Run-away mate

Standing her Ground

*Tia*

“Bravo!” Marsden exclaims, clapping, his green eyes lively. “l daresay, Mrs. Goldpaw, you certainly set my son in his place. Well done!”

“Please, you must call me Tia,” I say softly.

While standing up to Killian has gained me some favor with Marsden, it still takes everything within me to keep my hand from shaking as I hand the Alpha prince a cake. Tremors cascade through me like a never-ending waterfall. It isn’t just righteous indignation that causes me to tremble. It’s a strange and unwanted attraction to Prince Killian that ignites every damned nerve ending I possess.

Although I have never met him before, I have heard enough stories about him, listened as she-wolves wax on about his good looks, that I knew who he was the moment he opened the door. I was unprepared for the magnetism that his incredible emerald eyes sparked within me or the desire that hit me with such force that I nearly spun on my heel and raced after the coach. His hair, black as midnight and longer than is fashionable, serves to make the brilliant hue of his eyes stand out all the more. I have never had such an immediate visceral reaction to any man. That I find him so incredibly alluring is distracting beyond measure, entirely unacceptable, and remarkably dangerous.

In spite of the rude and off-putting manner in which he is doing it, I know he is striving to protect his father, and I can’t help but respect and admire him for it. Unfortunately for him, I have someone to protect as well, and I’m going to do it at any cost, with any means available to me. My mind, my body, my soul. I will use them all, in any manner required… no matter how unpleasant or unsavory… to accomplish my goal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he reaches a large hand inside his jacket and withdraws something from a breast pocket. A newspaper clipping that he begins to unfold. Based on its size, I know exactly how it will read. It seems he is preparing to fire the next volley in this silently declared clash of wills. I shore up my defenses.

“Do you find the countryside to your liking, Mrs. Goldpaw?” the Alpha prince asks kindly. I would have liked to have known him when he was younger. I suspect he had been quite the charmer.

“Strong,” Killian declares before I can answer.

Unlike his son, who is sadly lacking in charm. Although one wouldn’t know it based on all the tittering about him that the she-wolves of Blackrock city do. He has swept half of them off their feet and into his bed if stories are to be believed.

Marsden sighs with obvious annoyance. “I shared my advert so you would know the qualifications I sought, not so you could use it against Mrs. Goldpaw. She and I have already corresponded several times. I know she meets all the requirements I seek in a she-wolf to provide me with an heir.”

“Surely then there can be no objection to my reassuring myself.” His narrowed gaze lands on me like a weighty thing that could crush a weaker she-wolf. “Strong,” he repeats. “You must forgive my impudence, Mrs. Goldpaw, but you don’t look as though you have the strength to shove that chair from one side of the room to the other.”

“I do, however, have the strength to call in a servant to do it for me.” I tell him.

“How many households have you visited where the head housekeeper serves the tea?” He holds up the keys he’s procured earlier and gives them a little shake, their tinkling echoing between us. “Our indoor staff includes only the butler, the cook, and the housekeeper.”

I look at him, “Surely you have the means to provide for more staff?”

“We do, but my father is more comfortable with the staff we have.” Killian says.

I smile tenderly at Marsden. “Then I shall be so as well.”

“Hire as many as you like.” The Alpha prince says.

Killian’s jaw clenches, and I fight to keep my expression neutral. It seems he isn’t only engaged in a battle of wills with me. There is a sharpness to Marsden that belies the rumors claiming he is mad. Already his protectiveness of me reassures me that I have made the correct decision in answering his advertisement.

“Healthy,” Killian barks.

This time, I don’t hold back the smugness. “I have never been ill a day in my life.”

“Even as a child?”

“Even as a child. I was never colicky. Never fevered. I still have all my teeth, so they’re healthy as well. Would you care to count them?” I regret that last offer when his eyes darken, as though he consider counting them by running his tongue over them. I wait with bated breath for his retort, grateful when he merely clucks his tongue and shakes his head slightly.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

I’m actually surprised that he would take my word for anything. As he studies me, I brace myself, dreading the next question, hoping he might spare me.

“Fertile?” He asks.

Bastard. Here is the tricky part.

“There was a son. A dear sweet thing. He died before his first year.” I say.

I watch as Killian flinches, his eyes filling with regret, as though he wishes he hadn’t asked as much as I did. “I’m sorry for your loss. It was not my intent to cause you pain.”

At least he possesses some compassion, even if he’s putting me through my paces. I should stop here, but I have come too far to leave any doubt regarding my suitability. While I am marrying the Alpha prince, it’s evident that his son will play a large role in our lives, and he is the heir apparent. I will be providing the spare. It’s imperative that Killian and I not constantly be at odds.

“The boy was healthy and strong. He died through no fault of his own. The she-wolf who was supposed to see to his care… was negligent.” I turn to Marsden. “I will hire neither a nanny nor a governess to oversee your son’s care. I will tend to him myself. He shall grow to maturity, good and noble, deserving of your family name.”

“I never doubted it, my dear.” Marsden raises an eyebrow at his son. “Finished with your inquest? We have only an hour before the vicar arrives.”

I wonder how he knows that without looking at his watch. The clock on the mantel is obviously broken. It had shown the time as forty-three minutes past eleven when I walked in, yet it continues to reflect the same hour and minutes, even though I feel as though an eternity of interminable seconds has ticked by.

“I would like a few moments alone with Mrs. Goldpaw to ensure she understands exactly what it is to which she is agreeing.” Killian says.

“As I mentioned, she and I have already corresponded. I’ve told her everything.” Marsden tells his son.

Killian gives his father a tired smile, “I’m sure you have. But sometimes a different perspective can cause enlightenment.”

“I don’t want you chasing her off.” Marsden mumbles.

Killian’s gaze slides over to me. “She doesn’t strike me as someone who is easily chased off.”

Is that respect I hear in his voice? Or a challenge?

Picking up the ring of keys, he unfolds his long, strong body. “Allow me to show you what will become your new home, Mrs. Goldpaw. I swear to you that I shall behave as a proper gentleman.”

I don’t want time alone with him, and it isn’t because I fear he will misbehave. I am relatively certain he won’t. My concern is that he is too handsome by half, too tempting, too masculine. I know from the gossips that he does not lead a life of complete leisure but is prone to traveling in barbaric, challenging parts of the world. He is broad of shoulder and muscled, but not overly so. There is a sleekness to his form. I can envision him slicing through water, galloping over the moors, hefting an ax to chop wood with equal measure.

I should decline, assure him it isn’t necessary. My mind is made up. As though he deduces the path of my thoughts, he angles his chin down slightly, his gaze penetrating. A challenge. Drat him!

Slowly, I tug on my gloves. If he offers his arm, I’m going to want the extra layer of material separating my skin from his. Rising to my feet, I take a deep, fortifying breath. “I would be delighted to have you give me a tour of the place.”

“You don’t have to go with him,” Marsden says.

“Not to worry. I’m sure he will behave. And I do want your son and me to become fast friends.” I look at the son from whom I know I am best served keeping my distance. “Shall we be off?”

He walks over and extends his arm. Swallowing hard, I place my hand on his forearm. I was wrong. The kidskin offers no protection whatsoever from the heat of his flesh, the firmness of his muscles, and the raw masculinity that radiates through him. If I didn’t think he would dub me spineless, I would step back and tell him that I have changed my mind. But the one thing I can claim with certainty is that I have never been a coward. I can hold my own against him, keep a distance between us.

The problem is, I’m not certain I want to.