Текст книги "The Alpha of Bleake Isle"

Автор книги: Kathryn Moon

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Chapter ElevenMAIRWEN

“Seems an awful lot of pomp and flourish for a duck," Cook muttered, but she edited her recipe and added ingredients to the list, just as she had for my other suggestions.

"Lord Cadogan may not need more than a slab of beef and a few roasted potatoes, but I assure you, these additions and adjustments will be appreciated," I said, adding privately, if not by him, then by me.

It felt almost scandalous to be planning such a decadent menu. At home, economy required simplification and using scraps and leftovers in creative ways. To be allowed to ask for anything, and in any quantity, was almost daunting.

"Now, as to the meals that will be delivered during the rut," I said, trying not to let my words tremble.

"If you think his lordship wants purees and confits during his⁠—"

I laughed and shook my head. "No, no, it's not that. Only that I think I would be grateful for some fruit, along with all the cheese and bread and cured meats, if you can manage it."

'If you can manage it' was the secret password to getting my way with Cook, a challenge to her determinedly capable authority over the kitchen.

She made another note. "Easily enough. His lordship doesn't drink enough water during the rut."

I blinked, and for a moment, I struggled imagining how the stout elderly woman might know such a fact. She turned and glared up at me.

"Doesn't go through the jugs we send up. Not fast enough, by my reckoning."

My hands twisted behind my back, and I nodded. "I see. I'll do my best to…to⁠—"

"See that you do. Need wine?"

I tried not to recall the dark sparks in Ronson's gaze, the glitter of sweat on his chest and brow. Cook and I were meeting in a lovely sitting room that overlooked the sea, and I'd thrown open the windows to enjoy the cool breeze, which meant there was no logical reason for me to be so flushed.

"Omega Cadogan?" Cook snapped.

"Sorry, yes, a little wine would be lovely."

Sharp bristles scraping against my breast, his hot tongue⁠—

A soft knock on the door sounded, but once again, the halfling dragon, Niall, didn't wait before entering. I was sure my face was in flames now.

"Apologies for the interruption, Omega Cadogan, but Ronson sent me to fetch you."

Tonight.

I whipped my head toward the window, as if I would see the sun setting, as if time might've passed at the alpha's will. But no, it was still midday. Not that he'd seemed incredibly patient this morning.

"He requires your assistance in regards to a dispute amongst the dragons."

"What?" I gasped, turning back to Niall. That was even more absurd than the alpha willing the sun to set.

Niall's expression gave away nothing. "The carriage is ready. If you would forgo any additional preparation before leaving, that would be best. He is waiting."

Which only reminded me that I was dressed in yesterday's clothing, corset tied as tightly as the dress required, my hair uncurled and hanging down in a long, plain braid. Cook rose and nodded to me, passing Niall at the doorway.

"What kind of dispute?" I asked, smoothing my skirt and crossing the room.

"A Miss Huberts⁠—"

"Oh, dear. Frannie? Never mind, we'd better hurry."

Niall huffed, and his lips twitched. He eyed me briefly before stepping out of the way and gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. It was strange to lead the way, especially as I barely knew my own way around the castle, and Niall had certainly lived here all his life. I'd never had precedence in my life. My father wasn't important; I wasn't popular, and I wasn't even bossy.

And now I must sit at the left hand of the alpha and walk in front of all others. That was my status as long as I was the alpha's omega—ahead of all but Lord Cadogan.

It might've been fun, if only I knew my way around.

I realized what had happened as soon as we stepped from the hall into the sitting room. The dubious glances of a number of dragon gentlemen landed on me, glanced away, and then returned in force as if they had simultaneously all recalled who I was.

They stood, and delivered low bows while barely able to tear their eyes from me in narrowed speculation.

Oh Francesca, what have you gotten yourself into? And why on earth are the Dunne twins part of it?

My knees wobbled with the impulse to curtsy, but I was startled by the sudden bang of the door opposite me thrown open. In spite of the thunderous expression on his face and the heavy waves of harsh smoky scent that wafted from him, I found myself relieved to see Ronson standing in the doorway.

"Finally. Come."

The betas parted to offer me a path through the room, and Ronson puffed up, eyes darting a glare from one group to the other. His hand extended, and I caught it, stifling my gasp as he yanked me to his side. His wings spread, one curling around my back to shield us from view as his head lowered, brushing his jaw against my cheek. A heavy sigh rushed over the top of my head.

