by Tessa Dare
All that would have been impressive, to most men.
No, Piers had to take it one step further.
He brought dogs back from the dead.
It was too bloody much. So predictable.
Rafe entered the castle through a back entrance and began the spiraling journey upstairs.
But someone had followed him.
"Where are you going?" Clio's voice echoed up to him from the bottom of the stairwell.
"To get the dissolution papers. I'll speak with Piers. We'll have this settled today."
"Surely that isn't--"
He cut her off. "It's too late. Don't try to argue. We both know you could be carrying my babe even now. You said it last night. There's no going back."
"You . . ." She caught up to him in a patter of steps. "You think I've changed my mind?"
"I don't fault you." He resumed climbing. "Believe me, it's nothing new. Who wouldn't prefer him to me? My father certainly did. All our tutors and nursemaids adored him. Even the damned dog likes him better."
He heard her give a little laugh. "I thought I wasn't the dog!"
He reached the top of the stairs and turned into the corridor. "I tried to warn you. I told you you'd regret chasing after me. I told you Piers cared for you--even if he didn't show it."
"It doesn't matter. None of it changes anything."
He flung open the door of her bedchamber. "Where are your things? Your maid already put them away." He strode toward her writing desk. "I imagine she'd put the papers in here."
"Good Lord, Rafe. It's like you're not even hearing me."
She dashed ahead of him, plunking herself on the top of the desk before he could search the drawers.
"Clio, move."
"No."
"Move, or I'll move you."
She caught him by the shirtfront. Her gaze snared his. "Remember your bout with Espinoza?"
What?
The question caught him completely off guard. Yes, he recalled his bout with Espinoza. He recalled every detail of each of his fights. But that was three years ago. What could it possibly have to do with anything?
"I know he nearly went down in the fourth," she said slowly, frowning at her lap in concentration. "But then he recovered. The two of you battled several more rounds. I can't recall quite how you finished him. Wasn't it a facer in the ninth round?"
"It was a blow to the kidneys. In the thirteenth. What of it?"
"Nothing of it." Her gaze came back to his. "I just needed you to calm down so we can talk."
Holy God. She understood him so well. He would love, bleed, crawl, beg, and die for her--just for that alone. And she thought he would let her go?
The devil he would.
He'd snapped into focus now. Perhaps it was the talk of fighting. Or perhaps it was just her.
She was lovely. A beautiful bride, in her ivory silk. That subtle blush rising on her cheeks.
He braced his hands on the desk, on either side of her. "Downstairs. You looked so . . . I meant to . . . And then he was there. I've spent how many months wishing and waiting for my brother to come home. Hoping to make amends. And when he touched you, I wanted to punch him in the face."
"It's understandable if you're angry with your brother."
"That's the most irritating part. I can't even be angry with him." He made a fist and tapped on the desk. "Just look at him. It wasn't enough that he was a diplomat. He risked his life in service of the Crown. He's probably a goddamned hero. He apologized to me. He's always perfect. Always better than me, no matter how much I accomplish." He looked her in the eye. "But he did one thing wrong. He stayed away one day too many, and now it's too late. He can't have you."
"No. He can't. Because I don't want him. Rafe, you know I'm in love with you."
He didn't, really. He knew she kept saying so, but it was just so damned difficult to believe. Every time he tried to wrap his mind around it, his heart attempted to make a mad break from his chest.
It didn't make any sense.
She framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Yes, Piers is a good person. Yes, it appears he cared more for me than I believed. Yes, maybe he's even a hero. I'm relieved beyond anything to see him back in England safe, and I'm so glad he came home when he did. Now there won't be any doubt."
"There's no doubt. You're marrying me."
"Of course I am, you ridiculous man." She released a breath. "You say your brother is perfect? Well, apparently I prefer men with flaws. Maybe Piers is one of England's heroes. Rafe, you're mine." Her grip tightened on his shirt, and she pulled him closer. "Do you hear me? You're mine. I'm claiming you, and I won't ever let go."
