by Geneva Lee
The thought occupies me so completely that I barely speak to Clara on the drive to Norfolk. There’s no way to prepare her because I hadn’t bothered to look at the guest list my office sent me. It’s not hard to guess who will be there. The usual sycophants always turn up for the hunt. There’s nothing more appealing to the aristocracy than chasing down a helpless animal and murdering it.
I just have to make sure they stay focused on the fox and not the woman at my side.
I’m out of the car as soon as we pull into the front-drive, making my way to Clara’s side of the car to help her out. I need to keep her with me as much as possible. It’s the best thing for her. A few valets are already bringing our bags inside. She pauses, looking around like she’s not sure if she should offer help or not.
“They’ll take it to your room,” I tell her.
“My room?” she repeats. “I thought I was here with you.”
I lift her knuckles to my lips, kissing her hand. “First rule of country weekends. Propriety must be observed.”
“So we sleep in separate rooms? Will they be sending a chaperone with us?” she asks dryly.
“You’ll find my family is all about appearances, poppet. Separate bedrooms are one thing, but that just leaves people to find new, exciting places to fuck,” I tell her in a lowered voice as we climb the stairs.
“Is that so?”
“I’ll prove it to you,” I say, allowing my wicked thoughts to edge into my voice. Finding dark corners to drag her into is about the only aspect of this weekend I’m looking forward to.
Manfred, Norfolk’s head butler, greets us at the door. “Everyone is in the parlor, Your Highness. Your bags are being taken to your rooms. Perhaps, you would like to freshen up before joining the guests?”
“Please,” I say.
“I will have Charles show Miss Bishop to her room,” he says.
“Is that necessary?”
“Your father asked for her to be placed in the southern wing,” he tells me stiffly.
And my room is in the north. “Naturally.” I force myself to stay calm. It’s not as though it matters where they put her. No one bothers to worry about the bed-hopping that goes on after dark, but I dislike sending her off.
“It’s fine,” she says, squeezing my hand before letting it go. “I’ll find you back here?”
I nod as a young valet appears to show her away.
“Will you require any more assistance? I can send a valet up?” Manfred asks as they disappear from sight.
“I haven’t needed anyone to help dress me in years.” I stride off in the direction of the family quarters as Edward appears in the hall.
“I thought you might have changed your mind.” He swirls a glass of Scotch.
“I should have,” I admit to him, looking around to be sure we’re alone. “They put her in the fucking south wing.”
Edward snorts. “Geography never stopped you. I still remember you trying to explain it when father caught you sneaking across the grounds at dawn when you were eighteen. I believe you said you’d been out for a run.”
“I had been exercising.” I smirked, trying to remember whose bed I’d been visiting that night. In truth, those times all blurred together. It had probably been one of my sister’s friends. “Sarah’s friends were always good for a little overnight aerobic activity. This is different, though.”
Edward fell into step beside me. “You didn’t really expect them to make you two a bed? Why have thirty guest rooms if you don’t use them?”
“She’s not a guest,” I bite out. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly. “Honestly, I’m shocked you got her here at all. Father’s been on a rampage all day.”
“I didn’t give him a choice.” I cast a meaningful look at my brother. “Sometimes, you have to take what you want and say sod the consequences.”
“Let me know how that goes for you.” he says with a bemused smile, taking a sip. “Speaking of what I want, I better go back. I left poor David with them.”
At least, everyone plays along with Edward, pretending not to know about his secret romance. That means that while he and David are miserable at these things, they aren’t targeted. I have no idea how my father will punish Clara for being here, but I expect the others will be just as bad.
“Edward,” I call before he gets too far. “Help me keep an eye on her?”
“She’s really important to you, isn’t she?” he asks.
I hesitate, uncertain how to answer that. If anyone might understand loving someone you can never have, it’s him. I settle for nodding.
“Will do. I haven’t been asked to join the hunt, so I will shield her as much as possible.”
“Thank you.” I stalk toward my room, finding it exactly as it’s always been. Apart from the lack of dust, there’s no sign that anyone’s stepped foot in here. No waiting bags. They’ve been unpacked already, I assume. Crossing to the wardrobe, I find a suitable change of clothes and begin to undress.
I have a part to play this weekend, my suit is the costume, and everyone around me is an ally or antagonist. It’s tradition to take a weekend in the country each summer, everyone ready to flee the heat of the city. But I know better than to think this will be an escape. I’ve walked Clara into hell itself. Who knows how badly we’ll get burned?
Chapter Thirty
I lounge in the hall, hoping to catch Clara before anyone else does. When she finally emerges, she steals my breath from me. There is something effortless about her. She’s not trying to impress anyone. She is simply beautiful. Her navy gown skims along her curves, pulling my thoughts in indecent directions and bringing out her blue eyes. It reminds me a little of the dress she wore that first time—in the lift. Thankfully, it’s not that exact same dress, or I’d already have her against the wall. “Poppet?”
She sighs as I find my way to her side. I hate that I’m not the one making her make those sounds. “Save those for me.”
