loved him?
Part of him still couldn't believe it had happened.
"Charming girl," the duke observed, watching Clarissa's retreating figure. "A bit nervous, perhaps. But that will settle."
"What are you doing here, Father?" Kit's voice was low.
The duke's smile didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened. "I told you. Offering my congratulations."
"And?" Kit prompted. "What is it that you want?"
Kit couldn't remember a single time in his life when his father had done anything out of the goodness of his heart. If he was here, he was here for a reason. And undoubtedly it was a selfish one.
A silence fell between them. The terrace was empty now, just the two of them and the distant sounds of the party inside. The garden stretched beneath them, dark and quiet.
The duke straightened his cuffs. "Very well.
I wanted to see for myself that the matter was settled.
An engagement puts an end to the speculation.
The ton will move on to the next scandal.
" His father's eyes had lost all that false warmth when they met his.
"I assume there's no reason now to harm the family name. "
"The family name, or your name?" Kit's laugh held no humor. "So you're here because you're still worried, is that it? Worried that now that I've found a wife, I'll feel the urge to clear the air around my…past affairs?"
The duke's lips curled in a sneer at his mocking tone.
But really. The man was just so obvious. He couldn't even pretend to be a decent father for more than a minute.
The duke's sneer turned to a cold smile. "As I said. I'm merely here to congratulate you. Not only is the girl an earl's daughter, but she appears to be willing to overlook your past indiscretions. You chose well."
Kit's hands curled at his sides. "My indiscretions."
"The mistress. The child." The duke waved a hand as if he could swipe it all away. "It's all rather tidily resolved now, isn't it? The girl is taken care of, you have a wife, and no one need speak of it again."
"The girl has a name." Kit's voice was dangerously quiet. "Clementine. And the child is yours."
The words hung in the night air. The duke's expression didn't change, but his eyes went flat and cold.
"We've discussed this," the duke said.
"No. You've dictated. There's a difference.
" Kit took a step forward. "You fathered a child with a woman half your age.
You promised to protect her, and when she became inconvenient, you threw her out.
And now you're standing on my aunt's terrace congratulating me on a sensible match because I found a woman who will tolerate the rumors and the scandal—"
"Keep your voice down," the duke snapped. "Everything I've done has been to protect this family."
"Everything you've done has been to protect yourself." Kit held his father's gaze. "I've watched you my entire life, Father. The charm, the moral speeches, the impeccable reputation. And underneath it—nothing. Just a man who uses people and discards them when they've served their purpose."
The duke's eyes narrowed. "You've been handed the world on a platter, my boy. Any favor you do for me, you do for the family."
"That's where you're wrong." Kit's voice was hard and loud.
But no one else was out here, and for once, he would speak up.
It wouldn't change anything, but some words needed to be said.
"None of this was for you. Nothing I do is ever for you.
You wanted me to take the blame for Clementine.
I did. Not for you, but for her. You wanted the ton to believe the child was mine.
They do. Again, for their sake, not yours.
For years, I let you cast me in the role of your choosing to suit your needs.
Not for you, but for the family name. For my late uncle's sake.
For Aunt Philippa." He paused. "But I'm done. "
The duke was very still. "What do you mean, done?"
"I mean I'm going to tell Clarissa the truth. All of it. And then she can decide what she wants to do."
"If you breathe a word—"
"You'll what?" Kit's jaw clenched tight. "Have Clementine committed? Ruin a pregnant woman to protect your vanity?" He shook his head. "No. I'm done protecting you. Clementine sails for Cork soon. By the time you could do anything, she'll be beyond your reach. I'll make sure of it."
A silence fell, and Kit felt a decades-old weight fall from his shoulders.
"You're making a mistake," the duke said quietly.
"Possibly." Kit didn't have to fake the light, droll tone. "But it's mine to make."
The duke regarded him for a long moment, but then walked past him without another word. It wasn't over. Kit wasn't so foolish as to think his father would let him have his way without a fight. But he still felt a wave of relief when the terrace doors clicked shut.
