Page 11 of A Royally Fake French Menage (Rippton U Creatives #3)

BARCLAY

I didn’t see Genie during the day. Jacques, either.

My clothes were laid out on the bed as I’d expect of Jacques’s perfect service even after my rudeness from before.

The only company I had while I ate was from Monique who was clearly in a mood.

Maids skittered around her in a flurry to finish their work while she belted out insults willy-nilly.

I didn’t blame them for their scurrying in the least.

Whispers abounded about a fight between guests.

I was far from immune to a little castle—I beg your pardon, chateau, I was in the wrong country in my head yet again—gossip.

After I finished my toasted salmon baguette I requested for dinner, I rose and nodded to the man who collected my plates, speaking in an undertone.

“Thank you. I am sorry. She won’t be here much longer. You may share that with the staff.”

I didn’t care if the rumor got back to Monique or not.

Last night and this morning gave me time to clear my head, and rational thought took over once my little tanty time alone in the labyrinth passed.

Monique didn’t belong in the house. Having it empty was preferable to the bitch who commanded my staff like they were less than stray dogs.

The man nodded at me. His brow dipped. “Monsieur le Marquis,” he murmured, his form of the correct address that both Jacques and Genie ignored—one out of playtime and one of ignorance, not that I cared. “Your guests…”

“Ah. I did wonder when this would come up. Please. Enlighten me.”

“They fought.” He fidgeted on the spot.

I raised an eyebrow. “Did she…slap him?”

The man shook his head.

My lips twitched. “Did he slap her ?” I’d have words with Jacques if that was the case. He’d apologize profusely, on his knees with his head between her legs for the next month, even if I had to haul his ass back to the States for him to complete his task in person.

Another shake of his head.

I sighed. “Please continue to enlighten me…” I searched my memory for the man’s name and came up blank. Damnit, Jacques was right . I’d been away for far too long.

“They fought with…” He winced. I waited. He took a breath. “Swords, M- Monsieur le Marquis,” he stammered out.

Both of my eyebrows shot for the fresco above my head. “Swords?” A smile tugged at my lips. What in the hell did Jacques put her up to? “And did they draw blood?”

“Y- yes, Marquis?—”

“What?” I frowned at him. “Who?”

“M-Madame Lockwood, Monsieur le Marquis.”

I closed my eyes, tired of all the titles and guff, even as a huff left me. “Of course, she did.” I had wondered when the French in her would surface. We played the game, let her be who she wanted to be. Interesting that she chose that moment and that opponent to let her hand show.

And who she fought with on those grounds.

The threat she saw to her happiness. And mine.

I swallowed hard.

“I’m getting rid of that fucking title,” I murmured to the air in general, uncaring who heard me.

The man’s eyes widened as he stumbled backward, pretending not to have heard my ruminations as a good house staff should, mumbling his appreciation for my presence.

I shook my head. “This place is a mausoleum,” I growled. “The only people living here are already dead inside.” I stalked through the poached salmon-and-cyan room and ran smack into the monster of the house.

“We need to talk about last night,” she hissed at me in French.

I tilted my head to one side, taking in her pink and blue dress that matched Genie’s colors from the previous day, knowing she wouldn't wear them again. Always a step behind, never in front. “You’re right.”

Surprise took Monique back a step. She recovered, but with little grace. “I’m glad you agree. Why don’t we work in the salon?”

In all that salmon paint and blue carpet that edged its way across the entire bottom floor?

Last night’s dinner flitted about my stomach in protest. “Here will do just fine. I’ll be brief, Monique.

Your party last night was the perfect example of what this household shouldn’t deal with ever again.

You are not of noble line, and three weeks of a gold digging based marriage doesn’t count in the least. If my English cousins or their family came to visit, you would host them disgracefully.

I can’t have your lack of breeding and social etiquette besmirch the family line.

In fact, I felt sorry for you, when my father first passed.

But this trip has been…illuminating. You may stay tonight and leave early tomorrow.

At sunrise please, so you don’t disturb the staff in full.

Your luggage will be searched. If a single item is found in your possession that you did not arrive with, I will have you arrested. ”

She squawked, but I stopped listening, making my way through the halls in the long way around the mansion before I arrived at my suite. Closing my eyes, I sent up a prayer that I wouldn’t be up for the first of two fights tonight. At least these would come with apologies on my behalf.

