Chapter 9
Jensen
Lucien and Branson are in a complete state. Both of them are beside themselves with worry that I’m living in a big old house, thousands of miles from home, with an unmated alpha who has the ability to reduce omegas to bedraggled messes.
It’s wonderful.
They both definitely still love me, and they’re missing me like crazy. There’s no doubt about it.
It’s been a couple of weeks since the strange, late-night incident, and things have settled back into a semblance of a normal routine.
Yes, I do still take a walk to the stables most mornings, but it’s because Gregor is a wonderful horse.
He truly is. He’s so playful and strong, and he has a very sweet personality.
Not that I’ve interacted with him per se. Heavens no. I’m scared shitless of horses. But if I wasn’t, he’s the kind of horse I’d get along with really well. I can tell.
Anyway, that’s why I go down to the stables in the mornings. To see Gregor. Mainly.
Every morning, without fail, I witness the alpha and the stallion dance together, and it’s beautiful. Every morning, I feel sure the alpha will be a different person when he arrives at the breakfast table. Softer. Gentler. More animated and alive.
Every day, I’m proven wrong.
I’ve been at Beaumont Craven House for over four weeks now, and the strain of the silent meals has officially gotten to me. It’s more than the silence that bothers me. It’s my total preoccupation with a very difficult alpha.
It’s my determination to create a backstory for him that makes sense. It’s become something I can’t stop thinking about. A mystery I’m fixated with.
There’s something about Lord Augustus that scares me. A shrill sound in my brain when I’m with him. A warning that I should tread lightly when I’m around him.
He’s not like other alphas I’ve met. He’s impossible to read, for one thing, and for another, his motivations are unclear. On top of that, I’m absolutely convinced he doesn’t like me. I doubt he’s wasted so much as a second thinking about me since I got here. I doubt he even knows my first name.
In addition to the million different ways I could be humiliated if I don’t extricate myself from this situation, if I’m not careful, something way worse could happen: my imagination could break free.
It could run rampant. And I could start thinking Lord Augustus isn’t really an asshole, he’s just misunderstood.
No good could come of that, believe me.
The risk posed by my overactive imagination has become such a real and imminent threat that I finally plucked up the courage to talk to Mrs. Thompson about it yesterday.
“Do you think Lord Augustus would mind if I took my meals with you?” I asked over a mid-afternoon cup of tea.
She crinkled her nose the way she does when she’s mulling something over, and then said, “Oh, I don’t think he’d mind.
He’d probably be only too happy to have the dining room to himself again.
He’s a loner, our lord. Keeps to himself, doesn’t he?
He was positively over the moon when Aurelia decided to take her meals in her room, so I’m sure he’ll agree.
Of course that Aurelia didn’t even think of asking to dine with us.
Oooh, she was a right piece of work, wasn’t she? ”
“She definitely was,” I agreed heartily, though I’ve never met Aurelia. Mrs. Thompson and I have spoken about her at such length that I feel like I know her, and she’s not my cup of tea. Not at all.
“Leave it with me,” she said. “I’ll have a word with him when I see him tomorrow.”
I had an interesting night of mulling things over in my nest. And while I admit there were moments when I felt unsure of my decision to stop dining with Lord Augustus, now that the sun is up, things are a lot clearer.
Of course it will be much, much better for me to have my meals with Mrs. Thompson, Sid, and the rest of the household staff. It will be a weight off my shoulders.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.
It’s obvious Lord Augustus finds spending time with me an incredible bore, so I’m sure he’ll be delighted by the plan.
Does it sting that I’ve been here for over a month and haven’t managed to make him like me even a little bit?
Yes. Of course. I’m human. I want everyone to like me, so obviously, it doesn’t sit well with me.
Not only that, but I’m certifiably hot, so I can’t help finding it odd that he hasn’t noticed me even a little, but whatever.
I’m removing myself from the situation, and that’s some A-plus adulting and sensible decision-making right there.
There’s a happy bounce in my step as I skip to the dining room for my last breakfast with my sullen boss.
Yay. I can’t wait for this hell to be over, and for me to start thinking about other things.
To celebrate my good fortune, I’m going to be on my absolute best behavior this morning.
I will not be disappointed when Lord Augustus isn’t half as lovely to me as he is to his horse.
