Chapter 14 #2
She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip and takes her time to answer. After a few seconds, she sighs. “I respect Charles’s views. He’s a decent man and a good father, and I probably should let him choose a wife for Christian, considering he gave Nicholas a choice and he chose badly.”
I frown, not following this conversation at all. “But Nicholas married you.”
“Yes, but at first, he was supposed to marry my sister. He got given the choice and he picked her.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“It’s old news. He discovered the error of his ways.”
She giggles, and I can’t help smiling. I like this woman a lot.
In other circumstances, she’d be someone I’d choose as a friend.
More outgoing than little old introverted me, but not so extrovert that spending time in her company would give me a headache and the need to lie down in a darkened room for a solid few hours.
“Despite that, you’re still willing to support this plan?”
“I am because—and don’t tell my husband this—I have such a soft spot for Christian.
If this is what he needs to make him happy, then who am I to stand in his way?
You’re both adults who know what you’re doing.
I’m not here to police nor to judge what the two of you do. I’m only here to… grease the wheels.”
I laugh this time. “Okay, what is it you want to know?”
We talk for thirty minutes or so, and it feels less like an interrogation and more like two friends chatting.
She doesn’t question my background. She just accepts me for the person I tell her I am.
The entire time, I have a thickness in my throat I can’t clear.
It takes me a while to figure out why, but I soon realize it’s shame.
I’m ashamed that this perfectly lovely woman is being pulled into my web of deceit.
It’s clear now that I’m going to have to grow a tough outer shell to go through with what’s required to get to the truth.
When we plotted our revenge, the only person who crossed my mind was Christian.
It didn’t occur to me—stupidly, maybe—that his entire family would be pulled into my deception, too.
Not that I care all that much about his blood family, but Victoria isn’t a De Vil by blood.
When she finds out who I truly am and what I came here for, what if she blames herself for not seeing through the lies?
I don’t want that. She doesn’t deserve that.
I’m stuck, though. Committed to the course until I get knocked off it, or I arrive at the final destination.
“Okay, then.” Vicky gets to her feet. “Let’s do this.”
She glides from the room, with me a couple steps behind, but once we’re in the hallway, she waits for me to move alongside her.
Threading her arm through mine, she heads for the now-familiar ballroom.
As I suspected, the attendee list isn’t anywhere near as large as the last two balls, but the place is still pretty full.
Vicky wastes no time. She scans the room, then sets off with purpose toward Christian’s father and joins the small gathering, waiting for a break in the conversation. As the three people Charles was speaking with move off, she touches his arm.
“Charles, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Lady Grace Ambrose. She moved into the area quite recently and doesn’t know many people.”
“Hello, sir.” I dip my chin in a sign of respect, even though I have none for a man who’d help his son cover up a crime. Or, at the very least, not bother to dig for the truth. Buildings don’t just collapse, burying innocent people beneath the rubble.
“Lady Grace.” He holds out a weathered hand, and I take it. “Whereabouts in the north are you from?”
“Cumbria.”
“Ah, beautiful part of the world.”
“It is, sir. Very much so.”
“What brings you to Surrey?”
“My mother died, and, well, I needed a fresh start. I spent the first few years of my life in the county, and I wanted to come home.”
“I see. My condolences for your loss.” His eyes show true empathy. Either he’s a good actor or he’s genuinely sorry. I bet he wouldn’t be quite so genial if he knew who my mother really was.
“It’s been… difficult. But I have a friend who lives about thirty miles from here, and she offered me a place to stay until I get on my feet.”
I expect him to grill me on my lack of funds that means I have to rely on charity for a place to stay, but he doesn’t. We end up on the subject of music. I tell him I’m learning to play the piano and that I write a little of my own music.
His eyes sparkle. “My favorite instrument. You’ll have to play for me sometime.”
Behind his back, Vicky nods. She approves of how this conversation is going.
I press a hand to my chest. “Oh, no, sir. I’m not anywhere near proficient enough to play in front of anyone.”
“No pressure, my dear.” He opens his mouth to say something else but pauses, his gaze skipping over my left shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Lady Grace, would you excuse me?
It looks as though I’m needed.” He moves off with purpose, planting his hand on the shoulder of a man in a suit and leaning in to listen to him before he leaves the ballroom.
“That’s Alan, Charles’s butler and, for all intents and purposes, his right-hand man. Been with the family for years.” She gives me a brief hug. “You did great.”
I grimace. “You think?”
“Definitely. The piano was the winner, as well as you writing music. Charles has eclectic tastes in music.”
“I’m no expert, believe me, but playing soothes me.”
“I tried violin in school. It didn’t end well. Ah, here’s your soon-to-be fiancé.”
I turn around as Christian approaches, a half-quizzical, half-concerned look on his face. “How’d it go?”
“She did brilliantly,” Vicky says, looking like a proud mum who’s just been told by the teacher that her kid is top of the class. “Charles loved her. Stage one complete, I’d say.”
“Good. Maybe now he’ll stop pointing out every single woman with a pulse to me, which he’s been doing since seven o’clock this evening.” He takes both my hands and looks deep into my eyes. “Can I steal you away?”
My tongue feels too thick for my mouth, and there are about five seconds where I forget who he is and what I’m here to do. “I-I… sure.”
I expect him to lead me from the ballroom, but instead, he heads to the dance floor.
“Um, I’m not a great dancer.”
“Neither am I. Who cares?” He takes me in his arms and presses his cheek to mine, which leaves his lips directly beside my ear. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.” Let’s face it, there’s only one secret I want from Christian, but I doubt that’s what’s on his mind.
“I am having the filthiest thoughts about you.”
My breath catches in my throat. I shouldn’t encourage him, but there’s a demon on my shoulder who is firmly in charge when I ask, “What thoughts?”
“Thoughts of taking you upstairs to my apartment and stripping you bare. Thoughts of bending you over the couch and screwing you until you can’t walk straight. Thoughts of getting on my knees and drinking from your pussy like it’s a fucking water fountain.”
There’s been many times in my life where I’ve been stuck for the right response to what someone’s said, but this time, not a single word comes to mind.
My clit throbs, and I don’t need to check to know that my underwear is soaked.
I’ve had boyfriends, but not a single one has ever made me feel as though my skeleton is made of jelly like Christian has with a few well-chosen, dirty words.
Why, God? Why did you have to make me attracted to him? Almost three billion adult men on the planet, and I’m madly attracted to the one guy I hate.
It’s a cruel joke, and I’m not laughing. No, I’m salivating.
“Have I scared you off, Duchess?” His tone holds amusement rather than concern, and I take the opportunity to make his overconfidence take a seat for a fraction of a minute.
“Yes, you have. I’m not that kind of girl.”
He stops swaying—no one would call what we’ve been doing dancing—and rears back, his eyes saucer wide. “Shit, Grace, I’m sorry. That was overstepping the mark, especially given the nature of our relationship. Forget I said—”
I throw back my head and laugh. “That was so much fun.”
“Ohh, you… you…”
“Me, what?”
His lips return to my ear. “As soon as I can engineer alone time with you, you’re going to get so fucked.”
It figures, considering I’ve been fucked since the day I stepped foot inside Oakleigh Hall a few weeks ago. It’s time to face a truth I never envisaged: it’s possible to want someone you’re destined to hate.
And make no mistake, I want Christian De Vil. Desperately.