Page 2 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER TWO

A sh shifted his stance, letting the cool weight of the crystal tumbler rest against his fingers as he studied her.

Clare Handleton.

His sister Meredith’s closest friend and the woman every debutante in London had been warned not to become.

She stood before him, golden hair tumbling in wild, untamed waves down her back, her light-pink dressing gown slipping off one bare shoulder, revealing a thin white chemise beneath. She should have looked vulnerable like that, standing barefoot in the duke’s study, drinking stolen brandy in the middle of the night. But vulnerability wasn’t something Clare wore. No, she draped herself in defiance like the finest silk, her chin lifted, her mouth curved in an insouciant smile.

Ash had always known Clare Handleton was trouble.

She wore it like a crown, carried it with the kind of effortless grace that made people forget she hadn’t chosen this reputation—it had been thrust upon her. She’d been ruined eleven years ago. Ruined and shunned. A terrible fate for a debutante. And instead of trying to claw her way back into Society’s good graces, she had simply shrugged, smirked, and made sure she had the last laugh. Which meant she had courage. Courage and an insolent streak. Who wouldn’t admire such a woman?

Scandalton, the ton had named her.

She didn’t mind that moniker either, apparently. She’d just reminded him about it, actually, as if she couldn’t care any less.

Even now, standing in the dim glow of moonlight, barefoot and draped in nothing but silk and shadows, she looked completely at ease. As if this were her kingdom, and he was the one trespassing.

God help him, he liked that about her.

He liked a lot about her, actually. Her attitude, her demeanor, her…beauty. And she truly was a beauty. Tall, lithe, with blonde hair and dark eyes that shimmered with amusement and sparked with defiance. He’d never been alone with her before. Never had reason to. But tonight he was noticing her in a completely different way. That nearly see-through shift she was wearing didn’t help matters. Her body looked as if it was made for a man’s hands, and her face was equally gorgeous, with high cheekbones and long black lashes.

And despite her reputation, Meredith would not be so close to her if she wasn’t a good sort. Loyal. Steadfast. Clever. And witty. All things his sister valued in her friends. All things Meredith was herself.

Ash eyed Clare up and down. It was a pity what had happened to her. And damn unfair if you asked him. Women couldn’t make the same mistakes men did. The consequences were far different.

Everyone in the ton knew what had happened. Clare had been ruined, discarded, left to rot in the margins of polite Society. Some whispered in pity, others in scorn. But Clare? She only ever smiled in that slow, wicked way, as if she were in on a joke no one else understood.

But Ash understood. He was only too familiar with the disapproval of the ton . Only he’d courted it. Wanted it. To the great concern of his beloved sister, he’d created a reputation for himself that left much to be desired. If Clare was a walking scandal, then Ash was a scandal magnet.

Yes, he and Scandalton had something in common all right. And here they were, alone in the dark, drinking stolen liquor like two people who didn’t belong anywhere else. And honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued by a woman.

Clare lifted her gaze to his, her eyes glinting like polished amber in the moonlight. “Don’t you know my story, Trentham? I’m damaged goods.”

Ash took a deliberate sip from the glass he’d stolen from her, savoring the way her lips parted slightly in surprise. “You’re nothing of the sort,” he said, voice low and certain. “And I know the Earl of Marsden. He’s the biggest ass I’ve ever met.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Not gratitude, not exactly. More like…acknowledgment. A sharp glint of respect, maybe.

“That sounds like him,” she murmured. “Though I wasn’t aware that everyone knew his identity.”

“The ladies may not, but I assure you the gentlemen do, and we’re all itching to club Marsden in the head given the opportunity.”

“ Really ? I never knew. I’d like to join that hunting party.”

She was so damn close. Her breath brushed his skin, laced with brandy and something softer underneath—something sweet he couldn’t name but suddenly wanted to taste.

Ash exhaled slowly, willing himself to keep his hands right where they were. Off her.

If Meredith hadn’t been hosting this house party, Clare wouldn’t have been invited. If Meredith weren’t the sister of a marquess and a duchess in her own right, half the ladies in attendance would have refused to come, just to avoid breathing the same air as Lady Clare.

But Meredith was Meredith. And Scandalton was Scandalton.

It would have been easier if she were a na?ve, wide-eyed debutante. If she batted her lashes and blushed prettily at his attention, like the rest of the ladies in attendance at this house party that his sister had insisted he attend. Because then he could have stolen a kiss and convinced himself it was harmless.

But Clare wasn’t innocent.

And for that very reason, he would never dishonor her like that.

Not her.

Not after what she’d been through, after the way the disapproving ton had already stripped her of everything and left her with nothing but her pride and that sharp-edged smile.

Damn it all though—he wanted to kiss her.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “The earl wasn’t worth it.”

A crack of laughter escaped her, sharp and unexpected. “How well I know it.”

She turned, crossing the room to the darkened window. Her fingers glanced along the pane.

Ash watched her, the tension in his chest settling into something heavier.

She wasn’t a woman who needed apologies. She’d been through hell, and she had come out the other side, chin lifted, daring the world to try again.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve one.

There was only a sip of brandy left in the glass. He downed it before stepping toward the sideboard. “Refill?”

She shook her head. “I should get back to bed. Mama sometimes checks in on me. If I’m not there, she’ll assume the worst.”

Something about that struck him harder than it should have. The thought of being watched, judged, found lacking. He knew it well. He hadn’t felt it in years, but he knew it.

And he hated that she still had to feel it.

She moved past him toward the door, and before he could think better of it, his hand shot out, fingers closing gently around her wrist.

She froze. Turned her head slowly, her sharp, assessing eyes locking onto his. “Yes?”

Ash didn’t let go. “Meet me here again,” he said, surprising even himself. “Tomorrow night. Another drink.”

Where the hell those words had come from, he had no idea. All he knew was that for the first time in years—hell, perhaps ever—he was looking forward to something.

She had to say yes. She had to.

Her gaze narrowed. “You think I’ll be an easy conquest, my lord?” Her voice was light, teasing, but underneath it was something jagged. Something raw. “The once-used woman couldn’t possibly refuse?”

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure she was listening. “Nothing like that,” he said, fiercer than he’d meant to. “I promise it’ll just be drinks. Just talking.”

And he meant it.

That was what shocked him the most. He actually wanted to talk to her.

Clare studied him for a long, stretched-out moment. Then, slowly, she smiled. The kind of smile that made men make mistakes.

“Pity that,” she murmured, the edges of her lips curving slightly in the smallest semblance of a grin.

Then, before he could react, she slipped free and disappeared into the darkened corridor.

Ash stood there, staring after her, bemused.

Pity that ?

Did that mean she wanted more than just talking? She hadn’t answered him. Would she come back?

He arched a brow and refilled the empty glass. There was only one way to find out.