Page 28 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A t first, she laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh, the kind he loved pulling from her, the kind that made her dark eyes glimmer with delighted amusement.

But then she realized he wasn’t laughing .

Her laughter tapered off as she took him in—his tight jaw, his arms crossed over his chest, his stance too rigid.

His seriousness.

The humor in her gaze dimmed, but her lips still curved slightly, as if waiting for him to admit he was merely jesting. “You’re not serious.”

Ash wasn’t sure he was serious.

Hell, he hadn’t even been thinking when he said it. The words had just happened. But now that they were out there, now that he had seen the way her face had changed, the way her eyes had flickered with something unreadable before she masked it…

Now, he was serious.

He pushed off the mantel and exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m quite serious,” he muttered, though even to his own ears, he sounded like a man still trying to convince himself.

Clare’s lips twitched, as if she could hear the hesitation too. “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”

He rubbed the back of his neck roughly, because damn it all, he didn’t know what the hell he was saying, just that he couldn’t let her leave. “I admit, I’m not entirely certain where the idea came from?—”

Clare snorted. “That much is clear.”

“But now that I’ve said it,” he went on, forcing himself to meet her gaze, “I am… serious.”

Her head tilted, eyes narrowing with skepticism. “Serious, are you? With that hesitation in your voice?”

He grasped his lapel. “Clare, I would never?—”

“You would never seriously propose,” she finished for him, the humor draining from her tone, replaced by something firmer. A warning. “We’ve had fun. A lot of fun,” she admitted, an unmistakable heat flickering in her eyes before she pushed it down. “But it’s time to end this. Beyond time, if we’re honest.”

A sharp twist of something—something raw and unfamiliar—hit him square in the chest.

He scrubbed a frustrated hand through his hair. “Now who’s not listening?”

She stepped closer then, too close, her palm coming to rest on his shoulder, warm and steady. A gentle squeeze. Comforting.

He hated it.

Because she was already saying good-bye.

“Let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” she said, soft but firm. “We both knew from the start that this couldn’t last forever. Didn’t we?”

“Well, I—” Bloody hell. This was excruciating.

Because he didn’t know what he knew any longer. Only that the thought of her leaving—of her disappearing into France, living some fabricated life, of him never seeing her again—felt like someone was tying his gut into knots.

“Why couldn’t we marry?” he demanded.

She groaned— actually groaned —and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “Oh, allow me to count the ways.”

Then she patted him.

Patted.

Like he was some poor, misguided fool.

His teeth clenched.

“It’s sweet of you to suggest it,” she went on, shaking her head, smiling—but not the kind of smile he wanted to see. This one was sad, sympathetic, resigned. “Really. But you are not required to be my hero, Ash.”

His breath caught. He wanted to growl.

“I shall go to France,” she continued lightly. “Live my lovely life as a would-be widow. You shall forget all about me and move on to your next amusement—whoever she shall be.”

Forget her?

Move on?

His chest tightened.

“You don’t want to stay?” he asked roughly, his jaw tight. “Is that it?”

Clare let out a long, measured sigh. The kind of sigh one gives a petulant child who simply doesn’t understand.

She turned for the door. And panic flared hot and sharp in his chest.

“I expect,” she said over her shoulder, an annoyingly flippant edge to her voice, “that in the cold light of day, you’ll regret ever having said this.”

His hands curled into fists. “No, I shall not regret it!” he shot back, straightening. Damn it, he was digging in.

Clare sighed again, heavier this time, and opened the door. “Then you leave me no choice.”

A sick feeling coiled in his gut.

“I am not going back to the Onyx Club,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I shall not attend another one of these dinners.”

His stomach dropped.

“I am making my arrangements,” she finished, turning and looking him straight in the eye. “And I am leaving for France.”

And then she was gone.

Ash stared after her, heart pounding, breath unsteady , hands shaking at his sides. His world had just been shaken.

And for the first time in his entire life, he had no idea what the hell to do.