The Earl Falls in Love - Chapter 14
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Omegaverse Historical Romance
Edward
Edward Tyndall, Earl of Eastwood and now Cheswick, was not a man accustomed to restlessness. Yet for the past fortnight, he had been plagued by an irritability that defied explanation. London, with all its sophistication and opportunities, had felt like a prison. Business meetings that should have consumed his full attention had become exercises in restraint as he fought the urge to simply walk out. Elaborate dinners with English nobility—events he typically found stimulating—had become torturous ordeals to be endured rather than enjoyed.
Now, standing on the deck of his private steam yacht as it cut through the Celtic Sea, Edward found himself calculating the remaining distance to St. Louis with the obsessive precision of a man counting the minutes until his release from captivity.
“Still plotting the fastest route home?” Marcus Theo Halifax, Earl of Ravensbourne, appeared at his side with the casual elegance that had broken hearts across two continents. “If you glare at the horizon any harder, I fear it might burst into flames.”
Edward cast a sidelong glance at his cousin. The family resemblance was striking—they shared the same dark hair and eyes, the same aristocratic features that caused people to mistake them for twins despite being merely cousins. What they did not share was Marcus’s notorious reputation as London’s most accomplished rake.
“I’m not plotting anything,” Edward replied, his tone deliberately cool. “I’m contemplating all the work awaiting me in St. Louis—work I could have been attending to these past two weeks had you not dragged me to London on what turned out to be a laughably minor matter.”
“Laughably minor?” Marcus pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “The potential collapse of our entire East India trading operation hardly qualifies as minor. How was I to know you’d resolve it with two meetings and a strongly worded letter? Most men would require weeks to untangle such a mess.”
“Most men aren’t me,” Edward replied without a trace of modesty. “And don’t pretend your telegram wasn’t deliberately worded to sound apocalyptic. ‘Urgent crisis requires immediate attention’ suggested something considerably more dire than a shipping clerk’s accounting error.”
Marcus shrugged, unrepentant. “Perhaps I embellished slightly. But admit it—you enjoyed being back in London. The balls, the dinners, the parade of eligible young ladies practically throwing themselves at your feet. The gossip columns are already predicting your engagement to Lady Clara Peterson.”
“Lady who?” Edward asked, genuinely drawing a blank.
Marcus stared at him in disbelief. “Lady Clara Peterson? The dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty I personally introduced to you at Lord Ashburn’s dinner? The one whose father, the Earl of Cromwell, spent half the evening dropping hints about her substantial dowry? The ‘Sunshine of London’ that every bachelor in England is pursuing?”
Edward vaguely recalled a slender young woman with striking blue eyes that had reminded him of... someone else. “Ah. Her.”
“Yes, her,” Marcus said with exaggerated patience. “The most sought-after debutante of the season, who couldn’t take her eyes off you all evening. I swear, Edward, sometimes I wonder if you’re even human. What man notices nothing when surrounded by London’s most beautiful women?”
A man whose thoughts are occupied elsewhere, Edward thought but didn’t say. Instead, he deflected: “Speaking of noticing things, have you seen the latest London Gazette? Apparently, I’m now ‘The Ultimate Catch of Northland Lords,’ complete with a wildly inaccurate estimate of my annual income.”
“Five million pounds, wasn’t it?” Marcus asked innocently. “I thought they were rather conservative, myself.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you had nothing to do with that ridiculous article?”
“I may have mentioned your approximate worth to a particularly persistent journalist,” Marcus admitted. “The man was going to print a number anyway—I merely ensured it was somewhat accurate.”
“Somewhat?”
“I rounded down,” Marcus assured him with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to appear boastful.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Henry Tyndall and Kevin Brown, returning from their inspection of the ship’s engines.
“The captain estimates we’ll reach St. Louis by tomorrow morning,” Henry announced, his expression brightening at the prospect. “I can’t wait to see Daisy and the children. It feels like we’ve been away for months rather than weeks.”
