Chapter 15
Charles
I watch Cynthia from across the table, studying her smile, the way her eyes refuse to light up. Her addictive scent calls to me, embeds itself in my brain until it’s all I can think about. There’s no arousal there, no happiness. Just a heaviness about her, a heaviness I mirror as well.
Another day, another damned note. No end in sight, no chance to escape this hell. Henhaven sits there next to her and laughs like he’s already won. But Cynthia is too important to give up so easily.
From the other side, Lewis sits with Anne, both talking in soft, low tones. He’s changed, transformed. No longer is he the hard, rigid man who holds this family together.
Love does that, I suppose. When he turns to give me a smile, I simply nod and go back to my food. No sense making a scene in front of my friends.
Finally, as we finish dessert, Alessandra stands and motions for the women to retire to the drawing room. They file out, most giggling behind their hands. Rather, my sisters laughing with glee to finally be included in more adult gatherings.
The men gather, huddling together. All the friends under one roof, save Joseph. It makes sense, though, seeing as he would want to stay with Teresa and their son.
They all make small talk, mostly political, but I drown it out. No one has anything to say that I’d want to listen to. As I sit there, Henhaven comes closer, his expression guarded as he sits down across from me.
“Miss Campbell said you are to attend the opera as well? With your sisters?”
“Yes. They are soon to come out, so it’s best they begin making small appearances in controlled settings.”
“Three at once,” he muses. “And here I fretted about my eldest sister. She’s only just the one.”
“Do not fear, Henhaven,” my brother says as he claps him on the back as if they were old friends. “We have more than enough practice wrangling those three. We can be of assistance if needed. Isn’t that right, Charles?”
The look he gives me sends a shard of fury down my spine.
The arsehole knows how I feel about Henhaven’s betrothed.
To offer my name as help is simply cruel.
Since he did it in front of an audience, to deny his plea for help would be seen as improper, and, of course, reflect badly on the Barrington name.
“We are at your service,” I mumble, doing my best to keep my tone in check.
“Thank you. I might take you up on that offer. I dare say this might all be a bit much for her. She’s never set foot out of Henhaven.”
Lewis gives him one of those saccharine smiles that makes me want to throw him to the ground and pummel him. “Miss Campbell will certainly be up to the task. She has made a great many friends with the duchesses and knows what’s expected of her place and station. Just as we all do.”
“Yes,” I cut in. “But isn’t there something to be said about the heart leading where station does not follow?”
“Why, Charles,” he laughs, his voice coming out in a harsh rasp. “She is the sister of a viscount. Of course she would keep station in mind.”
I turn to Henhaven. “Six sisters, was it? Do you expect them all to marry into nobility? I dare say there won’t be very many more Alphas here to accommodate such a need.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of Alphas with rank and title that can do for any one of his sisters,” Lewis hisses.
“And if they wish to marry for love and care not about status? Then what?”
“They have a duty-”
“Gentlemen, please,” Henhaven chokes out.
“I’m only thinking of the one. The others are not nearly old enough to even consider coming out.
No need to plan their futures already. Of course I’d want them to marry at or above their station.
Any Alpha of rank would do so.” His gaze shutters for a moment.
“My parents married for love. They were infatuated with each other until the very end. I would not deny them such an emotion.”
“And you,” I press. “Are you marrying Miss Campbell for love? From how I’ve heard it, she didn’t even know your name before the banns were read.”
“Charles,” Lewis grinds out in warning.
Henhaven raises his hand. “It’s an honest question from a family so thoroughly invested in my intended.
I am quite pleased to know she has those who care for her enough to wish to see to her happiness and safety.
But as for love, no. I am not in the marriage mind for love.
I have seen what love does to people. It can be the most rewarding interaction.
Or it can, quite literally, be the death of them.
My family is my priority. Duty. Honor. Seeing them happily wed. Love is not needed for that.”
“Duty,” Lewis agrees as he nods his head. “Very admirable.”
“Admirable,” I snort. “Admiration doesn’t keep a bed warm. Does it?”
Henhaven laughs and shakes his head. “I do not see why you are so concerned with my bed. It’s not as if you will be the one in it.”
As the others chuckle around him, I lean forward and rest my lips upon my fingertips. “Since you are to be so intimately connected with us, I find that it’s only fair we know what sort of man you are. Come now. There must be some vice you partake in. If it is not love, then what else?”
“I am quite fond of rocks, as I’m sure you heard when I was dropping the lovely Miss Campbell back at your mother’s house.” There’s a hint of steel in his words, a thread of violence. He knows. He knows I seek her comfort as well, the bastard.
