by Geneva Lee
His lips captured my mouth, and he proved he was telling me the truth as he fucked me senseless one more time.

Alexander tucked his jacket around me as I did the best I could to get my blouse to close. There was no use. I looked like I’d endured a good fuck, and with the heat still in my cheeks, I didn’t care who knew. I was drunk on his mere presence. That would be obvious to anyone who saw us, but it was more than our physical encounter that lingered in my heated blood. This weekend had proven over and over again that the connection between us was real.
I was in love with him.
I no longer had any doubt of that, but I couldn’t be certain that feeling was reciprocated. I heard it in the way he said my name and felt it in the way he touched me—in the soft caress before he fucked me blind. I replayed the afternoon tryst in my head as we rode back to the estate, for once content with the silence that had followed our previous lovemaking. Was it lovemaking though? I searched my memories for more hints, more clues that I wasn’t alone in this state. Surely the fact that Alexander hadn’t pumped me and dumped me like the other girls he’d been photographed with in the papers was proof. He’d even brought me here, amongst his family and friends, which had to mean something. Of course, everyone here hated me, so maybe that wasn’t reassuring after all.
By the time we rode into the stable, I felt half-crazy. How was I supposed to figure out a man who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—open up to me anywhere but in the bedroom, or in today’s case, against a tree? We had a connection. For now I had to trust him with more than a riding crop. I had to trust him with my heart.
But as the memory of our wild afternoon stole into my mind, I was distracted from my more analytic musings. Just the thought of his virile, masculine body was enough to make me forget all my worries. But we weren’t alone here, and I couldn’t act on the desire slowly filtering through me.
I was in such a haze that I barely registered dismounting. The appearance of a stablehand finally snapped me out of it, and I tugged Alexander’s jacket tighter. His hand stayed on my back, reassuring me, even as my cheeks burned as the stablehand gawked at my appearance. The man quickly recovered, averting his eyes and offering a gruff good evening to us both.
Alexander held my hand as he guided me to the veranda nearest my guest bedroom. I tried not to obsess over the small gesture, even though I was sure I would later. For now, I delighted in the strong, firm feel of his fingers woven with mine. Then it was gone. He held a finger to his lips and peeked inside, gesturing after a moment that it was safe for me to enter. But he caught me in the doorway, pressing me against the frame and kissing me roughly, his tongue sliding forcefully into my mouth. I was consumed, melting eagerly against him. My hands sought the firm abs that lay hidden under his shirt, and I ran my hands down them, my fingers lingering on the jagged scar that he tried so hard to hide. Alexander’s breath caught, aware of my touch even on the scar tissue. He seized my hand as he drew away and shook his head.
“No, Clara,” he warned.
I blinked against the tears welling in my eyes at the harsh rebuke. Two steps forward. Three steps back. I had my answer: we weren’t moving forward. How could we ever possibly do so when he hid so much from me? Forcing myself to look away in attempt to hide the pain twisting through me, I gave him a rueful smile. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Clara—don’t.” He refused to let go of my wrist, and when I pulled against his hold, his grip tightened. “Not here. Not in this place. I can’t explain it to you.”
“Try,” I snapped, my frustration showing.
“I can’t.” His eyes had grown hard, but for a moment, they smoldered to life as he met my gaze. “It’s not you, Clara.”
“It never is.” I was tired of the constant back and forth when all I wanted was to know where I stood with him. “I thought after this afternoon—”
“You need to change for dinner, poppet,” Alexander stopped me. The abrupt change of subject stung as much as his dismissal of me. I couldn’t help thinking this was about more than wanting me to be presentable to his family and friends. How could I ever be what Alexander needed? No wonder they all judged me. We all knew what I lacked—not only the pedigree, but the calculated indifference that could be flipped on like a switch.
“Maybe I should just go home.”
“No.” Another command.
I raised an eyebrow at him. Was he totally incapable of separating his need to dominate me sexually and personally?
He paused, as though measuring the best way to respond to my obvious resistance to his demand. “I want you to stay, but I’ll understand if you go. I’d leave if I could.”
“Then leave with me,” I pleaded. Whatever secrets this place held, they were destroying him.
“It’s not that simple, Clara.” The weight of six years of exile showed in his blue eyes. “I can’t run from this. Not anymore. But there’s something you should know.”
I waited for him to continue, knowing everything depending on what he said next.
“If you run, Clara. I will follow you.”

My decision was made before I reached the hallway. Clutching Alexander’s jacket closer to me, I breathed in his scent, willing myself to believe I could put up with the secrets and the strange double life I’d found myself in. Leaving him felt like an impossibility. I’d lost myself to him completely, and now all I could do was steel myself against the scrutiny of his world.
I felt her eyes on me before I saw her, and when I turned, she was indeed watching me, her lips curled into a sneer that did nothing to mask her beauty. I tugged self-consciously at the jacket and made a beeline for my room.
“Oh my, was there an accident?” she called after me.
I stopped, my resolve hardening at the venom in her words. I couldn’t run away from Pepper Lockwood. She’d insinuated herself into Alexander’s life, and even though I couldn’t understand for the life of me why anyone wanted her around, I knew she was here to stay. “I need to get dressed for dinner.”
