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Sprinkled around, lads and ladies of the night looking for love. Drexler, their most likely procurer, watched them like a hawk. One of his… recruits, a beta, ran a hand down Pax’s good arm, a playful smile full of promise in his eyes.
“Another time.” Pax brushed him aside.
“Colonel?” Those limpid blue eyes blinked up at me. There weren’t many more beautiful than this man. But I didn’t desire gentle. I wanted someone who ignited my blood, a particular, fiery omega who I couldn’t have for love nor money.
“Like he said, another time. Away with you, Danny boy.”
Danny shrugged, already drifting through the crowd.
“Did you mean it?” Pax asked.
“What’s to do?” I asked. “Mean what?”
“Another time? Are you going to fuck him? Do you expect me to join you?”
“I thought you liked Danny.”
“How could I want him after I’ve met her,” he sounded furious, but at himself.
“Benedict!” I sucked in a breath. “Don’t. We spoke about this—”
“I’m not cutting you out,” he interrupted. Perhaps for the best. “I know you care for her. Don’t think I missed your scent that night. That I didn’t know you wanted her as much as I.”
“That is not the issue,” I snapped.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” he barked. “You won’t like the consequences.”
That was a lie. Any consequences, as he called them, I’d take, but I wouldn’t back down. Hell, the thought of his consequences—Beatrice, pain, all of it—made my cock twitch as much as the thought of stuffing Beatrice with my knot.
“I’m not interested in fucking Danny, with or without you… What…” I pulled in a deep breath and hated the scent of all the other alphas, the betas, the food and beer and tobacco. “I’m for London.”
“She’ll be ours.”
He sounded so sure, and all I wanted to do was scream at him that she’d not be ours because she was mine already.
Beatrice
One yearlater
June 1795
Ayleigh, Oxfordshire
We were back from Paris. My banishment? Abruptly ended by a turn for the worse in diplomatic relations between our governments. Our stay in London had been short-lived when Viola had begged Mama, Mrs Markham, and I to stay with her during her confinement. I’d never deny her, not with our papa in his grave. She needed my comfort as her oldest omega sister. Though the thought of being present for the birth brought forward the ghost of unwanted heartache, at least Mrs Markham was there—far better support for Vi than Mama or I could provide.
All the same, after the terror of being smuggled out of Paris in a wine barrel, a summer in the countryside appealed in a way it never had before. Moreover, it removed temptation. A certain alpha’s name had been connected to our rescue and knowing my mate had played a key part…
No. I must put temptation aside, reject it. For I was now determined to become—perhaps not a pattern card of respectability, but at least a reliable aunt for my sister’s children. And a comforting hostess for our Mama. Accepting my omega spinsterhood rankled, but Mama considered it the safest route since I persisted in declining all suitors. The last refused proposal—or insult, for I vacillated on the topic—had inspired such a fit of rage in my Mama, I’d nearly laughed. Did she suppose I’d accept an alpha after all these years? She’d approved of Lord Paxton’s lineage and fortune, and when she’d heard what had happened, had given me such a lecture that I’d felt my blood boil. Such was my future. Still, my thoughts often strayed to the silver alpha I had rejected and the alpha who had rejected me. Much better to be out of their way rather than risk running into them while gracing London’s ballrooms and fashionable venues. It was not the life I wanted, but I intended to embrace it whole heartedly.
I turned my attention back to the watercolour sketch I’d begun before I’d relapsed into a brown study. My subject, the great oak of Ayleigh, had a more interesting history than any great beauty or hideousness to make a good painting. This noble and ancient tree claimed to have been the only named tree in the Doomsday Book. I’d never read it, or even seen a copy, so could not verify the authenticity of the claim, but the mythology surrounding it seemed the perfect subject for this blistering hot afternoon. For, despite sitting under an elegant and monstrously fashionable marquee with pitchers of lemonade and the remnants of a delicious cold luncheon, there was no cooling breeze, just the overwhelming heat.
And the heat! I envied the others in their cotton dresses while I must cover my… shame. On this point Mama and I could never agree. For the mate-bite meant different things to us. She despised the alpha who’d rejected me. While to me, the scar reminded me to seize the moment. To put regret and heartache aside, and embrace life. To live without regret. My time with Mr John Fordom… No. He was Colonel Jack Fordom now. Whatever his name, our time together was branded on my soul—the blissful and the painful. But I’d not permit him, or any alpha, to control my joy. I’d wish him good fortune should I see him again, but he was my past, and the future I chose would be smooth sailing rather than the wild tempest he inspired. Papa’s advice, that an omega was happiest when they had security, resonated. Security over passionate abandon was what I aimed for.
“Bea?”
“Yes, Vi?” I hummed. The sky was very blue today, but I’d painted the scene as overcast. What a nuisance an artistic temperament could be. I blindly searched amongst my things for a tube of blue.
“Are you aware that you are dripping paint all over your lovely breeches? Shall I have one of the servants get some Soda Water? I have become quite addicted to it during my pregnancy. Syon sends for bottles every week,” Viola said, interrupting my thoughts.
