4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Drew

I can't focus on this morning's newspaper. Or eat a bite of breakfast. I'm brimming with Lucien Mallory's magic and it is all I can think about. It is thick. Viscous. Blood red and oh, so very potent. It is exhilarating. I feel as if I can take on the world. I'm vibrating with power, and the taste of it on my tongue is going to be addictive. I just know it is. Damn it.

I wish I could remember last night. Any of it. But that blasted tea stole my wits away. Clearly, my wedding night was successful, or else I wouldn't be sitting here stuffed with Lucien's magic. But that is all I'll ever know about my nuptials.

It is a shame. I've been looking forward to knowing what prim and proper Lucien Mallory is like in bed. I suspect he is a little fiend. The quiet ones usually are. Now I'm going to have to wait until he is ripe to find out.

My cock twitches in interest, and I grimace. The breakfast table really is not the place. But apparently my libido knows no shame because now my thoughts are recalling the night Lucien used the True Phallus. That was a fun evening indeed. A little disconcerting. But pleasurable, nonetheless. And intriguing. It's impossible to tell anything about a person from the phantom feel of them wrapped around your cock. But it left me wanting to know more.

I give up on the paper and put it down. Lucien is standing by the table. I bite back my yelp of surprise. Sneaky little shit. Why is he creeping up on me for ?

His eyes are fixed demurely down on the floor and he is impeccably dressed. Not one strand of dark hair out of place.

"Good morning, my lord husband," he says softly.

"Good morning," I reply automatically.

I watch transfixed as he takes his place across from me, pours himself some tea and begins buttering a piece of toast.

He really is stupidly pretty. All dark hair, delicate features, and, on the rare occasion I've seen them, dazzling green eyes. His body is wet dream material too. Slender and graceful. I wonder if he does ballet?

A few months ago, at some society function, I noticed he had started growing his hair out. I have no idea why, but it suits him. Really suits him. And that's not just my weakness for pretty boys with long hair speaking.

His hair is now long enough to brush along his well-defined jawline. The urge to lean forward and tuck it behind his ear is strong. Is his hair as soft as it looks? Did I run my hands through it last night?

He continues to ignore me. I pick up my coffee and take a sip. Pale winter sunlight is streaming through the windows. It's far warmer than Lucien Mallory is. Cold. Aloof. Looking down his nose at everyone. I've always known he doesn't think I'm a good enough match for him, but now the deed is done, surely he can make his peace with it? Or is he going to sulk at me for the rest of our lives?

The silence stretches. I sigh. Sulking it is. Old-fashioned fools say a vessel should not speak unless spoken to, but not even Lucien Mallory is that traditional. And he greeted me first. Though he would likely claim that was some exception to the stupid rules.

"Lucien Mallory, are you going to give me the silent treatment for the next sixty years?" I ask.

His entire body tenses. The knife pauses half-way across the bread.

"Lucien Colville, Count Consort Felford," he says softly .

Fuck. So he is. He is my consort. My vessel. He bears my name now, however strange it sounds.

Even so, being corrected at my own breakfast table is a piss take. My coffee cup hits the saucer a little too forcefully.

Lucien flinches. "My apologies, my lord husband."

A growl escapes me. Is this how it is going to be? Snide comments quickly followed by sincere seeming apologies? I fucking hate bitchy, passive aggressive shit like that. My mother has it down to a fine art. I've been subjected to it more than enough for one lifetime.

"Knock it off!" I snap.

He goes ramrod straight. "Of course, my lord husband. I'm sorry." A quick flash of wide green eyes and then he is looking down again.

I frown. He looks awfully pale.

"It's fine," I mutter and I pick up my coffee cup.

Lucien nods and reaches for the marmalade. His movements are stiff. The faintest of winces flashes over his pretty face.

Shit. He would have been technically a virgin until last night. Fooling around with whatever lovers he has had, is not quite the same. I don't even know if he has taken anything up the ass before. Apart from the True Phallus. The rules of what is and what is not allowed for unmarried vessels are a confusing, contradictory mess, in my opinion.

"Are you…um well?" I ask. "Down there?" I add while nodding towards his general groin area.

He flushes a beautiful shade of pink. "Yes, thank you, my lord husband."

"For gods' sake, my name is Drew!"

"Yes, Drew," he nods nearly frantically.

I sigh heavily and dollop some yogurt into my bowl. I'm not a complete bastard. Not even when high on whatever blasted herbs they put in Husband's Tea. I would have been gentle and taken my time. And vessels these days are pretty much virgins in name only, I'm sure of it. Lucien is fine. He is a snide and conniving snake, definitely not an innocent, wilting wallflower. I don't know what I was thinking. There is no need to be concerned for him.

He finishes his single piece of toast, and then just sits there. Arms neatly folded in his lap. Looking down, and not at me. Waiting for something.

"What?" I bite through gritted teeth.

