Sold to the coldhearted beast

She has no idea

*Tristan*

I had never expected to be glad to have a visit from my brother, but for a few moments I had been spared thoughts of miss Everly. She has been haunting me all day, and I know that as of twenty-two minutes ago … if Littlefoot is punctual at all … she has arrived at my residence.

Laurence will show her to her bedchamber, introduce her to the maid … Lila … who will see to dressing her, fixing her hair, and whatever else ladies’ maids do. Servants will assist in unpacking her things. They would see that she is settled and comfortable as she waits for my arrival.

Spinning the globe, I suddenly wish I was somewhere else … someone else. If my brothers ever learn the truth about the sort of man I truly am, they would want little to do with me. I shove back the rancid thoughts.

Mick, my main man, steps through the doorway. His slender physique hides a well-toned body that often gives me a good going over when we are sparring in the boxing room hidden away downstairs.

“I thought you should know that Alpha Littlefoot has settled his accounts”. He says.

I fight not to look surprised. “Where did he get the money I wonder ?”

“I can ask around”. Mick says.

“No need. It’s not important”. The reckless way he plays cards, he will be back in my debt soon enough. “Has Alpha Ekro made an appearance ?”

Mick nods. “About an hour ago”.

As a general rule, I do not allow cheating in my establishment. Not from my customers and certainly not by those hired to oversee the games. But sometimes exceptions are needed. “See that the games don’t favor him tonight”.

Mick arches a thick dark brow. While he might have been hoping for an explanation, he knows better than to insist upon one. “I’ll arrange it”.

“You may also inform him that he is barred from spending any time with the girls”. I say.

“He’ll take his business to another club if he’s not satisfied here”. Mick points out.

I shake my head. “I’ll ensure no other club will have him”.

After Mick has left, I set the globe on the corner of my desk and give it one final spin. I will not relegate it to a shelf. I am not quite certain how I feel about it. Grateful, but not quite comfortable with the gratitude.

It is nearly four hours later before I leave my office and make my way to the backstairs at the rear entry of the building.

I have never had a guest at my residence, few know where I live. I don’t know why I had given Littlefoot my address instead of simply sending a carriage for the girl. For some reason, the night before, my ability to think coherently had left me completely for a time. Thank goodness it has returned.

I climb into my carriage. I am not avoiding what awaits me at the residence. I simply have a great many things at the club that requires my attention: bills, deliveries, cheaters.

It is dark and a light drizzle is falling, by the time my carriage clatters to a stop in front of the monstrosity that I own. I have no idea why I had bothered to take it as p*****t for a debt owed, except that at the time I had wanted it and I had felt that a man of my wealth should own a residence. Even if I seldom spent any time here.

I prefer my apartments at the club. They aren’t as quiet. The walls thrum with the activity that takes place on the floors below. I can be in a room alone, but not feel lonely. Here, the servants are so blasted quiet that they might as well be ghosts.

Like some ominous harbinger of bad things to come, lightning flashes as I step out of my carriage and stride up the steps. It is chilly tonight, but I will have a woman to warm me. Already I am reconsidering my misgivings about this arrangement. She will come in handy after all.

Before I reach the landing, Laurence is opening the door. Sometimes I feel the butler does little else except stand at the ready to open the door for me. I hand over my hat and coat. I begin tugging off my gloves. Mostly I want to go to my room and remove everything but that will have to wait. “Is she here ?”

He nods. “Yes, sir. Waiting in the parlor, but I’m not sure …”.

His voice trails off. I still and give him a hard glare. “But what, man ? Spill it”.

“I’m not quite sure she understands her purpose in being here. She seems to believe she is to manage the household”. He mumbles.

I shrug. “She can do that if she wishes”.

Laurence scowls. “I am kinda understanding that she believes it is to be her only duty”.

I swear harshly. Littlefoot, the stupid little sod, wouldn’t explain things, would he ? It is his lack of guts that characterizes his losing at the tables. What had she thought last night was about ?

“She brought her things, did she not ?” I ask, slapping my gloves into Laurence’s waiting palm.

“No, sir, I fear she brought nothing except herself. Alpha Littlefoot made quite the hasty retreat. It left her a bit flustered and confused”, my butler says.

“No matter. I’m sure she knows why she’s here”. And that I will be providing everything she require. I head for the parlor.

“What time will you be dining, sir ?” Laurence asks.

“Give us half an hour”. That should be all the time I need to set things right with her, to lay out her duties and my expectations.

Opening the doors to the parlor, I stride in, and then stagger to a stop. She is in profile, standing by the window, gazing out on the rain, looking as forlorn as the weather. She turns slightly at my entry. She is wearing black, a hideous color. It makes her look ill. I want to see her in blue, a deep blue that will enrich the shade of her eyes. It appears she is showing very little skin, that her dress is buttoned up to her chin, but it is impossible to be certain because she is wearing a cloak.

