Page 16 of Bred By the Duke

I have had roughly two hours of sleep, taken in installments, and yet I feel capable of lifting the house off its foundations with one hand.

The dining room smells of coffee, of which I am on my second cup. I’m not reading the paper in front of me because I keep thinking about the sounds Rochelle made throughout the night. The soft ‘ah’s’ and the desperate whimpers, the broken screams. How greedy she was for my cock, how hungry I am for her pussy.

I’m not an idiot. I know sex isn’t everything, but it’s good to know we are compatible in that area.

For four years, I have wondered if the attraction I felt towards her was ridiculous or not. Whether she was attracted to me or just saw me as her best friends brother, or worse, only saw me as a duke…Then she turned up fully focused on helping with the wedding when her best friend was let down at the last minute, and ended up showing me exactly what she wanted.

Rochelle comes in at ten past eight with the lever arch file under her arm and her hair still damp at the ends. She says good morning to the room like a woman with a schedule. She takes the chair opposite mine because it's the one with the space for her file without looking at me.

The tips of her ears are pink.

The toast rack is by my elbow. I pick it up and hold it out to her, she looks at it, and then she looks at me, and the pink spreads across her cheekbones.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she says, perfectly polite, and takes it out of my hand with two fingers brushing mine on the way past.

“Sanderson leaves for the airport at ten,” my mother says from the other end of the table, folding back a page of her own list. “Delphine lands at noon. I've put her in the rose room,” she lifts her eyes to mine to punctuate her disappointment.

“Mm,” Honora says, biting a piece of grapefruit from a fork.

“She's very good with people, Delphine.” She turns the list over. “I've asked Elsie to put flowers in the rose room, since we have a florist coming today anyway, and I thought at the rehearsal we might—”

“Stop.”

It comes out flatter than I intend. Cassia's spoon stops halfway to her mouth. Theo stops murmuring about his speech.

My mother lifts her head. She has a way of receiving rudeness that makes it look as though you have broken something belonging to somebody else.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I've heard enough about Delphine Corvain.” I put the knife down on the edge of my plate. “We need to address the seating plan.”

For the first time in some while, I have my mother's whole attention. She sets her pen down with great care.

“The seating plan is finalized.”

“Then we'll unfinalized it. I'm not taking anyone in to dinner tonight, and I'm not sitting where you've put me tomorrow.” I keep my voice level, because the moment I raise it she wins. “We'll go through it after breakfast.”

Cassia looks between the two of us like a spectator at something she has bought a ticket for by accident. “Since when do you care about the seating plan? Last year you told me to sit you next to whoever complains the least…”

“I've developed an interest.”

“He's developed an interest,” Cassia says to Rochelle, delighted, and then abandons the subject completely, because my sister has the attention span of a squirrel in the fall. “Ro, the flowers. She said two, but if she comes at two and the chairs come at three then they’ll all be tripping over each other.”

Rochelle turns the file around without looking down at it. “Chairs are booked between one and two, and I made them confirm it in writing, Barry knows to guide the florist to the North door, and that the vans from the chair company can park and unload by the fountain, then be carried down to the marquee. Barry even said he would help with that.

Flowers go into the cold larder overnight, the cake will be stored in the still room, as that is cold enough, the baker confirmed for me yesterday, and then the caterers have the run of the kitchen from five tomorrow morning.”

She says it all so calmly and competently, that Cassia’s entire anxious demeanor relaxes by two notches.

“The registrar is calling today at ten to confirm he has received your vows, the quartet arrive at five today for the rehearsal. Cake comes today at four and the cake designer will be here at seven to set it up in the marquee. After that the only thing left on Delia's list that nobody has touched is the buttonholes, because she wrote buttonholes? with a question mark. Did you want buttonholes?”

Cassia thinks for a moment while Theo continues spooning porridge into his mouth.

“Yes, I did,” she says solemnly, “Is it too late now?”

“No,” Rochelle says. “I had the florist make up a dozen in three different styles so you can choose in the morning.”

“What happens if there aren't any that look right?” Cassia asks.