Her revengeful Bastard

A perfect partner

*Anna*

I should have declined. Any well-breed she-Wolf with a fiance would have. Not that a betrothed female isn’t allowed to dance with a man who isn’t her mate to be, but I certainly shouldn’t be so near to a man whose hands, although properly placed … one on my back and the other providing a haven for my fingers … causes me to long for them to be improperly placed, caressing the nape of my neck, stroking my bare shoulders, cradling my face as he leans in …

Oh, dear goddess. I want that deliciously wicked mouth of his doing all the things I dream of his hands doing. It is wrong, so wrong.

And he is incorrect. I do experience passion where Kyle is concerned, and it is more than the childish desires of small things like a butterfly landing on my outstretched hand or a day without lessons. I have womanly passions. How often have I thought about Kyle kissing me ? A thousand at least, although not nearly as often as I have envisioned Kai kissing me during the short time I have known him.

Kai. I can’t call him that to his face. It is far too intimate, but in the hidden recesses of my mind where I hold on to dreams that will never see reality, I can be less formal. Kai.

“Is it short for something ?” I ask.

He arches a dark brow. “Pardon ?”

“Your name. Is it short for something else ? Is that the name that was registered at your birth ?” I explain.

“My birth wasn’t registered. My mum just called me Kai”. He simply answers.

I have never given any thought to the fact that there are those for whom records are not kept. My ancestry as well as Kyle’s are charted back generations, their births heralded, applauded, blessed. While Kai’s had come about in secret and in disgrace. Suddenly it seems wrong that any child should be looked upon with shame, as though it is responsible for its existence. “It’s a strong name”.

“I think it was Mae Tempest’s husband’s name”. He says softly.

I look up at him. “She’s a widow, then”.

“She is”. He gives a small nod.

“I’m sorry. It’s sad for a woman to lose her man”. I don't know what else to say.

He nods. “She didn’t marry him for title, position or wealth, as he possessed none of those things. But he did possess her heart”.

I am touched by his words. I didn’t expect such sentiments from him. “You’re a romantic after all, deep down”.

He shakes his head lightly. “No. A realist”.

“A realist who waltzes like a dream”. I couldn’t have spoken truer words. As he sweeps me over the floor, his movements are smooth, confident, poised. Never before have I been treated to such exceptional dancing. I have no fear he will step on my slippered feet. “Where did you learn that ?”

“From my first lover”. He sends me a cheeky grin.

A bubble of self conscious laughter burst forth. I can scarcely believe he just tossed out the words so matter of factly, as though discussing one’s lovers are not scandalous in the extreme. “Ah, I

suppose I should appreciate the honesty”. Even if I don’t want to think about him in the arms of another woman. “She liked to waltz, did she ?”

“Not particularly. She was the widow of a famous Alpha, liked a bit of the rough, and I suited her purposes. The first time we were together, afterward, she offered me a quid, like I was a bloody w***e”. There is hurt in his eyes.

I fight not to look appalled, and yet I am. Not so much by his crude words, although no one has ever spoken to me so bluntly before, but that his actions had been viewed as a service by a Luna. I am equally appalled that a woman of high rank would seek such services. Men have carnal needs. That is understood, accepted. But she-wolves are above all that. Or so I have always thought. Perhaps my latest wanton musings are not without merit. “It must have hurt your pride”.

The words seem trite and stupid when voiced aloud. “I mean …”.

“Don’t make a fuss over it. I told you, a woman’s passions are different from a child’s. She was a

young widow with a great deal of pent up appetites. She wanted things from me in bed. I wanted things from her out of it. So we struck a deal. She taught me how to dress for the position I wanted in the world … not the one I held. How to address my betters …”.

I can’t quite envision him thinking anyone is his better.

“ … drink tea with a Luna, dine with a queen, and waltz. In essence how to be a gentleman. I’ve yet to drink tea with a Luna or dine with the queen, but perhaps an opportunity will yet present itself. Just as tonight, this moment is the first time I’ve put her dancing lessons into practice”. He admits.

He makes me feel special in ways I haven’t since my own introduction to the queen. “I’m honored. Why wait so long ?”

