“I’m not staring. I just can’t believe you never returned. You talked about l-living there when you returned from theContinent, raising our children there.” She stuttered as her hands shook on the table.
St. Clara swallowed at the memory of such an intimate conversation between two friends who had deeply cared for each other. He had dreamed of taking her to Archer, away from Town, away from his father’s control.
He had never been happier in his life than he had been at Archer with his parents. It was a feeling he missed most after they left, being completely loved and safe. He wanted that for his own children, wanted that for Pippa after she had lived years without her own parents. He knew they would be happy there, anywhere, really, as long as they were together.
Wiping his mouth, he stood hastily, holding his hand out to Pippa. He couldn’t dwell on the past. Foolishly, a young St. Clara had thought that living at Archer would bring him happiness, but now, on the cusp of his thirty-second year, he knew that nothing would.
“We must make haste if we do not want to be on the roads at night.” St. Clara donned his great coat, trying desperately not to think about Archer Castle.
“Pleasant trip, Your Graces,” Mr. Wiggins called out.
Nodding, he led Pippa out of the inn, once again overwrought with excitement when Pippa was addressed as his wife. He felt like a boy again, running out to meet her in the laboratory. Every time he would leave his townhouse, he would dash through the kitchens, then out of the garden over to Wayford’s, complete joy coursing through his veins at the thought of seeing her again.
Reaching the cool outdoors, they walked in silence to the carriage where his coachman Randall waited patiently. They had left London with two carriages and a small number of servants: Randall; Patrick, his valet; Agnes, who had some experience as a lady’s maid in her previous employ; and Samson, the other coachman, who was his butler’s nephew.
Pulling out his pocket watch, he wondered how society was taking the news of their elopement. He did pen letters to their friends Heartford and Julia before they rushed off like the constable was after them. St. Clara’s only regret was that he would not get to see Summerset’s bony, withered face when he was informed that Pippa would not be his bride. It gave St. Clara a sick feeling of satisfaction knowing he had thwarted the other man’s plans to further his line.
“No more stops until this evening, Randall, unless absolutely necessary,” St. Clara instructed before he joined Pippa in the carriage where Newton was sleeping peacefully.
“Very good, Your Grace.” Randall opened the carriage door, assisting Pippa in.
As St. Clara entered the carriage, he eyed the feline, who had taken his previous place on the seat next to Pippa. Picking up Newt, St. Clara quickly deposited the disgruntled cat on the opposite seat before taking the empty space beside Pippa. Both he and the beast wanted the coveted spot next to her, but only one of them would prevail, and it surely would be the Duke of St. Clara.
“Are we not going to stop in Staffordshire?” she asked, turning to him with a soft curiosity in her gaze.
“No. I want to be married and return to London as soon as possible.” He took her gloveless hand in his, rubbing them to ease the chill, needing a reason to touch her.
“Perhaps on the way back,” she pushed further.
He sighed, becoming more agitated the more they spoke about his ancestral seat. Throwing his head back he ran his hands down his face in frustration. “Pippa,” he warned, remembering how opinionated and forceful she was about his family.
As they had grown older, it had been difficult for her to understand that he had a mother and a sister he had no contactwith. Having lost both her parents at the young age of nine, Pippa couldn’t fathom his resolve. Family meant everything to her, and once, it had meant something to him as well.
“St. Clara.” She challenged him, her body rigid, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t understand why you’re still running after all these years. Your father is dead.”
He stiffened, turning away to stare at the passing countryside. The silence hovered in the carriage, looming like a dark cloud of doom. His father was dead, along with the pressure he had placed on St. Clara. But it was ingrained in him, the hatred for Archer Castle, his mother, and even his sister. All because of his mother’s infidelity. When he was younger, he had dreamed of starting a new family at Archer with Pippa by his side, but that dream had slipped away when he lost her and their friendship.
As the years had passed, it had become easier to ignore everything associated with his childhood, even Pippa, who had furiously given her opinion on him ignoring his mother and sister. He had blindly followed his father’s lead, never once writing to them. They had been moved to one of the lesser estates in Cornwall where his mother had lived out the rest of her life.
“There is no time to delay in Staffordshire.” He pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, needing her to calm him.
After his father’s death, he’d wished he could’ve sold the cursed castle, but it was entailed to the dukedom.
He pulled her closer, her body stiffening slightly before willingly molding to his as he wrapped his arms around her waist. The heat of her soothed him instantly.
“Is this all right?” he whispered, wanting to make sure they were still in agreement. “You had no problem kissing me yesterday.”
“It’s fine. I just do not want there to be any confusion between us.” She licked her lips, and the movement caused a fire to build in his abdomen. “We are not a love match. Our marriage will be mutually beneficial for each of us both physically and financially.”
“I understand your terms, Kitten.” He leaned in, his nose grazing hers. “But let me be perfectly clear. You will be my wife for one year, mine to pleasure as I please. I will savor every inch of your delectable body for three hundred and sixty-five days. Once our year has ended, if you still want to be free of me, then you may go, forever being the Duchess of St. Clara in name only.”
Dear God, he hoped she wouldn’t leave.
Her eyes widened slightly as she searched his face. “You promise you won’t try to stop me from leaving?”
The murmured question nearly unmanned him, and that was when he knew that something had caused her to doubt his affections for her
“I give you my word.” He would honor their agreement even if the very act of releasing her would destroy him. “I know now that you were always meant to be mine. I was just too young to see it.” His hand cupped her soft cheek, his thumb rubbing circles on the fading bruise. “You will always be mine, no matter the time or distance … forever.” And he sealed his statement with a kiss.
