15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

C larissa's heart leapt into her throat as Rafael strode out of the castle's entryway, his boots echoing sharply against the weathered stones. His sea-green eyes flashed with an intensity she had never seen before, brows knitted together in consternation.

He halted abruptly before her, hands clenching at his sides. Clarissa's pulse quickened. From the stormy look clouding Rafael's handsome features, she instantly knew he must have overheard part of their conversation. But which part? Surely not...

"My apologies for interrupting, Lady Clarissa, Conte Ginori," Rafael said tersely, giving a curt nod to each of them. His gaze lingered on Clarissa, something unfathomable lurking in those ocean depths. "I trust I am not intruding on a...private moment?"

Clarissa's stomach flip-flopped. Oh no. He couldn't possibly think... "Not at all, Captain," she replied with a brightness she did not feel, trying to mask her rising unease. "The Conte and I were merely having a friendly chat. Isn't that right, Mario?"

Mario smiled genially, seemingly oblivious to the tension crackling in the air between them. "Indeed, just a most delightful discourse on the charms of the Portuguese countryside. Lady Clarissa is a keen observer of natural beauty." He winked at her conspiratorially.

Clarissa flushed, her cheeks heating. Why did men always have to be so suggestive? She risked a glance at Rafael, saw his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. Dear Lord, he had gotten entirely the wrong impression! She had to set things straight, and quickly, before this spiralled out of control.

"Actually, Rafael, I was hoping we might have a word?" She widened her eyes at him meaningfully, willing him to understand. "In private?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he regarded her inscrutably for a long, tense moment. Finally, he inclined his head. "As you wish, my lady."

Clarissa turned to the Conte with an apologetic smile. "Pray excuse us, Mario. We shan't be long."

"Of course, of course!" The Conte waved a magnanimous hand. "Take all the time you need."

Pulse thrumming, she followed Rafael's broad back as he led them away from the Conte, her mind awhirl. She had to explain, to make him see reason. The very thought of him believing she would accept another man's proposal made her feel quite ill.

Rafael whirled around to face Clarissa once they reached the relative seclusion of the terrace, his sea-green eyes stormy with emotion. "How could you accept his proposal?" he demanded, his voice low and intense. "I thought...I thought we..."

He trailed off, running an agitated hand through his dark hair. Clarissa's heart clenched at the hurt and confusion etched across his handsome features. She reached out instinctively, her fingers grazing his arm.

"Rafael, please, let me explain. It's not what you think-"

But he jerked away from her touch as if burned, his gaze hardening. "And what about Isabella?" he pressed on, relentless. "She's completely smitten with the Conte, and you encouraged him? I never took you for the type to betray a friend so callously."

Clarissa reeled back, stung. How dare he accuse her of such a thing? Anger flared within her, hot and bright. "Now see here, Captain," she snapped, drawing herself up to her full height. "I have done no such thing! If you would just listen-"

"I've heard enough," Rafael cut her off coldly, turning his back on her. "I thought I knew you, Clarissa. But it seems I was mistaken."

His words hit her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them away furiously. She would not cry in front of him, not now.

"Rafael..." His name escaped her lips, plaintive and small.

But he was already striding away, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. Clarissa watched him go, her heart fracturing with every step he took. How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly?

She had to fix this, had to make him understand. But as she stood there, the sun beating down mercilessly and the scent of bougainvillaea thick in the air, Clarissa had never felt more lost. Or more alone.

If only she could make him see the truth in her heart...but what if it was already too late?

The distant rumble of carriage wheels in the castle courtyard jolted Clarissa from her tumultuous thoughts.

"Now who is arriving?" she muttered, walking back around to the courtyard and watching as a rather grand carriage drew to a halt. Neither Lucia nor Rafael had mentioned expecting any more visitors.

The door swung open, and out stepped the Earl and Countess of Creighton, their expressions a mixture of relief and disapproval as they saw her. Shocked, Clarissa swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as parchment.

"Mama, Papa," she managed, dropping into a curtsy. "What...what are you doing here?"

"What are we doing here?" the Countess repeated, her voice rising in pitch. "We've been worried sick about you, Clarissa!"