“Because there was no one with whom I wished to dance”. His eyes burn into mine.

I nearly stumble, might have, but his hold on me tightens fractionally, his gaze never wavering

from mine. “A proper gentleman doesn’t say something like that to a woman who is not his future mate”. I chastise.

“But I am not a proper gentleman”. He laughs softly.

“Yet you claim to want to be one, and that involves more than tea, dining and dancing. It involves knowing what is proper to say to a female and what is not”. I point out.

He bows his head slightly. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was not my intent. It seems my lessons are lacking to some extent”.

I suspect he knows precisely what he is about, what is acceptable conversation and what is not. Still, with no wish to insult him, I shake my head. “I may have overreacted. I’m not accustomed to harmless flirtation. From the moment I had my coming out, all the ranked wolves knew I was spoken for, even if it wasn’t formally announced yet. When they danced with me, we usually discussed the weather”.

He gives a slight shrug. “They were idiots”.

“They were behaving as gentlemen. Did your lady friend not teach you the acceptable topics of

conversations ?” I ask.

“I could make you blush if I shared with you the topics we discussed”. Another boyish grin.

I should cease the discussion, yet I find myself intrigued by it. Kyle never speaks to me about unsuitable subjects; he never speaks with me passionately, never makes me blush with little more than an intense look, a smile, an innuendo. “I do hope you won’t try. I don’t blush prettily”.

“You’re blushing right now, and I’ve never been so mesmerized”. It sounds so disarmingly honest coming from him.

“Mr. Tempest …”. My cheeks grow warmer.

He shakes his head slightly. “Kai”.

“Kai”. I say with a small sigh.

“I like the way my name sounds on your lips”. There is a new tone to his voice, it’s like it wraps around me.

I swallow. “Please don’t do this”.

“Don’t do what precisely, Anna ?” He softly asks.

Make me wish I wasn’t yet engaged to be mated, make me question the passion I feel for Kyle or the lack of it. We are friends. We have always been friends. How often has the Luna told me that a fortunate woman marries her dearest friend ? That a deep and binding love might not be there in the beginning but it will arrive with time. “We’re moving into inappropriate waters”.

“If you were truly offended, you would move out of my arms”. He points out.

“I was taught not to bring embarrassment to my host”. I shoot back.

He titles his head slightly. “Is that the only reason ?”

“No. I’m indebted to the widowed Luna. You are a marvelous dance partner. You make me feel as though I’m waltzing on clouds”. I admit.

His eyes darken with his pleasure, even as their intensity increases. I have the fleeting thought that if the music never ceases its playing, I wouldn’t object. And yet it does end, the final strains of the melody drifting away.

Releasing his hand, stepping back, I fight not to have a sense of loss as the distance between us grows. “Thank you for the dance”. I say it as kindly, yet as dismissively as I can. For my own sake and as a reminder to myself regarding where my loyalties reside.

“It was my pleasure”. He gives me a slight bow of his head.

“I daresay I really have kept you too long from your other guests. I’m certain there are numerous ladies who will seek you out for a dance now that they’ve witnessed the grace with which you command the dance floor”. I tell him.

His eyes still lingers on mine. “Then they will face disappointment”.

I don’t know how to respond. He says things I long for Kyle to utter. What a beastly fiancee I am, to compare my betrothed with a man I barely know and certainly can never marry. After giving him a small smile, I make my way off the dance floor, grateful he doesn’t attempt to accompany or follow me.

I need to find Kyle. Where the devil is he? He has been gone far too long, and I suspect he has gotten up to some mischief. I am grateful when I spy Lea talking with a slender man who possesses the most vibrant red hair I have ever seen.

The girl’s face brightens. “Miss Anna, allow me to introduce Mr. Willoughby”.

“It’s a pleasure”. I say.

His cheeks flush so deep a red that his freckles nearly disappear. “My lady”.

“Are you enjoying yourself ?” Lea asks.

“I am indeed, but I seem to have lost my escort. I wondered if you have seen him”. I give her a friendly smile.

