He saw it then, the power his mother had over the girl. And what she hoped to gain from this union. Here was a young woman, alone in the world, owner of a vast fortune. The duchess had coerced her way into the girl’s life, seeing the weaknesses in her and exploiting them. She had managed to connect her to Sylvester before he went and fell off a cliff. Now she hoped to wed her to Quincy, no matter her dislike of him, so that she might continue that control over the dukedom. She would stop at nothing to force him into marriage with this girl.
A ringing started up in his ears. As he struggled to come up with a reason, any reason, to lay waste to this mad scheme of his mother’s, Clara’s fingers squeezed his.
He had forgotten for a moment she was there. He looked to her, hoping to glean some of the calm and wisdom she exuded. Her dark blue eyes peered back into his, myriad emotions crowding their depths. And then her expression changed, a grim determination settling over her features.
Before he quite knew what was happening, she pulled his hand—until then hidden by the soft folds of her gown—into her lap and clasped it tight. In full view of the duchess and Lady Mary.
As his mother looked down in outrage at their clasped fingers, Clara spoke, her voice trembling but strong in the thick silence of the room.
“Your son cannot wed Lady Mary. He is engaged to me.”
Chapter 6
Oh, dear God. What have I done?
If the ground had opened up to swallow Clara whole, she would have gladly dove in headfirst. Engaged to Quincy? What madness had prompted her to say such a thing? Yes, she had been stunned by what the duchess would do to that poor girl and to her own son, but Quincy was a man grown. Surely he could extricate himself from such a fate. Just as she had determined to leave the room and let Quincy handle things without an audience, however, he’d turned and looked at her with such desperation, as if he were pleading with her. She had acted on instinct.
But what instinct had her falsely claiming engagement to a man? Most especially one with whom, had she been able, she would have gladly considered marriage in truth.
That devastating thought was still reverberating in her mind when the maid entered, deposited the heavily laden tea tray on the low table, then hurried out. Not a person acknowledged it. The duchess gaped at her, her face held slack in an expression Clara would have bet had never crossed it before. Lady Mary, too, was staring at her in shock, her pale eyebrows high up her wide forehead.
But it was Quincy’s reaction that her whole being was focused on. His fingers had gone slack in hers, his body jolting as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Any second now he would declare her mad. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable axe to fall.
“Is this true?” the duchess breathed, the shock in her eyes turning to outrage as they shifted to Quincy. “Are you engaged to be married to this person?”
The change in Quincy was immediate. He moved a fraction closer to Clara, his fingers tightening on hers as he dragged her hand into his own lap and covered it with his free one. “I am,” he said, his voice firm and strong.
Clara just stopped herself from gaping at that blatant lie. Calling on her years of practice, she schooled her features into tranquility and met the duchess’s furious gaze head-on, though in reality her mind was whirling with the implications of what she’d done. Had she only made things worse? Had she merely trapped him in another type of cage?
But she would not think on that now. It was done, and there was nothing she could do to change it; she would get through this disaster and deal with the ramifications when she had the time and privacy to do so properly.
“How is this possible?” the duchess demanded, her eyes narrowing as suspicion took hold. “You have only been in the country for four days. There is no possibility you could have formed an alliance with the Duke of Dane’s cousin in that time.”
“On the contrary,” Quincy said with an ease that impressed even Clara, “I met Lady Clara on the Isle of Synne a year ago, and we struck up a friendship. Over the past months of communicating through letters, that friendship transformed into something more.” He looked to Clara with warmth, a small smile lifting his deliciously full lips. “She has only just accepted my hand, and I could not be happier.”
Goodness.Clara swallowed hard, doing her damnedest to retain control over mind, body, and heart even as she felt herself sinking into the liquid depths of his eyes.It’s all an act, she told herself sternly. Even so, the response in her was immediate and complete. And utterly devastating.
But she would maintain the façade she had begun. Especially as it meant freeing Quincy from the sly machinations of his mother, who had already proven herself to be the devil incarnate in the short time Clara had known her. No matter the danger to her emotions.
She smiled as if there was no greater joy on earth. Doing her best to pretend it wasn’t true.
“This is an outrage,” the duchess sputtered.
Quincy looked to his mother, finally releasing Clara from the spell of his gaze. For a moment she felt adrift, as if she had lost something precious. It took incredible effort to keep the smile plastered to her face.
“Won’t you wish me joy?” Quincy drawled with a cheerfulness that did nothing to hide the steel beneath. “Not only is Lady Clara the daughter of a duke—a connection even you cannot balk at—but we also care for each other. Surely my happiness is important to you, Mother.”
The woman’s face suffused with color, her hands clenching into fists in the black silk of her gown. For one horrifying moment Clara was certain she would reach across the space between them and strike Quincy.
Suddenly her demeanor changed. Her gaze, which had been welded to Quincy in a furious fire, cooled and shifted to Clara. Clara shivered. Beside her, she felt Quincy lean toward her, as if he, too, sensed danger.
The duchess lifted a perfectly manicured brow. “How old are you, my dear?” she asked in a silky smooth tone that did not fool Clara one bit.
A low growl issued from Quincy. “I hardly think that signifies—”
“It’s all right, Quincy,” Clara said, desperate to deescalate the storm brewing between the two, wanting nothing more than to end this debacle. Lifting her head high, she met the duchess’s cold gaze with her own, making sure not a hint of fear or uncertainty showed. “I am nearly one and thirty, Your Grace.”
“Older than Reigate, then. Hmm. And unwed?”