I wanted to fuck Gwen and get her out of my system. She wanted to fuck me, too, but then she wanted to live happily ever after. I was not the man to do that with. She needed to lower her expectations.
And why not? Everyone else had.
“I see,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Bloody hell, Gwennie. I thought you were an adult now. That you’d grown up a bit. But you’re still clinging to that Mickey Mouse, lovey-dovey horseshit, aren’t you?”
Gwendolyn blushed. “I just want it to… mean something. Is that so wrong?”
I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t a Disney movie, Gwennie. You’re not a princess, Gwennie, regardless of who your mother married. And I’m not your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armor, or whatever the hell else you expect me to be. But I am hot, and I am good in bed, and I am willing to teach you a few things you can use to snag a husband later on in life. It’s a good deal, love. You should take it.”
I waited, my cock thrumming to the beat of my heart as Gwendolyn stared at me. Only this time, there wasn’t a war waging behind those pretty eyes. She wasn’t struggling between propriety and desire. This time, she was hurt. Pissed. Shocked that I’d ever speak to her that way.
Good. Somebody had to bring her head down out of the clouds.
“You’re an asshole, Tristan,” she whispered. “A real prick.”
“Royal prick,” I corrected her. Then I shrugged. “Anyway, the offer stands. You know where to find me.”
I opened the pantry door and stepped out, leaving Gwen huffing and puffing behind me. This was exactly why I didn’t go for the innocent types. They always wanted something they couldn’t have, something I couldn’t give. They watched too much TV and read too many books. Real life wasn’t The Princess Diaries. Real life was more like The Bachelor, where you ended up with someone based on prior arrangements and how good they were in the sack—after you’d test-driven all your options, of course.
This was t
he reality check Gwendolyn needed, and I was confident she’d come after me. After all, I was leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow, a newly enlisted member of Her Majesty’s Royal Army. She wouldn’t let me go off to war without something to remember her by—she was, as I’d said before, a romantic.
I chuckled and shook my head. Virgins…
ROYAL PRICK
Chapter 1
Four years later…
* * *
It was a well-known fact that driving your own car in London was, above all things, a very poor decision. Even among the aristocracy—who seldom touched the wheel of their own vehicles, save for an odd sense of personal enjoyment—you never drove yourself through the streets of London town. In fact, such a thing was widely accepted as the key to a stress-induced heart attack—or at least, a minor brain aneurysm.
I, thankfully, had never needed to worry much about the perils and stresses of London traffic aside from a slight sense of inconvenience, what with the readily available use of my own driver on hand.
That might have sounded snobbish, but to say that I ever took dear Franklin for granted would have been a gross injustice—I prized that man almost as much as my own family, sometimes even more. In fact, if it were to be put in order of people I could count on more, it would be my beloved Franklin who would have to sit squarely on top, my own parents residing somewhere abysmally lower. It wasn’t uncommon for women such as myself to have a—shall we say—distant affection for their parents, but my feelings about my family often bordered between apathy and sheer disdain—and that was on a good day. I grew up with all of the perks of a wealthy upbringing, as well as the minimal parental appreciation.
The life of a young woman living among the upper echelons of British society was, without a doubt, one of privilege and often a great deal of to-do that hardly seemed to mesh with the modern age. For instance, many among the aristocracy still scoffed at the idea of work, aside from a few select professions: lawyer and politician being the most agreeable to the senses of the “old blood.” Men were, more often than not, still expected to hold down respectable careers while women were expected to take up one or more charities to help boost their popularity among the people. I, being only the stepdaughter of a lord, was afforded certain freedoms, most of which came from not bearing the name of his house upon my shoulders. The greatest of these freedoms, I felt, was the simple option of actually choosing my own profession, something few of my fellow members of the nobility shared.
My job, which many would not qualify as “acceptable” or “respectable,” was something that many among the upper class still desperately needed, especially in a day and age where “good breeding” was hard to come by. When the country’s nobility needed to find their sons and daughters matches, I was the one who found the most compatible options. Matchmaking was my specialty, and I was one of the best in Britain.
I always laughed at the old saying that “those who can’t do, teach,” but the longer I stayed in my profession the longer I came to realize that the same was true for a great deal of people like me. “Those who can’t find love, find it for others.”
Thoughts like that brought me back to days before I was the confident woman I am now, back when I had been spared the misfortune of the attention of men—back when I’d not yet grown fully into myself. It was those thoughts that made me think of Tristan.
For all the years he had been away I still found my mind drifting back to that pantry, to the way his hands touched me. I closed my eyes and tried my best to push those intrusive images away. And were it not for my driver, I don’t think that was a battle I would have won.
“Where to this morning, Ms. Gwendolyn?” came Franklin’s deep, heavily accented baritone from the front seat as I shut the door and buckled myself in. I’d always liked Franklin’s Scottish drawl, ever since I was a much younger girl.
