Say Yes to the Marquess (Castles Ever After #2)(57)
Author: Tessa Dare

He raised the pillow. “Oh, we’re not finished. Do it again.”

She did it again. And again. She punched at those pillows over and over, until she started driving him backward and he circled to keep from being backed against the wall.

“That’s right,” he said. “That’s my girl. Punch back at everything they told you. That you weren’t good enough. That you never could be. It’s bollocks, all of it. Look how strong you are.”

She threw punch after punch, pushing out all the anger and frustration of the last eight years. Until her arms were custard.

“Now”—he threw the pillows aside—“I’m Piers. I’m back from Vienna. Ready to marry you. Give me your worst.”

“My worst? I thought you wanted me to give your brother a chance.”

“It’s the same thing. Give him a chance, but give him hell. If he can’t win you over, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Er . . . “ She was out of breath from all the boxing. “Oh, goodness. Piers, I—”

“No, no. Your posture’s gone all wrong.” He corrected her with his hands, laying one palm between her shoulder blades and the other on her belly. “Remember, you can do this. You’re not seventeen. You’re a woman. A strong one.”

He released her and took two steps back, pretending to be Piers again. “Now, what is it you have to say?”

“I . . .”

“Eye contact. Look up.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I am glad to see you home safe and well, but I don’t think we should marry.”

“Oh, jolly good.” He slung himself into the nearest chair and propped up his feet.

Clio shook herself and laughed. “What are you doing?”

“What you’ve been claiming Piers will do.” He folded his hands beneath his head. “You promised me he’d be nothing but relieved. Overjoyed, even.”

She sighed.

“See? When you’re honest with yourself, even you know that’s not going to be the case.” He stood up again. “So he’s not going to say ‘jolly good.’ He’s going to say something like . . .” He pitched his voice into an aristocratic baritone. “Of course we’re going to marry. It was decided when we were children. We’ve been engaged for years.”

“Yes. But I think it might for the best if . . .”

“No, no.” Rafe broke out of his Piers role. “Don’t use words like ‘think’ or ‘might.’ You’ve decided.”

“I’ve decided. I’ve decided to break the engagement.”

He narrowed his eyes to a severe stare, in a frighteningly accurate impression of his brother. “You agreed to marry me.”

“I was seventeen then. Little more than a child. I didn’t understand that I have choices. And now that I do . . . I choose differently.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t love you, and you don’t love me.”

“A deeper affection will come with time,” he said. “And no matter how far I’ve traveled, you were never far from my thoughts. I do care about you.”

She swallowed hard. “And I appreciate that. I truly do. But it doesn’t change my mind.”

“Is there someone else?”

The question caught her unawares. Although she supposed it shouldn’t have. It made sense that Piers would ask it. But she didn’t know what Rafe would wish her to say.

“Answer me,” he said, forceful and commanding as any marquess. “I demand to know the truth. Is there someone else?”

“Yes. There is someone else. There’s me.”

His eyes flashed with surprise.

“There’s me,” she repeated. “I’ve spent a great deal of time alone these past eight years. I’ve come to know myself and my own capabilities. I’m resilient. I can withstand a little gossip. Or even a lot of it. I can inherit an estate and devote myself not only to its preservation, but its improvement. Because I’ve taken all those lessons and accomplishments that were supposed to make me the ideal diplomat’s wife—and I’ve made them my own. At some point, while you were roaming the globe, making treaties and dividing the spoils of war, I quietly declared my own independence. I am the sovereign nation of Clio now. And there will be no terms of surrender.”

Rafe was quiet.

“Well?” she asked.

He shrugged, noncommittal.

“Too melodramatic at the end? No good?”

“It wasn’t bad.”

“Not bad?” She grabbed the discarded pillow and bashed his shoulder with it. Repeatedly. “It was brilliant, and you know it.”

“Very well, very well.” Laughing, he seized one corner of the cushion and tugged, drawing her close. “It was brilliant.”

Clio’s heart swelled in her chest. His praise was . . . Well, it was better than cake.

“You’re brilliant,” he whispered. “If Piers doesn’t fall to his knees and beg you to reconsider, he’s a damned fool.”

Heat and desire built between them, quick as fire taking hold of dry grass. The sensation was so intoxicating. And so very cruel. All her life, she’d been waiting to feel this kind of passion—only to find it with the one man she could never, ever hold.

Discussing how to manage a troubled sister, sitting up all night with a dyspeptic dog, discussing secret pain over late-night cake and beer . . . These were the experiences that proved two people could make a life together.

Now it didn’t even matter what they felt for each other. Rafe loved Piers. He wanted the chance to be a good brother, and Clio didn’t want to take that away. So whatever this was they shared, the two of them—

Unless she meant to destroy his last chance at family, it could never be more.

“Can’t we just pretend to be other people?” she whispered. “For a few hours, at least?”

“I don’t want that. You don’t, either.”

Clio nodded. He was right, she didn’t want to pretend they were other people. She wanted to be no one but herself, and she wanted to be with him.

She wanted Rafe.

Not because he was dangerous or untamed or wrong but because this felt so right.

“You won’t be ruined,” a familiar voice announced.

Oh, God.

Rafe released her and stepped back. Clio clutched a pillow tight across her chest. But no matter how many feet—or pillows—separated them, they were alone and half-dressed in the middle of the night. No one could fail to see the truth.