Caught Between Two Lords

SELENA POV.

“Just a little more red… Now a little more white… Perfect.” Raymond was showing me how to mix my paints. His six-foot-plus frame towered over me, burly arms guiding my own to get the perfect color. When I’d finished, I looked into his rich, loving eyes, pleased with my work and even more pleased by his approval.

Raymond Churchill was my painting teacher who had summered with my family to give me private lessons since I was an adolescent. I had warmed to him immediately – from his sweet smile to his attentive gaze to the way his tight t-shirts wrapped around his bulging biceps, I found nothing to dislike and plenty of love. My mother, however, had been skeptical, sensing his rebellious disposition and his bold artistic soul.

Under Raymond’s tutelage, I had become a fine painter, growing far more skilled than I’d ever expected. He always encouraged me, and I was enamored with the way he saw the world. It made perfect sense, then, that as the years passed and I grew older, we became lovers. This was a fact no one knew, nor did I ever want them to – it would surely mean Raymond would be expelled from the estate, never to return. Our romance was meant to be kept secret.

Painting wasn’t the only thing Raymond had taught me. After our first kiss all those years ago, things had quickly escalated. Our private lessons had become even more private – lock-the-doors private – as I developed from an innocent, virginal girl to a woman in full command of her desires. Thanks to his devastating good looks and toe-curling erotic prowess, those desires had never strayed from him.

I turned around, ready to enjoy a romantic kiss, when a sudden knock on the door interrupted us. We quickly separated, panicked.

“Your ladyship?” a voice asked through the door. It was Carlotta, my favorite of our summer attendants. She knew to never come in unannounced.

“Just a moment!” I called as Raymond hid himself in my closet. Once he was safely hidden away, I called again, “Come in!”

She entered with a look on her face that I recognized instantly – don’t kill the messenger. Carlotta was only a few years older than me, which usually made her feel like a friend. However, every so often incidents would arise that would remind us both why she was really here: because she worked for my mother. Now was one of those times.

“The Duchess would like a word with you,” she said, eyes cast down apologetically.

“Right now?” I asked, groaning. I knew my mother well enough to know that when she issued a summons, there would almost always be a long conversation to follow. Further, more often than not, that conversation would turn into an argument.

Carlotta lowered her voice to a whisper. “Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “I’m sorry – those are the Duchess’ orders.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I replied, standing up from my easel. “It’s certainly not your fault. But please, I beg of you, you don’t need to keep referring to my mother as ‘the Duchess.’ She has a big enough head as it is.”

My mother always wanted to be called the Duchess, even by me, if I’d allowed it, since she knew that she was a duchess in name only, with none of the power that she wanted.

I followed Carlotta through the house to my mother’s quarters, which was quite a long walk. The house – our summer estate in the Devon countryside – was quite enormous. We hardly had the means nor the social status to host large gatherings anymore, but there was enough space for lavish ballroom dances, soirees in our many courtyards, and poolside afternoons in the sun. There were also, Raymond and I had learned over the years, plenty of tucked-away rooms perfect for secret liaisons.

My annoyance grew as we made our way across the house. I had been so excited for my day alone painting with Raymond! We had not had an opportunity to spend a private day together all week and were starving for each others’ bodies. I hoped that whatever my mother had to talk to me about would be a quick and painless conversation.

“Selena!” my mother barked before we even entered the room. “What took you so long? We have something very important to talk about.”

“There goes my afternoon,” I thought.

“Have a seat, Selena,” my mother said. “Carlotta, please excuse yourself.”

When Carlotta had closed the door and was safely out of earshot, my mother’s expression changed. She had become very serious, even a little bit scary. But scary came naturally to my mother.

“Selena, do you know what I was doing at your age?” she asked.

Given that she asked me this question nearly every day, I knew the answer right away. “Marrying my father.”

“Exactly. May he rest in peace,” she said. “Which is why it’s been such a disappointment to me that you’ve shown no signs of interest in marriage or even dating, despite being long past due to find a mate.”

“Long past due?!” I asked in horror. “I’m only twenty-three!”

“That’s an eternity for a person of nobility like yourself, and you know it. And I’m not the only person who’s concerned.”

