Page 30 of The Butler's Forbidden Fancy
“You killed men for the belief.”Monsieurwas too good at accusation. “You could have died for it!”
“I want to live for it!”
“Good man. Do it. You’ve earned it!”
* * *
That night as every guest adjourned to his or her rooms to dress for the Christmas ball, Octavian saw to every detail he could…and then departed for the secret stairs in the far corner of the library. Taking them two at a time, he seemed to burst with news for Eliza.
She had glanced at him throughout the day, questions in her gaze. Why did he not smile at her? Seek her out to say…anything? Anything at all? Why did he keep his distance?
Truth was that after his altercation with Riverdale, he wanted time to formulate the right words to explain his crisis to her. His thinking didn’t change how he loved her. Nor his desire to marry her and treasure her all the days of his life. But he did need her to understand that some rules were hard to break and new ones difficult to implement.
He knocked and in a hurry so as not to encounter any one in the hall, he knocked once again and then thrust open the door to her sitting room.
Her maid Clara squeaked in surprise and hastened from the sitting room into the bedroom. “The butler, my lady! He’s…here!”
Octavian stood before Eliza. In her chemise and stocking feet, she was a vision in white. Ethereal, luscious…and angry.
“You may leave us, Clara. Return in ten minutes.” And thus, Eliza waved her off. “Deign to come to me, will you?”
He waited until he heard Clara close the far door. “No ‘deign’ about it.”
“You’ve had so much to do today? Ha! You could not even smile at me?”
“Yes. And no, I should have.”
Arms akimbo, she glared at him. “I’m angry with you.”
“I understand.”
She fumed. “Go away, Octo. ”
He barked in laughter. “No.”
“I’m dressing for this ball and you are taking up my precious time.” She turned her back on him and marched to the wardrobe.
He followed her and scooped her up like a sack of grain.
She kicked and blustered. “Put me down, you ungrateful man!”
Arms around her waist, he up-ended her. “I have things to say.”
Upside down, she grabbed hold of his ankles. “I will talk to you like thith,” she garbled, but did not impede him as he chuckled and strode to her bed. “Put me upright!”
“No.” He angled her onto the unmade bed and crawled atop her, legs and arms pinning her down. “I’ve come to talk.”
“I—” she said with bated breath, “—am not interested.”
He clasped her wrists and pinned them to the mattress. Then he delighted himself by pressing his very hard shaft to the hot sweet apex of her thighs. “From what I feel, you are very interested.”
“Not—”
“I’m sorry, my darling.”
She stilled. Her green eyes wide and searching his, she paused, then huffed. “You must say more than that.”
“I will. I want to.” He lifted one hand and caught one of her fingers to his lips. And sucked.
