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“This is madness!” she snapped. Her breaths were coming in shorter pants. There was something though in the air, a faint whiff of heaven, that had me press on and on. Violets and vanilla tickled my senses. It was madness, but until I could get everything that represented this entrancing and infuriating woman out of my system, I would be forever caught in a spell of the memory of Hartwell in that dress, smelling like of her omega sister. How I had wanted to rip Paxton’s arms from his body when I’d seen their little encounter last night! I could not get it out of my head that there was something private between them. Hartwell’s private moments belonged to me. She was my secretary. She was mine to order about as I chose. Mine to fight. Mine to reprimand, to forgive, to care for.
“Syon. Stop.”
My vision cleared at her shout. I saw the advantage and pressed on, relishing the way her shirt was slowly becoming drenched with sweat. She leapt forward and with a flash of her wrist she broke through my guard, and the buttoned point of her blade touched my side.
“Touch. Again,” I said. We took our positions. I started with a rush and lurched forward, returning the favour, only my mark was her heart.
“Touch,” she batted my blade away. “To what end, my lord? Why are you doing this?”
“En garde!”
“This is madness, stop!”
I growled deep in my throat and leapt forward. She had not expected my sudden movement and tumbled, landing on her back. I stood over her, primitive joy singing through my body to see her laid before me, defeated.
“I’ve stopped,” I panted and made no move to hide the triumphant grin that spread across my face. Taking in deep lungfuls of air I caught again that same scent I had become obsessed with weeks ago.
“Would you want to kill me?” she asked from where she lay on the floor, propped up on her elbows, a frown marring her pretty face. Her head fell back and for the first time, I saw the slender column of her throat bared in true submission. She then rolled to her feet and stood before me, using her sleeve to wipe away the sweat that dripped down her brow. Again, sweet violets and vanilla wafted toward me.
“Where were you this morning?”
She froze. I’d never seen a person stand so still before.
“I overslept, Your Grace,” she snapped. “My head aches from your good wine. Why must we do this now? Wooing is a long business. What is that the reason you choose to challenge me? Because I can’t win your omega for you fast enough? What demon must you exorcise this morning?”
I stopped myself from speaking. The countess? I had not thought of her, or my plan to marry her, in days. What did I want with an omega I’d never met? Had never even seen.
“You smell of omega,” I walked into her space, coming closer until she was pressed to the wall and I could lean down to the crook of her neck and inhale that intoxicating scent. “Like you did that day in the dress.”
“Viola,” she gulped. I was close enough to see the faint beat of her pulse. I ached with need as well but one I could never act upon. Shatter this precious relationship? I would not risk it. “I should go and wash... If that is alright with you…”
The image of the two of us bathing together flashed across my vision, and I took an unsteady step back.
“Yes,” I managed to get out the single word. Yes, I had said but to what? The madness of seeing her naked or the fact she wanted to get rid of her scent. “Go. Have one of the servants draw two baths, one for each of us.”
She nodded and fled the room, leaving her jacket behind. I sighed. I was no servant to be picking up after her, but it gave me some strange pleasure to bring the cloth to my nose and smell. Only there was nothing of alpha in the rich fabric. Just Viola’s heady scent—but beneath it something purely belonging to a pair of fine violet eyes that I knew as well as my own. I reached down and grabbed my cock, ran the heel of my hand down to where my knot pulsed. It seemed that it could not go down no matter what I did. Every moment an agony for someone I could not have.
