Seduced by the Alpha prince

Her reaction

*Jayne*

Sitting at my vanity several hours later, I brush my hair, marveling that I’ve managed to sit through dinner without making any nasty comments to Barkley. I was not pleased when my husband told me that he invited the Prince to arrive a day earlier than the rest of our guests so we might have some private time together. That he still sees the man at all astounds me. I can’t forgive Barkley for the careless disregard with which he lives his life.

Each time I first set eyes upon him, it feels like receiving a solid blow to the chest, nearly crippling me with its force. My stomach cramps with the reminder of what I have lost due to his selfish actions and his penchant for indulging in all sinful pleasures. My babe and the man whom my husband had been.

I’ve never deluded myself into believing it was anything other than my sizable dowry that first attracted Seafort to me. His coffers were quite empty when he began to court me, but it didn’t take long for him to win my heart as well as my hand in marriage. Ours was a comfortable arrangement. I was fortunate. We are compatible. We care for each other. We enjoy each other’s company. We never argue. I managed his household. He visitsed his clubs. Life was calm, pleasant.

Four years into our marriage, I found myself with child. I was nearly three months along when I finally told Seafort, who promptly went off to boast about it to his longtime friend and cousin, Prince Barkley of west cliff. I’m unfamiliar with the particulars of what followed. I know only that both men celebrate the good news with far too much drink and a dash through the London streets that costs my husband his legs and his ability to sire another child.

The grief of his injuries, the strain of caring for him, the emotional turmoil of accepting how our lives are affected, had all been too much. I lost the child. His one hope for an heir. My one hope to be a mother.

Tonight, with Barkley sitting at our dining table, so much rushes back. My resentment of the man. The way things were before that horrendous night when everything went wrong. How any chance for true happiness is now lost. How hard I fight not to let my husband know how dreadfully despondent I am.

Setting aside the brush, I rise from the chair and walk to the door that separates my bedchamber from his, a door he no longer uses. He never comes to me. Never. Not to say good-night. Not to simply hold me. He needs assistance getting into the high bed that I have to use steps to clamber into. It unmanned him. I know that. I take such great pains not to make him feel less than what he once was.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and walk through the bathing chamber to the adjacent room. It’s dark except for the moonlight spilling in through mullioned windows. I can see the shallow outline of my husband’s form resting on the bed, beneath the blankets. Sometimes I fear he will wither away into nothing. I tiptoe over the carpet. “Seafort?” I whisper quietly.

I hear the rustle of the feathered pillow as he turns his head. “Jayne, is everything all right?”

Of course it isn’t. It hasn’t been for three long years. “May I lay with you for a while?”

“Sweetheart, you never have to ask anything of me.”

I climb up the steps to the bed, slip beneath the covers, and nestle against him. He wraps his arm protectively around me, pressing me firmly to his side, my face cradled within the curve of his shoulder. I don’t want to think about all the nights he had come to me when we were first married. After his accident, when he regained some strength, I would lie in my lonely bed night after night, waiting for his return. But he never again comes, as though if he can’t make love to me, he sees no point in being with me. But sometimes I just need to be held, and when those moments come, I slip into his bed.

I rub my feet against his thin calf. “I’m sorry. My feet are cold.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t feel them.”

He says it without emotion, as though it’s more than his lower body that has no sensation, as though his very soul has become paralyzed as well. I can’t remember the last time I ave heard him laugh. His now rare smiles always contain a hint of sadness. But then I suppose mine do as well.

“You seem rather quiet and melancholy tonight,” I say softly. “Shall I cancel the house party?”

“No, no, absolutely not. It will serve us well to have visitors.”

He begins to absently stroke my arm. I close my eyes and relish the gentle caress, fighting back the guilt because sometimes it’s difficult to be content with only this.

“Jayne?”

“Hmmm?”

He sighs, “I was talking with Barkley earlier.”

“Well, I should hope so, since you wanted him to arrive before any of our other guests.”

“I appreciate your indulgence.” He kisses the top of my head. My stomach tightens. How I want to turn my face up toward him and have him kiss me. Truly kiss me. The way he once had. As though his life depended on it. But knowing he can’t finish what we might begin stops me cold. It’s too painful for both of us to be reminded of what we’ll never again have, so I pretend I no longer yearn for it.

