-Chapter 25-
The headache returned, drilling deeper into his skull than before. Félix blew softly. He then angled his body to face a rigidly frowning Coralie.
She fitted a thin, ribbed bodice that cinched tightly around her slight lower paunch—the rest of the fabric festooned into a pool of silky waterfall behind her back.
Her full yellow-blonde hair sat domed atop her head, held in place by a shiny tiara. It could pass for chrome silver or dove gray. Whichever shade of silver it was didn't matter to Félix anyhow. He had never once considered himself a good color detector to start with.
The dining court choked beneath the floral notes of her lavender-infused honey perfume. The scent punctuated the air around her, so thick and daunting. If she wanted to make a statement before she left, she had succeeded in doing just that. Her exterior had made good on stating her stern yet provocative stance.
That she was leaving was all the more reason to inflict his sinuses with her striking scent one last time. Perhaps the duke would come to regret how he treated her when she was gone. And in remembering her scent, he would miss her.
Félix was for sure going to miss her, but not in the way she'd thought. He would carry with him the redolence of her dense body oils long after she was gone. Not that he had a chance at escaping her essence anyway. It flooded the whole house.
Félix crammed his eyes shut for a millisecond to rest his lids that were burning up. Then, as if remembering Bach was still present, he opened them again. Fixing a tight stare on his butler, the latter got the message and bowed slightly—first to him, then to the upset princess. He then made for the double doors, making sure to shut them firmly behind him.
"Why ask Bach to leave when he should be preparing to walk me outside?" the Princess asked once the butler had left.
Félix stirred, then roused himself up to tower over her. "Why are you intent on leaving suddenly?" he asked curiously.
"Are you asking because you truly do not know? Or are you just now realizing how bored I have been, keeping to myself in this house? It was almost to the point of falling sick, might I add.
"For whatever reason, you always seemed too busy to sit with me, talk with me, or even dine with me. Before I wither away from too much loneliness, I had better return to my father's house."
"Coralie…"
"Even you know this, Your Grace. What I said is the absolute truth. No mincing words. Ever since I got here, you've repeatedly chosen your work over me. I'll need some time to recover from all the trauma your inability to read through my mood has put me through."
"There are books for you to read, are there not?" Félix said in a cooing tone. "You should rely on them when you're bored. Or take a walk through the gardens. Etienne would be more than happy to show you around the place."
"Etienne." Coralie stopped, biting back her lips. "Your gardener is not the man I'm engaged to marry. What sense would it make to spend all that time with him?"
Arching his brow, Félix let out a breath. "I am a busy man, Princess. You know this. The whole duchy hangs heavy on my shoulders. You don't expect me to stay cradled by your side when I have actual work to do."
Félix noticed the high rise and fall of her bejeweled neckline but didn't mind it. Turning back to the spread-out dishes before him, barely touched (andforthatone, Corneliawasgoingtomuttercursesunderherbreath, butshe'dhavethekitchenstaffclearthemessoutanyway), he bit the inside of his lower jaw, then clicked his tongue.
Looking back at her, Félix said, "Since you've decided on leaving on your own, give me a few minutes. I'll have some men ready to escort you down to the port. Bach says the roads leading up from here to England are impassable at best. You would need to return by sea."
A high-pitched, shrill laugh punched the air, catching Félix by the throat. Surprised, he frowned at her, not expecting this reaction.
Clutching her snatched waist, still laughing, Coralie said, "I beg your finest pardon, Your Grace. Are you trying to amuse me this morning? Is that it? Otherwise, shouldn't you be the one walking me to the ship front and even all the way to my father's castle?"
What did she mean by that? Félix questioned himself. Was she implying that he should abandon everything he had going that morning to accompany her to her father's house? Or was he just completely hard of hearing? Had he mixed up her words and their actual meaning?
"Riddle me this, Princess," Félix began, his voice uncharacteristically smooth. "If my memory serves me correctly, which I'm fairly certain it does, did you not embark on your journey here on your own? You also did not need any escorts when you set out so early that morning to see me. And that, too, uninvited."
Her eyelashes faltered, and Félix continued.
"You've just walked in here to declare you're hell-bent on leaving. No prior discussion. No warning. Nothing. I understand that you let your emotions dictate your mood at every whim, but I'm not built like that. Things have to clearly make sense to me, in my head, before I act on them.
"Escorting you back to your father's house isn't the problem. What doesn't make sense is abandoning all my responsibilities here, especially with guests arriving from England today, just to cater to your demands.
If my fair stretch of hospitality doesn't sit well with you, and if you believe you're capable of riding to the port with only Sylvester for company, then say so. I'll let you get on your way alone."
Had that come out a little harsher than he had originally intended? Probably. But someone had to say it and give her a fat reality check over her unreasonable and highly unrealistic demands.
Like he said, if she thought he wasn't being hospitable enough, she should say so. He had other issues to turn over in his mind that morning. Her leaving back to England was the least of his concerns.
Coralie didn't just chew her lips until they bled. She kept her hands firm, straight at her sides, her fingernails grazing scar lines on her palms as she tried and failed to control all that temper boiling within.
"Duke Félix of Chateaûbriant," she said, gritting her teeth. "That is the most insensitive thing you ever said to me in all my twenty-five years of knowing you. I will see myself out. But you will regret having treated me this way."
As if on cue, the twin doors leading into the dinning hall flew violently open, and in marched Sylvester, Coralie's coach boy. He kowtowed to the duke, who was not in the mood to return his polite nod. His mood had soured beyond repair. Better to stay quiet than unleash his rage on the one who had just barged in without the sheer courtesy of properly knocking.
"The horses are ready, Your Highness," the man announced. Félix caught sight of the packed luggage Coralie had come with, five in total, now sitting by the doorway. How long had Sylvester been standing there, he wondered privately. And how much of his conversation with the princess had he eavesdropped upon?
Shoulders dropped, Coralie let Sylvester walk her to the door. But before finally stepping out, she clutched the edge of the doorframe and, without looking up, told the duke, "Our plans to marry by year's end still stand. Don't think my storming out angry nullifies that. Nothing has changed.
"If anything, my wardrobe advisor will reach out to you within the week regarding the cost of my wedding dresses. I will have three wedding dresses in total, as per customs demands. See to it that you respond swiftly to the matter of the cost of making all three dresses when the drafted bill reaches your desk.
"And as for your mood, when it's all better, you can reach out to me so we can pick a day to sit and have an actual conversation about our soon-coming wedding. In the meantime, have a good day, Your Grace.
You know where to find me when you need me."
Coralie left.
Her strong, dainty perfume lingered in her wake, embodying the presence of a ghost jabbing at Félix's mood.
Félix's hands tightened into fists as he walked back toward the extended dining table. He stopped and, taking a quick hateful glance at it, reached for the full-length red tablecloth. He tugged hard at the delicate fabric so that it all came crashing down. Flower vases and wine bottles be damned.
While he'd done that, his blazing eyes looming over the extent of the damage, chest heaving hard, he could not say or pin down the particular cause of his anger. Nor why his blood boiled hotter than a searing iron rod.
All the duke knew and well recognized was the seat of uncanny temper welling up inside him. It clawed at his organs to the point of giving him an almost nervous breakdown. Félix did not like how he felt. Not one bit.
He didn't think ramming a tight fist into the wall would help either, but the urge was there, firing up his knuckles.