She tucked the small umbrella over her shoulder, and its shadow dropped over her face.
“You could also remove your glasses now, since the parasol will protect your vision.” It was a question worth raising, and the blasted things were bothering him.
Laughter burst from her chest and she twirled the silken umbrella. “It is not as simple as a matter of shadows cast. One must factor in the intensity of the glare and surrounding reflections.” She laid a hand on his forearm and leaned closer. “Now, would you share your opinion of the horses? They all look so lovely to me.”
Hamish huffed. Clever woman sought to distract him by drawing attention to the horses. Very well, it would work, as the parade of horseflesh and outfits was a visual delight and he itched to add his commentary. He placed his hand over the top of hers so she couldn’t escape, and savoured the press of her next to him. “Some are not worth the coin their owners paid.”
“What do you mean? Is not an expensive horse a good one?” She cocked her head to one side, hanging on his opinion.
Holding her rapt attention was a small thing that made him feel infinitely taller, stronger, and better. If he were in his wolf form he probably would have howled in victory. He leaned closer to her under the canopy—close enough to steal a kiss, if he were so bold or unconcerned about spooking her. No, the time was not right; he didn’t want her bolting on him like a horse that realised a deadly predator had just jumped onto its back. Instead he inhaled her rich scent and held it to him, and then he pointed to a bay with white stockings. “See that one? The legs are too spindly and out of proportion to its body.”
She shook her head and narrowed her gaze. “But it looks so elegant.”
He drew circles and lines in the air around the mount in question. “Which is why the peer riding it probably paid as much for the horse as a working class man earns in a year. But the mount is weak behind; I suspect it will be unsound within a year.”
“And what of the horses that the women ride? Some look exceptional.” She turned back to the parade of the latest riding habits and fashion. A group of well turned-out women rode by, complete with a surrounding swarm of suitors, and laughter rose and fell as they passed.
“Some are,” Quinn said.
Aster pointed to a small group that seemed to be separate from the other women riders. “And those women over there seem to ride so expertly.”
Ewan laughed, a rare sound. “Those are courtesans; they do know how to ride most expertly.”
Alick chuckled at the crude innuendo, but fell silent when Hamish glared at him.
Hamish pulled Aster a little closer. “There are horse dealers who pay the courtesans to exhibit their best animals. As Ewan points out, some of them are expert equestriennes.”
Aster sighed as she watched the women. “They look so at ease in the saddle, as though born to it. And I have never seen such cuts and colours as the habits they wear. Why, look at that one, she even carries a parasol and rides one-handed.”
Aster pointed to one, who rode with all four double reins in one hand and carried her parasol in the other. A fiery redhead, she wore a deep green habit with cream trim. Her parasol was the same hue of green, with a cream fringe. She conversed with the gentlemen who rode to her offside.
Ewan stared at the group of courtesans. “They also exhibit for the dress makers. Noble women look down their noses at the demi-monde, but they will all be in their dressmakers’ this afternoon, demanding the habits they see here today for them to wear tomorrow.”
“A strange relationship, is it not?” Aster said.
Ewan held her gaze for a moment. “Such is the dichotomy of the ton. They deride that which they secretly envy the most. They sneer at the Unnaturals but behind closed doors wish they had similar abilities. Many a wealthy woman would expose her throat to a vampyre simply to stop the aging process.”
Quinn’s gaze was held captive by the equestrienne with the parasol.
“Does she ride well?” Aster asked, looking from courtesan to Quinn.
“She has a good seat and kind hands,” he said at length.
“And I bet—” Alick’s words were cut off as Hamish elbowed him in the stomach. The man grunted and glared at his lifelong friend.
“I don’t think we need trouble Aster with whatever foul comment you were going to make about Quinn needing kind hands or a good seat,” Hamish said as he glanced at Aster’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm. He wondered what sort of rider she would make. A sympathetic one, he reckoned, aware of the needs of the mount beneath her. Warmth spread through his lower gut as his train of thought dwelt on an image of her slender naked ankle adorned with a silver spur, ready to touch the side of a lucky mount.