“You might consider showering as well.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like cheap sex.”
“A smell I’m sure you’d recognize,” I said with a smile.
“Clara, dear, stupid girl, do you still think you can play this game?” She walked toward me, her thin arms braced against her chest as she appraised my appearance. “You think we’re eating you alive. I can see it in your eyes. You look just like that poor fox they loosed this morning, hopeful but terrified. But I’m here to tell you: we haven’t even begun to feast on you yet. We’re not even past the appetizer course.”
I swallowed against the rawness mounting in my throat. I couldn’t let her get to me, and I certainly couldn’t let her see me fazed. “I know you like your games. Surround a weaker creature and call it sport, but there’s something you need to know: I’m not the fox.”
“You aren’t the hunter either.” Pepper’s nostrils flared as she spoke. I’d hit my mark. She wanted me to roll over, but I was no longer willing to wait for her to pounce.
“Neither are you. Neither of us belong here, Pepper. But the one that gets to stay is the one he chooses.” I emphasized my words carefully, hoping she’d take my hint, but she remained unmoved.
“And you think that will be you.” She giggled at this, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder, the essence of poise and femininity no matter how much pressure I applied.
“I’m the one sharing his bed,” I said without missing a beat.
“You’re the one he’s fucking. Did he take you out to a field?” Her eyes travelled once more over my disheveled form. “You think if you let him shag you like an animal, he won’t get bored?”
“Trust me—” I tilted my chin up in a show of a pride “—he’s not bored.”
“Not yet.” Her words were clipped as she shrugged off my bravado.
“And you’re the one who can keep him interested?” I guessed.
“There are
expectations for Alexander. A whole country’s expectations. That means a lot more than some piece of ass he picked up for fun. Alexander knows his time is running out. That’s why he’s slumming.”
“Slumming?” I actually laughed at this, ignoring how it echoed through the hall. “Pepper, dear, stupid girl, you have the name and the connections, but don’t ever forget that I have a trust fund that could buy your family three times over.”
Pepper’s eyes rolled back against her perfectly fake lashes. “Discussing money is so crass.”
“People who have none usually think that,” I said. “But that’s what is in this for you, isn’t it? Validity for your old family name. A chance to prove your titles and history still mean something to someone. To anyone.”
She took a step back as though I’d struck her, and this time there was no doubt I’d hit my target. “And what do you have to offer? You’re only a little girl who got rich on internet dating.”
I blinked at this, unable to fathom how this couldn’t be obvious to her. How could these people be so incredibly broken that they couldn’t recognize the one thing a person craved? The one thing a person needed? It could only be the lack of it that accounted for their utter ignorance on the matter.
But my silence inspired her, and she laughed once more. “Wait—love? You think you can give him love! I knew you were delusional, but that’s actually pathetic.”
I’d never actually considered punching someone before. At least not seriously, but I thought about it now, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “My relationship with Alexander is between him and me, and your opinion isn’t welcome. So please feel free to shut the hell up.”
“Believe what you want,” she said with a dismissive wave of her manicured hand. “But consider this a friendly warning: Alexander isn’t capable of love or true emotion, and he’ll only destroy you. You’re already drowning in his darkness, Clara, and someday when he has to face himself and the man he will become, he’ll need someone at his side who can’t be pulled under.”
And she believed she could be that person. Maybe she was right. I’d seen the darkness she spoke of flashing behind his eyes, felt it when his dominance took over. Could he ever be happy without breaking me further than I was already broken? But she was wrong about one thing. Alexander felt things, even when he allowed his darker emotions to cloud his perception of reality. That passionate loathing that he felt toward himself and his place in the world proved he did feel, perhaps more acutely than any of us. A woman like Pepper couldn’t understand that. She couldn’t see that light could bring him out of his prison. The realization felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest—only to be anchored to my feet. While I didn’t believe him incapable of love, I wasn’t certain I was strong enough to be the person to show him that. I’d walked through the valley of the shadow myself and I was not unscathed.
“Maybe,” a soft voice said from a nearby alcove, startling both of us, “you should listen to the lady and shut the hell up, Pepper.”
Edward emerged from the dark recesses, neatly attired in a vest and tie, no doubt dressed for dinner. His glasses were perched on the top of his head, indicating he’d been reading, but his hair was mussed up as though he’d been anxiously ramming his fingers through it, and I spied tired, bluish circles under his eyes. I was little embarrassed to think he might have been here the whole time. Still, he seemed in support of my suggestion that Pepper should back the fuck off.
“Lady?” The word rolled out of her mouth drolly. “I suppose it takes one to know one.”
Edward exhaled a long can-you-possibly-be-serious sigh. “How very witty. I’m nearly positive that you must be the reincarnation of Shakespeare himself with insults like that.”
“Don’t be so intellectual, Eddie. Men don’t find that attractive,” she advised, clicking her nails together as she spoke.
“Clara.” Edward strode toward me and offered his arm. “Allow me to see you to your room.”
“Gladly.” A mixture of relief and disgust and confusion swirled through me. As soon as we were out of earshot of Pepper, I added, “I think that went well.”
