He is a very good man.
It makes me want to do very bad things to him.
I get so hot that in order to fall asleep, I either have to throw off my blankets or take matters into my own hands. It only ever takes a few circles of my slick fingers as I conjure remembered sensations of his teeth on my neck, his hands on my waist, his strength at my back, and I’m coming with myownteeth sunk into the meat of my palm to confuse thediamrhán. Just in case he’s eavesdropping. Despite his offer, I’m not sure I want him to know how often I touch myself while thinking about him.
My nightly diddling does nothing to ease my frustration, though. I am frustrated by this House’s vain, vapid duke. Frustrated by his sycophantic courtiers. Frustrated by his meddling, murderous lover.
Mostly, though, I am frustrated with myself.
Aowen is, too; her desperation is reflected in the outfit she and Vesper have selected for me tonight.
The ethereal ice-blue gown boasts a scooped neckline, and though fitted sleeves cover my arms, my shoulders are bare and the flowing skirt is nearly translucent. There’s no slit, but it’s hardly needed since my legs—and panties—are plainly visible.
Vesper braided the top half of my hair, but left the bottom to cascade down my back, and she’s worked some cosmetic magic on my face. Elongated lashes make my green-gold eyes look enormous, a wash of peach sweeps up my cheeks, and my rose lips look recently bitten.
“Pulling out all the stops,” Lachlan grunts, either too slow or too careless to mask the want in his gaze when I exit my bedchamber.
Vesper bleats a prideful chirp, and Aowen offers me a smug smirk.
When I caught my reflection in the mirror earlier, I felt like a vixen. Interesting. Capable. Powerful. A woman who has already ensnared one duke of the Otherworld, and plans to add another to her cache.
“If the duke ignores her in this,” Aowen says, admiring Vesper’s handiwork, “then the man has no eyes in his head.”
Vesper beams. “Food. Dazzling food.”
“We’re going to be late for dinner,” Aowen says, lifting her skirts.
She opens the door, and Vesper chirrups a farewell before zooming through it.
I trail the blur of lavender down the hallway. “Where is she going?”
“I’ve learned not to ask.” Aowen marches forward, but before I can follow, a warm hand around my upper arm halts me.
There’s solid heat at my back, soft breath on my ear.
“You look exquisite, Charlotte.”
I close my eyes, need quivering down my spine. Ireallyneed to stop masturbating to thoughts of my bodyguard every night.
“If the duke cannot see what a treasure you are, then he doesn’t understand true value. And doesn’t deserve to be your king.”
I am afraid of what I might admit if I open my mouth. So I say nothing as I take Lachlan’s proffered elbow, and let him lead me to the dining hall.
Where another battle in this endless war begins.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Lisande LaBeaumont is sitting in my seat of honor next to the duke’s.
My fingers tighten on Lachlan’s arm, and a snarl of anger ripples through thediamrhánashe leads me to the table. The duke himself has not yet joined. Perhaps I can salvage this.
Would you like me to bodily remove her?Lachlan asks.
As much as it would cheer me, I don’t think it would do much for my reputation.
If people see how willing I am to throw my considerable strength around for you, they might treat you with the respect you’re due.