"What's happened? Did Francesca not make up—Never mind, of course she didn't," I whispered.

"I can't get an honest answer out of her," Ronson muttered.

"No gently bred dragon lady would dare give the alpha an opinion unless she was sure it was his too," I said, my lips twitching at Ronson's sneer. Perhaps I was becoming immune to his expressions.

"You always do," Ronson said, arching an eyebrow.

I flushed and ducked my head, but he caught my chin between thumb and forefinger, refusing to let me shy away.

"Please don't stop. That's why you're here, Mairwen."

I wasn't sure if he meant here in the Huberts' home or here at his side, and if my blurted opinions the day in the forest were why he had chosen me, but it wasn't the time to ask. Francesca was rising from a window seat in the small, sweet sitting room, crossing closer.

"Oh, Mouse! It's so good to see you. But you look as if you've rushed here," Francesca cried.

I twisted the end of my plain braid in my fingers and tried to catch my breath against the pressure in my chest. I had rushed here, and I wasn't properly dressed or with perfect ringlets like Francesca, but that was only because of whatever mess she'd accidentally cooked up.

"We did drive very quickly," I admitted, pretending I was here for a social call and helping myself to a seat she hadn't offered in one of the overstuffed armchairs. I turned to look back at Ronson, who towered over us both, even as Francesca remained standing. "We'll be all right," I said.

He shot Francesca one last glare, which sent her all but wilting into the chair across from me, and then swept from the room.

"Good gracious, he's terrifying. You poor thing. And you look exhausted. What an absolute surprise yesterday was. Do you think you'll be all right? I was quite shocked, and imagine how Adelaide must feel!"

"Adelaide was always partial to Hugh Gamesby," I reminded Francesca, then plowed ahead before she could start another unflattering ramble. "But look at you, Frannie! You've played it quite close to the chest. Five suitors! I thought you and Bexam…" I raised my eyebrows in polite suggestion. Francesca had arrived at the selection a bit muddled with scents, but I was sure it was Jeffery Bexam's violet and pine fragrance I'd caught the strongest whiff of.

"Oh, Jeffery is very sweet." Francesca nodded and smiled benignly, but her gaze flitted away in a manner that was more avoidant than dreamy.

"Of course. Mr. Millward is very handsome too," I said, sliding in a new direction.

"Mmm," she hummed, nodding once more.

I stared at her for a moment. Ten years ago, Francesca had been a wild monster of a girl, screaming through weeds as high as her wild halo of red curls, brandishing sticks as swords and collecting snakes to leave in the party picnic baskets. She was a child, of course, curious and rebellious, but she'd outshined the beta boys she'd run with for pure and unbridled mayhem. My mother said Lady Huberts would regret not keeping the girl under control when it was time for her to join society. In the end, the Huberts had hired a stern and commanding governess for their wayward daughter, and Francesca had grown and matured as all young ladies must. I'd considered it a shame she'd become so meek, but my opinions were usually contrary to society's. Still, the Huberts and their governess were successful. Francesca's youthful havoc had been thoroughly stomped out.

Unless...

"I remember when you were ten."

Francesca blinked and glanced at me.

"That governess of yours—Oh, what was her name?"

"Odalie Jones," Francesca answered.

I nodded, grinning. "'Odalie the odious,' you called her. She'd just arrived, only a month or so of staying with your family, and all of a sudden no one could find you. We had to search the whole island. You'd made it to the docks, and you were trying to sweet-talk a captain into giving you passage to Skybern."

Francesca's eyes lit up, even as her placid smile melted away. "I would've tried to stowaway if he hadn't agreed."

"I don't doubt it," I said, nodding. "I thought you'd manage it the next time—running away, that is. Or at least that you might end up finding your way out into the world sometime later."

Francesca's chin wobbled, her eyes filling, and my heart ached for her, for the clear longing that broke through the polite mask she'd learned to wear.

"I did it on purpose," she whispered, one tear spilling down over a peach-blush cheek, rich curls quivering with her tense trembles. "I had to make sure the alpha wouldn't choose me, of course. Then I'd really be trapped, or worse, dead. But I thought, if I could just make enough of a tangle, they'd spend more time arguing with each other. And I could just…" A sob broke free. "Oh, Mairwen! I don't know! Just put it off a little longer."

