Her rogue heir

His talents

*Dimos*

I had considered slipping into her residence, into her bedchamber one evening. But I wasn’t convinced she didn’t have a lover, and I had no desire to witness her fomicating with another.

Castor might believe her to be cold in bed, but I suspect when it comes to fiery passion she can compete with a volcano. Perhaps it's only my own desire shading the way I view her. If she is all ice at all times, I have an urge to see her melted, to be the one causing the frigidness to thaw.

Then I curse because my father has gone before me, and I have no yearning to furrow what my father had plowed. In the end, I decided to arrange a meeting in neutral territory and pay a street urchin a shilling to deliver my missive: The Rogue and Maiden at 10 o'clock tonight.

I expect she will have the wherewithal to find it. She proves me correct. Sitting at the back of the now famous bar, I watch her walk in one minute before the designated hour in a simple dark blue dress that leaves nothing of any interest exposed. The collar rises up to her chin, the sleeves run down to her wrists where dark gloves continue on to the tips of her fingers. Her hair is a simpler style, lacking in pearls or any adornment at all.

Along with her handbag, she carries an umbrella. It certainly doesn’t feel or smell as though rain is in the air, but then in Blackrock city one can never be completely certain that it isn’t lurking about.

Her gaze immediately goes to the rear of the tavern as though she instinctively knows where she will find me. She begins wending her way among the tables crowded with boisterous customers enjoying a pint.

One fellow, well in his cups, reaches out to her. She stops, her glare causing him to straighten and tuck the offending hand beneath his armpit. With a nod, she carries on.

I don’t want to admire her for the impression she gives that she’ll tolerate no nonsense whatsoever when it comes to her person. Is she that commanding in bed? Has she ordered my father about?

For any other woman, I would have stood as she approaches, but she doesn’t deserve the courtesy, and so I stay lounging back.

Ah, she’s contacted me, and has answered my summons. Shoving back my chair, I come to my feet. "You had no trouble finding the place, it seems."

She glances around. "An establishment owned by a Tempest? I sincerely doubt there is a person in the city who doesn’t know every business owned by a member of that infamous family. Did you think it would shock me?"

"No. This bar carries the best spirits." Before I give it much thought, I'm pulling out the chair for her, inhaling her rose fragrance, and enjoying the grace with which she lowers herself.

I return to my place, mesmerized as she sets her bag and umbrella on the table before slowly removing her gloves, tugging one finger at a time until a sliver of pale skin at her wrist becomes visible, inviting a man to press a kiss to the pulse thrumming there. Does she remove all her clothing as slowly, provocatively?

What the devil is wrong with me? It's only a hand, then two. Long fingers, well-manicured, not a blemish or callus in sight.

"I will have a brandy," she says, and it's only then that I realize the barmaid has approached.

I point to my tumbler. "Another scotch, Polly."

"Aye, sir." She gives me a saucy wink before scurrying off.

"Come here often, do you?" Henry asks.

I shake my head. "No, but when I first arrived, she introduced herself, was quite flirtatious actually, until I mentioned I was waiting for someone."

"You were so confident I would come?" She asks.

"You were the one who requested a meeting." I say with a shrug.

She nods slowly. "I wasn't certain you would understand my message."

"Are you always so careful not to give away anything?" I ask.

"My experience with your father has made me a frightfully suspicious and more cautious wench." She admits.

I wish my sire didn't have to constantly intrude and wasn't the reason we are here. "You thought of something."

Polly returns and sets our drinks before us. I hand over the coins. "Keep the extra for yourself."

She bobs a quick curtsy. "Thank you, sir." Then she is dashing off to see someone else.

Henry takes a sip of her brandy, licking her lips. "Not really, no."

Fascinated with watching as the pink tip of her tongue journeys over her lush mouth, I need a moment to realize she is responding to my earlier comment. "Then why the message?"

"It occurs to me that we didn't have the best of beginnings. Perhaps if you share a bit more of what you have uncovered thus far, it might trigger a memory of something of import. Your father's actions put us both through a trial of sorts... well, it put your entire family through hell. I would like to assist you if I can."

"Why do I have the feeling there is more to it than that?" I ask.

"Not a very trusting fellow, are you?" She arches a brow. "I don't suppose I can blame you for that. I'm not very trusting myself."

I chuckle. "So I determined when you wrote only your first initial on the message."

Her lips move in a toying, teasing manner. "Did your brother open the letter?"

I merely nod.

"What a naughty fellow." She mumbles.

Somehow, she makes it sound like a compliment, a characteristic she admires, and I'm tempted to show her exactly how naughty I can be.

