Page 76 of Distracting the Duke

He reached for her but she shrugged him off.

“Don’t. You’ll wake the child. And don’t try to follow me. He’ll be distressed if he wakes alone in an unfamiliar room.”

“Clara, please, I beg you. We must discuss this.”

She turned away from him. “No, Marcus, we must not.”

Every single part of him felt in pain, and his heart had shriveled to a mere sliver. It saw no point in continuing to beat; his lungs no longer felt the need to draw in air.

His voice was like a dead, brittle leaf when he called after her, “Are you telling me it is over between us?”

“Yes, Marcus,” was the terrible reply. “It is.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Clara was barely able to utter a word on the journey back to Lawton. Her whole body started shaking as if she had an ague, and the pain of what had occurred between herself and Marcus was keen and sharp as a razor. She felt sick, dizzy.

The look on his face when she’d left him in the nursery would haunt her forever.

But it was for the best. Yes, he desired her—now—but his body would soon tire of her, as Simon’s had, and he would seek his pleasure elsewhere.

And she would be heartbroken.

But the worst of it was, there would be no children in their marriage.

When she’d seen Marcus with Georgie, and listened to his hopeful plans for children of his own, a great chasm had opened up inside her, a huge hole filled with longing for a child she could never have.

She was barren.

So, she’d be disappointing Marcus in that, too.

It was absolutely for the best that she’d ended things with him, before either of them was very badly hurt.

Except, it was already too late. The pain she felt in her heart was overwhelming.

Had she come to love him without realizing it?

When a pale-faced Marcus came to wave the Weston party off at the end of that long afternoon, she’d been forced to pretend nothing untoward had happened between them. Now she had to cope with all the cheerful chatter in the carriage—about how nice it was to see Kate again, and what a delightful child Georgie was, and what a pleasant gentleman Lord Snettisham was, and what a fair-minded, generous man the duke had shown himself to be. She was surrounded by so much positivity and optimism, she wanted to scream, “Let me alone! I want to be miserable!”

Had she just thrown away her greatest hope of happiness?

…

Having cried herself to sleep, woken up and cried some more, Clara was not in the mood to speak to anyone the following day. She claimed to have a headache, refused to get out of bed, and requested that all her meals be sent up to her. It was now six o’clock, and the prospect of a dreary evening followed by another sleepless night beckoned.

No one in the Weston household seemed to be aware that she’d refused Marcus’s offer. If they had, they would certainly have been beating her door down, entreating her to change her mind. Knowing how much her family would benefit if she were to marry him, she tried desperately to think of ways in which that could be accomplished without being hurtful to her.

There was much to be said for such a union—she’d be gaining financial security and would have an allowance that would give her a modicum of independence, even though she would never be free, as she had hoped to be.

She and Marcus had similar tastes and could enjoy long conversations about art to while away the long winter evenings. He had a renowned collection of classical sculpture, which he hoped to expand as the Albemarle investments brought in their rewards and the family coffers were filled. He’d already informed her he hoped to have more of the collection installed at Wroxham so the local inhabitants might be able to admire it and so he would always have something beautiful to look upon.

As for becoming a duchess, it would be hard work but doubtless most rewarding. How wonderful it would be to be able to go about in Society again, holding one’s head high, setting the fashion, having one’s portrait painted, featuring in the periodicals, even attending at court. But she would enjoy these things only if Marcus was by her side…and how long would he remain there when she brought him no children, no true pleasure in the bedchamber?

Another thought struck her, which sent an icy shiver down her spine. What if the story of Simon, Kate, and the boy were found out? The name of Albemarle would be tarnished for decades. Could she really risk bringing such shame on Marcus, just when he felt he’d finally erased the memory of his profligate grandfather?

Clara got out of bed and began pacing, desperately trying to distract herself from the turmoil of her thoughts.

Why must she torment herself like this? It was all settled! She had rejected his offer, and that was an end to it. He could now marry Ellie, and Clara could stop feeling guilty about interfering with the girl’s prospects.