“You’ve said that every day since we left,” Marcus said dryly. “I can’t imagine being so thoroughly captivated by a single woman that the mere thought of her absence causes physical pain. The monotony would be unbearable.”
“That’s because you’ve never met the right person,” Henry replied, exchanging a knowing glance with Kevin. “When you do—and I pray for that poor woman’s sake that you eventually do—you’ll understand why I’d rather be at home with Daisy than surrounded by all the exotic beauties of London.”
“Yes, yes,” Marcus interrupted with a dismissive wave. “The skies will open, angels will sing, and I’ll suddenly find the prospect of bedding the same woman for the rest of my life utterly thrilling. I’ve heard the speech before.” He turned to Edward with renewed interest. “Speaking of domesticity, Henry mentioned something about the Harrisons settling in at Tyndall Manor. I gather they’re connected to your mysterious new earldom?”
Edward cast an accusatory glance at Henry, who merely shrugged. “Daisy has been sending telegrams,” his half-brother explained. “She wanted you to know the Harrisons are adjusting well to life at Tyndall Manor.”
“The Harrisons?” Marcus repeated, his interest visibly piquing. “You’ve inherited an earldom and acquired wards, and somehow failed to mention any of this to your favorite cousin? I’m wounded, Edward, truly wounded.”
“Had you bothered to visit Northland at any point in the past five years, you might have been better informed about family matters,” Edward replied coolly.
A flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt—crossed Marcus’s features before his customary charm reasserted itself. “A fair point, cousin. My absence has been inexcusable.”
“Inexplicable, certainly,” Edward agreed. “Sam and Letty were devastated when you stopped coming for Christmas. And Alec—” He broke off, noting the subtle tension that entered Marcus’s posture at the mention of his adopted brother. Interesting.
“I’ve apologized, haven’t I?” Marcus said, his tone losing some of its lightness. “And I’m here now, ready to make amends. So tell me about these Harrisons who have you so eager to return home. Is there a beautiful Lady Harrison in the mix? Perhaps that explains your complete indifference to London’s finest offerings.”
Edward’s expression remained carefully neutral, though the mere thought of Ian sent a wave of warmth through him that had nothing to do with the midday sun. “Lady Dorothy Harrison is indeed lovely,” he conceded, “but Daniel has already staked his claim there. I’d advise you to direct your notorious charm elsewhere during your stay.”
“So protective,” Marcus said with a knowing smile. “One might almost think you have your own interest in the Harrison family.”
Edward turned away, his gaze returning to the horizon where, somewhere beyond the endless blue, Ian Harrison awaited. “The Harrisons are under my protection now,” he said simply. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Marcus studied him for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “I see,” he said finally, though his tone suggested he saw far more than Edward had intended to reveal.
The journey from the docks to Tyndall Manor passed in a blur of impatience for Edward. By the time their carriage rolled through the iron gates, he could no longer contain himself. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete stop, he threw open the door and leapt down with the agility of a man half his age.
“Edward!” Henry called after him in alarm. “That’s dangerous! For God’s sake, you’re an earl, not a circus performer!”
“I’m fine,” Edward replied over his shoulder, already striding toward the manor’s entrance. “No need to worry.”
Inside the carriage, Marcus shook his head in exasperation. “Still jumping from moving vehicles. Some things never change.”
“Unlike you, who’s the very model of restraint?” Henry asked with a raised eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you two were practically feral as children. Wasn’t it you who convinced Edward to race horses through the conservatory?”
“That was strategic recklessness,” Marcus corrected him with a smirk. “There’s an art to misbehaving without giving your mother heart palpitations. Edward still hasn’t mastered it. He seems to forget he’s responsible for an entire family empire, not to mention those new wards of his. His neck is worth considerably more than mine.”
“And yet it’s you who’s nicknamed ‘The Notorious Earl’ in London gossip columns,” Henry pointed out as the carriage finally came to a halt. “I’ve heard tales of your exploits that would make even Edward blush.”
“All greatly exaggerated, I assure you,” Marcus replied with a wink that suggested precisely the opposite.
