Seduced by the Alpha prince

Even if it kills her

*Jayne*

It is not so much the actual hunting of the fox that I enjoy, but the chase. The scramble over hill and dale, the leaping over hedgerows and fences makes the sport so exciting.

I couldn’t care less about the fox. No, not true, I think. I’ve always been greatly relieved if no foxes are actually killed. I know that is unlikely today. Without the annual hunt, the foxes are now in abundance. I am quite certain that at least one will lose its life this day.

But I won’t be there to witness the brutality of it. I have strayed off from the main group. It isn’t that I’m not in the mood for cheer. It is simply that I’m having a frightfully difficult time pretending that everything is as it has once been.

It had been particularly grueling to watch Seafort, sitting in that monstrosity of a saddle, his head held high, his smile broad, signaling for the hunt to begin… and then to be left behind. I doubt anyone else has noticed that his grin does not reach his eyes. He had so loved the hunt.

I had been tempted to return to the estate with him. I almost did. But then Barkley, who also held back, arched a brow at me, and I doubted my reasons for wanting to stay. Is he correct in his assessment? Do I add to Seafort’s burdens when I refuse to partake in activities that he can no longer enjoy? Had he not indicated the same last night when he mentioned how I might lessen his sorrows?

Now I am riding as though the very devil is on my heels. I can even hear him. I glance back. Blast it! Barkley is galloping toward me. I thought he was going to return to the manor with Seafort, keep him company. I hate thinking of my mate alone. I should turn about. Instead, I increase my horse’s pace, then settle in as the hedgerow comes into view. We fly over it, and for that brief moment in time, I am free.

But the landing is ungainly. Cassiopeia loses her footing, screaming as she goes down, tossing me off in the process. I hit the ground hard in a graceless sprawl. By the time I shove myself into a sitting position, Cassie is standing again, but it is obvious all is not right. She favors her right leg. Sorrow fills me because of the suffering I have caused the poor horse. What in the world had I been attempting to prove?

“Jayne!”

I hear Barkley’s voice before he appears at the hedgerow, bringing his horse to a halt, taking in the situation on the other side. “f**k! I saw you tumble. Are you injured?”

“I see no reason for cursing,” I say as I gingerly push myself to my feet. My bottom and hip will no doubt be bruised on the morrow. Not that I intend to reveal that bit of intimacy to Barkley.

“Stay there,” he orders. “I’m coming over.”

Standing as I am on a small rise, I am able to see him as he trots away, turns about, and urges his mount toward the hedgerow. They vault over it with such grace, the horse and man obviously one; it is quite a breathtaking sight. I don’t wish to be impressed with his horsemanship. But I am. Blast him.

He dismounts with such elegant yet powerful ease. I can see the corded muscles of his thighs bunching and rippling. His long, sure strides carry him toward me. He is magnificent, and I curse myself for noticing.

With eyes the green of clover upon which I have once lain, he scrutinizes every aspect of me, causing flesh bumps to erupt over my skin. Such a strange reaction when I am suddenly unbearably warm, my breathing labored as though he clasps me in an unyielding embrace when he is touching me not at all.

“Are you injured?” he asks, the concern in his voice mixed with determination. He is not one to be trifled with. He will ferret out any untruth. Not that I care. He doesn’t intimidate or frighten me. He quite simply irritates me.

“No.”

His eyes narrow sharply, and I capitulate. “A bit bruised, but nothing to worry over. It is Cassie for whom I have concern.” I make to march past him and nearly tumble again when I bring my full weight down on my right foot. His hand is immediately beneath my elbow, supporting me with so little effort.

“You are hurt.” His curt tone reminds me too much of the chastisement I received from Seafort last night.

“It’s nothing. A slight sprain, perhaps. Nothing about which to panic. You’re quite overreacting.”

“Will you be able to dance tonight?”

What an idiotic question. “I don’t dance.”

He stiffens, his fingers tightening on my arm, his gaze riveted on mine as though I am suddenly a puzzle whose pieces have not been put together properly. “I have had the pleasure of watching you dance. No she-wolf is as elegant upon the dance floor as you.”

“I did not mean that I am incapable of dancing. Rather, I do not, by choice, dance. You may release me.”

He does so, ever so slowly, as though with great reluctance. “Why do you no longer dance?”

“Because Seafort can’t.”

“I thought since you have become involved in the hunt, that you agreed with my earlier assessment that to not do what you are capable of doing is merely a punishment for him.”

I shake my head, “Your argument might apply to the hunt, but I seriously doubt he would take pleasure in me waltzing in the arms of other men.”

“I think he would take pleasure in your smile and the sparkle in your eyes.”

An image of being swept along in Barkley’s arms flashes through my mind. We have never danced. Even before the accident. He kept his distance. I have never thought to wonder why. Not that it signifies. “I think you’re mistaken. Now I must see to Cassie.”

“Allow me to approach her first. If she’s in pain, she could strike out.”

I don’t like his ordering me about, but neither can I deny the wisdom in his words. The last thing I need is to be incapacitated when I have so many guests to see after. So I stay where I am, gingerly testing my own foot. Surely it will be fine by evening.

I watch as Barkley removes his gloves. To provide more comfort to the horse, I suppose. His fingers are long, elegant, his hands large. He strokes Cassie’s withers, murmuring softly, giving all his attention to the horse as though it is the most important creature in the world.