Monique was unique in our household, but she wouldn’t be my problem much longer, or hopefully theirs.

I pushed the door open to find Jacques standing at the foot of my bed, the room meticulous as expected. A burgundy velvet smoking gown was clutched in his hands.

“My lord.” There was that veiled sarcasm in his soft voice that sent rivulets of anticipation along my veins. “I hoped your favorite might be appropriate tonight.” He held the jacket out, meeting my gaze head on, the only touch of defiance in his entire demeanor.

“I appreciate the gesture. Truly. Perhaps later. For now…” I pursed my lips and shut the door. “I owe my friend an apology.”

Jacques paused. He draped the dressing gown over his arm. “Is that what we are, Barclay?” He swallowed hard, running his fingers over the velvet’s soft cut-pile. “I hoped–”

“So did I,” I answered softly. “I am sorry in all ways, and I fired Monique.”

His lips quirked. “I heard.”

“Already?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “My, you are starved for gossip.”

This place has been bored and there is nothing worse in France than a bored household. I have neglected them for too long.

I am sorry.

“Masterfully done, sir.”

“It was fun,” I acknowledged, taking a step forward. “But I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”

“Or Miss Lockwood.”

“Or Genie,” I agreed. “I hear you have seen her today?”

He nodded. “She walked in the garden for some time after she bested me.”

I laughed softly. “It’s been a long time since someone took on a responsibility for me like that. But then, I do have a tendency to drive others away.” I thought of Elisse, my ex, and shuddered. Maybe not all of those breaks were my fault, but that woman was in a league of her own.

“Perhaps you should allow others to give you love, Barclay, and not hold us all at arm's length,” he reproved me gently.

I winced. “Figured I earned that, huh?”

His lips twisted. “You have become more American than ever.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Why don’t we find out?” He placed the gown on the back of a chair and held out his hands. “Let me help you.”

I smirked. “Have you been thinking that up all damn day, Jacques?”

“And so English.”

“You always liked that part,” I whispered.

He said nothing more as he reached out and tugged my jacket from my shoulders, setting it aside with the velvet gown. A quick flick of his fingers motioned me to hold out a wrist. Jacques turned undoing my cufflinks into an art form. Cool fingers brushed my skin as he worked in utter silence.

“I have been thinking of many things all day concerning you, my lord. How I’d like to wrap your sash around your throat and?—”

“My, you are a kinky one,” I interrupted his seduction attempt.

“—and throttle you with it.” He stared me straight in the face, gray eyes of flint and mouth set hard.

I laughed softly. Lifting a hand to cup his cheek, I stroked my thumb across his jawline, loving the scratch of his stubble against my palm. “I understand the urge.”

“Do you?”

His gaze travelled to my mouth where it lingered for attention until my skin began to tingle.

Then there was no air to be had in the bedroom, only a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth clashing together with an eternal sense of urgency as he leaned in to devour me.

What should have been gentle and exploratory to start fast devolved into frantic, brutal kisses as he backed me toward the bed.

I reached up and grabbed handfuls of his hair, tugging hard.

Jacques had always kept the strands long.

After I left he seemed to have grown the pale lengths longer than ever.

Monique hadn’t noticed, but I took full advantage.

He growled into my mouth, his hands clutching at my biceps, hard fingers digging in painfully.

Lust shot to my cock, leaving me hard and angry.

"It's been too long since I fucked you,” I snarled in English, driving my tongue into his mouth.

Jacques broke back for a gasp of charged air, his eyes flaring wide. “I don’t remember you ever?—”

“Did you think I’d fall on the bed and let you have me, dictate only your terms, my friend?” I snapped, twisting my fingers in his hair as I pulled at his scalp.

The noise that emanated from his mouth was feral as he bowed to my need. “I was looking forward to fucking you,” he hissed in a low voice.

Those strands formed the perfect handle. I pulled the slightly taller man’s head back until he arched before me. He rocked on his heels, seeking purchase, but I held him in place, unyielding as I stared down at him.

"Then you'll have to wait a little while longer.

" I smiled. "Because tonight I'm going to fuck you.

" I spat into his open mouth, watching as he worked his throat and imagined sliding my cock inside it.

My smile became cruel. "How many nights were you kept awake thinking of fucking me, and now it's for your holes I’ll use instead? "