Chapter Eight

"How dare you!"

Dixon was starting to wonder if there was anything about Benedict's English life that he'd like at first impression. The ice cream, he reminded himself, and meeting Monica had been fun, although he'd met her on his home turf. In contrast, Hugo Dule was tall, skinny to the point of appearing ill, and his expression was sour enough to curdle milk. After being announced, he stalked into the sitting room as if he genuinely owned the place.

"Uncle Hugo, it's been a while." Benedict hadn't gotten up, and so Dixon hadn't either, but he felt Benedict tense the moment the man walked into the room. "I'm not sure what you're referring to – daring to do what, exactly? Is there an issue with the furnishings?"

"You… you… who did all this?" Hugo was mouth-open stunned, his hands limp by his sides as he slowly turned, taking in the room. As far as rooms went, Dixon thought it was all right. It wasn't his style, but he could appreciate the aesthetic.

The room had historical moldings and features in the cornices and edges of the walls. The wallpaper wasn't dark enough to be considered dramatic, and while Dixon had never been a personal fan of the red and gold combination, it didn't look out of place.

Modern furniture decorated the space, although the age of the pieces weren't obvious at first glance. The shape and upholstery of the furniture held a classical appeal. In fact, Dixon didn't realize the furniture was modern until the couch creaked as he sat down. Historical pieces were built a lot sturdier. A fire crackled nicely in the large fireplace, and there was a painting of what was probably a local rural area above the mantel.

In other words, a perfectly normal room, something someone would find in a country house, or so Dixon imagined. But from Hugo's expression it was as if he was faced with the fixtures at the alien museum Dixon had visited in Roswell once when he was younger.

"This is absolute sacrilege." Hugo turned his glare to Benedict. "Bringing your American ways to what was a piece of English history…"

Benedict held up his hand. "This is clearly not the original family home, so don't try and pretend you think it is. It's not even in the same place as my father's house and you know that. As for your American ways comment, Lady Penelope Fortegue was responsible for the interior design for the whole house, and I'm sure you'd agree you can't get anyone more British than her ladyship. Have a seat if you please. I've already rung for tea."

"I don't understand how this happened." Hugo seemed keen on the idea of refreshments though, because he sat down, immediately claiming the chair as if it were a throne. There was definitely some manspreading going on, and while Dixon considered himself an open minded shifter, Hugo's languid sprawl made him feel dirty. "When was this place finished? There was nothing here but rubble, and you've not been in the country for more than ten years."

"Keep your timelines straight, Uncle," Benedict said, smiling as a young woman came in with a tray. It was the same lady who had directed Dixon down to the garden just that morning. "Isla, if you could just put that on the coffee table, we can serve ourselves, thank you."

"This is very irregular." Hugo's disapproving look got more intense. Dixon believed the man was talking about the house, but if Benedict was thinking the same thing, he didn't show it.

"Just because I'm Lord Dule now, doesn't mean I can't pour my own cup of tea. Dixon, I see they've brought you coffee, did you want some?"

Should I serve it? Is that what Hugo would expect? It was as if the weight of the history and the setting, not to mention Hugo's behavior was sapping Dixon's confidence. Normally he'd have no problems serving himself, or simply making the decision whether or not to have a cup of coffee.

Drink and enjoy, Benedict's voice came through their mind link as he was handed a mug.

"So, how are things?" Benedict sat and picked up a teacup. "I trust all is well with your family."

"I can't believe you had the audacity to come back here."

Maybe Hugo's pissed off because he didn't want to pour his own tea.

"I'm not sure I follow, Uncle. Dixon, honestly you should try one of those scones. Mrs. Porter has such a deft hand with the cream and the jam is homemade. Take two."

Leaning forward, Dixon claimed two scones and put them on a small bread-and-butter plate provided. As he leaned back, he nudged the plate in Benedict's direction although his mate shook his head.

"How can you sit there and act as though you haven't committed the biggest crime of the century, sharing scones and jam with your playboy?"

Dixon almost choked on a crumb as he tried not to laugh. "Excuse me. Playboy?"

"Playboy, toyboy, flavor of the week. Whatever the American term is for someone inconsequential." Hugo scowled. "Benedict was always the man around town when he lived here."

"A long time ago," Benedict said, and Dixon got the impression he was deliberately keeping Hugo in the dark about their mating for some reason. Given how he and Benedict had been as close as two people could be within the past hour, and Benedict was wearing the shirt infused with Dixon's scent, Dixon simply rested back on the couch and slowly ate his scones as Benedict talked.

"I'm more interested in why you don't believe I have a right to be here at all, in my own house, built on the land I inherited."

"Well, it's completely obvious, isn't it." Hugo had the whole eyebrows lifted, head shaking thing going on – something that reminded Dixon of a spluttering chicken. "You shouldn't even be in the country after what you did."

"Did?" Dixon had already spent the morning listening to one asshole do his best to intimidate his mate. He couldn't do anything in a council building because he wasn't sure of the rules. But in a family home, with a family member, that was totally different. "Did you do something, B? Are you a wanted felon in this country or something?"

"I wasn't the last time I checked, no. But I'm sure Uncle Hugo will fill you in on my nefarious deeds." Benedict patted his pants pocket, and then pulled out his phone. "Please excuse me a moment, I have to take this call. Dixon, help yourself to more coffee." Patting Dixon's leg, Benedict got up and left the room.

You sneaky Necromancer. Dixon was always happy to drink more coffee, and he could take the hint he was expected to stay with the weird uncle whose eyes immediately started darting around the room the moment Benedict closed the door behind him.