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At my uncle’s left shoulder is Barnabas Harrow, his top lieutenant. Paul might be one of the most skilled enforcers in the Speare family, but he does his job without relish. Barnabas thrives on cruelty. He would be all too happy to lay heavy hands on me to force me back to the estate. The question of whether or not he’ll hold back in front of this audience is one I don’t want the answer to.
The three men scan the room. And I, in my striking gown, standing alone by the refreshment tables, have nowhere to hide.
CHAPTER 22
Clara
It takes seconds for my uncle to spot me, and when he does, he doesn’t bother keeping his voice down.
“Clara! There you are. Fucking Christ girl. Do you have any concept of the trouble you’ve caused me?”
Every eye in the room swings between me and my uncle. I can't speak. I can’t even properly breathe right now.
Luckily, my uncle has never given me the chance to talk. “What is this? You ran out on me just to wear fancy dresses and go to parties? You’re coming home with me right now-”
“Morgan. I didn’t realize you were planning to attend tonight’s banquet.”
I can’t take my eyes off my uncle, but I don’t need to. Thomas’s warmth is suddenly at my shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to lean into it. His dress shoes crunch in the glass at our feet.
My uncle’s face twists into a smile that makes my blood chill. “Tommy-boy,” he says, with mocking enthusiasm. “I suggest you step away from my niece now. No need to make a scene. She’s coming home with me.”
Thomas’s hand rests on the naked small of my back. “I don’t think so,” he says, perfectly polite. “Clara is leaving with me tonight.”
Paul’s eyes narrow, moving between Thomas and I, as if judging his intentions. The warped smile on my uncle’s face disappears into a snarl. “Hands off my niece, Warwick!” he spits, his voice rising to ring out through the whole suite.
Isn’t there any security at this party?!
My uncle has worked himself into a rant. I cringe away from him, tighter into Thomas’s side. “She’s mine, my ward, and you had no fucking right to move in on her. This is kidnapping- this is a fucking act of war, you hear me?!”
I don’t know how many of the guests in the room get the full scope of what’s happening here. The DA, Derrick Lindman, and probably the handful of other guests Thomas introduced me to understand that this is a showdown between bosses. A rapidly spiraling discussion over ‘property rights’.
Regardless of who understands what, the word ‘kidnapping’ is going to make an impression. And it won’t be in Thomas’s favor.
Two things crystalize in my mind as I watch the color rise in my uncle’s face. First, I might be here to be an object of desire, but I still have the freedom to accept or reject that role for myself. If I choose, I can make it into a position of power.
Second, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I wanted to have a say in what happens with my uncle, and now I have the chance to speak to him directly. Even though my throat is closing and my mouth is so dry it feels like I’m gargling sand, I have to find my voice. Now.
I take a step away from Thomas’s side, placing myself just in front of him. My knees are trembling, but no one can see them under my skirt. “This isn’t an act of war,” I declare. To my uncle and to the guests, ignorant and in the know. “This is an act of love.”
Silence. The air feels like it’s been sucked right out of the room. I want to shrink into myself, but all eyes are on me now. All I can do is make my point.
“I-I wasn’t kidnapped,” I say, perhaps unnecessarily. “I left home of my own free will. I’m sorry, Uncle.” I’m not. “I know I didn’t tell you I was leaving, and I made you worry.” I made him angry, which is far more dangerous. “But I had to go. I had to be with Thomas because I…” I’m no longer pale with nerves. My cheeks are hot. All I can see in my mind is Thomas’s golden hair clutched in my fist as he thrusts his tongue inside me.
This, more than anything else I say, has to be believable. It’s what Thomas has been trying to make a display out of all night. And yes, ten years ago, I considered myself in love with Thomas Warwick. He was beautiful and mysterious and lonely, a potent combination for any teenage girl. But what I felt as a daydreaming child and what I feel now are strangers to each other. Thomas has hurt my heart and set my body on fire. He seems further away now than he did when I saw him through his window on the second floor.
Loving him is absolutely impossible, but it might be something I’ve never stopped doing.
I suck in a breath to steady myself. Then I declare to this room of strangers something I’ve never admitted to anyone.
“I’m here with Thomas because I love him.”
If I thought the room was quiet before, it’s silent as death now. The people who think they’ve stumbled into a family drama wear an entire range of emotions on their faces, from bewilderment to irritation to charm. The ones who understand that I’ve just turned my back on the Speare family to make a public alliance with the Warwicks are starting to edge toward the door.
My uncle’s face is the worst one to see, but I have to meet his gaze or this won’t work. His nose and cheeks and neck are blotchy with redness. His beady eyes are absolutely wild. I wonder if I should keep talking, just to curtail an explosion, but my uncle has never been shy about screaming over me. When his thin lips curl back, bearing his teeth in a snarl, I know that violence is coming.
“You traitorous bitch!” he spits, and that gets a gasp of disapproval from the genteel crowd. “How fucking dare you turn your back on me! I fed you- raised you- and this is the thanks I get?!”
I take a step forward, my hands up, pleading. “Uncle-”
