Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
“Huh.” Claude appeared thoughtful, and for some reason those balls of anxiety started to knot even further in my stomach. “This shield you saw was attempting to block you?”
“Yes. I thought if it was that, it could be broken.” My stomach churned upon me admitting that out loud to Claude. It left a foul taste in my mouth.
Claude said nothing for a long moment. “A prince would be far harder for you to read than a lord.” He then looked to Hymel as I frowned. “I’ll speak with you later.”
The dismissal was clear. So was Hymel’s irritation. He slammed his glass down on the credenza before stiffly exiting the study.
Claude arched a brow as Hymel shut the door behind him. “He’s a prickly fellow, isn’t he?”
“He doesn’t like it when you pull rank and he’s reminded that you’re the baron.”
“And that he is not?”
“Yes.” I watched Claude stand. “But you know that.”
“I do so love to needle him when I can.” He flashed a quick grin, motioning me to him. “Come.”
The danger of Claude somehow figuring out I’d admitted to being sent to the Prince to gain information seemed to have passed. Curiosity rose in its place as I stood, coming toward him.
He moved aside, extending a hand to the side of his desk free from letters. “Sit.”
I hopped up on the desk, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the smooth wood. My feet dangled a few inches from the floor.
Claude looked me over slowly, starting with my face and then moving lower, as if he were searching for signs of something.
Having no idea what he was up to, I held still as he brushed the strands of hair over my shoulder.
“Did you have a good evening?” he asked abruptly. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
There was a brief smile. “I want all the details of what transpired between the two of you.”
“Well . . .” I drew the word out, quickly thinking of what I could or should share. “It appears that you may have also believed you told him that I would be joining him, but actually didn’t.”
“Fuck.” His fingers halted along the strands of my hair. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“I am sorry. Really.” His eyes briefly met mine. “I wouldn’t have sent you if I’d known it was the Prince of Vytrus.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him. Claude was capable of making any unwise decision while intoxicated.
“How did he respond to your appearance?”
“He was . . .” My brows lifted as he touched my chin, turning my head to the left and then the right. “He was caught off guard by it.”
“Did he harm you?” he asked, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. “In any way?”
“No.” I realized he was looking for a sign— a mark or bruising. “He didn’t, Claude.”
He said nothing for a long moment. “Did you service him?”
“He requested that I aid him with his bath.” I gave a little jerk as the back of his thumb brushed over my lower lip. My gaze flew to him. Claude . . . he hadn’t touched me like this in well over a year. Maybe even two years, and there was a time when I wanted him to. When I looked forward to him visiting my quarters or summoning me to his, maybe even desperately, because I could touch him without guilt, because he knew what I could do— he understood the risks to his privacy, and I had to really concentrate to read him. My intuition wouldn’t stay quiet long, though. He could always tell when that happened. I would stiffen, pull away. That’s when Claude would prevent me from returning his caresses, his touches, and there was a tiny part of me that had gotten off a little on that. Well, there was a part of me that still did.
“And?” Claude pressed.
“Then he asked for me to join him in his bath and I did.”
One side of his lips curled up. “I’m sure all baths will now be dull in comparison.”
“Perhaps,” I murmured.
“What else?” His gaze flicked to mine.
“He . . . he touched me.”
“Like this?”
I nodded as he cupped both breasts, dragging his thumbs over the peaks of my breasts. A wisp of pleasure slowly curled through me, a simple reaction to touch— to any touch, and not necessarily Claude’s. I slid my hands over the desk, leaning forward a little. His gaze dropped once more. His lips parted as his fingers pressed into the flesh. Claude had always been a breast man. I watched him slip a finger along the neckline of my bodice, his skin paler than my own— paler and so much cooler than Thorne’s. My breath snagged again, but it wasn’t the Baron’s touch that caused that.
“Did he fuck you?”
There was a sharper twist of desire that had nothing to do with what Claude’s hands were up to. It was his words. It was the image of . . . of Prince Thorne that those words conjured up that caused me to squirm a little. “No.”