What was he about? Clare tugged at the neck of her gown. It was blistering hot in the drawing room of a sudden. She narrowed her eyes. “I seem to recall you once saying you wanted abiddablewife.”
“I wouldn’t object,” Ash said far too quickly and far too agreeably.
“Oh, so a broodmare then?” she shot back. “You’d have better luck searching the stables.”
Ash turned his gaze on her, something sharp and knowing in his expression. “Well,” he said smoothly, “I do like a spirited filly.”
Heat bloomed in Clare’s chest.
Not because ofwhathe said. But because ofhowhe said it.
Low.
Silky smooth.
Possessive.
The kind of voice that made promises. The kind of voice that—No.
Absolutely not.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to roll her eyes, refusing to let him see how that single sentence had affected her.
But suspicion prickled at the back of her mind. What was he doing here? Why had he suddenly arrived at his sister’s home, talking about wanting a wife?
And why—why—washername flashing through her mind as theonlypossible answer?
She refused to entertain the thought.
Refused.
Mercifully, Meredith chose that moment to yawn, stretching languidly as she set her cards down. “Well, that’s enough excitement for me,” she declared. “I’m off to bed.”
Griffin followed suit, tossing his cards down as well. “Me too.”
Clare began to rise, eager to escape with her friends, but Meredith stopped her with a knowing smile. “Stay and have a drink with Ash,” she said lightly. “It’s fine. We aren’t formal here. Perhaps he’ll tellyouwho he plans to ask to marry him.”
“I just might!” Ash nearly shouted from his seat at the card table.
Clare froze, glancing at him. He looked far too pleased with himself. Her suspicion deepened.
This was a trap.
She shouldleave.
Sheknewshe should.
Instead, she sighed and settled back into her chair, reaching for her glass.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The moment the door closed behind Meredith and Southbury, Ash poured Clare a much stronger drink than the wine she had been sipping.
She accepted it with obvious wary suspicion.
“Why do I have a feeling your house is not actually on fire?” she asked, narrowing her eyes over the rim of her glass.
Ash shrugged, swirling the amber liquid in his own glass. “That obvious, am I?”
