Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

“ P osture, miss.”

Two weeks later, I was standing as tall as my five feet, three inches would stretch atop a small platform while a prickly stylist stabbed me with pins and fitted me with a new wardrobe. It took her most of the week, but when Georgina realized that Xavier would not be dissuaded from bringing me with him to every event he attended as part of the Season, she insisted that he pay for new clothes. And to my surprise, he agreed, even going so far as to suggest that we hire a personal stylist to orchestrate it all. That stylist, apparently, was also Georgina’s.

Odd, really. Though Xavier had a taste for some of the finer things in life, I’d never had the impression he cared much about what I wore. He’d always liked me however I came, whether that was in oddly-printed pajama pants or a vintage dress.

Now, however, I stood in the room filled with pastel-colored frocks and too many hatboxes to count, and my only company was this stolid, somewhat rude woman. Regina didn’t seem to want to be there any more than I did, but she was getting paid enough that she was willing to put up with me.

“This is the last one, right?” I asked.

Regina looked down a snub nose and exhaled through the pins trapped between her thin lips. “Yes, miss.”

“Good. I was hoping to get in a bit more research today.”

Heartily tired of this entire process, I swished back and forth in the salmon-pink, floor-length confection that could politely be described as cupcake-esque and was designated for the Ortham Ball tomorrow night—the first major event I would be attending on Xavier’s arm. It was basically a mountain of ruffles, one I couldn’t escape easily to get back to my beloved library.

For the last week, I’d been spending most of my mornings working through the family journals, then used the afternoons to take Sofia somewhere around the countryside before dinner. We would see Xavier briefly for an hour or so before Sofia went to bed, and he would generally work longer before toppling into bed beside me—if he made it there at all.

Things were…working. I supposed. I had a bit more purpose, as I’d requested, and Xavier made a point to be affectionate whenever we were around. The problem was, that didn’t happen often. And no amount of library treasures and farm visits could change that.

I tried to remind myself that he hadn’t invited us here on vacation but to join him in his actual life. He couldn’t help the issues arising in his family any more than I could. But that didn’t change the fact that September was coming, and I was due back for the school year in a matter of weeks. I had no idea what was going to happen between us, nor did I feel like this was the time to broach the subject. Was he expecting me to stay indefinitely? Did he think I was going back to New York? Either way, where would Sofia and I stay? What would we do?

To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to stay in England past August—not if it meant living in a museum and dealing with his family’s snooty behavior. At the same time, it was difficult to imagine going back to my old life and spending half my time reviewing fractions and filling glue containers for a living. Teaching was fine. It had always been fine. But it had never given me the sliver of excitement I had felt digging into the library over the last week. I honestly wasn’t sure I could go back now and make do. Whether he liked it or not, Xavier had opened up a whole new world for me here. I just didn’t know how I’d traverse it in the weeks and months to come.

And then there was my sister’s voice—which one, I wasn’t sure, as they all had the same thoughts about marriage—niggling at me, asking again and again: “Has he popped the question, yet?” Given all the stress Xavier was enduring, I was still trying not to think too hard about the M-word, despite the fact that my sisters brought it up every time we spoke. Although, sheesh, sitting here in a blush-pink gown wasn’t exactly helping things.

I pushed all the thoughts out of my mind. Next week. Next week, I could bring up these concerns. Right now, I needed to focus on figuring out how to be a duke’s girlfriend in a world that really did not want me to belong to him.

The door opened as Regina was placing another pin, and Sofia skipped in, followed by Miriam, her new nanny. Well, “nanny” was putting it generously. Miriam was actually just a local girl I’d met in the village and had chosen over the three sterner, Trunchbull-ish type women Georgina had procured alongside Elsie’s recommendations. She had zero child-rearing experience, but she reminded me of my sisters, which would only make Sofia more comfortable with her. Not to mention me.

