Page 27 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Thursday night, The Duke of Southbury’s Town House

D inner was a disaster.

At least for Clare.

Meredith and Griffin chatted pleasantly, speaking of the latest theater performances and the coming holidays, as if nothing in the world was amiss. Meanwhile, beneath the table, Ash was ruining her.

She barely breathed as his fingers traced lazy circles on her thigh, the touch featherlight, maddening. He inched higher, closer, teasing, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.

And damn it, she wanted him there.

She wanted his hand to slip between her legs, to find her slick and aching. She wanted his fingers inside her, curling forward in that devastating way he had taught her could undo her completely.

But not here.

Not in the middle of dinner .

Not when Meredith and Griffin were sitting right across from them.

Her skin burned as she forced herself to reach for her glass, her fingers trembling slightly around the stem.

How had it come to this?

They regularly met at the Onyx Club. Again and again and again. She sneaked out at night after her hosts were asleep, hiring a hack at the corner to take her there. She had long since surpassed the amount of money she needed to escape and had more than enough tucked away to take her far from England.

So why was she still here?

Arranging travel should have been easy. A few discreet inquiries, a carriage to the coast, a ship across the Channel. She should have already done it.

But she hadn’t.

Because of him.

Because she wanted this —his touch, his heat, his wicked mouth whispering the kind of things that made her toes curl. But worse, she wanted his company.

That was the most dangerous part.

He was more than just a lover. He was clever and charming, sharp in the way she liked. She had spent years feeling like an outcast, on the outside of every conversation, every gathering. But with him, she belonged.

And she didn’t want to give that up.

Not yet.

Ash’s fingers glanced off her inner thigh, and she sucked in a sharp breath, her grip tightening on her wine glass. The stem wobbled between her fingers, nearly toppling, and every glass on the table jumped.

Meredith placed a hand at her throat, startled. Griffin’s hand caught the table’s edge.

“Clare, dear, are you quite all right?” Meredith asked, concern in her voice.

Clare barely swallowed a curse. She grabbed her napkin, dabbing at her lips, hiding her shock behind it.

“I—I’m not feeling entirely well,” she said quickly. “Excuse me, won’t you?”

She pushed back from the table before she had to look at Ash. Because if she did, she knew exactly what she would see.

Mischief.

Triumph.

And something else she wasn’t prepared to name.

She made it into the corridor, pressing her palms to the cool wall, inhaling deeply, steadying herself.

She knew he would come. It was only a matter of time.

And he did .

The door creaked open, and the moment he stepped into the hallway, she seized his wrist and pulled him into the darkened drawing room.

His lips were on hers in an instant.

He backed her against the door, his hands sliding into her hair, his mouth hot and insistent, taking, demanding. And damn her , she let him.

She let him because this was why she hadn’t left. This was why she kept coming back.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body arching into him—until, with every last bit of willpower she had, she wrenched herself away.

“I must speak to you,” she panted.

He was breathing just as heavily. “And I must touch you.”

His lips found her neck, his voice low and hungry. “Feeling you in there was driving me insane.”

Her eyes rolled back as his mouth brushed over the pulse behind her ear.

No. No, she had to say it.

“Ash,” she forced out.

He kissed along her throat.

“Ash, I’m serious.”

He didn’t listen. He nipped lightly at the place just above her collarbone.

She shoved him away.

Hard.

And when she put the settee between them, only then did he exhale sharply, his hands going to his hips. “What is it you need to tell me that’s so bloody important?”

She straightened her spine. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “We must stop.”

Silence.

“No more of this,” she said, waving a finger in the air between them.

Ash went completely still.

“Why?” His voice was measured, but there was something else there. Frustration? Disappointment?

She swallowed. “Because I have the money. I have everything I need. And I must leave before my mother arrives.”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “When will that be?”

She hesitated. “A sennight at most.”

His jaw tensed. “Then we have a sennight.”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “No, you’re not listening. We must stop now .”

His gaze darkened. But his voice was softer when he asked, “You don’t want me anymore?”

The ache in his eyes almost undid her.

She forced herself to turn away. “I cannot say that,” she whispered.

“Then don’t.”

She felt him before she saw him—his presence closing in behind her, his breath at her ear.

How could she make him understand? Their time together had been unforgettable. But that was the problem. She was losing herself in him, in the feelings growing too fast, too strong. The more time they spent together, the more he bound her to him—his touch, his body, his intimate whispers pulling her deeper. Letting him go needed to be easy. It should have been.

But it wasn’t.

They’d had their fun. More than enough. And this was no longer just about her reputation or the risk of scandal. Her heart was on the line now, and that was a risk she could no longer take.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, Clare.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t stay here and be your lover, Ash.”

Those words stopped him cold.

And she could tell. That was when he realized.

Because for the first time since all of this began, he was truly asking her for something that wasn’t in her best interest.

And he had clearly never thought about it that way before.

She exhaled, bracing herself. “I must leave.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “But…but…you have other options.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “What options? I cannot be a nursemaid. I cannot be a lady’s maid. Who would ever hire me? I can do nothing but listen to my mother’s disappointment for the rest of my life.”

“You do have options,” he insisted, pacing away from her.

“Really?” she challenged. “Name one.”

“ You can marry me !”