Her exiled Gamma

A suggestion

*Castor*

For the longest time, we only look at each other, as though we are weighing words, confessions, interest, vulnerabilities. She is the first to glance away, licking her lips as she does so, causing a tightness low in my belly that might have dropped me to my knees had I been standing. Had she always possessed this power over me, tantalizing and seducing with so little effort ? Or does knowing she is in pursuit of another serve to awaken me to the notion that I would like her to be in pursuit of me ?

But through marriage to me, she can not gain what she covets. I clear my throat. "Pay attention, sweetheart, and be astonished by my wisdom”.

She bestows upon me the most beautiful, unpretentious smile I have ever received from her. Warm and generous, it's the sort for which men launch ships. “You are so frightfully conceited”.

I hear no censure, only a bit of playful teasing, not the caustic tone fraught with

disapproval that she has always tossed my way in the past. “You shouldn't complain. You're about to benefit from my superior knowledge”.

“Impress me, then. Tell me what I must write to win the Alpha’s favor”.

Angling myself in order to view the whole of her features, I stretch my arm out along the back of the bench. Without taking my eyes from hers, I skim a finger over a silken curl at her shoulder. If she minds, she gives no indication, so I touch another. “Tell him your hair is like fire, your eyes like forest moss, but changeable depending on your mood. The green of plants in the garden when you're happy, the brown of soil when you're melancholy, the blue of the sky at dawn when passion takes hold”.

Those eyes that tip up slightly at the corners widen. “I'm not going to say that about passion. You certainly have never seen them when passion takes hold”.

I have seen even more, I have seen them when she is aroused. Last night as she had unraveled her hair, a kaleidoscope of heat, hunger, and arousal had turned them a brilliant blue. “Why the offense ? Are you not excited by a fine aria ? A beautiful sunset ? The arrival of dessert ? Especially when it includes strawberries". I have seen that as well. She favors strawberries.

I would feed her an entire bushel for one of her smiles.

She dips her head. “I thought you were referring to something else”.

“What sort of passion did you have in mind ?”

Her head snaps up, and her hazel eyes in anger comprise all the shades. “I think you know precisely what sort of passion I assumed you were referring to”.

Slipping a finger beneath the ringlets, I skim it lightly along the nape of her neck, feel the tiny hairs quiver. “Longing, yearning, craving”.

“You shouldn't be touching me like that”.

“Slap my hand away. Or leave it, so we can know for certain what color your eyes become when you are stirred by desire”.

“You do not stir me”.

“Then, where is the harm in the touch ?” Other than the fact that it do stir me to yearn for what I shouldn't, and if I isn’t careful in holding myself in check, she is going to know exactly how much I yearn.

“Why would he care about my hair or my eyes ?” She asks.

I sigh. “Because he wants a woman he can sit upon a shelf and take down occasionally to adorn his arm”.

“All men want that. Don't you want a woman to adorn your arm ?” Another question.

“Of course I want a woman on my arm, but my pride in having her there would have nothing to do with the shade of her hair or her eyes. Or the delicate cut of her cheekbones or the long sweep of her neck. It would be because of her intelligence, her compassion, her boldness. I would certainly never place her upon a shelf to gather dust as though she were naught but a doll to be appreciated for her appearance rather than her mind. I would want her to share her opinion on matters, to discuss things that are important to me, to her, to argue with me, and on the rare occasion when I am wrong to convince me that she is correct. I would want her beside me because I value her judgment, because she isn’t afraid to be honest with me. And because she makes me smile, makes me laugh, makes me glad to wake up with her in my arms”. I tell her.

Sometime during my ridiculous diatribe, my hand has closed around her nape as though I would guide her toward me. With her lips parted slightly, she stares at me as though she has never heard such poppycock. Whatever had possessed me to blather on like that ?

I have never contemplated having a wife at my side, have never considered the qualities I would want in a woman I might marry. Yet suddenly I do know what I want, recognize that perhaps it.. she .. is what I have always wanted. Someone with a bit of

competitiveness in her, who can look at a situation realistically rather than romantically, who would stand up to me. Tease me, scoff at me, tell me honestly when I am being an arse or should be better. Who makes me want to be better. who calls to my better nature. Who completes me, makes me feel whole, instead of only partial.

