Page 5 of Hawthorne

And yet, I am not surprised. Elizabeth Hawthorne raised her. And from the intense affection in her eyes every time she looked at my aunt’s portrait, it was clear the influence she had on Camilla’s life.

After Camilla’s mother’s death, my father told me that Aunt Lizzie had kept her as if she were her daughter.

And it wasn’t surprising. If there was someone in this family who was always true to themselves, not lost in appearances and futile matters, they were Aunt Lizzie and my brother, Edgar.

Sending me to boarding school right after my father’s death was the final blow my mother accomplished to sever the connection with his sister completely. To be honest, it severed my connection to everyone—except my brother.

Edgar became the only person with whom I could be myself. He knew the pressure and expectations on my shoulders ever since I was born and so he made it his goal to be the one to always give me a break.

To Edgar, I am just his big brother, the biggest pain in his ass. To everyone else, I am Vincent Hawthorne, future duke and sadly…second in line as the heir to the Crown.

Apparently, and much to my dismay, King fucking Charles seems to have inherited his mother’s ability to bear children because even after all the women he has fucked, the outcome hasn’t been good.

The only person happy about it is my mother, of course. Eager to jump at the chance of having her firstborn become the heir, even if it’s not what I want.

“Fucking hell,” I curse, throwing the papers to the side of my working desk.

Her face keeps haunting me, showing up at the centre of my mind, stealing my attention, and replaying glimpses of her at that memorial. Unable to forget those almond-brown eyes and full lips. Unable to forget the blush that blossomed in her skin and my eyes followed, pleased by the reaction. Unable to forget the way her hips gently swayed with each classy step.

Camilla. It’s impossible to focus with her ingrained in every thought. My mind is still full of memories. But it doesn’t matter how much I try to divert my thoughts from Camilla. Her face keeps showing up at the centre of my attention, replaying glimpses of her in that memorial.

It’s impossible to focus with her ingrained in every crevice of my mind.

Standing, I head to the drink cabinet on the other side of the office, suddenly craving the need to unwind and forget.

A light knock on the door stops me from pouring a little bit of Port for just a moment as I say, “Come in.”

“Big bruv,” Edgar greets as he walks into my office as if he owns it. “How are you today?”

“How about a text on myvery functionalsmartphone before disrupting my working time?” I snark, annoyed.

It’s always the same. I am the duke, but my brother and mother seem to think I do nothing but sit around all day since they enter my space uninvited and unannounced at least twice a day.

Ignoring my remark, he questions, “Drinking already? It’s only nine in the morning.”

“It’s nine in the evening somewhere in the world,” I counter. “That’s good enough for me.”

“What’s gotten your knickers in a twist, brother?” Edgar smirks, irking me. “Was it that beauty that seemed to captivate you all evening last night?”

Suddenly, a good punch to the jaw doesn’t sound bad. But we are civil in this family—or so I’d like to think.

“I’m not in the mood for your pseudo-funny arse, Edgar. Why did you come to interrupt my work?”

“Camilla White has bloomed quite well, hasn’t she?” He smirks.

I can’t help the growl that leaves my chest, confirming whatever it is he came here to do.

“Ha, I knew it!” His head tilts back for a chest full of laughter with his hand pointing at me as if he were a five-year-old mocking a kid who has fallen flat on his arse.

“What the fuck do you want?” I grit out, letting him wind me up.

Suddenly, he sobers up and looks me straight in the eyes, studying me.

“What?” I exclaim, exasperated, bringing the Port glass to my lips.

“Oh, you want to fuck her alright,” he taunts.

I choke on my drink, spitting it all over myself and him.

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