He regarded her with mild curiosity, as one might study a particularly entertaining animal at the Tower Menagerie—unpredictable, clever, and wholly outside the realm of his usual pursuits.Something in her defiance fascinated him, as if he had stumbled upon a creature both rare and impossible to tame.“You do surprise me, Clara.I had thought you more pragmatic.”
She bristled at the informal use of her name but did not correct him.“I am pragmatic.I have no interest in martyrdom, believe me.But I also have no interest in being paraded about as your latest amusement, and even less in becoming your wife.”
He lifted a brow.“Amusement is a virtue, not a vice.Surely you would prefer that to being consigned to some rural crypt with a man who counts cabbages for a pastime?”
“I would prefer to be on the shelf,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury.Better that, she thought, than to be the devil’s pawn, maneuvered and manipulated as though she had no mind or will of her own.The shelf at least was quiet, and hers.“I have no wish to be anyone’s?—”
“Project?”he offered.
“Pawn.”Her hands trembled with the force of it.“You want to win.That is all.Even if it means pulling us both into a storm you have conjured yourself, so long as you are not alone in the wreckage.”
He gazed out at the crocuses, a sly smile tugging at his lips.“You see through me so easily.It is no wonder I find you so appealing.”
Clara paced a circle around him, her slippers crunching gravel.“You are impossible.Tell me, how is any of this to end well?Are you so bent on humiliating your mother?Do you truly wish for all of London?—”
“Perhaps,” Crispin straightened, but made no move to come closer, “I am simply giving the world what it wants.The illusion of Oakford tamed.The redemption of the Devil.And saving you from yourself in the process.”He took a step toward her.“My mother will parade you through every ballroom from here to York.You will be the darling of the season.And at the end, when you have collected every dance card and every new suitor’s sigh, you may choose whichever future you desire.”
Clara scoffed.“How am I to collect suitors if every man in London believes me betrothed to you?”
A flash of real amusement lit his face.“Mystery,” he said smoothly.“Nothing drives a man to madness like desiring what he cannot have.”
She scoffed.“You think they will line up to woo me merely because I am linked to you?”
“It is the ton, darling.The forbidden is always in fashion.”
She shook her head.“You are abhorrent.”
He beamed, delighted.“I prefer to think of it as… insightful.”
She turned away, hands balled at her sides, and stared at the mist rising from the hedges.For a long moment, neither spoke.
At last she said, “I cannot do this.”
“You already are,” he replied, more gently than she expected.
She looked back, searching his gaze.“Why did you give a fig about my reputation?”she asked.
He was silent long enough for her to regret asking, then said, “Because as we danced, you looked at me as if I were a man, and not a monster.”
Clara’s breath caught.She had not meant to see him that way, had not even realized she had, but the truth of his words struck something within her.For all his arrogance, his reputation, his maddening smugness… he had seemed almost human in that moment.Not softened exactly, but real.And that frightened her more than any scandal ever could.His gaze softened, the razor edges gone.“No one has done that in years.So you see, Lady Clara, you are as much to blame for this as I.”
She did not know whether to scream or cry.
A sudden shout cut through the fog.“Crispin!Where are you?”Edward’s voice rang out.
Crispin reached her in a heartbeat, his gloved hand sliding around her waist with the terrifying ease of practice.“Be a good girl,” he whispered, then pulled her in for a kiss.
This kiss bore none of the showy bravado of the one at the ball.It was slower, more intimate, and yet it stole her breath all the same.This kiss was far more dangerous.His mouth was warm and wicked, tasting of danger, and for one traitorous instant she let herself lean into it, just to see if he would relent.
He did not.His hand pressed at the small of her back, keeping her anchored, until the crunch of Edward’s footsteps grew loud.His lips slanted over hers with shocking force, stealing her breath and composure in a single, brazen moment.It was bold, brash, utterly wicked.
And maddeningly thrilling.
Clara tried to push him away, but he only laughed against her lips, kissing her deeper.
Edward appeared, hands shoved into his coat pockets, face twisted in a scowl of long-suffering patience.“Mother wants you both inside.Something about the vicar’s schedule and the seating plan.”
Crispin let her go, his gaze moving to Edward.He smiled lazily.“We will be along in a moment.”
