Page 13 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
London, Thursday Night
A sh had spent the last four days trying to rid himself of his inexplicable, unhealthy, perhaps disastrous attraction to Clare Handleton.
And he had failed. Spectacularly.
He had fenced until his arms ached, boxed until his ribs were sore, and ridden through Hyde Park at a punishing pace, as if sheer physical exhaustion could drive her from his mind.
It hadn’t.
Not even his weekly faro game at the club, surrounded by brandy, smoke, and the usual meaningless conversation, had done the trick.
Nothing worked.
Because Clare had said she was infatuated with him. And because he wanted to kiss her again. He couldn’t stop thinking about either thing.
It was ridiculous. It was inconvenient. It was maddeningly frustrating. But it was true. And it was not simply the words themselves, but the way she had said them —that teasing lilt in her voice, the knowing gleam in her eyes. Like she’d been keeping a delicious secret and had finally decided to let him in on it.
She had meant it too. That much he was certain of.
And that knowledge had become a persistent, maddening itch he couldn’t quite reach.
So here he was, arriving at Meredith’s London town house on a Thursday evening, feeling like a damned fool for how much he wanted to see Clare again.
The butler showed him into the drawing room, and Ash made a valiant effort to appear relaxed. He poured himself a drink, leaned against the mantel, and told himself— for the hundredth time —that he needed to get this thing under control.
He lifted his chin, straightened his shoulders, and cleared his throat. He was a grown man, a marquess, a member of the peerage for Christ’s sake. He should be able to quash his attraction to one beautiful female.
Then Clare entered the room, and control became a thing of the past.
She had changed.
Not just into evening attire, but into something altogether more dangerous.
Her gown was a deep, rich burgundy that clung sinfully to her curves, the neckline just low enough to make a man’s thoughts turn wicked. Her golden hair was pulled up, but a few loose tendrils had escaped, curling softly at her nape.
She was, quite frankly, fucking stunning.
And the way she looked at him? Like she knew exactly what she was doing to him, making his cock ache unbearably.
“Lord Trentham,” she greeted, amusement tinging the edges of her voice.
“Lady Clare,” he drawled, setting down his glass. He should have bowed politely, but instead, he lingered—taking his time, letting his gaze drift lazily over her.
Her lips twitched. “You’re staring.”
“You make it rather difficult not to.”
A breath. A pause. The crackle of tension between them.
And then she smiled. Slow. Knowing. Teasing .
God help him.
“You wanted to see me again,” he murmured, stepping closer. It was a statement, not a question.
She tilted her head, studying him, and put a gloved hand to her throat. “Did I?” she drawled.
“Don’t play coy.”
She laughed softly, the sound sending heat straight through him. “And if I did? What do you intend to do about it?”
Ash parted his lips to reply…when the door swung open.
“There you are, Ash,” Meredith’s voice rang out. “I wondered if you’d actually make an appearance here tonight.”
Ash turned smoothly, slipping back into his usual mask of indifference.
“And disappoint my sister?” he said, placing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Meredith and Griffin both gave him wary looks from the corners of their eyes.
Clare, for her part, looked utterly unbothered.
The moment passed, and then the four of them were heading to the dining room, exchanging polite conversation about the weather, the ton ’s latest social engagements, and the future arrival of Meredith and Griffin’s child.
Ash should have been engaged in the discussion. He should have had a dozen witty remarks ready to fill any silence. He should have had a score of ready questions about his future nephew. And he did hope the baby was a boy. He’d bet quite a large sum on it at the club.
But all he could do was watch Clare.
The curve of her mouth as she sipped her wine. The way the candlelight made her skin glow. The subtle way she shifted in her seat, as if aware of his gaze, as if she felt this thing between them just as acutely as he did.
It was excruciating.
What the devil was the matter with him?
And when she finally excused herself to use the convenience, he waited precisely two entire minutes before setting down his napkin and following her.
Then he wandered around in the corridor like a lovesick schoolboy until she came around the corner again. The moment he spotted her, he acted on pure instinct.
He reached for her, pulling her swiftly into a nearby room and closing the door behind them.
“Well, that was subtle,” Clare murmured, eyes alight with mischief.
Ash barely heard her.
Because she was so damn close now, the scent of her—warm, sweet, utterly intoxicating—making him dizzy.
And before he could talk himself out of it, he cupped her face and kissed her.
Hard.
She made a soft sound of surprise against his mouth, but then—God help him—she melted into him.
Her hands slid up his chest, fisting the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, as if she had wanted this just as badly as he had.
He angled her head back, deepening the kiss, tasting the lingering hint of wine on her lips.
It was nothing like their last kiss.
This was hotter, more desperate, more demanding.
This was the kind of kiss that started fires.
He was barely aware of his hands sliding down her back, pulling her flush against him, of the way her body fit against his so perfectly.
He was about to say something reckless, something utterly irrevocable, when she pulled back slightly, her breathing unsteady.
“Damn you. Why do you have to be so good at that?”
His breath was coming in hard bursts. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
“You still want to see me again?” she murmured.
His grip tightened. “You already know the answer to that.”
Her lips parted slightly, as if considering something. Then—very deliberately—she tilted her head, watching him carefully, and asked, “Do you know the Onyx Club?”
The breath left his body.
Ash stilled, his entire body going taut.
Of course, he knew the Onyx Club.
It was a sin club. A pleasure club. A club where London’s elite went to indulge in all sorts of wicked behavior.
And he, of course, was a longtime member.
His fingers flexed against her waist. He should have expected this from her. Clare had been full of surprises since the moment she walked into his life.
But this?
This changed everything.