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“Indeed,” Bates replied. “And it is, of course, a discussion relevant to your own situation.”
A sigh soughed through Alfred’s entire being. “It is enough to make one wish to take a ship and sail far, far away—had I not already done so and visited every corner of the globe.”
“There are always the Colonies.”
“The United States of America,” Alfred corrected. “I am not well acquainted with any of our sort from out that way, despite their being one branch from whence we all came. My sister has not written to me of discovering such, in any case.”
“One imagines such outliers to be as poor a choice as one of these women.”
The air around the two men became oppressive, as though all the heat of the room had coalesced to envelop Bates. He struggled for his next breath, and his body trembled as he fought an outside force for control of it. It did not affect Alfred, as this elemental energy generated from him; known as thedominatum, it was the ultimate expression of his power as Alpha of the Shifters of Lowell Hall. This power was his and his alone, the essence of his authority, the manner in which he held sway over the beasts within his people, the way in which he protected them from outside aggressors, and if need be, from one another. To him, it was akin to the dynamism of the Change: held entirely within and called upon with a thought. Its use was judicious, never mindless, but in this instance, it was excessive; he blamed his wolf, who was surging under his skin, seeking release. Even the slightest insult to his future mate was enough to incense them both, and at this precise moment in time, when the search looked to be a failure, he did not need the reminder that his true mate was no longer likely to be one of his kind.
Bates was not the only one to experience the potency of the emanation. Though invisible to the naked eye, it had an intensity akin to a lightning strike; the ladies who had ventured closer, hoping to catch the eye of the duke, came over rather faint and repaired to the retiring room. Nor were the men unaffected: the more delicate youths swayed as though they had visited the punch bowl several times too many. Alfred’s face showed no effect or exertion but for the tightening of his jaw and an increased ferocity in his gaze.
“Your Grace.” Bates managed a stiff bow and turned his head, baring the side of his neck. “I misspoke. We will welcome any female you bring to us as your bride, regardless of her provenance.” He held his posture until the pressure receded but still did not meet Alfred’s gaze.
“What must be done, must be done,” Alfred said, and they continued their perambulations. “The issues that arise when lines too closely related produce offspring is, in the case of theton, a weakness that expresses itself in illnesses of the body and of the mind. This is happening far too often amongst our own branches of society, and it must be addressed. The bloodlines of our…family must be strengthened, and our only hope may be found by my marrying one of ‘these.’”
“Which will endow permission to do so for those among us who also wish to marry and to be, er, fruitful,” Bates replied.
“Permission must be endowed sooner rather than later. Enough time has been wasted in my jaunts across the Continent. The continents, in fact. My wish to marry one of our own is not to be. I despair I have wasted time and endangered our people in trying to do so. I wanted my ma—my wife to be of our lineage.”
“Alpha—” Bates dropped into another bow. “Alfred, that is to say, Duke, Your Gr—”
“Matthias.” Alfred reached out and touched his steward on the arm, bringing him back up to full height. “If a secure future for our people is achieved through marriage to a society lady, then any sacrifice will be worth the cost.” He swept his glance around the room and met a domino-effect of lowering glances.How difficult this undertaking will be, he thought,if she won’t look me in the eye… But surely the one meant for me is as strong as I, no matter her genus?“My entire existence walks this fine line between our ways and the ways of society. The paradox is that in choosing my bride from theton, I will have to hide my true self from her, regardless of our customs.”
“Impossible,” said Bates. “You will no more be able to hide your true self from your wife than the moon could fail to draw the tide.”
“That sounds almost romantic, my friend,” Alfred teased.
“Certainly not.” Bates’s offended expression inspired Alfred to indulge in a short bark of laughter. “It does not fall to me, thank all the Gods, to subscribe to this fated-mate nonsense.” He coughed and lowered his voice. “But the notion you could spend a lifetime pretending to be something you are not? The expense of energy this would require?”
“I have neither the time nor the energy for romance.”
Which he would feign, like it or not. His interactions with the ladies of thetonhad always been marked by a social duplicity that was anathema to him: the little white lies, the sham emotions, the manners that in fact betrayed a lack of gentility and integrity. But there were far too many in his care, and they had gone too long without a strong sense of cohesion and community for him to indulge in stubbornness. He must lead the way, though it seemed unlikely he was to find happiness on his path.
Happiness! Had he ever thought happiness was in his future or was his birthright? In every clan he met, of every breed, he saw what a world of difference it made when they honored the ways of their kind. When a pack or a clowder or a flock were led by an Alpha pair who werevera amorum, they thrived, and it pierced his heart with regret, even as it strengthened his resolve. His mother and father had lied about their status, claiming one another as true mates, and the reverberations of that falsehood were still serving to hurt his people and endanger their future.
“I will do what is needed, whatever that may be.” He took the glass of champagne that Bates offered, and both pretended to drink. “I will find a lady before the Feast of Lupercalia, and we shall go forward from there.”
“Your Grace, I must remind you of what O’Mara made plain upon our return to England. Nothing less than a love match will satisfy your people.” He sounded dubious; since puphood, Matthias had scorned the tendency of their breed to mate for life. “As well, you will have to proceed as a male of thetonand observe the customary formalities.”
Alfred half listened to Bates prose on as regarded the necessity ofbillets-douxand floral tributes and wooing and instead assessed the women who came close, but not too close, to him. They treated him as though he were unapproachable when all he wanted was to be approached; unlike the majority of the young aristocratic males in the room, he yearned to marry. A failed pairing could destroy the morale and robustness of a pack—he had only to look at his parents: the disaster that was their reign had all to do with disrespecting Fate and allowing their ambitions precedence. And yet, he dreaded the notion that he might not find her by the Feast day and would thus be consigned to searching one ballroom, one garden party, one Venetian breakfast after another, for another year, all in the hopes of discovering—
He thrust his glass into Bates’s hand and froze, nostrils flaring. There. Where? He let his instinctual self scan the ballroom, his vision heightening to an almost painful degree even in the soft candlelight, his focus sharp as a blade. He fought to turn without the preternatural speed with which he was endowed and struggled to align the rest of his senses. His ears pricked, such as they could in this form: he heard laughter, a note of feminine gaiety that made his skin come out all over in gooseflesh, a sound that landed into the center of his heart as would Cupid’s dart. His inner self rolled through his consciousness, eager to explode into life, and he held it at bay.
The set concluded; the next was to be a waltz, and the usual flutter of partnering unfolded around him. That laugh rang out again, and he turned once more in a circle, uncaring if anyone noted the oddness of his behavior. It was as if every one of his nerve endings had been plucked at once, as if a bolt of lightning were gathering its power to explode down his spine. He scented the air again, and between the candle wax and the overbearing scent of lilacs, he divined a hint of vanilla, an unexpected hint of rosemary, a waft of sweet william…
“We are very near the wallflower conservatory,” joked Bates as he set their untouched glasses aside. “Shall you pluck a bloom from there?”
Alfred held up a hand and focused on the wall of palms screening the corner in which the undesirables mingled and hid, homing in on a bouquet of fragrance he’d despaired of scenting, a combination of familiar elements he may have experienced singly but never before as one, not with such rapturous force. He turned to face the greenery; Bates moved to protect his back. He inhaled, and yes, there it was, a collection of mundane notes that combined to create a glorious symphony of attraction, desire, lust, yearning, and possibility; a concoction of lush skin, that hint of sweet william, fresh air, horses—and an excessive amount of lemon? His heart beat like thunder, and as the violins tuned for the upcoming dance and the crowd’s murmur built into a roar, he swept, heedless, through them to reach the source.