The Earl's sharp gaze swept over the crumbling facade of the castle, his lips thinning. "And now we find you living in...in this ruin? With a family of strangers? What in heaven's name were you thinking, girl?"

Clarissa felt her cheeks heat with a mixture of shame and defiance. "They're not strangers, Papa. They're...they're friends. And Rafael...Captain de Silva...he saved my life."

"Saved your life?" the Countess echoed, her hand fluttering to her throat. "What on earth happened?"

Clarissa drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. She had to make them understand, had to convince them that this was where she belonged. With Rafael, and his family.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, she caught a glimpse of Rafael over her father's shoulder. He stood in the shadows of the entryway, his face an inscrutable mask.

And in that moment, Clarissa knew that no matter what she said, it wouldn't be enough. Not now, with the weight of her parents' expectations bearing down upon her.

Her shoulders slumped, defeat washing over her like a cold wave. "It's...it's a long story," she said softly, her gaze dropping to the ground. "But I'm fine, truly. And I...I want to stay."

"Absolutely not," the Earl declared, his voice brooking no argument. "You're coming home with us, Clarissa. At once."

Clarissa's head snapped up, her eyes wide with dismay. "But Papa-"

"No buts," he interrupted, his expression stern. "Your reputation is at stake, and I will not have you ruining your prospects with this...this foolishness. Have your things packed, and we will return to Lisbon immediately. I have a ship waiting for us."

Tears blurred Clarissa's vision, hot and stinging. She blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. Not here, not now.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please don't do this."

But even as the words left her lips, she knew it was futile. Her parents had made up their minds, and there was nothing she could do to change them.

"Lavinia!" A calm voice behind Clarissa made sudden hope leap in her chest. Marianne emerged from the castle, smiling welcomingly. "How lovely to see you! Do come in out of the sun, it's dreadfully hot."

Marianne, lovely and gracious, could soften almost anyone. Both Clarissa's parents were swept up in her greeting, finding themselves agreeing that it was indeed terribly hot and a cool drink would be pleasant.

Clarissa trailed along in their wake, fighting back tears. The misunderstanding with Rafael had been distressing enough, but for her parents to arrive at just this moment could spell the death knell for even the hope of reconciliation.

Lucia was waiting in the salon with Isabella, both the picture of propriety as they welcomed the Earl and Countess, and Alex came striding in a moment later, all calm authority.

Marianne extricated herself from the group a little later and slipped away to where Clarissa stood in the shadows near the doorway. Grasping her hand, Marianne led her out into the hallway.

"I must speak to you. I sent a letter to your parents from Gibraltar," Marianne confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I told them about our travels, which is obviously how they knew we were here, but I didn't mention your disappearance in Athens. I thought it would be best if they heard it from you, in person."

Clarissa's eyes widened, a surge of relief washing over her. "You mean they don't know?" she breathed, hardly daring to hope.

Marianne nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I had sent a letter from Florence when we first received word you had disappeared, but it seems that letter hadn't arrived by the time they left England. They don't know about the kidnapping, for now."

Clarissa sagged back against the plush velvet seat, her heart racing. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, Marianne's expression sobered, her eyes searching Clarissa's face.

"You know they can't be kept ignorant forever," she cautioned gently. "Sooner or later, the truth will come out. And then..."

She trailed off, leaving the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

Clarissa nodded, her throat tight. She knew Marianne was right. She couldn't hide from her past forever, no matter how much she might wish to.

But for now, she would cling to this small shred of hope, this tiny glimmer of light in the darkness.

For now, it was all she had.

Clarissa's reprieve lasted no later than dinner that evening. The Earl and Countess, somewhat mollified by their gracious reception and finding the inside of the castle much less ruined than it looked from the outside, had accepted Lucia's invitation to stay a few days. At dinner, however, Mr Dalton joined them, and almost the very first thing he said was;

"You must have been so concerned when you heard Lady Clarissa went missing from Athens. Such a relief she was retrieved safely before too many days had passed."

Clarissa felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach twisting into knots. No. No, this couldn't be happening.

But her mother's horrified gasp told her it was all too real.

"Missing?" the Countess repeated, her voice rising to a near-shriek. "What do you mean, missing ?"

