His gaze drops to my legs, then snaps back to my face, his expression cool and professional. Like he didn’t outline his marriage-for-money scheme last night while fucking between my thighs.
“About the household arrangements?—”
The door handle rattles.
“Edward?” Blanche’s voice cuts through the wood like a blade dipped in acid. “Are you in there?”
Rochester’s jaw tightens. He jerks his head toward the chair in the corner, and I scramble off the desk like a guilty teenager. My ass hits the seat just as the door swings open.
Blanche glides in wearing a cream silk blouse that probably costs more than most people make in a month. Her eyes sweep the room like a security camera, landing on me with naked suspicion.
“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere,” she says to Rochester, but she’s still staring at me like I’m a cockroach that crawled out of the walls.
“Just reviewing household matters with Miss Burlington.” The lie rolls off his tongue smoother than expensive whiskey.
Blanche’s lips curve in a smile that freezes halfway to her eyes. “How thorough of you. I do hope you’re not overworking our little servant.”
My fingers curl into fists in my lap, but I keep my expression blank. Let her think I’m the help. She’s the one getting scammed.
“Miss Burlington handles her duties admirably,” Rochester says.
Blanche moves closer to his desk, trailing her manicured fingers along its edge like she’s marking territory. “Edward, darling, I simply must show you the sketches the architect emailed for the east wing renovations. They’re in my room.”
Rochester glances at me, his expression flickering with something unreadable. He rises off his seat and walks around the desk. “Of course, my dear.”
Blanche beams at me like she just won the lottery. “Tidy up here while we’re gone. This place is positively disheveled.”
She loops her arm through Rochester’s and guides him across the study like he’s a prize stud she’s leading to market. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t look back. Just lets her haul him away while I sit there, abandoned.
It’s stupid. I know the plan, yet I can’t help thinking all I am to him is something to fill his empty nights. Body parts to help him get off. I shiver. So much for shedding my romantic delusions. That woman has a way of making me feel cheap.
The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with the scent of his cologne and the bitter taste of being dismissed.
I wait thirty seconds, listening to the footsteps disappear down the hallway. When I’m sure they’re gone, I move to Rochester’s desk, scanning the papers scattered across its surface. It’s not like I’ll find evidence of his bankruptcy among the letters, bills, and legal documents, but something else catches my eye.
It’s a manila folder sitting at the corner of the desk with PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT printed in bold letters.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I glance over my shoulder toward the door. This is dangerous as hell. But I can’t stop myself from taking a peek.
I flip through pages of legal bullshit until one clause jumps out:
‘In the event of adultery committed by Edward Rochester, Blanche Ingram shall retain all financial assets brought to the marriage, and Edward Rochester shall forfeit any claim to said assets or future inheritances.’
My blood turns to sludge.
No settlement if Rochester cheats. No money. No bailout. No nothing.
But wait. How on earth will he ‘find a way for us to be together’ if fucking me means he loses everything? The math doesn’t add up.
Hands shaking, I place the agreement back into its folder. The papers look exactly as I found them, but my mind spins like a roulette wheel.
Rochester isn’t the type to gamble his future on a wet pussy. So what’s the angle?
I spend the rest of the morning scrubbing floors and polishing silver, but my thoughts won’t stop shuffling. The prenup changes everything. If Rochester cheats, he loses all of Blanche’s wealth.
The motherfucker must have a plan. Has to. But what?
My mind won’t accept the most obvious explanation.That he’s saying whatever is needed for me to continue letting him into my bed.
