Page 21 of Forever Her Bachelor

“Careful not to reveal all my secrets,” he teased her, trying to hide his emotions.

“Not all.” She gave him a teasing smile. Dear God, did he want to ravish her mouth.

“I would assume the late duke would have watched you more carefully so that you would not make the same mistakes as he did by marrying an unsuitable woman,” the Dowager Marchioness Heartford’s voice was full of venom and hate.

Her comment about his mother did not sit well with St. Clara at all. “My mother was not unsuitable, and neither is Miss Price.” He couldn’t remove his gaze from the dowager, his anger rising with every breath he took.

He had heard every rumor about his mother and the dowager’s friendship, but he would not sit there and allow her to speak ill of her. St. Clara had done it his entire life with his father, sitting through hours of him ranting and raving about St. Clara’s whore of a mother. As a young boy, he had done nothing; as a grown man, he had done the same.

“You must forgive me. It was me she betrayed in my home while I was recovering from the loss of my daughter.” Thedowager cleared her throat as if she was wounded, but St. Clara saw through her performance. There were no tears, no pain, nothing but a slight tilt at the corner of her mouth.

A smile.

His mind swirled with the information about his mother and Heartford’s father. He had never known the details of his mother’s betrayal; he only knew that the outcome was his sister Amelia and the ruination of his family.

“Mother, that is enough.” Heartford warned the dowager in a stern sharp voice.

“Am I not allowed to speak of anything?” she asked, piercing her son with dark eyes. The two were so vastly different in appearance that it was shocking to believe they were related at all.

Heartford resembled their sister more than St. Clara ever would. There was no question of Amelia’s parentage. Her daughter, Emily, had inherited the same blonde hair and green eyes as her mother and uncle.

The dowager scuffed out a sound before she continued with her diatribe. “I’m not allowed to speak on your sister the harlot despite her being the cause of everything going abominably?—”

St. Clara slammed his hand down, having heard enough about his mother and his sister. Guilt had consumed him after the death of his mother, then Amelia. He had ignored them both during their lives, following and obeying his father in all matters. Now, years after their deaths, he felt like a cruel fool who had ignored the only family he had left.

Julia cleared her throat several times before she interrupted his and the dowager’s staring match. The dowager was just as horrid as she had always been, and St. Clara could not help but wonder how his mother could have been friends with such a woman.

“When did you two grow apart?” Julia asked Pippa before taking a bite of her boiled potatoes.

He waited for Pippa to answer, but there was none coming. Turning to face her, he saw the tremble of her bottom lip, her face void of all color.

“It doesn’t matter. Once Miss Price is wed, she will forget all about any friendships,” Summerset sneered before taking a sip of his wine.

St. Clara’s jaw clenched as Summerset stared with hatred and contempt at Pippa. The look on the other man’s face made St. Clara’s heart stop beating in his chest. Summerset had already buried four wives; after each death, the rumors grew. Whispers in the corner of ballrooms, mentions in the scandal sheets that he did not treat his wives or his mistresses well. St. Clara had seen bruised cheeks covered by rouge and fear in the eyes of every one of his wives. His father had been long acquainted with Summerset, so much so that the other man would frequent their house when St. Clara was younger.

“It was nothing but a childhood association. The two have no interaction at all.” Lord Wayford’s shook his colossal head, his jowls shaking, reminding St. Clara of a hog.

“Let’s be sure it stays that way,” Summerset replied, shifting his gaze to St. Clara.

As the two men glared at each other, St. Clara knew in his heart that Heartford was right.

He had to do something.

CHAPTER 7

Dear Kitten,

Every girl I meet is simply unbearable to be around. They all smile too wide and giggle obsessively whenever I am near. You are the only girl I want as my friend. You’re just different. You’re not a girl; you’re my Kitten. Promise you’ll always be.

Your friend,

Chauncey (The Assistant)

Gently closing the door to Julia’s sitting room, Pippa released an exhale, her shoulders and chest bouncing up and down. Her nerves were tense, muscles tight, all because she’d had to endure Florentia Vaughn and the Dowager Marchioness Heartford for thirty minutes. She had excused herself by pretending she needed the lady’s retiring room when what Pippa really needed was a moment away from the vileness. She could finally breathe, away from the stern, disapproving glare of her intended, and she would relish in the freedom.

Florentia had arrived at the dinner party escorted by St. Clara. Pippa tried to ignore how the sight of the two of themtogether made her feel, but the logical part of her mind knew the truth. She was mad with jealousy; it weaved through her like lead, slow and permanent. It was a feeling she had not been accustomed to associating with St. Clara in a very long time. When they were children, she had not liked to share him with anyone, not even Bollingbrook who he was only in contact with while away at Eton.

Now she had the unladylike urge to scratch Florentia Vaughn’s eyes out, a first since the girl had often tried to bully Pippa for the last three Seasons. Pippa had always ignored the irritating leper, who had thought it her right to judge anyone who was not a diamond of the first water. Seeing her with St. Clara, however, stirred something deep inside of Pippa that she had thought was long gone. It was even more painful than the first time she had identified the emotion.