“Let me guess,” I started, rolling my eyes. “Uncle William is concerned too.”

“He’s even more concerned than I am. Which is why he and I have made a plan.”

I looked at her in confusion. What was she about to say? The last thing I wanted was for them to send me on a date with some boorish, uninteresting nobleman who was probably my third cousin anyway. Besides, I wasn’t having any trouble with romance at all – not that she knew that.

“We have done a great deal of research and preparation, and we have finally set a date.”

I was perplexed. “A date? A date for what?”

“A date for your marriage. We’ve found your match – an eligible bachelor who happens to be an Earl. We’ve deemed him to be the perfect candidate to be your husband.”

My heart sank. “My husband?! You picked out my husband behind my back?”

“You clearly weren’t going to make the effort yourself, so we did what we had to do,” she said with a sigh, as though I were somehow responsible for this.

“You did not have to do this,” I said, feeling nearly faint. But I found my courage. “I don’t have to do this either. And I won’t.”

“Selena, you will do as you’re told.” My mother’s voice had turned steely and cold. It was the voice she used when she didn’t want to be argued with, and it often worked – it was quite terrifying, even to me. But today I stood strong.

“No, Mom, not this time,” I said. “I’m not ready to get married. There’s so much I want to do!”

“Like what?!” she asked, as though that were a preposterous thing for me to say.

“I want to enjoy being young! I want to take more art classes, I want to see the world…” I trailed off, thinking of the secret trip to Paris I was planning, imagining all the activities we’d talked about – the museums, the food, the long afternoons in his arms…

“You’ve seen enough of the world already,” my mother snapped. She was furious. “Don’t you have any sense of duty to your family? Don’t you recognize your purpose?”

“My purpose?” I stammered. I feared I knew what she was going to say, but I didn’t want to believe it.

“You are the only person who can restore the Cornwall family to our rightful position among the other noble families. If your father hadn’t gone behind my back and made that ridiculous, baffling demand to relinquish the hereditary inheritance of the Dukedom, we wouldn’t have to go through with this. The title would have gone to your uncle, who could have preserved our family’s status, allowing you more freedom to vacation in Rome or wherever it is you want to go. But because of your late father’s shockingly inconsiderate actions, you’re our only chance at restoring our name. So if there’s anyone you want to blame for this, it’s your father.”

I certainly wasn’t ready to blame my father, but I had always wondered why he’d signed the contract that took away the right of hereditary inheritance. Even more confusing was that he signed it so soon before his death.

“My father would never stand for this,” I said desperately.

Just then, there was an assertive knock on the door, which could only mean one person was on the other side of it. My uncle William entered with the same dastardly look he always had on his face. Though he was my father’s brother, he was his complete opposite – crass, rude, and cold-hearted.

“So,” he began. “Your mother’s told you the plan.”

“You can consider this plan a fantasy, because it is never going to actually happen,” I replied furiously.

“Oh, it will happen,” he said, slightly threateningly. He and my mother exchanged a wicked look. “Just you wait.”

“Look, it’s not my fault that Dad signed that contract,” I said. “It’s not my fault you don’t get to be the Duke of Cornwall.”

“It might not be your fault, but you’re the one who can fix it,” he said. “After all, I’ll only become Duke of Marlborough when my own uncle dies, and he’s only in his fifties now. At that rate, I’ll only get my title as an old man.”

“That is not my problem,” I said, on the verge of tears. I wanted to slap him.

“Well, it will become your problem if you don’t do as you’re told,” my mother said. Now she rose, walking quickly from the room, giving me one last bone-chilling nod. As she passed my uncle, his hand ever so gently grazed her thigh. They exchanged a knowing smile as he followed her out.

I wanted to wretch at the sight of it. Then I thought about my situation, and wanted to wretch again. I missed my father – he was the only person who would have protected me from this situation, and he was long gone. Well, not the ONLY person. There was one other person who would fight for me, and fortunately, he was currently in my closet. I knew then and there what we had to do. My mother wouldn’t be happy – in fact, she’d be quite furious – but it was the only solution: we had to run away at once.

He looked as handsome as ever when he opened the door, his deep eyes immediately meeting mine. He could tell something wrong. “What is it?” he asked with concern.

