Her revengeful Bastard

Feels like a win

*Anna*

I wait nervously until the residence is completely quiet and absolutely still. Eerily so. I ignore Nan’s warnings and decline my maid’s offer to accompany me. If something goes awry, I don’t want my loyal servant to be faulted. Besides, there is a thrill to walking out of the residence unaccompanied. Until the precise moment when the door closes behind me and I find myself standing alone on the stoop, I never realized I have never ventured out without an entourage of servants waiting for me or following in my wake, or Kyle offering his arm.

But tonight it is only me. Well, I and the cab driver waiting at the end of the long drive that now echoes my hurried footsteps. I have made the arrangements earlier in the afternoon when I have supposedly gone shopping. Instead I have been scouting out my options for making a clandestine escape.

An unfortunate word that, but there are numerous ways to be caged and not all of them come with steel bars or locked doors.

The driver tips his cap-like hat and opens the door as I approach. “Miss”.

“Thank you, sir, for meeting me”. I tell home with a smile.

He returns the smile. “It’s not often I get paid double in advance of the trip”.

My earlier outing had included a visit to the bank in which I have an account where a small bit of money from a trust my father had set up for me is deposited each month … so I have some spending money. Most of the monthly allotment goes to the Alpha so he can oversee my needs without causing a burden to his own family. When I marry, it will go to my husband. If I am unmarried at twenty five, it will all begin coming to me. Until last night I had never contemplated the final option. But now it looms clear and welcome.

As I place my hand in the one the driver extends to me, a quiver of foreboding shimmers through me. If I am going to change my mind, now is the time to do it. Instead, I take a deep breath, climb inside and settle onto the seat. The door closes with a rather loud snap that gives me a little start.

“Where to, miss ?” He asks as he slides in behind the wheel.

I give him the address.

“I’ll have you there in a moment”. The chauffeur says and the car takes off.

I pull the hood of my coat up over my head, not that I think where I am going anyone will recognize me, but it seems the sort of thing a high ranked she-wolf traveling alone should do: hide her identity as much as possible. A lady going about without a chaperone is no lady at all.

A chill hangs in the air, or perhaps it is simply fear making my bones cold. All the responsibility rests with me, weighs on me. What if I have judged Kai incorrectly, what if he is exactly the sort of rapscallion the Luna warned me about, a man who would take advantage of a woman who is alone ?

With two sisters, how can he be ? How can he look them in the eye if he treats another woman poorly ?

It is nearing eleven. Few people are out but more than I expected wander about. I have often returned from a ball late at night but never given any heed to what is going on around me. Now I wonder who these people are. Why are they not abed ? What entertainment do they find at these hours ?

I see the hotel long before we reach it. It stands out like a talisman. The car comes to a halt, and I realize I have one more chance to change my mind, to instruct him to carry on, to take me home. Instead, when he opens the door, I allow him to help me out.

“I’ll wait till yer safely inside”. He says with a small nod.

I am not quite sure I am going to be any safer inside than out here, but I appreciate the sentiment. Marching up the steps, I see the red clad porter who is standing outside the double glass doors straighten his spine and touch his finger to his top hat. “Miss”.

As long as I can remember, I have been addressed as: “Miss Anna”. No doubt the term has followed me since the crib. It is odd to have two gentlemen not refer to me by name, but then proper she-wolves aren’t expected to be skulking about at all hours of the night.

“I’m here to see Mr. Tempest”. It suddenly occurs to me that it is very likely he isn’t in residence. In which case it will turn out to be a good thing the chauffour has remained.

“Top floor, miss”. He pulls open one of the doors.

“He’s in ?” An inane thing to ask at that moment since he certainly wouldn’t have provided entry if the person I am seeking wasn’t about.

He gives a short nod. “Aye”.

Giving a nod, I glance back at the car and the driver waiting patiently. “Will you wait twenty minutes ? I’ll pay you for your time”. My visit shouldn’t take any longer than that.

“My pleasure, miss. And don’t worry about the additional fee. You’ve more than covered my time already”. He tells me with a smile.

“Thank you”. With a little wave, I turn back and stroll inside.

A man stands behind the desk where guests receive the keys to their rooms. “Evening, miss”.

“I’m here to see Mr. Tempest”. At this rate, all of the city is going to know I am here and who I have come to visit. I haven’t given this part of my plan adequate thought. Obviously organizing clandestine meetings isn’t my forte.

I start up the sweeping staircase and climb, climb, climb until there are no more red carpeted steps, only a long hallway with several closed wooden doors and one glass one. Etched in the glass is the word Tempest. As it is nearest to me, and I can see a light shining from within the depths beyond, I decide to start there.

The door silently opens into a sitting area with a large desk where I suspect Mr. Willoughby works while people wait to have an audience with Kai. I assume that is the owner’s office farther inside. The door is open. I creep toward it …

He sits behind a desk of dark wood, almost ebony in color, twice the size of Willoughby’s. He wears no jacket or waistcoat or tie. The buttons at his throat are undone, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up past his elbows as though he is in the thick of laboring. His hair curled in disarray. Little bits of shadow just above and below his beard hints he has not shaved recently. He seems rough, dangerous, a product of his origins. My mind betrays me with the thought that I have never seen anyone look so marvelously masculine and alluring.