"Forgive me, my…Drew. Is the formal tour of the house and meeting the staff scheduled for later today?"

Oh that. I bite back my groan. I don't want Mr. perfect here to know I completely forgot about a very pertinent part of this whole fucking wedding package of formalities and traditions.

It is times like these I'd give anything to be a mundane. Imagine being free to marry someone you love? And then just lounge around on your honeymoon, basking in each other's company. Feeding each other cake, or whatever the hell you fancy. No rules. No expectations. Just happiness.

It's twenty-twenty-four, for flips sake. The twenty-first century. A marriage of choice shouldn't be so far out of my reach. Yet here I am. Shackled to Lucien Mallory, due to duty, expectation, and my cowardice of saying no. Lucien fucking Mallory, the bastion and poster boy for everything I despise about society.

Lucien Colville, my mind quietly corrects, and fuck does that sour my mood even more.

"Let's get on with it then," I say as I get to my feet and stride away.

Lucien scurries after me. He hovers just over my shoulder as I walk down the hallway. Keeping a few steps behind me. It is like having a snake at my back and it is making my skin prickle.

"Goddammit, Lucien! We are married now and in the privacy of our own home. There is no army of chaperones to report on you and absolutely nobody to impress with how perfect you are!"

"Sorry, my…Drew," he begins, but I interrupt him.

"Just walk beside me like a normal person! "

He hurries up to me. "It's not proper," he all but whispers.

His voice sounds strained. Panicked even. Almost overwhelmed. Something about it almost tugs on my heartstrings. My friend Henry says he loves the rules of our society. They give him an anchor, something to follow. He claims he'd be adrift without them. Lost.

I look over at Lucien's beautiful profile. He doesn't meet my gaze. He pretends I'm not here and walks along with his unnerving grace.

I don't think he needs rules. He likes them. They give him an excuse to be aloof and show his disdain.

"For fuck's sake!" I snap. "A few months ago, you met with me in the middle of the night in your gatehouse. That wasn't very proper."

A flash of outraged green eyes, and then he is looking away again. Surely it is a good thing to remember that we are not complete strangers?

"Nothing happened!" he protests. "Don't make it sound salacious. You just wanted help with your ridiculous plan!"

A sly grin spreads across my face. "And you helped me."

"You gave me no choice."

"It wasn't proper," I tease.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm striving to be better."

Pompous little shit. Just when I thought we had some common ground. I had thought the fact that he had helped me was a good sign. A positive thing. A step in the right direction. Clearly not.

We reach Katy's office and I throw open the door a little more forcefully than necessary. Katy is standing by her desk, wearing a pale blue suit. It is such a shock to see her out of her usual jeans and teeshirt, that my mind has gone utterly blank.

She holds out her hand to Lucien. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Count Consort."

She is being courteous and respectful to the man I have married. It is putting me to shame .

Lucien shakes her hand gingerly before he snatches his back as quickly as he can.

"This is Katy, my housekeeper," I say redundantly, since it is quite clear who she is. Why else would I bring him here?

Lucien sucks in a shaky little breath. "Last night, I noticed the staff were not perfectly in time."

Katy shoots me a look. "Apologies, Count Consort."

"And the third server down from the head of the table was serving with his left hand."

Katy's eyebrows rise as she shoots me another, more intense look.

"Yes. George is left-handed, Count Consort."

Lucien's hands twist together. "Well, he must learn to use his right hand. Or no longer serve at formal functions. I guess informal dinners will be acceptable."

This time the look Katy gives me is a truly withering glare. But she smiles sweetly at Lucien and bites out a, "Yes, my lord," through gritted teeth.

I grab Lucien's slender shoulder and steer him out of Katy's office. He doesn't physically put up any resistance, but once the door is shut behind us and we are striding down the hallway, he stutters, "But…but I haven't checked the accounts yet!"

A growl escapes me. I'm getting a headache. The pompous little prat is going to be the death of me.

"Plenty of time for that later," I say. "And Katy keeps excellent records, there is no need to check up on her!"

Lucien's lips tighten into a fine line, but he doesn't argue with me.

"Come on, let's see the rest of the house, it's not that big. I'm only a Count." I say with false cheer.

"You'll be a marquess one day," Lucien says softly.

My breath hisses in. The little shit. Is this really the reason he is deigning to tolerate me? Is this the reason he agreed to marry me ?

"Just like your daddy? Well, sadly for you, my father is in perfect health, so you are going to have to wait a long time to be a marquess consort."

Silence stretches. I cast a glance over at Lucien. His head is down and his entire body language is conveying deep sadness. A twinge of guilt twists at my gut, but I shake it off. He probably didn't like being caught out, or hearing the truth, or realizing that I'm not going to be wrapped around his little finger.

I pinch the bridge of my nose to try to ward off this blasted headache.

Damn it. This marriage is going to be even worse than I was dreading.