'Gwen pushed him back, trying to create enough space between them. "I do not love you." Alexander smirked. "You do. You just don't know that you do." Gwen moved back. "Do you know the ways of my heart." "Yes, I do. And it tells the truth. You are only too stubborn to acknowledge it." He moved closer, pressing her against the wall. "When you decide to tell yourself the truth, I will be waiting." He kissed her forehead. "But don't make me wait long. I am not as patient as people think." This time he kissed her lips and staked off, leaving Gwen in a complete daze.' Marriage and a family is all life is to Gwen and she would see to it that she is not humiliated before then. A wife, and not a mistress is what she plans to be, but what can be done when the king of her country makes a proposal to put her by his side? Alexander is used to getting what he wants and getting his way, after all, he is King. But when he sets his eyes on the young and beautiful Guinevere who is just as stubborn as he is, will making her stay at the castle earn him her love, or will it be the beginning of his undoing? (Hating Her King is the sequel to Loving Her Duke and is also the second book of the British Blood Trilogy.)
View MoreAlexander sniggered. She was beyond adorable.He knew Brand hated staying on land for the same reason he continually refused his crown. It was because of him."Do not force your opinion on him.""I see why not. I am the king.""And he is the prince, with authority of his own.""I am his king."Guinevere paused her playing and gave him a condemning look. Alexander smiled and winked at her. She flustered."You are his king, it is true," she continued, "but greater than that, you are his brother. How can you ask him to learn forgiveness when you have not forgiven yourself? Whatever happened is in the past, Alexander.""He is still young, and it is my duty to protect him.""Is he fifteen?" Guinevere asked with a raised eyebrow. Alexander gave her a lazy look. "Or forgive my lazy mind. He is twenty today, yes?"She was teasing him. He was proud of her."The prince is hardly a child. Unless you, My Lord, are a child lover."Guinevere was eighteen, almost nineteen. Much younger than Brand.A
Alexander turned to sit facing the piano, a gentle smile on his lips. "You are endearing. I could not help myself." He confessed, patting the space beside him on the bench, urging her to sit.Though there was hesitation, Guinevere took a deep breath and lowered herself back onto the bench. She was flushed.He gently touched her cheek. She flinched from him. "It was not my intention to startle you." His words accompanied the fall board back down over the keys.Guinevere's hands rested gently on the fall board, and she looked up at him with a soft smile. "You are forgiven." Her voice was warm. When Alexander met her gaze, she let out a light, melodious giggle. "I am in a benevolent mood.""Are you now?""Yes." She replied, her smile broadening. "And I am also gifting you this music, expecting no lessons in return." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, "Although you owe a debt already.""How truly benevolent of you." Alexander remarked with a smirk.Guinevere laughed softly. She
***Alexander entered the piano room, his heart heavy from the happenings at Brand's birthday dinner. He was hoping to see Guinevere, to catch a glimpse of her graceful presence at the piano forte. However, as he looked through the room and found it empty, there was an unexpected sense of relief.He was somewhat drunk. She should not see him like that. Lady Wilmot's presence had caused him to overindulge in wine.The room was serene, bathed in the soft glow of the lit candles. He moved toward the piano, his fingers brushing lightly over the keys, then went over to sit in the only other chair in the room. The absence of Guinevere allowed him a rare moment of solitude, a chance to gather his thoughts without distraction.Brand, the ungrateful scoundrel, had worn a scowl the entire evening, even daring to glare at him. How dare he openly protest that he was unhappy with the presence at dinner. Why had he been unhappy? He should be glad to have his brother and mother at the same table. It
The carriage rolled up to the grand circular drive in front of the mansion, its wheels crunching on the gravel. The coachman swiftly jumped down and pulled open the door. It was well past eight o'clock by the time she had left the castle, under the cover of the dark, starless night, its black cloak, a perfect shroud.Jane descended from the carriage, her movements swift and deliberate. She hurried up the familiar steps and into the house she had known so well since childhood. Bellingham House.She had visited this house countless times, spending plenteous moments with her beloved aunt. But tonight was different. Tonight, she had come not for comfort or nostalgia, but to secure her future. The butler stood waiting at the door. "Good evening, Lady Farrington." He greeted her with a slight bow. "Lord Denney is in his study in the company of Lord Featings. He has asked that you join them there as soon as you come."Jane nodded in acknowledgment. Though she knew the way, the butler led on
