Page 13 of Hawthorne

At some point, supper appeared on my desk, and I was entirely grateful. Going downstairs was going to be a huge effort as exhaustion started to settle in. I was taking my clothes off to bed even before reaching inside the attached bedroom.

The problem was the moment my head hit the pillow. A strong whiff of Camilla’s characteristic vanilla-like scent hit me like a hundred-ton truck, and my brain went into overdrive.

It’s the same vanilla-like fragrance that reaches my nostrils whenever Camilla is around, and I curse my brain for registering the scent. It’s been stuck in my mind ever since I saw her, back at my aunt's memorial.

“Fucking hell, I won’t be able to sleep like this,” I curse and leave the bedroom.

Heading down the stairs towards the kitchen, I hope a late snack and some water will help my brain get rid of the thoughts.

There is only one small presence of light illuminating the space, just enough to help me not crash against anything and find the cupboard, where I take a glass and place it underneath the tap.

The water refreshes my throat, mitigating the heat that my body was in, just because I was thinking of her. I relax slightly as the tension dissipates and sleepiness peeks through.

As the drowsiness increases, I place the glass in the sink and turn to leave, at the same time the door that leads to the orchard opens, revealing a petite and curvy silhouette entering the kitchen.

Long, toned legs are bare up until her mid-thighs, where a flimsy and silky textile starts, barely covering her body. It clings to her hips, easing only in the tight curve of her waist. Her bare arm is tucked underneath her chest, towards her other arm, where a small dog is tucked in as if she were carrying a small baby.

My breath hitches at the sight, not because of the dog she’s carrying, but because of the position her arm is in, pressing her bra-less chest, making it seem like it’s going to spill from her nightgown’s cleavage.

Heat spreads around my chest, down towards my groin where my boxers tighten, and my eyes keep roaming up and down several times while she whispers silly nonsense to the dog, with innocent giggles in between.

I clear my throat to bring her attention to me at the exact moment she turns, and we lock eyes. She gasps and stumbles back, almost falling to the ground.

5

Camilla White

After putting on my sleeping gown, I turn off the bedroom lights and sit on my bed, sighing.

Today was hard with the duke finally moving in. It’s weird knowing I am no longer the only person living in this house full-time.

Vincent Hawthorne is far from the boy I met all those years ago. Tall and sturdy, oozing class and power through his expensive suits and his eloquent manners. The Duke of Hawthorne is highly respected and feared in the kingdom. The young and soft features hardened into those of a cold, detached yet imposing man. Someone who is always highly aware of his surroundings.

Vincent Hawthorne is like a black hole, an all-consuming force that draws you in. You know it’s dangerous and once you’re engulfed, you’re done. There’s no coming out, and yet…you still let yourself go because there’s no fighting it.

It was difficult to keep my composure when I saw him. From the self-assured steps into the manor to the way all of himexuded assertiveness and confidence. Was it the crisp suit in which he showed up in? Was it the way it hugged his rugged body?

It did makemewonder what’s underneath…

“Ah, Camilla,” I mutter to myself, trying to get rid of the sinful vision of a half-naked duke in front of me.

Maybe it wasthe way he looked right at me, ignoring a crowd of overly well-dressed noblewomen.

Those piercing eyes…

It felt like he was seeing right through me. They lit a trail of fire from my face, letting it spread down, towards the rest of my body, bringing it to life like no one else has ever before.

For the first time in my life, I felt…seen. Acknowledged as something more than just a housekeeper.

The way his hot breath fanned over my skin by that lift, prickling it was only heightened by the whisper of the nickname he had for me from when we were kids. To say it didn’t create butterflies in my stomach is a lie.

The thoughts tug at my heart, making me frown at myself in the dimly lit bedroom. I barely know this man and yet I can’t seem to get him out of my head. Not for one goddamn minute. Not since that memorial.

Woof, woof.

I turn to the side and squint my eyes to make out Primrose’s silhouette in the corner of the room.

Woof, woof.

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