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“That is more than enough of sheaths and swords, I think,” he smirked.
“Have you given thought to my proposal?” I asked. “If I can’t convince you to support the bill with my words… Perhaps I should with my actions. A quid pro quo? The countess—”
“Enough! Get back to the work I pay you for.”
* * *
I was quiet the next day, unable to look Syon in the eye, afraid that he would see my inner turmoil. Did I want to press him on the bill? Bring up the trade I was willing to make? I’d stayed up the whole night thinking on it. One person for many? Could I do it? But he had his own concerns and barely spared me a look until I stood to leave.
“Don’t come tomorrow. You look tired,” he didn’t look up from the letter he was writing.
I swallowed, unsure what to do with his kindness. He was kind. He was good. What secretary received the same courtesies I had come to expect as my due? If he treated his duchess half so well as he treated me, a mere secretary, then I should be doing everything I could to marry him to the countess. If I got in the way of a marriage that could prove happy even as it saved the countess from penury, then I should be putting all my energy into achieving that outcome.
“You are too good to me. I will be here,” I frowned at my shoes, confused by the emotions I had no name for.
“Hartwell, if I tell you to stay away tomorrow, you will follow my command. I go to Newmarket. Take the time off to buy some new neck clothes. You mangle them beyond recognition.”
“Why? It is not the time of year,” my head shot up in confusion. The first races were months away. I reached for my cravat. Even without seeing it, I knew it would make Timms, His Grace’s valet, turn green with nausea. “And I don’t mangle them.”
“Do my movements concern you?” he chuckled. “More to the point, does Newmarket vanish simply because the races aren’t taking place?”
“No, sir.”
“What? Hanging your head like an unrevealed schoolgirl? Something is causing you to act out of sorts. Tell me.”
I gave into that firm tone. Perhaps not so much because he was exerting an alpha’s will on me, but because I wanted to unburden myself. The story of my emergence into society and interacting with other alphas, omegas even, came pouring forth, coming to an abrupt halt with the admission that “The more I see of the world, the more I recognise my idealism, my own—“
“And what is so wrong with that, pup?”
“How old are you?” I glared at him.
“I will be nine and twenty this year. Not so old.”
“Yet you have been to university, have been on the grand tour, have spoken in the House of Lords. In short, you have lived. You must think me wholly incapable and yet you are kind to me. To hear Viola’s ideas...”
There was a pause. It could have lasted a moment or an hour, I would not know, for our eyes held so steady, even while my heart galloped within my breast. It had been a few short weeks in his company, yet I felt at once comfortable and at sea with him—very well, I was not sure what it literally meant to be at sea but the expression was known to me enough that I felt confident using it to describe my feelings at this time.
“Is’t so strange? Perhaps I wished someone had been a friend to me at your age?” he asked.
I felt my cheeks flush. Had he called us friends? When there existed such a gulf in our situations, our stations, our dynamics. Everything separated us. There he sat. All languid grace as he lounged in his chair confident that there was none to challenge him. He could not be more correct. Yet he called us friends. A title I suspected was more precious than any other in his lexicon.
“It is late… I should go,” I mumbled, knowing if I gave voice to my feelings, I’d break this serenity. When he didn’t speak I realised how badly I had wanted him to ask me to stay. To have dinner with him. To not leave him in this grand and silent house.
“Come out with me tonight. I feel you need a night away from...” He waved a hand. As if it were quite common for a duke to take some young alpha—his secretary, no less!—with him to some exclusive club. “I think you do not play. That is not good for a young alpha, especially one who so demonstrably lacks any Town bronze. They call me the Parson for not indulging in pleasures of the flesh, but no one is the worse for learning whether you desire to partake or abstain.”
“I—“ I choked. The thought of going to another alpha only establishment had me nervous. “I mean, I am expected at home this evening.”
“You are always expected this evening. Tonight you will do as I say.”
I growled in annoyance. “You have no say over my free—“
“You are my secretary and reflect on me. If I choose to introduce you to a club, you bow and offer your humble thanks. Your protestations that you are not worthy of such regard...” he grinned. That smile was more lethal than his bark. If he had forced his alpha will, exerted the dominance we both knew he had, I would have caved. I would have had to submit. But that teasing twist of his lips commanded me just as well if not better.
“I will not rise to that bait. I will go with you,” I snapped. But inside, my heart was singing. I hated myself for cherishing my time with him.
* * *
He chose to take me to a gaming hell, full of all the young bucks and corinthians and betas with deep pockets. The house itself was a discreet building, but there was no doubt of what this place was once we climbed the shallow steps. A large, pugnacious alpha stood at the door, and the duke greeted him with a familiarity I’d not expected. When I asked, he pointed to his nose and said with some amusement, “That fellow ensured no lover would enjoy looking at me.”
