The devil Alpha

Tomorrow

*Lucian*

None would ever dare claim that I am a coward. Yet as I sit at the gaming table, I know the truth of it. I am here only because I haven’t the courage to press my suit with the lovely Frannie Tempest. I came to The Full Moon club with the specific intent of finally asking Frannie for her hand in marriage, and just before I reached the door to the office where she keeps track of Jack Moondancer’s accounts, I decided to take a quick detour by the gaming tables. Just to give my hands an opportunity to stop quaking and my mind the chance to rehearse once again the words I have been practicing.

That was six hours ago.

I could blame my delay on the fact that I am winning. But then I always win.

The next set of cards is dealt. I give mine a passing glance. It isn’t the cards I am dealt that assure my victory, but rather my ability to accurately determine what the other gents are holding.

The alpha of Chesney’s eyes bug slightly when he receives a nicely matched set of cards, as though he is taken by surprise by his good fortune. This round, his eyes remain noticeably unbugged. Beta Milner keeps rearranging the order of his cards, never finding satisfaction there. The Alpha of Canton always takes a sip of his brandy when he is pleased. His glass remains untouched. The Alpha of Riverdale sits forward as though ready to pounce upon the winnings when he thinks they will be his. He lounges back when the outcome is doubtful. Presently, he looks as though he is in danger of sliding out of his chair onto the floor. A monstrously bad hand that he no doubt thinks he can bluff his way through.

The game continues, with each man betting or passing. When this particular round of brag is completed, with all the other lords groaning and moaning, I take my winnings and add them to the stack of wooden chips already resting in front of me.

“I believe, gentlemen, that I shall call it a night,” I say, coming to my feet.

A young lad, dressed in the purple livery for which the club is so well known, rushes over with a copper bowl. He holds it at the edge of the table while I slide my abundant winnings into it.

“See here, Claybourne,” Riverdale says, “you’re hardly being sporting about this. You should at least give us an opportunity to win it back.”

Removing a coin from my pocket, I take the bowl from the lad, flipping him the coin as I do so. The boy, who is probably no more than eight, touches his fingers to his brow and dashes off.

“I have given you most of the night, gentlemen. Trust me when I assure you that you will come out ahead if I leave now.”

The men do a bit more grumbling, but I know they aren’t sorry to see me go. I make them uncomfortable. No more so than they make me. But that is my secret. Unlike them, I never allow my emotions, thoughts, or feelings to rise to the surface. Not even when it comes to Frannie. I doubt that she has any idea how deeply my affection for her runs.

I stop by the exchange window and swap my chips for coins, relishing the additional weight of the bowl.

As I stride through the gaming establishment, I realize that Frannie has no doubt already retired for the evening, in which case, I will have to wait until tomorrow to proclaim my feelings. But as I near the back, I see the door to her office is open.

Most likely I will find Jack inside. The man gives fewer hours to sleep than I do. But what if it isn’t Jack? I could get this bothersome matter over with.

So I walk down the hallway, peer around the door frame…

And there is Frannie. Lovely Frannie. Her red hair pulled back and tucked neatly into a tight bun, the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks barely visible beneath the glow from the lamp on the desk behind which she sits, diligently marking numbers in a column. Her dress has a high collar, every button, all the way up to her chin, securely in place. The long sleeves leave only her hands visible. Her delicate brow is pleated. When she becomes my Luna, she will have no worries.

She glances up, releases a tiny squeak, jerks back, and presses a hand to her chest.

“Dear Goddess, Luc! You gave me quite a start. How long have you been standing there spying on me?”

“Not nearly long enough,” I say laconically, striding into the room with a confidence I don’t quite feel. I set the bowl on the desk.

“For you and your children’s home.”

The home is a small place she is in the process of establishing with hopes of making life easier for orphans. She looks at me through narrowed eyes. “Are these ill-gotten gains?”

“Of course.” I grin.

Snatching up the bowl, she smiles at me. The impish upward curve of her lips hits me as it always does, like a powerful punch to the gut. “Then I shall take them gladly and do good works with them to absolve you of your sins.”

Her voice holds a bit of teasing, but a sadness mars her eyes.

“No one can absolve me of my sins, Frannie, you know that.” With a wave of my hand to stop her from even attempting to argue with me on the matter, I sit in the thickly padded chair in front of her desk. “You’re up rather late.”

“The amount of work necessary to keep track of Jack’s finances is unbelievable. His profits are astounding.”

“He’s always said if you wish to die rich, invest in vice.”

She sighs, “Well, he shall no doubt die rich, and in a way that’s rather sad. He should spend the money on something that brings him pleasure.”

“I think he finds his pleasure in taking money from rich blokes.” My accent dips at the end to reveal my street origins. It’s always so easy to slip around Frannie because we share the same origins.

