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“…our man in Kircudbright says that the aging of the malt continues apace, and this year the yield was, in his typically reserved terms, phenomenal…”
It would be phenomenal if she would yield, and then he could tell her everything. Let her have a glimpse of the phenomenal sexual union they would enjoy, the extraordinary power of their joining, and then say, “By the way, my one and only, I am a man who turns into a wolf. And vice versa.” But no. And as unlikely as it was, it was his wolf that would not allow the deception. Despite his animal’s eagerness and excitability, he would not lie to his mate. Alfred’s inner creature growled with desire and something that transcended desire, something larger, something pure he’d never thought could go hand in glove with raging lust.
“She eschews spirits.” He turned and saw that at some stage during his reverie, O’Mara had joined them. “There is no need to take delivery of any of it here at the Hall.”
Bates made a note. O’Mara looked a little unsteady and red in the face.
“The intensity of my feelings affects you, O’Mara,” he said, and if possible, she turned a deeper shade of scarlet. “I would apologize, but…” and he offered one of his rare grins.
“The intensity of your feelings proves the truth of the bond,” she said, “and will normalize once their power, eh, fuses with the source of their inspiration.”
Alfred looked at Bates, who appeared absorbed in his note-taking. “Your colleague has his doubts.”
“I believe his doubts stem from his rejection of the concept of life mates,” O’Mara said. “And the possibility of him having met his.”
“Desist, O’Mara.” Bates threw the paperwork down and shot out of his chair. “Your responsibilities do not include divination.” He stalked over to the decanters, and Alfred sent his Omega an arch look. Had Bates come across his true mate? When had he the chance to do so?
Alfred set that aside to work out later. “Perhaps we can progress beyond this epistolary morass and determine why Miss Templeton is so intent on contacting or securing a solicitor?”
Bates sniffed the brandy, set out for the rare occasions when humans engaged on business visited the room, and returned the stopper to the bottle. “Brindle reports that there is no law office at the address Miss Templeton provided. It is a slaughterhouse in the stews, specializing in equines.”
“That uncle of hers must be behind the confusion, the bastard. I have received no response from my letter of intent.”
“Brindle remained and questioned the workers,” Bates continued. “There have never been solicitors there, nor did they know of any such in the locality.”
“There must be a firm attached to the family or to the uncle.” The plot thickened, Alfred thought. “Find someone, for the love of the Goddess. And thus, discover why she is so keen to secure legal representation.”
“It is being done even as we speak.” Bates returned to his seat but gave O’Mara the cold shoulder; rather than being dismayed at this, she appeared amused. As amused as the aloof Omega could manage. Her laughter last night was the first time Alfred had heard any such sound emit from her person.
“The meal went well.” He said this almost defiantly.
He was met with a beat of silence that went on a touch too long.
“Indeed, Alpha,” said Bates.
“Oh, yes,” agreed O’Mara. “Very well.”
“Do not humor me.” Alfred leaned his elbows on the desk. “I allow that there was a disruption or two.”
Bates and O’Mara hummed deep in their throats.
“We are well-acquainted with the fact that I have no pattern upon which to design my addresses,” he growled. “This courtship nonsense is not our way. Unless either of you have suggestions?” Bates hunched his shoulders to his ears; O’Mara regarded the ceiling. “Precisely.” Alfred ran his fingers through his hair. “I begged her forgiveness had I given the impression I did not find her figure pleasing.”
“Pleasing?” O’Mara pushed.
“Intoxicating, if you must know.”
“Oh, well done, Alpha.” She almost smiled. What was the world coming to?
“And I kissed her.”
O’Mara regained her blush. “Yes, I am aware.”
Bates picked up the paperwork again and sorted through it, for all intents and purposes nonchalant. “And your wolf? How did he handle the event?”
“With the barest civility.” Alfred’s essential self rose into his aura, and his Beta and Omega braced themselves and their own creatures. “I will not be able—I must let him have his head or I dread what will happen.”
O’Mara offered, “Let us distract Her Grace with the friend she spoke of, the titled mantua-maker, Lady…?”
