Page 52 of Hawthorne

Once again, her shoulder bumps mine. This time, with a little more force than was needed, and she heads to the staircase. She’s trying to prove a point—that she is above me.

It’s a pointless power move because I know very well what my role is in this hierarchy. The bottom of the bottom.

Still, I follow the orders I have received.

“Your Grace, the duke was very clear about—”

“I don’t care whatyousay my son has said.” She glares at me. “You willnotorder me around.”

With that, she turns her back to me and starts climbing up the stairs.

“I’m the one ordering, not her,” he calmly comments from the top of the stairs, stunning me in place and halting his mother’s movements.

The duke is standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in a classic white button-up and dark grey slacks. At first look, he seems relaxed, with his hands inside the front pockets. But as my eyes wander around his figure, I can see the authoritative stance in him, with legs slightly apart, a serious expression and a quirked eyebrow that yells, “Dare to defy me.”

“I was very clear indeed. We’re to meet in the visiting room.”

I can’t help but press my thighs together at the sight of him like this, so assertive and authoritative. Memories of the things we’ve done together, of what he’s done to me, flood my mind. My heart pumps faster, heating my body.

Especially my cheeks.

“And I was going to meet you in your office,” she still defies him, cutting—just slightly—my intrusive dirty thoughts.

“Am I not the duke?” he questions, and she doesn’t answer.

Vincent takes it as a sign to start climbing down the steps until he reaches her. There he extends his arm out to her. “Let’s go, dear mother.”

She huffs but still intertwines her arms around his. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, she lets him guide her to the room where she was supposed to be in the first place—waiting for him.

“Camilla,” the duke calls, turning his head back to me.

He pauses slightly, eyeing me up and down with a knowing smirk on his face, making me gulp in response. It affects me, and he knows it, of course.

“Bring us the tea and biscuits please,” he asks politely with a tiny hint of that husky and seductive tone he used on me last night.

His mother doesn’t even turn around to spare me a second glance, and that’s reason enough for Vincent to wink at me before disappearing with her into the room, leaving me all hot and bothered in the main hall.

The moment I step into the visiting room with a tray filled with biscuits, scones, cream cheese, jam, and a few dried fruits to accompany their Earl Grey tea, their conversation stops.

“Thank you, Camilla,” Vincent says, keeping his heated gaze on mine.

I look away as I place the tray and start to assemble the couple of plates with the biscuits, scones, and tiny bows with the jams. Without even waiting for me to finish, the duke takes his cup but not without earning a scoff from his mom.

“Would you please let her do her job? Isn’t that what she’s here for?”

Fortunately, he ignores her, taking her cup and placing it in front of her. I rush to grab the teapot before he does and serve them both. Once everything’s set, I grab the tray back and bow to both of them, eager to leave the room.

“I’ll be close by if you need me.” And then I scurry out of the room.

As soon as the door shuts, the duchess’ voice sounds again.

“Why don’t we celebrate back home?” his mother asks in a whiny tone.

“Because I live here. I’d prefer if we celebrate it here.”

“Fine,” she concedes, “but on one condition.”

“What now, Mother?”

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