after Bruno as he shut the door to his study. His fist clenched, breaking his quill in half. Please let the knife in his gut be for sane reasons, not for the dread that came to him in his sleep last night. Oscar. His teeth clenched. No…they all would surely want to fuck her. Even if she was not a mate, the smell of innocence shed pulled at even him. Let his unease be only that. His fist hit the desk with a loud thud.
Ursus…please stay dormant—he squeezed his eyes shut—and let his sons choose a mate without the turmoil that had stayed with him for a lifetime.
3
Beautiful. Jane stepped across the threshold into a magnificent dining room. Along one wall stood large windows partially covered by thick black drapes. In the center of the room, a large black-stained wooden table stood polished to a slick shine, surrounded by substantial black and gray upholstered chairs. She could see the dinner guests, in their fancy dresses, sitting in the large chairs. They laughed and sipped spiced wine. Sweet mother! The room glittered with the polish and sophistication of the moneyed.
With not a sound in the room, her slippers echoed throughout on the black polished floor. She glanced down at her gray wool once again and cringed. She looked frumpy and so out of place in such surroundings. Jerome, who escorted her, held out a seat for her halfway down the table. She smiled and sat. “Thank you,” she whispered, afraid to break the tranquil atmosphere.
“What do you take for repast?”
“Tea and something sweet—no, cinnamon, if you have it.” She could still smell the scent from her dream.
“Ma’am.” He scurried to the sideboard and brought her a teapot and cup. She picked up the pot and poured the steaming liquid. Setting the pot back on the table, she glanced down at her lap. My stars! The chair made her dainty, and she was far from small.
“Now behave.” A deep voice came from out in the hall, and her gaze shot to the door. An elegant, massive man paused at the doorway; then he entered the room with an air of control.
“Welcome to Tremarctos, ma’am.” He held up a hand. “Stay seated. I am Lord Tremarctos, and these are my boars.” The elegant, gray-haired man pointed to the door as man after large man entered the room behind him. All of them possessed something from the elder. Boars surely meant sons.
Boar? The word felt oddly familiar.
“What is Tremarctos?”
“Why, this place,” the youngest-looking one replied as he slid out the chair beside her. “Devon Ursus at your service, ma’am.”
His blond hair, pulled back from his face, displayed striking angles that lit up when he smiled. His icy blue eyes assessed her as if gazing straight through to her soul. Her blood heated with wicked sensations. He tore his gaze away, leaving a chill in her bones.
“And you are?”
Jane jumped and turned toward the voice that came from the other side of her. Another of the large men sat down, and awareness skittered through her body. “Oh, pardon…I am Miss Jane Milton.”
The heat of the two enormous male bodies surrounding her tangled her emotions. How she wanted one of them to touch her—yet she feared that touch at the same time. Any one of them could crush her like a fly.
“Miss Milton. I am Mac, and that rogue there,” he lifted his hand and pointed to his brother standing against the wall, “is Martin, my twin.”
They did look remarkably alike yet different. Both possessed thick, dark brown, wavy hair—tucked back behind their ears—that brushed their shoulders. But their eyes…Mac’s were a hard green, startling in intensity, and Martin’s were a cottony pale brown, shining with the kind of gentleness she could get lost in.
Jerome leaned in and placed a plate, a sugary cinnamon roll perched atop, in front of her. She glanced up and smiled at him. The smell, so delicious, captured her senses as she stared at the cinnamon stickiness and licked her lips.
“Miss Milton, the last introduction is of my eldest son and heir.” The father’s tone sounded as if it scolded.
“Ma’am, I am Lord Orin Arctos.” He stood formally at the side of the table, bowed to her, and then sat. Never once did he truly look at her.
Martin pushed from the wall, capturing her attention. With a small cup in his hand, he pulled the chair opposite her from the table and sat. Her gaze fixed on that cup. The same cup she held in her hand was dwarfed by his grasp. Hmph. Small cup indeed.
What kind of men were these? She had never seen such big, burly men. She glanced up, and Martin’s gaze briefly touched hers. Lightning shot down her spine. Wh—what was that? Her teacup shuttered in her clutch.
“Orin is a bit formal, but nothing to fear,” Devon whispered, mistaking the reason for her shaking hand.
“Oh, surely.” She couldn’t tear her gaze from Martin across the table; his brows stooped over his eyes as he assessed her, and her heart beat so hard in her chest she swore she visibly pulsed to the beat. What was wrong with her?
Her body had gone mad since yesterday. Each man’s gaze created startling effects on her. Though the act of giving her innocence had been painful at best, her body now craved scandalous and wanton things. She shook herself. Maybe she had a fever, though she felt fine. Her fingers briefly brushed her cool forehead.
“Are you well, Miss Milton?” Mac’s long, thick fingers pressed her forearm.
Martin stood up with alarming haste, his chair clattering to the floor. Everyone jumped; their gazes snapped to him.
“Sit now, boar, and behave,” the father said from the head of the table as he studied his knife in indifference.
My stars! Was this kind of behavior common among these men? The air grew thick with tension, and Martin’s cheek twitched as his gaze fixed on Mac’s hands, which were still settled on her arm.
“Pardon, Father.” Martin inclined his head. “I—I need to leave.”
“Very well. Say your farewell.” Lord Tremarctos’s cool blue gaze slid over Martin and then shot to Jane and narrowed, only to settle on Mac.
Mac leaned back in his chair, and the corner of his lips crooked up. Good Lord! She had no experience with brothers. Maybe all male siblings regarded one another this way?
“Good day, miss.” Martin bowed his head swiftly and headed for the door. What a strange and odd occurrence! Such hostility did not welcome her. She didn’t feel safe at all. The time had arrived to leave.
“Your lordship, I—I am sorry to disrupt you…”
When the boars had all followed their father into the dining hall for the morning repast, Martin could just barely contain his rage as Mac had sat next to Jane at the table. Martin had schooled his features as her virgin blood heated in his veins. Last night had changed him.
Her openness about her feelings and the caring emotions that poured from her for the man in town shook him. She would make a good mother and excellent mate if he could only get her to accept him. He had wanted so much more from her last night, but he had barely escaped and bolted the door before Mac came raging up the hall, howling at her scent.
They