“Well, I don’t have to say it now. You made it for me.” Alick slapped him on the back, and fortunately dissolved the mental image forming in his mind.
A woman in pale ivory on a petite bay rode past and stopped to glance back. She said something to her companion, and then turned her horse with a sudden yank of the reins.
“Hamish, is that you? Why, it is! How marvellous to see you.” She guided her mount closer to the rail.
Hamish doffed his hat at her. “Lady Merton, have you been long in London?”
She laughed, a light tinkling noise. “Oh Hamish, why so formal? You once used to murmur Emily as you held me. I came here for the Season, but it is the brighter if you are in attendance. Do tell me you will be at Almack’s tonight? I have been too long without your company.”
She dropped her gaze and lowered her lashes as she spoke the last sentence. The perfect coquette; shame her choice of victim did not appreciate her flirtations.
“I am sorry, Lady Merton, I am here on business and have no time for entertainments. I return to Woolwich this afternoon.” He remembered their association and had no desire to continue where it left off. In fact, he’d rather bury the whole sorry affair deep in the ground and never glimpse it again.
She frowned, and her gaze flicked over Aster. “Come, Hamish, nothing can be that important. You must at least join me and show these layabout nobles how a cavalryman rides.”
He brushed a hand over his top hat and placed it back on his head. “Thank you, but I do not have time today.”
“Really?” The woman narrowed her eyes at Aster. “Something else occupies your time?”
Blast it, he would have to introduce them now. “This is Miss Aster Simmons. Aster, this is Lady Emily Merton.”
“My lady.” Aster bobbed a curtsey from beside him, and he saw colour creep up her neck.
He turned back to Emily to find her narrowed gaze on the secretary and the way he held her hand.
“Really, Hamish. There is nothing of importance here. You should make your presence known amongst your peers and stop consorting with working girls.” Her nose lifted in the air as though Aster were an unpleasant odour underneath it.
He ground his teeth. At least he had the manners to not be rude to a woman, but she sorely tested him. For her cruel words to Aster he would gladly bring the haughty woman down a notch or two. He only needed to let the growl loose and her skittish horse would either bolt or rear. Only his sense of chivalry prevented him from doing so.
Aster slid her hand free of his grasp. Something sharp flared in her eyes, but the confounded glasses muted her pain. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I shall wait back at the carriage. I’m finding it a little too hot in the sun, even under the parasol.”
“I’ll walk with you, Aster. I much prefer your company.” Quinn took her hand and led her away.
Alick did growl, but not loudly enough to spook the horse. “I’ll join you. This is too rich for my stomach.” He took Aster’s other arm, and they strode away, leaving Hamish and Ewan at the rail. Ewan arched an eyebrow and looked amused. Hamish should have known his lieutenant would stay by his side; he would want to watch events unfold.
His men had rallied and shielded Aster from Emily’s blows as though she were already a part of
their pack. Hamish narrowed his gaze at the woman. Was Aster judged unworthy because of the cut of her dress, or was her bonnet from a previous season? Manners be damned, he would speak up for the woman who roused his senses and sparked a growing protective urge. “I am curious, Emily. The last time we spoke, I seem to recollect that you had little time for spares, only for heirs.”
She smiled, and something predatory crept into her eyes. “But life has remedied that oversight. You are no longer a second son. A title will settle on your shoulders.”
“My brother Rab died. You dare call his death a correction of nature?” He tightened his hands around the rail to stop himself from lunging at the woman. The shallowness of some nobles staggered him, and it turned his stomach to think they now considered him one of them.
Her gaze widened. At least she appeared to realise she’d crossed a line. “A tragedy, of course. I merely pointed out the fortuitous circumstances that will lead to you being earl.”