“I suppose that depends.”
“On what?” I asked. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it,” Edward admitted, his eyes flitting to me briefly. “I saw you and Alexander, and I wanted to give you some privacy.”
“And then you left me to defend myself against Pepper Spray?” I smacked his shoulder.
“Pepper Spray? Have you nicknamed us all?” His mouth crooked into a grin. “Am I Queen Edward then?”
Now it was my turn to feel sheepish, even as I shook my head. “You are Nice Edward Whom I Don’t Want to Kill.”
“Something about the way you said that makes me think there are others on your hit list.”
“Only the Royal Brat Pack.” The answer slipped out before I could even consider how childish I sounded or whom I was talking to. I had no doubt that he could guess to whom I was referring, and after what I’d witnessed last night, he might take my dig rather personally. I chewed on my lip, waiting for him to drop my arm or laugh, but he did neither.
“Another excellent nickname. I’ve never come up with something so fitting before myself.”
I couldn’t help but take his response as an indication that he wasn’t offended. “What names have you given them?”
“Assholes. Wankers. The usual,” he said with a shrug.
“I want you to know that I don’t think David—”
Edward’s demeanor shifted immediately, and I was reminded that he was Alexander’s brother. Without a word from him, I knew to drop it.
“About that,” he began.
But I held a hand up. Now it was my turn to save him. “You don’t have to say anything. My lips are sealed.”
“So I don’t have to buy you off?”
My mouth fell open until I realized he was joking, and I shut it quickly. “No,” I said dryly. “As you know, I’m a woman of means.”
“So I heard.” His answer lacked the snappiness of his earlier comebacks as his eyes faded into thought. “It’s a well-kept secret. Not about me. About him. I don’t want to see him hurt.”
I’d spent the last day enduring derision and condescension. Edward didn’t have to elaborate on what he hoped to save David from, but I couldn’t help but wonder how David felt about it. It was a difficult line to walk openly being here with Alexander. How hard must it be for David?
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to be brave as I opened the door to my room. “Do you want to come in?”
“I’m not sure how Alexander will feel about me being in your room.”
“Somehow I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“I have quite the reputation, you know.” But he stepped inside.
“That’s why I’m not worried.”
“Yes,” he said, “because a gay man is only ever in a woman’s room for innocent reasons.”
“You aren’t going to steal my underwear, are you?” I teased, shimmying out of Alexander’s jacket.
Edward’s eyebrow shot up as he took in my blouse.
“Wardrobe malfunction.” I opened the armoire, hunting for something appropriate for another stuffy dinner.
“Whatever he did to you, I hope it was worth ruining a Donna Karan.”
“It was,” I promised him as I continued to riffle through the clothes I’d brought. I had thought I was over-packing, but being stuck around Pepper and her brat pack made all my clothing feel dated or casual or cheap.
“Go take a shower,” Edward suggested, pushing me toward the en suite.
“I can’t find anything to wear. There’s no point. Maybe I’ll go like this and give the whole rotten bunch of them heart attacks.”
“It would certainly weed the line of succession a bit if you did that,” he said, shaking his head bemusedly. “Don’t worry about your clothes.”
I stared at him as he began to poke through my dresses. “Are you
going to pick out an outfit for me?”
Edward’s back was to me now, but I saw the laughter rolling through him. “Oh poppet, there might be some unfair stereotypes about gay men out there, but our sense of style isn’t one of them.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
An hour later I was fully clothed, my makeup perfectly applied, and my hair curled. I tugged self-consciously at the dress Edward had chosen for me. I’d bought it at Belle’s insistence, and it was far from my usual style. The satin skirt rested a good eight inches above my knees, and the lace fabric of the top draped over a nude slip. I looked positively naked under it. It wouldn’t take much to imagine my breasts as the thinness of the fabric left no room for a bra.
“You’re sure you don’t have some tape,” Edward said as he swept my chestnut locks over one shoulder, eying me analytically in the loo’s mirror.
“Not all of us carry a fashion emergency kit,” I said drily as I stared at my reflection, trying to decide if I could show my face in this ensemble.
“More’s the pity. Oh well, Alexander will like it.” Edward winked, grabbing my hand he spun me away from my self-analysis and whistled. “You have excellent taste. Your closet is a gay man’s dream.”
“Want to play dress up?” I asked seriously. It was a safe bet that Edward’s trim body would fit into some of my clothes.
“Oh no, I like to see beautiful women in dresses, but I don’t swing that way,” he assured me. “Christ, can you imagine what the family would think of that? They lucked out and only got a mild case of metrosexuality to deal with.”
I laughed along with him, noting that he was rocking a tweed vest, horn-rim glasses and carefully polished wingtips. It wasn’t the careless, sexy look of his brother, but rather a carefully articulated sense of taste all his own. “I wish I could claim I bought these clothes, but I had help.”
“Personal shopper?”
“My mother has tried for years to dress me like a nice British aristocrat. I’m sorry to say I’d rather be in jeans and sandshoes,” I admitted, sighing in remembrance of my university days. “My flatmate took me shopping.”