God. He hadn't known until that moment, but this was what he'd been longing for all his life. Not to claim, but to be claimed. Irrevocably. To feel free to love and be loved, without the looming fear that a few impulsive words could end it all.
"If you want to keep prizefighting, I won't stand in your way. But you'll need a new name in the ring." She gave him a fierce, determined look. "You're Clio's Own now. The Devil himself could come for you, and he'd have to get through me."
It was too much. Too much. He wasn't sure his heart could take it.
"Do you hear me, Rafe? You're mine."
"You're mine." Clio said it again. Because it felt so good, and because his needing, stricken expression couldn't help but touch her heart. "My hero. My love. My future husband, hopefully."
"Your future husband. Definitely." His hands captured her by the waist. His eyes darkened. "I'm yours, then. And you're mine, as well."
She nodded.
"Let me hear it," he whispered roughly. "Say the words. You're mine."
"I'm yours, Rafe. Always."
It happened so fast. His lips fell on hers, and his arms gathered her in a tight embrace. Their mouths melded in a kiss so fierce, so needing, not even a whisper could have come between them.
Clio ached for his touch. She wanted to feel him everywhere. His hand claimed her breast through her gown. It wasn't enough. She tugged at the restrictive silk, trying to coax it lower. She didn't have any patience for buttons today.
"Don't tear your gown." He slid his hand under the fabric, cupping one of her breasts. When his thumb grazed her peaked nipple, she sighed with pleasure.
"It's already ruined." She ripped away a garden-bedraggled strip of lace just to prove the point. "It doesn't matter. I only wanted to wear it for you."
Something changed in him when she said those words. A wildness took over.
He kissed her neck. Mouthed her breasts. His hands were everywhere at once. And still, she wanted more. At last, here was the intensity she'd been craving. Last night's patience gave way to pure, unfettered wanting, and she reveled in it.
His hands slid downward, hiking the layers and layers of sodden fabric to her waist. He pushed her knees wide and moved between her legs.
"I need you." His voice was dark. His fingers found and traced her most intimate places. "Here. Now."
"Yes."
He thrust a hand between them, working open the closures of his trousers.
She wrapped a leg over his hips, drawing him close. She moved her pelvis, grinding against him in ways that made them both moan.
"I . . ." He cursed. "I'm not certain I can be gentle."
"Then don't be gentle. Just be you."
Still, he hesitated.
"You won't hurt me," she lied.
Her intimate places were stretched and sore from last night, and she wasn't fool enough to think a hard tupping on the desk would make it better.
She wanted this anyway.
Yes, this. The sweet burn of him sliding into her. The exquisite weight of his strong, muscled body anchoring hers. The desire and possessive need in his eyes.
She wanted all of this.
He leaned her all the way back onto the desk, then hooked his arms under her legs, spreading her wide. Viewing the contrast between her pale, stockinged legs and his broad, tan
ned shoulders excited her.
He thrust deep. "Tell me when it's too much."
"It won't ever be too much." She gripped his arms.
"I love you." He nudged deeper. "I love you. Take that."
Her heart swelled.
With every movement, he pushed her spine against the unyielding mahogany. The firmness of the desk gave her nowhere to hide. She was at his mercy, and she couldn't get enough.
When her climax broke, she cried out. In pain, in pleasure. She dug her fingernails into his neck. He growled in response, holding her still as he spent inside her.
Afterward, he held her so tenderly. Right against his pounding heart.
"I was so stupid this morning," he whispered. "If you want me to shuffle papers, I'll shuffle papers. If you wanted me to give up fighting, I'd do that. I'd do anything to keep you, Clio. I love you. I wish I had better ways to show it. All I have is this brash, reckless heart. But it's yours."
She looked up at him. "Really?"
"Really."
"Good. I hope your love for me will survive this."
She opened the top drawer of the desk, located the dissolution papers Rafe had signed--and cast them in the fire.