Leaning back, I pretend to be bored as I look over my nails. “I do recall some sort of statement about the house. I am so very happy the architecture is to your liking.”
“Well, to be fair, it was the limestone affixed to your house, but I suppose one should not be so pedantic among friends.”
“And are we friends, Henhaven?”
“Are we anything but?”
Lewis rests his hand on my shoulder, and I fling it off, no longer amused to be here and listen to the drivel dripping from his lips. Striding over to Edward, I give him a curt bow.
“Send my regards to your lovely wife. I find myself in need of some air.”
“Charles,” Lewis calls out to me.
“Goodnight, brother.”
As I leave, the room grows still and heavy.
I might have just shown my hand in some ways, but Henhaven will never know the things I do to his betrothed in the cover of night.
If the arrogant prick is not marrying for love, then a bond might very well not be in her future.
And even if it is, with no tangible proof, he would look a cad to discard her.
No. He needs a wife, a woman to look after his sisters, to help them find their place in the world. Not a lover. Not a romantic companion. Not an omega with a penchant for pain and pleasure.
In this way, Cynthia will be all mine.
By the time I open the door to her room, I find myself still at odds with the world. To call it ennui would be to give it such a petulant bent. These feelings aren’t morose. They aren’t languishing. Quite the opposite. I find my appetites very much invigorated.
I stride in and look at Cynthia as she sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for me like the dutiful omega she is. The lights from the fireplace bounce off her golden hair, making it shine like the most precious metal it purports to be.
“Kneel,” I growl out. “I am in no mood for some gentle coupling. I held you last night because it was what we both needed. Now, it is I who have the need.”
Without saying a word, Cynthia slides off the bed and sinks to the floor. Such beautiful submission, such dutiful affection. Henhaven could never have this. He could never command this.
Each step echoes in the quiet room, sounding thunderously loud to my ears. But I know this place. I know it as intimately as I do my own hand. No one will hear us. No one will hear her. Not unless she screams.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a hank of rope and unwind it, allowing it to dangle in front of her face. “Wrists.”
Again, she obeys me. This is why we work.
This is how she completes me. She’s not like Teresa, stubborn and prone to quarreling.
She’s not like Catherine, who can play the coquette with a gracious ease until you’re unsure if you see the truth or a lie.
She’s nothing like Emma, who trembles at the smallest provocation.
Certainly not like Augusta, who makes it her mission to be a menace.
Still not like Alessandra, whose brattiness comes second only to Augusta.
She’s Cynthia. My Cynthia.
“He touched you,” I growl.
“Only to help me out of the curricle. Did you think him unseemly?”
A smirk tilts my lips as I undo my cravat. “A little late to be playing coy, now isn’t it?”
She turns her face toward me, and already her eyes shine with tears. I will not be moved. I cannot. Hunching down, I run my finger under her chin, keeping her head in place.
“You understand it is my need to hurt you that drives this. Not your actions or his?”
“And you understand it is my need to hurt that keeps me kneeling here at your feet?”
“I hear you, my obsession. Now hear me. Even though he may parade you around by day, you are still mine by night. You will always be mine.”
The rope is soft and supple in my hands as I run it through my fingers before wrapping it around her wrists. Still, she kneels there, not crying, not begging, and not screaming.
With each bit that tugs at her skin, her pupils widen as the scent of her desire floods the room. It’s nearly enough to make me forget myself and rut her right there on the floor. How could fate be so cruel as to give me a taste of Heaven then rip it from my hands?
Once she’s securely bound, I finish pulling my cravat from my throat. “Open. I cannot have the house hearing your screams.”
My cock pulses as her lips part wide enough for me to stuff the fabric deep inside. Arousal slides up my spine and takes hold of my limbs as I grab the rope and drag her behind me. She traverses the floor on her knees, happy, willing even, to be so debased.
I slide into the chair and pat my thighs. She needs no further coaxing, no verbal instruction. She knows what comes next.
A soft grunt vibrates through the cravat as she positions herself over my lap and drapes over until her knuckles brush against the floor. My fingers skim her backside, painting designs on her through the fabric until she shudders under my touch.
With a gentle yank, I pull the shift back, exposing her arse and thighs to my hungry view. Unwilling to be satisfied with such paltry offerings, I ease my hand between her legs and shift them so I can see far more.
Her pussy is puffy and swollen, dripping with arousal that coats my breeches. She’s so desperate to be filled, so hungry to be defiled. Unable to help myself, I slide my fingers over the slick flesh, earning a muffled groan from her lips.
I feel the sound vibrate through her. It shudders into me as she bucks her hips, seeking the release I will deny her until we’re both satisfied.
“Hear me now, obsession. I will not stop until you’re soaking wet and unable to take any more.”