“Mama, where are you?” Sofia demanded, then stopped abruptly when she caught sight of me. “Whoa, Mommy. That’s a big dress.”

I looked down at all the layers. I did sort of look like I was being eaten by a sea anemone. Definitely not something I’d have chosen, but since I wasn’t paying for it, I couldn’t really say much.

“It’s Jenny Packham,” Regina informed us. “It’s de rigueur , and absolutely appropriate for a society ball.”

Sofia, Miriam, and I all blinked as if we should know who she was talking about.

“Well, it’s really fluffy.” Sofia dropped her doll on the floor and came over to investigate, pulling out some of the layers as if to see where they ended and I began. She did not find the answer.

“The silk, miss,” drolled Regina as she stuck me with another pin near my shoulder blade. “Please. It’s very delicate.”

“Sofia, babe, give Mama some space,” I said.

“But I can’t find your legs! You look like a shower puff!”

“I know, peanut. It’s all right, all right. I promise they are still there. Have you been having fun with Miriam?”

“Oh, we had ourselves a grand time,” Miriam chimed in her thick Northern accent. “Saw the new foals, and Colin, the stable manager, even let us feed some, didn’t he, Miss Sofia?”

“Yep. Colin likes My Little Pony too,” Sofia tittered, still enamored by the delicate folds of the dress, which she only touched before checking covertly that Regina wasn’t watching her.

The Ortham Ball was a charity event the Douglases put on every year at their house outside of London. It was a private event included in the very public London Season, but unlike the public events, this one was invite-only rather than something anyone could purchase tickets for. And that meant it was one of the places Georgina wanted Xavier—and by association, Frederick—to do the “important connection-making”—she was so keen about these days.

It also meant I needed a new dress.

“Let’s go show Daddy,” Sofia said, already reaching out for my hand and pulling me off the platform.

“But we still have to fit a few more pins, miss,” said Regina stiffly.

“We’ll be right back,” I told her and Miriam.

Miriam smiled.

The stylist sniffed.

Then Sofia yanked me out the door.

I might still have felt uneasy in Corbray Hall, but Sofia had taken to the place like a duck to water. To her, the estate was simply an enormous playground, and after she had met a few of the kitchen maids’ children feeding ducks, I barely saw her beyond mealtimes and the little day trips we took some afternoons.

“No, it’s this way, Mama,” she said, tugging me down a different corridor toward Xavier’s office after I’d made another wrong turn.

“Slow down!” I laughed, holding up my skirts. “I have to be careful in this, bean. Can’t tear things the day before the party.”

“Pretty party,” Sofia cackled to herself before stopping at Xavier’s office. She frowned. “What’s that sound?”

I paused, then heard the thumps of a deep bass vibrating through the thick wood doors, accentuated every so often by a hard thwack of…something.

I furrowed my brow, listening harder. Sofia, however, wasn’t inclined to wait. She threw most of her tiny body’s weight into opening the door, and immediately, we were assaulted by the harsh, unforgiving sounds of extremely heavy metal.

“Ouch, my ears!” Sofia cried, clapping her hands over said parts.

I covered them with my own, frowning into the room. The thwacking sound was louder now and clearly wasn’t part of the music. The problem was, I wasn’t sure what was causing it, if it was intentional, or if I needed to get Sofia out of here.

She, however, didn’t wait for me to decide.

“Daddy?” Sofia gasped as she peeked inside the doors.

In one corner, the sedate leather chairs had been replaced by a heavy bag hanging from the otherwise ornately carved ceiling. Foamed floors had been installed on top of the sleek hardwoods underneath, along with a set of hand weights against the wall.

Xavier stood in front of the setup, shirtless in a pair of black trousers that weren’t exactly designed for exercise but had molded perfectly to his sweaty body. His tattoo was on full display, completely at odds with the posh surroundings, the wild black dragonesque creature slithering all over the shining muscles of his left arm, shoulder, and side, teasing up the neck currently corded with muscle. He looked a far cry from the sophisticated chef, the dashing duke, or even the playful Arsenal fan we generally knew him as. Right now, he looked like a warrior. An extremely crazed warrior capable of a lot of violence.

