23. Winne

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

WINNE

“ W innie, what’s wrong?” Alaric’s deep voice cuts through my panic.

Why are they here? How are they here? What cruel demon is torturing me, and how much do I need to bribe him to work for me instead?

Patrick and Claire have their heads bent together, chatting softly about some lovey couple thing that’s just for them. My stomach bottoms out as they make their way towards the pub. Any second now they’re going to see me, and?—

I glance over at Alaric, who is watching me with dark, fierce eyes.

“Just…don’t say anything. I’ll do the talking.” I plaster a smile on my face as I scoot around to Alaric’s side of the table, sliding into the seat next to him. My skin burns where his thigh touches mine, even though he’s as cool as ever.

The couple saunter towards the door of the pub, lost in their own world.

I wave. “Patrick, Claire, hi.”

My ex-fiancé stops in his tracks, his fingers curling protectively around the arm of my ex-best friend. “Winnie? Is that you?”

From his tone, I deduce that his question is really, “Winnie, is that you out of the house on a weeknight, socialising and being spontaneous? Because I’m getting strong Cylon vibes.”

“It sure is.” I plaster a smile across my face. “It’s such a lovely night. We were just having a spot of dinner. What brings you to Argleton?”

“Um…” Patrick’s face twists awkwardly. I liked smooth, slick Patrick looking all flustered in the presence of Alaric. “I had to come on business, but we heard how picturesque the village was so Claire and I…well…”

“We’re looking at wedding venues.” Claire beams as if her words are something to celebrate and not a knife straight through my heart. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about when we got back to London. I want you to be my maid of honour.”

Not three months ago, Claire came with me to a converted warehouse in Mayfair to sign the contract at my wedding venue. And then the next day, she and Patrick sat me down and told me that they’d fallen in love.

And now she’s asking me to be her maid of honour?

I have no words.

No, that’s a lie. I have words. None of which can be repeated in the company of a lord.

“You’re…you’re getting married?” I manage.

“Patrick asked me last week.” Claire holds up her hand, waving her fingers so the enormous rock glitters in the moonlight. “I’ve been trying to tell you, but…”

…but I threw my old phone into the fountain at Black Crag so you couldn’t get ahold of me.

“Oh, well, congratulations,” I managed to choke out.

“Thank you, Winnie,” Patrick doesn’t look at me. He stares at Alaric as if he’s sprouted a second head.

“Thanks so much, doll!” Claire jumps up and down. “We’re so excited. We weren’t sure whether we wanted to stay in London for the wedding, but we’ve just seen this lovely old manor house outside the village called Lachlan Hall. It’s going to be perfect. We’re thinking next summer and I want?—”

“You didn’t say what you’re doing here.” Patrick frowns. “You weren’t following me, were you?”

“Oh, no,” I wave a hand, frantically trying to come up with some lie that’s better than the truth, that Faye forced me to come since I’m the one without a flat or a life. “I’m…um…I’m?—”

“Winifred is my betrothed,” Alaric’s deep voice booms in my ear.

Wait, what?

I glance over at Alaric. He sits ramrod straight, those dark eyes of his fixed on Patrick with a look I cannot fathom. A surge of gratitude washes over me, and the butterflies in my stomach start a conga line that leads straight to my heart.

That grumpy, aloof, sweet bastard is coming to my rescue again.

This is a bad idea.

I shouldn’t let my client pretend to be my fiancé, especially after he rejected my profoundly inappropriate kiss on the potter’s wheel. But in the moment, I couldn’t care less.

I’m living to my intentions, and seeing Patrick’s shocked face makes me very, very happy.

I lean against Alaric’s cool shoulder, trying to look as if it were completely natural for me to be getting snuggly with a lord. I expect Alaric to tense, the way he did in the moment before he ran away from me. He must hate every moment of being this close to me after he made it clear he’s not interested.

But he doesn’t act as though he hates it. He wraps his arm around me, his fingers splayed across the small of my back, pressing me into him in a possessive way that makes my toes curl and my ovaries join the conga line.

The weight of his fingers makes me feel as though this is deeper than putting on a show for Patrick, as if I’ve been waiting my whole life for him to declare me his.

Patrick opens his mouth, but it takes a few tries for him to make a sound. “Your…?”

“Lord Alaric Valerian, at your service.” Alaric extends his free hand towards Patrick. “I’m pleased to meet you. Are you friends of Winifred from London? We must have you at the castle for tea. My soon-to-be wife enjoys entertaining, and our chef is world-class.”

Alaric looks at me and winks, and his arm around me squeezes, and Patrick glares at him, and I think I might die of happiness.