I rose and hurried to Francesca's side, wrapping my arms around her and drawing her into a hug. Francesca's breaths were rough and ragged. This was more than her usually fragile show of delicate, beautiful tears. This was true sorrow. Real fear.

"I don't want to get pregnant! What if I die?! Or what if I don't and I'm just stuck here, on this damned island, with one of them. Bleake Isle indeed. Oh, I don't know what to do!"

Francesca let out an inelegant wail against my breast, and the door cracked open, Ronson's head darting in to assess the scene.

"Why is it always who will they choose, and not what will we choose?" Francesca sobbed.

She was right, of course. I'd been preoccupied with my sealed fate with Mr. Evans, and it hadn't occurred to me that someone like Francesca, sure to receive decent offers from tolerable dragons, might still have a complaint with her own. Her fate was better than mine might've been at the hands of Mr. Evans, but that was an awfully low bar. Why weren't we omegas allowed to wish to leap higher? But Francesca had wished for more, and had even tried to scheme her way there, or as close as she could.

"You don't want any of them," I said, holding Ronson's gaze as he winced.

Francesca sniffled and sat up straighter, not noticing our audience as she stared up at me, frowning. "Don't you want to leave here? I want to see the world!"

I tried to ignore Ronson's stare and give her question real thought. "Personally? Yes, I'd like to see some of it. But I do like the isle."

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Well, you're certainly stuck with it, now you've been chosen."

"I don't mind. I like him, actually," I said, fighting my own smile as Ronson carefully snuck back out and shut the door behind him. "And I think you should tell them the truth."

Francesca made a number of unladylike sounds that made me wish we might've taken the opportunity to get to know one another before now.

"Oh, Mouse, are you mad?!"

Or maybe not. Come to think of it, upon surrender to her family and society, Francesca had always tried to model herself a little too closely to Adelaide.

I pulled away, and Francesca pouted as I stood. "I'm not mad, and I'm Omega Cadogan now," I said. I was starting to think of my title as armor I might don while dealing with the dragons of the island. "You're not going to accomplish anything but wasting the alpha's time with this plan."

Francesca's perfectly blushed cheeks turned tomato red, and she reared back as if struck. I fisted my hands in the folds of my skirt and swung toward the door.

"Alpha!"

Ronson was clearly waiting, and he stepped inside immediately, a hum of male conversation simmering outside of the room. "A decision?" he asked.

"Not exactly," I answered, and then turned to stare down my nose at sweet, delicate Francesca Huberts. "Go on," I said.

Francesca gaped at me, eyes wide, stare bouncing between us. "I…I…I want to leave the island," she blurted out, and the words rushed forth once they began. "I want to go to the sea, and I want to visit Skybern and see the Dire Peakes, and perhaps go even farther."

Ronson's brow furrowed. "I think Gideon Millward might have some dealings in exports?"

"I don't want to be a dragon's rut partner! I don't want to be a mother who raises a daughter and then crushes her into a mold," Francesca spat. "I want to travel. That's all. Without being a beta's omega. I just want to be me, damnit."

Francesca was panting for her breath as Ronson's eyebrows rose steadily higher on his brow.

"So you'll have to…to order me to take one of them, and I don't care which. No, that's not true. Not the twins. They're both terrible kissers," Francesca admitted in a rush, cheeks darkening further.

There was a pause of quiet, and Ronson's gaze traveled slowly to me with a flicker of hope as if I might've suddenly declared this was a jest. Then he sighed and scratched his nails over the beard that was already growing back in, neat and thick on his jaw. How would it feel against my skin when it was more than just bristles? I shook the thought away and tried to focus on the problem at hand once more.

"I see," Ronson said, moving to a chair and sitting down heavily at the edge of the cushion, wings spread at his back to avoid being crushed. "Well, I don't have a boat to offer you, so we'd better think of a more sensible plan than just 'off you go into the world.' Your parents won't agree to that, I'm sure."

I wasn't sure how Francesca took this answer, because I was too busy reeling myself. I'd guessed this man, this alpha, might listen. I'd even thought he'd likely make sure Francesca could avoid accepting a beta's suit for the rut too, although it was practically unheard of. But the part about the ship had seemed…like a fantasy.

"Mairwen? Come here, you look about to faint again. Have you eaten?"

I wandered to Ronson's side and sank obediently to his knee where his hands on my hips guided me. My own hand braced against his shoulder and he ducked his head, stroking his jaw on my arm, marking me absently.

"What do you think? It's a difficult request," he said, tipping his chin up to wait for my answer.