He is reading from a stack of papers, occasionally scratching a pen over the parchment. The sight of him does funny things to my insides, as though a thousand butterflies are fluttering around. He pauses, lifts his head, pierces me with his hazel gaze, and it is like the one time I had dared to climb a tree, and I fell from my perch and hit the ground hard. I struggle to draw in breath, thinking it will forever be denied to me … and then it swooshes back in with a sweet, delicious ache.

Slowly, so slowly that his movements are almost imperceptible, he sets down his pen and comes to his feet. “Lady Anna”.

His voice is raw, as though he has not had anything to drink in a century, although there is a glass of amber liquid on his desk, near the edge of the papers, within easy reach. Perhaps whatever he has been sipping has burned his throat.

“Mr. Tempest”. The name is a half whisper.

He darts a glance toward the windows as though to confirm it is still night beyond these walls. His gaze comes back to me. “How might I be of service ?”

Gathering my resolve, I march forward and set the leather box in the center of his desk. “A she-wolf cannot accept such a precious gift from a gentleman with whom she is merely an acquaintance”.

Slowly his deep hazel gaze travels over me, seeming to halt a fraction of a second at each button, each ribbon, each clasp. “The last time you returned a gift to me, you had a solicitor handle the matter”.

I notice a small leather box on the corner of his desk. Is it the cameo ? Does he keep it visible as a reminder that I had rejected his gift ? But if he is bothered by it, surely he wouldn’t have given me a tour or danced with me. “At the time, I didn’t know where to find you”.

He drops his gaze to the box containing the pearls and comb, then looks at me through lowered lids. “It’s not a gift but simply the return of something that belongs to you”.

“I’m certain you had to pay to obtain it”. I point out.

He gives a little shrug as if it is of no consequence. “Purchase it from me, then”.

A thousand dollars alone is what the comb cost. The pearls have probably been valued the same or perhaps more. I am quite certain it isn’t going to be an even swap, but I do long to have them back. “How much ?”

“A quid”. He gives a small shrug.

“I’m certain he charged you more. I have a thousand …”.

“Have you taken leave of your senses ?” He bellows, his eyes flashing in a way that reminds me of the hottest flames dancing in a fire. “You’re walking around the city at night with a thousand dollars on you ?”

I shake my head. “No, I traveled in a car”.

“And what if some bloke decided to stop that car and rob it ? Or the driver ? Rob you ? Take that money off your pretty little person ?” He growls.

Does he think I am pretty ? He is angry with me, and yet I can’t seem to be frightened by his belligerence. Rather it warms me that he seems to care about my safety, even though I feel I have taken adequate precautions to ensure it. “Why would someone think I was worth robbing ?”

“Because you’re dressed in finery like a lady who might be silly enough to walk around the city with a thousand quid stuffed in her …”. He waves his hand at me as though he thinks I may have stashed it in an unmentionable area.

“My purse”. I add.

His whole body is tense. “Well, he would have not stopped with the taking of it. He would have given you a thorough search …”.

I don’t care to hear where he might have searched. “As I said, I did not walk. Well, except up your steps, and then there was your man to look out for me”.

The fury seems to deflate out of him. “There are men around here who would kill for a thousand quid”.

“I suspect there are some who would cheat for it, as well. Did your bricklayer cheat while playing cards with Kyle ?” I ask.

“No. My people know I don’t tolerate cheating. I would have let him go. A man who cheats at cards might cheat elsewhere, including in the work he gives me. Besides, my brothers were watching. The problem, Lady Anna, is that your fiance bends his elbow as much as he holds the cards. Guzzling too much drink hampers a man’s judgment, his ability to calculate the odds of winning”. He explains.

I fear drinking isn’t the only problem Kyle has. “Since he lost fair and square then, and you’ve offered to sell the items to me, tell me how much I owe you”.

“I told you. A dollar”. He says.

I shake my head. “I don’t believe you”.

He arches a dark brow over one of those beautiful hazel eyes. “Are you calling me a liar ?”

I angle up my chin. “Yes. I quite believe I am”.

His laughter, deep and masculine, circles around me, sending the elseway calmed butterflies back into flight. “No one has ever dared call me a liar … at least not to my face”.

“I just find it very diflficult to believe the gent last night would be willing to settle for so little when he obviously knew the pieces were of value”. I point out.

“He had no idea of their value. He based their worth on what he could tell about the lady who was wearing them. He knows quality when he sees it”. He says.

I force myself to look into his eyes. “What did he insist you pay in order to hand them over to you ?”

“He owes me his livelihood. As a favor, he traded them to me for a quid”. Another small shrug.

I shake my head. “I can’t give you only a quid. It doesn’t seem right”.

“I gave a fiver to the lad who delivered them to your home. You can reimburse me for that as well”.

Stubborn man. If he really paid a quid, I will eat my left shoe. Opening my handbag, I scrounge through it until I locate the money I need. I place them on the desk, take the leather box and drop it into my bag.

