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“What?” I laughed. “I saw you kiss one of London’s most desired women. She blushed and watched you until we left… Or did you not notice?”
She glared at me, her nostrils flaring. I know she struggled to believe herself attractive, a feeling I knew too well. And rather than give her a reason to pick another fight about her looks or quite frankly erotic kiss, I ordered her back to work.
* * *
A few hours later, grown restless from sitting for so long, I abandoned Hartwell and walked over to Manton’s, one of London’s exclusive shooting galleries. In one corner I found a dissatisfied looking Lord Paxton checking a pistol with Colonel Jack Fordom, a black-haired war hero with a gallows humour that held many at arm’s length. The two alphas were like silver and cold iron, as pretty and lethal as the guns they so accurately shot with.
“Orley. Didn’t expect to find you in town,” Paxton set his pistol down and flexed his hand. I leant against the wall and watched them at their game, for it seemed they were competing for some prize. “Will you demonstrate your aim? Jack is looking to embarrass any and all.”
“Embarrass? Ha. Orley is more like to embarrass me than any. Except perhaps Bea… Miss Hartwell,” Fordom aimed at the target and less than a breath later hit the bullseye.
“Hartwell?” I frowned. “Related to Iris Hartwell.”
“Not her again,” Paxton snarled. He glared at his guns, deep in thought. “I ran into the child the other night. Fired up like a dog with a bone when I mentioned her sister.”
“That’s not my impression of her,” I inspected the pistols laid out on the table. My intention to observe, engage in some conversation, and then leave was set aside in my interest to learn more about the Hartwells. “She’s too young to do more than blow a bit of hot air about.”
“Oh? And how’d you come to know young Hartwell?... Your Grace,” Fordom asked, throwing my title in at the last moment and shooting me a sharp glance. We’d sparred earlier in the year. I’d suspected he’d thrown the bout out of some deference to my position in society… Now I wasn’t so sure for he didn’t appear to be an alpha to lose to anyone.
“She is my new secretary,” I summoned a lackey and asked for my pistols to be brought over. “It’s no secret.”
“Ain’t like you to hire a stripling.”
I shrugged, yet I felt no need to explain myself to them. We might know each other, but neither of these alphas were my friends.
“She was lucky to have a handful of ancients with her the other night.” Paxton aimed and a shot rang out.
“She is a fencer,” I remarked as Paxton, clearly still riled by his run-in with my new secretary, lost another point. “I’ve a mind to try her hand.”
“What, to take on a girl just out of leading strings?” Fordom asked. “Is she as pretty as her sisters? Beatrice and Hippolyta have their mother’s fiery hair. Do the twins also carry all those curls or are they dark like their father?”
Did he realise he’d revealed he knew the Hartwells far more intimately than he wanted to let on? Dark like the father? The omega had died some five or so years before, and Fordom was only recently returned to England.
“Dark hair and violet eyes,” I scratched my chin watching them. “She’s slight for an alpha but does not lack courage. Speaks her mind.”
“Regretting taking her on?” Fordom smiled.
“You should throw her out.” Paxton snarled. He had taken my secretary into an intense dislike. It would be amusing to see them together again, and by his looks, Fordom agreed.
“If you see the fair Miss Hartwell, do let me know,” Fordom’s eyes didn’t leave Paxton’s face and sparkled with mischief.
“Which one?” I grinned enjoying a new kinship with Fordom when he taunted Paxton.
“For all that is holy. Be done with it!” Paxton threw his hands in the air. “Play or not. But let us leave Beatrice out of this. You aren’t worthy to—“
“So you do still care,” Fordom’s eyes flashed. “I was not speaking of Beatrice, the wretched albatross, but the youngest Viola.”
I watched the two and remembered with a suddenness that they were known for taking lovers together. Perhaps their problems with Beatrice Hartwell, who had red hair and caused her sister to lose her temper, were of a far more intimate nature. My guns arrived, and Fordom, clearly bored of teasing his friend, steered the conversation to less troubled waters.
* * *
I did not think of Beatrice Hartwell again, until the following week when my Hartwell barged into the library, a footman carrying a portmanteau. With each passing day, I became conscious that she was a beautiful woman who’d turn heads with a flash of her sparkling, mischievous eyes and easy confidence in both manner and body. To be certain, a captivating and dangerous woman.
“Your grace,” she said with a bow. Noticing the footman was still present she waited until I signalled he should leave. “Shall I prove myself? As an omega? I hope I’ve already proved myself a sufficient secretary.”
“Very well,” I waved her to continue.
“A screen perhaps?” She fiddled with her cravat. The nervous tick always brought a smile to my lips, but I’d not taken her for a prude after that kiss the other night.
