Page 38 of The Marquess Match (Love’s a Game #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

T his wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Ash had imagined something different—something grand, something unforgettable. He had planned to ask Clare to marry him on the balcony, under the stars, to drop to one knee and tell her everything in his heart. Mainly, that he was madly in love with her and could not live without her.

Instead, he was here.

At Meredith’s house.

Standing in the middle of the drawing room in the middle of the night, disheveled and exhausted, staring at the only woman who had ever mattered to him.

Clare looked at him like she was already halfway gone. “I’m leaving,” she said, her voice flat. “Tonight.”

Panic gripped him. No .

Without thinking, he sank to one knee, pulling the ring he’d procured from the jeweler earlier in the week from his pocket—the one he had carried to the ball, waiting for the right moment. “ Please marry me.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable.

Clare sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. But then, just as quickly, her expression hardened. “No.”

Ash blinked. “What?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

He shot to his feet and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Why not?”

“Because I know why you’re doing this,” she snapped.

His jaw clenched. “Oh, really? Enlighten me.”

She lifted her chin, a defiant fire in her eyes. “You think this will fix everything. You think proposing will make the scandal disappear. That it’ll save me. Well, what if I don’t want to be saved?” Fire flashed in her eyes.

Ash stared at her, stunned. “You think I want to marry you out of duty ?”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I know you do.”

His heart pounded. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “What if I told you I love you?”

Clare went still. The silence between them stretched long and unbearable.

Then, finally, she spoke, her voice quieter now. “I’d tell you that you’re…you’re a fool.” But she glanced away.

A sharp pain twisted in his chest.

She meant it.

She truly believed he was only here out of obligation. That he didn’t mean it. That what they had meant nothing.

His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to hold her, to make her see. But she was already shaking her head. “I’m leaving for Paris.”

His breath caught. “Clare?—”

“Good-bye, Ash.”

She said it so firmly, so finally, that he felt it like a blow. She wanted him gone. And if she had to break him to make it happen, so be it.

She turned without another word, her skirts swishing as she walked toward the door.

He should stop her. He should fight for her.

But he didn’t.

Because for the first time in his life, he didn’t know how to win.

So he watched her go.

And if this was what love felt like, it could go straight to hell.