She makes a thoughtful face. “Not since he wandered off to the card room with my brothers. Although I have seen them here and there, as cards never seem to hold their interest for very long. I suspect because they probably lose their hard earned coins too rapidly. I daresay if Kyle is still playing, he must be frightfully skilled at winning”.

“Would you mind directing me to the card room, then ?” If Kyle is still there, perhaps I can convince him to set aside the cards in favor of a dance with me.

“I’ll escort you”. Mr. Willoughby says.

I smile at him. “Thank you”.

Unlike Kai, he doesn’t offer his arm or stand so near to me that I can inhale his fragrance. “I understand you’re Mr. Tempest’s secretary”.

“Yes, m’lady”. He gives a small nod.

“That must involve a lot of work”. I say.

“I would do anything the man asks of me without complaint. I’m alive only because of him”. His voice is suddenly passionate.

His words stop me in my tracks. “How so ?”

“People think because my father wouldn’t marry my mother that I must have inherited his low morals. Or hers, for being bedded by a man to whom she was not wed. The only work I could find was on the docks”. He looks down on himself. “And as you can see, I’m not built for hauling cargo. I usually got let go before I got paid. I was fourteen, thinking of doing something I ought not, something that would prove I was indeed cut from the same cloth as the man who sired me, something that, if I were caught, would see me on the gallows. Mr. Tempest heard of my plight somehow. Dunno. Maybe my mum told his mum. We lived in the same squalid area. Anyway, he offered to hire a tutor for me and told me if I could learn everything I needed to learn within a year, I would never go hungry again. He provided for my mum so we had a roof over our head and food in our bellies. Not a lot but enough. I learned everything I needed to learn. Became his secretary. I wanted to pay him back, too. Every penny that it had cost him during that year when he took a chance on me. He instructed me to use my money to help some other lad. If you owe Kai Tempest, you pay him back by helping someone else. And here I am blathering on and on when I’m supposed to be taking you to the card room”. He smiles warmly.

“You admire him”. I know I am pointing out the obvious.

“No better man as far as I’m concerned”. He ducks his head slightly as though embarrassed by his vehement support of his employer. “Card room’s just up here”.

As impressed as I am with the hotel, I am more impressed with what I have just learned about Kai Tempest. A man who has gained so much yet continued to reach back to pull others up after him. In comparison, the dresses no longer in style or which I have grown bored of that I donated to charity seems a rather laughable effort at improving the state of the world.

I follow Mr. Willoughby down the corridor and into a room that isn’t nearly as well lit as the ballroom. A smoky haze burns my eyes. There are several circular tables around which men and women sit while cards are tossed in front of them.

“Can I help you with anything else ?” Mr. Willoughby asks.

“No, thank you. I should be able to make my way from here”. If Kyle is within these walls, I will find him, and if he isn’t, well, I am not certain what I will do then, except perhaps have the car brought around and see myself home. I don’t believe he has left without me, but at this moment I don’t know what to think, except to feel a measure of frustration with him for abandoning me completely for so long.

I wander around the tables. Money is heaped in the center of some. Waiters hurry about, not carrying trays, but carrying bottles, continually filling glasses as they are emptied. Some men puff on cigars while others smoke a pipe. I see two ladies … although ladies might be a generous identifier … holding very thin cheroots between their lips. Amid harsh curses, raucous laughter filled the air, along with the thickening smoke as I journey farther into the bowels of lessening refinement.

Earlier, when Kai told me about those he has invited to his affair, I had admired the fact that he didn’t divide people into social classifications, that he welcomes everyone equally. It seems an open minded approach, far different from the narrow one under which I have been raised. I had thought him progressive, but now I feel remarkably uneasy and out of place in these rooms. I don’t belong here. Not because these people are beneath me … they aren't. But they are more worldly, more experienced, more daring. They take risks. The ladies especially, not caring that they remain above reproach. They have freedom while I have never felt more confined. I need to leave, I am desperate to do so, but I can’t desert Kyle. I have to find him, which means moving forward, aware of the stares landing on me, the whispers. Holding my head high, I fight not to give the impression I am uncomfortable here, I don't want anyone to take offense, to think I consider myself better.