The king: His mail-order mate

Visiting his mistress

*Kingsley*

It was the longest, most interminable dinner I have ever partaken in. Usually, I greatly enjoy spending time with my fellow investors and discussing business opportunities. But for some reason, tonight I am anxious to be rid of them. Perhaps it's the way they make her smile or laugh softly or offer her thoughts. No, it's Ace's damn wink, as though he shares a secret with her. I almost stood up to advance on him and throw a punch that would blacken his bloody irritating eye.

My possessive reaction had taken me by surprise, and I can't seem to shake off this need to strike something. Pettifur often shares meals with us at the residence, and my temper never flares. Why should it be different at the club?

While the Hand and I usually gather round in comfortable chairs and enjoy a bit of port after dinner, I make our excuses and escort Pettifur to the car that is waiting nearby. Once I hand her safely inside, I step back.

"Aren't you coming with me?" she asks.

"No, I have another matter that needs attending to. The driver and servant will see you safely home." I tell her.

She nods. "Do you not require the car ?"

"I'll hire a cab." I tell her.

I hate the way her brow furrows, and her eyes search me as though she thinks something is wrong, as though she could discover it if she looks hard enough and long enough. "Did I do something to upset you?"

I offer her a small, reassuring smile. "Absolutely not. I should have mentioned earlier that I would not be returning with you. But nothing is amiss."

"Thank you for dinner. I will write up what I remember regarding the mining opportunity." She says.

"It's not necessary." I expected relief, not a further falling of her face into worry. "I have little interest in those mines." Especially after Ace winked at you. Because Ace had the audacity to wink at you. Whatever is wrong with me? I never allow petty matters to influence my decisions when it comes to investments, and yet that bloody wink does not seem like a petty matter.

She nods again. "I hardly blame you. Based on the information he shared with us, the mines seem rather played out to me."

Strange how her siding with me over Ace does wonders to improve my sour mood. "I will see you at breakfast." With that, I shut the door, shout up at my driver to be off, and watch as the car rattles over the cobblestones and carries her away.

Deciding against hiring a cab, I begin striding up the street, easily working my way around those searching for entertainment, food, or something nefarious. My destination is not far, and I need to work off the tension plaguing me, tension that struck like a blow to my chest when I laid my hand over hers. Tugging off my glove, I make a fist as though I could recapture the feel of her silken skin against my palm. For a moment there, it seemed she became a part of me. I wonder if all of her is as soft, as smooth, as creamy... as tantalizing.

With a groan, I shove my hand back into my glove. She is Pettifur. My secretary. Competent. Able to manage any task. Who always wears dark blue, but in green rivals the beauty found in the artwork created by the Masters. Her bared shoulders call to a man's lips to travel over them. The slope of her neck, the delicate collarbones serve as a lure for questing fingers. Not the sort of inappropriate thoughts I have ever had about her before, and certainly shouldn't have now.

It's those tantalizing little wisps of rebellious strands of her hair that I tucked behind her ear this morning. They made her appear feminine and soft in a way she never had before and made me aware of her as a woman. A dangerous thing indeed. I am her employer, and I need to keep my distance. I should never act in an untoward manner or cause her to believe I expect anything of her other than what I would expect of a male secretary.

Placing Pettifur on equal footing with the Hand, I value her opinion and the sharpness of her mind. But suddenly, I find myself wanting to value the softness of her body. It's not as though I have never noticed she is female. It's just that tonight, I have acknowledged her gender in a different way. She has become more than just an identifier… an intriguing and beautiful woman, like a bird with captivating plumage or a perfectly formed petal.

Thankfully, my destination finally looms before me. I jog up the terrace house steps and tap the knocker, anticipation coursing through my body.

The door swings open, revealing the dark-haired beauty. "King, what a pleasant surprise. You haven't come to see me since you made that silly announcement at that ball of yours last mating Season."

It didn't seem appropriate to call upon her when I began courting another. Good Goddess, has it been at least a year since I have been intimate with a woman? No wonder my muscles and nerves reacted with intense anticipation when I touched Pettifur's hand. It wasn't her specifically that caused the overwhelming s****l need. It was simple male lust and primal desire. "Hello, Margaret. Do you have company this evening?"

She gives me a seductive smile. "I have now. Do come in."

I stride over the threshold into the familiar foyer, which opens into a parlor on one side and a hallway at the far end, leading to stairs I have ascended to her bedchamber numerous times. After she relieves me of my hat and walking stick, Margaret places them on a nearby table.

"I should be put out with you," she says. I remove my gloves, and she sets them beside my hat before turning to face me. "But I'm not so petty as to do myself a disservice and turn away the glorious pleasure you will bestow upon me."

Like a wraith, she glides over to me, presses herself against me, and wraps her arms around my neck as I circle her waist, pulling her close. She lifts her mouth, and I take it, falling into the familiar...

But her fragrance is all wrong. Has she changed her perfume? Altered what she puts in her bathwater?

She pulls slightly away. "Did you just sniff me?"

"Pardon? No, don't be ridiculous." Determined to make good on the promise my arrival at her door signaled, I draw her back in, ready to unleash the ardor and passion she expects and deserves. However, the way she fits in my arms feels different, somewhat awkward... not as pleasing as it once was. We no longer seem to match in the places we did before.

Once again, she pulls back. "What's her name?"

