He could see this woman who was always so cool and composed was rattled. “Nothing is too grand for the Marchioness of Clare.”
Something in her eyes shifted, and he saw her withdraw into herself. Gone was her vulnerability. She nodded. “That is who I shall be tonight.”
“That is who youare.”
Disbelief shone in her eyes. “Shall we go?”
He held out his arm to walk her down the aisle. As man and wife.
Or something like that.
Even though this was a marriage of convenience, they were now bound to each other by something more tangible than handshake agreements and secrets.
They may not have had love, but they did have respect for one another.
Many marriages were based on less and worse.
Like that of his parents.
On, into the uncertain night he would walk with this woman.
It felt as if his life had only now truly begun.
Chapter Fifteen
“Itake itthat was a spoil of war?” Hortense stood at the foot of Apsley House’s grand spiral staircase, transfixed by the nude statue of Napoleon styled as a Roman god holding a golden orb.
“Ah, yes,Mars the Peacemaker,” said Clare, lightness in his voice, even if his impassive expression gave nothing away. “Along with the Battle of Waterloo, one of Napoleon’s more questionable decisions. Prinny purchased it from the French government and presented it to Wellington about a decade ago. One could hardly refuse such a gift.”
“It does make a statement.” She was relieved to be sharing this small bit of drollery with Clare. Ever since his mouth had touched hers two hours ago, she’d felt shy of him. That kiss… It had lasted no more than a handful of seconds, but her lips still tingled.
In a daze, she’d signed the marriage register, and they’d personally delivered it to the Bishop of London on their way to Apsley House. Clare had insisted.
Which made it official: she was a marchioness, an outcome she couldn’t have predicted given a dozen lifetimes. In her finery and jewels, people deferred to her,bowedto her, and it was unsettling. This outrageous statue served as the release her jangly nerves needed.
“Shall I show you to the striped drawing room?” came the butler’s polite tones.
Clare nodded and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
She placed her left hand on his forearm—a forearm whose tensile, masculine feel was becoming all too familiar. The ostentatious sapphire on her fourth finger winked up at her. With that stone and this dress, to all outward appearances, she was one ofthem, a nob.
Over the years, she’d done near anything to achieve her objectives. Lie. Cheat. Steal. Extort. Blackmail. She hadn’t been above any of it if she believed her cause just. But to marry a man?
Her eye caught on his right hand. She’d never seen him wear his signet ring, but he was tonight, which made sense. It was an object central to who he was—a lord, a marquess. He likely didn’t see it so due to the loathing he bore his father, but it was true.
And she would treat him no better than anyone else she had stolen from, or would steal from in the future, and take it.
Once a eel, always a eel.
Yet she’d never gone this far.
Which begged the question: why this far with this man? Or…
Was this man why she’d gone this far?
The question rattled her to her bones, for she rather suspected the answer lay within the question itself.
With each step they ascended toward the next floor, the volume of the party grew louder and more dense, the buzz of conversation intensifying, serious tones mixing with the light and happy. It sounded as if all of London Society was here.