“Oh, we’re not friends,” I say sweetly. “I used to be engaged to Patrick, but then he decided to cheat on me with Claire, my best friend since kindergarten.”

“I see.” Alaric withdraws his hand. “In that case, I shall rescind the tea invitation.”

Alaric smiles at Patrick – a wide, toothy grin that’s unnatural on him and manages to look monstrous. His eyes flash with the raw possessiveness that he’d shown when he pretended to be my boyfriend to scare away Danny. At this angle, I can’t see Alaric straight on, only the curve of his full lips as he bares his teeth. Patrick stumbles back as if he’s been cursed. He looks terrified.

Oh, I love this even more .

“We didn’t mean to hurt you.” Claire’s face falls. “And look, you’re happily engaged too, so it all worked out okay in the end. Can’t we just?—”

“No, Claire, we can’t just. Alaric and I finding each other doesn’t change the fact that I trusted both of you and you betrayed me.”

She recoils as if I’ve slapped her across the face. A sensation like pride spreads across my shoulders, filling me with joyous warmth. Or maybe that’s from Alaric still holding me as if I’m his.

“I read in the history of Black Crag Castle that one of my ancestor’s men betrayed his betrothed. The lord hung him from the castle walls,” Alaric says conversationally. “By his testicles.”

Patrick’s face turns white. “Perhaps we should leave them to their dinner, Claire.”

“But—”

He shoves Claire inside.

I smother my face with my sleeve so Patrick and Claire can’t hear my laughter. “I’m sorry, you rescind the tea invitation? That is the sickest burn I’ve heard from a member of the aristocracy.”

Alaric doesn’t share my mirth. He also doesn’t remove his arm from around my waist. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I grip the edge of the table. My hands are shaking. What’s wrong with me? I’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t glaring out at the world like he’d burn it all down for me. “I’ll feel better with another gin and tonic.”

Alaric disappears into the crowded pub, returning a few moments later with a pair of gin and tonics and a number on a stick. “I ordered you the pie. And a chocolate brownie,” he says stiffly.

“You’re my knight in shining armour.”

“I’m afraid my armour is rather dulled from lack of use, but if you ask it, I shall adorn my suit and duel that fiend Patrick. Luckily, we will not need such a large rope for his tiny testicles?—”

“The testicle-hanging isn’t necessary, but appreciated.” I glance in the window. Claire and Patrick have a booth along the far wall. Patrick has his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling. Claire glances up and sees me. Her face is red with misery.

Alaric wraps my fingers around the glass, and then pulls me back against him. “Then you must forget them.”

I swallow gulp after gulp of G&T, wishing it would hurry up and cure the lump in my throat or the warmth spreading through my body where Alaric touches me.

“Winifred, please, talk to me. I do not like it when you are quiet.”

I shake my head.

“ Talk , lest I find other ways to tempt open those lips.”

The air between us charges, and I find myself transfixed by his lips – the fullness of the upper versus the lower, the way they press tightly together, as though he’s holding something dangerous inside, and the little quirk in the corner when he catches me watching.

“Losing Patrick hurt like being stabbed repeatedly with a butter knife,” I sniff, cursing myself for rambling all this personal nonsense at my boss but unable to stop. “But if I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t think I was happy with him. Not romance novel, swooning at the mere sight of him happy. He was safe . Everything about Patrick was the complete opposite of my mother, and I clung to that even when things in our relationship weren’t perfect. I’m humiliated more than I miss him, which tells me everything I need to know. But Claire…”

Alaric presses my cheek against his chest. His lips move over my hair as he says, “You care for her.”

“Claire has been my friend for so long I don’t remember my life without her. We know each other’s darkest secrets. She’s the only one who…”

Alaric tilts his head to the side. I shake my head. I can’t give him that. He already knows more about my mother than I’ve told anyone else other than Claire. I’ve laid myself bare for him too many times already, only to have him reject me. He doesn’t get this, too.

“That’s what hurts so much.” I swallow. “Claire has been an amazing friend. She’s been there for me whenever I needed her. But this time, I can’t call her after this horrible thing happened because she’s partially responsible for the horrible thing. Losing Patrick I could deal with, but losing my best friend, too? And Claire doesn’t seem to get it. She bowls through life, and she’s just so nice about everything. It’s impossible for anyone to hate her. At least, I thought it was impossible until she stole my fiancé. All our other friends are on her side, they think I’m too hard on her, that no one can help who they fall in love with. It’s as if I’m the one who did wrong.”

Alaric touches my cheek. “You have done no wrong thing.”

