Chapter 27
Although Will sat over his plans with pencil and ruler, part of his mind remained fixed on Elodie.
Her voice drifted toward him, too far away for him to make out a word.
She might have been another ghost of the house, haunting the corridors with her voice, plaguing every dream, claiming the last remnants of his sanity.
Will was fairly certain that this time, Elodie was the one avoiding him.
He ate breakfast alone beneath Hedgefort’s watchful eye while her tea went cold.
The only time he saw her was when she walked guests through the townhouse and allowed them a glimpse into the ballroom—and of Will.
He ignored the fact that every day, he dressed himself up for those few minutes like a foolish bird.
He had even considered arranging to meet Mr. Arcos, if only so he could spend a few hours being irritated by someone else.
From the entrance hall, he heard Elodie bid farewell to that day’s guests with charming laughter.
Silence fell the moment the gate closed.
Will held his breath, never lifting his head from his work, yet waiting for the soft click of her heels over the stone floor.
He was not disappointed. A moment later, Elodie entered the conservatory with a deep sigh.
Drizzle pattered against the glass behind him, and memory summoned the Elodie of that first morning—so lovely and sensual that her mere presence had enthralled him forever. And now he knew how her cunt tasted, knew the sweet sounds she made when she came. How could he ever forget?
This was a mistake.
“Forgive me that my guests treat you like a zoo animal.”
From the corner of his eye, he watched her cross the room and gave a vague hum of acknowledgment.
Even so, he returned to his work. Since the full-moon ball, more visitors came every day, some under thin pretenses and others brazenly admitting they wanted to see Will.
Most did not dare interrupt him while he worked.
They merely watched from the edge of the construction site when he worked in the depths of the demolished ballroom.
Others asked him the most absurd questions about life in the Capitol.
Can you truly fly? Can you touch the sky from the tops of your towers?
Is it true that people in the Capitol cannot use magic?
Has your queen ever considered marrying our king?
Are your houses truly made of gold? Do angels really hold your skyscrapers upright?
“Once again, you are apologizing for something you arranged yourself.”
Elodie laughed softly, strolled over, and leaned one hip against the desk—the same hip into which he had dug his hands four nights ago.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the line of her tightly cinched waist, hidden beneath heavy velvet.
Slender hands with long, manicured nails picked up his notebook and leafed idly through the pages.
Sometimes she paused, tracing his handwriting with her fingertips.
“Can I not be sorry and still do what is necessary?” she asked.
Will remained silent and continued drawing. The subfloor was to be installed soon, and the workers wanted the final design for the elaborate marble mosaic.
“You are still angry with me.” Elodie sighed and closed the notebook.
“You are the one avoiding me.” Will picked up his compass, his voice carefully indifferent.
“I have been busy.”
Will hummed.
“I told you that situations like that must be avoided in the future.” Elodie planted her hands on her hips.
“Quite right. One of the ancestral portraits might see something.” Of course. Now that Will had finally conformed to society’s expectations and desired a woman for the first time, that was wrong as well.
“What can I do to make you forgive even one of my many mistakes?”
Now Will looked up, and a wicked smile curled his lips. He was tired of being a plaything in Bloodgrove’s chaos, and Elodie was the perfect place to begin putting things in order.
Deliberately, he set his pencil aside, leaned back, and folded his hands. His mind leaped far too eagerly toward all manner of entirely inappropriate things, and greedily sought to exploit the situation.
But he could not allow that.
“Apparently, I am one of your mistakes.”
She smiled sadly. “I want us to put all our quarrels behind us at last. I want you to accept my apology.”
Will sighed. He did not deceive himself—he had forgiven her long ago. But he enjoyed the game. His gaze wandered idly over her black-clad figure in the rain-dimmed light. Her pale skin seemed almost luminous against her hair and high-necked velvet dress.
“Come here.”
Elodie’s eyebrows shot up, and she studied him across the desk.
He waited patiently.
Perhaps she saw something of the depraved fantasies unfolding behind his calm expression, because pink rose into her cheeks.
