“Absolutely.” When I told her to do something, she did it. Sometimes that look came into her eyes, her pure annoyance at the situation she was in. But she obeyed me anyway. That struggle turned me on.
“Are you bringing her to the dinner this Saturday then?”
I stared into my wine before I answered. “Not sure.”
“Maybe you should take someone else. Josephine will be there.”
I drank the rest of my wine before I set the glass on the table. “I don’t care if she’s there. I’m not missing an opportunity to speak with Her Majesty. That woman means nothing to me.”
Ariel gave me a cold look that suggested she didn’t believe me. “I still think you should take someone. The lovelier, the better.”
London was the definition of lovely. Those beautiful green eyes would light up the room instantly. In a satin gown handmade by a designer, she would look ravishing. Everyone would see her on my arm and wonder where I found her. She looked like a queen, and she would make me look like a king. “I’ll take London. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Ariel raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain of that?”
“Yes.” I had her under control.
“Because you have a line of women to choose from.”
I did—all of them beautiful, interesting, and smart. “She’s at the top of the list.”
Ariel cocked her head to the side. “Is she your plaything or something more, Crewe?”
“Plaything,” I answered immediately. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
She seemed to believe me because she looked away. “Good. Because she’s a terrible match. American trash. She doesn’t know a damn thing about etiquette, how to be a lady, and she certainly doesn’t have an ounce of Scottish blood within her.”
Ariel’s discrimination always amused me. “For a lady, you sure swear a lot.”
“Because I’m with you,” she reminded me.
“And I don’t look Scottish either. Who knows what she is.”
“You understood my point, Crewe.” She drank her wine again. “Don’t act like you didn’t. If you want children someday, you can’t just pick anyone. You’re carrying history in your blood. You’re carrying scotch in your blood. Don’t fall for an American whore.”
“I understand you don’t like her, but please don’t call her that.” I had no reason to defend London and it shouldn’t matter to me what Ariel called her, but since I was fucking her every night, I felt obligated to defend her honor. In truth, I really did respect that woman. I didn’t initially, but she forced me to with that quick wit and superior intelligence.
Ariel pressed her lips tightly together, ending the conversation. She never apologized for her wrongdoings. She moved forward, her head held high. Not once since we’d been working together did I hear her admit to being at fault for anything.
Her silence was enough. “Thank you.”
“So, you’re taking her, then?” she asked again. “That’s your final decision?”
“Yes.”
She pulled out her phone and made a few notes. “I’ll arrange for her gown and have Frans take care of her hair and makeup. She is a pretty girl—but we’ve got to make those features show.”
Back to business, like usual. “Her features already show. But now we’ll make them pop.”
I returned to Stirling Castle late that evening after I finished a meeting in downtown Glasgow. I’d been gone all day, and I wondered what London had been up to since I’d been away. She usually stayed in the bedroom most of the time, wanting to avoid the other men I employed. They were instructed not to touch her unless necessary, but I understood her unease around them when I wasn’t near.
I greeted the men in the drawing room before I went upstairs to the royal chambers. I reeked of cigars and scotch, but I liked the smell from time to time. Brought back memories from a long time ago.
I walked inside and found her sitting in the living room, a book in her lap. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, and her legs were crossed, looking elegant. She hadn’t heard the door, so I took the opportunity to stare at her in her natural state.
She licked her fingers before she turned the page, and I found even that arousing. “Hello, Lovely.”
Her head snapped and she looked over her shoulder, seeming embarrassed that I caught her off guard. “You were gone for a long time…” She closed the book and left it in her lap.
“Had a few meetings.” I sat in the chair beside her, my arm moving over the back of the couch and resting against her neck. She wore leggings and a t-shirt with her hair in a braid. Even in shapeless clothes, she was still beautiful.
She didn’t flinch at my proximity. She just accepted it—like she was supposed to. “You smell like a cigar.”
“I had a few.”
“Smoking is bad for you. Or do Scots not believe that?”