Page 32 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Thursday, The Duke of Southbury’s Town House

C lare folded her arms over her chest and stared at Ash, one brow arched high in blatant skepticism.

A fire .

Really?

How convenient.

She wasn’t certain what was more absurd—the fact that he expected them to believe such an obvious fabrication or the way he delivered the news with that casual, almost bored indifference, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to show up unannounced, bags in hand, ready to settle in at his sister’s town house like an invited guest.

Griffin, ever the gracious host, merely sighed and signaled for the butler to see to Ash’s accommodations.

Meredith, however, wasn’t buying it for a second.

“A fire?” she repeated, her skeptical gaze narrowing on her brother. “Where exactly?”

Ash waved a vague, dismissive hand. “Kitchen. Nothing serious.”

Griffin frowned. “You have a cook, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Ash said smoothly, already shrugging out of his coat, “but she wasn’t the one setting things aflame this time.”

Clare caught the flicker of his gaze in her direction, the barest hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Her pulse kicked up.

The audacity of this man.

She didn’t believe him. Not for a second. She just hadn’t worked out what his game was yet. Still, she held her tongue. For now .

The four of them settled in for a game of whist in the drawing room, and if Meredith or Griffin noticed the thinly veiled innuendo laced through Clare and Ash’s banter, they wisely chose to ignore it.

“You do realize,” Clare said dryly, as Ash laid down a particularly ruthless card, “that being insufferable is not, in fact, a requirement to win.”

“Ah, but it makes victory all the sweeter,” Ash murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched before she could stop them.

The game went on, but soon, predictably, the conversation took a turn.

Meredith, ever eager to see her brother settled, wasted no time pressing the one topic Ash always sidestepped.

“Any closer to finding a wife, Brother?” she asked, taking a delicate sip of her wine.

Clare, as always, expected him to dodge. To smirk and offer some halfhearted deflection.

Instead, Ash answered immediately. “Yes, actually. I’ve already made my choice. I can only hope the lady in question says yes.”

Clare choked on her wine. She gasped and coughed, slapping at her chest. Did he truly just say that ?

Griffin gave them both a look . Oh, God. What did he know about it?

Meredith blinked at her brother slowly, giving him a perfectly skeptical glare. “You needn’t make fun,” she said, lifting her nose in the air and tossing a card upon the table.

“I’m not,” Ash countered smoothly, completely unfazed. “I’ve given it quite a lot of thought lately, and I’ve decided you’re right. It’s high time I take a wife.”

Clare stared at him, her mind scrambling to make sense of this unexpected turn of events.

What.

Was.

He.

Doing?

“Oh, really,” Meredith drawled, clearly not believing a word of it. “Then, do tell, who is this woman? She must be a paragon if you’ve decided to ask for her hand.”

Ash shook his head. “Ah, I cannot reveal her name until I have secured the lady’s hand. But she is indeed someone quite special.”

“You won’t share her name?” Meredith retorted, obviously miffed. “That’s preposterous.”

“She may refuse me,” Ash replied, blinking piteously toward Clare.

What was he about ? Clare tugged at the neck of her gown. It was blistering hot in the drawing room of a sudden. She narrowed her eyes. “I seem to recall you once saying you wanted a biddable wife.”

“I wouldn’t object,” Ash said far too quickly and far too agreeably.

“Oh, so a broodmare then?” she shot back. “You’d have better luck searching the stables.”

Ash turned his gaze on her, something sharp and knowing in his expression. “Well,” he said smoothly, “I do like a spirited filly.”

Heat bloomed in Clare’s chest.

Not because of what he said. But because of how he said it.

Low.

Silky smooth.

Possessive .

The kind of voice that made promises. The kind of voice that— No .

Absolutely not.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to roll her eyes, refusing to let him see how that single sentence had affected her.

But suspicion prickled at the back of her mind. What was he doing here? Why had he suddenly arrived at his sister’s home, talking about wanting a wife?

And why— why —was her name flashing through her mind as the only possible answer?

She refused to entertain the thought.

Refused .

Mercifully, Meredith chose that moment to yawn, stretching languidly as she set her cards down. “Well, that’s enough excitement for me,” she declared. “I’m off to bed.”

Griffin followed suit, tossing his cards down as well. “Me too.”

Clare began to rise, eager to escape with her friends, but Meredith stopped her with a knowing smile. “Stay and have a drink with Ash,” she said lightly. “It’s fine. We aren’t formal here. Perhaps he’ll tell you who he plans to ask to marry him.”

“I just might!” Ash nearly shouted from his seat at the card table.

Clare froze, glancing at him. He looked far too pleased with himself. Her suspicion deepened.

This was a trap .

She should leave.

She knew she should.

Instead, she sighed and settled back into her chair, reaching for her glass.