“You don’t know, do you?” Paxton pulled a face of disgust. “Dammit, man. I put this firmly at Beatrice’s door. If it weren’t for her stunts last summer, Viola would be safely mated off to some sensible scholar or rising politician—perhaps one on the other side of this door. And Iris would have her nose in a book, rather than sneaking about town.”
“Leave,” I growled, a deep possessiveness of the twins reverberating through my chest. “I’ll not have you acting nursemaid to those who aren’t your responsibility. I’ll watch over my own secretary.”
“Orley, I’ll go. But let me warn you. That family. They’ve no care for anyone but their damned ideals. If you don’t fall into line, they turn vicious. Watch your back.”
“And stay away from Viola,” I snapped.
Paxton laughed. “Viola is a rebellious little brat with no one to rein in her flights of fancy. Not her alpha twin. Not her sisters or mother. My only interest is to keep her out of trouble. But if you think you can manage her,” and he tilted his head with a bitter smile. “Perhaps it would do you good to tangle with one of the Miss Hartwells. Teach you a lesson in humility.”
“Even Beatrice? Should I woo her?” I couldn’t follow his conversation but the taunt was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Paxton stepped forward, barely keeping himself under control. “If you were... Beatrice is the thorn in my side. Not yours. Never yours. She shall never belong to—“ He growled in frustration. “Let us say I am drunk. My mind muddled… The omegas in that family are a sickness you never want to be cured of. I just hope you don’t catch it.”
* * *
“Why was Paxton so desperate to talk to you last night?” were the first words I spoke when Hartwell entered the library the following day. The evening had passed smoothly after Paxton had left, but my eyes kept tracking back to her dark head bent close to another’s, deep in conversation. That Paxton had chosen to corner my secretary puzzled and vexed my alpha. That possessiveness had kept me tossing the few hours I had tried to sleep. I was bleary-eyed and irritable. I snapped at Timms and was dissatisfied… I knew what was bothering me. My secretary.
“Some trifle—“ she waved a hand. The easy dismissal caused a growl to reverberate deep in my throat.
“Since when do you consider your sisters’ honour trifling? I overheard some of your conversation. Do not bite my head off. I was concerned. He is a rake, and dangerous. Do not snarl like that. Let me finish. If he is putting any pressure on you, on your sisters, you will tell me. I will ensure—“
“My conversation is none of your concern, Your Grace,” she said through gritted teeth. “My sisters are not your concern.”
“Paxton seems to be very interested in both—“
“Dammit, Syon. What does it matter what someone like Paxton thinks?” she shouted. “He is a rake...”
“What did you say?” I could not contain my fury. This whelp had the temerity to raise her voice at me, and in my own house? When I was showing understandable concern for her beloved sister? For Viola. But it wasn’t just that. She was refusing my help. AndthatI would not allow. “Did you try to alpha me in my own home?”
That stubborn jaw tensed, but she did not deny it.
“Follow me,” I growled. My alpha would be satisfied. I must dominate, exert my obvious superiority. Put this pup in her place—beneath me. The image caused my cock to give a twinge of anticipation. There was a moment before I heard her steps struggling to catch up with my longer stride. We arrived at the gallery, its long walls covered with paintings of long-dead Orleys and their mates. I had converted it to act as a place to practice fencing when I’d been a young man. The furniture was sparse and shoved against the walls. I strode down its length to where at the far end were a collection of blades I kept for my personal use. I found my breath coming out in harsh pants. Something basal had riled my temper, and it was on this girl I intended to take it out. She claimed to be so good with a rapier that she would take on any alpha, and she just a stripling.
“Choose,” I snapped as I stripped off my jacket and began to roll up my sleeves, carefully tucking away the lace cuffs.
“What are you doing?” she asked. I spun around to find her standing before me still dressed and making no move to take a sword from the many I kept.
“Prepare to cross swords. Any number of times I have heard you brag that you could take on any alpha. Come on! Test your metal against me.”
“I will not,” she replied ever so calmly, but I knew all her expressions by now that I could see the tension around her eyes telling me she was not as composed as she would wish me to believe.
“What? Do you insult me?” I stalked towards her. My behaviour went against my every principle. Yet I could not stand another moment with this child standing before me so aloof and cool while I lost control.
“Pick up a blade,” I bit out.
“You’ll regret this,” she said but removed her jacket with a grimace. She wore a suit of plain mustard velvet, which suited her. With every hair in place, with every smooth motion, I wanted to force her to break her unnatural calm and become as feral as I feared I was turning.
“You shall regret drinking too deep last night,” I snapped.
I slashed my blade through the air, satisfied with the way it cut through the still silence. But greater was my pleasure to watch as she picked up her own weapon and tested its weight. This was no coward. Not my secretary. Not my Hartwell. Mine, and no one else’s.
“Are you determined to do this?”
“On your guard, whelp.”
It was clear from the first that the young alpha was a genius with a blade. She glided and parried with ease that bordered on beautiful. But what she had in style she lacked in strength. The length of her arm put her at a severe disadvantage, which I was not afraid to press. Soon she was on the defensive, backing down the length of the gallery, her nimble feet keeping her forever just out of my reach. A good reminder of how elusive I found her at times.
“Fight! Stand and fight!” I snarled.