The two men disembarked to find Edward already embracing Lady Victoria Tyndall in the foyer, the elegant woman’s face alight with surprised delight.
“Edward!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless as she pulled back to examine him. “What a wonderful surprise! We weren’t expecting you for another week at least.”
“I wrapped up business early,” Edward replied, the half-truth coming easily. “And guess who I encountered in London?”
He stepped aside, revealing Marcus who stood with the practiced nonchalance of a man accustomed to making dramatic entrances. Lady Tyndall’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
“Marcus?” she whispered, as though afraid speaking too loudly might cause him to vanish. “Is that really you?”
Marcus stepped forward, his expression softening into genuine warmth. “Hello, Aunt Victoria. I know it’s been inexcusably long—”
Whatever else he might have said was lost as Lady Tyndall engulfed him in an embrace that belied her slender frame. “Oh, my dear boy,” she murmured, tears glistening in her eyes. “How you’ve grown! And looking so much like Edward now—I’d scarcely be able to tell you apart if I didn’t know better.”
“What can I do?” Marcus replied with a self-deprecating shrug. “Mother is your identical twin, after all. The resemblance was bound to catch up with me eventually.”
Lady Tyndall stepped back, keeping hold of his arms as she examined him with the thoroughness of a woman determined to catalog every change since his last visit. “You must tell me everything,” she insisted. “But first—Henry!”
She released Marcus to embrace her eldest son, who had just entered the foyer. “How was your journey? You all look exhausted—shall I have tea brought to the sitting room? Oh! And you must meet the new additions to our household. The most delightful twins—not identical, of course, not like Samara and Scarlet, but the sweetest children...”
As Lady Tyndall continued her enthusiastic description of the Harrison twins, Edward’s attention wandered. He scanned the foyer and adjacent rooms, searching for a glimpse of brown hair and blue eyes. Two months was too long to be away from Ian. Two days would have been too long.
“Mother,” he interrupted, unable to contain himself any longer. “Where is Ian?”
Lady Tyndall paused mid-sentence, her expression shifting to one of amused understanding. “Ian? I believe he’s in the conservatory with Sam and Letty. They’ve been inseparable since his arrival—something about him being the perfect model for their illustrations.”
Edward felt a peculiar tightening in his chest at this information. The twins’ illustrations were notorious for their romantic themes and occasional risqué poses. The thought of Ian serving as their model sent a surge of possessiveness through him that was as unexpected as it was powerful.
“I see,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you take Marcus with you?” Lady Tyndall suggested brightly. “I’m sure Sam and Letty would be thrilled to see him after all this time.”
Before Edward could object, Marcus nodded his agreement. “An excellent idea. I’ve been looking forward to seeing my little cousins again—especially after hearing about their literary exploits.
Edward led the way through the manor with the confident stride of a man who knew every inch of his domain. As they approached the conservatory, Marcus said, “So the twins still use this place as their artistic sanctuary? Some things never change.”
“Alec is usually their primary model,” Edward replied, reaching for the door handle. “Though apparently they’ve found a new muse.”
He pushed open the door, and the warm, humid air of the conservatory enveloped them. The space was filled with exotic plants and bathed in golden sunlight that streamed through the glass ceiling. Edward’s gaze immediately sought and found the tableau at the center of the room.
What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
Ian Harrison lay reclined on a settee, his shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. Above him, in a position that could only be described as intimate, was Alec, similarly disheveled, his face mere inches from Ian’s. The morning light cast them in a romantic glow, transforming the scene into something from one of the twins’ more explicit novels.
Edward felt the blood rush to his head, a roaring in his ears drowning out all sound. For a moment, he could only stare, transfixed by the sight of Ian’s exposed skin and the easy intimacy between the two young men. Desire and jealousy warred within him, both so powerful that he felt physically ill with their intensity.
The alpha in him—the primal, possessive creature that lurked beneath his civilized exterior—surged forward with a single demand: Mine.
“What the hell are you two doing?” The words erupted from his throat before he could stop them, harsh and commanding, laced with alpha authority that made everyone in the room freeze.
