Page 22 of A Royally Fake French Menage
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.”