It was absurd—the idea that an omega could go off on her own, on a ship, to see the world, without a male dragon at her side.

It was outrageous, and he was trying to make a plan. A plan to do as Francesca wanted, really wanted, with her life. She hadn't begged or batted her long, bright lashes, or even wept. She'd spat the words at him, and he'd listened.

I grasped Ronson's face in both hands and lurched forward, planting a clumsy but determined kiss to his lips. He grumbled an objection as I pulled away, and Francesca's jaw hung low in shock, but I ignored them both, my head running riot with new ideas.

"Perhaps we can say…she's too sophisticated for the island. She'll need a chaperone when she goes, but Lady Nightingale might do. She's quite fashionable."

"She's scandalous!" Francesca cried.

I shrugged. "You'll be scandalous too, you know. You'd better reconcile yourself to that quickly, or this won't work."

Francesca blinked and her face brightened. "Oh, I see. Yes, you're right. And she is stylish. And very witty. Mother says the most awful things about her, but she can't stand not to be invited to her soirées."

"You'll need to convince Francesca's parents that she'll find a much better match with a grand tour, and some sophistication," I said to Ronson, holding a hand up to halt interruptions. "I know that isn't the real goal, but we can hardly present the idea of her independence straight away. We're buying Francesca time."

"It probably won't take much. They're very proud of me, and they were sure if it weren't for Adelaide I would've—Well, never mind," Francesca said, blushing and glancing between us once more.

"As for the betas..." I chewed on my lip, and Ronson reached up, pulling it free and soothing his thumb over the damp spot.

"I'll manage the betas," he said.

"They'll be angry," I murmured.

"Only one of them was going to be pleased," Ronson answered back, lowering his voice.

I thought that being offended over not being chosen was one thing, but having it declared that no beta on the island would be good enough was going to be quite a different problem. Especially since there was already a treasonous murder plot hatched. But I couldn't talk about that now, not with Francesca right there, watching us like we were a gossip column in live action.

Ronson rose from the chair, lifting me easily and setting me back on my toes. He turned us, and his wings provided privacy for the brief kiss brushed over my lips.

"I will manage from here, Mairwen. Tell Niall to take you to speak to Lady Nightingale? Do you mind that part?"

"Not at all," I said. I liked Lady Nightingale, who never once called me by anything but my name and would lend me scandalous books from her personal library.

"If she agrees to our scheme, have Niall take you back to the castle and then send him to me," Ronson said.

"I could also⁠—"

He ducked down, and my breath caught in my chest, lips parting and preparing for a kiss, but his lips moved to my ear, almost grazing. "I want you back at the castle. To build the nest. For tonight," he rumbled.

I skittered toward the door, ignoring the dark chuckle at my back.

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Chapter TwelveRONSON

My wings burned and my ears rang as I approached the castle, the many cries and complaints I'd heard on repeat still circling in my head. What kind of precedence was I setting? What objection did I have to my own citizens, aside from a conspiracy to murder me that I wasn't ready to address yet? What was I thinking?

The truth was, I wasn't sure. Niall had left with the betas to go and fetch Lady Nightingale, agreeing to keep a subtle eye on the men for the rest of the day, and I'd remained stuck with the Huberts, negotiating their daughter's freedom. Freedom from a tradition that dated back a millenium. Freedom from the men who were seeking to challenge my role as alpha. Freedom from the island I ruled over.

Why? a dozen beta voices chorused in my head.

I slowed my flight, a leisurely fall to the balcony where Niall waited. Either he'd been standing there for hours, or he really did have a sixth sense of when I was arriving. The lamps were lit high in my office, prepared for a sleepless night of scheming and plotting, planning new strategies to build fresh alliances to make up for the disaster I'd just created.

And why?

"Palmer took the Dunne twins to Gamesby's estate, of course," Niall announced as I touched down on the balcony. "Bexam went home to deliver a speech against women to his sympathetic mother."

"And Millward?" I asked, pacing back and forth in front of my brother.

"He went to see Lionel Buchanan," Niall said, something hidden in his voice.

"Buchanan? What would they have to do with one another?" I asked.

Niall wet his lips and raised his eyebrows. "Rather a lot, by the look of it. I think they'll…see each other through the rut."

Oh. It was a commonplace secret that betas might seek each other's company for physical relief when an omega wasn't at hand. It had been outlawed long ago, one of the absurd laws I'd been looking forward to undoing when the opportunity presented itself.