The effect was immediate. Alec, startled by the sudden interruption, collapsed entirely onto Ian, his face burying against the omega’s neck in a manner that only intensified Edward’s irrational jealousy.
“My goodness, Alec has expired from artistic exertion,” Samara exclaimed, rushing toward the settee with dramatic concern.
“Alec, please postpone your demise,” Scarlet implored, following close behind her twin. “We still haven’t finished the climactic illustration. Die after page sixteen, I beg you.”
“Don’t just casually announce my death like it’s a minor inconvenience to your schedule,” Alec muttered against Ian’s neck, his breath visibly stirring the fine hairs there.
But Edward’s attention was fixed solely on Ian, whose wide blue eyes had found his across the room. The boy’s lips parted in surprise, a flush spreading across his cheeks that Edward found impossibly endearing despite his anger.
“Lord Edward?” Ian breathed, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty and—was it possible?—pleasure at the sight of him.
Edward strode forward, his alpha instincts screaming at him to separate Alec from the omega who had occupied his thoughts for two long months. “Alec,” he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous register that made everyone in the room instinctively straighten, “get your backside off of Ian, you brat.”
Alec lifted his head slightly, his expression pained. “I would if I could,” he replied with a grimace. “Help me, Edward. I swear my spine has declared independence from the rest of my body. I’ve been in this position for an hour.”
Edward reached down, grasping Alec’s arm with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, and hauled him upright. His brother groaned dramatically as he was settled back onto the settee, Scarlet hovering solicitously at his side.
“You’ve killed him, Edward,” Scarlet accused, though her eyes danced with amusement. “Just when we were about to capture the perfect moment of breathless anticipation.”
“He’ll recover,” Edward replied dryly. “His capacity for dramatic suffering rivals yours.”
With Alec removed, Edward had an unobstructed view of Ian, still reclined on the settee with his shirt open. The sight of that smooth, pale chest sent a surge of heat through him that had nothing to do with the conservatory’s tropical climate. Without thinking, he knelt beside Ian and began fastening the buttons, his fingers brushing against warm skin.
“My lord?” Ian questioned, his voice tinged with confusion and something else—a breathlessness that sent Edward’s pulse racing.
“I know you’re a country bumpkin,” Edward said, his tone sharper than he intended as he struggled to control his body’s reaction to Ian’s proximity, “but for goodness’ sake, there’s a limit to how unworldly you can be. This is St. Louis, not Cheswick. Don’t go exposing yourself like that in front of people.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Ian replied, though the spark in his blue eyes suggested he was more amused than contrite. “Though I should point out that I wasn’t exactly given a choice in the matter. Lady Samara can be quite persuasive when she’s wielding artistic integrity as a weapon.”
“Edward!” Samara protested indignantly before he could respond. “How dare you speak to Ian that way? You’ve just arrived unannounced and started barking orders like some territorial—” She broke off, her eyes widening slightly as though a realization had just struck her.
“Like some territorial what, dear sister?” Edward asked, his voice deceptively mild.
“Like some territorial... earl,” she finished lamely. “Ian was only helping us with our illustrations for—”
“No,” Edward interrupted, his voice firm as he turned to face his sister. “Ian will not be in any of your illustrations for your book covers. Understood?” The authority in his tone was unmistakable, causing both twins to exchange a significant look.
“So that’s why you were so eager to return to St. Louis,” a familiar voice said from behind them. “The mystery finally reveals itself.”
Edward turned to see Marcus approaching, his cousin’s gaze fixed on Ian with an interest that immediately set Edward’s teeth on edge. Before he could respond, however, the twins spotted their long-absent cousin and let out identical shrieks of delight that would have done a pair of banshees proud.
“Marcus!” Samara exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms with the exuberance that characterized everything she did. “I can’t believe you’re actually here! In the flesh! Not dead or kidnapped by pirates or locked in a French dungeon!”
“None of the above, I’m afraid,” Marcus confirmed, embracing her warmly. “Though I did have a rather tense negotiation with a Russian duchess that nearly ended in bloodshed.”