Hamish barked in laughter. He was sorely tempted to blurt out he had been afflicted and parliament may yet decide he would never inherit. Even marriage might be denied him, as the debate raged about if Unnaturals should be allowed to marry and breed. “My father is hale and hearty, and I pray he lives another twenty or thirty years before the title is thrust upon me.”
The glint returned to her gaze, the one that saw an unattached heir in need of a spouse. “Come, Hamish. You must be in search of your future lady wife, surely? You have responsibilities now.”
His stomach roiled. He had no time for title-seeking women. Thinking of titles brought to mind a snippet of gossip about the woman he had once, foolishly, courted. “Perhaps I am misinformed, Lady Merton. I thought you had an engagement—to a viscount, was it not?” Did the girl seek to trade for a title higher up the peerage?
She paled and her hands tightened on the reins. “Well, I can see you are busy. I must find my friends. Good day to you, Lord Logan.” She pulled on the horse’s mouth so hard its jaw opened wide as she wrenched the bit.
Hamish winced. The poor horse would feel her wrath now. She displayed her true character in how she abused those creatures beneath her, both the horse and Aster. Such a woman would have no problems with whipping a dog.
Ewan watched the woman ride away. “After two years, the viscount called off their engagement. The charitable among society whisper that her father could not fund her dowry, and so the viscount sought his purse elsewhere. He married one of the nouveau riche, a seer with much success in predicting stock movements. Apparently he is quite enamoured of the steady cash flow.”
So far only mages and those with mage blood, like seers, were allowed to marry. No one dared deny a powerful mage. Hamish watched a high-stepping grey trot past. “And what do the uncharitable say about her?”
Ewan turned his back on society to watch his comrades instead. “That the viscount tasted of her fruit and found her too bitter to swallow.”
Hamish had a small twinge of sympathy for the woman, if she had indeed been used and discarded. It was a nasty situation for a noble woman to find herself in. But that did not excuse her being rude to Aster. One member of the ton was no better than the next. The man was a cad to use the woman and discard her. “The man made a commitment, he should have stuck to it. She never so much as looked in my direction when I was just a second son and army officer. She only had eyes for Rab, or as it transpires, the earldom.” He let out a long breath. Nobles were supposed to marry to suit the needs of their estates and titles. If the legislation passed he planned to either seek something deeper or remain unwed. Let his cousin have the title; he did not care. In fact, that would teach society. Let them deal with Alick the berserker wolf as earl.
A smile quirked Ewan’s lush lips. “You would honour your word, Captain, for you are a man of integrity. Others would not.”
Hamish turned to see what held Ewan’s attention, and beheld Alick climbing a large oak. “I only do what is right for those around me.”
“And that is why the men follow you. You bond the regiment into a unit. Without you, we would disintegrate into our base characters. Wolves without a leader are chaotic creatures, prone to fighting amongst themselves.”
With the lupine transformation, Hamish had stepped from captain to wolf pack leader. He didn’t give too much thought to why the men followed his orders. He simply never asked anything of them he would not do himself. Lead by example, he always thought. “And what would you three be, without me?”
He pointed to Quinn, Alick’s legs in the foliage, and then himself, as he replied. “A gambler, a brawler, and a whore.”
Ewan stated it plainly, and Hamish worried that his lieutenant had cast himself as whore. While many noble women lined his pockets in return for his favour, he hoped that one day something, or someone, would reach inside the man and rouse the beast that slumbered. His detachment wasn’t natural, but Hamish was no woman to go asking what event had happened in his life to shape him into a cold assassin. Even the wolf change left him unaffected. He refused to shift unless absolutely necessary, saying he didn’t like the hairs all over his clothing. How many layers of chains had he bound his wolf with, to keep it quiet?
“And I am a captain with a unit the army is too scared to deploy in open combat and a man who was never meant to inherit.” Life toyed with him, dangling possibilities before his eyes.
