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“Whatever you choose,” I told her. “Gentlemen, I would like to speak with her before…”
“Of course,” Paxton nodded.
I put a hand on the back of her neck and steered her a little away from the other odd duo. I looked deep into her violet eyes while I gathered my thoughts. Each word must count for this was my last chance to convince her with words.
“Viola Hartwell. You are mine. By law and by my will. You passed your heat with me—I didn’t bite you out of respect but that don’t make you any less mine. However, I will give you a choice now. If you win, you can have whatever you want. I cannot promise the crown jewels, but if it is in my power, it is yours.”
“My freedom?” she asked but her eyes did not meet mine.
“Yes.” It should have been painful to say that one little word, but I promised her everything. Even if it meant her freedom, I’d give it to her.
“And if you win?”
“You are my wife.”
“Is’t that simple to you? That you will have me as a wife? A broodmare? Is that… Is that all you think of me?”
“No, my dear Hartwell. I think of you as much more than that. But that is all I will ask of you. If you wish to become my mate in your next heat, I will gladly mark you. All I ask is for your hand in marriage. Anything else is in your power, and your power alone, to give.”
“I’m going to beat you,” she pronounced so sweetly that my heart gave a nervous kick.
“You can try,” I kissed her forehead. She’d be mine. Viola might be a cracking shot, but I was better.
What happened next was like a dream to both Viola Hartwell and Syon, Duke of Orley. They took their positions, back to back with only their clothes between them. Viola leant back a fraction, her body’s heat seeping through Syon’s shirt. Perhaps this distracted him, for when the guns went off his went wide, and Viola’s shot hit the mark with such accuracy that caused Fordom let out a whoop of excitement.
I stood, frozen to the spot, my senses only just returning. I had not fired wide on purpose. I was not a fool. This was my only sure chance of making Viola mine. Perhaps it was that scent of violets and vanilla that distracted me. Or maybe it was nerves. But now the portrait of the second duke had a hole in it.
“I won,” Viola said joyfully. “Oh! Syon! I won! Isn’t… Aren’t you impressed? I told you I was better than you.”
“You did. I’ll… I’ll go and see about ordering a carriage to take you home.” Blood rushed through my ears, filtering out any thought but the building dread that I’d lost her forever. “Paxton, Fordom. Good day to you both.”
“Do the right thing, lassie,” Fordom said, some of his Scottish accent slipping out. “He loves you even if he hasn’t said it yet.”
“I know my business,” she snapped. “I wish to speak with Syon in private. You can leave.”
She dismissed them as if it were her own house. But nothing good ever came when an omega used that tone.
“I’ve already promised to let you leave,” I gritted out and refusing to look at the beloved creature, who’d demand her freedom.
“I’m not asking for freedom. I want to be the one who reads my speech before the House of Lords. Perhaps then I will consider marrying you.”
