Page 34 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
C lare tiptoed to the door, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs. The household was still asleep. Even Ash had finally relented, allowing himself to be convinced that the “proper” thing to do was to return to his guest room—after he had stolen into hers and they had made love again.
The thought of it sent a shiver through her, though she refused to name the emotion stirring in her chest. It wasn’t longing. It couldn’t be.
She needed to leave. And the sooner the better. She’d plan to leave on Saturday, after attending the Merriweathers’ ball with Meredith, before her mother arrived. But she knew now that she could not spend another night beneath the same roof as Ash. Not when his words from last night still echoed in her mind, a dangerous whisper against her heart.
He had spoken like a madman. Like a man on the verge of something foolish.
Like a man who might be in love.
No. No . He wasn’t in love. He was confusing it with lust.
“ I need time to convince you to marry me ,” he’d said. The words had tumbled from his lips like dice upon a gaming table. Effortless, perhaps, but with high stakes. Such high stakes.
And for a moment last night, she’d considered it. Considered believing him. Considered pretending that he really was in love with her and wanted to marry her. But now that her blood had cooled, and she’d had time to think, she realized that had just been her foolish, traitorous heart wishing for things that could never be.
Ash kept insisting he wanted to marry her, but that was guilt talking, not love. A misplaced sense of honor, of duty. He wasn’t finished with their affair. That was all. He didn’t want her to leave— yet .
But the day would come, sooner rather than later, when he would wish her gone. Men like Ash weren’t the marrying sort. And she—she refused to be left. Not again.
Her grip tightened around her valise, fingers pressing hard into the soft leather as she stepped toward the door of her bedchamber. She hesitated, her pulse loud in her ears.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she let out a slow, measured breath. One step down. Thousands more to go.
She moved quietly down the staircase, her movements swift but careful, her gaze darting around the dimly lit hall to ensure no one witnessed her flight. Shadows stretched long against the walls, distorted by the flickering sconces. It felt as if the house itself were watching her.
A hundred thoughts rushed through her mind at once, tumbling over each other like cards being shuffled. Would she be safe on the journey? Would she find a home—a life—in France?
And the most terrifying question of all: Was she doing the right thing?
She was. Wasn’t she?
Her lips parted on a silent exhale, but the knot in her stomach only tightened. It wasn’t the sex with Ash that had been a mistake. No, she would never regret that. His touch, his heat, the way he made her feel, the pleasure he’d given her—those were memories she would carry with her, locked away where no one could steal them.
The mistake was something else entirely.
The mistake was this feeling.
The way her heart clenched at the thought of never seeing him again.
The way she suddenly realized that, somewhere between scandal and secrecy, between teasing banter and whispered confessions in the dark, she had started to care .
And that? That was unacceptable.
She needed to get away from him, stay away from him. Before she did something truly, utterly foolish—like fall in love with him .
Determination hardened inside her, quiet but fierce. She reached the front door and curled her fingers around the handle. She’d left a note for her maid, asking her to meet her at the coaching station later this morning. For now, Clare needed to get out of this house.
Freedom was right beyond this portal. She could feel it. Nearly taste it.
She ripped open the door and took a sharp step back, her breath freezing in her throat.
For standing on the top step, her expression unreadable beneath the dim glow of dawn, was none other than… her mother .