“You’re making that up,” Scarlet accused as she claimed her own hug. “You always make up outrageous stories when you’ve been boring and respectable.”
“You wound me, Letty,” Marcus replied, pressing a hand to his heart. “When have I ever been boring or respectable?”
As the twins fawned over Marcus, Edward settled himself on the settee between Ian and Alec, a placement that was far from accidental. He noted with satisfaction that Ian’s buttons were now properly fastened, though the memory of that exposed skin lingered tantalizingly in his mind.
“You look well,” he said to Ian, keeping his voice low. “St. Louis seems to agree with you.”
Ian raised an eyebrow, a hint of his usual sass returning now that the initial shock of Edward’s arrival had worn off. “As opposed to looking unwell? Were you expecting me to waste away in your absence, my lord?”
The corner of Edward’s mouth twitched. “I’m merely observing that the capital suits you. Though I see my sisters have wasted no time in corrupting you with their artistic endeavors.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Ian asked innocently. “I thought it was more akin to artistic kidnapping. They ambushed me after breakfast and declared I was ‘perfect for the climactic reunion scene.’ I wasn’t aware I’d have to be half-naked for said scene.”
Edward’s expression darkened slightly. “Yes, well, that particular scene won’t be featuring you. I’m sure Marcus will be more than happy to take your place.”
“Marcus, would you please be our model?” Samara was asking, as if on cue. “Edward refuses to let us draw him, that lout. But you love us, don’t you, Marcus dear? Unlike Edward. So would you please be our model?”
Marcus laughed, the sound rich and confident. “I don’t mind at all. Draw me to your hearts’ content. I’ve been told I have an excellent profile for artistic endeavors.”
“Yes!” Scarlet exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. “Thank you, Marcus! You are a darling.” She embraced him again, her enthusiasm making him chuckle.
“That means you can be Alec’s model partner again, right?” Samara asked, turning toward the settee. “Alec?”
Edward glanced at his adopted brother, surprised to find Alec suddenly tense, his fingers nervously adjusting his collar as though to hide his exposed skin. His gaze darted around the room, conspicuously avoiding Marcus until, with visible reluctance, he finally looked up.
“Alec,” Marcus said, his voice dropping to a register that Edward had never heard from his cousin before. “Long time no see. My, but you’ve really grown in the last five years. What a fine young man you’ve become.”
Alec swallowed visibly, his complexion paling. “Mar... Marcus,” he managed, his voice uncharacteristically strained.
“Alec?” Samara asked, concern evident in her tone. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you all right?”
“I’m... uh, fine,” Alec replied, rising abruptly from the settee. “Ex... Excuse me.” Without another word, he hurried toward the door.
Marcus watched him go, his expression unreadable. “I’ll see to him,” he announced, following Alec from the room with purposeful strides.
A brief silence fell over the conservatory before Scarlet voiced the question they were all thinking: “Do you think Alec is still angry at Marcus for not visiting for so long?”
“They were close, after all,” Samara mused. “I’d be angry too if you’d gone off on your merry way and never visited me for five long years, Letty.”
“Never mind them,” Edward said dismissively, though his mind was already cataloging the peculiar interaction for later consideration. “They’ll make up sooner than you’d expect.” He turned to Ian, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange. “How do you like St. Louis, Ian?”
Ian met his gaze, those remarkable blue eyes reflecting the conservatory’s light. “It’s... a busy city,” he replied, “Though I’m starting to think the real entertainment is right here in Tyndall Manor. No one mentioned the family drama would be quite so theatrical.”
Edward chuckled despite himself. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until Christmas when everyone gathers for the annual Tyndall traditions. Last year, Henry ended up hanging from the chandelier after losing a bet to Anthony.”
“I look forward to witnessing such dignified aristocratic customs,” Ian replied solemnly, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
Edward rose to his feet, suddenly eager to have Ian to himself after two months of separation. “Come with me for a bit. I’d like to speak with you privately.”