“I know.” I turn my head into his touch, and through the tangle of my eyelashes, I see Claire watching us. A surge of petty joy rushes me. That’s right, Claire. I’m not going to fall apart over losing our friendship. “I’m sorry that you had to come to my rescue again. You don’t have to keep pretending to be my fiancé. I think we fooled them.”

I tear myself away from him, even though severing his touch is physically painful.

“I’m used to skewering my enemies on ornately decorated swords,” Alaric says as he wraps his long fingers around his glass but does not drink it. “Pretending to be your husband is a more pleasant form of revenge. Plus it has the added advantage of less gore on my clothes.”

“I’m never certain if you’re kidding or not, but I love this bloodthirsty version of you.” I hold out my glass, and he clinks. His wine smells odd – heady and metallic – but I know nothing about wine so that probably means it’s old and delicious. The sexual charge between us hasn’t lessened now that the only parts of us touching are our thighs. Instead, all sensation in my body has focused down to that one point, to the coolness and surety of his touch, to the way he makes me feel safe and completely reckless at the same time. “Their faces when they found out that you were a lord were an absolute joy.”

“A little vengeance is good for the soul.” Alaric sips his wine as the food arrives, and I shovel wedges into my mouth. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and suddenly, he looks impossibly young. I never realised how old he seems sometimes, as if he’s lived through ages I cannot fathom. “You’re smiling. You’re happy.”

I feel happy. But I don’t want to say any more. I’ve already been vulnerable enough for both of us tonight. “Thank you for taking me to dinner. I know it’s hard for you, but I hope you’ve had fun. And luckily, no members of the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven have seen you yet.”

“Why is that lucky?”

“You’re drinking your red wine, not eating anything, wearing that old-fashioned coat, and frightening away my ex with nothing but a smile. They already think you’re a vampire. This would confirm it.”

“And what if I was?” Alaric growls, his voice taking on that dark, dangerous tone he had when he told Danny to leave me alone.

“Alaric, be serious. Vampires don’t exist.”

He sets down his glass. When he turns back to me, his eyes are blazing with heat. “I did not run from our kiss because I don’t want you, Winnie. I ran because you’re everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Excuse me, what?

“You’re fun, and bright, and beautiful, and patient. You light up a room just by walking into it. It is torture to work so closely with you, to sit beside the fire with you, when the things I long to do to your body are anything but chaste.”

“Oh, um…”

The butterfly mosh pit is going wild . But not as wild as Alaric’s stormy eyes. How could I ever have compared them to cold stone? They are anything but.

“Alaric—”

“I have to tell you something about myself. Tonight. I cannot wait any longer. It will make you hate me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will . You will run from Black Crag Castle and never look back, and it is for the best. You are supposed to run from monsters.” Alaric leans forward, his breath kissing my collarbone. “But before I tell you this truth, I want to taste you again. I want to remember what I lost.”

That heated voice of his works its way into my chest. Before I can utter another word, Alaric’s fingers cup my cheek, tilting my head toward him. His lips part mine and he dips his tongue inside my mouth, tasting and supping.

I must taste like potato and cheese, because he moans into my mouth as if the flavour of me is the most exquisite thing on earth. The hand on my cheek snakes around to tangle in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants me, while his other arm wraps around me, lifting me from my stool and depositing me on his lap.

I can feel his hardness again, and even though it’s obscene and we’re in the pub and what the hell am I doing , I rock against him, chasing the exquisite wanting of the friction between us.

I’m suddenly terrified that Alaric is doing all this for the benefit of Patrick and Claire. I pull back, panting, searching his eyes for a truth I can cling to. His fingers on the small of my back are steady, possessive. His eyes are pure lust .

“Do you still have the contraception?” he breathes, his tongue tripping over the word as though it’s familiar to him.

“Of course. Winnie Preston is always prepared.”

“Then come to bed with me tonight,” he whispers, and although his voice is heavy with need, I detect a hint of vulnerability in his words. “Make me believe I’m not a monster.”

“Yes,” I murmur, because how the fuck could anyone ever say no to this man?

He presses his lips to mine again, hard and needy, and he weaves his fingers through mine, and he might as well be pushing his fingers right into my heart and clutching the tender organ in his fist.

I rise to meet him, my tongue exploring the curve of his mouth, his perfect teeth with their sharp…

Alaric pulls back, his eyes ablaze with flecks of light from the streetlights. He gathers me in his arms, lifting me off the chair and holding me against him. “Come, we will find Reginald to bring us back to the castle. I have lain awake dreaming of this night, Winifred. I have such plans for you.”