Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
He had my hand and was pulling me out of my chair.
He was also being funny.
A new thing for the duke.
And I liked it.
Damn.
“I need to freshen up,” I told him.
He stopped when he had me on my feet and studied me. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been out in the studio all day. I need to floof my hair and refresh my makeup.”
“Floof your hair?”
“You make it sound stupid,” I groused. “Women need to floof before dinner.”
“Your hair is arguably your best asset, after your ass and those fucking freckles on your nose. Also, your eyes. And of course your mouth.”
I stared up at him, stunned.
“Though, oftentimes, not when you’re using it to speak,” he continued.
I glared up at him, annoyed.
“In other words, you look beautiful. So fuck the floofing and come have a drink with me.”
Who could turn down that kind of offer?
Apparently, not me.
(I will point out, he told me I looked beautiful…mm.)
“Oh, all right.”
“Ah, the dulcet acceptance of the fair maiden,” he said as he led me to the door with his hand in mine.
“God, you can be super annoying sometimes,” I bitched.
He decided, probably wisely, not to respond.
“Where’s Bartholomew?” I asked.
“Last time I saw him, he’d made his way up to the attics to keep company with Prue, and then promptly took a nap.”
I laughed.
Then I shared, “Baby Blue spent the night with me last night.”
“I’d wondered where she’d gone,” he murmured.
“She’s a bed hog.”
“She is that,” he agreed.
Okay, now was the time to get into the whole What’s with All the Heavy Flirting, Your Grace? chat.
I did not.
We made the plum parlor, and I challenged him with making me a Mary Pickford.
He bested it with ease.
Clearly, he’d learned at the hand of a master.
This gave indication he was (almost) perfect in every way.
Drat the man.
CHAPTER 11
THE EVISCERATION
It happened after dinner.
We were in the games room, and I was losing a significant amount of the huge pile of cashews I started with because I sucked so bad at poker.
Chastity, Courtney and Prue were curled up in yet another seating area by a fireplace, the fire lit, having a quiet gab.
So it was Battle, Tempie, Rally, Chelsea and me playing.
“Wait. Tell me again, is a full house better than a straight?” I asked the table.
See?
I was bad.
Battle turned twinkling-with-humor eyes to me as Tempie smiled deviously, and Rally started chuckling.
“It distresses me to put a damper on your enthusiasm for the game, but you’re terrible at this, darling,” Battle purred.
I felt that “darling” in his tone of voice with those twinkling brown eyes in my throat, my chest, my belly, regions south and maybe even down to my soul.
I held his gaze, thrown completely off balance in the best possible way.
I forced myself to speak. “I’ll be out this hand anyway. I only have three cashews left.”
To this, Battle reached to his massive mound of cashews (a big part of that mass came from my old mass), grabbed a hefty handful and dropped them on mine.
I didn’t know if it was the “darling” or how freewheeling Battle was with his cashews.
Or if it was a culmination of the last couple of days, where it was made clear, sometimes subtly, sometimes rudely, but always constantly, she wasn’t wanted.
Not to mention, Courtney nor Rally were making any pretense that, once this weekend was done, they were done with Chelsea.
Whatever it was, that’s when Chelsea did it.
It started with, “Do you have any family, Vivienne?”
This came so out of the blue, and, let’s face it, Battle and I were having a moment, I was liking that moment, so her horning in on it wasn’t my favorite thing.
I turned to her. “Yes, why?”
“What do they do?”
“My sister is a mechanical engineer. She works in the healthcare sector.”
“Impressive,” Rally remarked.
When I spoke no more, Chelsea asked, “Is that all?”
“Well, her husband is a nurse practitioner. And they have two kids, a boy and girl. They don’t have jobs, though, since they’re two and four.”
For whatever her purposes, Chelsea kept at me. “No more?”
What was she driving at?
“No. No more.”
“Just a sister?”
“Yes,” I said sharply. “Seeing as my mother died not long ago after losing a fight with cancer.”
A dead weight fell on the whole room.
“And my father died in a car accident, hit by a drunk driver when I was four,” I continued. “Three of my grandparents are still alive, but they’re all retired so they don’t do anything. However, after Dad died, Mom’s parents took us in. We lived with them until we went to college. So part of what they did was help keep us afloat, fed and happy.”
“What’s going on?” Prue called from the seating area, feeling the vibe.
“Nothing,” I called back and dropped my cards. “I think I’m out.”
“What was your point?” Rally demanded of Chelsea.
“I just wondered, since she’s here for so long, if anyone at home might be missing her,” Chelsea explained.