Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #2)(24)

It had destroyed his life, reshaped him like a crucible.

There was no one to trust. Better to be alone and safe, secure and unharmed. He could count on no one to care for him, save for those he paid. He grasped the delicate doily the vase had been sitting upon and fought the urge to rip it into shreds.

He would always be alone. No matter how much he hoped otherwise, it was just another reminder that he was unlovable. No one would ever see past his face.

A throat cleared.

Hunter turned. Eldon was in the doorway. He coolly surveyed the destruction Hunter had left behind him—the shattered glass covering the hallway, the destroyed priceless vases. He said nothing, simply waited.

Hunter ran a hand down his face, suddenly weary. “Send the cleaning crew in this wing tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“That’ll be all.” Hunter turned, heading toward his room. He’d change and work out his aggression in his private gym. A few rounds with the punching bag, some shadowboxing, some weight lifting, and maybe he’d be tired enough that it wouldn’t matter.

“Shall I send her away, Mr. Buchanan?” Eldon’s quietly worded question made him stop in his tracks.

Did he want that? He could say the word and she’d be out of the house within the hour. No more questions. No more wide-eyed inquiries about his scars. Just him and utter silence once more.

He thought of Gretchen’s lovely face, her laughing eyes and her outrageous sense of humor. Her curves in the dress she’d worn tonight. The way her entire face lit up when she smiled, which was often.

He still wanted her. Still wanted to be around her, wanted to bask in her playful smiles and teasing comments.

“No,” he said abruptly. “She stays.”

“I see.”

“Thank you, Eldon.” He walked down the hallway and shut the door to his room.

***

Gretchen set her alarm for sunrise. She had a plan, and today she was going to put it into action.

When it went off the next morning, she jumped out of bed, slid into her favorite yoga pants, and dragged her hair into a messy ponytail. She tossed down a can of food for Igor, kissed his head, and bounded out the door in her slippers, heading to the library.

Hopefully she was early enough.

To her relief, the library was empty when she entered, and the customary flower and note inviting her to dinner were not present. That meant Eldon had not arrived yet. Perfect.

She sat down at the letters and began to work, glancing at the door repeatedly. Excitement was making her twitchy, and it was hard to settle down into the latest letter. They were so incredibly dry. Lula wrote to someone named Ben over and over again, and Ben never wrote back. It was so boring to read, like a one-sided conversation. Like she cared about household life a hundred and thirty-odd years ago? Like readers would?

When she finished transcribing the latest description of what bushes were flowering and how many times the neighbor had visited Lulabelle, she carefully folded the letter back into the yellowed envelope and replaced it in its spot in the trunk. Yawning, she pulled out the next letter and glanced at the date.

Three months had passed since the prior letter. Huh. She glanced down at the trunk, then back at the letter. Were they out of order? She flipped through the envelopes, but sure enough, there was a three– month gap between letters.

My dearest Benedict,

So much has changed since we last wrote.

Yeah, Gretchen thought to herself. Like winter into spring. Not exciting.

I cannot believe we are to be parted once more. The three months we spent together were Heaven on earth. I wake up in the morning, wanting to feel your form next to mine, but you are gone. My hands slide into my pantaloons and I must touch myself, trying to remember the feel of your mouth against my most delicate of female parts.

Gretchen’s eyes widened. Holy shit. That was . . . graphic. “Lulabelle, you little Victorian sexpot, you.”

My father is very against our marriage, as you know. However, I cannot help but think that if he knew of the carnal ways that we had tasted each other, the hours we had spent in each other’s arms, that perhaps he would relent. Still, I shall keep our secret as you have instructed.

Tell me when you will return to me and, until then, imagine my hands where yours should be.

All my love,

Lula

Well now. Things had just gotten a bit more interesting. Curious, Gretchen reached for the next letter and was surprised to see a masculine handwriting. Benedict had actually written Lulabelle back. Interesting. All the prior letters had been penned by one hand—Lula to Benedict.

Lovely flower,

It shall only be a few months that we are to be parted. You know that I cannot marry you as long as my fortune is no more than that of a beggar’s. Your father will never look upon me as a proper suitor for you unless I become more successful. Give my business time to take off, beloved, and we shall soon be together.

Your letter to me fired my loins and my imagination. My body aches to sink deep into yours once more, to feel your plump thighs wrapping around my waist as I move deep inside you. I know what we write is scandalous, but I do not care. If we cannot be together in person, let us be together in spirit. I know my mind is filled of thoughts of your mouth upon my maleness. It is an image burned into my mind.

Write me again,

Your Ben

Wow. So Lula gave old Ben a blowjob? She is a total vixen. Good for her. Gretchen pulled out the next letter, fascinated, and began to open it. The project had taken on new life with these latest letters, and now she couldn’t seem to read them fast enough. They were dirty and wrong—terribly wrong considering they were dating back to the Victorian period, but man, were they juicy.