Dating the Duke (The Aristocrat Diaries 2)

Not that there was a relationship, of course.

Well, there was. But not like that.

Oh, gosh. I’d gotten my thoughts all whipped up.

I got out of my car and sucked on my finger. I’d stabbed it at least twenty times tonight at cross-stitch club, and I was pretty sure it now resembled a very well used pin cushion.

And it hurt.

I unlocked the front door and let myself in, then re-locked it right behind me. The house was quiet, and most of the lights were off despite the fact it was a little dark outside.

It was always eerie to be in a big house like this without lights on.

I kicked off my shoes and went searching. The library and kitchen were empty, the back patio lights were turned off, and every other room was lifeless, except for the cat sleeping in the sink in the downstairs toilet room.

Of course. Why wouldn’t there be a cat sleeping in the sink? That would just delight Alexander.

Oh, well. That wasn’t my problem.

A bang came from the direction of the study room, and I paused.

Why would someone be in there? The only people who used that were me and Olympia.

The cats.

I swear to God, if there was a bloody cat in there messing with our stuff, I was going to haul it back into the bloody bathroom where it belonged.

I walked quietly down the hall to the study room. The door was ajar, and a faint light was just visible through the crack.

Who was in there?

I pushed the door open. It didn’t so much as creak—which meant Peter had finally oiled the squeaky hinges for me. I peered inside in the direction of where the light was coming from and paused.

Olympia was curled in one of the armchairs, under a blanket, with Phoebe the cat, reading.

By the looks of things, she was pretty far along in that book, so she’d been here a while.

“Hey,” I said softly.

She jumped, almost dropping the book, and looked at me with wide, scared eyes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, it’s you. Was Papa looking for me?”

“No, I just came back and heard a noise, then saw the light.” I pushed the door closed behind me. “What are you doing in here?”

“I wanted to read my book,” she said in a small voice. “I was going to take it upstairs, but I like reading in here.”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll go to bed.” She reached for her bookmark, and when she opened the book to slide it in, I saw she was in the middle of a chapter.

“Well, I suppose you can finish the chapter first.” I put my bag on the table and smiled at her. “In fact, do you mind if I join you?” I pulled a book out of my bag, and her face lit up with joy.

“No! Can we sit together on the sofa?”

“We sure can.” I took my book over to the sofa, and Olympia systematically carried everything over to the sofa, including the cat.

It was with one arm, mind you. That cat was exceptionally patient.

I propped myself up with a bunch of pillows behind me, and Olympia nestled herself down next to me, lying back on me. She spread the blanket out over both of us, and Phoebe circled four times before snuggling into a ball between our legs.

With that settled, we both opened our books and started to read.

Let’s be honest, I had no intention of sending Olympia to bed. If she was reading, she was reading. A few weeks ago, this seemed like an impossibility.

I was going to nurture this as long as I could.

I turned the page to the next chapter and yawned. Olympia shifted against me slightly, but she was so happy reading that I simply adjusted my pillows for more head support and got back to my own book.

We didn’t speak at all. The only noises were the gentle purr-snore of the cat and the swish of our pages as we read.

It was warm and comfortable, more comfortable than it really had any right to be. But here we were, together, and neither of us had a care in the world except the words on the next page.

And I loved this feeling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – ALEXANDER

“Ma!” I ran through the house to her bedroom and knocked on the door. “Ma! Mother!”

“Hold on, hold on.” There was a bang and a shuffle before she finally opened the door. “This is very loud for seven-thirty in the morning, Alexander.”

“Have you seen Olympia?”

“In my sleep, dear? Unlikely.”

“She’s not in her room. Boris and Peter haven’t seen her, and she’s not outside or in the playroom or—”

“Breathe.” Ma touched my arms and looked into my eyes. “Who’s in the house right now?”

“Us, Boris, Peter, and Adelaide.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “What if she ran away, Ma? Why can’t I find her?”