Page 11 of Bad Duke

“There’s more?” I stare at all the flowers that are taking up space in the reception.

“And they keep coming, sir,” Barnaby sighs.

“Who the hell are Barbara and Dennis?” I read one of the cards as I pass one of the arrangements.

“The Lord and Lady Belmont,” he informs me. And I smile to myself when I recognise his full name from my client list.

“These were hand-delivered by Gloria Helman and her daughter, who also sent their condolences. I think they were hoping to see you. The young woman had made quite the effort to look her best.” He clears his voice.

“The phones have been ringing off the hook. I’ve been invited to over ten dinner parties in the last three hours. I knew he put on a good act but I had no idea my father was this popular.” My chest starts to tighten from all the pollen that's in the air.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, sir, but these displays of generosity aren’t for your father, they are for you. You have just become the most eligible bachelor in England. Ninety percent of these flowers come from husbands and wives who have single daughters. There's a 58-year-old bottle of Glen Grant on your desk that was sent from Lord Chamberlain,” he tells me and I shake my head before focusing on what's more important. “Be prepared, sir, there will be a lot of sharks circling while you remain single.”

“The girl, did she seem nervous?” I ask, ignoring his warning.

“A little. More bewildered than anything,” he explains. “She’s pretty,” he points out, making my head turn back around.

“I’m aware of that,” I snap, still having no idea what I intend on saying to her. All I know is that there is no way she will be going to The Residence and losing her innocence to one of my members. It belongs to me. Now, I just have to tell her that. Being so nervous about demanding something is disturbingly out of character for me.

I leave Barnaby in the hall and take a deep, calming breath before I open my office door and let myself in.

“Sir.” The girl quickly scrambles to her feet and does the cute, little curtsy thing again. “I’m so sorry to hear about your father. I..” She’s tongue-tied and beautiful and I want to clasp her soft, little jaw in my hand again so I can kiss the sweetness off her lips.

“Please, don’t be sorry.” I move past her and take a seat behind my desk, making sure that there's a barrier between us.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” I explain, noticing the way she holds her breath like she’s nervous. “I can’t accept it.” I watch all the hope fall off her face.

“But, sir, I have nothing else to offer.” She sits forward on her chair, her breathing already picking up as she starts to panic. I’m about to give her my new terms, then suddenly I realise what's been giving me so much doubt.

I could take this girl's virginity if I want, it’s what she’s put on the table. I could take it, right here, right now, on this desk. But I fear that it wouldn’t be enough. The girl who’s staring at me with wide, fearful eyes is different to any girl I’ve ever fucked before. I don’t want to shoot my load and be done with her. I’d want to take my time, to study every curve of her body and learn how she likes it to be touched. It’s a whole new concept for me and one that I don’t fully understand but I’m addicted to how it feels.

“Sir, please. Reconsider,” she begs and my eyes glance at the gift bag containing a £4,000 bottle of scotch sitting on one side of my desk, then to the file of females on the other side. I hear Barnaby’s warning ringing in my head and suddenly I see the solution to all my problems sitting right in front of me.

“I want twelve months,” I tell her, crossing my hands and leaning forward so I’m just that little bit closer to her.

“Twelve what?” She looks as confused as she is scared.

“Twelve months of your life to spare his.” I make it clearer for her.

“Twelve months to do what?” She laughs nervously.

“To be mine.” I shrug as I sit back in my chair and wait for her response.

“To be yours?” she questions and I like how curiosity makes her eyes sparkle. “And what will you do with me?” The way she’s blushing suggests that she might just have an idea.

“Whatever I want, whenever I want. You would be mine to command. I would own you in every sense of the word.”

“And if I do this, my brother’s debt is clear and he’s forgiven?” she checks as if she might actually consider this.

“Completely,” I affirm.

“I have conditions.” She surprises me when she tries to negotiate, and because I find her newfound assertiveness as intriguing as the rest of her, I decide to listen to them.

“I have to keep my job. I may only teach the kids, but I do help with the older students and I have people relying on me. I enjoy what I do and whatever you have planned for me will have to take place out of business hours.”

It’s not a situation that I’m happy about, but I still nod my head and agree to it when I realise I wouldn’t want her to be unhappy here.

“Anything else?” I ask with a hint of sarcasm.

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