"Fair enough," I said, shrugging.

Niall nodded. "That's what I thought. Your omega didn't come to dinner."

"What?" I asked, straightening and glancing up the length of the castle to my tower.

"Maids said they left her working on the nest. It was a good dinner, by the way, better than Cook usually bothers with," Niall mentioned. I glared at him. "Are you going up?" Niall's voice was carefully neutral.

I ought to have said no. To pump Niall for information about Millward—how we might advance him, curry his favor.

"Anything that can't wait?" I asked instead.

"Nothing I can't start on by myself," Niall answered, a half-smile on his lips.

I nodded. "Then I'm going up." I paused and stared at Niall, who studied me with his usual calm. "You're the only one who hasn't asked why I did it."

"I know why you did it," Niall said, lips curving higher at the corners.

I grimaced and rolled my eyes, turning away. He would make me ask, force me to admit that even I didn't know. Having a brother who knew me so well was irksome.

My wings stroked through the air, and Niall laughed.

"You did it because she would've been miserable. And you're not your father," Niall called to me as I flew.

I dropped briefly, startled by the mention of our father, confused too, but there was a soft glow coming from the tower and a much more pleasant goal ahead of me. I swept my wings into action again, bracing against the evening chill, eager to return to the warmth of the nest. And to discover what Mairwen was up to, if she'd skipped dinner.

I twisted around the castle and climbed over the parapet of the balcony to my nest, pausing and staring through the glass for a moment. Mairwen's nest had improved, taller than before, with thicker layers of sheets, although still a bit small for when my dragon took over. Most of the candles were put out, and I wondered if she'd done that herself, if she was trying to hide my view of her when I went "exploring." Luckily, dragons had very good night vision. Then again, it wouldn't hurt to light a few more and offer myself the best possible view.

The door creaked as I opened it, no other hint of sound in the room, no rustling sheets or fussing omega. Was she not here in the nest, either? I frowned, hunting for her perfume in the air, and only finding the remains from the night before. But Mairwen's perfume was shy, and there was a little flicker of light from inside the nest worth investigating. I rounded the draped walls, unbuckling and shedding my clothes, pausing on the opposite side of the large construction at the picture I found.

Mairwen was asleep. She'd pushed the curtained walls of the nest she'd built aside and propped them open by pinning them under large books. She lay splayed across the sheets, still dressed, surrounded by open tomes, lips slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with slow breaths.

The ache in my back faded as my shoulders settled, hands unclenching from the waistband of my trousers, the corners of my mouth quirking at the sight of my exhausted omega. She'd made me a nest of books.

As quietly as I could, I kicked off my shoes and then left my trousers behind on the floor, tiptoeing closer to the bed, tilting my head and squinting into the shadows. Her cheek was resting on a page, littered with the most miniscule script, and a few sketched illustrations of…

I stopped, casting a shadow over Mairwen and the sheets and her collection of books on architecture. I glanced at one, open and slightly crushed under her knee, a familiar text I'd been force-fed as a young man: A History of Dragonkin. I stepped closer, bumping my toes into more pages, and leaned down, lifting up another text regarding the nesting habits of omegas that had slipped from the bed. I smoothed my fingers over the slightly creased pages and then silently shut the book, resting it on a stack Mairwen had built on the floor, more titles to prove the sweet and strangely vulnerable fact that this young woman had spent the evening researching how to be…mine.

I swallowed hard and, one by one, lifted and closed and stacked the books Mairwen had left abandoned on the bed after falling to sleep, until the last of them was the one she remained resting on. Mairwen stirred as I pulled the book out from under her cheek, and my gaze fixed to her face as she blinked and startled, stiffening as she found me towering over her.

"You're back," she said, voice thick and cracking with sleep.

"I am. Stand for a moment. Don't sleep in your dress," I said. I like to feel your shape when I hold you.

Mairwen blushed as she sat up, her stare snagging on the stack of books I'd arranged for her. "I've been thinking…"

About building me nests? About dragonkin and being an omega? I wondered.

"I shouldn't have encouraged Francesca to leave the island, or for you to help her," Mairwen said instead.

"Why not?" I asked, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face the bed. She ought to have a maid to do this job for her, but I liked to be alone with this woman. And I didn't really want anyone else undressing her, no matter how absurd that was.

