Beckett didn’t wake.
Not when the mattress shifted, not when Jack wrapped Arden in the coverlet he swept up from the floor, and not when Jack closed the door behind them as he carried Arden out.
He took Arden to Arden’s own bedchamber. Instead of carrying him to his bed, Jack strode over to the small sofa in the cosy area by the bay window. He collapsed, legs shaky, and gathered Arden close. Arden had been stiff as Jack carried him away from Beckett. In the quiet of his own chamber, his body softened and he curled into Jack, tucking his head under Jack’s chin.
Jack smoothed his hair back and stared blankly ahead.
He didn’t know where to start.
He didn’t want to start.
What…? Beckett wouldn’t hurt Arden. Not ever. He knew that. He knew it, down to his very bones.
Not on purpose.
“Sweetheart,” he said after they’d sat together in silence for as long as he could stand. “What can I do? What do you want? Whatever it is, tell me. I’ll give it to you, I swear.”
Arden sighed and snuggled closer. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and what he did say was hardly reassuring. “I want to go away.”
WANT
CHAPTER 19
BECKETT
Beckett stared at Marl. “You what?” he demanded in disbelief.
“The duch has gone,” Marl repeated. “To Greylag. It’s one of His Grace’s smaller properties on the south coast. His Grace the duch has always had a fancy to live by the sea. I’m sure he’ll be happier there. I’m sure you’ll be happier with him there. Won’t you, Beckett?”
Beckett turned on his heel and strode out of the butler’s parlour without a word.
…he’ll be happier there.
Beckett broke into a light jog.
…he’ll be happier.
He rattled down the grand staircase—it was quicker than taking the servants’ stairs—and loped across the Great Hall, boots ringing loud on the marble.
…he’ll be happier.
Won’t you?
Beckett didn’t even bother knocking on the study door. He flung it open and strode in. “What the fuck are you thinking, Jack? You can’t just let him go!”
Jack sat at his desk in his shirtsleeves, with a steaming cup of coffee at his elbow, a pen in his hand, and a weary expression on his face. Beckett scanned him critically as he crossed the room.
He didn’t look too bad, considering the bastard nearlydiedyesterday.
He was paler than usual. Dark circles beneath his eyes. Lips pressed tight. Strain showed at the corners of his eyes and in the grooves beside his mouth, but he was all right. Beckett had seen him looking worse.
Marl had told him that Jack was perfectly fine, right before he’d dropped the news about Arden in the godsdamned bitchiest way possible. Still. Beckett felt better seeing it for himself.
And seeing it had the odd effect of making his worry for Arden flare even brighter. He wasn’t in rut, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t know a moment’s peace until he had eyes on the little omega again.
Jack’s secretary, Nolan, who must have left Sevennis right after Jack to have made it here so soon, was standing by Jack’s desk, a sheaf of papers in one hand and his ever-present notebook in the other. Jack didn’t react to Beckett’s entrance. Nolan, however, looked over in astonishment. His eyes narrowed to glittering slits and his expression filled with loathing.
Bit of a puzzler, that. They were friendly, if not friends. Beckett had kept the secretary at arm’s length, and after a few years, Nolan had given up trying to get closer.