"Clio, no."
He lunged to save them, but he was too late. The papers flared and burned in the grate.
He speared his fingers through his hair. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I'm not going to let you be the villain today. I was stupid this morning, too. And when Piers came home, I realized this is happening so fast. We need a little time, each of us. You need to fight your battles. I need to fight my own. And we owe it to Piers to do this right.
"You are still brothers, despite everything. He needs someone to welcome him home, and it's not going to be me. If we married right away, you'd never be able to mend things with him. But if I break the news and we bide our time . . . Piers will overcome any disappointment he might feel. With any luck, he'll choose another bride."
"He's a man of fortune, rank, and privilege. He can take care of himself. I want to take care of you."
She touched his shoulders. "I know. But how could I claim to love you, then ask you to choose between me and your only brother? You needn't choose at all, if we wait."
"I can't ask you to wait. I know how you detest that word. You've waited eight years."
"I can last a few months more." She stroked his cheek. "It will be different now. This time, I know I'm worth waiting for."
He weaved his hands in her hair and held her close. "You're worth anything. You know that, don't you? I'd swallow nails. I'd walk through fire."
"Oh, that would be too easy. I'm asking you to do something far worse. Go spend time with your brother."
Chapter Twenty-six
Clio! Clio!" Daphne accosted her in the corridor, breathless and flushed. She placed her hands on Clio's shoulders. "Did I just see Lord Granville and Lord Rafe mounted on their horses and riding away?"
Clio's heart pinched at the thought of Rafe leaving. But if he must go, at least he was leaving with his brother. "You probably did," she said. "Yes."
"Well, what are they about? Have they gone to fetch the license?"
"No, they've . . ." She shrugged as they entered the drawing room, joining Sir Teddy and Phoebe. "They've simply gone."
"Gone?" Daphne shook her head, laughing. "But what can you mean?"
Clio squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. This seemed as good a time as any to announce it.
"I've broken the engagement," she said.
There. The words were out, and they hadn't even been that difficult to pronounce. If she'd managed to hold her own when informing Piers of her decision, she could certainly relay the news to her closest family.
"What?" Teddy's boot hit the floor. "You mean you let him off the hook?"
"I wouldn't phrase it that way, but--"
"That's not fair, dumpling." Her brother-in-law rose from his seat, visibly agitated. "He kept you dangling for eight years. Humiliated you. Squandered the best years of your life. Make the man come up to scratch."
"You're mistaken," Clio said, trying to keep an even temper. "I am the one who broke the engagement. It was my decision. I don't wish to marry him."
"You, breaking off with him?" Teddy chuckled. "It's a nice attempt to save face, but no one's going to believe that tale."
"It's not a tale. It's the truth."
But when had these two ever recognized the truth, from Clio's lips?
"Oh, Lord." Daphne sank onto the sofa and released a slight, deflated moan. "Oh, no."
Clio shook her head. For heaven's sake, Piers had accepted the news with less melodrama than this.
He'd taken it well, actually. He'd expressed a convincing degree of disappointment, but Clio could tell his pride was taking the deepest wound. His heart wasn't in danger. They were little more than strangers after all these years. She hoped in time they could be friends.
He was a good man. Just not the man for her.
"Can't you try to mend things?" her sister asked. "Perhaps it's not too late. Or . . . Or Teddy can ride after them and demand Lord Granville make good on his promises."
Clio shook her head. "It's over."
"It can't be over," Teddy said. "After all these years, we can't give up. You mustn't let him escape."
"Escape?" She laughed. "Should I be locking him in the dungeons?"
"Laugh all you like, but this is always your failing." Her sister clucked her tongue. "You let this drag on far too long, when you should have stood up for yourself years ago. You're too accommodating."
She thought on it. "You're right, Daphne. I am too accommodating."
"I'm so glad you see it."
"That's going to change," Clio said. "Today."
"Oh, yes. Let's go after him. We'll order the carriage this moment. Teddy."
