Seduced by the Alpha prince

Tense breakfast

*Jayne*

I slip out of my mate’s bed near dawn, leaving him in the company of his snores. I haven’t slept well. Guilt rears its ugly head, guilt that I lost his heir. Not that I know for certain that the babe had been a boy, but in my heart, I can’t help but think that he had been. Losing the child felt like losing a piece of my soul. And when the full extent of Seafort’s injuries becameclear, all our dreams went astray.

But for him to believe that I would welcome into my bed the man responsible is beyond the pale. Reviling. It makes me sick at heart. I’m grateful that I have far too many other things to occupy my mind today as I prepare for the arrival of my guests. The sooner I get started working on what needs to be done, the sooner I can shove these unsettling thoughts from my mind.

I ring for my maid, Lily. Within the hour, I’m dressed in a simple lilac dress so I can move about quickly. At noon, I will change into something more appropriate for receiving my guests.

Once a yearly event, we haven’t hosted a hunt since the accident. I’ve feared it would serve as both a distraction from what might have been and a reminder of what has been. But Seafort insists it’s long past time that we begin to socialize once more. Finally embracing the notion, I have high expectations for uncharacteristic normalcy for a few days.

An expectation that splatters before me when I stride into the breakfast dining room and see Barkley already seated at the table. I had assumed he would sleep in, not be up with the sun.

Barkley immediately sets aside his teacup and rises to his feet. “Luna Seafort.”

“My prince.”

“I hope you’re well.”

“Your hopes do not concern me, my prince.”

I think I notice a tautening in his jaw. I’m not usually rude to people, but for him, I’m more than willing to make an exception.

“Allow me to express my appreciation for the lovely accommodations,” he says laconically.

It seems we will spar with words this morning. Already I’m weary of it.

Seafort would be upset with me if he knew I’d given his exalted guest the smallest bedchamber in the farthest corner of the manor. As a Prince, he should have been given a suite of rooms. I suddenly, against my will, feel petty. “We have so many guests arriving…”

“No need to explain. I rather enjoy overlooking the stables.” He says.

I want the subject changed before I offer him a more accommodating room. “I’d not expected you to be about so early.”

“I thought I might be of service.”

Had I been eating, I would have choked. “Here? Now? You arrogant cad! To think that I would accept anything at all from you, but especially…”

“My help with the hounds?” he interrupts. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I’m sure your huntsman is quite up to the task of seeing that all is ready tomorrow for the hunt.”

I go light-headed and chilled, aware of all the blood draining from my face. He’s been offering to help me prepare for my guests. That’s the service to which he alludes, not bedding me, not getting me with child. Seafort has put these silly notions into my head, and I seem unable to rid myself of them.

“Yes, he is. Quite.” I hate that my voice sounds unsteady, that I’m unnerved by what I’ve interpreted him to be saying. I sweep over to the sideboard, striving to stop the trembling in my hands as I select ham, eggs, and a muffin for my plate.

Drat it! He’s waiting to assist me with my chair when I turn around. At least he has the grace to put me at the end of the table farthest from where he is seated. He hasn’t taken the head of the table but rather, a chair along the side.

“I desire nothing from you,” I whisper as I take the chair he offers.

He leans in, filling my nostrils with his rich, tangy scent of bergamot and clove. “Then nothing you shall have,” he says, his voice low, sensually belying the words he’s spoken, indicating instead that I would have it all. Everything.

The man is indeed a master at seduction, but I will not be seduced. Barkley and I sit without speaking for several interminable minutes, the only sound the scraping of silver over china.

Finally, I dare to peer up at him, only to find his gaze homed in on me as he slowly chews. He is as handsome as the devil, too beautiful, really. He has one imperfection, and it is presently not visible to me. A scar on his jaw. The wound had still been bleeding when he came to tell me there had been an accident and Seafort was horribly injured. Barkley had reeked of excesses and indulgences... and the coppery scent of blood. My mate’s blood had stained his torn and rumpled clothing.

Barkley had looked scared that night. And young. It is easy to forget that he is only a little older than I. He has always seemed so mature, in control. Many think he is the oldest of the three brothers, but in fact, he is the youngest. The night I first met him, I was struck by his stylishness and confidence. I knew of his reputation, of course. She-wolves swoon at his feet. Of late, there seems to be an inordinate abundance of spinsters, as she-wolves refrain from accepting offers of marriage on the off chance that Barkley would honor one of them by asking for her hand. With his thick dark hair and startling green eyes, he is a god among mere mortals.

I despise him with every breath of my being.

He wipes his mouth with his napkin, elegance in his motions, tempered with masculinity. His large hands hold power. His sensual mouth as well. I can imagine him skillfully using both to elicit pleasure. He seems to hesitate before saying, “Seafort appears… more frail since last I saw him.”

“He is limited to two activities. Sitting and lying. Neither of which is very active. His muscles atrophy. I fear soon nothing will be left of him.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t meant to reveal the last, to give him even a hint of my vulnerability. It terrifies me to think of a life without Seafort. Even as he is, I decide, is better than not having him at all. I shore up my resolve, determined to hurt this man who has destroyed so much. “Tell me, my prince, does the guilt ever hammer at you enough that you would wish to trade places with him?”

“I would give my soul that he were not crippled. But I must confess to being far too selfish to wish to trade places with him.” He says softly.

Setting down my napkin, I push back my chair and rise. “We are very different, you and I. We do not suit at all. I would trade places with him in an instant to spare him all he suffers now, even though I did not cause the suffering that is visited upon him.”

Barkley flinches, the lash of my words hitting home. As I turn and sweep from the room, I wonder why I find no satisfaction in the triumph.