by Marian Tee
Shaking the thought away, she glanced up at the housekeeper with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Emerson. You were saying?”
“You have a visitor.” Although the tone was respectful, the housekeeper’s gaze was filled with undisguised animosity. It was, unfortunately, not anything new. From the first day she had come here with the duke, Mrs. Emerson had made no secret about her dislike of her.
“A visitor?” Mary repeated in a bemused tone, choosing to focus instead on the housekeeper’s message. It was pointless to dwell on the woman’s rudeness. For all she knew, the housekeeper’s less-than-welcoming attitude may only be due to her being protective of her master. The way Mrs. Emerson acted, it was as if she had been in the duke’s employ for decades¸ a position that indubitably gave her certain rights.
Mrs. Emerson sniffed again. “Half an hour ago.”
Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Half an hour ago?”
Mrs. Emerson only stared at her dourly.
A visitor had come for her half an hour ago and she was only being informed of it now? Gritting her teeth, Mary reminded herself valiantly that the mistake could just be due to the housekeeper’s advancing age.
Setting aside the book she had been trying but failed to read, she asked, “Do you know who it is?”
Something resembling a smirk flitted over Mrs. Emerson’s lips. “The Dowager Duchess of Flanders.”
Her jaw dropped. “Rathe’s mother?” This time, it was ten times harder to believe that the mistake wasn’t deliberate. Unfortunately, she had no time to question the housekeeper.
“Please just have someone serve tea in the drawing room. That’s where she is, isn’t she?”
The housekeeper nodded, but when Mary turned to leave, she heard the older woman mutter under her breath, “If you want to know who your visitors are, you should have opened the door yourself.”
Mary badly wanted to turn around and answer back, but she satisfied herself with just taking more deep calming breaths.
There had to be a reason Mrs. Emerson was acting like that, Mary told herself as she practically ran towards the drawing room. Time, she reminded herself. She just needed enough time to show Mrs. Emerson she truly loved the duke and it would eventually be all right between them.
By the time she reached the drawing room, which was an entire wing away from the library, Mary was panting. Halting when she reached the doorway, she found Rathe’s mother seated on one of the sofas, calmly reading a magazine while sipping tea.
“I’m s-so sorry, Your Grace,” she stammered.
Alyssa glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Mary’s face red with exertion and the young girl doing her best to catch her breath. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked as she stood up.
She had found it surprising that the young girl would make her wait so long, but seeing Mary now, Alyssa instinctively knew that someone else was to be blamed for it.
After executing a quick curtsy, Mary met the dowager duchess halfway. “I’m f-fine, Your Grace.”
She flushed when the older woman kissed her cheek in greeting, feeling like she didn’t deserve such warmth. “I’m truly sorry,” Mary apologized again, unable to help it. Mortification made her cheeks redder as she mumbled, “I can’t explain why I’m late, but I...” She badly wanted to tell Alyssa about Mrs. Emerson but in the end, she found it impossible. Something in her found the idea of tattling abhorrent, even if keeping quiet meant being accused for something she wasn’t at fault for.
“I’m just really sorry,” Mary said finally.
“It’s okay, my dear. I didn’t mind waiting.” Taking the younger girl’s hand, Alyssa drew Mary to join her at the sofa. “You just came back from school?”
Mary nodded. “An hour ago, Your Grace.” As she spoke, Mrs. Emerson came in, accompanied by a younger maid pushing a tea cart in.
While the maid served them tea and pastries, Mrs. Emerson was all smiles as she greeted the dowager duchess, a far cry from her normally sullen attitude.
It was just her then, Mary thought. Mrs. Emerson apparently knew how to smile, only not at her.
Noting the look of surprise on Mary’s face, Alyssa switched her attention to the housekeeper who had let her in earlier. “Did you inform your mistress about my arrival right away?”
Mrs. Emerson started to lie, but the frown on the dowager duchess’ face daunted her. She mumbled, “No, Your Grace. It, ah, slipped my mind.”