“I’m not allowed to sigh?” she asks sharply.
“Oh, I insist that you sigh.” I lower my lips to her jaw and whisper the words across her skin. “And whimper and moan when I’m fucking you. I demand it. I’m a selfish man, and those noises belong to me.”
“I’d be happy to comply.” She grabs my suit jacket, and I’m struck by how forward she’s becoming, channeling the possessiveness I display toward her back at me. I rather like it.
I have to pull away to keep myself from carrying her off to a room, locking the door, and not leaving the bed the entire weekend. It’s what I want. I don’t want to waste time on the simpering idiots that finagle invitations to the country every year, but I also need to prove a point. My father needs to see that Clara will be at my side whether he wants it or not. “Don’t tempt me, or we’ll never make it to our scheduled appearance.”
“So I’m not the only one with a printed itinerary?”
“Unfortunately not.” I offer her my arm. At least, hers doesn’t include a bloody fox hunt. “To the Billiard Room?”
“Yes. I was lost.”
“I would have found you.” I would always find her. In a crowd of people, she will always be the first one I see. It’s as though there’s a thread attaching her to me, always tugging me in her direction. I can’t explain it.
I sure as hell can’t ignore it.
The usual wankers are present in the Billiard Room. The only friendly faces are Edward and David, who are making a good show of being there alone. Although as we enter, I catch Edward’s eyes sweep toward David as though he’s checking on him. I want to wish he’d come out and say what everyone suspects, but I know all too well the position that will put David in. It’s why I edge slightly closer to Clara now as though I can protect her from the vipers circling around us.
I lead her into the room, dropping my voice to a whisper. “An hour. Do you want a drink?”
I’m not sure if that’s good self-preservation instincts or not. I’m about to tel
l her just that when a valet enters the room, glancing around until his eyes fall on me. I’d expected my father to raise a bigger fuss about Clara’s presence. The valet comes to me and whispers, “Your father would like to speak with you, your highness.”
Of course, he would. I grab Clara’s arm as he adds, “Alone.”
Naturally. “I need to attend to something. Edward will look after you.”
I motion for Edward, who strides toward her. I’m already thankful I spoke with him earlier. I don’t have to explain in front of her where I’m going or worry that she’ll be left to deal with the rest of these snakes.
It’s not just my father waiting. His mother is there as well. My grandmother Mary looks like what happens if you leave a princess out in the sun too long. The skin around her lips is pinched from age into a permanent scowl of disapproval. Her once blonde hair is now silver, carefully styled into a helmet of curls. She sits across the desk from him.
“Grandmum.” I move to her, kissing her cheek before taking the other vacant seat. “You look well.”
“You brought that girl,” she responds disdainfully.
I force a tight smile.
“I told father I invited Clara. We all have friends here.” I don’t look at him as I say it, but I saw Pepper in the Billiard Room. It’s no surprise that she’s here, but it’s hardly his place to lecture me on bringing a woman for the weekend.
“She’s just a friend then,” Grandmum says carefully.
“A girlfriend,” I admit.
She gasps as though I struck her, and my father grunts something under his breath.
“Would you rather I call her a friend and take her to bed in secret?” I ask him pointedly. Our eyes meet, the one trait we share, and he knows I’m calling him out. I have no idea if his mother knows that he’s screwing Pepper, but I doubt he wants me to bring it up.
“You have responsibilities,” he says, his face returning to a more neutral passivity. “Clara is very pretty, but you can’t make life decisions based on what your dick wants.”
I cross my arms to keep myself from lunging across the desk to strangle him. “This is the twenty-first century. Clara is well-bred—”
“She’s American,” my grandmother says like I’ve invited a mutt into the house.
I turn my glare on her, challenging her to continue explaining what she means by that statement. The Royal family are the original snobs, but nothing gets under their thin-skin more than Americans. The country didn’t have the decency to close their eyes and think of England.
“You need to be prepared to assume my role—” my father continues.
“Are you planning to retire?” I half expect him to live forever to prevent me from ascending the throne. I want him to, actually. I have no desire to be king.
“I do not approve of your flippancy,” Grandmum lectures.
But my father looks as though he’s got a headache. It’s how he’s looked most of my life. I recognize the temple-rubbing frustration from every conversation we’ve ever had. “There are situations that you need to be briefed on, and yet you’re busy screwing that—”
This finally sends me to my feet. “Choose your words very carefully. She is precious to me.”
There are lines that, once crossed, will force decisions neither of us wants to make. I know my father well enough to guess the lengths he’d go to in an effort to separate us. He once sent me to face death itself to avoid bad press. What will he do to avoid an unwanted addition to his precious bloodline?
Before he can speak, Clara steps into the room. Her eyes are hollow, worn down, and empty. Edward is nowhere in sight. How long has she been standing there? How much has she heard? “I’m going to bed.”
It’s nothing more than a declaration of intention, but it’s a loaded statement. She’s drawn a line in the sand. Them. Her. What team will I choose?