Nope. I won’t care at all. I won’t look to see if he’s noticed me, and I might not even breathe in his general vicinity to check if he still smells like nothing.
The only thing I care about is not being subjected to these awful, stilted meals any longer.
Lord Augustus breezes in, disturbing the air around him and leaving it no time to recover.
He’s wearing tailored trousers and a cashmere sweater with a collared shirt underneath.
The collar is impeccably pressed, the top button undone.
It’s a casual look on him, and unfortunately, there’s no denying he wears it well.
Like a second skin. Like something that’s been sprayed onto him and moves with him instead of against him.
My resolve shakes slightly, but I quickly remind myself that wearing clothes like second skin and looking that good in cashmere are both excellent reasons to spend as little time with him as possible.
I get to my feet and bow my head awkwardly, tilting it at an odd angle, until he takes his seat.
I’m honestly still not sure what all this standing when people enter the room is about. I have no idea if it’s something he does because he’s the host, or if it’s because he’s an alpha and I’m an omega, or if it’s because he went to public school and is noble, or what.
I’ve yet to work out if I’m supposed to stand or remain seated when he enters the room. But I stood when he arrived by mistake a few weeks ago, and now I’m not sure how to stop doing it without drawing attention to the fact that I don’t know my ass from my ear.
All I know is that whenever I’m in a room when he makes his appearance, I make a complete hash of greeting him. I either stand or half-stand. Sometimes I bow my head, sometimes I don’t. There’s no telling how I’m going to greet him from day to day. It’s fucking stressful.
It’s gotten so out of hand that my wildly unintelligent heart has started to announce his arrival by beating out of my chest.
Lord Augustus thanks Sid for his tea, and when Sid darts off to get our breakfast, he turns in his seat, focusing his full attention on me. Something about the gesture is so novel, so new that I can tell immediately that I’ve never had Lord Augustus’s attention fully focused on me before.
His attention is hot, uncomfortably sweltering, and unbearably heavy.
It makes me squirm in my seat as my ass starts to sweat.
At least, I hope to God that’s sweat.
Lord Augustus’s face remains passive, and there’s something incredibly disconcerting about it, given that he’s looking straight at me and unnerving the living fuck out of me.
“Mrs. Thompson tells me you’d like to take your meals in the kitchen in the future.” He slowly raises an expectant brow as he waits for me to reply.
Oh God.
This is awful.
He’s unhappy.
I’ve upset him.
Oh no. Oh please. Not this. Anything but this. I can’t handle upsetting handsome men. Even if they’re complete assholes. My nervous system can’t take it.
“I, um…” I frantically search the dusty, vacant lot that is my mind for a suitable reply.
I hate upsetting people with my whole heart and soul.
Absolutely hate it. Can’t bear it. I’d love to deny the whole thing, and if not for the fact that Mrs. Thompson has been unfailingly kind to me, I’m pretty sure I’d be tempted to throw her under the bus and tell Lord Augustus she made the whole thing up.
I can’t do it though. I’ll never sleep again if I do. “I, er, that’s right,” I choke.
He fixes his gaze on me for the longest time. So long that my insides whither and I have time to deeply regret every decision that has brought me to this point in my life. So long that I forget how to blink. So long that my cheeks heat and my eyes sting.
At long, long last, he blinks and releases me from the fiery wrench of his gaze. I slump back in my chair, infinitely relieved that the suffocating burden of his eyes has been rescinded.
My relief is premature, though, because Lord Augustus places the tip of his tongue behind his front teeth and allows air to pass over his larynx. A pair of perfect lips pucker and then part. Sound travels slowly toward me in the form of two little letters.
“No.”
He speaks quietly. So calmly, and so casually, I think I must have misheard him. “P-pardon?”
This time, he flicks his eyes at me firmly and, in doing so, pins the back of my skull to my chair. “I said, ‘No.’”
He’s still perfectly calm, and his voice is still quiet, but there’s a force behind it that can’t possibly be missed.
“W-why not?” I splutter before I’m able to censor myself.
He takes his napkin from his side plate without answering and shakes it out, placing it in his lap in a way that gives me the impression that for him, at least, the matter is closed.
I take a deep breath and collect myself.
Then, I start to fume.