Page 34 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“And if they wish to marry for love and care not about status? Then what?”

“They have a duty-”

“Gentlemen, please,” Henhaven chokes out. “I’m only thinking of the one. The others are not nearly old enough to even consider coming out. No need to plan their futures already. Of course I’d want them to marry at or above their station. Any Alpha of rank would do so.” His gaze shutters for a moment. “My parents married for love. They were infatuated with each other until the very end. I would not deny them such an emotion.”

“And you,” I press. “Are you marrying Miss Campbell for love? From how I’ve heard it, she didn’t even know your name before the banns were read.”

“Charles,” Lewis grinds out in warning.

Henhaven raises his hand. “It’s an honest question from a family so thoroughly invested in my intended. I am quite pleased to know she has those who care for her enough to wish to see to her happiness and safety. But as for love, no. I am not in the marriage mind for love. I have seen what love does to people. It can be the most rewarding interaction. Or it can, quite literally, be the death of them. My family is my priority. Duty. Honor. Seeing them happily wed. Love is not needed for that.”

“Duty,” Lewis agrees as he nods his head. “Very admirable.”

“Admirable,” I snort. “Admiration doesn’t keep a bed warm. Does it?”

Henhaven laughs and shakes his head. “I do not see why you are so concerned with my bed. It’s not as if you will be the one in it.”

As the others chuckle around him, I lean forward and rest my lips upon my fingertips. “Since you are to be so intimately connected with us, I find that it’s only fair we know what sort of man you are. Come now. There must be some vice you partake in. If it is not love, then what else?”

“I am quite fond of rocks, as I’m sure you heard when I was dropping the lovely Miss Campbell back at your mother’s house.” There’s a hint of steel in his words, a thread of violence. He knows. He knows I seek her comfort as well, the bastard.

Leaning back, I pretend to be bored as I look over my nails. “I do recall some sort of statement about the house. I am so very happy the architecture is to your liking.”

“Well, to be fair, it was the limestone affixed to your house, but I suppose one should not be so pedantic among friends.”

“And are we friends, Henhaven?”

“Are we anything but?”

Lewis rests his hand on my shoulder, and I fling it off, no longer amused to be here and listen to the drivel dripping from his lips. Striding over to Edward, I give him a curt bow.

“Send my regards to your lovely wife. I find myself in need of some air.”

“Charles,” Lewis calls out to me.

“Goodnight, brother.”

As I leave, the room grows still and heavy. I might have just shown my hand in some ways, but Henhaven will never know the things I do to his betrothed in the cover of night. If the arrogant prick is not marrying for love, then a bond might very well not be in her future. And even if it is, with no tangible proof, he would look a cad to discard her.

No. He needs a wife, a woman to look after his sisters, to help them find their place in the world. Not a lover. Not a romantic companion. Not an omega with a penchant for pain and pleasure.

In this way, Cynthia will be all mine.

By the time I open the door to her room, I find myself still at odds with the world. To call it ennui would be to give it such a petulant bent. These feelings aren’t morose. They aren’t languishing. Quite the opposite. I find my appetites very much invigorated.

I stride in and look at Cynthia as she sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for me like the dutiful omega she is. The lights from the fireplace bounce off her golden hair, making it shine like the most precious metal it purports to be.

“Kneel,” I growl out. “I am in no mood for some gentle coupling. I held you last night because it was what we both needed. Now, it is I who have the need.”

Without saying a word, Cynthia slides off the bed and sinks to the floor. Such beautiful submission, such dutiful affection. Henhaven could never have this. He could never command this.

Each step echoes in the quiet room, sounding thunderously loud to my ears. But I know this place. I know it as intimately as I do my own hand. No one will hear us. No one will hear her. Not unless she screams.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a hank of rope and unwind it, allowing it to dangle in front of her face. “Wrists.”

Again, she obeys me. This is why we work. This is how she completes me. She’s not like Teresa, stubborn and prone to quarreling. She’s not like Catherine, who can play the coquette with a gracious ease until you’re unsure if you see the truth or a lie. She’s nothing like Emma, who trembles at the smallest provocation. Certainly not like Augusta, who makes it her mission to be a menace. Still not like Alessandra, whose brattiness comes second only to Augusta.

She’s Cynthia. My Cynthia.