Page 61 of Pride and Privilege

Most people she knew didn’t donate five thousand pounds a month to charity on a whim.

Last night, she’d asked him if he saw her as equal. It seemed a naïve question now. Of course he didn’t. How could he?

“So, do you have any other places around here?” she said. “A whole stack of ‘em, like Monopoly cards?”

He chuckled, leading them back towards the living room, a vintage flowery mug of coffee wrapped in one large hand. “No. Just these two.”

“But I bet your family does.”

He sat on the sofa, legs crossed at the ankle, mug held with two hands on his lap as he looked up at her with a quirked brow that clearly said,Poppy… Why exactly are you asking? You already know the answer.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Several London properties. The estate in Lancashire. An estate in Dorset, an estate in Derbyshire. Land—lots and lots of land. A French chateau. A castle in Ireland. I personally own part of the New Forest and a very small part of Wales. Hate me for it. Go on.”

She smiled, but her stomach twisted, sick.Out of reach, her brain sing-songed.Out of a reach, a fairytale prince…

She took a seat on a high-backed winged armchair, the fabric some kind of muted lavender paisley print. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

It was said lightly, but it made Roscoe look at her, study her face with cautious concern, because it brought last nightstumbling into the room. And last night was mortified, clutching its knickers in one hand, hastily covering its breasts with the other. Poppy sipped her tea, focused on the beige liquid as she tucked her legs under her on the seat, looked across the room at a fig plant balanced on an old leather book, pretended not to feel any of the hundred things she was feeling.

Roscoe said, “Poppy…” and Poppy’s heart wentthump.

She sipped her tea.

“About last night…” said Roscoe.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It matters to me that we’re OK. That things are OK between us.”

She fought back a blush, studied again the tea in her cup. The surface of the liquid trembled slightly, but her voice refused to. “We’ve been in an awkward situation like this before and we got over it. It’s fine, really. We were drunk and it was stupid. I don’t want to be childish about it. And I’m not going to let it ruin things at work. But I understand if you’d rather I moved out.”

“No. No, I don’t want that. Like I said, I can stay here.”

Please don’t, please don’t…

“If that’s what you want.”

“Is it what you want?” His voice was hesitant.

She met his eyes briefly. “I don’t think it’s necessary. Like I said. I don’t want to be childish about things. But I…I also don’t want to get hurt.”

Roscoe moved in his seat as though that had hurthim. Made him wince.

“But I won’t get hurt,” she persisted. “Now that I know where we stand.”

“I’m so sorry… I should never have…”

“We both wanted it, Roscoe.” Her voice was hard. She wasn’t going to be pitied over this. “Admit that much.”

She looked up in time to see him nod. He was still sitting with his legs out, ankles crossed, holding his cup. But not relaxed. Every line of his body hard, tense. Miserable. The sinews and bones of his strong hands stood out where he gripped the mug. They had been on her body, held her breasts. His mouth had…

This would all be so much easier if it hadn’t felt so good. But of course it had. It was Roscoe Blackton. The best of the best. Giving her one taste of luxury, of scorching bliss, then pulling it away, leaving her with nothing but the knowledge of what she was missing out on.

“I can give… But I can’t take.”

She scowled at her brain’s unhelpful reminder. That had been a ridiculous offer. How would that even work…? He’d touch her, kiss her, make her lie there passively while he gave her pleasure with his hands, fingers, mouth—

“Tell me what Cassie meant,” she said quickly.

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