Page 33 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

T he moment the door closed behind Meredith and Southbury, Ash poured Clare a much stronger drink than the wine she had been sipping.

She accepted it with obvious wary suspicion.

“Why do I have a feeling your house is not actually on fire?” she asked, narrowing her eyes over the rim of her glass.

Ash shrugged, swirling the amber liquid in his own glass. “That obvious, am I?”

“Yes.” She gave her head that little shake he’d come to covet.

“Well,” he said, taking a measured sip, “what choice did I have when you refused to see me?”

Clare let out a slow breath, setting her drink down on the table in front of her with deliberate care. “I refused to see you for good reason.”

He inclined his head. “And that reason was?”

She lifted her chin. “Because I need to leave. And because I can’t do this .” She rolled a finger in the air.

Ash ignored the sharp pang in his chest. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said quietly.

“You don’t—” She sucked in her breath.

His gaze captured hers and held. “I need time to convince you to marry me.”

Clare froze. For a long moment, she didn’t breathe. Then…

“What?” she said flatly. “Have you lost your mind?” But she could hear it, the inflection in her own voice, the tremor, the emotion she hadn’t wanted to escape.

“I have not lost my mind,” Ash said firmly. “In fact, I’ve done quite a lot of research on the matter.”

Clare made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. “Research.”

“Yes. I’ve made a study of it.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “In addition to speaking to Southbury and Grovemont, I?—”

Her head snapped up, panic gripping her heart. “Griffin knows about this?”

“Yes, well, he had to help me identify it. I suspect it’s why he and my sister were so quick to leave an unmarried couple alone in their drawing room.”

Clare’s eyes widened. “Identify what?”

Ash waved a hand. “I’m getting to that. As I was saying…I spoke to Southbury and Grovemont, and I went to the library and read scads of poems about love.”

Clare gasped. Love ?

Ash had to bite back a smile at the genuine horror on her face.

“Poems,” she repeated, slowly, as if making sense of his words. “Poems about love ?”

He nodded. “Turns out love is a terribly unique feeling. I’d never felt it before, so I didn’t recognize it at first. You can’t blame me, really.”

Clare gaped at him. “Now you’re beginning to frighten me.”

Ash set his glass down and watched her carefully. “Will you stay and give me time to convince you to marry me?”

Clare had begun shaking her head even before he finished his sentence. “No. No . I’m leaving Saturday.”

Ash sighed. “I expected you’d say that.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, contemplating her with narrowed eyes. “And I’ve been thinking quite a bit about your plan to leave England.”

Clare tensed. “What about it?” she asked, her eyes filled with suspicion.

“You said you’d write to Meredith once you arrived in France. To let her know you’re fine.”

She touched a hand to her throat. “Yes.”

Ash inclined his head. “But what if you’re not fine?”

She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because I won’t be there.

He didn’t say it. Instead, he let the words linger between them.

“All sorts of horrors can befall a woman alone,” he said instead.

Clare let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Oh, thank you so very much for pointing that out. I’m quite well aware. I’ll have my maid with me, at least.”

Ash met her gaze. Damn. She wasn’t budging. He would have to try another tactic. “If you won’t stay, let me come with you then.”

The words shocked even him. But if she refused to stay, he would have to go. It was as simple as that.

Clare went still. Her eyes narrowed. “With me where?”

“To France, of course.”

She stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled over. Then she backed away. “Right,” she muttered. “I’m going to ring for a servant to come and fetch you now, because you’ve clearly got some sort of fever.”

Ash stood and made it to her side in two strides. “Nothing of the sort,” he murmured, leaning down and whispering the words next to her delicate ear.

She swallowed, pressing both hands to her middle. “You know this is madness.”

“Delirious, reckless madness,” he agreed, his voice low, rough. “And yet, here we are.”

He pressed his nose to her jaw, inhaling the scent of her. The scent he had come to crave. “I have just one question for you.”

“W…what?” Her breath hitched.

Ash smiled to himself. She may not be ready to admit she loved him, but she still wanted him. He could tell by the way her body tensed, the way she shivered at his touch. His fingers brushed down the side of her arm, slow, teasing. “Do you want me?”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?” Her voice was a ragged whisper.

He pressed forward, close enough to feel the heat of her body. This was a gamble. A calculated risk. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to use his body and his voice to seduce her, but he wasn’t in the mood to be fair. He had to show her that what they had between them was real…and rare. But yes, it was a gamble. And if she ran now, he would be lost.

But she didn’t run.

“Do you want me?” he repeated, his voice a rasp against her ear.

“Ash, I—” Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“Answer the question, Clare,” he whispered, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “Because if you say yes, I’m going to kiss you.”

Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips. Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Then, on a breathless exhale…

“ Kiss me .”

He didn’t need any further encouragement.

He pulled her sharply into his arms, his lips crushing against hers, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped her throat.

Her hands found his hair, fingers twisting, tugging just enough to make him groan. He lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the edge of the table behind them.

She gasped as the cool wood met her bare thighs, her skirts already gathered in his impatient hands.

“We can’t,” she breathed, glancing toward the door, but her grip on him tightened. She was obviously worried about the fact that they were in an unlocked room.

“We already are,” he said, trailing his fingers along the lace of her stockings, up, up, up.

And she didn’t stop him.

Because when he kissed her again—hungry, possessive, consuming—there was no more room for logic. No more room for indecision.

Only pleasure.