“Oh? Are you planning to lecture me further on the impropriety of public shirtlessness?” Ian asked, though he stood to follow. “Because I should warn you, I’ve spent nineteen years changing clothes in a room I shared with two six-year-olds. My sense of modesty may be beyond repair.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Edward replied dryly. “Though in St. Louis, such casual disrobing is generally reserved for more... intimate settings.”
He caught the slight widening of Ian’s eyes at his words, a faint blush coloring the omega’s cheeks. Good. Let him think about that.
As they left the conservatory, Edward was acutely aware of the twins’ speculative gazes following them. No doubt they were already constructing elaborate theories about his interest in Ian—theories that, if he were honest with himself, might not be far from the truth.
“Hmm,” Samara murmured as the door closed behind them. “Did you see that, Letty?”
“Edward practically growling at Alec to get off Ian?” Scarlet replied. “Or the way he positioned himself between them like a jealous lover?”
“Both,” Samara confirmed with growing excitement. “I think we may have stumbled upon the perfect inspiration for our next series.”
“‘The Earl and the Omega’?” Scarlet suggested, already reaching for her sketchbook. “Or perhaps ‘Beauty and the Alpha’?”
“We’ll workshop the title,” Samara decided. “But first, I think we need to conduct some discreet observation. For artistic purposes only, of course.”
“Of course,” Scarlet agreed solemnly. “The integrity of our craft demands nothing less.”
Edward led Ian through the manor to his private study on the third floor, a spacious room dominated by a mahogany desk and featuring a comfortable sitting area with a view of the gardens. He settled onto the sofa, stretching one arm along its back in a deliberately casual pose that belied the tension thrumming through him.
Ian remained standing, his gaze wandering around the room with undisguised wonder. “This is larger than our entire sitting room at Cheswick,” he said. “Do all the rooms in Tyndall Manor require their own postal code, or is it just yours?”
Edward chuckled, charmed by Ian’s irreverent humor. He’d missed this—the sharp wit, the refusal to be intimidated by wealth or status. “The architect did have rather grandiose ambitions,” he replied. “I believe his original plans included separate climate zones and possibly its own moon. Come, sit before you strain your neck admiring the ceiling frescoes.”
Ian obeyed, though he perched on the edge of the sofa with his back ramrod straight, hands resting primly on his thighs. The nervous energy radiating from him was palpable, and Edward found himself wondering if the boy’s heart was racing as fast as his own.
“How was the journey to St. Louis?” he asked, deliberately keeping his tone casual. “I trust the railway managed not to misplace you between stations?”
“Pleasant enough,” Ian replied. “Though I’m still not convinced that what they served on the train qualified as food. It had the general appearance of beef, but the consistency of boot leather.”
“Ah yes, the famous Northland Railway cuisine,” Edward nodded sagely. “I believe they employ former blacksmiths as chefs—individuals who understand the importance of thoroughly beating one’s meat into submission. And the move itself? Has Tyndall Manor managed to intimidate you into proper aristocratic behavior yet, or are you still stubbornly clinging to your country manners?”
“I’m adjusting,” Ian nodded. “Everyone has been kind, if occasionally overwhelming. Your sisters seem determined to turn me into some sort of living art project, and your mother keeps trying to fatten me up like a Christmas goose.” His lips curved into a small smile. “It’s... nice, actually. Being fussed over.”
“The Tyndall women have elevated affection to an art form,” Edward replied with a wry smile. “My father used to claim they could simultaneously coddle you and organize an invasion of a small country without missing a beat. It’s a particular talent that runs in the family.”
Ian turned to face him then, those blue eyes meeting his directly. “So you like showing affection too, my lord? I wouldn’t have guessed from your typically stoic demeanor.”
The question, delivered with such innocent curiosity belied by the mischievous glint in Ian’s eye, sent a jolt of heat through Edward’s body. “I’m selective with my affections,” he confirmed, unable to resist reaching out to touch Ian’s hair. “Quality over quantity, you might say. I reserve genuine warmth for those rare individuals who merit it. Those I care about. Those I find... intriguing.”
