"So you see," his father continued, his voice dropping to a murmur that only Kit could hear. "It's in everyone's interest that this story holds. Mine, your mother's." A pause. "And the girl's."
Kit went still. "What does Clementine have to do with?—"
"The girl is a complication." His father's tone grew sharp. "A complication I've been content to let you manage. But if she becomes a liability, I will need to address the matter myself."
His stomach sank at the dark flicker in his father's eyes. "Address it how?"
"A duke has considerable resources, Kit." He squeezed Kit's shoulder. "I trust it won't come to that."
The garden was bright and warm but Kit felt frozen through at the implications. It was worse than a direct threat because Kit had been raised in this man's household. He knew full well how cruel the man could be to his heir. He could only imagine what he could do to an unwanted young woman and an unborn child.
"Do we understand each other?" his father asked.
Kit turned his gaze back toward Clarissa. "Yes. Understood."
So. No telling Clarissa the truth then. No telling anyone.
Perhaps for once his devil-may-care reputation was a boon. No one would question the lie, and so no lies would have to be told.
"Good lad." The duke stepped back. "Do enjoy the luncheon. The chicken is excellent."
He moved away across the lawn, a smile on his face as he greeted an acquaintance.
Kit took a drink before remembering that his glass was empty. He set it back down again. And then he stood there staring at the empty glass for far too long.
Long enough that one person, at least, noticed.
"Are you all right?" The voice was soft and gentle, and so familiar it made his heart give a sharp kick.
Kit turned slowly to see Clarissa standing beside him. And she was giving him an odd look. It was concern, yes. But there was a wariness there, as though he was a stray puppy—but he very well might bite.
She shifted from one foot to the other. "You look as though you've just received bad news."
"Lady Clarissa." He straightened and smiled belatedly. "What a pleasant?—"
"Don't." She said it gently. "Don't do that, please. Not right now."
His smile faltered.
She took a step closer. "Are you all right?"
Such a simple question. She'd asked him that before, in the dark of the opera box. And now here she was again, her eyes full of concern.
Even after everything. The rumors, and the mistress, and the way he'd failed her. She'd seen him standing alone and she'd still come over.
He didn't deserve her. But then again, neither did Hartley. He took in her wide eyes and soft lips…
It was possible that no man in all of England deserved her, but Kit was very definitely top of the list. The thought had him looking around to see who was watching. "You shouldn't be talking to me," he said. "Your reputation?—"
"Will survive." A flicker of emotion crossed her face. Sadness, perhaps. Or maybe resignation. "I've survived worse than being seen speaking to you at a garden party."
The words stung, though he knew she hadn't meant them to.
"Clarissa." He dropped his voice. "I owe you an apology."
She backed up a step, that concern sliding away until only wariness remained. "You don't."
"I do. For all of it. The way it ended…" He chose his words carefully.