“Be that as it may,” he says after a time, “I was thinking… he could get you with child.”

I freeze, my lungs not even working to draw in air. I’m surprised my heart continues to pound. I know it does because I can hear the blood rushing, roaring between my ears. “Are you… you can’t be… are you suggesting I take him as my lover?”

“For a short time, yes.”

I shove myself to a sitting position and glare at him, for all the good it does with the shadows hiding the details of our features. “Have you gone daft?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Well, I must wholeheartedly disagree.” I quickly scramble out of the bed, nearly tripping in my haste to escape, as though distance could lessen the abhorrence of the words he’s uttered. “If I wanted a lover, I’d choose him myself, and he certainly wouldn’t be Barkley.”

Another sigh, “Be honest here, Jayne. Your unquestionable loyalty will prevent you from ever taking a lover.”

“Then why would you even suggest it?” I ask.

“Because there would be no guilt.”

I shake my head, “And how, pray tell, did you deduce that utter nonsense?”

“Because you don’t fancy him at all, so it wouldn’t be as though you were truly betraying me.”

“You have gone daft.” I head for the door.

“Jayne? Please, don’t go. Please, hear me out.”

Stopping, I glance over my shoulder to see his arm extended, his hand reaching for me in the shadows of the night. I could win any argument with him by simply leaving the room. It’s not fair to him, and so we never argue. But this? This is preposterous.

“Please, Jayne.”

His voice is rough with his need for me to remain. It’s unfair… unfair of him to compel me to stay, knowing guilt would eat at me if I walked away when he couldn’t.

I tremble with anger and disgust at his suggestion regarding Barkley, yet still, I cautiously make my way back to Seafort. I clamber onto the bed, take his hand, and hold it in my lap, my legs tucked beneath me. I refuse to look at him and instead study the silhouette of our joined hands.

“The fact that you think so little of him is what makes my plan so brilliant,” he says quietly. “It is not as though you will be truly betraying me. Your heart will remain mine.”

“And my body his.” I can’t prevent the cutting words from slicing between us. What passes between a man and a she-wolf beneath the sheets is such an intimate act; how can he bear the thought of Barkley knowing about me what only Seafort has ever known?

“Barkley has a reputation for being a marvelous lover,” he begins.

I shake my head again, “I am well aware of that. He is all the she-wolves talk of.”

“So he can make it pleasant for you.” He squeezes my hand. “You deserve that at least.”

“All of London will know it’s not your child. That you’ve been cuckolded.”

“No, they won’t. I’ve never taken out an advert in the Alpha Times stating my limitations. Oh, there will be speculation, of course, but we can quell that easily enough once people see how thrilled I am that you are with child.”

I sigh, “And if it’s a boy?”

“Then I shall have my heir.” He says.

“But he will not carry your blood.” I mumble.

“He will carry my family’s blood. As I told Barkley, it will be close enough.”

My mouth tingles. I think I’m going to be ill. “You’ve already discussed this madness with him?”

“I had to know he was agreeable.” He says.

“Of course he would be agreeable. It is a skirt to lift.” I huff.

His low chuckle takes me by surprise. “He was not quite so in favor of it as I had expected. He did not think you would welcome him.”

“I will not.” I agree.

“Jayne, you’ve been a devoted mate. Why should you not have this?”

I’m grateful for the dark, that he can’t see the blush warming my cheeks or the tears filling my eyes.

“He can give you what I cannot,” he says softly. “You are a young she-wolf who has had to lock all her dreams in a musty old trunk because of your husband’s poor judgment.”

“In a friend. A friend to whom you would now give me. It’s revolting.”

“He did not force the drink down my throat. I went willingly into the curricle, encouraged the horses to go faster.”

I bring his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of his fingers, knowing he will feel the dampness coating my cheeks, the tears gathering at the corners of my mouth.

“Ah, Jayne.”

He wraps his hand around the nape of my neck and draws me down until my face is buried in the nook of his shoulder.

“Do not ask this of me,” I rasp.

“I will not force you. Neither will he, but know that I will understand if you change your mind. You deserve a child. You deserve a man who will not only put your pleasure above his but will ensure that your enjoyment far exceeds his.”

Not Barkley. Never Barkley. Sinners will have a need for overcoats in hell before I willingly give myself to the man I despise more than any other.