“What sort of things would you want her opinion on ?” She asks quietly. “What important matters would you want to discuss ?”

She sounds truly interested. I wonder how she might respond if my answer came in the form of a kiss. Of late, a curiosity regarding what it might be like to press my lips against hers has risen in me. To urge her to part those luscious lips in invitation, to stroke my tongue over hers, to deepen the kiss until her fingers clutches my shoulders and her sighs wafts around me.

I watch the delicate muscles at her silky-smooth throat work as she swallows. Has she ever pondered what a kiss between us might be like ? Would she object if the hand I have clasped around her nape draws her in closer ? To ensure it doesn’t, I ease it away and clutches the back of the bench instead. “If you truly want to know, meet me on the front drive after everyone has gone to bed tonight. With no chaperone".

She blinks, studies me. “That would be scandalous”.

“Only if you're caught”.

She touches her tongue to her upper lip, before gnawing on the lower. By the Goddess she is

considering it. A strange sense ... I suspect it might be elation ... courses through me. I had expected her to dismiss my challenge out of hand, not contemplate its merits. “If you meet me, you can write to the Alpha that you're an adventurous sort”.

“You think I'm not normally ?”

"Are you ?”

Slowly, she shakes her head, seemingly embarrassed by the confession. “I never do anything I ought not”.

“Whereas I do everything I ought not”.

“Is it more fun, I wonder ?” She asks.

“It gives me stories to tell”. I bend toward her. “Don't you want a story to tell, Miss

Kiona ?”

I couldn't have felt her gaze traveling over my face more solidly if she had used her fingers to trace every line, dip, and curve of my features. Why I suddenly yearn for a more intense scrutiny from her is beyond comprehension. I am not usually slow-witted, but I can’t seem to think beyond her, beyond this moment, wondering what might be ruminating in that clever mind of hers. Will the Alpha appreciate a woman who could bring him to task ? Would the Alpha want a woman who made him wonder what the devil she is thinking ?

“Why are you being so accommodating, providing me with information on how I might snag Alpha Brinsley, especially when you seem to have such a low regard for him ? Do you wish to see me miserable ?” She asks.

It is the last thing I want for her. “Just because he selects you doesn't mean you will

be forced to marry him if you decide he's not for you. Although, perhaps you will be well suited, even true mates”.

She runs her finger along the edge of her escritoire. “But why are you offering advice ? Why are you helping me to secure him ? We were always at cross-purposes before”.

"Perhaps I decided that it's time we weren't. Besides, I already explained that I would rather you help me up the stairs if I'm drunk".

“But in the morning, I will return to my parents' residence, so I won't be about to help you. What do you gain ?"

Why is she being so suspicious ? Why can she not simply accept my help and her good fortune ? “A waltz”.

Obviously displeased with that answer, she furrows her brow and puckers her mouth. “But you could have had that by merely asking. Why have you never asked ?”

“You always were quite clear regarding your aversion to second sons". And I have always taken it personally, although now I understand her reasons. I don't mean I like them, but I understand them.

"Not an aversion, but it would do me no good to encourage one. I'm sorry if I gave the impression that you were somehow ... less”. She says softly.

“I never took offense”. Lie, but I see no point in making her feel badly about it, when

conditions over which she has no control has been placed on her.

She scrutinizes me with a deliberation I have never observed in her before, and I fear she is attempting to delve into my soul, wretched and mired as it is.

“Oh, there you are !” Isadora calls out as she rounds the curve in the path that allows for some privacy for lovers who take advantage of the bench.

While I simply lean back and cross my ankles, Kiona gives a guilty start and jumps to her feet as though being caught so near to me is a sin. Or maybe it is her musings that had bordered on the sinful. Maybe she hadn't been searching my soul but had been contemplating sending her fingers on a search over my person. “I was working on my letter to Brinsley”.

“Then, I suspect you could use a bit of a respite. Shall we go for a ride in the park ?”

“That would be lovely".

“Castor, would you care to join us ?” Isadora asks. “Your presence would save me from having to bother a groom”.

I shouldn't. I absolutely should not. I have already spent too much time in Kiona's

company. That I have shared such intimate thoughts and invited her to go on an outing with me is a prelude to disaster. What the devil had I been thinking? I need to make myself scarce, but the words needed elude me, and instead I hear myself say. “I believe I shall”.