Chapter One #3
I do my best to smile and nod while real-life concerns start crowding my mind.
It’s finally beginning to sink on me that Lady Hampton isn’t the only person I’m technically working for.
Her only son obviously has veto power as well on whether I get to continue working or not, and here I am, looking like I’ve been crying on a plane for four hours.
Which, unfortunately, was also the truth.
The car drives to a smooth stop, and my heart threatens to gallop out of my chest.
It’s fine. You’re going to be fine. You’ve got this.
The driver opens Lady Hampton’s door first, then comes around to mine, and I’m stepping out onto gravel, and the house is even more impressive up close, and—
Whoa.
There’s someone waiting for us at the top of the stairs, and even though it’s my first time to see him, I know exactly who he is right away.
He’s tall—really tall, maybe six-two?—with dark hair that’s slightly too long, like he can’t be bothered with regular haircuts, and blue eyes that I can see even from here, and a face that’s so perfect it’s almost unreal.
Think sharp jaw and high cheekbones, the kind of bone structure that makes you think of princes in fairy tales, except princes in fairy tales don’t usually look like they could destroy you with a glance.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a navy sweater, casual but expensive, and his hands are in his pockets, and he’s looking at the car with an expression that I can’t quite read.
Bored? Amused? Resigned?
Lady Hampton is already heading up the stairs, and I’m scrambling to follow her because I cannot be the person who stands frozen in the driveway staring at her employer’s stupidly attractive son, I cannot—
“Darling,” Lady Hampton says out loud as she reaches him, and he bends down to kiss her cheek.
“Mother.” His voice is deep and smooth and has that British accent that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is. “Good flight?”
‘Wonderful.’ She turns to me and switches back to signing. ‘This is Evianne. Evianne, my son, Virgil Hampton, the Duke of Veilcourt.’
I’m halfway up the stairs now, and he’s looking at me, really looking at me, and I’m suddenly very aware that I probably have mascara smudges and my hair is definitely a mess and—
Professional. Be professional.
“Your Grace,” I manage, and my voice comes out steadier than I expected. “It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for hosting me.”
I offer my hand because that’s what you do, right?
You shake hands with dukes?
Do you shake hands with dukes?
What if you’re supposed to curtsy?
He looks at my hand for a moment—just a moment—before taking it.
His grip is firm. Warm. And he holds my hand just a fraction of a second longer than necessary before letting go.
“Miss Evianne,” he says, and the way he says my name makes me feel like he’s tasting it, testing it. “Welcome to Foxtown.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
His lips quirk slightly, like I’ve said something amusing, and—
“Veil prefers less formality,” Lady Hampton signs to me. “Just Veil is fine.”
I look at him. He’s still watching me with that unreadable expression.
“Veil,” I try, and it feels too intimate, too familiar, but he nods slightly, and—
The driver appears with our luggage, and Lady Hampton is signing something to her son that I’m too far away to catch, and Veil is responding verbally, and I’m just standing here on the stairs trying not to think about how this man is probably the most attractive person I’ve ever seen in real life.
Not helpful, Evianne.
Also, you just broke up with your fiancé approximately six hours ago.
Actually, you didn’t break up with him, you just caught him cheating and haven’t told him yet.
So technically you’re still en—
“Miss Evianne?”
I snap back to attention. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you needed help with your bag.” He gestures to my carry-on, which the driver has set at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh! No, I can—” I start to say, already moving to grab it, but Veil is faster.
He picks it up effortlessly, slinging it over his shoulder, and—
“I’ll show you to your room,” he says. “Mother needs to make some calls.”
Lady Hampton is already disappearing into the house with her phone out, and I’m left standing there with the duke, and this is fine, this is totally fine, I’m a professional adult who can absolutely handle being alone with an attractive duke without making it weird.
“Shall we?” Veil gestures toward the door, and I follow him inside, and—
Wow.
The interior is beautiful. High ceilings. Crown molding. Artwork that probably costs more than I’ll make in my entire life. It’s elegant but not stuffy, lived-in but immaculate. I’m starting to understand why Lady Hampton says this place feels like a home.
“Has my mother explained what you’ll be working on?” Veil asks as we climb a sweeping staircase.
“Yes, Your—” I catch myself. “Veil. Yes.”
“Then you’ve probably noticed how excited she is about it?”
I nod. “I read about how it all started when your father bought a vintage Waterman pen from a street vendor during your parents’ honeymoon in Paris.”
