She turned, crossing the room to the darkened window. Her fingers glanced along the pane.
Ash watched her, the tension in his chest settling into something heavier.
She wasn’t a woman who needed apologies. She’d been through hell, and she had come out the other side, chin lifted, daring the world to try again.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve one.
There was only a sip of brandy left in the glass. He downed it before stepping toward the sideboard. “Refill?”
She shook her head. “I should get back to bed. Mama sometimes checks in on me. If I’m not there, she’ll assume the worst.”
Something about that struck him harder than it should have. The thought of being watched, judged, found lacking. He knew it well. He hadn’t felt it in years, but he knew it.
And he hated that she still had to feel it.
She moved past him toward the door, and before he could think better of it, his hand shot out, fingers closing gently around her wrist.
She froze. Turned her head slowly, her sharp, assessing eyes locking onto his. “Yes?”
Ash didn’t let go. “Meet me here again,” he said, surprising even himself. “Tomorrow night. Another drink.”
Where the hell those words had come from, he had no idea. All he knew was that for the first time in years—hell, perhaps ever—he was looking forward to something.
She had to say yes. She had to.
Her gaze narrowed. “You think I’ll be an easy conquest, my lord?” Her voice was light, teasing, but underneath it was something jagged. Something raw. “The once-used woman couldn’t possibly refuse?”
His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure she was listening. “Nothing like that,” he said, fiercer than he’d meant to. “I promise it’ll just be drinks. Just talking.”
And he meant it.
That was what shocked him the most. He actually wanted to talk to her.
Clare studied him for a long, stretched-out moment. Then, slowly, she smiled. The kind of smile that made men make mistakes.
“Pity that,” she murmured, the edges of her lips curving slightly in the smallest semblance of a grin.
Then, before he could react, she slipped free and disappeared into the darkened corridor.
Ash stood there, staring after her, bemused.
Pity that?
Did that mean she wanted more than just talking? She hadn’t answered him. Would she come back?
He arched a brow and refilled the empty glass. There was only one way to find out.
CHAPTER THREE
“Clare? Are you listening?” Meredith’s voice cut through the loud voices in the breakfast room the next morning.
She glanced over at her friend and forced a smile to her lips. “What was that?” she asked, proving undeniably that she hadnotbeen listening.
“I asked if you would like another scone,” Meredith replied.
“Oh, yes, please. I’d like as many scones as possible,” Clare said with a laugh, holding up her plate while Meredith plunked another scone upon it. Then she pushed the pot of cream toward her.
The food here was excellent, far better than what she and Mama had in the countryside. It was one of the reasons Clare had agreed to attend this house party. That and the fact that the whole purpose for the party had intrigued her from the moment Meredith had conceived of it. They were all here for one purpose and one purpose alone—to find a wife for Ash.
