by Emily Bow
Thorn slowed our steps further, tipped up my head, and his lips met mine, infusing our moonlit dance with chemistry. As the new song faded away, the quiet app left us with the night sounds of chirping insects. He pulled away, and the cool night air replaced the warmth of him against me.
How many dukes had done this before? Stolen a kiss under this oak? Was the present imitating the past? Or was the past somehow influencing us? Was that why I felt so strongly connected to him, so in tune with him? He had to feel this too.
He squeezed my hand and led me back to the car. He drove up the drive with my hand in his, absently rubbing circles on the back of my hand which did nothing but ratchet up my pulse. He parked in front of the house. He blew out a breath and said nothing as we went in. I don’t know what I’d answer, if he asked the question he’d asked me the night we’d met. Come upstairs with me. My knees weakened.
The house had that quiet evening vibe, as if most of the staff had gone to their rooms. It was only us there in the mildly lit entryway, and my thoughts moved beyond. Upstairs. Him in my bed on an English country evening. Thorn in the dark. His lips. His body. Mine.
He reached out and took my hand, halting my steps, and looked at me with hesitant blue eyes.
The evening had gone great. I didn’t know why he was looking at me like that. He was definitely getting another goodnight kiss. Why did he have such serious eyes?
I frowned and shook my head not understanding. I’d seen that expression in an ex’s eyes before a confession. I’d never seen it at the start of a kiss at the end of an evening like tonight.
He put his hands on my hips and tugged me to him, and then he kissed me.
It was soft and sweet. There was nothing to forgive him for.
I loved his kisses. The sensation made my lips tingle and part. The slow movements stirred my insides and made me warm. His lips brushed my top lip, my bottom lip, then straight on. He gave me the kind of brushing light kisses that tied strings around me and turned my body to a puppet without control. More. Harder. Now. I squeezed his biceps.
He kissed me deeper.
I was shimmering electricity here in the present. My body dissolved but came back together against his, feeling heavier, as if I’d taken on more atoms by our connection.
I shifted even closer.
He pulled me to him, and his hands went under my butt, lifting me. My legs wrapped around his waist and he shifted so I was sitting on the side table. I dropped my hands back and balanced myself. My head lolled back to the fox hunting painting.
He kissed me again, and I forgot about ugly art and just felt. How could something feel so good, so alluring? I tightened my thighs around his hips. He groaned against my mouth and moved his lips to my neck, lighting up the nerves there. Intriguing sensations curled through me.
I touched his hair, soft and thick. I threaded my hands through the strands and tugged, loving that I had the freedom to play with him. Then I traced downwards, over his broad shoulders. I squeezed his arms, relishing the feeling of his hard muscles. I widened my knees and pressed up, and closer. I couldn’t not escalate this. I wasn’t in control. I bit at his bottom lip. He shook against me in response.
He threaded both hands into my hair and angled my head for a deeper kiss.
Beautiful.
“No. No. Please don’t let me interrupt,” the duchess said from the grand stairway.
Chapter 23
My eyelids popped open. I blinked and my mind tried to process the interruption. The duchess’s intrusion was unwelcome and incomprehensible. It was like I was living at home and Dad was flashing the porchlight. But this was even worse, because I was sitting on antique furniture in someone else’s home, with my knees spread, and I don’t even think I could get down without his help.
“A word, Thorn?” the duchess asked him, but she wasn’t really asking. She was commanding.
Thorn lifted me down from the side table and didn’t meet my eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittery. He said in a low voice to me, “You should go upstairs now.”
Yeah, I got that. I’d hoped to hear those words from him, just not in this context. “Goodnight,” I said, in a forced sophisticated voice that included both of them. Now I had a route choice to make.
The back stairs would allow me to avoid the duchess. But those were the stairs the servants used. If I took the grand stairway, I’d go within feet of his mom. Escape versus empowerment, I had no real choice.
I grabbed the main stairway’s handrail. Please don’t address me directly. Please.
I didn’t think she would say anything negative to me, but I hadn’t thought she’d be there lurking either. I passed by, close enough to smell her rose perfume. I reached the top of the stairs and blew out a breath. Okay. That was weird on eight levels.
I wanted to look back at Thorn, but I knew if I did, I’d catch her gaze instead of his. That was one hundred percent the kind of thing that would happen in this moment.
I kept going.
I went to my room, put on PJs, and set the alarm for the next day. Who knew what the sunrise would bring?
***
I overslept so it was after 9:30 by the time I arrived at the workroom door. Would Thorn be inside? My insides fluttered, dove and then lifted.
I wanted to see Thorn, to experience a trace of the wonder of yesterday, but also for him to explain the weirdness of our evening’s end. I tucked a loose strand of hair back into my ponytail. My hair was informal, and so were my clothes: a pretty top and jeans.
If anyone appraised me, they’d think casual, but cute-casual, like I cared, but not too much. It was an illusion. Every piece I wore was on purpose. My top was the same shade of blue as my eyes. My jeans were my most flattering. I was moments from possibly seeing Thorn.
I opened the door.