Veil stops walking and turns to look at me, and I nearly run into him because I wasn’t expecting the sudden stop. “You did your homework,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s impressed or just surprised.
I’m not sure how to answer that. Aren’t we all supposed to do our research before accepting a job offer?
But anyway...
I don’t think he’s interested to hear what I have to say since we’re moving again, with the duke leading me down a hallway lined with more expensive artwork.
We stop in front of a door, and he opens it, stepping aside to let me enter first. As expected, the room is just like the rest of the place.
Beautiful and elegant and charmingly classic: a four-poster bed with cream linens and a sitting area with a fireplace, an en-suite bathroom visible through an open door, and windows that look out over what I assume are the estate grounds.
“This is too much,” I hear myself say.
Veil sets my carry-on down near the door. “It’s the smallest guest room we have.”
Oh. Okay. I guess that puts me in my place?
“Mother said you had a difficult day.”
Since I didn’t see her signing that earlier, does that mean she texted him while we were still on the plane?
“I—yes. But I’m fine. Ready to work.”
Those blue eyes study me again, and I have the uncomfortable feeling that he can see right through my professional mask to the mess underneath.
“I’m glad to hear that.” The way he says it is almost mocking, but once again, I have no chance of replying. He just gives me a clipped nod right after, and then he’s gone, the door closing behind him while I’m left standing in this beautiful room wondering what just happened.
Does the duke think I’m going to throw myself at him?
He does, isn’t he?
But then...
Lady Hampton did say it’s what all her former assistants have apparently done so can I really blame him for being suspicious of me?
I sink down onto the edge of the bed and pull out my phone.
Seven missed calls from Joseph.
Twelve text messages.
I turn my phone off and set it on the nightstand. Then I pull Joseph’s ring out of my pocket and set it next to the phone.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what to do with both of them.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to tell Joseph I know.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to survive working in close proximity to the Duke of Veilcourt without making a complete fool of myself.
But tonight?
Tonight, I’m going to take a shower.
And try not to cry.
And definitely, absolutely, under no circumstances think about how blue Veil’s eyes are.
Note to self: breathing while in proximity to attractive dukes is important.
****
VEIL’S MOOD WAS CONTEMPLATIVE as he descended the stairs.
His mother’s new assistant was...interesting.
He had been expecting the usual, to be honest. Giggles and blushes and “accidental” touches.
Manufactured opportunities to be alone with him.
Breathless questions about what it’s like being a duke.
The same tired performance he’d sat through a dozen times with his mother’s previous assistants.
But Evianne had barely looked at him.
Oh, she’d been polite. Professional. Shaken his hand with exactly the right amount of firmness.
And then she’d looked away like he was a piece of furniture.
Like he wasn’t the Duke of Veilcourt with a fortune that made most people’s eyes glaze over with calculations.
Like she genuinely didn’t care.
Geena glanced up when her son rejoined her in the drawing room, and the expression darkening his features was telling. She waited for him to look at her before smiling in amusement as she signed, ‘She’s not into you, son.’
‘I didn’t say she was.’
‘You didn’t have to. I know that look.’
‘What look?’
‘The one that says you’re already planning how to prove me wrong.’
Veil smiled. His mother knew him too well indeed.
‘She’s had a difficult day,’ Geena continued, her expression softening. ‘Be kind to her.’
‘I’m always kind.’
His mother gave him a look that clearly said ‘liar’, and Veil had to concede the point.
He wasn’t unkind. But he wasn’t...soft. Not anymore. Not since he’d learned exactly what people wanted from him and how far they’d go to get it.
‘You said she had a difficult day...’
Geena shook her head at Veil’s question. ‘That’s her story to tell, not mine. But truly...just try to be kind to her.’
‘You wound me, Mother.’
Geena rolled her eyes. That would be the day. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
With his mother gone, the duke was left once again with his thoughts, and he was disconcerted to find his mind drifting back to Evianne.
He found himself recalling how her hands had been shaking when she’d greeted him even though her voice had been perfectly steady.
And how the shadows under her eyes suggested she’d been crying recently.
But most of all...
Veil remembered how she had looked at him like she was truly seeing him...and not a bank account, the way most other people did.
Frankly, he couldn’t remember the last time another woman had looked at him like that, and this...put him on guard.
Because he had learned a long time a long time ago that the moment you let someone in, the moment you believed they saw you instead of what you could give them, that’s when they had all the power.
His mother’s new assistant might not be like the other women who had worked for her, but who knew if it was all an act?
There was only one way to find out, and his lips slowly curved as he contemplated his next move.