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Even with the situation they were in, Bre felt lighter than she’d ever had before. She wanted to give credit to the fantastic sex, but she knew, without a doubt, it was Henry, and that thought brought fear into her light heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Henry felt light. Lighter than he had since his father became ill, and he left London to begin running the estates. His evening with Bre blew his mind. Being with her felt like being set on fire. Every nerve ending in his body sparked to life in her presence. He’d fucked her every way imaginable, but he still wanted more. Too bad, she needed to go to work and clean up his mess, and he needed to deal with his mother and Lady Sienna Marlborough because he wanted nothing more than to stay in his suite all day sullying her up. But work beckoned. Henry needed to regain control of his life, and for that, he needed to complete his plan and deal with his mother.
“Mother!” he yelled as he searched for her in her usual spots. The Dowager Duchess was a formidable woman, but Henry refused to cower to her like a little boy. He owed nothing to Priscilla, and he’d manage to hold onto his Parliament seat with Bre by his side while still destroying Sienna Marlborough in the process.
If only his mother did not overstep, she too would see how far Henry would go to keep those he loved happy and safe.
His mother poked her head out of her office, “Henry, why must you yell?” she asked him. His mother spent a great deal of time running the estate when his father fell ill, and since Henry took over, she’d begun running the families charitable endeavors. Generally, these things kept her busy and out of his hair, but it appeared she needed a lesson on who was truly in charge.
“You wanted to talk. Let’s talk,” he told her as he stormed into her space. Henry knew what she wished to say, and he wanted to conclude this conversation as quickly as possible.
“Of course, I wanted to talk,” she told him. “Have you gone mad?” she questioned in a voice so shrill Henry was sure it might break the 18th-century glass windows.
Henry snorted at her word-choice. “I assure you that I am not mad. You, on the other hand, might be. You do realize walking into my suites is not appropriate, correct?”
She’d embarrassed Bre and nearly ruined their morning. Despite him trying to fuck the tense out of her body, she left for work upset and worried about what others might conclude regarding their relationship. He would not stand for that.
For her part, Priscilla did not bat an eye at his condemnation. “I didn’t expect that girl to be on top of you. In fact, I’d prayed these photos were just tabloid fodder,” she told him. “You were doing so well with Sienna these past few weeks Henry. What happened?” she asked him. Her voice sounded like a concerned mother, but Henry knew better. She wanted to ensure he did not plan to ruin their family with his dalliances.
Sometimes Henry forgot how little his mother knew about him. She loved him and cared for him in his own way, but she allowed nannies and boarding schools to raise him, so she knew nothing about him.
“Mother, Sienna Marlborough is going to be my wife, nor was I ever planning to extend her that honor, “he told her bluntly.” I asked for her assistance on a charity endeavor I wish to partake in, and while I enjoyed her guidance, I don’t plan on partaking in any more of her company,” he said. Ever again, he thought to himself. Something told him that the paparazzi didn’t merely stumble upon him and Bre in the back alley after the gallery event. Sienna should work in PR as much as she enjoyed spinning a story. He knew enough about her to conclude she had the press in her pocket, and it pissed him off.
“Sienna Marlborough would be the perfect bride,” Priscilla whined out in frustration. “Think about the future of this house!” she practically screamed.
Priscilla exasperated him, which is why the words he said next slipped out of his mouth in frustration. “I have thought about the future of this house,” he snapped, “Which is why I’ve asked Breanne to be my wife.”
Priscilla looked like she would faint at Henry’s words, and the second Henry spit them out he wanted to reel them back just as quickly. “You absolutely cannot marry that American-girl!” she screamed in abject horror. Henry wanted to point out that just moments ago, his mother was pressuring him to marry for the sake of their house, but he was too flabbergasted at his own words to make sense. He should have walked his words back, told his mother he was indeed mad, but before he could stop himself, Henry continued digging his hole even more profound.
“Breanne will be Duchess of Rochester, and frankly, mother there’s not much you will be able to do about it. You suggested I find myself a wife, and so, I did. Your anger stems from the fact that you didn’t choose a less beautiful flower to replace you in this garden” At that, Henry sprang from his chair and stormed out of the room leaving his words hanging between himself and his mother.
* * *
“So, you’ve lost your mind?” Nathaniel asks as Henry recounted his morning discussion with his mother. After the disastrous morning Henry experienced, he’d phoned Nathaniel for a drink. “When should I begin planning the stag party?” his friend joked not offering assistance on how to get out of the situation.
Henry groaned as the implications of what he told his mother. Sure, he needed to rehabilitate his image, a wife and family would go a long way towards doing that, but he also barely knew Bre, and from previous conversations, he knew she did not believe in arranged marriages.
“Perhaps, this Breanne will be open to the suggestion,” Nathaniel stated. “What little girl doesn’t dream of being a Duchess? Money. Power. Stability.” Nathaniel made a point, but Henry knew Bre would not be swayed by those types of things. She spoke of how much she enjoyed her job and her freedom.
“Those things are not going to appeal to Breanne Reynolds,” Henry said. They barely knew one another, but he felt sure the idea of being a kept woman in a large mansion went against her self perceptions.
“How do you plan to solve this problem you caught yourself in?” Nathaniel asked.
Henry took a long drag of his pint, “Solving this problem is why I asked you to meet me,” he said.
“Henry, you are my oldest friend, but I am the last person alive able to give you advice here. If you’d like to know the best place to grab a smooth scotch, I can help you, but when it comes to women the only advice I give is best sexual positions,” Nathaniel downed the remainder of his pint, and Henry felt his ire heighten at his friend’s nonchalant behavior.
Henry salutes Nathaniel with his glass, “You’ve been a great help.”
Nathaniel shrugged unsure of what he Henry wanted him to say. “My advice mate, talk to this Breanne. I’m not one to suggest open and honest communication, but you appear to be without options.” Henry wanted to argue but knew Nathaniel’s assessment was correct. “The other option is to admit to your mother you lied, which opens you to more incessant matchmaking.”
Neither option appealed to Henry, and not for once, he wished to reverse time and take back the words he spoke. As Duke of Rochester, he ultimately called the shots in his family, but his mother proved a formidable woman, and she would do anything to ensure the Rochester legacy, including selling him off to the most perfect bidder. No, Henry’s only option was to somehow convince Bre to be his fiancee.
“I need another pint,” he told Nathaniel before downing the remainder of his drink in one gulp. He didn’t generally drink during the day, but his latest plan required a bit of liquid courage.
“Now that is a problem I can solve,” Nathaniel told his friend before he went off to flag down the barkeep for a second round.
