Highland Wolves Boxed Set by Tilly Wallace

Author:Tilly Wallace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ribbonwood Press

16

Quinn

* * *

Late that afternoon, Quinn was in his favourite spot, sprawled over the armchair by the fire that allowed him to watch Ianthe from over the top of his book. She sat at her desk, going over her accounts for the month. The last rays of sun through the window lit her from behind, and her fiery hair glowed. She was his angel, and he could watch her all day. Years, if he got the chance. He would never tire of the sight. He memorised how her brow was drawn as she did sums, muttered to herself, and then did more sums. He guessed she was trying to decide which of the numerous invoices littering her desk were the most urgent.

It pained his heart to see her struggling, trying to determine where to apply her limited funds. Ideas were birthed in the deep recesses of his mind. It tore at him to consider she might not have him, but he would not walk away from his mate until he figured out a way to make her free. He would see her as happy as the day she had galloped over the fields with the Arabian stallion.

"You're supposed to be reading a book, not staring at me," she said, without looking up from her calculations.

One curl had escaped her bun and coiled down her neck. How he longed to tug on the silky length and kiss her skin as he tucked it behind her ear. "I much prefer the story you present than the one in my hands."

She looked up and met his gaze, clouds of thought swirling in her pale eyes. Her question never emerged, as Perkins rapped on the door and pushed it open.

"Viscount Hoth to see you, miss."

Septimus was hot on the butler's heels, all but pushing the man aside. He stopped upon seeing Quinn lounging in the armchair. His gaze narrowed as he doffed his hat and drew off his gloves, then shoved them at Perkins. The retainer wore a scowl of his own as he took the accessories, and left the parlour. Quinn hoped he found a passing dog to do its business in the expensive hat. If he could change form, he would have offered to do it himself.

"Ianthe," Hoth said, wrenching his attention around. "I had hoped to find you alone, but I see the whelp is still underfoot."

"Wolf, actually, and a fully-grown one, not a whelp," Quinn murmured as he looked from his most favourite view to his least. With each meeting, his distaste for the man grew, and he derived childish satisfaction from blocking his attempts to corner Ianthe. Aster believed the viscount to be a type of Unnatural called a soul eater. Quinn wanted to grab him by the throat and demand to know what he had done to his mistresses, but he wasn't allowed. Aster insisted laws and evidentiary requirements be followed or she would use her newspaper on his snout.

"Septimus." Ianthe rose and approached. Taking the viscount's hand, she leaned up to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

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