Chapter 6 - Rick
Only Eva’s presence at the reception had stopped Rick from getting roaring drunk. It was bad enough that her whole life was being turned on its head; she didn’t need a volatile, half-drunk father on top of everything else.
But Eva was gone now, spending the night with Felix and Cassie, all the children of the inner circle enjoying a sleepover at the alpha’s house after such excitement.
His friends were there too, no doubt enjoying a cold whiskey.
God, he wished he could be with them, and not…here. Alone in his house with his unwanted bride.
As soon as he strode through the door, he stripped away the blades and weapons of his ceremonial armor, letting them clatter to the floor and echo through the dark manor.
Rosalia squeaked in shock behind him, but he didn’t apologize.
The damn girl had been on a razor’s edge the entire car ride home, her muscles tense, her jaw set.
He was half afraid she’d shift there and then in his Bentley.
He’d almost suggested a run through the forest just to let her blow off some steam.
He didn’t want some emotionally unstable stranger tearing up his house in the middle of the night after one fright too many.
In the end, however, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to her. Didn’t trust himself to at least act like a gentleman. None of this was her fault, after all. Just her leering, sadistic father’s. John Heath was well on his way back to Pennsylvania, and good damn riddance to him.
It occurred to him as he turned to look at her that, were circumstances different, she would be exactly the sort of female he’d choose for his wife. Dignified, elegant, intelligent. She even had ties to the European clans, making her exactly the sort of caliber he would look for.
She was certainly beautiful in a striking, regal way.
The traditional green gown seemed like a second skin against her lithe form, her sharp cheekbones and deep mossy eyes lending her sophistication an edge of wildness one could expect of a thoroughbred shifter.
But the problem was, she was just that. A pretty thing for him to look at.
No substance behind the facade. At least, none she seemed willing to show him.
She had revealed cracks in her interactions with Eva. A hint of genuine emotion, warmness, and personality that seemed like the sun peeking through the gray clouds of her usual temperament.
There was anger there, too. And fear. Oh yes, he could smell both, no matter how much she tried to suppress it. His little wife was a wild thing at heart, he suspected. Too bad her bastard of a father had cowed her into complete submission.
Not that Rick particularly cared. It wasn’t like he would be spending any amount of time with the girl, no matter how pretty she was to look at.
“Come,” he said, jaw clenching at the naked fear on her face.
Christ, this was going to be exhausting.
She followed him up the stairs, her eyes catching on every ornament, every painting, every feature of his home, eyes wide as she took it all in. There was awe in her gaze, a healthy amount of trepidation too, especially as she lingered over the more violent depictions of his family’s legacy.
“Your room will be in the East Wing,” he said as he stalked ahead, not bothering to turn on any of the lights.
They were both shifters, and they could see well enough.
“My rooms and Eva’s are in the West Wing.
You are free to decorate as you like. There is a lounge, study, and bathroom that will be yours to use as you please. ”
Rosalia had hitched her skirts up, hurrying after him to keep pace with his stride.
“You may use the kitchens and library downstairs, as well as any of the communal rooms and gardens. I would ask that you refrain from entering my personal rooms, including my study. In addition, the cellar beneath the house links to a number of catacombs. I would not enter them unless you wish to find yourself lost.”
Her breathing was shallow, her blood thundering through her, adrenaline reeking from every pore.
“I’ve asked Daisy to visit you tomorrow to tell you more about pack activities and the ways in which you are welcome to get involved. I spend a lot of time performing my duties, and expect never to be disturbed while I am working. Is that understood?”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he turned around, scowling at her. “I said, is that understood?”
She swallowed, a slight tremble in her hands. “Yes, sir.”
Sir.
Fucking hell.
He opened the door to her bedroom with more force than was necessary, holding it open and allowing her inside. She crept past him, shrinking slightly from his body as her shoulder brushed his chest, into the room beyond.
Her things had already been unpacked by his staff, her more personal belongings neatly stacked on the vanity for her to do with as she pleased. She walked slowly to the four-poster bed, her pale hand trailing up the carved wood, skin nearly bloodless.
