Chapter 18

18

Knox

I take in the long table that's been set up in the center of the garden in the backyard of Arthur's townhouse. Trees surround the estate, shielding us from the early afternoon visitors to Primrose Hill. The table is loaded with food, but no one makes a move toward it.

There's a hush of expectation in the air, or perhaps, that's my imagination? I roll my shoulders, then continue to scan the group gathered around the table.

"You okay, man?" Quentin shoots me a curious glance. "You seem…on edge."

"You need to get your eyesight checked old man." Last night, I reached home in plenty of time to make my one a.m. conference call. Then, because I wasn't able to get her out of my mind, I ran ten miles on the treadmill in my home gym. Then decided to bench-press a hundred, before using the punching bag. When every bone in my body seemed to curl up in exhaustion, I crawled into bed without showering.

Even then, I tossed and turned. Her scent, the feel of her lips against my fingertips, her need to comply with my orders, how she held her own and demanded three orgasms from me without being overwhelmed by my primal play—all of it crowded my mind. I woke up with a massive erection that, despite jerking off once in the shower and twice between meetings, did not seem to subside. Fuck! I'm definitely doing the right thing by backing myself into a corner so that my hands will be tied, and I won't have the option of pursuing her.

I grab a glass from a passing waiter and take a sip, only to spit it out. "Some non-alcoholic shit," I growl.

"I can help." My assistant materializes by my side. She pulls out a flask and splashes clear liquid into my half-filled glass.

Some of the tension eases from my shoulders. "Thanks, doll." I down half the glass, and sigh in appreciation.

She begins to melt away, but I snap my fingers, making sure not to look at her. "Don't go, I'll need you to pour." I hold my glass out again.

"Huh, don't think you want to get drunk, Sir ."

Fucking hell. I'm sure she added on that title, knowing it would cause my dick to stiffen. This will not do at all. I manage to keep my gaze away from her features while my arm remains outstretched. A few seconds pass, then she relents and pours a dollop more into the glass. "Thanks." I toss it back, then glance around, wondering where to keep it.

My efficient assistant takes it from me, and I nod. "Don't know what I'd do without you, Kelly."

Her lips thin. There's a confused look in her eyes, one that says she knows I know her name, and that I'm not using it as a way of hurting her, and that I succeeded. Fuck. My heart stutters. I manage not to rub my chest and track her as she walks away to place the glass on a nearby table.

"Anyone know what Gramps is up to?" My younger brother Tyler prowls over to join us. Man's the tallest and the biggest of all of us. His features could be cast from granite. His eyes are cold. His expression is both bored and lethal. Of all my brothers, Tyler's the one I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.

He looms over the rest of us. In a suit and tie, he looks barely civilized for this gathering.

Tiny, Arthur's Great Dane ambles into the backyard, followed by my grandfather. Imelda should be here, but after that little scene I helped cause, rumor is, they're taking a break from each other.

My assistant begins to sidle away, but when I point to the chair on my right, she first hesitates, then complies. The chair to my left is vacant. The rest of the group take their seats. There's a general buzz around the table. Otis, my grandfather's butler, tops up everyone's glasses—not mine— with more of the non-alcoholic beverage then stands to the side.

Arthur clinks his knife against his glass and the chatter dies down.

"You must be curious about why you've been summoned?"

"Why should we be? We only had to drop what we were doing and attend to your summons," my other brother Brody growls under his breath.

"Something you want to share with the table?" Arthur arches an eyebrow in his direction.

Brody shrugs. "It's a working day."

Yep, like me, some of my brothers consider Sunday a working day.

"And I am the patriarch of this family… Still. So, you boys and girls will come when I call." It's a statement which brooks no argument. Arthur glances around the table, the look on his features implying my-word-is-final .

Brody groans. My youngest brother Connor chugs down water from a bottle like it's going out style. Tyler's expression is as immovable as ever.

"Felix,"—Arthur nods in my cousin's direction—"you have something to tell us?"

The noise at the table dies down again.

Felix clears his throat, "I'm trying out for the Marines." He meets his father's gaze. "I hope to be half as good at it as my father was."

Quentin seems visibly moved. He swallows, then raises his glass in the direction of his son. "To Felix."

"To Felix." Everyone raises their glasses. I toss mine back, and my assistant refills mine without prompting. I throw that back as well, then rise to my feet. I head toward the house where a woman steps out onto the porch. She's tall, willowy, and wearing a green dress that reaches below her knees. It's sleeveless, baring her thin white arms. Her dark hair is a waterfall of health that flows down her back. Her eyes are almond shaped, her skin creamy, and so pale, the sun seems to be reflected off of it to bathe her in an ethereal light .

"Knox." She holds out her hand.

"Priscilla." I tuck her arm through mine and guide her over to the table. She slips into the seat on my left. By the time I'm seated, everyone is silent. All eyes are on me and the new arrival.

"Can I do the honors?" Arthur asks.

I yawn. "By all means."

Arthur frowns, then smooths out his expression. "This is Priscilla Whittington, Toren Whittington's sister. Toren and I agree that the best way to resolve our family feud and join our collective fortunes is through marriage."

"Sure, you did," Brody snorts.

Arthur ignores him. "Tor couldn't be here, but he was happy for us to go ahead with announcing?—"

"To cut a long story short, Priscilla has agreed to marry me," I drawl.

Next to me, my assistant draws in a sharp breath. I hear the sound of glass breaking and look up to see Tyler pushing back from the table.

His jaw is hard, and the skin around his mouth is white. Priscilla stiffens. He looks from me to Priscilla, then spins around and leaves. Interesting. So, Tyler and Priscilla have some history? Not my problem. If he had feelings for the woman, he should have spoken up sooner.

Gramps made it a condition of our inheritance that we get married. I don't give a fuck about my inheritance, but I realized if I agreed to marry Priscilla, it would send a signal to my assistant that there's no future for us. That this chemistry between us is simply me taking advantage of the situation. That I do not foresee a relationship with her. That'll make me a bastard in her eyes. And I hope that with this proclamation of my would-be-engagement, she realizes she's better off without me. That she can do better than me.

Arthur gave me a month to find someone of my own to marry. There's still time, but the only woman who's caught my fancy is my assistant, and that's not going to change... The logical thing to do would be to marry her... But my instincts tell me if I do that, I'll be too vulnerable with her. It would mean getting my heart involved in the equation. It would mean sullying her even more than I already have. It would mean exposing her even more to my proclivities, because I can't be with her and not want to have my way with her. I'd deprive her of what's left of her innocence and that...is not something I can let myself do.

Quick, someone nominate me for humanitarian of the year. Here I am, planning to annihilate any hope my assistant has of us being together, but I'm doing it for her good.

I've begun to realize that being a Davenport means getting hitched is inevitable. Might as well be to Priscilla, then. It makes no difference to me. If anything, this is better.

Not only will there be no feelings involved, but Arthur will owe me if I do this. He'll be beholden to me for helping to bury the ol' Davenport-Whittington hatchet. Something I can use to my advantage.

It's why I told Arthur about my decision when I called him after dropping my assistant at home.

I raise my glass and glance around the table. "To my upcoming nuptials."