Summary: TRR MC Beatrix is devastated after Liam proposes to Madeleine, and falls hard for Bertrand Beaumont’s particular breed of tough love in the aftermath. This is primarily a smut series with a healthy dose of angst.
Beatrix brushed lint off of her simple pink dress, frowning at its slightly rumpled appearance. This has been getting a little too much wear lately, she thought to herself, eyeing her own unimpressive wardrobe. She wished she had something more creative to wear to the ball that the Beaumonts were hosting, but it just wasn’t in the budget tonight.
She was just about ready to head to the ballroom when a sharp, familiar knock came at her door. “Come in, Bertrand,” she called, touching up her lipstick in the mirror.
The door opened and he swiftly closed it behind him as she finished up her makeup. He cleared his throat pointedly and she looked over to him, rolling her eyes.
Oh, no. He had that look on his face.
“Lady Beatrix,” he growled, not moving from where he stood by the door. “You will address me properly.”
“I’m not in the mood, Bertrand. We have a party to get to.”
He crossed the distance between them in one determined stride, stopping to stand inches from her, looming over her small frame. “Yes, we do. So tell me you’re not wearing that.”’
She nearly rolled her eyes again, but didn’t dare. Not when he was in this mood. “You bought me this dress.”
He nodded curtly. “I did. And thank god for that, because it seems you don’t own anything else.”
“Give me a break, Bert–”
“You will address me properly, Lady Beatrix.” He grabbed her wrist as she reached across the vanity towards her clutch. She froze, her widened eyes meeting his in the mirror.
Her voice was dark and husky as she replied. “My sincerest apologies, Duke Ramsford.” She made no move to escape his grasp, holding his gaze in the vanity mirror, waiting for him to make his move.
Bertrand pulled her even closer, crashing her body into his own as she stumbled to keep from toppling over completely. “Take it off,” he breathed in her ear.
“Your Grace,” she whispered, “You wanted me to get to the ball and talk to the King…”
“You’ll never win him back dressed in this same plain old dress,” he scoffed, his hand slowly pulling at her zipper. “I could swear you’re not even trying to become queen.”
I’m not, she wanted to scream. His expression was clouded, unreadable. The oxygen seemed to be sucked out of the room as he slowly unzipped her dress, his fingertips dragging lightly along her bare skin as he went. She closed her eyes, relishing his touch.
Beatrix regained her composure, forcing herself to play her part in his game. She reached behind her back to grab his wrist, holding it still. “You would dare be so bold with your future queen, Duke Ramsford?”
A devilish sneer spread across his face as he looked away from her reflection to stare directly into her eyes. “I’m a man who takes what I want, Lady Beatrix – even if it’s from the king himself.”
God, I just want to kiss you… Beatrix forced herself not to give in too easily. Bertrand – Duke Ramsford – preferred the forbidden fruit, it would seem, and she would give him what he wanted.
She turned away, doing her best to look furious and scandalized. Her hand moved to zip her dress back up as she crossed the room, moving away from him.
She couldn’t fight her own grin as he followed her, capturing her hands in his to stop her from moving the zipper up. “Take. it. off.” He swiftly pulled the dress off of her shoulders, pushing it down over her arms and to her waist. She gasped, feigning horror.
“What will the king say when he learns that you’ve so aggressively undressed his favourite suitor, Your Grace?” she seethed.
“He’ll say…” Bertrand trailed off, becoming flustered. His face was red and hot, his eyes hungry and wild. “He’ll say he was a fucking idiot to ever choose another woman over Lady Beatrix.” He pulled her body flush against his once more, so close she could feel his heart racing in his chest. “He’ll say if he was half the man that Duke Bertrand Beaumont was, he’d have made the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in Cordonia his bride.”
“He’ll say all that, you think?” Her lips brushed against Bertrand’s as she spoke. Her teasing tone made him wild with rage and passion.
Without another word, Bertrand swept her feet out from under her, letting her fall onto her back in the bed. He climbed on top of her, straddling her hips as he pinned her arms to the bed with his strong hands. “Bertrand…” she moaned softly, pushing her hips up into him. “I’m just a simple common woman. Show me…” she gasped as he ground his hips into hers, torturing her even while fully clothed. “Show me how to please a king.”
A dark look crossed his face as he suddenly released her wrists and stood up. Turning away from her, he removed his suit jacket and carefully draped it over a chair, then did the same with his pants and shirt, setting his tie aside on the bedside table. Beatrix shimmied the rest of the way out of her dress without rising off the bed.
“The way to please a king, Lady Beatrix…” He planted one hand next to her head on the bed as he leaned over her, tantalizingly close.
“…is to do as you’re told.”
Beatrix let out a gasp of surprise as he grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. She felt his luxurious silk tie wrapping around her wrists, securing them to each other, as her face pressed helplessly into the sheets.
“Are you going to embarrass me today, Lady Beatrix? Going to let that blonde trollop take away what rightfully belongs to House Beaumont?” He jerked at the knot around her wrists, causing her to yelp.
“No, Bertrand,” she answered, biting her lip in anticipation of…
SLAP! His hand came down sharply on her ass. “You don’t get to call me that.”
She groaned, losing patience. “Please,” she begged, “no more games.”
He spanked her again before leaning forward to whisper directly into her ear, his hot breath making her squirm. “None of this is a game, Beatrix.” He tugged her panties down in one swift motion and entered her unceremoniously, already setting a punishing pace as she cried out in surprise. Beatrix held as still as she could, her face helplessly pushed into the mattress, unable to do anything but absorb his powerful thrusts.
Suddenly he grabbed the knot at her wrists and pulled her upwards into him, helping her to kneel upright on the bed in front of him. His fingers roughly explored her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. His touch and the slower, more deliberate pace of the new position had her moaning in his arms, getting closer to release by the second.
And then he stopped. And stood up. And started to put his clothes back on…
“What the fuck, Bertrand,” she groaned, collapsing face-first onto the bed.
“Excuse me?”
She pouted. “Please,” she begged, shameless. “Come back.”
He smirked at her as he buttoned up his shirt. “What kind of countryman would I be if I got my king’s lover off right before she goes to see him?” She sucked in a breath as he moved towards her again and reached out to touch her, but he only undid the knot in his tie and went to put it back around his own neck. “This is my gift to King Liam, Beatrix – the thirstiest, most desperate lady in the kingdom.”
Her arms freed, Beatrix turned to face him, glaring daggers in his direction. “I’m not going to fuck him, you idiot. Stop pretending there’s nothing going on here.”
He was fully dressed now, stopping only to smooth his hair in the mirror. He didn’t look back at her as he spoke. “Only an idiot would throw away a future with a king to fool around with a broke duke, Lady Beatrix.” He turned around, his face unreadable. “You may be difficult and infuriating, but you’re not an idiot.”
With that strode confidently out of her room, shutting the door a little too hard behind him.