Alyssa kept her gaze on the housekeeper, wanting to see the woman squirm some more. Finally, she said, “Please make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Alyssa gave the servants a cool nod, and the two quickly left the room.
The housekeeper’s fists clenched after closing the door behind her. The bitch was going to pay for making her lose face in front of the dowager duchess. Soon, bitch, soon.
When the servants left, Alyssa said gently, “You should not let them treat you that way. You are Rathe’s woman, which means his authority in this household is yours to wield when he’s not around.”
Mary mumbled, “I’m n-not used to having servants at all. I don’t know how to treat them.”
“I completely understand. I didn’t grow up this way, either. But then, with Warren, I had to learn, the same way you have to learn. You must learn to make people respect you, and the first step to doing that is respecting yourself. Remember that.”
Mary nodded. “I w-will.”
“I know it sounds a lot, but I’m afraid it comes part and parcel with loving my son.”
Mary wanted to disappear. Had her feelings for the duke been so embarrassingly obvious?
“Oh, please don’t be shy. As a mother, I’m beyond happy that there’s someone who genuinely loves my son.”
The sincere words helped ease her embarrassment, allowing Mary to mumble, “H-he’s not a hard man to fall for, Your Grace.”
“Alyssa, please.” The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “Or perhaps Mother?”
Mary’s cheeks flamed with color once more.
Alyssa laughed. “Too soon? Then Alyssa please.”
A shy smile as the younger girl agreed, “A-Alyssa.”
Alyssa beamed. “There. It wasn’t that bad, was it not?”
The smile widened. “N-no.”
Alyssa patted Mary’s hand once more. “You are such a sweet girl.” She looked around. “Is Rathe home?” Her eyes narrowed when the question had Mary’s smile dimming. She asked frankly, “You had a fight with my son?”
Mary’s head jerked up.
Alyssa gave her a reassuring smile even as she persisted, “Did you, my dear?”
Mary’s shoulders slumped a little. “N-not exactly.” Haltingly, she told Alyssa of the ball she had missed last Sunday and why she had chosen not to attend. She deliberately avoided talking about the disastrous breakfast she had shared with Rathe, not wanting to paint him in a bad light.
“It’s been several days now, and we haven’t really talked. And,” she added miserably, “I c-can’t really blame him.”
Beside her, Mary heard Rathe’s oh-so-elegant mother snort, making her look up in surprise.
“You, young lady, are being too nice to my son,” Alyssa said severely.
“Too...nice?”
“Absolutely. If he really wanted you to come with him, he should have asked why you didn’t want to. Moreover, he should have told you that he would die of boredom without you by his side.”
“Err...” For the life of her, Mary couldn’t imagine the duke saying the last thing.
“The point is, my dear, he let pride rule his actions, which is wrong.” Alyssa pointed at her. “Unfortunately, you are wrong, too, for letting your fears rule yours.”
The words were painfully true, and Mary bit her lip hard. She had let her fears decide for her, and even then, she had known it hadn’t been the right thing to do.
A part of her wanted to cry out that she was only human, that she was only eighteen years old and bound to make the w
rong choices. But if she used those factors as an excuse, wouldn’t that make her appear even more unsuitable for the duke?
“Sometimes, I really don’t want to go out with him,” she confessed shamefully. “Sometimes, I’m so afraid of giving him a-another reason to leave me that I almost want to limit the time I s-spend with him. Less time m-means less chances to m-make mistakes.”
The words wrenched at Alyssa’s heart. “Oh, my child...” Moving close, she stroked the girl’s head. “Mary, my dear, you don’t have to be so scared. Whatever you may think, whatever he may have said, I know my son. And I know he loves you.”