Now alone, he pressed his hands against the stone balustrade. His pulse was hammering, his hands were shaking. But he felt lighter than he had in months.
I love you. Clarissa's voice still echoed in his mind. In truth, he suspected it was that voice that had given him the courage to finally confront his father.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
She'd said she loved him. And he was going to tell her the truth, all of it.
And then he was going to say it back.
He pushed off the balustrade and turned toward the door, but a sound stopped him. A small, sharp intake of breath from the garden below the terrace. Kit looked down.
Clarissa was standing in the garden. She was pressed against the wall beneath the terrace, her face tilted up, her eyes wide and bright with tears.
"Clarissa." His voice cracked.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I swear it. I went to the library, but I could hear your shouting, and then I heard you say—" With wide eyes she stared at him. "The child isn't yours."
He swallowed hard. "No."
"It's your father's."
He nodded. "Yes."
She wrung her hands together, backing up slightly so she could see him better. "And you've been— This whole time, you've been—"
"Yes."
She pressed both hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shook. He couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. His heart gave a sharp kick in response. And everything in him ached to hold her. Why wasn't she in his arms?
"Stay there," he said. "Don't move. I'm coming down."
He didn't have time for the stairs. He swung himself over the balustrade and dropped into the garden.
He landed gracelessly, and Clarissa let out a startled laugh as he straightened. She was so close. Her eyes were wet and her nose was red and…
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"You love me," he said.
"I— Yes, but that's not the point. The point is your father is a horrible man and that poor girl, and you've been paying for everything out of your own—"
"You love me," he said again. He moved closer still, until he could feel the heat of her body, and the scent of her perfume won out over the smells of the garden.
"Kit, I'm trying to—"
"Clarissa." He reached for her then, his hands on her arms, holding her close. "I realize this is an extraordinary request, but I need to say something, and I need you to stop talking for just a few seconds."
Her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes were enormous with the effort it took.
"I love you," he said. "I love everything about you.
I think I may have started falling in love with you that very first day we met.
Before I knew your name and you were just that woman from the coaching inn who talked so fast the innkeeper couldn't get a word in.
" He was talking fast now too. Almost as fast as she did.
"In that moment, I knew I'd never met anyone so pure and kind and passionate and lovely and…
Clarissa, I love you. That's what I'm trying to say.
I've loved you from the start and I've fallen deeper in love with every word and every silence and every touch and every breath. And—"
He cut himself off when he realized her hands were pressed over her mouth, and her eyes were painfully wide and brimming with tears.
"You can talk now," he said.
She dropped her hands and opened her mouth. But nothing came out. He supposed he didn't need words though, because her eyes said it all.
The love he saw there made it hard to breathe. And he couldn't look away if his life depended on it. A soft, breathless laugh escaped her. "I don't know what to say."
He cupped her face in his hands, a smile stretching across his face. And then he kissed her.
He pressed his lips to hers, gently at first. But when she kissed him back, he couldn't hold back any longer. He tilted his head and fitted his lips over hers, deepening the kiss with all the hunger and urgency he'd been trying to dampen since that very first day.
Her hands fisted in his coat. She tasted like champagne and salt, because she'd been crying, but she was also laughing, and trying to say something against his mouth that he absolutely was not going to let her finish because he was kissing her and he was never going to stop.
When they finally broke apart, she was breathless and bright-eyed and smiling.
He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "What are you thinking? Tell me."
"I was thinking that maybe sometimes the princess really does get a happy ending," she said. "And maybe the prince isn't so useless after all, and—"
He cut her off with a kiss because he couldn't help himself. But he was laughing as he pulled her tight, pressing the length of her body to his, and even that wasn't enough.
He couldn't get close enough. He couldn't get enough of her. Deep down he knew that when it came to this woman, he never would.
"A lifetime isn't nearly enough," he found himself whispering against her temple.
And while it came out of nowhere, and likely made no sense at all, he felt her nod against his chest as her hand came to rest against his heart. "I couldn't have said it better myself."