I don't like remembering a time when I teased, when I was adept at enjoying all the pleasurable pursuits that life had to offer. When I wasn't filled with such loathing, a great deal of it directed toward faceless men who lured my father toward his end. "I might say the same of your butler. He followed me when I left you."

"Brewster is a protective chap and doesn't trust you. You gave him a hard time, didn't you? I rather suspect you prolonged his misery, leading him hither and yon like a wayward child." She says.

I don't much like how it pleases me that she knows exactly what I have done. I had a jolly good time doing it, too. "Is it possible my father might have mentioned something to him?"

"Hardly. Like most of the Alphaa, he paid scant attention to servants, certainly wouldn't have confided in one. How many have you told your deepest secrets?" She asks.

She always speaks directly, and yet she manages to thread an undercurrent of disappointment in the ones just uttered. As though she knows I once viewed servants in the same manner I did a pair of well-made boots: to serve me. Not one of my finer qualities. I'll certainly never take household staff for granted again, should I ever be in a position to offer employment. "It stands to reason then that he wouldn't have confided in you."

"I never would have allowed myself to be viewed as someone who only caters to his whims. I demand respect and equal footing from those who associate with me." She huffs.

"Will you be having another?" Polly arrives again.

"Yes," Henry says. "One for each of us."

After the barmaid leaves, she opens her handbag.

"I will pay," I say, reaching into a pocket.

She gives me a commanding smile that freezes me in my place. "As I said, equal footing. My coins will be used this time." A pocket watch is removed and set aside before she reaches farther into her purse.

"You strike me as being too elegant for a pocket watch, especially one that appears to be made of nickel." Gold or silver, perhaps, but not something as cheap as nickel.

She looks up at me, over at the watch, closes her fingers around it, and slips it back home before setting coins where it had been. "It was my father's. I carry it with me for sentimental reasons."

I have no idea what happened to my father's watch. Perhaps he used it to bribe a jailor for a better cut of meat or as p*****t for the hangman. Or maybe it was simply stolen by a guard.

Polly returns with our drinks. Offering another quick bob, she takes the coins Henry hands her.

"What was your father's occupation?" I don't know why I bloody well care, but I'm curious about what had placed her on the path toward becoming a man's plaything.

"Village drunkard." Lifting her snifter, she tips it toward me before taking a slow swallow. "The watch serves to remind me of my origins and how I never wish to return to them. Whereas I suspect you would very much like to return to yours. Hence your quest."

"It's not going to return anything to me, except honor." But with my demonstration of loyalty to the lycan Crown as a stepping-stone, I could secure success elsewhere and might even regain some respect among the High packs.

She leans forward, looking at me. "Your father's planning to murder his Queen took you completely unaware?"

I'm not pleased by the doubt reflected in her tone, as though she suspects I knew something was afoot and either ignored it or was complicit in it. "We weren't particularly close. He did grumble from time to time because the Queen became such a recluse following her mates death, and he often complained that, in his opinion, she wasn't giving the country the attention it deserved, but I can't countenance that he considered killing her to be the solution."

She seems to ponder my answer, chewing it over, before giving a little nod. "He did once tell me that he didn't believe a woman should sit upon the throne, but I can't imagine he wanted her son lounging upon it. The lycan crown Prince seems more interested in fun than rule."

"None of it makes sense. She has provided an entire line of heirs. Did they intend to kill them all?" I question.

She pauses, her glass halfway to her lips. "That would have been quite the undertaking. Or perhaps someone controls Prince Bert. Or maybe they merely wish to sow chaos for something more nefarious. To rid the country of a monarchy altogether? To replace it with a dictatorship?"

I hadn't expected her to have given it so much contemplation, but she has probably had little else to do while awaiting her release from prison. "You agree then he wasn't working alone?"

"As you said the other night, he wasn't particularly clever." She points out.

"He was loyal, however. If there were others, I don't think he gave them up." I say.

She nods. "He is fortunate they no longer use the rack. He would often leave me to go to a meeting, although he never told me with whom or where or what it entailed."

"You didn't send your butler to follow him?" I ask.

"To be honest, I didn't care enough to go to the bother." She mumbles.

I'm not going to interpret her sentiment to mean she did care about my goings. "But you had him follow me."

"You are more intriguing. By your clothing, I would say you have had a rough time of it, but I would wager that is by choice. You are well educated. You can find employment in any number of occupations, and yet you are searching for what you may never find. It seems a waste of your talents." She explains.

"You know nothing at all about my talents." I simply say.