It was not that he hadn’t wished to choose her from the start. His heart had always known Ara was for him. But gaining the courage to approach her father had been another matter. He had the modest means his father had settled upon him, no title to speak of, and he had been born a bastard. Add to that the old, persisting feud between Ara’s father and his, and his prospects were as sterling as counterfeit candlesticks.
The pompous butler returned then, his expression revealing nothing. “I am afraid His Lordship is not at home.”
The refusal to grant him an audience was expected. There was no reason for it to sting, and yet it did. He’d be damned if he would allow anyone to see it, however.
He straightened to his full, formidable height. “I shall wait for him to return. As I said, the matter is of grave import.”
The domestic looked as if he had stepped in something undesirable. “I regret to say the earl will not be returning today.”
The devil he wasn’t.
“Tomorrow, then,” he suggested through gritted teeth.
The butler did not blink. “That will not be possible. His Lordship has a great deal of estate matters which will occupy his time.”
Ara’s father would not speak with him, and he hadn’t even an inkling of Clay’s reason for requesting to see him. There was no help for it. He was in love with the man’s daughter, and though part of him knew any attempts on his part to be granted her hand in marriage would prove futile, he was willing to do anything to make her his.
She was the first thing he thought of when he woke each morning and the last thing on his mind before he faded into slumber. She was smart and witty, lovely and charming, everything he could hope for in a wife. More than he could hope for, actually. So much more.
He made up his mind.
Striding past the gawping butler, he made his way down the main corridor, throwing doors open as he went. The servant was at his heels, protesting profusely along the way.
“Sir, this is truly extraordinary.”
Clay found an empty main saloon. The library.
“I must ask you to leave at once,” the servant demanded.
He turned, towering over the fellow easily with his formidable size. “You can tell me where he is, or I can continue my search, chamber by chamber.”
The man huffed.
He didn’t have time for theatrics. He spun on his heel and resumed working his way through the chambers. Finally, he threw open a door to reveal the study. A thin-haired man was seated behind a large, ornate desk within. He had found his quarry at last.
“Lord Wickham.” He bowed formally. “I am Mr. Clayton Ludlow, and I request an audience with you.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” the butler intervened, sounding much aggrieved. “He would not listen to reason.”
“Of course he would not,” drawled the earl in a nasty tone, standing. “He comes from tainted stock and was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Why should he possess any breeding at all? You may go, Burton. I shall speak to Mr. Ludlow so he may be on his way once more.”
Clay waited for the butler to leave, closing the door softly behind him, before speaking. “My lord, I realize you did not wish to see me, but I must beg an audience of you.”
“You are damned right I did not wish to consort with the Duke of Carlisle’s bastard,” sneered the earl.
Bastard.
The word had followed him like an epithet all his life.
It was unchangeable, a part of him just the same as his bloody hands, and yet it rankled to hear it thrown at him now by Ara’s father, as if the word left a disgusting taste in his mouth.
He remained unflinching, however, determined to persevere. Determined he would do his utmost to win the woman he loved. “I am aware you have a quarrel with my father.”
“I do not quarrel.” The earl flashed a smile that resembled a snarl. Even his straight teeth appeared sharp, and though he was a small man—here was how Ara had inherited her tiny frame—he was nonetheless intimidating. “I loathe Carlisle, because he is a snake in the grass. He stole something from me once, and I shall never forgive him.”
“I am not my father, though I cannot fathom what he could have stolen from you,” he defended. “Nevertheless, I am my own man, and I come to you independent of him.”
“You truly do not know, do you?” Wickham asked, disbelief marking his tone.
