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“Your butler and valet.”

He ran a hand over his face and stood. I watched him, curious if he were to go and summon his butler and demand an explanation. Instead, and to my horror, he stalked to where I sat. Syon loomed over me, his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost black, his scent so thick I felt dizzy. To say I was prepared for the full expression of alpha aggression would be risible. I fought every instinct to turn and offer him my neck.

“I do not desire for you to ever wear your sister’s clothes in my house. Do you understand me, Hartwell?” he spat my name out, but I could not understand his anger.

“Do not get so angry,” I crooned trying to soothe his temper. “It seemed the most efficient way; otherwise I must return to Weymouth Street. By then, it is far too late in the day to come here.”

“Then do not. Your day off shall be on whichever day you are to see the countess. All other days you are to be here and not smelling ofher.”

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. Irrationally, I wanted to argue with him that Viola, that I smelt just fine. But the haunting feeling his “her” was the countess sparked a fit of irrational jealousy. The thought he could smell her on me, despite how little time I’d had to pick up her scent, twisted my insides until I wanted to scream, primal and furious, that he preferred another’s scent to mine.

But he is not yours, I screamed right back.The alpha before you is no more yours to claim than it is possible to wish the sun and moon in the sky at the same time.

“I will try—“

“No trying. You will obey me in all things,” he barked. His alpha coming through so strongly that no alpha would have been able to stand up to it, especially in his own home where everything belonged to him—including me I realised. Whether he knew it or not, he owned my every thought in these past weeks. In retaliation, I sought to thwart him in matters as small as in how I mended his pens. He’d barred me from touching his pens a week ago, which was a shame because I loved to hear him curse when his pen sputtered. He returned the favour, aggravating me to the point I fantasied about strangling him in frustration over his alpha superiority. Then in the dark of my bed, forbidden thoughts crept into my imagination though I dared not put words to those too dangerous desires. Too often nights began with my face buried in my pillow, hands clutching the sheets, my core unsatisfied, and slick covered thighs pressing together—my body protesting at being denied.

“Now get back to work,” he commanded. I took a deep breath, grateful the cracked window had thinned our scents.

I would master myself, I must master myself if I were to survive my time with Syon.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was tense. The air so charged that when Horne came in to ask if we wished for refreshments, I gasped at the fresh air that came into the room. Syon—how had I come to think of him in such a personal way and so quickly?—refused to look up from where he sat squinting at the broadsheet Horne had brought, crisp from being ironed to ensure Syon’s fingers didn’t become stained from the ink. After snapping at him he’d be better for eating something, I ordered a light repast, and when it came I had to coax him to eat. He growled that I was fussy, and I growled right back that if he continued to be like this I would quit and he could sort out his own messes both in the managing of his affairs both in business and pleasure.

Our eyes held. Daggers drawn, and ready for a fight I was unsure either of us would emerge from unscathed.

“You are a scamp. I don’t know why I put up with you,” he said with such resigned humour that I snorted. He sounded like any beleaguered alpha forced to endure the nagging care of an omega. And here I was, neither an alpha nor his omega, yet falling into the part with such ease that I had to see the humour of it or I would find myself running from his presence as if the Devil himself were hot on my heels.

“Dine with me this evening,” he smiled.

“What?”

“Dine with me; I already invited you to in my note. I desire your company. Besides…” he sighed, looking to the ceiling. “I should hear how your business with the countess goes.”

“I can tell you that now,” I said, somewhat bashful as I was not sure the propriety of my dining with him—though how a dinner could be more compromising than spending most days locked up with him, I did not know. “I believe my aunt will be expecting me.”

He snorted and bent over the speech, crossing out a line with purpose. I growled. A smile tugged at his lips. “I promise she can do without you for one evening.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “But only if you agree to consider the unaltered speech.”

“Convince me then,” he said with challenge and lounged in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“To begin with…”

We finished later than was our habit. And if Horne had not come to announce dinner was ready, we would have continued to argue the merits of omega rights until the sun had risen on a new day.

I had not seen much of Syon’s London residence but was unsurprised to find that the dining room was dominated by a table I suspected could have entertained as many as eighty guests. He assured me only forty guests would fit about it but that he could fit near double that amount at Ayleigh.

“Do you entertain much?” I asked when the last of our excellent meal had been removed. I’d hardly noticed that there was no meat, for the food was delicious and filling. One day I would ask him why and when he had become a vegetarian and how he still managed to be so big and strong—an omega’s curiosity would eventually be satisfied.

“No,” he did not seem bothered by the fact. He’d turned his chair and stretched his long legs out before him, looking impossibly powerful and handsome. My core clenched and slick began to gather.

“Why? I can imagine you would have a great many dinners here. Political dinners, for instance...” I tried to distract myself by cracking more nuts than I could eat.

“There is no hostess, scamp!” He laughed and refilled my glass.

I had been drinking more than I ever had before but was enjoying the way the wine made me feel. A little reckless and far more intimate with Syon than I was sober.


Tags: Flora Quincy The Hartwell Sisters Saga Paranormal