“Yes,” she said. “I am so glad to see you, Piers. You returned at the perfect moment.”
She was glad Piers had come home. She was glad he seemed to want her. She was glad he’d kissed her—just this once, and after all this time. Because now she knew, without any question, that the choices in her heart were hers.
“I have papers you need to see,” Rafe said. Wearing a grim expression, he rose to his feet. “I’ll dash up to get them, and then we’ll talk.”
“Rafe, wait.”
Rafe shook out his arms as he walked back to the castle.
This was so like Piers. It wasn’t enough that he’d been their father’s favorite son. It wasn’t enough that he’d returned from some sort of mysterious, dashing work in the service of the Crown and would probably be decorated with knighthoods and laurels. It wasn’t enough that he had the most beautiful bride in all England ready to walk down the aisle with him this very day.
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.