I leapt into his arms and he pulled me quickly into an embrace. I always felt safe there, and I loved how it felt to be enveloped in his muscular frame. Tears rushed to my eyes, and I spent a long moment holding him tightly as I composed myself.

“It’s my mother,” I said, “and my uncle as well.” I couldn’t hide the utter contempt in my voice. “They’ve…” I trailed off. I couldn’t say it.

“They’ve what?”

“They’ve arranged for me to be married.” As the words came out of my mouth, they hardly felt real to me.

“What?!” he asked in astonishment. “To be married to who?!”

It was then that I realized I didn’t have an answer for him. In all the hubbub that followed my mother’s shocking revelation, I had neglected to ask the very important question of who would be my future groom-to-be.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, embarrassed. “I got so upset she didn’t have time to tell me. He’s an Earl, that’s all I know. And from the sound of it, that’s all I need to know. It’s just so they can become nobles again. It’s so stupid I could cry.” And with that, I did cry, head resting against his sturdy pecs. “We need to run away tonight.”

He ran his hands through my hair for a long moment. I waited for him to say the magic words I was waiting for: “I’m ready to go.” We’d already discussed it but had never gotten so far as to make a plan. The most we’d discussed in detail was a trip to visit Paris together at the end of the summer under the guise of a museum tour. But this situation called for longer-term plans.

But to my surprise, that wasn’t what he said. Once I’d stopped crying, he kissed my head, his large hands squeezing my own. “I wish we could,” he said. Now he let go of me.

I was shocked. “We can! We SHOULD!” He said nothing. “That’s all you have to say?” I asked, horrified.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, sadness rising in his voice. “I would be foolish not to have seen this coming. The writing was on the walls. I only thought I had more time.”

“We can still have more time,” I pleaded. “I’m not going to go through with this plan. I want to be with you.”

But it was like a nightmare: my words did not seem to change his mind. “I want that too, but I know better. It breaks my heart, but we were never meant to be together. You’re a duchess with the world at your fingertips. I’m just an artist who had the good fortune of becoming your teacher for a while.”

“I’m an ex-Duchess,” I countered, “whose father freed me from the stupid obligations of being a noblewoman. And you’re the man I love.” The passion in my voice rose as I thought of how it felt to have his body over mine, thrusting into me.

“It would be foolish for anyone in your shoes to give up their position,” he said. I couldn’t believe my ears – it was like he’d become a different person. “I’m not going to be the reason why you walk away from a life of ease and privilege.”

“But I want to,” I said, a wave of outrage coming over my body. “And how dare you call me foolish?! What about all the conversations we’ve had? What about Paris?”

“Paris would have been fun,” he said weakly. “And I meant everything I said. But it was always a fantasy.”

“It wasn’t a fantasy to me,” I said, furiously. The waves of anger that had flooded my veins turned into waves of shame. “Were you lying this whole time?”

“Not a word,” he said. “But to find out this news… It just confirms what I’ve always known. We don’t belong together. Maybe in another life, but…” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

I began to cry again. “I thought you would fight for me,” I said.

He tried to pull me into an embrace again, but I pushed him away.

“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he said. “It’s because I don’t want to get in the way of what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?!” Now I felt all my feelings at once: anger, humiliation, and sadness. Together, they made me feel like I was going to throw up. “You don’t get to tell me what’s best for me! I thought you loved and respected me,” I wept.

“I do,” he said. “More than anything. But we need to be honest, Selena. You’re the type of person who gets only the best of everything. And I might not be the smartest guy, but I know I’m no match for an Earl.”

“You’re so much better than some dumb, entitled nobleman. I could never be with a man like that. No creativity. No humor. No passion. I need a man… like you.”

“No one will ever match your passion,” he said.

“One person will,” I replied. I leaped on him, kissing him hard. Though he was shocked, he didn’t push away. After a moment, he kissed me back. We were desperate for one another. I could feel it in his hands, wandering my body. I could feel it in his tongue, tracing a line from my mouth down my neck. I could feel it in his body growing rigid with desire as his lips made their way toward my breasts.

It was at that moment the door opened.