"Now, Clarissa. I've got you."
She wanted to argue, but her lip trembled and she didn't trust herself to speak. He leaned down, his voice gruff and urgent. "Take my arm and smile as if I've just said something devastatingly witty."
A huff of surprise slipped out as he took her hand and placed it on his arm. His brows arched in a prompting look and to her surprise, her lips curled up.
She had no doubt it was a hideous attempt at a smile. Probably more like a grimace, really. But Kit nodded. "That'll do. Now keep your eyes on me, alright? No one else exists, do you understand?"
As he spoke, he was leading her through the crowd. And she did as he told her. She kept her gaze fixed on his as he talked and guided her gently but firmly toward the door.
She was shaking, and the room was staring. But Kit's hand was warm and steady on her arm. So she kept her chin up, and her lips curled, and let him lead her from the room.
Kit's pace was unhurried, and his expression was pleasant. The performance of a lifetime, really.
He really had missed his calling in the theater.
They reached the foyer. The door. Then the night air hit her, and she could finally breathe.
He didn't let go of her until they were around the corner, out of sight of the windows. Only then did he release her arm and step back.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"No." There was no point in lying. "They know you were paid. They know I knew." She looked at him. "Who told them?"
She hadn't meant it to sound so accusatory, but she didn't feel much guilt when he flinched either.
"It wasn't me," he said.
Some part of her knew that. But it was still good to hear. "Then who?"
His jaw was tight. "Someone who wants to hurt my aunt."
"And they mistook me for your aunt?" Her laugh sounded awful. More like a sob, really.
He reached for her, but she stepped back.
"Don't," she said.
"Clarissa. Please let me explain?—"
"There's nothing to explain." She took a breath and steadied herself. "It's done now. There's nothing to say."
He tried again, but she shut him down with an upheld hand. "Please, Kit."
Not now. Not when I'm so close to tears I can barely stand.
Because the consequences of this new rumor were already starting to hit her. "This was my last chance, Kit. My parents are going to choose for me now, and—" She stopped before the tears burst out. "I need to go home. Just…help me go home."
His expression was filled with reluctance, but he left her just long enough to call for a carriage. He helped her in and shut the door.
And when she peeked out the window, she saw him standing there—watching her go.
21
Two days after the musicale, Clarissa sat at her desk and made a list.
Not a list of suitors. That list would have been very short indeed. Nonexistent, in fact.
No, this was a list of facts. She'd found, over the past forty-eight hours, that facts were considerably easier to manage than feelings.