“But is he happy?” she asks.

I shrug, “Are any of us?”

Tears well in her eyes.

“Dammit, Frannie…

She holds up her hand. “It’s all right. I’m in one of my moods is all, and while I can’t claim to be happy, I do believe I’m content.”

Now is the perfect opportunity to promise her unending happiness. But her office suddenly seems like such a ghastly unromantic place. Whatever was I thinking to consider asking her here? The setting for the proposal should be as memorable as the proposal itself.

Tomorrow. I will ask her tomorrow. Clearing my throat, I come to my feet. “Well, it’s rather late. I best be off.”

She gives me another impish smile. “It was kind of you to stop by and visit.” She touches the copper bowl containing my winnings. “I thank you for your contribution.”

“I would give you more… legitimate funds… if you would take them.” I say.

“You have done more than enough for me, Luc.” She tells me.

Again, it seems like the perfect opportunity to tell her that I have not done nearly as much as I plan to do for her. But the words lodge in my throat. Why am I always so damned tongue-tied around her when it comes to speaking from my heart? Is it because, as I fear, I truly have no heart, just a black hole that reflects the darkness of my soul?

Telling her anything at all should come easily. After all, we know the worst of each other’s lives. Why is that so much easier to share than what should be the best?

I take a step back. “I will probably see you tomorrow.”

“I will let you know then exactly how I plan to use this money you have given me.” She says.

I shake my head, “Use it however it pleases you, Frannie. It comes with no attachments. You owe me no explanations.”

“You have never been comfortable around orphans, have you?” She asks.

“Whatever are you about? All my best friends are orphans.” I point out.

She smiles sadly, “Feagan’s merry little band of ne’er-do-wells. We are an odd group, aren’t we?”

“Only because we overcame the circumstances of our youths and are all quite successful.” I say.

“We have your grandfather to thank for our change in fortunes. He lifted us all up when he lifted you.” She says.

I breathe out slowly, “If he was my grandfather.”

“How can you still doubt it?” She asks.

I almost tell her the truth, but I don’t think she would approve of the lie I’m certain I’m living. I give her what I hope is one of my more charming smiles. “Good night, Frannie. Sweet dreams.”

As for myself, I have only nightmares when I drift into slumber.

I stride from the room before she can pester me for more answers. My former life is an area that I don’t relish reliving. Sometimes it strikes me as strange that I want to marry someone who is so ensconced in my past. With her at my side, I would never be able to run from it, but perhaps I could better face it.

I’m nearly to the front door when I hear, “You owe me five quid, Luc.”

Coming to an abrupt halt, I turn and watch as Jack Moondancer swaggers toward me, a confident grin on his darkly rugged face.

“You don’t know that,” I say when Jack stops in front of me.

“So you did ask Frannie to marry you?”

With a sigh, I remove my wallet from inside my jacket and hand Jack the requested amount. “I never should have told you my intentions.”

“No, you never should have accepted the wager that you would actually do it.” Jack tucks away the money. “Did you want to take one of my girls home with you tonight…” he winks “…for a bit of comfort?”

I curse Jack soundly for tempting me, curse myself for finding it so difficult to resist temptation. I have never availed myself of one of Jack’s girls.

“I’m not going to let Frannie see me walking out with one of your girls.” I say.

“I can send her ’round the back. Frannie will never know.”

I raise a brow, “You don’t think your girls talk?”

“They are very discreet. I insist on it.” He says.

I consider, then shake my head. “No, I will not risk causing her to doubt my affection.”

“Are you saying you have been celibate all these years?” He asks.

“Of course not, but like your girls, I am extremely discreet.” This is not the only place to offer female companionship. Besides, Frannie is less likely to hear of my liaisons if I seek them out elsewhere. For a few years, I even had a mistress, but we parted ways when I decided that it was time to ask Frannie to be my wife.

“For the Goddess’ sake, Frannie works here. She knows men have urges.” He says.

I shake my head, “I’m not going to have her wonder about mine. You might understand if you had someone you favored.”

“I prefer my she-wolves bought. Ensures no misunderstandings.” He says.

And in my experience, no real passion.

“So shall we make the usual wager for tomorrow?” Jack asks.

“By all means.”

“It’s been almost a year since you set yourself this task. I don’t relish getting rich off my friends, so take care of the matter tomorrow, will you?” He tells me.

I lift a brow, “If you don’t relish it then stop making the blasted wagers!”

“You know I have a weakness where wagering is concerned.” A corner of his mouth hitches up. “And I can seldom beat you at cards.”

“Tomorrow. I will ask her tomorrow,” I say with renewed conviction.

Jack claps me on the shoulder. “Bring another fiver just in case.”

It’s all I can do to not punch that knowing smirk off Jack’s face. But just as Frannie owes me, so I owe Jack a debt I can never repay.