But she obeyed and slowly walked around the desk.
Only then did he notice the black beads climbing her skirt from the hem like twisting vines, lending the fabric a languid weight.
Will rolled his chair back slightly to make space for her between himself and the desk. His pulse was already pounding through his veins, making the world seem a shade brighter. At the same time, everything else fell away as every fiber of his being focused on the woman before him.
The misting rain deepened into heavy October drops, beating steadily against the glass.
Elodie stepped between his knees and leaned back against the desk.
Her fingers closed around its edge as though she could anchor herself there—or hold herself back.
Her chest rose quickly above the stiff bodice, and her lips glistened where she had licked them.
“Will,” she said, attempting to sound teasing and faintly reproachful. But her dilated pupils and the deepening flush in her cheeks betrayed her. “Whatever you are planning, you know my limits.”
“Are you telling me that because you permit everything else, or because you want me to stop?” he asked.
She meant to laugh, but the sound died, caught by the possibility. She studied him sharply, her expression not quite a smile. “What are you trying to accomplish? Do you mean to prove that I need to make mistakes? That this part of me—”
“Sit on the desk and gather up your skirts.”
The playful smile vanished from his lips, and another side of him emerged, cool and deep, strong as the current of the sea.
It had taken years for him to find his confidence, to stand by what he wanted, and he was tired of being driven back into the uncertainty of his youth—by Bloodgrove, by Mr. Arcos, by his own magic, and above all by Elodie.
Elodie hesitated, her lips pressed together.
He watched her struggle, watched obedience and surrender clash with everything in her nature.
But then she slid onto the desk, over his plans and drawings.
The thin paper wrinkled and tore, but he did not care.
He could redraw them. Elodie’s face, so helplessly swept up in the pull of his command, was worth the lost hours of work.
Her fingers trembled slightly with excitement as she lifted the fabric, first revealing her leather slippers, then her stockinged thighs, and finally the clasps and ribbons holding them in place, where soft, warm flesh swelled over the tops.
He loved that small strip of bare thigh, spilling over like a breast above a corset.
Everything inside him wanted to touch the silky skin there, but he forced himself to remain seated and explore her only with his eyes.
A woman’s legs were so different from a man’s wiry, angular thighs, with their firm skin and dense hair.
Everything about Elodie was profoundly feminine, foreign and new, yet strangely familiar.
He wanted to discover every way she differed, where she liked to be touched, where she twitched and giggled beneath a caress.
The cloud of fabric was too great for her to lift the skirts entirely from her thighs and reveal the most intimate part of herself.
“Spread your legs for me.” Gods, his voice was rough. Would she give him the same assessing stare she had during the examination?
Elodie licked her lips.
“Put your feet on the desk. Open wide.”
“But—” Elodie objected before she could stop herself. She bit her lip. “Sir…”
“Will.”
She obeyed. She shifted backward, drew up her legs, and set her feet along the edge, wide apart as he had ordered. To keep from falling, she braced herself behind her, making the pose seem even more like an offering.
A sacrificial lamb on the altar.
The lace of her petticoat and the embroidered toplayer, its beads clicking softly against the wood, now fell fully away. Her airy silk panties tried to conceal her, but the loose material slipped aside, giving Will a glimpse of dark curls and pink skin.
For several moments, which must have felt like an eternity to Elodie, he remained seated and savored the sight of her, that promise where the panties had darkened and betrayed her like a traitor.
Will was no longer the boy who chased every scrap of affection, who could bring himself to release with a few hurried, overpracticed strokes and nearly spill into his trousers at the first thought of sex.
Now he preferred slow games, where anticipation, control, restraint, and denial fed desire until it descended upon him like a beast.
But rarely had it been as tempting as this, with Elodie.
Never had he ached for someone so long that denying himself became torture.
Will’s gaze flicked over her shoulder toward the open door, and for one second he imagined Mr. Arcos standing there, imagined the entire chemistry of the room rearranging itself.
Imagined the man stripping him of all power with one curt Sit, pup, forcing Will down at his feet to admire him like one of his dogs.