She shook her head when Mary started to speak. “I speak with a mother’s intuition. He loves you, so please. Don’t give up on him.” Alyssa’s voice caught. “Warren and I have failed him in so many ways. We would have done anything to keep him from suffering in any way, but...we failed. And no matter how we wish otherwise, there are just some wounds that a parent can’t cure. Some wounds are only for the other half of you to heal. And for Rathe, that’s you.”
****
When Rathe came back home, it was to the sound of laughter. And the most striking thing about it, one which had him temporarily halting in his tracks, was the fact that the laughter came from the two most important women in his life.
Striding towards the sound, he paused at the open doorway when he found his mother and Mary seated facing each other on the sofa, doubled over in laughter.
His mother was dressed in another one of her favorite wrap dresses, her blond hair piled up in an elegant chignon. Like any other day, she appeared so much younger than her actual age, and next to Mary, she could have easily been mistaken as his mistress’ older sister.
His gaze slowly strayed to Mary.
His mistress.
His eighteen-year-old mistress, a girl who professed to love him – and the same girl he couldn’t seem to stop hurting.
In a daisy-yellow dress and with her hair held back by a band, she somehow reminded him of Thumbelina, a tiny pearl of femininity that belonged to him alone. Mary had tears of mirth sparkling in her eyes as she spoke with his mother, but even so, Rathe noticed the faint hint of strain on her lovely face.
Strain that he was the cause of, the duke acknowledged grimly.
Throughout the day, all he could see at work was her face with its fake smile. He had wanted to spend the night away from home, but in the end, he had found himself lured back to her side.
Looking at her now, he realized that it was his first time to see Mary’s face glow since their return. Its startling contrast to how sad she had looked in the past cut him to the quick, making Rathe feel ashamed of his selfishness.
When the sound of laughter trickled down, Rathe saw that the two had finally noticed his presence.
He swiftly strode forward, his heart thudding hard against his chest simply because he felt Mary’s blue eyes following his every move.
Bloody, bloody hell.
How his friends would laugh if they knew his heart was racing for such a reason.
Members of the opposite sex had been staring at Rathe since his cock made a prominent bulge in his pants. All his life, women had fawned over him, and through the years he had begun to view their attention with cynicism. Every bloody one of them had been the same. They had looked at him, and they had seen the Duke of Flanders.
But the way Mary was looking at him now?
His head pounded, his heart thudded, his cock twitched.
She affected every bloody part of his body just with the way love shone so dazzlingly bright in her eyes.
****
Mary watched with a mixture of wariness and anxiousness as the duke bent down to press a kiss on his mother’s cheek. His every movement was exquisite, like he had spent all his life taking waltz lessons. The thought had her mentally smiling. Considering that Rathe was a British nobleman and how very traditional his family was, that was more than possible.
Even though she saw him every day, even though she still hurt from his rejection, Mary couldn’t stop herself from catching her breath at the sight of Rathe.
Why was he so incredibly perfect? The way his hair shone under the light, the classic, chiseled angles of his face, the sculpted muscles of his body...
Too perfect.
So much so that she was scared the duke would one day wake up and realize he was too perfect for her.
Or maybe...it had already happened. Maybe, he already knew he deserved so much better than her?
Her heart stopped beating at the thought, the pain so agonizing she felt close to blacking out because of it.
“Mary?”
It took her a while to realize that Rathe was standing in front of her. Talking to her. No longer looking like he was willing to do anything to avoid spending time in her presence.
The change left her even more disoriented. Why? What had happened? Had he decided to tell her he was going to leave her for good?
Scrambling to her feet, she found herself dropping low for a curtsy. It wasn’t something she usually did for him, but she was so nervous right now, she just felt like she had to do something. Anything.
Rathe had no difficulty comprehending what was happening when Mary suddenly sank into a curtsy. He knew his little pearl well, more than she probably gave him credit for.
The sight of her anxiety slayed him because he could remember the times it had been different between them. Once, he had been the only one she could be uninhibited for, the only man she had the confidence to crack jokes with, make faces at, even do a striptease for.
Now, it was the opposite.
