“Burn it,” I snapped. “That lady is not what you assume her to be.”
“But we thought—“
“Do I pay you to think, Timms?” I barked. The beta tipped his head to the side in submission.
“Yes, I mean no, Your Grace. Right away, your Grace.”
“Forgive me. I am a bear. In no way fit company for anyone.”
I almost didn’t let go when he came forward to take the gown from me and I watched in awe the way he handled the garment as if it were made of spider webs and he dare not let a single thread break. I put the dress out of my mind. I could not fixate so entirely on her who invaded every moment of my day with an insidious seduction that with each breath I fell deeper under her spell. Memories of her cursed me with another night of tossing and turning as violet eyes and dark hair curling around a long neck.
The next morning I wrote to Viola informing her of a permanent end to our relationship. I wanted no obligations or formal ties between us when I returned home and claimed her, courted her in earnest. I’d let her free if that is what she wished. I did not write that if another alpha so much as touched her hand in greeting I’d kidnap her and make her mine regardless of her feelings on the topic. She would understand in the end. She had to. But I kept that resolution to myself. If not, I would retire to the country forever and give up on finding a mate or wife. I would look into finding some alpha cousin, no matter how distant, to take my place. Or let the title fall extinct. The legacy no longer mattered to me.
I stared listlessly out across the lawns when an express arrived from London. A letter from Iris—though I would only know for the signature since the handwriting resembled a child’s attempt to write. What could she have to say, when my own letter could not have reached Viola yet? Still, I was more anxious to hear from my… I was not even sure what to call her now. But where a name should be was only an ache and anger at the universe for denying me what was mine.
Sir,
I write for there are rumours concerning my sister Viola’s name concerning you and the events of the previous week. I realise any connection between our families must be terminated but I write to assure you that any scandal will be scotched. I will not permit my sister’s name to be raked through the mud.
Against my better judgement, I also must inform you that Viola has been unwell. I ask you to keep her in your thoughts. Perhaps when you return you could grant her some of your time. For there are things you must know but which only she can tell you.
Your servant
Iris Hartwell
Viola, unwell? I remembered her face as I thrust her from the carriage. How pale she had looked. How she had begged me, apologised, screamed. I’d driven her to her bed. No, I could not flatter myself that I’d such power over her. Some cold… It had to be some trifling cold. But a cold had killed my grandmother. I cursed myself for caring when it would have been so much better to wipe her from my mind. Everything that I had sought to avoid? I was one of those pathetic alphas driven mad by an omega.
* * *
I waited a day before impatience gripped me and I ordered the carriage, with word that I would return to London that day and expected the house prepared to receive me by that evening.
The sky was just turning pink and purple when a shot rang out. The coach lurched to a halt, and I was startled from a light doze.
“Hands up and hand over the goods,” a crude accent cut through the stillness that followed the commotion of highwaymen stopping the progress of one of the most powerful aristocrats in all of the Islands of Great Britain and Ireland. I swore, furious that anything would stop my progress. I wished to reach London before nightfall. So I might speak with Viola before she spent another night anywhere but with me.
I did not move, but the rapport of my pistol rang loud and the aspiring thief fell back, dead. A shout went up, and I leant out the window and in a minute the other pistol in my possession went off, killing yet another of the men who so dared to hold up a carriage on the King’s Highway.
“Pretty friend, you’ve now injured one of my men and killed the other. That is enough,” the woman’s voice was polished but full of bite. I heard the familiar click telling me a pistol was ready to blow my brains out.
“Do I know you?” I asked, sitting back against the squabs. The light in the carriage was strong enough to reveal a small woman wearing a black loo mask never her face. She looked as if she was on her way to a masquerade, a ruby ballgown covered by a matching domino with diamonds at her throat and dangling from her ears. Her hair looked red, and there was something almost familiar in the shape of her mouth and chin.
“We’ve not met formally,” the feminine voice laughed. “I’d hoped to meet you under better circumstances. But you’ve gone and made my little sister cry. Now you have the chance to beg for your life from Hippolyta Hartwell, Queen of the High Toby. Consider it an honour.”
Hippolyta. The only thing I could remember of her was Viola describing her as a cat dissatisfied with wherever she found herself. I’d no love of cats, they made me sneeze.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to consider that if I kill you it will hurt my sister. But if you make her cry again, I shall take pleasure in making you a meal for worms.”
“You’re mad,” I shook my head. She was an omega. So much smaller than I, but I knew fear when she levelled her pistol at me.
“Most likely. Perhaps you should just consider this a dream.”
“Nightmare, more like.”
“As your fancy takes you,” she laughed. “I must leave you or be late for my night’s revelries. But I am glad to have made your acquaintance. And should thank you for killing John. He was bad for business. Always wanting to shoot people. Guns are ever so loud and messy. One of the reasons I always wear red. Have a pleasant journey. The roads are good.”
I waited until the sound of horses retreated before stepping out of the carriage.