Dating the Duke (The Aristocrat Diaries 2)

I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel this way.

Every single day.

For the rest of my life.

She’d said she didn’t want anything serious, but was that really true? Or was that a line she was drawing in our relationship to stop that happening? I knew I had feelings for her—by God, I had so many feelings for her—and perhaps it was naïve of me to think she had none for me.

What if she did?

Was there a way to change her mind?

She was only here for another two weeks. That was nothing. It was practically no time at all, but if I put my mind to it…

Then maybe I really could change hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – ADELAIDE

ME: What are we doing for our birthday?

Eva’s response flashed up quickly.

EVA: I don’t know. Are you coming home? We’re running out of time!!!!!!!!!

Talk about dramatic.

ME: I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know if I feel comfortable asking Alex to let me leave for two days.

Also, I kind of didn’t want to leave for two days.

I know that sounded bad when you considered that it was our birthday, but if I only had two weeks left here, I wanted to make the absolute most of that time.

With everyone. Including Elizabeth.

Which was a very peculiar feeling.

EVA: *smirk emoji* I know one way you can ask him.

ME: Stop it. It was a one-time thing.

It wasn’t.

EVA: Yeah, right.

ME: I’m not lying.

I was so lying.

ME: We agreed it was inappropriate for us to have any kind of relationship beyond friendship, and that’s that.

EVA: That seems like a waste. Can I have him, then?

ME: Eva.

EVA: Kidding, kidding.

ME: What about Matthew? Did that not go anywhere?

EVA: It went several places, and none of them required clothes, but that’s all it is. Just sex.

ME: I quite liked him. I thought he was nice.

EVA: Meh. I don’t have time for a relationship, and even if I did, do I want to marry someone with a title?

ME: You were going to marry Prince Harry when we were thirteen.

EVA: Well, there’s no accounting for taste. Thank goodness I grew out of that bad taste stage. It’s far better now.

ME: You haven’t dated in five years.

EVA: Seven, actually, and you haven’t for at least two.

ME: Yes, but you’ve never had a relationship longer than three months.

EVA: It’s hardly my fault men can’t handle me.

ME: Can Matthew handle you?

EVA: Do you REALLY want me to go there?

I was about to respond and tell her that no, I did not, when I was interrupted by Alexander walking into the library. He took one look at me typing on my phone instead of on my laptop and raised his eyebrows.

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

“Technically,” I said slowly. “I am.”

“Fine, I shall amend my previous question.” He slid a book into a space on the shelf. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing your book?”

Ah.

He had me there.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

He dropped his hand and looked over at me, smiling. “That doesn’t look like you’re writing your book, Adelaide.”

I looked at the conversation on my phone and pouted my lips. “No. Not at all.”

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Eva. She wants me to see if I can go home for our birthday next week.” I paused, glancing over at him.

“Are you sitting on a bed of nails?”

“That’s a random question.”

“I was just wondering, given how uncomfortable you look.”

I sighed and put down my phone. “You’re paying me to be here, not flounce off back to Arrow Woods for two days.”

Alex walked across the library and perched on the desk next to my laptop. “Addy, darling, if you want to go home for your birthday, you can go home for your birthday.”

“But—”

“There’s no buts about it,” he said, nudging his foot against my thigh. “This isn’t Beauty and the Beast. I’m not locking you up in my castle.”

I looked around the room. “It’s a pretty splendid library, though. Can’t say I’d be too opposed to being shut in here.”

Alex smirked. “Well, look what happened the last time we locked the door.”

“Shh!” My cheeks flamed.

“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

“Be quiet.” I turned back to my laptop and the page that only had the words ‘chapter nine’ typed on.

He didn’t move. He was still sitting there, staring at me, with his perfectly pressed bloody trousers stretching across his strong thighs.

I wrote those exact words on the page, then glanced at him.

White shirt. Sleeves rolled up.

I could work with that, too.

“Writing about me, darling?”

“Yes. I’ve decided to take a foray into murder mysteries,” I replied, never taking my eyes from the screen. “My first victim will be an unfortunate duke who gets battered over the head with a candlestick.”

“Interesting. Who’s the murderer?”

“Undecided. Either the last woman he slept with, or the… No, never mind. Definitely the last woman he slept with.”