The strands felt like silk against his fingers, and he found himself stroking them with a tenderness that surprised even him. Ian’s cheeks flushed a delightful pink, his eyes widening slightly at the intimate gesture.
“So, um, is that all you wanted to talk about, my lord?” he asked, his voice taking on a breathless quality that sent Edward’s pulse racing. “Your family’s affectionate nature?”
“I find there are more interesting subjects between us,” Edward murmured, his hand moving from Ian’s hair to trace the slender column of his neck, then along the curve of his back. The boy stiffened beneath his touch, and Edward was suddenly, painfully reminded of the scars that marred that pale skin—evidence of cruelty that still filled him with cold rage whenever he thought of it.
Who had dared to hurt this precious boy? The marks had been deliberate, systematic—each lash a calculated act of violence against a child who deserved nothing but protection and love. Edward had promised himself he would discover the identity of the perpetrator, and when he did... Well, there would be a reckoning.
Forcing his thoughts away from such dark paths, Edward focused on the present. “I’ve opened a bank account for you,” he said, his voice deliberately casual as though he weren’t still fighting the urge to pull Ian closer. “You’ll receive a monthly allowance. Consider it your first step toward financial independence in the capital.”
“A bank account?” Ian repeated, surprise evident in his tone. “I get an allowance, my lord? Are you sure that’s wise? I’ve been told I have expensive tastes. Why, just last week I considered purchasing a second pair of socks.”
“How scandalously extravagant,” Edward replied, his lips twitching with amusement. “Next you’ll be telling me you’ve developed a taste for eating three meals daily. I may need to reconsider the entire arrangement if your demands continue to escalate at this alarming rate.”
He struggled to maintain his composure as Ian’s tongue darted out to wet his lips—a nervous habit that never failed to captivate him. The memory of their kiss at Cheswick surfaced unbidden, sending a surge of desire through him so powerful it was almost painful.
“My lord?” Ian prompted when he remained silent. “Have I shocked you with my extravagant sock ambitions?”
Edward took a deep breath, forcing himself to lean back and create distance between them. “Your aspirations toward multiple pairs of footwear are perfectly reasonable,” he replied, his voice rougher than he intended. “Though I must warn you that in St. Louis society, one is expected to change socks at least daily, sometimes more often if engaging in particularly vigorous social climbing. The monthly sum should cover your basic expenses with enough left over for the occasional sartorial indulgence.”
Ian’s brow furrowed slightly. “But won’t it put a burden on you, my lord? I don’t want to be a charity case.”
The question was so absurd that Edward nearly laughed aloud. A burden? The paltry sum he had allocated for Ian’s expenses wouldn’t even register against his vast fortune. What was truly burdensome was sitting here beside the object of his desire, unable to act on the impulses that grew stronger with each passing moment.
“Ian,” he said, meeting those blue eyes directly, “the Tyndall shipping fleet loses more in loose change between sofa cushions than your entire annual allowance. If it eases your conscience, consider it compensation for having to endure my sisters’ artistic enthusiasm and my mother’s relentless hospitality.”
He wanted to pull Ian into his arms, to taste those lips again, to explore every inch of the body that had haunted his dreams for months. He wanted to claim the omega in every way possible, to mark him as his own so thoroughly that no one would ever question to whom Ian Harrison belonged.
The intensity of his own desires frightened him. This was his ward, for God’s sake—a young man under his protection. Yet the alpha in him recognized Ian as something else entirely: a potential mate, a compatible omega whose scent and presence called to him on a primal level.
“It’s not a burden, Ian,” he managed, running a hand through his hair as he stared fixedly at the tea table rather than risk meeting those blue eyes again. “That’s all for now. You can leave before I forget myself entirely.”
“Oh.” Ian’s confusion was evident in that single syllable. He rose to his feet, hesitating for a moment before adding, “You look tired, my lord. It must be the long journey from England. Please rest well.” With a small nod, he turned and left the study.
As the door closed behind Ian, Edward slumped back against the sofa, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Fuck,” he muttered, the crude word inadequate to express the turmoil within him.