Page 4 of The Duke’s Christmas Rejection

“Indeed. Anon.” With a brisk nod of his head, he turns on his heel, disappearing into another part of the house.

Penelope’s excited squeals pierce my ears, setting my head to aching “I knew you had feelings of an illicit nature, but I never knew it was with our brother. Tell me truthfully, are you to be my sister?”

Heat climbs up my cheeks as I turn to examine the flour on my sleeve. “In truth, there has been no understanding. I doubt that he even sees me in such a light.”

“Come now.” She scoffs, threading her arm with mine. “He is a blind fool if he does not notice your amazing qualities. Why, I will make a wager with you that he will ask for your hand by the end of tonight. It is Twelfth Night, after all. A day for miracles.”

“Yes. A proposal would be miraculous indeed.”

Chapter 3

Charles

My cock lengthens, pressing against the front of my trousers as I watch my sisters and Miss Cynthia ascend the stairs, her flaxen hair swaying behind her. The moment she’s allowed to come to court, she’ll be an Incomparable indeed. That is if her station does not preclude her.

Deep in the shadows, they cannot see me, but I can hear every nonsensical word that pours from Penelope’s lips. The nerve of that chit, marrying me off when that is the last thing on my mind. Miss Cynthia is a maddening distraction, to be sure, but she’s still so very innocent.

It’s not surprising in the least, however, seeing as she always managed to find a way to be in my presence. Though it could be laughed off as simply the right place and right time, especially with my siblings wandering about, there was no mistaking how her gaze always met with mine. There was always a hunger there, a desire, one that I brushed to the side as a simple schoolgirl crush. Unfortunately, that seems to be far from the truth.

With my predilections, however, I cannot harbor innocence. Though that may be seen as a desirable trait to many of the Alphas, it’s not for me. I want a mate that can take everything I give her and beg for more. What would Miss Cynthia know of pain or the desire to receive it?

No doubt the young miss would go crying off to her mother, clasping back onto those apron strings. It’s a liability I do not wish to court. Still though… The very thought of her in irons, chained to my bed as I bring forth red stripes of painful passion is very tempting indeed.

Perhaps I should have pushed harder to punish the little errant omega. Just picturing her naked backside striped in red is enough for everything to clench up, sending precum pearling at my tip. Though her eyes were frightened, she didn’t have the air of terror around her. Instead, there was just a hint of arousal, a whiff, a flicker, a scent that other Alphas might have overlooked. But not me.

Shaking my head, I push away from the wall, unwilling to allow my brain to go down these avenues any longer. I cannot and will not be her Alpha. There is no way in hell I can defile her in the ways I long to. My honor demands it, so much so that even a heat will not sway me to her side.

I grit my teeth and slam my fist against the wall as another whiff of her potent scent—fucking peonies and parchment—assaults my nose. However, for one that smells as delicious as she, I might be inclined to make an exception. Groaning, I drop my hand lower to rub the aching organ that’s causing me so much trouble.

I never expected little Miss Cynthia to grow up into such a fetching young woman. By the scent swirling around her, she’s certainly of age for me to take as a mate. Bollocks. I should have never come back. If I had known I would be tempted so, I would have stayed far away.

I brush at the front of my jacket, sighing as the white powder drifts to the floor. She’s just as green as my sisters, and I have no desire to see them married to the likes of someone like me. I just have to keep her in that position, look upon her as one of the family. Truthfully, it’s the only way to keep my sanity.

Battle plans and strategies are far easier than navigating these women, especially when they have marriage on their minds. If only I hadn’t acted so bravely, defending the former Norhaven with my troops. Maybe the king wouldn’t have cursed me with this title that is far more admirable than Colonel.

Though, to be sure, there are several ladies attracted to scarlet red and flashy buttons—camp followers—but all that pales in comparison to a duke. Now, I’m no longer allowed to continue my former occupation. I must set up a damned house at Langwell Grove and oversee the lands, something that was never mine to manage.

It would be easy enough to ask Lewis about the running of an estate, but to do so would show just how woefully ignorant I am. That and further proof that I never paid attention to Father unless he was speaking directly to me. But what is to be done? The king has commanded, and so, I must obey, garnering unwarranted attraction in the meantime. Heaven help the next season when the bloodthirsty Mamas know about my rise in title.

“Ahh. There he is. Man of the hour,” my brother bellows, interrupting my thoughts. “How fares the new Duke of Norhaven?”

Fixing my lips into a false smile, I turn, facing Lewis, forcing out every last thought of the omega that still tries to niggle at my brain. “Still doesn’t feel all that real, Whiteport. In truth, I much more prefer my formal title, Glendale.”

Lewis chuckles and throws his arms open for a hug just moments before he looks down at the disarray of my shirt and jacket. “And slip away into anonymity? The second-born son of a duke? For shame, Charles.” He chuckles, looking me up and down. “Becoming a duke… suits you. Already you have encountered your first debacle.”

“So it would seem,” I joke back, lips turned down into a comical frown.

However, the debacle in question is not, in fact, the flour adhering to my clothes, but instead, a young omega whose face refuses to leave my mind. Quite a conundrum indeed. Flour is a far easier mess to clean up than a ruined woman.

With a soft, disgruntled noise, my brother claps his hand on the back of my shoulder, sending yet another shower of flour to the floor. At this rate, there will be more flour on the floor than is on my person.

“You should know since Father died that we do not stand on the formality of titles here, Charles.”

“Our sisters would be inclined to agree with that sentiment.”

“So they’re the ones that sullied your clothes. I’m not surprised in the least.”

Again, my mind drifts back to the young girl. What sort of spell does this temptress hold over me? Reaching up, I dust off again, chuckling as even more powder drifts in the air.