“Parliament will pass the Unnatural Act. They have to; soon there will be too many of us scattered throughout society and we cannot be ignored. Then one day you will be earl. Do you not think you should pursue a bride for the good of your estate and your pack?” Ewan narrowed his gaze at his captain.
Hamish cast a glance at Aster, laughing with Quinn. “How do you tell a woman you are a wolf?”
Ewan shrugged. “If the woman in question loves you, I believe the conversation will be easier than you think. Plus we already know she has a high regard for four-legged creatures. She is quite enamoured of her little terrier.”
Hamish blew a breath out his nose. A lapdog was one thing, but it would take an extraordinary woman to lie down beside a wolf. His inner beast kept referring to Aster as its mate and he needed to talk to someone who understood what that meant. “Is it wrong of me to seek a woman who sees me, man and beast, and not just a title? So many women passed me over when I stood in Rab’s shadow. I find their previous disdain hard to swallow now.”
The truth was, it burned in his chest. Some women displayed such fickle affections, their heartstrings pulled by titles and annuities. Apart from the lycanthrope blood coursing through his veins, the only other change was the death of his brother. He was still the same man, yet the role of heir settling on his shoulders turned him from invisible soldier to desirable bachelor. It stuck in his craw.
“Can you blame a woman for seeking a secure future? A title means you are better able to provide for her,” Ewan said.
Hamish’s gaze focused on one particular woman who provided for herself. Perhaps there was something to be said for women who were independent, if it made their hearts more certain and less swayed by financial matters. They walked over to the tree where Alick dangled from a branch, some ten feet off the ground.
Aster and Quinn were laughing so hard both were wiping tears from their faces. Cursing and swearing came from amongst the leafy coverage.
“What on earth is going on?” Hamish asked.
“Alick is in pursuit of a sworn enemy,” Quinn said, before dissolving into laughter again.
Aster swallowed and raised a beaming face to him. “Mr Ferguson tried to catch a squirrel to show me, but the creature bit his finger. I believe there is now some matter of personal honour to be satisfied.”
Ewan gazed up at the Highlander’s swinging legs and bottom. “I suppose we should all be grateful he’s not wearing a kilt.”
“Alick!” Hamish called. “Leave the poor squirrel alone and come down so we can take Miss Simmons for afternoon tea.”
The large man dropped fro
m the tree with a thud and brushed off his jacket. He scowled at a point high up the trunk. “Don’t go thinking this is over, you furry bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “But I’ll not keep Miss Simmons waiting when tea and cakes are offered.”
They found a teashop, and Hamish purchased afternoon tea. The conversation drifted over a number of topics, from horse conformation and riding styles to the best ways to catch a squirrel. All too soon they began the journey back to Woolwich, to return Aster and Dougal to their quiet office.
Hamish awoke the next morning with the issue of buttons foremost in his mind. In fact, the small objects were driving him to distraction. While it was a necessary reason for his constant visits to the office, he’d never realised a small brass fitting could cause so many headaches. First the sketches had to be signed off on. Even though they all showed the same image, there were tiny variations. Then a sample batch was cast and had to be approved for weight, size, and how the image looked both in the hand and against fabric. He swore if he closed his eyes he saw laughing wolves, jaws chattering as they marched toward the horizon.
“Good morning, Aster.” He dropped his gloves into his hat and left it on the stand by the door. After their day in London, he decided to skip propriety. She was no longer Miss Simmons to him, but Aster. And when he’d found himself thinking about her late at night, she was his star. He conjured a myriad of ways to make her soar—all while he would keep a grip on her slender ankles, with his hand cradling her foot and stroking the arch.
Her head shot up on hearing her name, and he was rewarded by the faint blush that crept over her chest, what little of it he could see under the gauzy fichu. Dougal barked and rushed over for his pat.
“Good morning, Captain.” She pushed her glasses further up her nose. A strand of dark hair had escaped her bun and curled around the front of her ear.
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