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Jonathan's Intentions

Chapter 24

Jonathan closed the door behind him and paused in the hallway, letting the realization hit him that he . . . might be in love with the princess of Varimore. He shook his head and turned down the hall, looking for Elsie. She would be down in the kitchens, no doubt crying that he had yelled at her.

Jonathan had never been one for sentimental drivel. He didn't believe in love at first sight, soul mates, or any of the other garbage that filled the pages of smutty romance novels. But after his encounter with the princess that morning . . . he was a believer. And it terrified him. He didn't know what to do.

He never meant to love her.

When Jonathan went to see Corene that morning, it was to charm her out of her knickers. He thought he would make love to her, make her want him, and when Etienne returned to Howlester, he would find his bride-to-be enamored of another. He slept with Corene out of vengeance. Because he wanted Etienne for himself. Now he found himself thinking of Corene and only Corene. And suddenly . . . he didn't care if he ever saw Etienne again.

Elsie was not in the kitchens as Jonathan had supposed, though it seemed word of his tryst with the princess had already spread. The kitchen staff twittered when they saw him, and Myles - their head chef - gave him a teasing wink as he stuffed dough with bits of meat and cream.

"Elsie is in the courtyard, m'lord," Myles said with a sniff. He was covered in flour and wearing an apron over his simple shirt and breeches. One of his assistants brought him lettuce and dough on a tray, and she stared at Jonathan with large, admiring eyes before Myles waved her off.

"In the courtyard?" Jonathan repeated impatiently. "Doing what?"

Elsie's main duties consisted of dusting and laundry. It didn't make sense for her to be out in the courtyard when she was on the clock.

Myles sniffed flour off his nose. He was a Dalmatian, and the flour practically erased some of his black spots. "She volunteered to serve appetizers. Most unlike her, but I needed the help. Now if you'll excuse me, m'lord. I've a banquet to prepare!"

"Right, sorry," Jonathan muttered and squeezed himself out through the bustling crowd of flour-dusted cooks.

As Jonathan made his way to the courtyard, he suddenly realized he didn't know _which_courtyard. Howlester Manor had four, two on each side of the estate. He gritted his fangs and decided to go to the closest one.

Why in the name of the Creator was Elsie outside? She should have been doing the wash or helping in the kitchen for that night's celebrations. But serving the guests? Only the most elegant and well-spoken servants were allowed to serve drinks during a function. Dignified and well-mannered Hadly would have been among the servants in the courtyard, but not little Elsie.

Elsie was anything but elegant. She was painfully clumsy and given to stammering, a simple farm girl from some spot of dirt on the edge of the duchy. Howlester Manor needed more servants and she was hired when Charles saw her selling vegetables at market with her sickly father. Many of Howlester's servants had resigned over the years, tired of dealing with the protestors and assassins who infiltrated the manor because they were angry that Duke Richard and Duke Charles were in a relationship - that did nothing to hinder their ability to run the duchy. As the years passed, the protests happened less, and the servants stayed on. But not without hesitation. There were still servants devoted to the Creator, after all. They believed a same-sex union was a perversion, and Jonathan was honestly surprised Charles and his father hadn't yet been poisoned.

Elsie, however, needed her job desperately and could not afford to quit based on her personal beliefs. Her father was sick and dying, and she wouldn't have the money for a proper doctor otherwise. Charles paid her father's medical bills and paid bodyguards to accompany her when she made the long journey to the edge of town to visit him. She was indebted to the Kingsleys in more ways than one and was, as a result, completely loyal. There was no way she could or would ever resign. So to see Jonathan - someone she wanted desperately - wrapped in the embrace of another. . . .

Jonathan flattened his ears guiltily as he thought of it. He had never cared for Elsie but couldn't see a reason to say no when she came to him that first time. They were roughly the same age, she being only a bit younger. He took her virginity, and after the first time they made love, she confessed she was in love with him. He didn't feel the same and didn't know how to tell her without hurting her. So he was glad when his father sent him away to school.

Of course, he was promptly booted from every school he attended. And every time he returned home, he made love to Elsie. She seemed to fall deeper in love with him as time went on. He would awake to find her snuggled against him and smiling. He couldn't understand why she cared when it was just good sex to him. Neither could Hadly, who thought of Elsie as a sister and threatened Jonathan repeatedly not to harm her.

Jonathan halted in the archway of the gallery and stared across the courtyard, looking for Elsie. Nobles lingered around the fountain, perched on benches, or stood with drinks in paw; a part of the steadily swelling throng of guests who had arrived for that night's ball. Jonathan saw a few faces he recognized, and many nobles recognized him, smiling and whispering behind fans that the marquis must have been expelled from yet another school. They laughed derisively as Jonathan passed them. He glanced around for Elsie and blinked irritably when he found Hadly instead.

"Is my lord _satisfied_with himself?" Hadly hissed under her breath. She was wearing a simple and yet elegant dress with an apron - the sort those serving drinks wore to such events. Her long chocolate brown mane was pulled back in a low, loose bun, and gold studs winked in her pricked ears while pearls hung from them to touch her cheeks. She carried a silver platter of glasses, all filled with wine. A pitcher of wine was also on the tray for those who wanted refills.

Jonathan chose to ignore Hadly's anger. "Where's Elsie?"

Hadly's throat tightened. "You mean, mean little brat," she hissed, and Jonathan wasn't surprised: Hadly had changed his swaddling and talked to him however she pleased. "As if I'd tell you where she was," she went on, looking away, "so you could hurt her again! You are most welcome, my lord . . ." she murmured as a young noble took a glass from her tray in passing.

