"I mean I'm going to tell Clarissa the truth. All of it. And then she can decide what she wants to do."
"If you breathe a word?—"
"You'll what?" Kit's jaw clenched tight. "Have Clementine committed? Ruin a pregnant woman to protect your vanity?" He shook his head. "No. I'm done protecting you. Clementine sails for Cork soon. By the time you could do anything, she'll be beyond your reach. I'll make sure of it."
A silence fell, and Kit felt a decades-old weight fall from his shoulders.
"You're making a mistake," the duke said quietly.
"Possibly." Kit didn't have to fake the light, droll tone. "But it's mine to make."
The duke regarded him for a long moment, but then walked past him without another word. It wasn't over. Kit wasn't so foolish as to think his father would let him have his way without a fight. But he still felt a wave of relief when the terrace doors clicked shut.
Now alone, he pressed his hands against the stone balustrade. His pulse was hammering, his hands were shaking. But he felt lighter than he had in months.
I love you. Clarissa's voice still echoed in his mind. In truth, he suspected it was that voice that had given him the courage to finally confront his father.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
She'd said she loved him. And he was going to tell her the truth, all of it.
And then he was going to say it back.
He pushed off the balustrade and turned toward the door, but a sound stopped him. A small, sharp intake of breath from the garden below the terrace. Kit looked down.
Clarissa was standing in the garden. She was pressed against the wall beneath the terrace, her face tilted up, her eyes wide and bright with tears.
"Clarissa." His voice cracked.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I swear it. I went to the library, but I could hear your shouting, and then I heard you say—" With wide eyes she stared at him. "The child isn't yours."
He swallowed hard. "No."
"It's your father's."
He nodded. "Yes."
She wrung her hands together, backing up slightly so she could see him better. "And you've been— This whole time, you've been?—"
"Yes."
She pressed both hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shook. He couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. His heart gave a sharp kick in response. And everything in him ached to hold her. Why wasn't she in his arms?
"Stay there," he said. "Don't move. I'm coming down."
He didn't have time for the stairs. He swung himself over the balustrade and dropped into the garden.
He landed gracelessly, and Clarissa let out a startled laugh as he straightened. She was so close. Her eyes were wet and her nose was red and…
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"You love me," he said.
"I— Yes, but that's not the point. The point is your father is a horrible man and that poor girl, and you've been paying for everything out of your own?—"
"You love me," he said again. He moved closer still, until he could feel the heat of her body, and the scent of her perfume won out over the smells of the garden.
"Kit, I'm trying to?—"