He leaves the money where they are, tips his head toward the corner of his desk, grinning. “You can purchase the cameo for another dollar”.

I am not half tempted. “You paid a good deal more for it than that. I, too, recognize quality. And don’t tell me the jeweler owes you his livelihood so he sold it to you on the cheap. It is frightfully pretty, though”.

“My mum always longed to have a cameo, she thought it was something posh she-wolves wore”. He says.

I c**k an eyebrow. “You should give it to her, then”.

“I’ve given her a dozen by now. Anytime I see one that’s a little bit different, I pick it up for her. Makes it special that I was thinking of her when I bought it. I wasn’t thinking of her when I purchased this one”. His eyes burn into mine.

I feel my cheeks warm. He had been thinking of me. It isn’t as though I hadn’t known that fact. Still, having it voiced makes it seem all the more scandalous, especially because I find myself wondering exactly what visions of me might have been prancing through his head at that time. “I can’t accept it”.

“Not even as a betrothal gift ?” He tilts his head slightly.

My cheeks warme further, and I am surprised they don’t ignite. “That would be entirely inappropriate”.

“Pity”. He says with a small sigh that doesn’t sound sad at all.

I glance around the room, at the bookcase of ledgers, the one of books, a piece of wooden furniture that is naught but nooks, crannies and drawers in an assortment of sizes. In addition to the chair behind his desk, there are two in front of it. Black leather, thickly padded. Those who carry on business with him will be comfortable while doing it. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the lamp on his desk. I wonder why I haven’t noticed before. He seems to loom within my vision, to absorb my entire focus. “You have a very nice office”. A corner one at that, with windows behind him and on the wall off to the side.

I wander over to a side window and glance out. It faces the street where the car stopped. The driver is still waiting, even though I suspect twenty minutes have passed. Although he makes no sound, I am acutely aware of Kai coming to stand just behind my left shoulder. The room shrinks with his nearness.

“That building across the street, on the corner, is that the one your sister wants for her bookshop ?” Based on the windows, it is three stories in height and has a quaint appearance to it.

“It is”. He says.

I try to keep my voice levelled. “Are you going to let her have it ?”

“If she truly desires it”. His voice has gone lower, raspier, as though he is answering a different question entirely. His mouth is hovering extremely closely to the nape of my neck. I can feel his breath stirring loose tendrils of my hair.

My mouth is suddenly dry. I couldn’t have swallowed if my life depended on it.

“Why are you truly here, Anna ?” He asks.

No formality. His use of only my name creates an intimacy that is thick with promise. I shouldn’t be here, and yet I seem incapable of forcing myself to leave. Is this how Kyle had felt at the table last night, when he has been desperate for my pearls ?

“You’ve been spending time with Kyle”. I say.

“On a couple of occasions, yes. He had an interest in the questionable parts of the city”. He admits.

I breathe in slowly. “I want you to dissuade him from traveling these paths that will lead him to ruin”.

Although I gaze out on the street, and he is behind me, I am very much aware of him going very still. “I cannot prevent a man from seeking what he desires, but I can see he comes to no harm in his pursuits”.

“You wield that much power within the darker realms of the city ?” I find myself asking.

“They shaped me into what I am. Unlike Kyle, I neither worship nor bow before them”. His breath fans over my neck.

My own voice is a mere whisper. “Yet you make use of them”.

“When it suits my purposes or the purposes of those who come to me seeking something that lies beyond their reach but is within my grasp to grant. Tell me, Anna, what do you desire ?”

His low, mesmerizing voice shrouds me in a veil of trust. All the naughty images, the improper thoughts that plagues me when I let down my ladylike guard come rushing to the foreground. Images that inappropriately fill my mind when he is near. “Things to which I can give no voice”.

“The darker pleasures, then”.

His mouth, hot and moist, lands where my neck curves into my shoulder. My eyes slide closed. His tongue laps at my skin. Of its own accord, my head drops back as heat sluices through me, pools in my belly, then swirls lower to settle between my thighs.

His lips trails along my throat. His hand cups my cheek, turns my head slightly, tilts it up. His mouth retreats. Opening my eyes, I find myself staring into the hazel depths of his.

“So many sins from which to choose”. He rasps, just before lowering his mouth to mine.

With a gentle nudging of his tongue, he urges me to part my lips. I comply, and my world spins upside down as he explores the hidden depths with a fervor that matches my own. Here, here is the heat I had expected of a kiss. The demand for more, the yearning for all.

His mouth is delicious and wicked and skilled. I don’t want to contemplate all the practicing it has taken to hone such remarkable talent. There is nothing cool, nothing proper, nothing distant in his actions. He is fully involved, devouring my mouth as though me alone provides sustenance, as though only through me can he be sated.

My heart pounds with such ferocity that I am certain he has to feel it when he pulls me in closer, flattening my breasts against his broad chest. The blood rushes through my ears. My nerve endings tingle, dampness forms between my thighs. There is a throbbing, a pulsing at my feminine core that urges me to press myself nearer. He growls, his vibrating chest sending ripples of pleasure coursing through me. I need to put a name to what I am feeling, to the sensations bursting through me. An insane thought flashes through my mind.

The kiss feels like winning.