To Deceive A Duke

Chapter 47

Clarissa doesn't look back as Daniel's shout follows her down the street. She weaves in and out of the people crowding the pavements, her feet pounding on the cobbles and a ringing in her ears. She refuses to let the tears fall as she runs, needing to put as much distance between her and the duke as possible. She doesn't know where she is heading until she turns onto Queen Anne's Gate and sees the familiar white stone of her old house. 

She hurries up the steps and runs inside. She slams the door, glimpsing the shocked faces of her old servants as she pushes past them and races up the stairs. She slips into her childhood bedroom and collapses onto the bed, breathing in the familiar smell of home. Safe, warm and alone in her room, she lets the anger and pain pour out of her. She screams into the pillows, the material muffling her cries as the tears stream down her cheeks. The longer she cries, the angrier she becomes, prompting them to fall thicker and faster, soaking into the sheets. She hates herself for crying over Daniel and their marriage, but there is no point in chastising herself over a few tears with no one around to see. 

She sobs her heart out and when she finally does sit up, her eyes are red and puffy and her hair is sticking up in strange tufts. She crosses her legs, her skirts crumpling around her and looks down at her hands. Her two rings seem to twinkle bitterly at her. She slides them off her finger and places them on the bedside table as she climbs off the bed. She settles in front of her vanity table and looks in the mirror. 

The girl looking back at her doesn't look like a leader or a soldier. She looks like a heartbroken teenager, the type of girl that Clarissa used to criticise and taunt behind their back. It always puzzled her when girls her age would be brought to tears by the opposite sex. How stupid does one have to be to have their heart wrecked when there are so many obvious clues along the way? But now that her heart, pride and confidence are in ruins, she has no words. She raises her hand and uses her fingers to comb the stray locks of chocolate brown hair into place before wiping away the smudged rouge and eye makeup.  

Once upon a time, she thought she was smarter than this, too wise to succumb to plans weaved by men and their tricks, but she now realises how naive she is actually is. She has been a fool and she needs to face the consequences, no matter how much they break her on the inside. A knock startles her out of her thoughts, and she turns towards it. 

"Come in," She calls, her voice croaky and dry. 

The door creaks open and Silas tentatively steps inside, a soft expression on his face. She offers him a weak smile as he shuts the door and walks over to her. 

"What's happened, darling?" He asks, "You've given the maids quite the fright," 

"Oh papa," Clarissa chuckles sadly, holding her head low. 

His concern is clearly written on his face as he sits on the edge of the bed, and leans forward, ready to listen. He waits patiently for his daughter to speak, giving her time to collect her thoughts and find her words. When she does look up, there is a fire burning in her purple gaze. 

"He betrayed me," 

Silas inhales but doesn't react further, his attention locked on her. 

"I feel so numb," Clarissa confesses, her voice laced with pain, "And I don't know what to do," She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and massages the back of her neck, her thoughts all in a jumble. 

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, "Well what do you want?" 

She raises her head, her mouth set into a hard line, "I don't want to be the victim anymore," 

"Oh Clary, you've never been a victim," He says, moving off the bed. She shifts to the side of her stool, allowing him to take a seat next to her, "You are a fighter, and you have never stopped fighting."