Chapter 2
Ingrid
What the hell am I doing chatting it up with the Duke of Falcon?
Men like him are the reason I vowed to stay single and get lost in a lab. He reminds me so much of my father, a manipulative womanizer who sees women as objects for his own pleasure.
I’m determined to avoid my mother’s fate and not become dependent on a man who can only support my lifestyle, while he refuses to see my worth.
What a boring, sad life.
Social status isn’t important to me. My heart aches for a life that is meaningful. My goals are bigger than any party my mother’s thrown. It’s about changing the world, impacting it in ways that matter, not just the high-nose society.
I’ve been fighting an uphill battle my whole life, and it never seems to end.
My family envisions a future for me that doesn’t align with my own.
My decision to attend Princeton was influenced by my father’s vision of my destiny.
Prompted by the man he saw as my future, who also attended Princeton.
He’s a few years ahead of me in school, and he’ll graduate when next year ends.
Once he does, my father will welcome him into the family business, and my life will be yanked out from under me.
Unless I can figure out a way to derail those plans.
All my efforts so far have turned into a colossal failure.
An hour ago, my father called. Voicing his expectations of how the next year and a half will play out.
“When you return to Princeton after this unapproved trip, you will start treating Wilson with respect. Do as you are told, or I’m cutting off your allowance. This is the last time I’m having this conversation with you, Ingrid.”
Lord Wilson Culberson, my betrothed—gag me—has a reputation for being a womanizer.
He’s a fucking snob who hasn’t even bothered pretending to be a loyal, faithful companion.
He’s stuffed his dick inside every skirt that’s lifted it for him.
So, I’ve given him the cold shoulder. Ignored his calls or invitations to dinner.
Why would I want to go? Yet I’m the one who gets yelled at, the one who they expect to look the other way—let him get it out of his system now.
We all know he won’t, that he’ll continue to fuck around on me after we marry.
Not that I plan to marry him. I’m not sure how I’ll get out of it, but I will. Somehow, I will.
If I behaved like him, hopping from partner to partner as if they were treats in a candy store, I’d be ostracized. Put to shame and labeled a whore.
Why is it okay for him, but not me? Not that I’m out fucking anyone. But that’s not the point. It pisses me off that they expect me to pretend this is just a phase. One that will make him a better husband one day.
Bull-fucking-shite.
The rules of the community where I grew up are stifling and hypocritical. The young men are allowed to play the field and enjoy life during these years, while we young ladies are required to play nice and wait it out.
Such bullshit.
Why shouldn’t I also be allowed to have fun and let loose? I think it’s only fair, given I’m destined to fake happiness in a loveless, boring marriage. I should be allowed to let my hair down and have the same experiences, but each time I dare to try, I get reprimanded.
My father was furious when he heard I’d run off with Winifred for spring break without telling him. I’m an adult, so why do I have to tell him everything? Just thinking about it again ticks me off.
“How dare you embarrass us by running off with two men who you have no business being with? Do you know your mother had to lie to that crazy Batista woman, tell her we approved and trusted you to make smart decisions? Mind explaining why she believes you’re dating Prince Esteban?”
I’d nearly swallowed my tongue when he asked that question. How was I to explain? Thankfully, I wasn’t given the chance.
“No matter. I think you’ve had enough freedom. I’ll be flying to the States next week, and when I leave, you can come with.”
“Papa, no. Please. I’ve worked so hard,” I found myself begging him.
Which is when he gave me the ultimatum about playing nice and falling inline.
I’d agreed to it all, of course. I had no other choice. No more trips that weren’t approved. No more parties unless good old Wilson escorted me. I agreed to act like the soon-to-be betrothed and smile until I felt sick—which I would feel rather quickly.
Now here I sit with a man who resembles everything I despise.
With his piercing gaze and controlling nature, Darius Falcon is just another man attempting to rob me of my liberty.
An arrogant arsehole with a title. One day, he’ll settle down with some poor sad soul, and she’ll have to play along and act like he’s perfect.
No one will care that he’s frolicked his way around the world, breaking hearts along the way.
They’ll write it off as a young man getting it out of his system before becoming a responsible citizen.
That’s total garbage.
Men don’t stop. They only cease being open about it, doing it behind closed doors.
It’s a game of pretending that everyone is in on.
But we all know it. We just refuse to draw attention to it, because we’ve bought into the myth that men will be men.
We feign refined, when, in truth, we’re barbaric Neanderthals wearing rose-colored glasses.
And with that thought, it’s time for me to go.
Swallowing the last sip of my beverage, I push myself up to a standing position. “I’ll leave you to do what you came here for. It would be a shame to ruin both of our evenings. One of us should have fun while here.”
My head spins as my feet shuffle along the sandy boards, the alcohol hitting me harder than I anticipated.
Guess those strong whiskey cocktails are meant to be sipped and not sucked through the tiny straw as if they were water.
One would have probably done the job of washing my father’s earlier words from my brain.
Three has left my face numb and my feet feeling incredibly heavy, like I’m dragging around bricks.
“Allow me to be a gentleman and escort you back.” He slips his arm around my waist, and the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne—something woodsy and masculine—makes my head spin.