“Fucking FUCK!” Xavier howled as he landed a complex combination of punches that sent the bag swinging violently through the air.

“Sofia.” I pushed my daughter out of the room and removed her hands from her head.

Her bright blue eyes shone curiously, but not without a bit of fear. I didn’t blame her. I’d never seen her dad like this, and it was likely a lot more intimidating as a little girl.

“Go find Miriam, babe,” I told her. “ I’m going to talk to Daddy and calm him down.”

With a swift nod, she took off down the hall, running as fast as her little legs could take her. I turned back into the room, wincing against the harsh music, and closed the door behind me.

“Xavier?” I asked.

He continued beating the bag, bouncing on his feet to the harsh music, which was howling nearly as loudly as he was.

“XAVIER!” I shouted as forcefully as I could.

Still no answer. Frantically, I looked around for the source of the music. Eventually, I located a speaker in the corner, which was probably attached to his phone or computer. I picked up my skirts and headed toward it, only able to relax a bit once the screaming vocalist and thrashing guitar were silenced.

“Oi!” Xavier turned around, face contorted with annoyance, until he located me standing next to the speaker. Then the irritation turned to mild repugnance. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I smarted, although I kind of wanted to smile, too. It had been a while since I’d heard his typically foul language. I sort of missed it.

“A dress,” I told him.

His brow crinkled. “Why?”

“For the Ortham Ball tomorrow. Sofia wanted me to show you…” I fluttered my hand in the direction she had run off.

Xavier just continued to stare at me with an expression of abject horror.

“You look like a Victoria sponge cake,” he stated bluntly. Then, catching my expression, “Nice, of course. I didn’t mean you didn’t. But it’s just very…very, ah, sweet.”

“Don’t bother,” I told him. “But honestly, what’s wrong with sweet? I think you said I was sweet. I thought you liked it.”

I was trying for flirtatious—after all, it hadn’t escaped me that, along with time with Sofia and me, Xavier’s stressful schedule had also been biting into our intimacy together. Normally, going for a week without sex wouldn’t have bothered me. After all, I’d gone five years at one point.

But Xavier and I had only just gotten back together a few months ago now. It didn’t seem like the fire should go out quite yet. I missed my insatiable chef. Especially when I was staring at the sweat dripping down his ripped body. Damn.

Xavier just chuckled and wiped a bit of sweat from his glistening brow. “You are, babe. You are. But you’re sweet with an edge. What happened to your hair? And your earrings? These look like something Georgina would wear. Or maybe her mother.”

“She lent them to me.”

I lightly touched the updo Regina had tried out for tomorrow and fingered the wreaths of diamonds at my ears. They were pretty, yes, but admittedly mumsy. When Georgina offered them, I didn’t have the heart to say no. I was still trying to get the woman to address me by name.

“Well, they look awful. Take them off.” He looked me over. “Actually, take it all off.”

“And what? Walk down the halls naked?” I joked.

Xavier didn’t seem to think it was a horrible idea. I just snorted, though my face flushed a little at the idea. Especially if he took it off me.

Lord, I was becoming easy.

“What about that red dress you brought from home? The one you wore to the Chie opening?” He bit his lower lip mischievously. “I liked that one.”

“Red is not appropriate for a society ball,” I said, though I was only quoting Regina, who had said the same thing to me when I’d suggested it. “Also, apparently this thing is black tie. The red dress only comes past my knees.”

“Pity.”

He crossed the room and took a bit of silk between his fingers. Then tugged some more, forcing me to come nearer or tear the fabric. “Nope, I can’t take it.”

“You’re not supposed to touch me right now, you know,” I said, batting at his hands.

