Author: Rebecca King
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/43923_12
“I can assure you that we are most definitely engaged. Him and me, not you and me, Boyle. Who are you to question it? There is absolutely no reason why you should know anything about my personal business,” Clara snapped. “Unless you have been prying into my life as well as following me, there is no reason why you should know what I do with my life. You really must get over this strange addiction you have for pestering me. I am engaged to another man. This man.”
Niall, still struggling with his disbelief, glared at her but turned his annoyance to the man he still held against the wall.
“Stay away from my fiancé,” he growled, unsure why he was going along with her silly games, even temporarily.
“Clara! You have a fiancé?”
Niall closed his eyes and cursed viciously beneath his breath when he heard that feminine cry of delight. He glared at the elderly woman who hurried down the street toward them, her weathered features beaming with her joy. He lifted brows in Clara’s direction, silently asking her to stop the pretence.
“This is Mrs Edith Burnam,” Clara replied, carefully ignoring the stranger’s pointed look. “She runs the dress shop.”
“You never told me you had a suitor,” Edith chided.
Clara mentally winced and tried to think of something suitable to say.
“We are not-” Niall began before the woman could get carried away with her congratulations.
“We hadn’t intended to make an announcement just yet,” Clara interjected loudly before Niall could call her a liar. “We are going to – wait a while.”
She mentally winced when she realised how weak an excuses that sounded.
“Wait a while? What on earth for, dear?” Edith asked, frowning in consternation at Niall before turning a puzzled look on Clara.
“Well-” Clara mentally winced when the handsome stranger threw her a dour look, leaving her in no doubt he wasn’t at all happy with finding himself with a new albeit temporary fiancé. It was also clear he wasn’t going to help her create a story that would appease her curious friend because he remained stoically silent and took to glaring pugnaciously at her.
“For my father to
come back from London,” Clara gasped.
She had no idea why she should say such a thing because if she did get engaged then she would go to London to inform her father, not wait for him to come to her.
“But surely you intend to tell your friends, don’t you?” Edith demanded, clearly annoyed at the prospect that Clara had wanted to keep her news to herself for a while. She turned to eye the handsome stranger with an assessing look that made him sigh and roll his eyes. “He is rather handsome. No wonder you want him to yourself.”
“Edith,” Clara chided, her cheeks turning florid.
Niall rolled his eyes and fought the urge to squirm. He wondered if this was how prize horse flesh felt at market. He refused to turn around and see for himself but could feel their assessing gazes running over him.
Damn it all to Hell. This is turning into a damned circus.
Everything within him was screaming at him to put a stop to Clara Potter’s lies now, before it went any further and cost him his job with the Star Elite, which he knew it would if news reached her father.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled beneath his breath.
“Why, you dark horse.” Edith nudged Clara roughly in the ribs and threw her an approving look.
Clara coughed and shifted uncomfortably.
“What’s he doing with Erasmus?” Edith whispered when she realised what Clara’s fiancé was doing.
“Erasmus thought it would be a good idea to pester me again,” Clara sighed. “Thankfully, my f-fiancé was here to save me.”
“What’s his name?” Edith whispered.
“Erasmus Boyle,” Clara replied, mentally racing around to try to find a name that would seem fitting for such a powerful stranger as the one before her.
“No, your fiancé, you goose,” Edith chided.
Niall mentally ran through every curse he had ever heard, learnt, and was familiar with – twice. He counted to ten and tried hard not to punch the wall mere inches away. He had no idea what in the Hell possessed the damned chit to tell the woman anything, but she was rattling off a totally fictitious story with a ready ease that was disturbing.