She rounded on Alex and Marianne, her eyes flashing with fury.

"How could you let this happen?" she demanded, her voice shaking with anger. "How could you be so irresponsible as to lose track of my daughter? For days ?"

Marianne flinched, her face paling under the onslaught. "Lavinia, I--"

But the Countess cut her off with a sharp gesture. "I don't want to hear your excuses," she snapped. "You were supposed to be looking after her, and you failed. Utterly and completely."

"Clarissa's reputation is at stake," Clarissa's father declared, his voice loud in the hushed silence which fell over the dinner table. "She must return home immediately."

Clarissa's heart seized in her chest. "No," she blurted out, before she could stop herself. "Papa, please. I don't want to go back."

Her father's gaze snapped to her, his eyes narrowing. "You don't have a choice in the matter," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Your reputation has been compromised. The only way to salvage it is for you to return to England and marry at once."

Clarissa shook her head, desperation clawing at her throat. "But I'm happy here," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "I've found a place where I belong. Please don't make me leave."

But her parents refused to listen. "You're coming home with us, and that's final," her mother said, her tone sharp and unyielding. "We'll find you a suitable husband, someone who can help restore your good name."

Clarissa felt as though the ground had dropped out from beneath her feet. A suitable husband? The very thought made her stomach churn.

She looked to Marianne, hoping for support, but her aunt could only offer a sympathetic glance. There was nothing she could do, Clarissa realised with a sinking heart. Her parents had made up their minds.

Tears stung her eyes as the reality of the situation sank in. She was going to be taken away from everything she loved, forced into a life she didn't want. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The Earl cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "As it happens, I have a friend who has expressed interest in an alliance with our family. Lord Weatherby is a respected member of the ton and would make a fine match for Clarissa."

"Lord Weatherby? You can't be serious. The man is old enough to be Clarissa's grandfather!" It was Alex who spoke, his face twisted with disgust.

The Earl rounded on him, his face flushed with anger. "You have no say in this matter, Glenkellie! Clarissa's future is not your concern."

Clarissa watched the exchange with growing despair. She knew Alex meant well, but his intervention would only make things worse. Her father was not a man to be crossed, especially when it came to matters of family and reputation.

She felt a surge of panic rising within her. The thought of being married off to a stranger, an old man, of spending the rest of her life in a loveless union, was too much to bear. She had to do something, anything, to change her parents' minds.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was hopeless. Her father's word was law, and there was nothing she could do to sway him. She was trapped, a prisoner of her own circumstances, with no way out.

"Clarissa will return to England with us at once," the Earl said, his gaze fixed on his daughter. "And she will marry Lord Weatherby, as befits her station. There will be no further discussion on the matter."

She could not stay in that room a moment longer, with pitying and accusing gazes directed at her. Jumping to her feet, she fled the room, running upstairs and into her room, where she threw open the window and gasped for air, feeling as though she couldn't breathe. Tears blurred her vision, and she swayed on her feet, feeling as though she might faint. But then a pair of strong, gentle arms wrapped around her, and she found herself being drawn into a warm, comforting embrace.

"Shh, it's all right," Marianne murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "I've got you, my dear. Just let it out."

And with those words, the dam broke. Clarissa buried her face in Marianne's shoulder and sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her grief. She clung to the older woman like a drowning sailor to a life raft, desperate for any shred of comfort or solace.

Marianne held her close, stroking her hair and whispering words of reassurance. But even as she did so, Clarissa could sense the helplessness in her aunt's touch, the knowledge that there was nothing either of them could do to change the situation.

"I can't marry him, Marianne," Clarissa choked out between sobs. "I can't. I'd rather die than spend my life with a horrible old man."

Marianne's arms tightened around her. "I know, my dear. I know. But we must have faith. Surely there must be some way to change your father's mind, to make him see reason."

Clarissa shook her head, her tears soaking into the fine silk of Marianne's gown. "There's no use. He's determined to see me married, no matter what I want. Oh, Marianne, what am I going to do?"

But even as she asked the question, Clarissa knew there was no answer. She was trapped, caught between the demands of her family and the desires of her own heart. She could only cling to Marianne and weep, her dreams of a happy future shattered beyond repair.