A Brazen Love (#3 BRAZEN series-part of the GOLDEN universe) ✔

•T E N•

♪ I get turned on, I get strung out on the idea
From the chaos and the bad romantic feels ♪
{Vera Blue—All the pretty girls}

"No." She kicked her feet against the desk as she gawked at the paper Prince Jules had produced from his pocket. In his swooping handwriting, he'd redacted a promise that he wanted to participate in her season, and that he was genuine about his intentions. He'd used flowery language, but Harriet didn't let his poetry persuade her so easily. He claimed he'd scribbled it in the carriage, on the way there, because he knew she'd protest and doubt him. And though impressed at his accurate assumption, Harriet wouldn't relent. "No. I care not for your promises, not anymore."

In her office, the air was stale, silent, slick with tension. Yet Jules sat comfortably across from her, unbothered by her refusals, hands tucked behind his head as he fixed her with calm eyes and a slight smirk. "Have I made promises to you before?" He cocked an eyebrow. "And have I not kept them?"

The impulse to growl at him grew in Harriet's gut. "You have. They were perhaps not outspoken, but you rode to me on several occasions when you worried for my safety. You sent me guards, provisions, very personal letters... but I might have misunderstood your intentions back then." She curled her hands into fists. "It would not be the first time."

"I was married, Harriet." His composed demeanor melted for a few instants, replaced by a foreign sternness that shocked her. "Was I interested in you? Yes. But I was no adulterer, and Charlotte... was a handful. You did not misinterpret my... feelings," he gulped, "but I could not manifest them outright. Now... I can." He sat up straight, discarding his cloak, revealing his silky, unbuttoned-at-the-top shirt, and the golden buckled-belt around his tight-fitting brown breeches. "I can be here, one hundred percent, and tell you that I am interested, always have been, and yearn to be considered a suitor to your heart."

"No!" Harriet smacked her fists onto the desk and stood up. How she wished to remove her uncomfortable shoes and toss them into his smug face. How she craved to throw her candlesticks, books, even her chair onto him and squish him, silence him, erase him. If he weren't royal, if he were any other nobleman vying for her love... she wouldn't spare him. But keeping her composure still proved difficult, and she had no means to filter her words. "After everything you said? After your cruelty? You... prance in here as if you never wounded me, expecting to compete for my affections? No. Not after the funeral, and not after your mother's attitude." Such bold statements would have gotten her punished if anyone overheard.

He tilted his head, and a wave of sadness diminished his once bubbly smile. "But at the wedding... I approached you, I made an effort, no? We laughed when Maggie walked down the aisle, so I thought we—"

"—you thought one laugh and a few curt words exchanged between bites of food would pardon your meanness?" She scoffed. "We were civil, yes, but I did not want to cause a scene... like now." She sighed and lowered into her seat. "You cannot do this. It is not fair. I grieved you, I got over you..."