Page 35 of His Runaway Duchess

Edward’s hand tightened around his fork.

“Clarissa…” he began threateningly, but Miss Belmont interrupted him.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but there was noseductionhere. Your stepson will tell you that. You must know that?—”

“I know nothing,” Clarissa interrupted. “In fact, I?—”

“Enough,” Edward bit out.

He’d spoken much louder than he’d intended, his voice echoing through the dining hall. It seemed to ring off the crystal glasses. Everybody had gone very still. Miss Belmont was staring at her plate. Clarissa was staring at Edward, her expression unreadable.

“Edward, I am only saying what will be said everywhere,” she said, her voice shaking just a little.

He eyed her for an instant. “You cannot speak to the future Duchess of Thornbridge in this manner,” he responded, at last. “Not now, not ever. Just because a piece of false gossip might be repeated does not give you the right to say it yourself. I am sorry, Clarissa, but I cannot tolerate this from anyone, not even you. You must apologize.”

The silence grew heavier. The Duke and Duchess of Langdon were inspecting their soup bowls closely. Lady St. Maur looked horrified. Miss Emily Belmont appeared to be on the brink of tears.

Edward held Clarissa’s eye, willing her to do as she was told.

Come on, Clarissa. Just say that you are sorry. Please. Let’s get this done with. You must know that I cannot let this slide.

Clarissa cleared her throat. “I am sorry, Edward. That was an improper thing to say.”

The awful silence continued.

“Not to me,” Edward said. “To Miss Belmont.”

The color drained from Clarissa’s cheeks. She got abruptly to her feet, the chair scraping back, making them all jump. She glanced across the table at Miss Belmont, and Edward saw the dislike in her eyes.

“I apologize, Miss Belmont.”

“Think nothing of it,” Miss Belmont murmured. “I’d like to be friends.”

Clarissa smiled tightly. “Of course. Do excuse me.”

She left the room at once, leaving silence behind her once again.

Say something,Edward urged himself.Something, anything, just to break the ice.

The Duke of Langdon cleared his throat. “This soup,” he announced, “is excellent. Duke, I must have the recipe.”

CHAPTER 10

Edward stood on the terrace, breathing in the cold air, trying to steady his nerves.

The morning was crisp and fresh, with a layer of frost on the ground. Not too icy, though.

Come on, man. You aren’t diving off the edge of a cliff. You’re spending quality time with your son. There’s no need to be nervous.

His internal scolding did not seem to be working. Anxiety still fizzled in his gut. To distract himself, he strode over to where the groom stood with three horses—Edward’s favorite gelding, a horse for the groom to follow behind, and a smaller, sweet-tempered mare that would bear Alex safely.

“He should be down at any moment,” Edward spoke.

The groom bowed but said nothing.

And what if he doesn’t come down? Mrs. Trench isn’t a tyrant. She won’t force him to get up and get dressed for an early morning ride if he doesn’t want to. Will I be left kicking my heels on the terrace, a pathetic figure of a father?

Perhaps he can’t forgive me, like I could never forgive my father.

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