Lily was alone in the room. She looked as if she’d already been at the computer for an hour or two. She wore sweats and a t-shirt and was typing madly. She’d dressed for no guy.
My shoulders dropped. Okay, Thorn may have slept in too. Or, maybe he was downstairs.
I’d never been to his room. I laced my fingers together, because I wouldn’t be starting now. Maybe he was dining. I could eat. “Want anything for breakfast?” They ran the kitchen like a fast food chain. If I wasn’t down there by ten, the breakfast menu closed. But today I had time.
“No thanks,” Lily said without looking up. She took a sip of her coffee and typed faster.
I turned to the door. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn…or, I could run into someone else…like, his mother. I turned back to Lily. “Sorry, I can see you’re into what you’re doing, but I need your advice.”
Lily kept typing, hunched her shoulders as if resisting me.
I waited.
Lily slumped back, released the keyboard, and closed the lid on her machine. “Okay.”
I gave her the rundown from last night. “Why would the duchess care if Thorn’s going out with me? Our having dinner together shouldn’t matter, right?”
Lily made a wincing face.
The hair on my arms rose. “What? What’s wrong with me?”
Lily flattened her palms on her laptop. “Nothing’s wrong with you.” She twisted up her face. “Not exactly.”
I turned up my palms. “O-kay…”
Lily shrugged. “You sort of work here. And they own the place.”
I shook my head. She should get this more than anyone. “I’m a volunteer. I’m not paid. I’m learning.”
“Okay. You both live here which would be weird for any new couple.”
I acknowledged that with a nod. But truly, the place was big enough for the both of us. “Okay.”
“He’s a duke.”
My cheeks heated, and my hands grew clammy. What did that even mean in the modern world? It was an ancient title. “So?”
“These people think differently. I don’t get it. But if generations have succeeded by them selecting a certain type of partner, and they’ve becom
e filthy rich, and privileged, doing things that way, they’re not really going to change.”
Her argument made me feel like I was standing on eroding sand. “I think that’s a really outdated way to look at the world.”
Lily shook her head. “Not really. They know the life they have. They know what they’re getting into, how to relate to each other, and if they even want this life or not. It’s not only them. It’s everyone. People date people they have stuff in common with. Same religion, same education, same ambitions and life goals. Doing that’s not wrong exactly, just limiting, and maybe the easy way to do things. If the duke’s mom thinks that way, that you sort of work here, that you both live here, that you’re American, that you’re not an aristocrat, that you’re not in an established career, that…”
My flush spread to my chest. Each reason she stated sounded so simple and so reasonable my stomach tightened. I held up my palm. “Got it. You can stop.”
Lily pressed her lips together. “Sorry. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. Most moms have an opinion on who their sons date. It’s not unusual. I imagine his life would be different if his dad were around.” She lowered her voice. “But he has a title he got from his dad. I read about the accident, they lost him in a car wreck a year ago. The pressure of that. Of meeting new expectations on top of everything else. Thorn can’t really be carefree anymore—not with his circumstances.”
I swallowed against my dry throat. “Then why did he ask me out at all?”
Lily popped her laptop back open. “Good question. But that’s one for him.”
“Okay.” I wanted to escape back upstairs, but I also wanted to run and find him. Breakfast was a reasonable excuse to wander about. “I’m going down. Sure you don’t want any food?”
“I’m good.” Lily checked the time on her smart watch. “You better hurry.”
I went to the door. The professor stood beside a tall grandfather clock in the hallway. The gold minute hand was nearing the top of the hour. Had the duchess said anything to her about Thorn and me making out in her entryway? Heat hit my face, and anxiety knotted my empty stomach.
Surely, she hadn’t. How indiscreet would that be. Had she? I slowed my steps.
Professor McCrary removed her glasses and polished them on the bottom of her white blouse. “Imogen, dear, have a moment?”
I froze and didn’t move any closer. My cheeks ached with a flush. I wanted to press my hands to them to cool their heat, but I resisted the urge.
Professor McCrary pointed her glasses at the red-cushioned chair beside the cuckoo clock. An ebony wooden tray holding pastel cat figurines balanced on the seat. “I found these darlings inside what I thought was a letterbox. Can you carry them to the ballroom for me?” Her lips tightened. “While I have a word with Lily.”
“What about? I mean, sure. That’s fine.” I took the tray. “Everything okay with Lily?”
Professor McCrary put her glasses back on. “Did you know she’s back on the Internet?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Relief eased my shoulders. The minute hand swished closer to the top of the hour. I’d better hurry. “I’ll put these away.” I fast stepped toward the ballroom. If I ran, the little figurines would jostle, and I’d lose a tail or a whisker for sure. I reached the ballroom and put the tray on a table near the door. I shoved the end against the wall so the tray wouldn’t teeter over. Then I turned and jetted downstairs to the kitchens.
I’d take my meal out to the statue garden. That way, Lily and her mom would have time to talk without the awkwardness of my return, and anyone could see me dining out there and stop for a chat. I’d look perfectly normal. I checked my watch as I reached the kitchen doorway. 9:58. Made it on time.
Chapter 24
The kitchen was empty of staff except the chef and the counters were clear.
