Page 19

Nothing.

His lips flattened. “Hmm.”

That was it?

She looked away, her heart sinking to her shoes. A comment on her stupidity would have been preferable.

He’d told her he did not want her explanation, that he no longer cared. Perhaps she should have believed him.

“You never sent word.”

So much time had passed since his “hmm” that it took a moment for Clarissa to realize what he meant.

“If I’d had the means to do so, I would have.”

“The means . . . you could not have found—”

“You don’t know my father very well.” She chanced a glance back, taking in his flexed jaw and his unreadable eyes. “There were precious few at Theffield I could entrust with such a message, and even fewer who had the means to leave my father without an explanation.”

She wished she’d not looked back. Or attempted to explain. Though she could not wish he had not appeared to rescue her, for if Aidan hadn’t whisked her onto his horse, she never would have made it this far.

“I just thought you should know.”

“And Stanley?”

Every time she thought him disengaged, Aidan surprised her with another question.

“We were married less than a sennight later.”

This time, his silence was not punctuated by more questions. This time, he said nothing more, and Clarissa offered the same. Her marriage—or her father’s betrayal, as she liked to remember it—was not a topic she ever wished to discuss. Clarissa knew how lucky she was that her husband had wanted a son from her, so badly, in fact, that he had used his substantial influence to obtain an annulment so he could marry a more fertile bride.

She shuddered at the thought of spending a lifetime with that man.

Clarissa was lucky indeed, and she would not waste another moment wishing for more. She’d obtained absolution from a man she’d never expected to see again. Hoping for a future she would never have would serve no purpose.

But she was not chattel.

Clarissa was a lady nobly born, one who carried a satchel of jewels she’d never cared about, until now. And those would buy her the only future she dared to consider.

* * *

Damn.

Aidan repeated the word in his head, unable to pull together a more coherent thought. Though he’d told her not to explain, the question had been tearing at him since the moment Clarissa appeared in that courtyard.

Why?

His mind returned to the tourney, to the moment she’d given him her favor. He’d won that match and returned to hand the white slip of fabric back. His hastily uttered invitation could have been met with derision or shock. Instead, she smiled at him, the same shy smile of the young woman he’d met outside her hall years earlier.

And nodded.

If her acceptance had surprised him, Aidan had been even more shocked when she’d arrived at the agreed-upon place, alone. And though she had not remained long enough, those brief, stolen moments, and the ones they managed to arrange over the next few days, had convinced him that he had met the woman he would marry.

His parents had been in love, and though he’d never said as much to Graeme, being born the younger son had allowed him one clear advantage. Though his brother was expected to make a good match, one that would firm a clan alliance or beget a new one, he was free to choose a wife. And though it was absurd to imagine he’d fallen in love with Lady Clarissa in such a short time, he had been nearly knocked to the ground by her beauty and smile. By the way she seemed to defy all odds with Theffield as a father. She was his opposite in every way. Kind and compassionate, the epitome of grace and strength.

Quite literally knocked to the ground. She’d so distracted him during his match, he’d nearly found himself staring up at the sky, bested by an Englishman. Then, despite her father’s watchful eye, they managed to meet every day of the tournament.

That fateful day, they had planned to meet again. He thought it odd Lady Clarissa did not appear to witness his match that morn as she had for each one before it. He’d looked for her in the stands, of course. But there were many events, and she could have been perusing the wares of the merchants who came from afar to set up stands in the makeshift marketplace.