Page 12 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER TWELVE

C lare stood beside Meredith and Griffin on the gravel drive, the crisp morning air swirling around them as the last of the guests departed. Across the carriage-lined courtyard, the disappointed debutantes clutched their embroidered reticules and bid their farewells, their smiles polite but unmistakably forced.

It was quite sad. A parade of dashed hopes, really.

Each one had come to Southbury Hall with a single goal—to capture the attention of the elusive Marquess of Trentham. And each one had failed spectacularly.

Clare gave a particularly exuberant wave to Lady Julia, who pointedly ignored her as she climbed up into her carriage with her mother at her side.

“Poor things,” Meredith murmured beside her, lifting a gloved hand in a farewell wave.

Clare hummed noncommittally, though she felt no real sympathy. The ladies who had spent the last several days angling for Ash’s favor had done so with the same gleaming-eyed calculation the ton always applied to powerful, eligible men. None of them had cared much for Ash the man—only for Ashford Drake, the marquess. Ashford, the prize. They didn’t know that he was a man who’d rescued a baby fox from a trap and set it free in the middle of a hunt. They didn’t know that he treated his sister like gold and would do absolutely anything for her. They didn’t know that he had three different sorts of smiles. One for when he was being wicked. One for when he was being playful, and one for when he was truly amused. And that of the three of them, she most coveted the third.

They didn’t know Ash like she’d come to know him over the years. More than the older brother of her close friend, but as a man who wore a carefully cultivated mask around the people he didn’t know or trust. A man who didn’t allow the ton to see his true nature in precisely the same manner she had never allowed them to see hers. She understood him. The silly debutantes at the party this week, including Lady Julia? They didn’t even know him.

And none of them had stood a chance.

Not when Ash had been far too busy burning her alive with his gaze.

She’d been honest with him. Nothing more could happen between them, and they both knew it. She wasn’t being coy. She was being truthful. But she couldn’t help the butterflies that winged through her middle when she thought about the look he’d given her last night in the study. He’d told her that her presence at Meredith’s house in London would be an unholy temptation. It had taken all of her strength to turn and leave the room last night. Seeing him again in London might just break her.

As if summoned by thought alone, the great doors of the house opened, and there he was.

Ash strode down the stone steps, looking as infuriatingly handsome as ever. His dark hair was slightly tousled from the morning breeze, his gray eyes glinting with amusement as he approached. If the gaggle of debutantes had been hoping for one last glance, he gave them nothing more than a vague nod of farewell.

The moment the last carriage trundled through the gates, Meredith whirled on her brother with a look of utter betrayal.

“Ash, really.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “You could have at least feigned interest in one of them.”

Clare bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“I did feign interest,” Ash replied easily, scrunching up his nose. “Just not very well, apparently.”

Griffin let out a low chuckle. “I did warn you, love,” he said to Meredith, draping an arm lazily around her waist. “Your brother is hopeless.”

“Hopeless,” Meredith agreed. Then, narrowing her eyes at Ash, she added, “But let’s not forget, dear brother, you lost the bet with Griffin last year. You must take a bride before your thirty-first birthday.”

Clare’s stomach twisted at the words.

She already knew about the bet. Everyone in their circle did. If Ash wasn’t married by his next birthday, he’d forfeit something—land, money, perhaps a favorite horse—she wasn’t sure.

All she knew was that Ash had laughed off the consequences at the time.

And now, with the deadline looming?

He still wasn’t taking it seriously.

Ash gave a mock sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as if wounded. “So cold, Meredith. Must is such a heavy-handed word.”

Meredith scowled. “Oh, spare me.”

But Clare barely heard her. Because at that exact moment, Ash turned his attention to her, and a slow, heated look passed between them.

It was barely a flicker—a moment that lasted only a breath—but Clare felt the burn of it everywhere.

She schooled her expression, biting back the smile that threatened to betray her.

Meredith, oblivious to the silent exchange, folded her arms. “You haven’t seen the last of me and my matchmaking efforts.” She lifted her chin defiantly and rested a hand upon her expanding middle. “I am determined to find you a bride before I’m forced into confinement.”

Griffin groaned. “Darling, please. I beg you to let this go. I’ll happily take Trentham’s prize horse as forfeit.”

“And I will happily give him to you,” Ash replied. Then he grumbled, “Well, perhaps not happily, but willingly, at least.”

“I absolutely will not let this go,” Meredith snapped. Then, turning back to Ash, she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t think I won’t come looking for you in London and bring along a beautiful lady or two.”

Ash lifted a brow. “In that case, I’ll make it easy for you.”

Clare narrowed her eyes and pretended to study the landscape.

Meredith narrowed her eyes. “How easy?”

“I’ll come visit you in London.” He slid his hands into his coat pocket, then added, as if completely indifferent, “Say, every Thursday night? For dinner?”

Clare almost gasped. A weekly dinner? How would she ever be able to sit through such evenings? No doubt Ash would employ the same sort of heated looks he’d just given her. Oh, dear. Perhaps she could find an excuse to bow out.

Meredith seemed caught off guard too. Ash hated domestic things. He avoided intimate family dinners with the same fervor he avoided the marriage mart.

“You’ll—” She blinked. “You’ll come to dinner?”

He shrugged, all casual nonchalance. “Why not?”

Meredith beamed. “Yes, absolutely. Thursday night.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ash murmured.

But he wasn’t looking at his sister.

He was looking at Clare.

And Clare knew.

That dinner wasn’t about family obligations.

God help her. It was about her.