St. Clara pointed his finger at Heartford. “That one is forgetting that she is a grown woman who has always made her own decisions.” He knew firsthand how independent Pippa Price was. She had always been, even as a girl of ten years. St. Clara had always admired her and wished he had her confidence and her freedom.
Edwards nodded at the both of them before he glanced around the room. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Heartford. A blind man could see that you have feelings for her.” Dark eyebrows raised at St. Clara. “Are you really going to allow her to marry Summerset? I’ve heard the rumors about him, and I can see cruelty in his eyes.” Edwards’ face became somber, his gaze unnerving St. Clara.
St. Clara’s blood boiled in his veins. Everyone had an opinion about his and Pippa’s relationship; only they’d never had one. Before any courting, announcements, or banns were read, she had ended it, taking her friendship with her.
“Of course, you are on his side. He’s your friend. You’re worse than Karrington,” St. Clara accused, speaking of Heartford’s closest friend, the Duke of Karrington, who was currently in his country seat with his duchess and children, including Emily, St. Clara and Heartford’s niece.
Heartford leaned across Edwards, slapping St. Clara’s shoulder. “Do something and do it fast. The first of the banns will be read this Sunday.”
Bloody hell. Though it wasn’t the actual wedding, St. Clara still felt as if he were going to be sick. He couldn’t bear the thought of his sweet childhood friend marrying that vile human being.
“She’s made her decision, and I have made mine.” The room was becoming unbearably hot, and St. Clara fought the urge to pull at his cravat. He was moving on with his life; there was nothing left to discuss.
Then why did he feel as if he was sinking in a sea of despair just by seeing her with Summerset?
“With Florentia Vaughn? St. Clara, you can’t be serious.” Heartford, who unceremoniously had Lady Florentia thrust at him the previous Season, stepped around Edwards to invade St. Clara’s space.
Unable to control his anger, St. Clara closed the gap between them. They were never enemies, but he wouldn’t call Heartford a friend. “Whom I marry is no concern of yours. Just as who Miss Price marries is no concern of mine.”
“I knew you were a damn fool, but I always thought that perhaps I was wrong.” Heartford shook his head, giving St. Clara the urge to punch him in his too-handsome face.
“Gentlemen, dinner.” Julia’s stern voice interrupted the small huddle, causing the men to break apart.
St. Clara walked over to his dinner companion. “Lady Florentia, may I escort you to dinner?”
“I would be honored, Your Grace,” she said in a high pitch voice that caused St. Clara to bite down on his teeth in fear that he would scream.
Looking up, he was suddenly clasped in a hypnotic hazel gaze that controlled his every breath. For one moment, there were no other people in the room with them. No one else existed but St. Clara and Pippa. There was a tiny part of him that wished it could always be that way.
Once Florentia was safely in her seat with as little conversation as humanly possible, St. Clara hurriedly rushed away in search of his own place card. As the other occupants sat, he noticed that there were only two places remaining. One beside Pippa and the other near the head of the table beside Lady Heartford.
Surely she didn’t.
“I believe this is you, St. Clara,” Summerset called to him as he placed his hand on Pippa’s shoulder.
His body stiffened at the sight of the other man’s hands on her person. An unexplainable rage shot through St. Clara’s veins as he forced himself to look the man in the eye and not snatch his hand away from her.
Giving a brief nod, St. Clara pulled out his seat, ignoring the eyes of everyone in the room on him.
As he adjusted his tall frame, he could feel Pippa’s body heat. The gentle smell of lavender, a favorite of hers since they were children, wafted to him, and he couldn’t fight the feeling of home that engulfed him.
Swallowing hard, he ignored the erratic beat of his heart and the insufferable warmth that suddenly engulfed him like he was sitting by a fire and not at a table surrounded by two of the most irritating women in London.
St. Clara focused on the courses as they came out and not on Florentia Vaughn and the Dowager Marchioness Heartford as they prattled on and on like the best of friends. He tried not to allow their nauseating voices to affect him as they discussed the Season in every detail.
The one thing he wanted to do was try to gain the attention of the woman beside him.
Pippa.
Pippa sat stoically, focusing on their third course out of seven. Julia was determined to make a good impression with theremaining members of thetonin Town. Eyeing his old friend, St. Clara couldn’t help but to feel energized. Pippa had ignored him for nine years, yet it always gave him great joy to annoy her. A nod or curt remark was the only interaction he had left of their friendship, and he clung to them like a child with a sweet.
“Have you been well, Miss Price?” His voice was low as he peered at her, taking in the features he had memorized since he was a boy. The tiny pert nose, full bow-shaped lips, and high cheekbones were all more defined, more beautiful than they had been when she was a girl.
Pippa sat her fork down. “I have been fine, Your Grace. I see you’ve been busy.” Her gaze trailed over to Lady Florentia who had stopped excessively babbling with the Dowager Marchioness Heartford to glare at St. Clara and Pippa.
Using his title reminded him of her coldness, but it did not deter him. He was happy to be near her again. As a boy, she had been his only friend. Whenever the loneliness of being without his mother and sister threatened to set in, she had always been there for him.
“As have you.” His gaze shifted over to Summerset who, from the far end of the table, kept his filthy, beady eyes on Pippa the entire dinner, studying her and St. Clara’s interaction carefully.
