Page 9 of Miss Hawthorne’s Unlikely Husband (The Troublemakers Trilogy #3)

He turned his head towards her. Her pale skin glistened with sweat, a light flush still painting her face and neck. “Don’t send him away. I plan on taking a wife this year.”

“So?”

He frowned, confused by her question. “So I don’t have the energy for you and the marriage mart, and that’s before approaching the tastelessness of keeping a mistress while courting a wife.”

“A mistress?” she repeated slowly.

He blinked. “What did you think you were?”

“You are my lover.”

“Yes, and I am one of many, so let’s not get precious about semantics.” He sat up and began the hunt for his clothes. He had even less energy to argue over word choice. The sooner he was out of here, the better.

“Are you casting me aside?” she demanded, sitting up, naked as the day she was born and all her golden hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“I’m saying you don’t need to consider me at all anymore when planning for your future because this dalliance has run its course for me. You have a new amusement, so enjoy him.”

“Because you want a nice virgin,” she sneered.

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that she would take it badly. They had never been close; they were barely friends. Had he missed something? He paused to take her in, waited for the guilt to settle in. Was he being too terse and unfeeling?

Nothing. It was like looking at a tepid painting.

“I have to say, Rachel, I’m not sure what you are cross about.” He pulled on his trousers and pulled his shirt over his head. “Are you upset that I don’t want to marry you?”

“As if I’d have you.”

He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Precisely. We’ve had such a nice evening so far, my dear, let’s not argue about this nonsense.” Not even her jabs mattered. What was wrong with him?

“If it’s such a good evening then why are you leaving so early?”

Was one o’clock in the morning early? “Because I have other business to attend to.”

“More important business than me?”

The hell… It had never mattered before what time he left so long as he was discreet. “If you like.” Where were his cuff links? A gleam near the fireplace caught his eye. Perfect. He didn’t want to leave anything behind. God forbid she try to use it against him.

“I don’t like. Who the hell do you think you are?”

There it was. The entitlement which always lurked under the surface. Is that what this was? He was the first to grow tired of her and she was offended? “I’m not sure what you mean.” Socks. He sat down and pulled them on one foot at a time.

“You think you have the right to cast me aside, you arrogant oriental peasant?”

His jaw clenched against a retort. It had been amusing to catch glimpses of her privileged venom over the years, but this was ugly and exhausting. There was no point in stooping to her level. He slipped on his shoes and began tying the laces. “I believe I asked you to cast me aside, actually.”

He stood and looked around. Shoes, cufflinks, shirt,… He spotted a sliver of purple under the chaise and started for his waistcoat, snatching it up along with his cravat.

The sheets rustled and he heard footsteps. “You will leave when I am good and ready, and when I am, I will inform you of the fact. You are mine. You belong to me.”

“Is that a fact?” he asked, rising to his feet.

She’d put on her night robe but hadn’t fastened it, offering glimpses of a body he’d desired at least partially only hours ago.

Now that attraction was long gone, replaced by apathy and a sort of disgust he’d never fully allowed himself to feel before.

He’d always known she saw him this way, as a trophy or a toy, but he’d never allowed himself to dwell on it too much.

Not while she wasn’t making it too much of an issue.

Of course it had never crossed her mind that she was getting her way with him because he’d wanted a sexually compatible partner who was free of disease.

Or that her unwillingness to reveal her taste in lovers to the public had worked to his advantage as well.

How could he possibly be embarrassed to be connected with her?

Surely that could only go the other way.

Unfortunately, she took his pause as a chance to win him around. “Don’t leave like this. Come back to bed, lover,” she crooned, walking up to him and sliding her arms around his waist.

“Step aside, please, Rachel,” he replied, unwilling to look at her.

Sick of her smell, sick of her touch, sick to death of her.

Or perhaps he was sick of himself, sick of who he had allowed himself to be with her.

A grasping creature much like she was now, desperate to hold onto something or anyone.

“Make me.” Had she always been this embarrassing?

He couldn’t think of a polite response to that. Instead, he removed her arms and turned to look for his jacket. There it was on the chair. He snatched it up and shook it out.

“Would you like to play that game instead? You can be the master and make me do what you like.”

He almost considered it. He could tie her to the bed and ask her servant to let him out the door before releasing her.

It was an idea. No doubt it would take less time than fending off her tentacle-like arms. But it wasn’t necessary.

He already had his jacket. He could finally get out of this room. “No thank you.”

“No—”

He let out a fitful sigh. “I don’t want to be your master. I want to go home. I want this little exhibition of yours to be over.”

She stared at him in outrage, color turning her face an undignified shade of pink before she launched herself at him with flailing arms and sharp nails. “I cannot believe I allowed you to touch me. As if you could ever deserve me.”

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her back with just enough force to send her a few steps backwards. “Keep your hands off me then.”

“Do you have any idea how many men would kill to be in my bed?”

“No, but I am all too eager to find out.” He started for her bedroom door.

“You bastard!” she shrieked, following him closely, “If you dare walk out of that door, I’ll crush you.”

He paused long enough to give her a pitying look. “Goodbye, Rachel.”

Her pale hand closed around his forearm, her nails digging into his flesh through his clothing. “I mean it, Richard. I will make sure you regret this for the rest of your life.”

He met her furious eyes, his jaw tight against words he wouldn’t allow himself to throw.

He was done lowering himself to her level.

Then he let his eyes drop pointedly to her grip on his arm before meeting her gaze again.

He didn’t speak again, but the meaning was clear enough based on the way her eyes widened slightly.

Remove your hand if you plan on keeping it.

Another breath and she released him. Then he was gone, down the stairs and out the front onto the mostly deserted streets of London. The air was cool if not fully clean. At least it wasn’t full of the now nauseating scent of orange blossoms.

How had he let that woman near him? What on earth had he been thinking, allowing that ridiculous affair to continue this long?

It was an insult to more than himself, but to his parents and his entire family.

She was prettier than his uncle, to be sure, but she was no less vile.

On some level he’d always known that. Seeing it so clearly confirmed left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a sickening sensation in his stomach.

How lonely had he been to allow her to be that close to him for so long?

It had been more unpleasant than he’d anticipated but at least the sordid affair was over.

He decided to walk off the temper that was under his skin.

The journey home was perhaps a ten minute walk and he’d need every second of it to stop his skin from crawling.

The last thing he needed was to be around A’wei with this seething irritation roiling inside him.

Never again would he allow himself to be claimed like a thing, or used like a toy to be tossed aside.

He was his father’s son, his mother’s son.

Everything about him, from his body, the hair on his head, to the position he held was a gift from them, and he would not allow himself to be treated as a disposable thing ever again.

It didn’t matter how he felt about the person.

He was worth more than that for fucking certain.

Love was probably not in the cards, but he could likely manage a modicum of respect.

Someone who at least saw him as a person instead of a possession or a literal object.

Now all he could do was fight against the sickening feeling of having been tainted by giving someone part of himself that they didn’t deserve.