Chapter 8
Jensen
I swear to God, if this fucking man swans in this morning, sits at the head of the table, and starts sipping his tea as though nothing untoward or unusual happened last night, I’m going to scream.
I didn’t sleep well, and I’ve been up for hours, texting Lucien nonstop. So much so that I didn’t even make it to the stables this morning. In Lucien’s unprofessional opinion, the best thing for me to do would be to board the next flight out of England and move straight back to Seattle.
Branson has been equally unhelpful. He’s been completely ridiculous, throwing out nonsense suggestions left, right, and center. Before I ended our call, he went so far as to suggest that Lord Augustus might be on a suppressant.
Even Lucien laughed at that.
As if an alpha would ever take a suppressant. They’re known to cause unbearable, near-unsurvivable symptoms in alphas, and I’ve never personally met or heard of an alpha who would even think of taking one.
Why would they?
What possible reason would an alpha have for taking a suppressant?
It’s not like they go into heat, fall pregnant, or anything like that. The worst thing that happens to them is that they suffer from a bit of exhaustion if an omega’s heat burns particularly hot. It’s hardly a problem worth taking such drastic action against.
At nine a.m. on the dot, Lord Augustus enters the dining room with Sid and Mrs. Thompson in tow, both trotting behind him to make sure he has every conceivable comfort available to him.
It’s very annoying.
I’m loath to judge them harshly, as they’re both very nice people, but, not being funny, it’s their fault he’s like this.
Once breakfast is served and they’ve left the dining room, Lord Augustus has the audacity to sink into one of his menacing silences.
Well.
I don’t think so.
Not today. Not after last night. There’s no fucking way I’m going to sit here and pretend something very strange and untoward didn’t occur on the property.
I wait patiently until he’s chewed and swallowed his bacon.
“So,” I say, “what was all that about?”
For a moment, he gives me a blank stare that makes me think he’s going to attempt to gaslight me into thinking nothing happened, or worse, he’s going to use his formidable alpha voice on me again.
My belly clenches and an unpleasant pool of heat sinks to my lap.
As always, his expression remains neutral, his eyes dark and dull.
“That must have been unsettling for you. I apologize for the disturbance your peace suffered,” he says, shocking the unholy shit out of me. “Please, don’t think badly of Lady Ceclia. Her behavior last night was my fault, not hers.”
I’m so taken aback by the sincere admission that I forget about not making unnecessary conversation with him. “W-will that be the end of it now, or will we be seeing more of Lady Ceclia?”
He sweeps a heavy hand across his forehead and then drops it limply on the table.
“For a time, yes. She’ll stay away.” His posture slackens microscopically.
When he speaks again, his voice is so soft that I can hardly believe that he and the man with the booming alpha voice are one and the same.
“There will be others though. It’s best if you don’t answer the door at night. ”
There will be others?
There will be others?
What the hell does that mean? How many others? And why?