"The betas are angry, aren't they?" she asked, but didn't wait for me to respond before continuing, "And we know there's already animosity against you. More than that, actual conspiracy! And I suppose giving…giving omegas the right to refuse gentlemen in this way will upset them, won't it?"

"It will."

Mairwen lifted her arms with just a slight tug of her dress on my part. "Which will probably give Gamesby new fuel for plotting against you."

"Perhaps."

Mairwen sighed, and I wondered if it was because I was unlacing her stays, freeing her breasts from their trap, or the conversation. Probably the latter. I was the one fixated on her breasts, not her.

"I'm sorry, Ronson."

I blinked, ran through the words we'd spoken—mostly her—and shook my head. Pay attention.

"Do you think omegas shouldn't have the right to refuse?" I asked instead.

Mairwen stiffened, breath stilling, and didn't so much as twitch when my fingers brushed against her chest as I nudged her stays down her arms and to the floor.

"I…I think it would be better," she whispered, turning to meet my eyes. "Do you?"

Did I? I'd certainly considered the women of the island better off without my father. I'd hated the idea of Mairwen trapped with a man like Gryffyd Evans. Had I followed the reasoning this far before now, or had I remained stuck in the loop of my own concerns, of the social structure I was raised in?

"I'm glad you were there today to convince that young woman to speak the truth for herself," I said.

Mairwen gasped as I bent and hauled her up into my arms, climbing onto the mattress with her cradled against my chest.

"You're glad?"

I choked around the groan that wanted to rise in my throat when Mairwen's perfume bloomed. We fell clumsily into the mattress, and I wasted no time burying my face into her throat, soaking up that scent after too many hours of withdrawal.

"Do you wish you'd had the right of refusal?" I asked. I should've given her space to think through the questions, but my hands were hunting for their favorite pieces of her to grip and hold.

"I suppose, but it wouldn't have made a difference," Mairwen said.

My gut turned to sludge, and I granted myself one last deep breath of her before rolling onto my wings. "Because you can't refuse the alpha?"

"Hm? Oh, not you. I was thinking that even if I was able to refuse Gryffyd, my father needed the money he was given for me too much," Mairwen said with a careless wave of her hand that dropped a crushing weight onto my chest. "I ought to thank Adelaide for how it turned out. And you, of course," she added in a rush, blushing.

I don't mind. I like him, actually. The words had caused a sensation in my chest that reminded me of flying, and behind the safety of the door, I'd used my wings to hide the warmth that flooded my cheeks.

"You wouldn't take the first boat off the island if you could?" I asked, unable to keep from pressing the point, aware I might regret discovering Mairwen's limit to welcoming me.

Mairwen was quiet for a long time until I could resist the urge no longer and turned back onto my side, laying my wings out behind me, to watch her face shift.

"It's not very noble of me, I suppose, but Ronson, I think I prefer adventure in stories," Mairwen said, wearing a sheepish smile. "I did like flying, though! But sometimes I get queasy with a long carriage ride, and everything I've read in books says boats are much worse."

I laughed and Mairwen joined me, cheeks rounding and turning pink, her smile sweet as ripe fruit and equally tempting to consume.

"I meant what I said. I like the isle. I only want…" She trailed off, eyes shying and shuttering.

"Tell me." Tell me, so I can grant it.

"I want… Well, never mind. I'm working on it myself," she murmured, frowning up at the ceiling of the nest.

I thought of the stack of books beside the bed, of the way the other dragons spoke of Mairwen, spoke to her. I stretched my arm out in her direction. "Come here."

She startled and turned toward me, a flick of her pink tongue wetting her lips. I was jealous of the privilege. She scooted close enough for me to catch her and draw her against my chest.

"I forgot. Tonight."

She was tense and her perfume had faded. I stroked my hands over her sides, wrapped my arms around her back, and tucked her head under my chin. I'd left my drawers on, and she was still in her chemise. She'd looked a little tired today at the Huberts', and she'd fallen asleep while researching architecture, of all things.

"What do you say to…tomorrow morning?" I asked, rubbing my hand over her spine, smiling to myself as she softened against me.

"In the morning? I…I am tired."

"I am too," I said, shifting my hips away just enough for her to not be prodded with the physical interest that argued otherwise.

I didn't want Mairwen simply comfortable with me. I wanted her begging for me. But the former probably needed to come before the latter, in that case, and a good night's sleep together would be safer than helping myself to her body after a day of her worrying.