17
Camilla White
E xcitement and fear are still coursing through my veins—ever since yesterday.
The duke decided to eat in his office last night. For once, it was not me avoiding someone else, and from how grim his face looked, I was thankful.
Today was no different. He has been cooped inside that office for almost twenty-four hours, and every time I knock and announce myself, I am met with utter silence. From the looks of it, tonight won’t be any different.
However, this is not healthy. Maybe I should talk to him?
Explain it was just innocent small talk and hope it makes a difference.
A pair of dark mahogany doors separates me from him. It’s surreal how physically, only a small distance often separates the both of us. And sometimes, like a few nights ago, it was none. We were completely lost in each other, forgetting that there is a real word past these four walls.
Then, I felt closer to him than I’ve ever felt with someone else in my life, including Aunt Lizzie or my mother. So, it is a tough fall from La-la-land when I realise it doesn’t matter how close we are physically or emotionally…we will never be close—not fully and especially not in the way my soul yearns to be.
Vincent and I are not part of the same background. To be honest, it’s like we’re worlds apart—such distance that it feels like he is the sun and I’m Pluto. Too far away and too small to be warmed by it.
Grasping the tiny bit of bravery I can muster, I knock on the door, hoping this time around, he’ll tell me to come in.
As expected, there’s a long, deafening silence followed by a loud crashing sound that startles me. Lastly, I hear a door slamming shut, and without thinking much of it, I silently twist the knob and peek inside.
I gasp at the sight before me. The little corner that is usually neatly organised with different bottles and crystal glasses is completely trashed. The little wheeled trail is horizontal, with several shards and liquids covering the floor.
This can’t be over me talking to a co-worker. Something else must be bothering him…
“What the hell is this man thinking?” I curse, zoning in on the shards and walking towards them, hoping he has retreated to his bedroom to sleep.
Determined to clean his mess, I grab the dustbin and start tossing the broken crystal and glass pieces inside it. Thankfully, most of them are big, making it easier for me to clean most of it quickly.
“With a good mopping, most of the shards should be gone,” I mutter to myself.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Vincent’s loud and growly voice sounds, startling me.
My body jumps with the scare, and my hand tightens around the glass I was holding, cutting through my palm.
“Ouch,” I hiss in pain.
Throwing the glass into the dustbin with a little more force than needed, I raise my hand to make sure it’s not too deep. Yes, I am also ignoring the duke on purpose.
“I asked you a question, Camilla! Do not ignore me,” he warns.
Is he always this self-centred?
What a wanker!
I do not have the patience for this.
Standing, I answer, bold and just as aggressive as he was, “I was cleaning the results of your nasty temper.”
My hand is hidden behind my back as I look straight into his eyes in defiance.
“I didn’t call someone to clean it, and I sure as hell didn’t say you could come in!”
What an ungrateful ...
If this is the kind of person he transforms into whenever he’s off his trolley, I sure as hell won’t put up with it.
“Fine,” I huff.
Tightening my fists, I bend to grab the dustbin and push it forcefully to his chest.
“Then keep being an arsehole alone, but please, clean after yourself,” I grumble, letting go of it as soon as he grabs it.
“What’s that?” he questions, frowning at the dustbin.
My eyes follow their direction and widen when I notice the red stain on the white plastic surrounding the grey metal.
Ignoring him, I sidestep him, hoping to walk to the doorway, but he grabs my arm, preventing me from going any further. Looking over my shoulder but keeping my eyes on his hand, I grit out, “It’s late, and I’d like to retreat to my chambers.”
“Did you cut yourself?” He frowns, placing the bin on his desk but never letting go of my arm.
“No,” I answer, trying to free myself of his hold, but to no avail.
“Are you lying to me?” He quirks an eyebrow before proceeding to inspect my arm and hand - the unscathed side.
I’ve had enough!
“I’m fucking fine,” I blurt out.
His mouth opens in surprise, and I take advantage of that to free myself of his hold and finally reach the door.
