He didn’t belong to you.
Father takes a step closer, his voice a barbed whisper. “Get in the coach.”
I close my eyes and breathe the memories away. When I open them, I form a word with all the strength and calm I can manage. Even so, it comes out with a tremor. “No.”
He crosses the remaining distance between us, bringing his face inches from mine. Expression twisted with rage, he shouts, “Get in the coach!”
I clench my jaw. “No!”
At the same moment, Father lurches back, and in his place stands a towering Elliot, his hand locked on my father’s shoulder. The king’s voice comes out low, dangerous. “Are you harassing my steward?”
Father shrugs roughly from Elliot’s grip, face crimson as he adjusts his jacket. His eyes fall on the king’s pointed ears, and his lips pull into a sneer. “Who do you think you are to lay your hands on me, you filthy fae?”
Elliot takes a slow, swaggering step, shoulders rigid as he stares down at my father. “I’m the filthy fae who pays your salary, human.”
Father’s chest heaves as he stands his ground beneath the king’s seething stare. Then, in a rush, the redness melts from his cheeks, eyes widening. “Who are you?”
Elliot’s words come from between his teeth. “I will forgive you this once for not knowing the face of your king, for I am not here for recognition. In fact, if I hear word has gotten out that I am here at all, I’ll know exactly who to punish. As king, I have a right to live where I please, seek discretion when I please, and employ whom I please, and that includes your daughter. Any questions?”
Father seems to shrink as he takes a step away. His voice comes out tremulous. “Your Majesty—”
“So long as my presence remains outside public knowledge, you will refer to me as Mr. Rochester.”
“Mr. Rochester,” he says in a rush, “might I ask what your intentions are with my daughter?”
“What the freezing fuck do you think?” Elliot puts his hands on his hips. “To pay her for her duties as my house steward. If you’re suggesting—”
Father lifts his hands and retreats a few steps back. “No, Your Ma—Mr. Rochester. No. I meant nothing like that.”
A low growl rumbles in Elliot’s chest. “Get off my property at once.”
Father nods and starts to turn around, pausing only to meet my gaze for a few tense seconds. Then, with a departing glare, he stomps down the drive toward his coach.
Elliot faces me, teeth bared in a snarl. “No wonder you seek freedom from that wretched human.”
Taking in his face for the first time since he came to my rescue, I’m rendered mute. In the time I spent preparing to speak with my father, the king’s beard has already been trimmed close to his jaw and his mane of hair pulled back from his face with a leather strap. While the job isn’t nearly complete—in fact, upon further scrutiny, the beard trim is haphazard at best—I’m given my first look at thedecent jawI claimed to believe he has. Seeing the shape taking place beneath the grizzly hair, I must say his jaw is decent indeed. More than decent, maybe.
“Don’t look at me like that, Miss Bellefleur,” he says. “Have you no manners? It isn’t proper to stare.”
My eyes slowly lift to meet his, and it takes me a moment to recognize the amusement in them. I blink a few times, shaking myself from my stupor. What’s wrong with me? My encounter with my father must have me truly flustered.
I grin. “Elliot Rochester, was that…humor coming from your lips?”
“Certainly not. All I do is brood.” His mouth curls into a sly grin. It’s not quite the smile I glimpsed last night when he was sitting by the fire, but this one isn’t too hard on the eyes either.
“Gemma.” The voice comes from the back of the drive near Father’s coach, but it isn’t Father who speaks. It’s Nina.
The king takes a forbidding step forward, a growl beginning to reverberate in his throat, but I put a hand on his chest to still him. His eyes fly to my hand, and I snatch it away, blushing at the contact. I try to erase my mental note regarding how firm he’d felt beneath the brocade waistcoat. “It’s all right,” I say. “I’ll speak with her.”
With a nod, he gives my sister a warning look, then makes his way back to the manor. Not daring to get too close to Father’s coach, I motion Nina to me. Her eyes are red and glazed with tears when she stops before me. “A letter, Gemma? Was there ever going to be a real goodbye?”
My heart sinks, and a lump rises in my throat. “I had to take this opportunity, Nina. You know I couldn’t come back to the townhouse if I got a job. Not if I found a suitable arrangement.”
“That’s not an excuse,” she says. “I understand not telling Father, but…you could have come back to see me.”
“I was going to,” I say, and it’s true. I would have come to see her alone, once she could assure me Father wouldn’t be home. Eventually. “I…needed a couple days.”
My sister’s lower lip trembles and her resemblance to Mother is enough to take my breath away. I rarely saw Mother cry, but when she did, she looked just like Nina does now. “I’m not ready to lose you, Gemma.”
