“We leave for Arlington?” Burt’s eyebrow rises.
“Yes, we will leave for Arlington to attend the board meetings at Tudor Enterprises as we have done each month. That is all.”
Burt turns around and chuckles. “You're more like the Duke of Somerhaven than you know. My compliments to Her Majesty the Queen for her unproductiveendeavors.”
As I stand there and watch my childhood butler leave me to my own devices, I consider his words. There will be no explaining to Lux how I came to be Duke of Arlington. That is a truth I can’t bare sharing with her. Then there’s the issue of Somerhaven’s current duke, my father—though it will be my duchy when I celebrate his death.
I’ve a million-dollar bottle of wine for that celebration.
But Arlington . . . how do I explain that to her?How do I explain why I kept the truth from her?Perhaps I start with the history before telling her the Queen gifted it to me. A half-truth of sorts. Tell Luxury how the previous Duke of Arlington had inherited the title, as did a long line of Arlingtons before him. Explain that the duchy was created in the 1800s for Sir Albert Arlington for his exemplary service to the monarch. Arlington was a professor at Arlington University—the very place I met Emeli.
I roll my neck, warning myself not to contemplate Emeli. My eyes land on the gold utensils with carved handles resting in the empty sink.I bloody swear these are the ones I placed in my picnic basket.
“I left the fucking wine opener, not these,” I tell myself, gripping the gilded knife. I glance at the chef, whom I tossed in Burt’s direction. She quietly whistles, kneading dough for meat pies.
Controlling the rage in my chest, I inquire, “Have you seen my father? Or his minio—staff?”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”
“He came here?” I wriggle my jaw.
“I was shocked. Came to return those same utensils. Himself, no staff at all. I had no idea the duke knew where the kitchen was.”
The bloody bastard!
23
Luxury
As Victor walks back to his house, I lie on my tummy and place Momma’s diary in front of me. Before I can open it up, I think about Dad. A weight hangs over my heart, and I say a quick prayer for him. I rub my hands together, ready to untangle how Momma chose Dad since she did give him her number after listening to the guys at the convention, after all. It’s been a few weeks since I lost myself in their just budding romance, and I’m anxious to know how Mom enjoyed their first date.
The wind ruffles the pages as I start to search for my current place in the diary. My eyes stop on Mom’s words. My bottom lip drops, and I quickly close the book.
“Miss Luxury, are you alright?”
I glance up. A stranger leans against a large tree. Though formally dressed, wearing a black tailored suit accentuating his muscular frame, he has a leisurely aura about him as if he’s been watching me for a while. He’s a tad taller than Victor. The man’s striking green eyes sweep over my jeans and stop at each curve. There’s silver stubble along his angular jawline, and his hair is also thick with silver.
I quickly rise as he offers a hand to help me up. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
The dark stranger’s mouth engulfs mine, his hands seemingly everywhere—all over my ass—skimming the side of my breast.
Attempting to push away, I accidentally thrust my core against his raging cock. He grips me tighter as if I’d offered an invitation. I push at his chest. My palm resounds across his chiseled jaw.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I glare at the man.
Unaffected by my assault, dark promise gleams in his eyes. “You've soft lips. I’ll definitely try that again.”
“Do it. I’m going straight for those British balls.” I flex my fingers for emphasis, attempting to repel a sudden feeling of sickness. “Where I’m from, that’s sexual assault.”
“Cheeky too. I love achitwho talks back. I’m glad I could help.”
“Help?” My voice grows squeaky, incredulous. “Yourapey bas—”
“You were jaded.” A wind flurries between us.
The weather has changed.
Drastically.