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JACK
I slowedto a trot as we entered the small market town of Winstead. And though we hadn’t pushed the horses hard because of the heat, their flanks heaved and were flecked with sweat, their legs speckled with mud. We weren’t much better—smelling of heat sex and hastily dressed.
“If we’d ridden, we’d have caught them.” Pax growled. Too tired to argue with him, I shrugged my shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the tension. Perhaps we should have ridden, but there was no assurance we’d have caught them.
“While they change the horses, I’ll seek information at the other hostelries,” I told him. The grooms would change the horses faster than my errand, but we required the intelligence. He grunted and rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry Pax.”
“What for?” He looked at me, genuine surprise in his silver eyes, which were made brighter by the near seven-day-old black beard. The man hadn’t shaved before we left. Most likely I appeared the same, but there was something Other about Pax in such a disheveled state. He looked vicious and wild. I liked him this way, though I’d never tell him.
“For suggesting we go after him. We should have stayed with her. I’ve left her twice now.” The thought of Beatrice on her own so soon after her heat reminded me too much of the first heat I’d shared with her. “Betas would have served just as well.”
“Damn your need to play the martyr at every turn! If you must, I’ll happily be the one to beat you for leaving her twice. True, an alpha ought to stay by their omega. But the circumstances could not be more different. We go at the behest of our mate. Our charge—” His eyes flashed with repressed fury. “Go before I say something that will force a fight. Seek news, I’ll see to the horses. And order some porter. My throat is as dry as a desert.”
His words worked over my conscious like a lash. Chastised and uncomfortable with his anger—justified and raw—I gratefully headed off on what I suspected would be a hopeless errand. This was the second change of horses since we’d left. At the first change, we’d had some hope. A carriage had gone through with a young gentleman and a lady. We’d caught up with them on the road only to discover a young, mated couple on their way home from their honeymoon. If anything could have made our moods blacker, a happily mated pair was it. We should be in our mate’s nest and tending to Beatrice, reassuring her. Instead, we were on what I now suspected to be a wild goose chase. London. They’d probably gone to London instead. Dammit. We’d been hasty. To expect a man so in debt to cover the cost of a post chaise to Gretna Green was the height of foolishness.
I concluded my business efficiently. No one had seen anything to suggest that Stimpson and Hero had come through here.
“No other way than through here, unless you go the long way round. And what you are hinting at. May I be blunt, lordship?”
“Not a lord,” I snapped. “My apologies.”
“Winstead is the best route north.” he continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “There are enough of us who make the majority of our money helping alphas smuggling omegas north…”
“Honourless alphas,” I growled in frustration.
“A penny is as good as a pound for a beta, lordship…”
“Not a lord.” Then the fight went out of me. What he said was true. Omegas fleeing to the border for a hasty handfasting over the anvil was increasingly common as omega prices soared. Several thousand pounds to be paid to the omega’s parents or guardians. And with large packs falling out of fashion, alphas struggled to secure an omega mate. Changes in society—for better or worse—meant an elopement was often the only way an omega and alpha could mate. But betas?
“Is there anything else you are needing?” the publican asked.
“That is all. Thank you. Here.” I tossed him a coin and headed back to Red Lion.
Wiping my sweating brow, I dodged a couple of children screeching as they pulled a raggedy kite behind them. Where had we gone wrong? The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed he would go to London, where people would know them. Nor was there anyone to stand in to sanction the marriage. Surely Stimpson could not have obtained a special license? Marrying her out of hand and forcing her guardians to release at least some of her funds was the only way he could get his hands on her money. Mrs Markham had let slip Hero would not have control of her vast inheritance until she was six and twenty. To be sure she was an heiress, but Stimpson was stupider than I’d taken him for if he thought he’d get access to her fortune through a runaway match. Unless her guardians, like Mrs Hartwell, put their own pride before that of their charge. Would they pay him off rather than charge him with the kidnap and rape of Hero?
I’d talk with Pax first. I hated feeling blind. Not knowing enough of the alpha who’d stolen a sweet, innocent girl. One whose gentle personality was more commonly seen in an omega.
The news was no better at the posting house. Pax sat in the large public room, a half pint and a plate of cold ham sitting untouched at his elbow. I grabbed a slice and, like a heathen, bit into it before drinking down the home brew in a single gulp.
“Another!” I called to the barmaid. “There was no news for me, and by your look, I’m guessing you had no luck either.”
“We go back.” Pax growled, dissatisfied. “But first something to eat. I’ve ordered a proper meal. Beatrice is safe in her nest. I need to sit for a minute. My arm, I’m getting old.”
“You were shot, old man,” I reminded him. An unexpected laugh escaped. “By our mate. She shot you. An omega in her heat shot you. How have I never teased you about that? The great Lord Benedict Paxton, Baron Mote, shot in the shoulder by an omega. Count your good fortune that on dit never made it around the ton. You’d be laughed out of your clubs.”
He let out a deep, breathy laugh, and a weak smile teased around the corners of his mouth. Goddess, he looked wrecked. “She’s safe with Orley. He won’t let her do anything reckless,” I assured him.
“I know… We’ll go back after we’ve eaten,” he said unnecessarily. “I’ll arrange for a special license when we return to London. Marry at St George’s. ”
“Why wait?” I asked him. “I want my knot in her as fast as we can make those horses gallop and for us to be legally bound before we leave for London. The blessing will have to wait until the autumn, but I don’t give a fig for that.”
His scent spiked. This giant, cold silver alpha looked ready to kiss me in a public house, and I’d let him too. There was no shame in our relationship. Unusual for a pair of alphas. We cared for each other, and would be at odds at times, but that was no different from other pairings. Yes, I would let him kiss me.
“Your ale, m’lord,” the busty barmaid coughed. I straightened and took it from her, drowned it, and thanked her.
While I finished the ham and plate of hard cheese, Pax paid our shot and shrugged into his driving coat.
Together, we stepped out into the yard.