“I’m paying for it,” Xavier said, hands working a bit more now to pull up the layers of silk. His eyes shuttered briefly when he found skin, skating palms up my thighs until he located my ass and grabbed. Hard. “I can do whatever I want to it. Including rip the damn thing to shreds.”

“You’ll mess me up,” I told him, though I wasn’t particularly concerned about the dress anymore.

“Fine by me.”

“What are you saying, you prefer me messy, Your Grace?”

Xavier smirked. “When I do the messing, especially.”

I sighed with utter contentment as he picked me up and carried me back toward his desk, where he set me on the top and sat down in the large chair behind it, for all his shirtlessness, looking very much like the aristocrat he was, surveying his belongings. Which, at that moment, was me.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said softly as his thumbs stroked my inner thighs.

I wanted to lean back and let him explore higher. But something about the way he was looking at me bothered me. With desire, yes, but it was mixed with melancholy I hadn’t seen before.

“What was with the headbanging session?” I asked, noting another drop of sweat currently rolling down the curve of his tattoo. It was very distracting, alongside the inward movement of his hands.

“Hmm?” Xavier wasn’t particularly interested in talking as he spread my legs wider and pushed the ruffles above my knees.

“The music? And pounding the crap out of that heavy bag over there. When did you have that put in, anyway?”

“Last night. I have one in my London office too. It’s useful when I need to let off some steam.”

The hands fully pushed the silk layers onto the table, shoving some aside with an audible tear. Well, I supposed I was out of Regina’s good graces, if she’d ever let me in.

I wanted to ask why he needed to let off steam. Why something was bothering him to the point he needed to punch his hands bruised and listen to banshees on acid to tame whatever beast was raging inside him.

But Xavier didn’t elaborate as he leaned forward, intent clear as he gazed between my legs. Instead, I captured his face and forced him to look at me.

He was so beautiful. It was easy to forget. His body was so large that sometimes his size masked the fact that many of his features were deceptively delicate. The sharp cheekbones beneath my stroking thumbs, the porcelain quality of his skin, the blue of his eyes that in this light glimmered like translucent Murano glass.

“Xavi,” I said. “Please, talk to me.”

He opened that full mouth, and for a moment, I thought he might name the beast that was thrashing inside him. Give it some shape and form. Allow me to help him vanquish it.

I so wanted to try. After all, princes (or in this case, a very upset duke) didn’t have to do all the saving. Sometimes a man needs to be rescued as much as any damsel.

Instead, he shook off my hands and tugged me to the edge of the desk.

“Kiss me,” he ordered.

Skin pebbling with the thrill of his touch, I couldn’t help but obey.

It started off soft but almost immediately turned into something much more insistent. Xavi might have been positioned below me, but his arms had me pinned to the desk, and his lips were glued to mine through some kind of magic I couldn’t comprehend.

“God,” he croaked after a few minutes. “Will you?—”

I swallowed. There it was. The start of the question part of my heart was aching to hear. I fought down the words. I didn’t want to force him. I wanted to hear him ask me of his own accord.

“I just—” He kissed me again, like he was seeking the answer without finishing his request. “Francesca, will you?—”

Just before he could, there was a swift knock on the door, which opened abruptly. I swallowed a litany of curse words as I pushed my dress back to my knees.

“Kip? Oh! And Francesca, hello.”

We both twisted around to find Imogene entering the room, clearly shocked to find me sitting on the desk in front of a very shirtless Xavier.

Perhaps I should have felt ashamed, but I really couldn’t. Not with her. Not with my own boyfriend in his own office behind closed freaking doors.

Hadn’t she ever heard of knocking?

“Hello, Imogene!” I said in a sharp voice that sounded like it was trying way too hard to be nonchalant.

I tried to close my knees, but the hands on my thighs were iron. Then one slipped between them while the other pulled my ruffles back over his arm.