“I’m coming with you.” I cross to her, taking her hand but carefully angling my body so that I can step in front of her like a shield if necessary.
“We are not finished speaking,” he says, his jaw tightening as I choose her over them.
“This conversation is over.” I dismiss his objection. I’m through with pandering to their snobbery and power games. “I’m not debating this with you any longer. I’ve made my decision.”
He pauses, his eyes scanning the woman next to me—assessing and dissecting. This isn’t over. Finally, he simply says, “Good night.”
When we reach the door to her room, we pause. Clara sinks against it, her hands wrapped behind her back.
“This is me,” she says. “Where are you?”
“The North Wing,” I tell her. “My old room, full of precious memories.” I don’t bother to hide the bitterness from my voice. Coming here is torture. It’s being forced to swallow poison one toxic drop at a time. Why did I bring her here?
“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning.”
I nod, steeling my resolve to walk away. She said she was tired, and after what she overheard, I can’t blame her for sending me away. “Clara, I…”
She waits for me to finish that statement, but I started it without knowing the words on the other end. Instead, I settle for a kiss. My lips linger on hers, wishing I could wipe away what she heard, how they make her feel, everything.
But my kiss isn’t what wakes her from this nightmare. It’s what started it for her.
Her hand fumbles for the knob as we break apart.
“Good night,” she says as she steps inside.
The door closes, shutting her away from me. I turn and begin making my way across the house. Why had I brought her here knowing what she would be subjected to? Because I hadn’t wanted to come alone. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of a weekend with these people.
No.
I couldn’t stand being without her.
The corridor is dark. My footsteps echo on the marble floors as the shadows close in around me. I’d left the only light in this fucking place behind me. I don’t want this world or its secrets or its shame. I want her.
My body realizes before my brain does, carrying me back to her door. By the time I raise my fist to knock, it swings open to reveal Clara, a look of stony determination on her face.
“I don’t want you to go to the North Wing,” she blurts out when she sees me.
My hands grip her face, crushing her mouth to mine as I back her into the room and kick the door closed. Clara’s hands slip under the lapels of my suit jacket and shuck it off my shoulders. I release her face and step back, unbuttoning my vest. Clara watches, firelight catching her eyes from the hearth before she reaches behind her and slowly slides down her zipper. I shrug off my vest and begin on my cufflinks. Clara watches as though she’s in a trance. Then I start on the buttons of my shirt. The movement jars her back to life. Her gaze skips down as if surprised to find me undoing my shirt. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I realize I’ve never done this before: causally undress in front of her. Without thought. Without hesitation.
When I reach the last button, I let it fall open before I strip it off.
There’s nothing left standing between us. We’ve stripped it all away.
Clara’s hands slip up to her shoulders, and she pushes her dresses to the floor. White lace cages her breasts, her nipples poking against the sheer fabric. It’s the only stitch of clothing left on her body.
We collide, unable to stand another moment of separation. I lift her into my arms, her legs circling me possessively as I carry her to the bed. Our tongues tangle, seeking the answers we can only find in each other. Laying her across the bed, I straighten and unbuckle my belt.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I command as I slide it free and push my trousers to the floor.
“Always,” she promises as I step between her legs and take what’s mine.
Chapter Thirty-One
Clara Bishop is going to be the death of me, I decide as I pause to take in the poor excuse for a skirt she’s wearing. It hits m
id-thigh, but the wind from an open window catches it, lifting just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her ass before her hand flattens it down. I’m going to buy her one in every color. She turns and catches me drinking her in.
She’s frowning.
“Have you decided to run?”
She’d asked me to leave last night after a few hours in bed. Part of me wanted to, but more than ever, I know that we need to stick this out. The only way we make it through this is together. She seems to consider my question longer than I’d like before shaking her head.
I cross to her, pleased, and trail a finger down her skirt. “This needs to come off later.”
“Cancel the hunt, and you can take it off now,” she tempts me.
“I’ll only be gone for two or three hours.” I force myself to stay cool. I don’t want to leave her here with them any more than I want to go with the others.
“That’s long enough for them to eat me alive.” She pulls at her too-short skirt.
“I’m told they’re serving sandwiches.” The joke falls flat. “But I’ll remind them that they have to answer to me if anyone upsets you.”
She considers, her head tilting and sending her thick brown hair curls swirling over her shoulders.
“You’ve got that wicked gleam in your eyes, Clara. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” She brushes a hand across my chest, but the glint remains.
“Something tells me that you’re going to be fine.” Maybe Clara isn’t the one to be worried about. My grandmother has a heart condition. “Try not to be charged with treason.”
A hand clamps on my shoulder, and I find Jonathan standing next to me. “You’re going to let that fox get away, Alexander. Although it doesn’t look like you’re hurting for tail.”
Clara smiles tightly, but we both manage to bite our tongue. When it comes to a man like Jonathan, it’s best not to engage.
“Don’t be vulgar,” I tell him.
“It’s all in good fun. I’m sure Clara doesn’t mind.” He laughs off my concern and continues out the door toward the stables.