But with Rathe, it was so very different.
She had seen the way he was with others and was able to compare it with how he was with her.
With the others, he had always been the duke. He was rarely smiling but always polite, rarely talking but always listening, rarely asking but always commanding. No one was ever allowed to get close to him, not physically or emotionally – but somehow she was different.
Rathe Wellesley had chosen to let her in.
With her, there were flashes of wickedness in his eyes, there was amusement, and there was passion. The hottest and deepest kind that made her toes curl and sigh even when she was only imagining his face before she fell asleep.
With her, he was not the duke.
He was Rathe.
"Well?" It was the duke in him snapping this time. "Have you found one yet?"
She was not bothered by it, knowing instinctively that it was only because he did not want to be more … affected. She was a little bothered, too, and she prayed fervently that he would not notice how her nipples were begging for his attention now, thrusting against the thin silk of her dress.
Mary blushed, remembering that it was Rathe who had changed her clothes and that he had insisted she did not wear any bra.
"Mary?"
"Ah, this one," she hurried to answer, pointing randomly to one of the thumbnails on the screen.
With a frown, Rathe took the iPad, one eyebrow lifting when he saw what she had chosen. "Figures," he muttered.
Curious at his response, she scooted close, forgetting that they were not supposed to be this near.
He tensed at her proximity, doing his best not to inhale her inviting scent. His balls ached. Dammit, they had been aching since forever. Why did it take so bloody long for the human body to heal? If he had to endure this the entire week, he didn't think he would survive.
Mary was now bending forward, allowing him a glimpse into her dress and see how her rosy nipples were pointed and begging for his kiss.
She touched the thumbnail on the screen to have it enlarged, gasping when it came into view in all its glory. It was almost like serendipity, she marveled silently. It was exactly the kind of house she dreamed of. A two story wooden structure, like a palace designed under the guise of a cabin, with its high ceilings, glass balconies, and brick highlights.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. She swiped the screen for other photos and paused when it zoomed to the home's master bedroom. "Oh, and look! It's so big – enough to squeeze in my piranha---"
"No bloody way."
She frowned up at him. "Why not?"
"I don't share my bedroom with killers," he said, Rathe's disdain making his British accent very much pronounced.
She had a hard time not smiling. Oh dear. There it was again – the implication that he was indeed going to live with her in the house. It shouldn't be so but if it was … she would not complain.
"Well, if you put it that way," she said, pretending to hedge.
He said in disgust, "If you were to make a choice between me and your piranha---"
Mary answered innocently, "I couldn't ever choose."
Rathe grimaced. A mistress would have chosen him right away or played coy and chose the other option, just to tease him. But Mary hadn't done either. Forcing himself to concentrate on the house, "Are we done then? Is this what you want?"
She bit her lip. "I just think it's so extravagant and---" He placed one finger on her lips.
"A beautiful pearl like you deserves the most gorgeous setting," Rathe said huskily.
Oh.
He really was a duke.
Only a duke could say something so pretty like that and not look like a liar.
She confided helplessly, "I don't know what to say."
"Just the truth will do. It always will."
Mary nodded. But because she couldn't speak the truth, not when she wasn't sure what it was yet, what she did instead was draw his head down. Their lips met, and the truth was silently spoken in their hearts even when they both pretended they didn't understand it.
When Mary slept that night, he gently drew the covers over her and left the room, not wanting to accidentally wake her up as he made a few necessary calls. There, he made the necessary calls to get the house in order and finally, he placed a call to his solicitor.
"Wilson, I need you to draw up a contract that will act like a pre-nup but will function more as a quit-claim and confidentiality agreement."
His solicitor asked carefully, "What is this for?"
Rathe hesitated, then deciding that his solicitor would have to know all the details anyway, he said abruptly, "For my mistress."
The words had Wilson cursing in his mind but his voice was bland as he said, "I may need her to sign in my office." He wanted to see who the slut was that captured the duke's heart. For so long, he had been hoping it would be his daughter who would be Rathe Wellesley's wife. He would not give up so easily now. If he could get the girl in his office, perhaps he might find a way to get rid of her.
"No, just fax it to this number---" Rathe rattled it off. "---when I tell you to and I'll get her to sign it."
When the duke ended the call, Wilson immediately checked the number on his caller ID. It resulted in the address and phone number of a five-star hotel in Florida, surprising him. He had not known the duke to spend so much time outside England. This girl must have already gotten her claws deep.
Even so, there were still ways.
He would not let go of his ambitions just like that.
Chapter Eight
"Does it meet your approval?" Rathe asked the next day as he rolled her into the last room of the house, which had seven in total. Among them was a library, a game room, and a music room that Rathe told her would belong to her piranha, like a nursery room for a would-be killer. He had gotten an outraged look at his words, which he found very cute – enough for him to bend down and take her lips for another kiss.
She let out a happy sigh. "Yes." She looked outside wistfully, seeing the huge expanse of pine forests that made up her "backyard". It was a beautiful sight and earlier she had even seen a man-made pond. She began, "You know, I saw a pond---"
Knowing where this was going, Rathe said succinctly, "No."
"But I---"
He looked at her.
She bit her lip then, unable to stop herself, she blurted out, "It's just---"
He crouched down in front of her wheelchair, which she had been banished to with the doctor's approval and would remain so for at least two more days. "Let me tell you what's on your mind so you don't have to go through the trouble of speaking."
Her eyes widened.
"You saw the man-made pond and your devious, foolish little mind thought it would be perfect for your piranha, correct?"
Mary gasped.
"And you were also thinking, maybe – maybe if you swam with it, it would be easier for you to take care of it and train it to be a vegetarian?"
She said eagerly, "Yes---"
He gracefully returned to his feet. "The answer is no."
Her jaw dropped.
Caressing her face, he said, "It's non-negotiable. I treasure every part of you, little pearl, and I will hunt down anyone that aims to hurt you – including your precious pet." He said the last word like it was a curse.
"It's not that bad," she said defensively.
"It tried to chew off the fingers of the movers I hired."
"It wasn't its fault that piranhas are programmed to mistake his fingers as food! He had fat fingers!"
Shaking his head, he took hold of the handles of her wheelchair and rolled her out of the room. "The answer is still no."
"Tyrant," she said under her breath.
"I heard that."
She said in petty anger, louder this time, "TYRANT."
But he only laughed as he rolled her back to the bedroom, which had also been as beautifully furnished as the rest of the house. It was uncanny, the way the furnishing was a blend of her taste and his. Aquatic colors of blues and greens melded beautifully with his darker shades of black and purple. Cool cotton fabrics mixed with heavier velvets and leather, and the polished wood that made up the walls, ceilings, and floor made a nice contrast with the elegant centerpieces and paintings that were all over the house.
He laid her on the bed.
"It's just four thirty and I'm in bed again?" she complained.
He gave her a look that said she was a kid for complaining, but it only made her giggle.
He began undressing her, too, and she let him, knowing now that he loved seeing her naked. She had done so early this morning, just before he had given her a bath in the tub. She had thought then he would make her come again, but he did not, leaving her with a clenched jaw on the bed after drying her off and helping her change.
"Why aren't you touching me?" she had asked him then, hurt and scared that he was no longer interested in her. It pained her to ask the question, but she had to.