The Butler

Chapter 1

Author's note: Thank you for reading this work. I enjoyed writing it, so I would love to hear your thoughts on this piece. Please don't forget to vote as well <3 

*

The butler stood outside her door, his face impassive. "My lady, dinner is served."

Fighting to keep the blush from spreading across her face, Christina averted her gaze and gripped her skirts. The thick carpets muffled their footsteps but she was ever-aware of his presence behind her. "Have Mother and Father arrived yet?" she asked, keeping her gaze ahead.

"No, my lady. There is a storm expected tonight, so they have sent word that they shall stay another day at your uncle's estate." His voice sent shivers down her spine. 

Distracted, she tripped on the edge of the rug. He caught her by the elbow. "Are you alright, Chr- my lady?" He never called her by name now, though his hand stayed on her arm, burning through the silk.

"I'm fine, Damien," she murmured, regaining her balance. The room tilted a bit, but she managed to keep her head up.

His green eyes searched hers. "Are you sure, my lady? I can have a tray sent up to your room." Her heart beat faster; it felt like years since he had last met her eyes. "How do you feel?"

"I am no longer ill. Do not worry." Christina pulled her arm away, straightening up. Having spent most of her childhood with a weak constitution, she knew how protective Damien could be.

"Do not lie to me, Christina," he warned, his tone brooking no argument.

"Ha, so now I am Christina. Excellent," she muttered, taking hold of her skirts as she walked away from him.

"I apologize, my lady, for being insolent and overly familiar." The mask was in place and he was the cold butler again. She wanted to slap the blank expression off his face, to scream and rail at him. Mostly, she wanted the boy she had loved back. This man was a stranger.

"What happened to you during the war, Damien?" She could not bear to look at him now.

"My lady, dinner will grow cold if we dally much longer." Now he was distant, walking past her. She followed him, head bowed.

Dinner was a lonely event, and Christine glared at him the entire time. She drank the wine as if it was water, demanding her glass be filled again as soon as she drained it. He, of course, had to obey. She was the mistress of the house, after all, and he, a servant. After the last course, she tottered over to the study, while he nodded to the maids to clear the table.

*

She sank into the big leather armchair, her eyes growing heavy as she drew her knees up and stared at the fire in the grate. Outside, the storm had finally hit, and the wind rattled the windows. Her grandfather glared disapprovingly from his portrait above the fireplace. 

"It's a different world, Grandpapa," she sang out, dangling her leg over the armrest. "Girls can show their ankles now."

He was probably turning over in his grave, she mused, running her fingertips over the cold leather. Her body was on fire. One or two glasses during dinner was more in her usual style. She giggled, remembering Damien's glare as he had poured from the third bottle.

"Well, I am a grown woman," she announced, leaning her head back. "I can drink whatever I want."

"My lady." Damien's tone conveyed his displeasure. He approached her, not a hair out of place, standing between her and the fire. "You will catch cold. You must head back to your room. You are still not-"

"I'm fine, Damien." She waved him away tipsily, her vision blurring. "It's not like you really care, right?"

His lips flattened, and his eyes were so cold that she shivered. "You have over imbibed. I shall escort you back to your chambers, my lady, where you shall consume some water and go to sleep."

"Are you giving me an order?" Christine laughed bitterly. "You overstep yourself, sir." She watched his gaze sharpen, running down her body so thoroughly it was like he had touched her. Then, his spine straightened.

"As you wish, my lady. I apologize." The mocking bow was the final straw. She wanted to shake him, to rattle that damned composure.

At school, there had been whispers, overheard snippets from other classmates' conversations, of how to entice a man. As sheltered as Christine had been, she had committed everything to memory, to aid her campaign to win Damien's heart. Meeting his green gaze defiantly, she slid the hem of her dress up, exposing her knee.

"Are you really my servant?" she drawled, bunching up her skirts.

"Yes, my lady." His eyes were wary, and more than a little intrigued.

"Truly?" She spread her knees wide, locking the other one over the opposite armrest. She had never sat like this, not in front of a man, and it was both uncomfortable and exciting. The most secret part of her body was already swollen and aching; proximity to Damien tended to do this. She arranged her skirts so they protected her modesty.

His gaze never left hers. "Yes, my lady."

"And yet... we played together as children," she mused. "Was it always mistress and servant to you?"

He did not answer, his green eyes piercing hers. She returned his look, though her chest felt tight and her skin burned.

She wanted to push him, to make him hurt as she was hurting, to find a way to break that damned pride of his. "Take my shoes off."

***

Here you go, chapter 1. What do you think he would do? Brace yourselves for some incoming smut. Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to vote if you liked it. Cheers!