Compromising Kessen by Rachel van Dyken

she had read this was a big no-no, but honestly, that was during Regency times. There was no possible way they held people to the same standards nowadays. Surely people who snuck away together without chaperones weren’t forced to marry. But just in case, she kept a few feet away from him as he led her to the back of the house.
    He let himself inside and opened the servant’s door to another, larger room. It was the kitchen. Kessen fought to keep the welling tears from streaming down her face.
    “What you need,” he said, searching cupboards, “is sugar and caffeine. Aha!”
    Kessen peeked around the cupboard to see what he was holding.
    It was sugary nutty spread sent from the gods.
    Pure joy radiated from her face as she grabbed the tiny jar from him. “Is it wrong that I kind of want to cry right now?” she asked.
    He laughed. “Tears of joy?”
    She chuckled, taking the spoon from him.
    They both dipped spoons in the jar and ate at least half of the remnants before they caught bustling around the front entrance. They ducked quickly behind the counter and heard servants mumbling to themselves.
    “I don’t know what the big deal is. So what? She’s American. She’s probably some spoiled rich heiress who thinks she can do whatever she likes, because her father is a Newberry. It doesn’t mean I have to like her, or that I have to enjoy serving her.”
    The other servant laughed. “And did you see what she was wearing? We aren’t running a brothel here.”
    The chatter ceased as they left the kitchen.
    Kessen suddenly felt sick. Christian’s face darkened. “That was rude of them. Don’t listen to anything they say. They’re servants. It isn’t their place to say anything of that manner. They were completely out of line.”
    She shrugged. “It’s fine. Really. I mean, I can’t control how other people view me, but I can control how I respond to them, right?” She smiled weakly and got up from the floor.
    “Wait,” he snapped at her. She jerked her head up to meet his gaze. “Pardon me for saying this, but your ball hasn’t exactly been the great success it deserves to be.”
    Where was mean Christian? She liked mean Christian better, the one who hated her. This one was unpredictable and undeniably attractive.
    “Follow me,” he barked, dragging her through the main door.
    “Um, Christian? I don’t think … um—”
    “Stop talking,” he insisted, pulling her through crowds of now gawking people. “We are going to dance.”
    With that, he grabbed her hand and led her across the floor. Kessen was curious as to why every single person in the room seemed to have their mouths open, but chalked it up to the harlot-style dress she was wearing. Hopefully the tape was still secure; otherwise, they were going to get a show.
    Christian’s gaze smoldered, making her shift uncomfortably in place. If looks could kill, those maids would be dead. His body seemed to be radiating heat in all directions. It was like a magnet; her own body heat responded wildly to his. It felt like torture to keep her hands from running through his hair, down his back—anywhere, just to touch him.
    What was she thinking? This was the same man who dropped her off three days ago and insulted her and called her stupid.
    Then he smiled.
    His teeth were straight and real, and it was maddening.
    The dance ended, yet he didn’t let go. Instead, he tucked her arm into his own and led her off the floor to where her grandmother proudly stood.
    Kessen was about to introduce Christian when her grandmother interrupted her.
    “Oh, my love! I knew you would keep your promise!”
    Kessen looked from Christian to her grandmother blankly. “Promise?” she asked.
    Her grandmother was beaming. “To dance with the future duke, of course!” she exclaimed, looking towards Christian with marriage-filled eyes.
    Kessen whispered to her grandma. “Was your punch spiked, Grandmother?”
    “Oh, posh!” Her grandma swatted at her. “So sorry, my