I hate that I even notice. I’ve noticed it all week.
“Do you know how to be a gentleman?”
The sparkle of a mischievous glint that lights his eyes when I tilt my head assaults my senses.
I didn’t know men’s eyes could sparkle. It’s as if someone dropped a little silver dust into them and flipped on the special effects. “What color are your eyes?”
“My eyes?” He scratches his beard, drawing my attention to that rough square jawline.
“I believe my mother refers to them as gray. Plain gray eyes that don’t shine or stand out as they should for a duke.
She once looked into surgically getting them changed to blue, like everyone else in my family.
But when she learned such an invasive surgery could blind me, she opted for contacts. ”
“You wear contacts? That must be why your eyes sparkle.” I reach up and pull his eye wide so I can get a better look. Right before my eyes, they transform, becoming so luminous they nearly glow. It’s as if I can see into his soul, and it makes me shiver.
Grabbing my wrist, he tugs my hand away as he chuckles. “No. I stopped wearing them when I was sixteen. The beginning of my rebellious days, where I did whatever I could to buck the system and piss my family off. Are you cold?”
“No. I’m drunk. Very drunk, in fact. I don’t recall the last time I was this drunk.” The scent of his cologne surrounds me as I lean into him, and I’m surprised by how secure I feel in his arms.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt this at ease with someone of the opposite sex. Although this is different, not the same as being in Lenny or Cris’s arms.
“So, about the gentleman thing you were discussing earlier. Are you sure you know how to be one?”
Long fingers, like silken threads, spread across my belly, a gentle squeeze pressing into the skin. “Not always, and definitely not often, but I’ve shocked a few unsuspecting souls.”
He squeezes again, and I start to wish he’d forget his gentleman ways and show me the other side of him.
“What if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?” I turn my head so I can get a better idea of what he smells like.
Breathing in, I detect a blend of leather and ocean. Reminding me of the days I would ride along the ocean shoreline back home. When my horse and I would trot amidst the crashing waves and the wet saddle would mix with the breeze of salt. One of my fonder childhood memories.
“Sorry to disappoint you, cupcake, but I’m not one to take advantage. I like my women aware when I unleash my wicked ways on their delicious bodies.” He bends down and kisses the top of my head, his lips brushing softly against my hair. “Not to mention I don’t deflower the pure and innocent.”
“Who said I was asking you to deflower me? Sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but I lost my virginity at the tender age of sixteen.” I do my best to wiggle my way out of his hold.
“Not all of us are precious little porcelain dolls, even if we may look like one.” I’m done with this man and his blind view of the world.
Wilson wanted to be the man who took my virginity before he left for college.
We both knew our families’ intentions, even though we weren’t dating.
It happened the summer we spent touring Europe with our families.
He suggested we get to know one another in a more familiar way.
Make sure we were one day compatible, although I think he just wanted to fuck me, stake his claim on me first. I hadn’t envisioned losing mine to a boy who snuck into my room after our parents went to bed.
I’d always dreamed of flowers and candlelight.
What I got was a fumbled mess in the dark and a gentle but solid hand over my mouth to keep any uncomfortable winces from waking our parents.
I didn’t protest when he deflowered me with my permission, although it was less than satisfying, and I’m pretty sure he was no more experienced than me.
I’ve only been with a few other guys since—none of them were much better, unfortunately. All disappointments to the visions I had floating around in my head—all boys not quite men.
I’ve received more pleasure from the vibrator I ordered after hearing my college roommate discussing hers. How sad was that?
“Did… were you…” Darius grabs my arms and drags me in front of him. “Is that why you were crying earlier?”
Annoyed, I roll my eyes, letting out a small sigh and giving my head a shake. “No one took it from me. I wasn’t assaulted. I freely allowed the boy to have his way with me. My tears from earlier weren’t related to any of that. Why do men always assume women cry over them? What a waste of tears.”
I was crying over my loss of freedom and a dream of a different life.
Or maybe I was sobbing because I’m a weak soul who wants to buck the system but is too afraid to do so.
I can talk a damn good game, but when push comes to shove, I always fall into line and allow my father to dictate how my life will be.
It angers me that I can’t stand up for myself and tell him to fuck off.
So, I cried like a sad little girl instead.
When I look up, I realize we’re back at our cottages. “Thank you for walking me home. It was—”
My words are lost as Darius’s kiss silences me. It’s all-consuming, and it confuses me.
One kiss and everything I thought I knew goes up in flames.
He tastes of lust and liquor, and both are messing with my head. His short, bristly beard, a sandpaper caress against my skin, is the final push I need to cross the point of no return. I want to drag him closer, while at the same time I want to shove him away.
How can a man ruin a woman’s entire life with one simple, devouring kiss? And when it’s a man, I want nothing to do with, it makes it so much more devastating.
“Goodnight, cupcake,” he breathes against my lips, the words a low murmur before he roughly spins me and pushes me inside my room, the door slamming shut behind me.
I spin to face the wooden door, dazed. I can still taste him, feel his warm lips against mine.
What the fuck just happened?