Page 26 of Forever Her Bachelor
Thankful for their height difference, St. Clara glared down at Summerset, steeling every nerve in his body so that he would not punch the man in Heartford’s library. “There was no display at dinner. Miss Price and I are old friends. I am free to speak to her whenever I wish.”
Summerset took a step closer to St. Clara, his foul breath invading St. Clara’s airways. “Not when she’s my wife, you won’t.”
Swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise, St. Clara rounded on the other duke, tired of his riddles and games.
Unconsciously licking his bottom lip, he was accosted with her taste. Lavender and wine, lingering minutes after their kiss. Pride swelled in him from knowing that it had been he, not the old, nearly decrepit duke in front of him, who’d had Pippa in his arms, begging for him mere moments ago.
“She is not your wife …” St. Clara paused, allowing the impact of his statement to sink into Summerset’s old bones. “… yet.” If he had anything to say about it, she would never become Summerset’s wife.
St. Clara was done denying the connection the two of them shared. When they were children, it had been a bond like noother. As a young man, he hadn’t recognized it. She’d been only a friend to him, someone he would always do anything for. He would move mountains just to make her happy, yet he never allowed himself to truly feel what she meant to him. Until now.
Snake-like eyes zoned in on St. Clara, ready to strike at the first signs of weakness. He had never liked the older duke, especially knowing the man’s proclivities.
Letting out a disgruntled grunt of annoyance, Summerset shifted his weight from side to side. “I remember your past with my intended. Whatever connection you had ends now. I won’t have the paternity of any child of mine questioned like your father did.”
Before he could gain control of his facilities, St. Clara stepped into Summerset’s personal space, not carrying if the man’s eyes were full of fear. “How dare you insinuate such a thing? Miss Price is a lady, and I will not have you degrade her in any manner.”
“Do you think the entire dinner party did not see your little display?” Summerset spat out, his bottom lip quivering slightly. “Your father told me how you were rutting the girl before she was even out in society.”
“How dare you lie about my father?” St. Clara huffed out a breath, wanting to lunge at Summerset. His father would have never said such a thing; he knew St. Clara and Pippa had never been intimate.
“Lie about your father?” he asked with venom. “You don’t know a thing about him. He would be disgraced at the sight of you swooning over a woman beneath your station.”
“You speak ill of the woman you intend to marry?” St. Clara couldn’t believe the audacity of Summerset.
He let out a dark chuckle as if he did not have a care in the world. “I would’ve offered for Florentia Vaughn, but I believe your Miss Price will be more entertaining to break.”
St. Clara’s blood boiled in his veins, fully taking on the meaning of Summerset’s words. He wanted to harm Pippa as he had harmed his previous wives. That could not happen. St. Clara would die before he allowed anything to happen to her.
He stabbed two fingers into Summerset’s bony shoulder. “If you ever speak of her in that manner again. I will end you.”
Summerset staggered away from St. Clara’s pounding fingers. “Make no mistake, I won’t share my wife. Whatever arrangement you have with the whore ends?—”
Grabbing Summerset by the lapels, St. Clara pulled him closer, feeling the man shake in his hands. “She will not marry you.”
“Who’s going to stop her? You?” Summerset challenged, a deadly challenge on his face.
Having heard enough from him, St. Clara shoved Summerset away forcefully, causing the much-lighter man to stumble backward toward the bookshelf.
“St. Clara! What in God’s name are you thinking?” Heartford asked, rushing over to stand in front of him before he could advance on Summerset once more.
“Speak one more vile thing about her, and I will call you out.” St. Clara pointed over Heartford’s shoulder, not caring about the scene he was causing.
He didn’t care that dueling was now illegal. He would gladly kill the man for such words. St. Clara’s body vibrated with the weight of his rage, his hands twitching with the urge to pummel the man.
“You dare put your hands on me!” Summerset shouted as he was assisted by Wayford. “Your father would be ashamed of you. No wonder he thought you were a bastard just like your sister.” Summerset gave him a smug look. “I’m sure the whore reminds you of your mother. She was always free with her favors. I triedto sample her once, but she played the role of an innocent even after your sister’s paternity was obvious.”
St. Clara saw nothing but red as his body shook violently, both his hands balling into a fist as he easily charged past Heartford and Edwards. Wayford wisely released Summerset, sprinting out of St. Clara’s wrath.
The first two punches to Summerset’s face were pure bliss. The third caused the smaller man to fall again, this time to the floor.
He barely felt the multiple hands pulling him away, his chest filled with both pride and pent-up rage. Pride for finally defending his mother as he had never done before, rage at the audacity of the other man for even insinuating that St. Clara was a bastard.
For years, he’d sat by while his father called his mother a whore, an adulterer. As a young boy, he had wanted to defend her, but he never did. He could never stand up to his father. But he’d be damned if he’d allow Summerset to speak ill of her. He had never defended his mother in her life. The least he could do was defend her in her death.
Summerset cupped his jaw. To St. Clara’s satisfaction, it was turning a wonderful black-and-blue color. “Is this how you allow your guests to be treated, Heartford? I will not return nor will my intended.” Summerset shouted, red-faced as Wayford fussed over him like he was a child.
“Please accept my apology. I do not condone St. Clara’s behavior.” Heartford pressed his hand to his chest in sincerity.