“I see Laurence didn’t adequately see to your comfort, didn’t bother to take your wrap”. I say.

She brings it more closely around her. “No, he offered, but I’ve been chilled, even with the fire”.

“Scotch should help with that”. I walk to a table in the corner and pour a generous amount into two glasses, concentrating on my actions because for some damned reason my hands are shaking. It has nothing to do with the notion that I will soon be touching her, stripping her clothes from her body, ordering her to lie on my bed …

Later, that will all come later. I have been fighting all day not to think about it. Lust. It is all lust, animalistic, barbaric needs that a man possesses, that consumes him. I shove aside all thoughts of what secrets might be hidden from me beneath her clothing, picking up the glasses, and crossing over to where she waits beside a chair near the fireplace. At least she had moved away from the window.

I can’t mistake the wariness in her eyes as she takes the glass I extend toward her. She is right to fear me. I won’t abuse her, I will never willingly hurt her, but I have little doubt that eventually I will cause her pain. Even the women I pay for my pleasures suffer somewhat because I give them nothing beyond the physical, and women, bless them, seem to need more than that.

I simply don't have it to give. Which is the reason that I have avoided feminine encounters for a good long while now, because I can’t stand the disappointment that always seems to punctuate my leaving. I do not hold, I do not cuddle and I certainly do not allow them to hold me.

Taking a chair by the fire, I indicate the one opposite me. Slowly, gracefully, she sinks into it. Both her gloved hands circle the glass. Such small hands. I imagine them circling me. I would barely know they were there. Perhaps …

I force the thoughts away because my body is reacting and the last thing I want to do is frighten her. I sip slowly on my Scotch while she studies the fire. Finally she brings her gaze to rest on me.

“Orley …”. She begin.

“Orley ?”

She gives me a small smile. “Alpha Littlefoot. I’m afraid I have not quite accepted that my father is gone. Anyway, he said I am here to manage your household, but quite honestly it appears to be well managed already, so I’m not quite certain what I could contribute”.

“I’m certain you can contribute quite a bit”. I savor another long sip. “What were his exact words ?”

Her delicate brow furrow, she looks back at the fire. “That I am to see to your needs”.

“My needs”. I emphasize. “Not those of my residence”.

Her gaze moves back to me, the furrow deepens. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you not have a valet to see to your needs ?”

“I have a valet”. I say.

“Then I can’t see that I would have much to do”. She looks confused.

She is too innocent, far too innocent for my liking. I should send her back to her brother, but unfortunately for Everlyn, I have decided that I want her. I am not quite certain when it struck me so forcefully that I do. Perhaps when I opened the parlor door and saw her waiting there. Waiting for me. When has anyone ever been waiting for me ?

“What did you think was the purpose of last night’s … entertainment ?” I ask her.

“To secure me a husband”. She says naively.

I nearly choke on my Scotch. The very last thing I would ever contemplate is marriage. If she knew me at all, she would know that. But therein resides part of the problem: she doesn’t know me, and I prefer to keep it that way.

“I was most surprised”. She continues. “To find myself arriving at your residence when I was left with the distinct impression that you found me hardly worth a thought”.

Hardly worth a thought ? How I wish that was true. I have been unable to stop thinking about her since I first saw her. She invades my dreams, inhabits my thoughts, and occupies my mind.

“To be quite honest”. She carries on. “I suspect I will not be here long before someone offers me marriage. I doubt it is worth it to either of us for me to be in your employment”.

While I do not relish the thought of shattering her naiveté, I also do not much like this dancing about either. Best to just get it out. “You are not here to be in my employment. You are here to be in my bed”.

She blinks, blinks and blinks. Open her mouth, close it again. Blink again. “I beg your pardon ?”

“Your brother was seeking to find a man to take you as his mistress, not as his wife”. I explain.

She shakes her head slightly as though she is almost frozen in disbelief, as though working out what I have just said is taking all her energy. “That can’t be. He promised Father that he would see that I was well taken care of”.

“Mistresses are often treated better than wives. At least I have no wife on the side, which is more than I can say for a few of the gents who were in attendance last night. As my mistress …”. I start to explain.

“You can’t possibly want me to be your mistress. You don’t even like me”. She huffs.

I shrug slightly. “I don’t have to like you to bed you. Truth be told, it’s better that there be no sentiment between us”.

She comes to her feet in such a rush that I am surprised she doesn’t stumble. However, she does drop her glass. It falls to the carpet, spilling my extremely expensive Scotch.

“You’re wrong about last night”. She announces, her eyes welling with tears. “About Orley’s intentions. He wouldn’t have brought me here if he had known what you assume, what you are planning. He promised. He promised Father …”.

Then she fairly races from the parlor, I assume she would have been in Wolf form already had it not been for doors needing to be opened.

I hear the front door slam, and can almost feel the walls trembling with the impact. Swearing harshly, I toss back my Scotch.

I suppose I could have handled that a bit better.