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“Meeker, if any harms comes to her or the Colonel while I am out, I’ll skin you alive.”
“You really mean to leave her?” he asked. “Without alpha protection?”
“Only the Colonel may be granted admittance, and none may leave.”
“If you say so, m’lord. But what do I tell her if she asks? Fearsome. Mi’lady is fearsome.”
“That is for you to decide.”
The house on Upper Wimpole Street appeared comfortable, but on the smaller side. To think that two of the richest women in London lived in such an unfashionable part of town when the Markham fortune could afford a house on one of the greater squares in the most desirable part of town and not feel pinched. Perhaps the stink of trade was too strong on him for the Ton to accept them. Money, it seemed, did not open all doors.
A large alpha opened the door. All glowering protection over the widow who seemed completely at ease with this Dixon who claimed to be the widow’s butler but from he way he hovered must be more to her. “What brings you here?”
“Ma’am, I hope I find you in good health.”
“Thank you.”
“And Hero?” I asked. “I hope that she is not…”
“Fear not Lord Paxton. My daughter is recovering. It was a great blow, to be sure, but she is strong and… Well, encouraging her to a run away marriage says more about the character of Stimpson than her.”
“If… Beatrice I am sure would love to see her. To visit us at Curzon Street or here?” Mrs Markham showed a flash of pain at the mention of Beatrice and Hero meeting. “Unless you think that not a good idea?”
“It is, but Hero is shy of Beatrice for she believes it is her own fault.”
“It ain’t… It isn’t Hero’s fault.”
“And you think a young girl, heartbroken and her friend shot, is going to believe that?” she asked.
“No, Ma’am. Women are determined–” She raised a skeptical brow, daring me to finish the comment. I coughed. “Not what you were thinking. Just that they are determined bunch. Never knew a woman who didn’t know her mind–”
“Do you often talk yourself into trouble?”
I flushed her casual comment, too close to the truth for my liking.
“What brings you here, Lord Paxton?”
I clenched my jaw, mentally preparing for her censure. Preparing more like to throw pride away and prostrate myself before her. “I would like you to talk with Beatrice about her place as an omega. She is struggling to settle. I know you to be close to her.”
She stared at me with a stillness only the most carefully trained omegas could achieve. I remembered my mother was the same. Poised to the point of appearing to be carved from marble. And then she laughed. “Have you realised that it is one thing to rut an omega through her heat and another to have a mate? And a Hartwell to boot?”
“You overstep. She is Lady Paxton now.”
“Tush, my lord. I was mated and married when you were a pup barely out of leading strings. If I cannot tell you the truth to your face, you are a fool.” Her smile changed to something near motherly. “I always wanted a son. No matter the designation. My mate… He doted on our Hero. Unfortunately, we were only blessed with the one.”
“Ma’am?”
She patted my arm and pushed me towards a chair. “May I guess that before Beatrice, you, uh, never had your will challenged? I thought not. She’s like a cat. Needs to be rubbed the right way or she’ll scratch and bite. Now, there is no way of knowing that the way you rub her today will make her purr tomorrow.”
I growled, hating how this omega seemed so confident in her reading of the situation. Yet I knew if there was a person in London capable of making Beatrice understand her place, as my omega and mate, it was Mrs Markham.
“Have you thought of something you might give her?”
“A gift?”
“May the Goddess give me strength in my times of need. Could you not have met in some ballroom or at a soiree like normal alphas and omegas? No. Instead… My lord. Sit. Now. Perhaps you were not taught this. But when an alpha likes an omega very much—”
“You infantilize me.”
