In short, it is one of the places where I have truly allowed myself to enjoy my wealth, not just wield it.
And Alfred looks so very handsome sitting in it.
He is on one of the couches, staring out the window at the scenery that goes by.
I sit near him on an armchair and have a perfect view of his pretty face.
Out the window, his gaze is serious. I know he was surprised by the appearance of those two young women. I can’t blame him for that. I have no connection to the respectable world, and I told him so. But I didn’t make clear that there are plenty of people who do not care about respectability and who earnestly admire and covet what I have built. It is amusing how little interest he has in my business. There are men who would want to marry me for my counting house alone. But Alfred seems to have thought of the place and its profits as little as any man could in his position.
“Just so you know,” I say softly. “Frank Holster isn’t an eighth of the lover you are.”
His eyes snap to mine. A faint blush spreads across his cheeks. I clench my thighs.
“Truly?”
“Yes. As I said, I never particularly enjoyed bedding him. I was too young to know what I wanted—and he made no effort to figure out that riddle.”
“Do you still love him?”
It is a question very similar to the one that he asked in the carriage. But it is not the same. The other question was more dangerous—is Frank the only man you have ever loved? Once I might have said yes. Now I don’t know how I could possibly answer in the affirmative. Not to him. I am relieved that hehas changed the scope of his inquiry.
“Of course not,” I say easily. “If I ever did. I certainlythoughtI did once. For a long time, even. But…” I shrug. I can’t go on. I can’t explain how Alfred has made me question everything. How what I felt for Frank is pallid in the face of my feelings for the man sitting with me in my private train car.
“I see.”
He looks distinctly relieved. He even smiles.
“I am sorry. For asking the question. For making you regret having told me the story,” he says. “I was only jealous.”
“You do not need to be jealous of Frank.”
He takes my hand.
“Who do I need to be jealous of?”
He looks up at me then. His green eyes are dark and serious.
I think of all the responses I could give. The mysterious, the evasive, the glib.My businessI could say if I wanted to seem cold.Your cockif I wanted to remind him of his supposed utility to me.I will tell you when you should be concernedI could say if I wanted to appear indifferent to our future.
But I can’t say any of those things.
Not to Alfred.
So instead I say the truth.
“No one.”
He gives a low growl of approval.
And then he kisses me.
I kiss him back, rising and pushing him back on the couch. I am on top of him and he is hard beneath me. Yes, I wantthis, I wanthim,right now.
I slither my hands down his body and stroke his cock.
“Christ, Annabelle,” he says, as if the boldness of my touch still surprises him.
My drawers, thankfully, are crotchless. I can ride him right here.
