I wake up tangledin my sheets, sweaty and aching and so hard it’s bordering on painful. I dreamed of Caterine; how could I not? The feel of her soft skin under my hands, her sharp intake of breath when I pulled her into my embrace. The knowing in her eyes when I hinted at why I might need her in the future, and the way she accepted it without pushing for more.
I wrap my hand around my cock. It only takes a few strokes and the thought of her perched naked on the edge of the bed before the orgasm overtakes me. I come hard and quick, Caterine’s eyes, the curves of her breasts, the smooth line of her hips, in my head.
A knock on my door interrupts the lingering images of her. I hastily cover myself with the sheets. “Give me a minute!”
Once it becomes clear that whoever my visitor is plans to stay behind the door until I give permission, I spring from the bed, throwing on the first items of clothing I can find—an old cotton shirt and pants that have seen better days.
I find my uncle on the other side, and for once, he doesn’t seem overly concerned with my wardrobe.
He raises a single eyebrow. “May I come in?”
I half-heartedly attempt to tuck in my shirt, gesturing for him to enter. “Of course.”
He sits in one of the armchairs before the fire and I sink into the seat across from him, running a hand through my hair so it doesn’t look like I just woke up. Alex has likely been up for hours, doing something productive, while I’ve been up in bed, fantasizing about a woman who has no place occupying my mind the way she has.
Alex leans forward, placing a leather-bound notebook on the table between us. “I know our last conversation got more heated than either of us would have liked.”
I nod, acknowledging the sentiment, but not willing to apologize for it.
“I know what Dom has planned for you, Cal, and I know why you are resistant to it. Just like I know that you must become the candidate who represents the Scotan province.”
I am not surprised my sister confided in Alex. I’m more surprised by his faith in me. “Even after everything I said about the Gifted, you still believe that to be true?”
“I do.” He laces his fingers together. “Not because I agree with you on the matter but because I think you will have an open heart and an open mind when it is needed most.”
“I do not see how my opinions will change, Uncle.” Even as I say the words, I know they ring false. Lady Caterine has already managed to break me down, to sway me.
Alex nudges the book to my side of the table. “This belonged to your mother.”
I take the book, my curiosity too strong to feign indifference. I open the emerald-green cover and find pages and pages of herhandwriting, neat and precise, swirling with loops and flourishes that are at once fanciful and practical. “I do not see how Mother’s diary is going to change anything.”
“It’s not her diary.” Alex sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair. The motion is a mirror image of my earlier one, a sign of his frustration with me. Perhaps it’s a genetic tic. “Your mother wrote many articles for theScotan Heraldwhile she was alive.”
I nod, flipping through the pages, not reading any of the words, too transfixed on the idea of her hands touching the paper, leaving her mark for us. I remember Mother penning opinion pieces for the paper, though I was too young to ever read them when they were published.
“Your mother had strong opinions about the way the Gifted were treated, are treated, and she made those opinions known.”
For a second, I want to believe that my opinions are being reinforced by my mother’s beliefs, but then one of her headlines catches my eye.It is well beyond time to reinstate the full rights and privileges of the Gifted citizens of Scota.
“When she died, she was fighting for their rights, if not across all of Avon, then at least here in Scota.”
I raise my eyes from the damning words, meeting my uncle’s gaze. “And that still wasn’t enough to save her. She went out of her way to fight for the Gifted, and they couldn’t be bothered to do the same for her.” If Alex thinks this is the way to sway me to his side, he is sorely mistaken.
He shakes his head sadly. “I had a feeling you might say that.” He pushes back his chair and stands. “I’ll stop trying to convince you that all should not suffer for the sins of an individual.”
I start to hand him back the book.
“Keep it. Maybe your mother can get through to you.” He slams the door of my suite behind him as he leaves.
His disappointment stings, but it’s becoming a familiar sensation. I seem to be letting down everyone in my family lately.
I toss the book to the side, heading for my bathing chamber to wash up. I don’t have plans to see Lady Caterine for several more hours, so I dress casually, but in clean clothes at least.
I vow to not give the book another thought, having no need to read the words my mother wrote in good faith, only to be betrayed by the very people she was defending.
But it calls to me, from the minute I step back into the sitting area.
My mother wrote in this book, filled it with her thoughts and opinions, in her own hand. I’ll never again get to hear her speak to me, but I have her words, thoughts she might have discussed with me had she been able to watch me grow older.