Her sister snapped her fingers, and her husband roused himself from the sofa. Together they hurried into the corridor.
Clio followed. But when they approached the entrance hall, she held back.
"It's your last chance to go first," she told her sister, smiling sweetly. "Once I marry Piers, I will take precedence."
Daphne smiled. "That's the spirit."
She waited until Daphne and Sir Teddy had walked through. And then she ducked into the nearby alcove, reached up with both arms, and pulled the lever.
With a groan and rattle of iron, the portcullis smashed shut.
"It's been lovely having you visit," Clio told her shocked sister and brother-in-law, waving her fingers through the barrier of the iron grate. "Please do come back at Christmas."
"What on earth are you doing, dumpling?" Teddy asked.
"Using my castle for its intended purpose. Protection. And kindly refrain from calling me dumpling. Rafe taught me how to punch, too."
Teddy blinked in alarm.
"First you're letting Lord Granville slip away, and now this?" Daphne asked. "Clio, have you gone raving mad?"
"Perhaps." She shrugged. "Daphne, you are my sister, and I love you. I know you mean well. But you can be astoundingly hurtful at times."
Clio had Phoebe's well-being to consider. She just couldn't be accommodating anymore. Teddy and Daphne were one of those things best taken in small amounts. Like ground cloves. Or smallpox.
"I know that once you leave, I shall miss you," Clio told her sister. "I'm looking forward to missing you."
"You can't do this!" Daphne rattled the gate. "You can't just boot us out."
"Actually, I can. I might still be a spinster. I might never be a lady, or even a wife. You might always be my social superior. But I am mistress of my own castle. On this property, I make the rules. And today, I'm feeling a bit medieval."
Clio waved good-bye to her shocked sister and brother-in-law through the iron grate. "Do have a safe journey. I hope you don't encounter much traffic on the bridge."
That done, she turned to Phoebe. "I don't suppose you're interested in helping me star
t a brewery?"
"I'm not sure what help I'd be." Phoebe fished a bit of string from her pocket. "But I won eighteen hundred pounds in the card room last night. I want to invest."
"The stewards tell me these fields could be put to better use." Rafe drew his mount to a halt on the southern border of Oakhaven. "How do you feel about barley?"
"I don't know that I possess strong feelings about barley."
"I don't know that you possess strong feelings at all."
Piers gathered his reins and set his jaw. "Actually, I do have a few. None of them especially charitable at the moment."
Rafe walked his gelding in a tense circle. They hadn't been back on Oakhaven land for ten minutes, and already they were back to their old, familiar boyhood conflicts. If Clio hadn't asked him to do this . . .
"Maybe we should have it out, the two of us," Rafe suggested. "Take off our coats, roll up our sleeves. Get it over with."
"I'm not going to fight you. It wouldn't be fair."
"I suppose you're right." Rafe puffed his chest. "I was heavyweight champion of England for four years."
"I know how to kill a man with a letter opener and make it look like an accident," his brother said coolly. "I meant it wouldn't be fair to you."
Rafe rolled his eyes. "You're so damned predictable. For as long as I could remember, I lived in your shadow. Always failing. Always envious. Fighting was the one thing I could do better than the perfect, upstanding Piers. But no. You had to go and one-up me on that score, too."
"Of course I did. You weren't the only one with envy."
"Why the devil would you envy me?"
"For a hundred reasons. You did as you pleased. Said what you liked. You had more fun. With considerably more girls. You had that roguish air they all like, and your hair does that thing."
"My hair does a thing?" Rafe made a face. "What thing?"
His brother declined to explain. "I took assignments I wouldn't have chosen otherwise. Dangerous work. Because even though you were a continent away and the truth of what I was doing must be kept secret from everyone, I couldn't help but feel I was still in competition with my little brother. As it turns out, we were in competition. In one way, at least. And there, it seems I lost."
So, it would seem he had gathered the truth about Clio. Rafe had won that round, hadn't he?