Just as I twist the doorknob to open it, he slams it shut, startling me.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” He narrows his eyes, his bulky body bent over mine in an intimidating way.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I snap.
On any other day, I wouldn’t have done this, but this is ridiculous. He can be angry for whatever reason he wants, but that does not give him the right to treat other people like they’re a nuisance in his shoe.
“Your shitty mood does not give you the right to treat me this way!”
“May I remind you that you entered my office uninvited? Outside working hours?” Vincent brings his face closer to mine again, even though his stance is no longer as intimidating as it was moments ago.
“Oh, we’re respecting working hours now, Your Grace? You didn’t seem to remember that when you barged into my bedroom just a few nights ago!”
“Camilla,” he warns, getting annoyed again. I swear this man has mood swings faster than Obikwelo. “If I didn’t answer the damn door when you knocked, that meant something.”
“And why is that? Huh?” I poke him in the chest harshly. “What happened in these last two days to cross you to the point you’re inside these four walls all the time, not to mention, going around destroying everything around you?”
There’s a fire burning in his chocolate orbs, and the way his jaw clicks lets me know I am pressing the wound. Hopefully, he’ll let me know what’s bothering him. But just when I think he will give in and open up, he turns around, giving his back to me.
“Leave,” he orders.
The tension that was building until now deflates, and my body does, too. This is pointless.
“I knew this was a mistake,” I start. “Blurring the lines the way we did will only make life harder for us. If you’re going to treat me this badly every time you’re angry about god knows what, then you don’t know the type of woman I am at all. I don’t put up with this.”
“Of course,” he chuckles sarcastically. “That’ll leave you free to put up with Karl’s shit instead, right?”
I freeze.
“What?” I whisper.
“You heard me!”
“Do not tell me you’ve been cooped up in here, avoiding me and destroying your office over five minutes of small talk with a co-worker.”
“Small talk?” he scoffs. “It sure as hell seemed like more than just small talk!”
“Did you listen to the conversation? Were you right there to know what we were talking about? Or do you think I am lying to you?”
“He was too close to you.” He stalks back to me, his face red with anger all over again. “He could have made the small talk from a decent distance. And why did you crouch down right in front of him, huh?”
“Are you going to turn into the Hulk every time a man looks at me or talks to me, Duke of Hawthorne? Because that seems like a whole lot of possessiveness for someone who just wants sex!”
His head swivels back as if he was just slapped in the face, and for a moment there, it looks like I’ve hurt him. But it hurts me, too. This man has asked of me something I never gave anyone else.
Sex is intimacy and connection. I am giving him a part of myself, knowing there’s nothing more than that to us. He will soon find a suitable fiancé and forget all about me. He knows that, too, and yet, he’s still demanding more and more.
All he does is take. And take. And he’s not even worried about the consequences…
“You know I don’t share,” he grits.
“Don’t be daft, Vincent. Sharing? What am I, a piece of candy? I wouldn’t expect you to have me in high regard. I am not blue-blooded after all, but…thinking that low of me. That I’d just give it to every man that gives me five minutes of attention?” I tsk in the end, hurt by the underlying accusations in his words.
I know damn right he’s just being rash and impulsive, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
Straightening my back and steeling my stance, bringing the wall between us back up, I add, “Good evening, Your Grace.”
He doesn’t put up a fight this time around. He doesn’t even answer, and I take it as my cue to just leave the office as fast as possible, rushing to my bedroom. My hand is now barely even bleeding, with the right red staining it turning dark from drying.
Treating the wound, feeding Primrose, and going to bed are my priority now. I need alone time.
Even if a part of me wants him to come after me and apologise, the other needs space. Time.
And I also know it’s only wishful thinking…The Duke of Hawthorne bows to no one but the king. Why would he come after an insignificant girl like myself?
If he thinks so low of me, why even convince me to accept this deal?
This deal is over. It was a bad decision. No . An awful decision.