"I beg your pardon?" I ask.

Her smile holds drollness, melancholy, and... is that pity? Not directed at herself, but at me. I'm not accustomed to being pitied. It irks me, pricks my considerable pride, and makes me wish I hadn't decided to pay her a visit.

She skirts beyond my reach. "Usually, you would have had me against a wall by now."

She disappears into the parlor, and like a fool, I follow. "Margaret, I apologize. It's been a rather long day, but I do want you."

"Don't insult me, darling." After pouring scotch into two glasses, she hands me one. "You are here because you can't have the woman you want, and I don't have the fortitude to turn you away."

"There is no other woman I want." I mumble.

She cradles my jaw. "Oh, you poor man. I think you probably believe that. I can even tell you who she is."

"There is no woman," I emphasize once again.

With a secretive smile, she gives me a little pat on the cheek before reclining elegantly on the sofa, her skirts billowing around her. "Tell me about your rather long day."

I had not come here to talk about my day, but to whisper naughty words into her ear. To hear her sighs and moans, to groan in return. I fully intend to stalk across the room, pull her up and into my arms, and have my way with her, allowing her to have hers with me. And prove that I do want her. As a result, I am a bit surprised to find myself walking over to the fireplace, where I lean a shoulder negligently against the mantel. "Just business."

"And your evening?"

Taking a sip of my scotch, I wonder why all the s****l tension and need radiating through me has dissipated the moment I took her into my arms. She was once the mistress of the Alpha of Birdwell, and as was often the practice with favorite mistresses, I set her up nicely upon his death, leaving her this residence and an annual income that ensured she could choose her future lovers, if she desired any. I always enjoy our time together, immensely. And she speaks true. I should have had her pressed to the wall within minutes of entering the residence. By now, clothes should be scattered over the floor, and the two of us should be on that sofa, lost in the throes of passion. Instead, my ardor has cooled, and I rather wish I had climbed into the coach and returned home with Pettifur. "Dinner at the club with the Hand."

"That usually doesn't leave you with a foul temper."

"I'm not foul-tempered." But even as the words spew forth, I realize I do indeed sound as though I am in an extremely unpleasant mood. And why is my end of the conversation mainly composed of repeating in the negative what she said? "I apologize. It was a less than satisfactory meeting."

My relationship with Margaret is not a complicated thing. It involves good s*x and pleasing conversation, but nothing that ever delves beneath the surface. So much dwells beneath my surface that I've never shared with anyone, and it suddenly seems like a heavy burden.

"How is Miss Pettifur?"

My heart gives a little lurch at the mention of her name, especially with the inclusion of the Miss, reflecting her femininity. I called her Miss Pettifur during her interview, but once she came to work for me, she simply became Pettifur. It seemed to suit her. She was twenty at the time. Young and fresh, but not innocent. Her eyes revealed that little fact. They revealed everything I knew about her, which, I am beginning to realize, isn't much at all. "Efficient as ever."

"I saw your advert in the Alpha Times indicating you are again accepting applications for the position of Luna." She doesn't give the impression she is insulted that I didn't ask for her hand. Early on, she admitted to being unable to bear children, which made her promiscuity safe, meant she had no need to concern herself with bringing by-blows into the world. But it also limited her marriage prospects, at least among the aristocracy, as they are obsessed with heirs and bloodlines as its members were. Not that she ever indicated she would welcome a husband in her life. I suspect she rather prefers the freedom of being untethered.

"I require an heir." At thirtyfour, I am getting a bit long in the tooth. It is time I see to this aspect of my duties.

"How romantic you are, King. If your handsome features, wealth, and titles don't win a woman over, I expect she'll swoon at your feet when you whisper those sweet words into her ear."

I scowl, not certain if she is serious or teasing. But I know the truth of the matter. "Pettifur will not select a swooner."

"You gave the task to that poor girl?"

She isn't a girl. She is a woman, with curves the green gown had highlighted in a manner the dark blue didn't. With unblemished skin. Why of a sudden is everyone questioning my decision to hand the task over to my secretary? It is deuced irritating, especially when I am unaccustomed to having my decisions doubted. "I trust no one more."

"In this matter, is it not better to trust your own heart?"

"You trusted your heart, and look where it got you."

My eyes soften, and my smile turns wistful. "Almost a dozen years of happiness. I couldn't have him always. An Alpha does not marry a woman such as myself, although I was really just a girl, barely seven-and-ten, when Birdie took me in. But the hours he was able to give me, I wouldn't trade for all the riches in the world. His wife had her lover, and he had his. Not uncommon among the aristocracy. But still, King, is it not better to love the woman you are to wed than merely the woman you may occasionally bed?"

I heave a heavy sigh. "I seem to have taken us down a melancholy path. I came here with a much more entertaining purpose in mind. But you're correct. My thoughts reside elsewhere, and you are deserving of a man's full attention. I have missed your forthrightness. And I have been remiss in asking after you. How have you been, Margaret?"

"Missing Birdie. It's been five years this month. You would think I would miss him less, but there is something extremely comfortable and comforting about being with someone who knows you so very well. Pleasure is certainly not to be taken for granted, but some of my favorite memories involve the quiet moments when we were together. I hope you have those with your Luna."

I am going to have an abundance of quiet moments with my Luna. It is a requirement I demand, and my secretary never fails to ensure my requirements are met.