Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
My daughter is just making up a story to protect someone guilty. I’ll have to teach her not to be so soft. I glare at Aubrey, raising my hand again, readying to strike. “Don’t be ridiculous.” On my lap, the girl shifts against my thighs, but I keep a tight grip on her wrists.
Aubrey comes forward, wringing her hands. “Daddy, please let her go. You’re making a terrible mistake.”
“Am I? If she’s your friend then what’s her name?”
“Wraye.”
“Wraye who?”
Aubrey looks as if she’s about to cry. “I don’t know, but I promise you she’s my friend. She was at the ball last night, and we got talking about gowns. She was wearing yellow in the old style and was presented to the King. She’s a debutante like me. You must have seen her.”
I lower my hand, trying to remember. There was a young woman in a dated yellow dress…
A muffled voice comes from the bed. “I’m Lady Wraye Rugova, Your Grace, daughter of the late Lord Emmett Rugova.”
Rugova. Lord Emmett Rugova, son of Grantham Rugova. The least important of the First Families. The whole family tree unfurls in my mind, though I don’t remember a daughter. She’s about Aubrey’s age, so she must have been born after the revolution.
I let her go, and she slides from my lap to the floor, with a relieved whimper.
Aubrey hurries forward with her dressing gown and covers up her naked friend. Both their faces are red, and Aubrey is whispering over and over that she’s sorry. After a moment, Lady Wraye stands up, fastening the tie of the robe with shaking hands and glaring at me with hatred.
Angry with me, is she? My eyes slip down her body. A pleasing figure, and thick blonde hair with a slight curl to it. Her face is unadorned with makeup or jewelry. Her amber eyes are large, and she’s extraordinarily pretty. I can still feel her skin beneath my hands. Warm, smooth flesh, like I haven’t touched in decades.
Aubrey stands in front of me and takes a steadying breath. “Daddy, I think you should apologize to Lady—”
“Out.”
“Daddy, apologize, please.”
I stand up and point a finger at the door. “Out. Now. And close the door behind you.”
My daughter hesitates, clearly wanting to refuse. She seems to realize it’s useless to argue, and after giving Lady Wraye one last terrified glance, she hurries out and closes the door.
Now that we’re alone, I want nothing more than to haul Lady Wraye back over my knee and do what I intended in the first place. A severe spanking would wipe that insolent expression from her face.
“I’ll hear that apology now,” she says, lifting her chin.
I take a step toward her, and she jumps back. “Because my daughter is in the house and seems to like you, I’ll keep this short. I owe you nothing, young lady. Though you may not be a thief, you are a sneak.”
“I am not!”
I glare at her with loathing. First, it will be Aubrey’s dresses. Then, it will be Aubrey’s name being dropped all over Paravel. Then she’ll ask Aubrey for favors and introductions. Before I know it, this girl will have her beady eyes on the husband I choose for my daughter, and Aubrey will be left with nothing to show for her friendship but a trampled heart.
“I trust neither you nor your motives for befriending my daughter.”
“I was lonely, and we got to talking. She was nice to me.”
My jaw clenches in fury. Did I not warn Aubrey that Court was a nest of snakes? This pretty little thing before me is only out for herself. “And I suppose that the fact she’s a Levanter had nothing to do with you insinuating your way into a conversation with her?”
“I never insinuated. I can see how this must look, but I swear, I didn’t know she was a Levanter when I met her. Your Grace,” she adds as an afterthought.
I sincerely doubt that. The first thing she did after gaining entrance to this house was to paw through Aubrey’s things. I catch the scent of her: plain soap and something warm and sweet. It twines its way through my senses. My eyes slip down her long, creamy throat.
The memory of her peachy bottom fills my mind. I wonder if she would have cried after I’d given her a going over, and then wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, Sorry, Your Grace, I’ll never do it again. Please, please say you’ll forgive me.
And I would. I might be the Ironclad Archduke, but I always reward penitence. If she can take her punishment.
My brow sinks into a glare as I remember that she’s a manipulative little viper. “If you come near my daughter again, I swear I shall finish what I started here today. You should know just how seriously I take my position at Court.”