Jonathan rolled his eyes wearily. "I've no intention of --"

"I know what you intend!" Hadly snapped over him. She smiled and whispered, "My lady . . ." when a noble bitch approached and took a glass in passing as well. Her angry eyes turned to Jonathan, burning a hole through him. "You'll give her a bauble, tell her you're sorry, and that you never meant to hurt her. Of course you didn't! You never cared about her to begin with! I shall tell your father if you even _glance_her way --!"

"Dammit, Hadly! Tell me where she is!" Jonathan spat impatiently. He had to wonder why he was so desperate to find Elsie. It was true: he'd never cared about her feelings and he didn't really care now. He glanced beyond Hadly's scowling face and noticed Corene at her window, looking down at him. Their eyes met, then Corene smiled and pulled the curtains shut. Ah. That was why.

Hadly regarded Jonathan bitterly. "No."

Jonathan smiled. "If you don't tell me where Elsie is, I'll tell Father you were sleeping with the prince the night he --"

"You --!" Hadly choked to silence and averted her eyes when several heads turned her way. She glared at Jonathan from the corners of her eyes and whispered, "You wouldn't dare!"

Jonathan continued to smile. "I would dare."

Hadly's eyes narrowed and her big breasts heaved. "She went to the cellar," she muttered and looked away. "I sent her for more wine."

"Thank you."

Jonathan had moved past Hadly when she called to him. He looked back and lifted his brows in surprise to see the misery on her face. Her eyes were pleading.

"Please, my lord . . . don't hurt her?"

***

Jonathan knew about Hadly and the prince because he knew Hadly. He knew her ways. He knew she liked them big and strong, and that if the prince wanted her, she would not refuse. It had been a mere guess that she'd slept with him. And, oh, the way she squirmed when he threw that in her face! Prince Etienne must've been bloody wonderful. Jonathan hated himself when the jealousy burned in his chest. So the prince was a whore, fucking anything and everything he pleased? Even the servants in a home where he was supposed to be a guest? It made Jonathan angry. Hadly was like a mother to him, and though she had always been young enough to be his sister - and though the two of them despised each other -- it angered him to think anyone had put their paws on her.

It was because of Jonathan that Hadly had never married. Some young lord of some little barony had asked for her years before, but Jonathan didn't want to lose her, so he bungled the whole thing, interceding to seduce the young lord for himself. He was so good, Lord Myron never thought of Hadly again. She hated Jonathan for it with a passion every day after, and Jonathan would smile smugly as he sat in the bath, watching as she prepared his bed with stiff anger.

No, Hadly was his to keep. His family. And she wasn't going anywhere. If only he'd been able to hold on to Ben as easily.

Jonathan found his way to the wine cellar with the guilt thrumming through him. All the years Elsie had pined for him and hadn't moved on because he'd been too much a coward to tell her the truth. And he'd been too selfish. The girl was damn good at giving head. He didn't want to give that up.

Elsie was coming up the cellar stairs as Jonathan was coming down. They nearly collided. She was carrying two bottles of wine and almost dropped them. She fumbled frantically to hold them, and her brown mane fell across her brown and white face. Jonathan grabbed her arms and steadied her. They regained their footing and stared at each other. Elsie's face was tight and aloof and her eyes stubbornly distant. She whispered, "Beg pardon, my lord," and tried to get around Jonathan. But he didn't move. She stared at him . . . and slowly reconciled herself to the fact that he had come for her and wasn't going to let her leave.

"Elsie . . ." Jonathan began as the maid turned down the stairs. He followed her.

"No," she said simply. She stood with her back to him, hugging the wine bottles to her little breasts.

Jonathan glanced around. They had made love in the wine cellar once. He was drunk when he bent her over a barrel. Her screams of ecstasy drew the servants . . . and his father's wrath.

"No?" Jonathan repeated. There was a small round table with a wooden chair. The chair reminded Jonathan of Elsie: simple, thin, a bit plain. He pulled it up and sat on it backwards, resting his arms on the back.

"No," Elsie said again. She took a deep breath and turned to face him. He was stung by the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I won't believe whatever you've come to say. I won't be pacified with jewelry. And I'll never suck your dick again."

Jonathan almost winced. "Elsie --"

"I don't care," she said over him with another deep breath, "what you offer me. I won't be your plaything anymore! You n-never loved me . . ." Her voice dissolved to a sob, but she glared at him. "And you never did me the kindness of letting me know you didn't feel the same. You are a monster! An arrogant prick! I will work myself to the bone for Duke Charles. I will scrub bedpans and floors for him because he is a good male. But as of this moment, I do not work for you!"

"Elsie . . . I came to apologize."

She sneered. "But are you really sorry, my lord? Being sorry would imply that you care about my feelings. Except you don't," she said darkly. She shook her head. "Why are you _really_here? Did your pretty princess take pity on the stupid little maid?"

Jonathan swallowed hard. He didn't know what to say. He looked at the pain on her face and wanted to make it easier for her. But he didn't know how. "Even if I did love you, how could it go anywhere?" he said gently. "I'm marquis of Howlester, destined to become duke. You're a peasant." He knew he'd said something wrong when fresh tears started to her eyes.

Elsie shook her head. "Your mother was a peasant, my lord," she said coldly. "And what do you think the princess will do? Marry you? You aren't a prince!" She glared at him, eyes glittering tears. Then hugging the wine bottles, she turned and fled up the cellar stairs with her brown mane streaming.

Leaving Jonathan alone with the bitter truth.