Page 43 of Tamed for Her Pleasure

A servant bearing a domed-topped platter chooses that moment to enter the room through a door on the right. The platter hits the floor with a crash. She screams and runs back out.

“We beseeched him to put on some clothes, my liege,” Dick says. “He refused, and we thought it best to bring him straight here.”

Louie waves them off with an imperious sweep of his hand.

As the door clicks shut on the guards, Penelope, biting her lower lip to hide her smile, rises gracefully from the table.

“Father, if I might handle this.”

“By all means, daughter.” He lifts a napkin and pats himself down.

Penelope

This is by far the strangest breakfast ever. I cannot help the little glow of pleasure that consumes me as I surreptitiously watch the man who will be my husband—who I am already mated to—as he eats his breakfast.

Alfred sits in the fancy carver chair. Around his waist is a tablecloth hastily brought by a servant from the nearby store.

A big, gruff barbarian with long hair and braids, a thick beard, and acres of naked chest muscle sipping tea from a china cup is quite the sight.

He makes me happy just by being here; a fluttery, giddy feeling unfurls inside that I know to be the beginning of love.

I knew he would be cross that I left him, but my father had mentioned the servant coming to wake me early, so I had no choice. The last thing I wanted to do was cause even more scandal than I already have, so, reluctantly, I slipped out of bed and returned to my room.

I missed him, which is ridiculous when he is inside the castle. And it’s not like he could sneak out… he has neither the size nor disposition for sneaking anywhere. Alfred is more of a direct approach man. He looks very much like what he is—a huge barbarian king. Well, he’s not a king anymore since he abdicated. My father means to knight him this morning. He also intends to make him a lord and gift him an estate.

Alfred seems to be accepting of this, and to know already, courtesy of Dick, Wendle, and Poach, three of my father’s personal guards. I have known Dick since I was a little girl and Poach nearly as long. Wendle is a new member of the guards buthighly competent, even if he is a little shy. It did not escape my notice that all three of them were amused by Alfred’s antics.

My attention returns to the present. My father is detailing the wedding plans. Alfred is more interested in the food than the wedding, which means far less to him than us. In his eyes, I am already his mate, and a wedding is a lot of unnecessary pomp.

He slides another two slices of crispy bacon onto his plate. My lips twitch as he shoves one into his mouth whole and groans as he chews. He has eaten no less than six sausages and as many pieces of bacon… and is obsessed with the breakfast potatoes our cook does so well.

Two sausages are left on the platter, and I believe he is eyeing them up even as he finishes the bacon.

At my father’s insistence, he is on the opposite side of the table to me, and I like that it gives me this unguarded view even if I crave his touch.

My tummy takes a slow tumble again at the mere thought of his hands on me; even the lightest touch of his hand against mine, our fingers entwined, would soothe me, better still if he were to purr…

“Fuck it,” he mutters.

My father stumbles over his words as Alfred pushes his chair back. With the tablecloth clasped at his hip, he stalks around the table with a determined air that quickens my heart rate—I am his destination.

I still squeak as he snatches me from the chair, sits down, and puts me on his lap.

He purrs. I get the strangest feeling he sensed my need and acted as a result.

“Sorry, Louie,” he says. “I could not think fucking straight when she was over the other side of the table. I’m an alpha. We need to stay close to our mate. Especially at this early stage of bonding.”

Thankfully, my father was not drinking, and we could avoid another tea-spitting incident, although his mouth is working like a fish out of water.

The door opens to admit a softly treaded servant who makes a small audible gasp.

“They will get used to it, Father,” I say. “Our cultures clash at every moment and every step. He has his ways, and we have ours. I sense he is prepared to compromise on some things, but in this, he is not.”

The young pink-cheeked servant is about to take the platter with the two sausages. Alfred’s hand snaps out, and he snags them. They are gone in two bites.

He licks his fingers clean. “The food here is delicious,” he rumbles.

My father chokes a laugh. The poor servant is now crimson as she gathers up the empty plates.

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