A sly grin spreads across my face. “And you helped me.”
“You gave me no choice.”
“It wasn’t proper,” I tease.
He takes a deep breath. “I’m striving to be better.”
Pompous little shit. Just when I thought we had some common ground. I had thought the fact that he had helped me was a good sign. A positive thing. A step in the right direction. Clearly not.
We reach Katy’s office and I throw open the door a little more forcefully than necessary. Katy is standing by her desk, wearing a pale blue suit. It is such a shock to see her out of her usual jeans and teeshirt, that my mind has gone utterly blank.
She holds out her hand to Lucien. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Count Consort.”
She is being courteous and respectful to the man I have married. It is putting me to shame.
Lucien shakes her hand gingerly before he snatches his back as quickly as he can.
“This is Katy, my housekeeper,” I say redundantly, since it is quite clear who she is. Why else would I bring him here?
Lucien sucks in a shaky little breath. “Last night, I noticed the staff were not perfectly in time.”
Katy shoots me a look. “Apologies, Count Consort.”
“And the third server down from the head of the table was serving with his left hand.”
Katy’s eyebrows rise as she shoots me another, more intense look.
“Yes. George is left-handed, Count Consort.”
Lucien’s hands twist together. “Well, he must learn to use his right hand. Or no longer serve at formal functions. I guess informal dinners will be acceptable.”
This time the look Katy gives me is a truly withering glare. But she smiles sweetly at Lucien and bites out a, “Yes, my lord,” through gritted teeth.
I grab Lucien’s slender shoulder and steer him out of Katy’s office. He doesn’t physically put up any resistance, but once the door is shut behind us and we are striding down the hallway, he stutters, “But…but I haven’t checked the accounts yet!”
A growl escapes me. I’m getting a headache. The pompous little prat is going to be the death of me.
“Plenty of time for that later,” I say. “And Katy keeps excellent records, there is no need to check up on her!”
Lucien’s lips tighten into a fine line, but he doesn’t argue with me.
“Come on, let’s see the rest of the house, it’s not that big. I’m only a Count.” I say with false cheer.
“You’ll be a marquess one day,” Lucien says softly.
My breath hisses in. The little shit. Is this really the reason he is deigning to tolerate me? Is this the reason he agreed to marry me?
“Just like your daddy? Well, sadly for you, my father is in perfect health, so you are going to have to wait a long time to be a marquess consort.”
Silence stretches. I cast a glance over at Lucien. His head is down and his entire body language is conveying deep sadness. A twinge of guilt twists at my gut, but I shake it off. He probably didn’t like being caught out, or hearing the truth, or realizing that I’m not going to be wrapped around his little finger.
I pinch the bridge of my nose to try to ward off this blasted headache.
Damn it. This marriage is going to be even worse than I was dreading.
Chapter five
Drew
Escaping from Lucien halfway through the day was cowardly. I know it was. But now spying on him, from the safety of my study window, tells me that it clearly was the right thing to do.
The little git is now hassling my poor gardeners, and my temper could not cope with that. He even has a clipboard! A clipboard, of all things! And those dark green wellies should look ridiculous.
He bends over to inspect something, and the material of his good quality trousers stretches tight over his incredible ass. It is nothing less than a tragedy that I’ve had that ass, yet can’t remember a single thing about the experience.
I groan and snatch my gaze away. It’s a little after midday, but sod it. I need a whiskey.
The act of pouring myself a drink feels like a soothing ritual. Amber liquid cascading from a crystal decanter into a sparkling cut-glass tumbler. The sight. The sound. The delicious aroma. It’s all a balm for the soul. Unlike my new vessel. The whiskey burns down my throat, and I grimace.
The arrogant little snob had a bad word to say about every single member of staff that lined up to meet him in the great hall. Even I know that the presentation is supposed to be merely a formality. The new consort of the house is not actually expected to criticize the servants. I’m going to have no flipping staff left at this rate! They are all going to resign.
Gregory is going to have so much to say about all of this. My oldest friend can be a nightmare, but he was dead right about Lucien. I can’t face calling Gregory to let him know he predicted everything perfectly. That’s a problem to be faced another day.
My gaze drifts back towards the window, as if drawn by a magnet. Some part of me wants to see more of Lucien. Even if it’s just the sight of him stomping around the garden in too big wellies, berating the innocent gardeners.
But I will not give into my baser instincts. It’s absurd that my libido has such low standards, but the depressing truth is I’ve wanted Lucien for many years. How can I crave someone I don’t even like? Someone with no redeeming qualities save for their looks? Am I truly so very shallow as that?
Another gulp of whiskey burns its way down to my stomach. I have plenty of work to be getting on with. I don’t need to see Lucien until dinner. I don’t need to think about him until then.
