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“No, you don’t know who you are dealing with. If I find another bruise on my future wife, you and I will talk again. And I promise it will be a far less pleasant conversation than this has been. I will rain so much hellfire on you that by the time I’m done, Harrison’s parentage won’t even be the least of your fucking problems.”
The blood drained from her face, and I knew I had made my point and that I needed to get my PI on her immediately because there was more to find out.
Mrs. Astrid made to say something else, but I let the heavy wooden door fall into place.
“Sir, who was that awful woman?” Henry asked behind me.
“That is a woman who is determined to find out the hard way that no one touches what is mine.”
CHAPTER 8
AMELIA
“Ithink I want to wear the green Vera Wang dress this evening,” I told Sarah, my maid, as I sat at my vanity.
I had commissioned the dress on a whim after this year’s fashion shows. Mother didn’t know, of course. It had been my own little rebellious secret. Until now, I had kept it hidden in the back of my closet, lacking the courage to wear the daring dress out in public.
Sarah, who often assisted my sister Rose and me with getting ready for all the events we were required to attend, stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to change my mind before moving to retrieve the dress from its hiding place.
I sighed. One more endless event. Another boring night representing our family at a charity or some other function, playing dress-us-up like little dolls so the tabloids would take our picture.
“That dress isn’t appropriate.” Rose was perched on the edge of my bed, her green eyes getting big and round.
“Nonsense. It’s a perfect gown that is chic and a modern classic.”
I sat in front of my vanity and studied myself.
The girl in the mirror was the same girl who had always been there. Despite everything that happened with Luc, there was no change in my appearance. I wasn’t sure what I expected, to look older maybe, wiser, somehow more mature? Or maybe I expected to have a glow after the most incredibly erotic experience of my life.
“Have you come up with a name for this one yet?” she asked.
“A name?”
“For Mr. Manwarring. I think you referred to Mr. Dubois as Mr. Dubious.” Rose giggled and lay back on the blush pink all-season duvet.
My room was beautifully decorated for me. When I was six. The walls were a perfect porcelain white with pale pink trim and gold filigree accents. It was bright and light and even had details that fit the original beaux arts style. Everything in the room dripped over-the-top wealth and decadence that I had adored… when I was a child.
After taking classes at NYU, I had tried to convince my mother to allow me to tone it all down to something more appropriate for an adult woman, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Trying to take a deep breath, my chest tightened instead; everything around me was cluttered and stifling.
“Mr. Manchild, because he acts like a spoiled, greedy child,” I answered, and Rose snorted out her laughter.
“Is he the reason you want to wear such an inappropriate dress?”
I met her eyes in the mirror and smiled. “No, the dress is for me. I love the color and the fabric. Mother isn’t here to police my clothing, and he doesn’t get to tell me what to wear… at least not yet. I’m simply taking advantage of the little freedom I have while I have it.”
I shifted my gaze back to myself in the mirror, trying to decide what to do with my makeup.
I thought back to the way Mr. Manchild had touched me in the billiards room, the way he had made my body burn for him. I was surprised the experience hadn’t somehow altered me.
Maybe it had, just not on the outside.
Maybe that part was up to me.
His touch had changed me, and I could choose to hide it.
Put on a sensible dress like my sister and be the good girl I always was, sticking with cute, conservative, and pastel. Or I could embrace what he was turning me into.
A woman who deserved to be desired.