This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? By distancing himself from her, he knew that this would be the end result, Mary no longer feeling safe with him.
So why did it feel so bloody wrong?
“Mary?”
Surely, surely he wouldn’t be so ungentlemanly to dump her in front of his own mother, Mary wondered wildly. It was an incredibly lame thought, but she clung to the belief as she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Oh God, please, please don’t let him say he’s going to leave me—
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Her eyes flew him in utter shock.
When he held her gaze unwaveringly, it hit her then, what this meant. Her heart stopped beating again, the pain and the beauty of moment striking her at the same time.
Her beautiful cold duke was giving her a chance to refuse his kiss, the same way he had refused hers earlier.
Rathe’s body was stiff with tension as he waited for Mary’s response. Whatever she chose to do, he would respect it. If she chose to reject him, to distance herself from him, punishing Rathe in the same way, he would...respect it, but he wouldn’t stop trying to convince her otherwise as well.
She was his.
In the end, that was the only thing that made sense.
She was his mistress, his little pearl, the most important woman in his life.
In front of him, Mary took a deep breath.
Rathe mentally prepared himself.
And then...
Mary closed her eyes, like a girl waiting for a kiss from her prince.
Ah, bloody hell.
Mary started to cry the moment she felt Rathe’s strong arms snap around her, tears once more lending a salty flavor to their kiss. His kiss was explicit. Graphic. He kissed her passionately as an apology, kissed her like he was wordlessly begging her for everything to be normal again.
When he pulled away to let her breathe, he didn’t waste another moment, saying roughly, “I’m sorry.” Loud enough for his own mother to sigh upon hearing it.
Her lips trembled. She so badly wanted to speak but she couldn’t, and in the end, she didn’t have a chance to do so, with Rathe kissing her again, his tongue aggressively driving back into her mouth.
The next time she resurfaced, she was mortified to see that Rathe’s mother had already left without her knowing.
“Don’t worry about it. I
’m sure my mother understands.”
She covered her face, mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll be able to look her in the eye the next time.”
The words had Rathe chuckling. Drawing her hands away, he bent down and took her lips in another kiss. Bloody hell, but he had missed kissing her, more than he wanted to.
“Had she been here for long?”
“Just over an hour.”
After a beat, he asked quietly, “Did you ask her about the contract?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t have a chance to.” Chewing on her lip, she asked uncertainly, “Do you think we should?”
Rathe took his time answering. “Let’s not,” he said finally. Tipping her chin up, he told her grimly, “Whatever they are, it’s not us.” At that moment, Rathe meant every word. But the next day, it was hard to feel the same way, not after seeing the headlines emblazoned on every blasted tabloid in the continent.
Chapter Eight
Twenty-one down. Five to go.
Five bloody more retractions to put an end to the scandal that had blown up in his face.
Even though he had been closeted in his London office for over a week now, working his arse off, the sick feeling in his stomach still remained. If only the media had targeted him or his father, he might not have felt this bad or this stupid about the entire debacle.
But no. Instead, the vultures of the press had sunk their inked claws on his mother, the one person who should have been held blameless.
Closing his eyes, Rathe tried to escape from reality but it was impossible, the words spelled in huge block letters on various European tabloids making his stomach churn.
PEDOPHILE VICTIM BREEDING ANOTHER PEDOPHILE: FACT OR MYTH?
KARMA STRIKES: HISTORY REPEATS FOR THE MOST FAMOUS AMERICAN GOLD-DIGGER IN BRITAIN
And the headlines on gossip websites had been a thousand times worse.
DUCHESS ALYSSA WELLESLEY AND THE DICKS OF FLANDERS
He hoped to God his father had found a way to prevent Alyssa from reading such vile nonsense.
Rathe opened his eyes when he heard his phone rang.
It was Mary.
She had been calling him once each day. Every instance, he had deliberately left the call unanswered, choosing instead to reply to her in text hours after. If he chose to talk to her now...