I knocked.
The chef, dressed all in white, came over to the door. He usually didn’t bother but there was no one else around. He smelled like bacon and butter and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Sorry, Mademoiselle. It is not ten. Is it not?” He spoke with a heavy French accent.
“Exactly. It’s not ten yet. I wanted to grab something quick for breakfast. I can help myself.”
He shook his head. “No. No. No. We do not help ourselves in my kitchen. I would not come to your kitchen and help myself. It is true?”
My stomach panged. “Right, well, it’s not yet ten.”
“Let me see.”
I showed him my watch. Which, of course, read ten by now. “See I was here by ten.”
The chef made the tsk sound again. Even his chastising clicking had a French accent. “We are in Britain.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They are very precise with their time. Or so they have assured me. It is like baking. Timing makes the difference between done and not done. It is after ten. Breakfast is done before ten. We are all here. We work very early. We have breakfast for everyone before ten.” He frowned and moved to his butcher knife on the table and rubbed the metal edge with a white cheesecloth. “They did tell you, did they not, that breakfast would be before ten, and lunch after noon, but before two. Didn’t they?”
“Of course. Which is why I ran down here before ten, after running an errand for the professor.” Why was I even arguing with him?
The chef pointed his butcher knife at his mounted clock on the wall. “It’s 10:01.”
“Well, it is now. But when I got down here, the time was 9:58.”
“Spinning,” Chef said. That was the French chef’s warning he’d be throwing his knife at the cutting board. I’d seen him in action a few times. The knife spun through the air and lodged into the butcher block that hung there.
I guess that indicated his duties were done.
I couldn’t believe a true Frenchman would be that concerned with time. I didn’t believe any human could be.
Could the duchess have done this? Maybe she was trying to make me uncomfortable so I’d leave. No. Of course not. She’d said her piece to her son, and surely, that was that. Regardless, the whole thought killed my hunger.
I turned on my heel without saying anything else to the chef and went back up to the workroom. It was empty. I’d have to order snacks online and keep them in my room. Like a princess stuck in a tower. Hah.
I walked along the row of boxes and lifted one filled with doilies. The dusty fabric made my nose twitch, so I put that choice back down. I grabbed a box of paperwork. The professor preferred that we prioritize correspondence anyway. The first month here, we’d sorted a ton of paper looking for letters. Now, Professor McCrary had so many to go through, she no longer bugged us for more. We were free to work on whatever caught our eye. I’d do that for later.
I lifted a Tiffany lamp, wrapped its beige cord around my arm, and carried the lovely item to the worktable. The colored glass would photograph beautifully in the morning light.
The duchess walked into the room.
I tensed, sat the lamp down, and carefully unwound the cord.
Professor McCrary and Lily came in behind the duchess. Both Lily and Professor McCrary wore questioning looks while the duchess had a “gather round” expression.
The duchess cleared her throat. “So sorry to bother you. I hate to ask. This is so awkward.” She pressed her lips together and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll give it a whirl anyway.” Despite her words, she looked neither anxious nor embarrassed. She held out her palms. “We’re having a gathering. A dinner party. Not big.” She tilted her head. “Fifty or so odd people. But important people. Anyway. Kitchen can only sort a handful of servers.”
The duchess owned the place, so I guess if she wanted to vent to us about her staffing problems she could. At least she wasn’t confronting me about last night. Not that she should. But the hair on my arms was prickling as if something were coming.
“I’ll need a few extra staff to be certain all goes well.” The duchess looked from me to Lily, and then spoke to Professor McCrary. “Two more servers would make a
ll the difference.”
I drew back.
The duchess opened her green eyes big and clasped her manicured hands together so tightly her gold bracelets clinked. “You can see my dilemma. The party is this weekend.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Professor McCrary said. “When you’re done with your arrangements, I’d love to brief you on the letters I’ve gone through. There are some really fascinating tidbits about the southwest field and what the pastures were used for.”
The duchess smiled with disinterest.
Which wasn’t like her. This was her late husband Robert’s pet project, and she usually showed an engaged curiosity. I hated the sick feeling that this was somehow my fault. That because her son had asked out a project volunteer, she had to demonstrate distance from said project.
The duchess tilted her head and unlinked her hands to smooth down the sides of her skirt. “I really can’t focus on geography right now. I’m sure I would like to talk about that once my staffing issues are resolved.” Her focus was on Professor McCrary, and she looked anywhere but at me or Lily.
She wanted us to be the dinner party servers. She wanted me and Lily to serve food off a silver platter to her, Thorn, her friends, and guests like Sebastian and Regina. She wanted to alter my status in their eyes.
I clicked off my lamp and pressed my fingertips into the tabletop as resistance pushed through me. So not happening.
Chapter 25
Professor McCrary took the hint a moment later. “Lily and Imogen can help serve.” She held up her hand as if the duchess were protesting. “I know it’s not their place. But they won’t mind.”
“Mom.” Lily shook her head. Everything in her expression showing she did indeed mind.
The professor blinked.
Why did Lily’s mom think she could tell her what to do anyway? Lily was an adult.