“Straight to the office today, I think, Franklin,” I sighed. “No time for our usual stops. And besides, it looks like rough seas today.”
“That it does,” Franklin said, his voice taking on a dark, mocking tone. “Lucky for you, then, that you’ve got yourself a fine sailor at the helm of this ship then, isn’t it?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” I said, smiling as I relaxed back into my seat. I watched as Franklin pulled my car out into the sea of honking horns. It almost felt like we’d joined a herd of angry wildebeests with an exceptionally colorful vocabulary.
“Must be a big to-do if you’re skipping your morning cuppa, Miss,” Franklin said, clucking his tongue. “Does some big fish need to find their soulmate so fast the breakfast had to wait?”
“Afraid so,” I said, shaking my head at his motherly concern. That had always been his way, especially in my younger days, looking after my best interests and always making sure that I was fed. I always joked to myself that Franklin doted on me like an old fishwife, especially with the lack of his own children at home. “At least, that’s what Tina made it sound like this morning.”
Tina, my personal assistant—and probably the person I could rely on just as much as Franklin—handled much of the running of day-to-day aspects of my business including acting as the buffer between myself and the multitude of pompous nobles who all demanded that they be first and last priority when it came to my time and energy. There was no one so demanding of quality work as those who had never done a day of it in their lives.
“Must be, if Ms. Tina is calling you so early,” he said, glancing back at me through the rearview mirror, his crinkled blue eyes creased with no shortage of empathy. I wasn’t sure what I ever did to deserve Franklin, especially on stressful days like this.
“I’m just hoping that I don’t walk into another one of Lord Adderby’s explosions like the last time she called me so early.” The infamous Lord Adderby was one of my more usual clients, being a man in his late sixties, finding him a proper match had proven to be more than a little challenging, even for my considerable talent. It had been over a year since he had engaged my services as a matchmaker, and the entire time he had either offended or rejected every single woman that I had set him up to begin courting. This, in part, had been due to the lord’s rather grating personality, and the fact that he was probably the most inappropriate man that I had ever had the misfortune to do business with.
I could only hope that my luck would hold out and I’d have a quiet day at work, with minimal instances of undesired screaming.
* * *
***
* * *
“She slapped me!” Lord Adderby declared, his jowls wobbling as he raged, reminding me in no small way of a flustered walrus. “That woman is lucky I haven’t called the police! The nerve of that girl, laying her hand on one of her betters like that!”
“Calm yourself, Lord Adderby,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. It took every ounce of my self-control not to slap the man myself. This was true for any unfortunate instance where the two of us had to occupy the same space, let alone have his spittle threatening to land right on my glasses whenever he spoke. “I’m sure we can work this all out.”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll work out,” he said, his face reddening with every word. “I want another match! A respectable match! And you’ll have her name to me today before I set foot out of that door, young lady!”
“My lord, your tone isn’t helping this situation,” I said, my patience already worn thin by his lordship’s inability to mind the expulsions from his mouth. It was exactly this kind of situation that made me lament giving up coffee only a week before. “I’m sure we can talk to Miss Fairchild and sort all of this out, if you would perhaps only apologize to her for whatever offence—”
“Me? Apologize to her? Absolutely not!” he spluttered. “And as for my tone, I will not have a girl of your station—no matter the breeding of your stepfather—tell me anything to do with tone! I’ll have that little bitch brought up on charges!”
I clenched my fists, tightening my lips into a thin line as I felt the limits of my
tolerance breaking like a levy in a storm. If there was one thing I disliked—no, hated—more than anything it was the word “bitch,” especially in regards to a fellow woman. Second would be the implication that my own authority was somehow determined by the marriage of my mother.
“Get out,” I said, my voice coming out much louder than I had imagined that it would. I could feel my heart pounding like a drum, thudding in time to the bubbling anger that was given my voice its steely tone.
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Adderby said, blinking with incredulity. He seemed to regard me fully for the first time since I had walked into my office and he had started his insufferable tirade. “Just who do you think you are?”
“I think that I am the proprietor of this business, Lord Adderby,” I said, my jaw set as I looked the old fossil directly in his drooping eyes, “and that I have instructed you to leave this instant. From this moment forward, you will no longer be receiving my services in your romantic endeavors.”
“How dare you?” the blustering tub of lard asked, stomping his foot like a spoiled child. “I have never received such disrespect in all my years! Do you even realize the repercussions that this will have on you, young lady? Why, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll never be able—”
I held my hand out in front of his face, silencing him almost immediately. His mouth closed with a snap and I watched as his face turned from a deep scarlet to almost bruise-like purple around his cheeks.
“Leave, Lord Adderby, before I have you removed by building security.”