I whipped around to find Xavier biting his lower lip while he slipped a hand farther to brush against the edges of my underwear. And to my complete shock, one finger breached the fabric and slid into me completely. The devil himself smirked up at me. His hand disappeared under my skirts, where his thumb located my clit and started to circle.

“What are you doing?” I mouthed.

Xavier’s smirk deepened before he looked around me to speak to Imogene. “Did you need something? Ces here just came in at the end of my workout.”

“Er, yes.” A glance over my shoulder told me that Imogene was trying very hard not to look at the effects of the workout, but even her polished manners couldn’t prevent her gaze from sliding over my man’s muscles. “Right. Mummy sent me over to have you check the seating order for tomorrow night. I have you and Franny next to the Murray-Harts and Sir John de Lesseps. Will that do?”

“I think so,” Xavier said amiably as a second finger joined the first. “And it’s Francesca.”

I gasped through my satisfaction. Generally, I was the one who had to correct her.

“Of course, of course,” Imogene seemed to stumble. “Francesca, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said over my shoulder in a voice slightly higher pitched than normal. “Xavi is just helping me, uh, stretch my ankle. I rolled it coming down the stairs to show him my dress.”

Xavier chortled but continued what he was doing. Inside me, the fingers curled, a silent admonishment—or perhaps congratulations—for the lie. Xavier’s thumb located my clit and flattened against it, pressing and rubbing in a slow, clockwise direction.

I bit my lip. His gaze zeroed in, and he shook his head infinitesimally with an arched brow. It drove him crazy when I did that.

I grinned.

“Vixen,” he mouthed.

“Rake,” I mouthed back.

That smirk turned to an outright grin as his fingers continued their relentless work.

Imogene continued to rattle on about seating arrangements at the party, or hors d’oeuvres, which Xavier alternately agreed with or asked for small changes. I honestly couldn’t tell you what they were talking about. I was too entranced by the movements of his thumb and the subtle thrusts of his fingers, too focused on trying desperately not to give into the tension building all over my body.

It was no good. He pressed harder on my clit, and the knowledge that he was doing this to me, on top of his desk, in front of this woman in particular, proved my undoing. I came right there on the desk, choking down a scream while Xavier gripped my ankle in his other hand and continued to talk pleasantries about cocktails and guest lists.

“Right, then,” Imogene said. “I’m off. Fran—cesca,” she caught herself before misnaming me yet again. “I hope your ankle is better for tomorrow. Shame if you can’t dance.”

“I—uh-huh, yes,” I half-gasped, unable even to turn around for fear she would see exactly what was happening written all over my face.

“She’ll be fine,” Xavier told her as he stood. The hand between my legs stayed where it was, but his erection pressed into my thigh, hidden behind my skirts from Imogene’s view. “See you tomorrow.”

The minute the door closed, however, his composure evaporated. In a single harsh movement, Xavier practically ripped open his pants and shoved into me with a movement violent with blind, animal need.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he seated himself deep. “You naughty, naughty girl, teasing me like that. You little minx.”

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered, barely able to form words as he started pounding into me. “Th-that was all you. T-total rogue. Do what-tever you want, whenever y-you want.”

“And don’t you fucking forget it.”

He thrust mercilessly, finding a rhythm that had my heels knocking against his desk drawers and a moan erupting from my chest that was louder than any music he’d been playing earlier.

Then he paused, took my chin firmly with one hand, and forced me to look at him.

“Wear red tomorrow,” he ordered before delivering a long, flaming-hot kiss that left me breathless. “For me.”

He thrust one final time with a groan, and we both shattered together, falling back onto the centuries-old desk, covered in sweat and desire.

His tongue ran over my shoulder, licking up my own mild glow until he found my face again and kissed me, softer this time.

“Please,” he whispered as he worshiped my mouth. “I want to see you in red.”

Of course, I couldn’t say no. Not while he was dousing me in kisses and laying me flat on the desk for round two.

Maybe that was really the problem. When it came to Xavier, I had a hard time refusing him anything.