Let’s hope things can go back to the way they were in the beginning: professional.
Primrose is already waiting for me to take her for the last walk of the day, eager to stretch her tiny legs and take a quick pee.
In the bathroom adjacent to my chambers, I tend to the cut on my hand, disinfecting it and putting a large band-aid over it.
Since I need a breather as well, I take her through the kitchen to the small orchard separating the service area from the main gardens and let her loose while I drown in my thoughts.
I was stupid and na?ve to fall for the duke’s charm. To think we’d be capable of separating work with whatever these feelings—and this desire—are.
The last thing I want—or need—is to be worried about what’s going on between us and how I can fix– Woof! Woof!
Primrose stalks my way with a strong bark, the kind that usually warns me of a presence nearby.
Sure enough, there’s some rustling from inside behind the kitchen door, and just a few moments later, a familiar, tall, and bulky figure appears, standing by the porch.
“Camilla,” the duke’s voice rings out, much calmer than before. “I owe you an apology.”
“I don’t want it,” I admit honestly. “I don’t want an apology from a person that has me in such low regard.” It’s quite an effort not to let my voice waver, but I manage. I think?
“That’s not what I—”
“Your Grace,” I cut him off. “It’s best if we stop whatever it is between us and just keep it professional. It’s been proven we can’t keep things separate at all, so let’s save it while we can.”
Vincent opens his mouth to counter, but I raise my hand, cutting him off. I’m not finished.
He crosses his arms over his chest instead, quirking an eyebrow at me and letting me continue.
“I am the housekeeper. I’m bound to be in contact with every single worker on this property, even visitors such as your brother. I will not refrain from speaking with people or being nice or kind by being afraid of your reaction, especially if this isn’t even a committed relationship.”
“I know I mucked it up, but we can’t go back to before.”
Taking a few tentative steps towards me, he visibly relaxes a little when I don’t move away.
“If it was hard to control myself before. I surely won’t be able to now…” His huge hand reaches my face, and his fingers bring a piece of my hair behind my ear, his eyes intensely focused on mine.
It’s a small gesture, but it’s comforting, and all of the anger I felt before has now vanished into thin air.
Then, he leans forward, his lips dangerously close to my ear before his husky voice whispers, “Not after I know how good you taste.”
His signature scent fills my nostrils, and as his taut torso touches my chest, my legs tremble. He’s intoxicating. This is not fair play; he knows how much he affects me, and he’s playing it against me.
“Vincent,” I plead, pressing my hands against his pecks, wanting to push him away for a breather, but it only makes him press against my palms more, bringing our bodies closer together.
We’re outside, and the air is chilly, but all I can feel is the heat radiating off of his body onto mine.
“You can’t resist me either.” One of his hands covers mine on his chest, the one that has the band-aid. “You can deny it out loud as much as you want, but we’re on the same boat here. We’re burning for each other.”
His face lowers, coming closer and bumping his nose with mine. I automatically close my eyes, revelling in the feeling of him and his closeness, not even bothering about the location and lack of privacy around us.
I tilt my chin up, having already forgotten about my decision to stay away from him, thinking about the feel of his soft lips on mine. When his grip on my hand tightens a little, I lean away from him and hiss in pain.
His eyebrows furrow in confusion and he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I answer.
“You cut yourself up there, didn’t you? Why are you so stubborn?” He is scolding me; I can see it in his eyes, but his voice says the opposite with the soft whispering.
“Because you angered me,” I counter. “I can take care of myself.”
Instead of letting me go, he holds me tighter, resting his forehead on mine. “I am sorry, little Milla ,” he whispers again, this time around with his eyes shut.
I enjoy it for just a second before freeing myself of his hold. The light pain in my hand has cleared my brain of the fog his proximity has caused.
“Regardless of how I feel around you, I still think it’s best to keep things strictly professional from now on, Your Grace,” I inform him.
He remains speechless as I retreat to the kitchen and head to my bedroom in agonising silence, alone.