Noticing the staff had not drawn shut the doors to the balcony, he grunted in irritation, walking forwards to yank the doors shut and lock them with a click. Honestly, was it too much to ask that they properly prepare a bedroom for nighttime arrival? At least they’d remembered to light the lamps.
“Breakfast and lunch are casual,” he carried on as he drew the heavy velvet drapes shut, blocking out the cool summer night beyond. “I take a formal dinner with Eva. You are welcome to join us, or eat in the sun-room.”
He turned, ready to carry on his prepared lecture, but the words died on his lips.
Rosalia was in the process of removing her gown, unwinding the ribbons around her arms, and pulling loose the laces at her back.
Panic clawed his chest. “What are you doing?”
The bodice of the dress fell slack just as he spoke, pooling at her waist, revealing her naked breasts.
For a split second, he was rendered completely dumb.
He had known she was beautiful. But here, bathed in soft golden light, she seemed like a Grecian nymph from myth and legend.
Her raven hair fell in soft waves past her slim shoulders, brushing against the sides of her perfectly rounded breasts, each one peaked with a dusky rose nipple.
The gentle dip of her stomach, slender yet soft, moved sensually as she reached down to her hip.
The delicate curve of her neck was revealed as she tilted her chin to the side, her scent thick and delicious there.
He wanted to lunge for her, take her in his arms, claim her the way only a male could.
But then she looked up with dull eyes and a set jaw. “I’m undressing.”
Eyes falling back to her hands, she continued fiddling with the fastenings, her milky skin near marble in the lamp-light.
“Stop,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.
It was as if she hadn’t heard him. Her expression remained impassive, but her fingers attacked a stubborn knot at her hip with fervor, the digits trembling as she pulled and wrenched at the fabric with increasing desperation.
“Stop,” he said again, lunging forward to grab her wrists.
She looked up at him in shock, her muscles freezing under his touch. He saw himself reflected in her eyes then, tall and imposing and threatening.
He let go of her like her skin had scalded him. The shame hit a second later.
It was only then that life seemed to return to her face. She stumbled back, hands crossing over her breasts to cover herself as tears welled in her eyes and her lip quivered. Her chest rose and fell as she looked at him with dawning panic. “I’m sorry…I…I…I didn’t mean to…I…”
“It’s fine,” he said, his voice gruff as he drew his hand over his face, “it’s my fault, I should have been clear with you.”
She was crying now, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh of her arms, stomach trembling as she fought to suppress her sobs. For a brief, wild moment, he wanted to take her into his arms.
But he didn’t. Robotically, he turned around, allowing her to pull the dress back over herself.
“I never intended to consummate the marriage,” he said, wincing over the words, fists bunching at his sides, “I had thought you would know that.”
“I’m so sorry…I didn’t think that…but…but if we don’t, then…”
He turned around, forcing his wolf down at the sight of the terrified girl shaking in front of him. “Then what?”
She swallowed, barely able to get the words out. “Th-then…our marriage? Won’t it be… be…”
“If it’s your father’s wishes you speak of, you needn’t concern yourself. I will not be forced into taking you against your will.”
“It isn’t against my will,” she rushed, stepping forwards, “I want to please you, I want…I want…”
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Rick raised a hand automatically, ready to reach out, to touch her, to comfort her, but he snatched it back with a growl.
“Let me make one thing painfully clear, Rosalia. I will not touch you without your explicit consent. Nor will I use our lack of intimacy against you. To the world, we are now married, and we shall remain so.”
“Y-you…you won’t?” she hiccupped, the blatant hope in her eyes squeezing something he had long thought dead within him.
“I will not,” he repeated. “It’s been a long day. You should sleep. I will see you tomorrow.”
She nodded, her whole body seeming to relax despite the trembles that still racked her shoulders. Fear, thick and acrid, still clouded her, mingling with her exhaustion.
With a snarl, he strode towards the door, intent on escape.
But something stopped him. He turned back, just for a moment, just long enough to see Rosalia wiping furiously at her cheeks.
He inhaled, opening his mouth to speak…
But what could he possibly say?
He shut the door behind him.
Fuck.
He needed a drink.
***
The others didn’t seem surprised when he strode through the door, a thunderous scowl on his face.