I suspect he does the same with the she-wolves who warm his bed. I do not want to consider what it might be like to have those capable hands skimming over my flesh. It has been so long, so very long, since I have been caressed intimately. Seafort seldom touches me at all without me initiating the contact, and then it is merely a brief joining of our hands or a quick brush of his knuckles over my cheek.

I doubt that Barkley would do anything swiftly. He would linger, entice, stir passion to life. I can’t hear the words with which he soothes the horse, but the rich timbre of his voice carries toward me, sending shivers of such intense yearning through me that I nearly lose my balance.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I gather myself up. It is only because of Seafort’s stupid proposal and Barkley’s inappropriate words on the bench in the garden last night that my mind is wandering to these dark, forbidden places where I have long ago buried my desires. Through gritted teeth, I curse them both soundly.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Barkley crouches, his breeches stretching tightly over his backside and muscular thighs. It is quite obvious that he does not spend his entire day indoors. He does not lollygag about. He is firm and sculpted as though by the hand of a great artist. I imagine how the she-wolves must have taken such delight in running their hands over a body that is certain to please.

Good Goddess, it is suddenly so remarkably hot. What strange weather we are experiencing this year.

He gingerly examines Cassie’s leg, and I lament that I had been so quick to brush off his wanting to ascertain the extent of my injury. To have him knead my calf, my foot… to simply be touched with tenderness. I long to have it in my life once more. Perhaps I should consider taking a lover. Although Seafort might not be so keen to accept a child who doesn’t carry Seymour blood.

“How…” Surprised by the strangled sound, I clear my throat. “How does she fare?”

Still crouched, he twists around, the front of his breeches much more impressive than the back. I jerk my gaze up to his, expecting to see him mocking me, but if he has any notion regarding where my eyes and thoughts have strayed, he gives no indication. A spark of gratitude I don’t want to feel worms its way through me.

“Fortunately, it’s not broken. Just a slight sprain, I think. But she will need to be walked back to the stables. I can do that if you would like to take my horse.”

“A Luna does not ride astride.”

“I can replace my saddle with yours.” He unfolds his body, a study in perfect balance and movement. “Although to be honest, I have always thought the sidesaddle looked like a torture device.” I detect a slight challenge in his gaze.

How does he know that I have long yearned to ride astride? It seems a much more pleasant way to travel, but to spread my legs over the horse in front of Barkley feels like a rather naughty endeavor. “I will walk her back.”

“Coward.” His voice is low yet teasing.

“I’m not,” I insist. I glance around for my riding crop, locate it, and retrieve it. If he continues down this path, I might just use it on him.

“I will at least accompany you back to the manor,” he says.

I shake my head, “I see no need. I’m quite familiar with our grounds.”

“I must insist. The bore might make another appearance.”

“I have no fear of Sheffield.” I point out.

He grins, “Well, then, perhaps you will be kind enough to protect me from him.”

Gingerly, careful of my step, I make my way to Cassie and take the reins. “Truly, Barkley, I see no need for you to give up the hunt.”

“Whatever makes you think I have given it up?”

I jerk my head up, only to find him watching me with such intensity that I am unable to hold his gaze. I pet Cassie because the action gives me something to think about other than him. Is he insinuating that I am his quarry? Why does the thought fill me with inappropriate giddiness? He wouldn’t be giving me any attention at all if Seafort hadn’t set him on my path. What interest do I have in a man who notices me only because I belong to another?

If I were wise, I would accept his offer to change saddles and allow me to ride his horse. If I had any sense at all, I would simply straddle his horse now and gallop home. His nearness unsettles me. His masculinity flusters me. It has been so long since I have done little more than exist. He gazes upon me as though I am lovely, desirable. As though I am once again a she-wolf.

I straighten my spine and force myself to meet his unrelenting gaze. “I have no interest in your attentions.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Has Seafort instructed you to give them to me regardless of my preference on the matter?” I ask.

He shakes his head, “I saw you take a tumble. I came to assist. Make no more of it than that.”

“You deny following me?”

“Seafort asked me to watch over you.”

I give a light huff, “I love him.”

“I never thought otherwise.” His somber voice reflects sadness.

“I miss him,” I rasp, blasted tears once again threatening to consume me.

His lips part, and I hold up a hand to stay whatever it is he plans to say. I do not want his sympathy, his reassurances, or his flirtations. I shake my head briskly. “Partaking in this hunt was a dreadful idea. I must return to the manor now to see that tonight’s ball does not disappoint.”

“My horse is spirited, but I’m certain you can manage him. Allow me to change the saddles.” He leans in, his mouth forming a conspiratorial smile. “Or ride astride. It would save time.”

Oh, I am not half tempted. But that would require assistance, and Barkley is the only one near enough to assist, which would bring our bodies into much too close proximity. He would either have to boost me up, his hands forming a cradle for my foot, or he would lift me, his hands clasping my waist, my hands folding over his broad shoulders. On the way up, my breasts might brush against his chest. My n*****s pucker painfully at the thought. Perhaps he is right; perhaps I am a coward. I shake my head. “No, I shall walk back.”

He grabs the reins of both horses, leading them while I stroll beside him.

“Are you certain you can manage with your foot?”

“It was only a momentary discomfort. I shall be fine.” And I will. If it kills me.