Guinevere was bewildered. Her eyes widened, then a sweet smile surfaced, reflecting his own. "As enticing as that may sound, I do not want to be a traitor to my country." She replied with a shrug. Then, "I hate to be powerless.""But all men are powerless." Alexander said softly. She had rendered him powerless since the day she came to the castle, stealing his joy unless she was near."I hate to feel powerless." She looked afar off and corrected. "I despise knowing how powerless I am."He nodded carefully. Guinevere was undeniably smart, her intelligence shining through in her eyes. It was acceptable to feel powerless at times, but it was utterly unacceptable to remain so. He would grant her all the power she needed, and would teach her how to use it. Never again would such feelings plague her.Alexander rose to his feet. "Pick up that knife." He instructed, pointing to the knife on the table, his voice calm yet commanding.She did, rising to her feet as well. He watched her intently,
"What, then, is a proper lady to you?" He tapped his hand on his thigh, consciously blinking both eyes. "A proper lady is one who is true to herself," Lady Fitzgerald said. "one who is not always bound by the rules of society, but manages to obey them."Brand stiffened, unpleasantly surprised. He did not know what to think or what to say. She was a rebel, just like Alexander."Forgive my words."He found his words. "One should never apologize for being candid." Then, "Are you a proper lady?"There was hesitation. "I believe I am."A smirk began to form on Brand's lips. "Is Lady Farrington a proper lady?"She hesitated again. "I believe she is."Brand's face straightened. He had been sporting for an argument. "You believe so?"Lady Fitzgerald nodded. "Propriety comes from the person who believes they are proper. That is how the standard began."Brand stared, finally seeing her appeal. It was not her beauty, nor her clever words. It was her thoughts and how she represented them. There
Lady Fitzgerald laughed. "I do not rejoice in destruction; I only applauded your skills and talents." Then she raised her cup to her lips and, after a sip, returned it to the table."I'd say you applaud far greater than is necessary." Lady Farrington said, bringing her cup again to her lips. "Do you seek appraisal for your applause?""I most certainly do not!"Brand's mouth tightened, his instincts intrigued. "You think my skills do not deserve that much applause?" He asked.Lady Farrington quickly sat up. "Of course not. I was simply reminding Lady Fitzgerald to take control of her emotions."He saw no wrong in Lady Fitzgerald's emotions. It was honest at the least. "Men hail each other when we shoot.""Shooting is a sport amongst men, Your Highness." Lady Farrington continued. "As is politics and governance. Women tend to the household and bear children. It is as much as they should do."A serving maid brought him a cup of water. He took a light gulp. Lady Farrington's words were co
It was the prince."Your Highness." Gwen saluted, bowing low."I do not believe we have been properly introduced. Brand Williams." He said."Gwen Fitzgerald, Your Highness." She replied, bowing again."Highness," he whispered, his right eye blinking. "I very much prefer to be called Brand."Gwen blinked, confused. How could he ask her to address him in such a manner? "I could never call you that.""It is my given name. The king calls me by it.""He is your brother. I am not." The prince's right eyebrow hitched. Gwen quickly reprimanded herself. "Forgive me. I meant to say, I am not the king." She corrected.Was the prince looking to stir up trouble? Alexander had asked her to call him by his given name, and months later, she had been brought to the castle against her will. What would the prince demand if she obeyed him? She was not curious enough to find out."I am not so highly placed to call you by your given name, Sir." She added."That is true." He hesitated. "It is simply a matte
Alexander groaned as he stirred awake, the dim light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains. His head throbbed with a dull ache, a wicked reminder of the previous night's revelry. The taste of stale wine lingered on his tongue, and he winced as he tried to sit up.Blinking against the light, he pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, trying to massage away the persistent headache. His memories of the night before were vivid - his dimly lit study, the over service of wine, anger, and loneliness.He swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cold floor. The chill sent a shiver up his spine, momentarily clearing his foggy mind. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself, pushing past the discomfort. He needed to pull himself together; there were matters to attend to, and he couldn't afford to be seen in such a state. He was king.Alexander reached for the pitcher of water on the bedside table, pouring himself a glass with unsteady hands. He
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