The Earl Falls in Love - Chapter 4
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Omegaverse Historical Romance
Ian
I stared at my reflection in the cloudy mirror, grimacing at what I saw. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my hair stuck up in directions that defied both gravity and common decency. After hauling our mysterious guest back to the manor and spending hours in his alpha-scented presence, I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
Worse still, my own omega scent had strengthened noticeably. The herbs I’d applied at dawn were no match for physical exertion and proximity to an unmated alpha.
“Damn inconvenient biology,” I muttered, peeling off my torn shirt.
Despite my daily work around the estate, my frame remained stubbornly slender—another “gift” of my omega nature. I wasn’t soft, though—far from it. Years of physical labor had left me with a lean, wiry strength that belied my delicate features.
My abdomen showed the defined ridges of muscle that came from hauling water, chopping wood, and wrestling stubborn livestock. My arms, while not thick, were corded with sinew earned through honest work.
Still, I was nothing like the impressive specimen currently occupying my bed. Where I was taut wire, he was solid oak. My skin had maintained its frustrating paleness despite hours under the sun, though to be fair, Northland’s northern climate hardly offered abundant sunshine.
What little sun we did get only seemed to bring out a scattering of freckles across my shoulders and a tendency to flush pink rather than tan properly. Yet another trait that had earned me mockery at school—”delicate as a hothouse flower, tough as an old boot,” the village boys had taunted, never quite understanding how both could be true.
With a sigh, I reached for a fresh shirt from my wardrobe. It was one of my better ones—I hadn’t intended to wear it today, but our unexpected guest had disrupted all my plans. As I buttoned it up, I couldn’t help comparing my narrow but defined chest to the impressive expanse I’d glimpsed when we’d undressed the stranger. Different tools for different purposes, I supposed—I was built for endurance and quick movement, he for power and presence.
I reached for my pouch of herbs, crushing a fresh handful between my fingers. The familiar scents of lavender and rosemary filled the air as I dabbed the oils behind my ears and at my wrists, hoping it would be enough to mask what nature seemed determined to broadcast.
“Couldn’t you have made me a beta instead?” I asked my reflection. “Or at least given me shoulders broad enough to look like I could win a fight without resorting to trickery?”
Waffle, traitor that he was, had abandoned me for more exciting company. The sound of delighted squeals and a chorus of “Waffle! Waffle!” confirmed his whereabouts.
“Do we hafta wear matching outfits again?” Reuben’s plaintive voice carried down the hallway as I stepped into the corridor.
“Yes,” Amy replied with the firmness of someone whose life mission was coordinated children’s attire. “You’re both twins, so you and Miss Rosie must match!”
I paused outside their doorway, watching as Dorothy and Amy wrangled the twins into their day clothes. The so-called “matching outfits” weren’t truly identical—just made from the same fabric with complementary styles. Like tiny prison uniforms, but with more lace.
“We’re not the same kind of twins,” Reuben protested, struggling as Amy attempted to button his collar. “That means we don’t hafta match!”
“I think we look pretty,” Rosie countered softly, twirling to make her skirt flare. “Don’t we look pretty, Dorothy?”
“You both look lovely, sweetheart,” Dorothy assured her as I slipped away toward the stairs.
The doctor would still be some time—the village was at least an hour’s carriage ride away, meaning Paul was barely halfway there. I poked my head through the sitting room doorway to find Grandma Eliza in her armchair by the fire, her sharp eyes fixed on the unconscious man stretched out on our sofa.
I was about to ask after his condition when I felt a small tug on my sleeve. Looking down, I found Rosie gazing up at me with enormous, tear-filled eyes. Her dark hair had been neatly braided, making her look even more doll-like than usual.
“Ian,” she whispered tragically, “Reuben doesn’t want to be my twin anymore.”
I knelt to her level, careful to keep my voice gentle. “That’s not true, sweetie. He’ll always be your twin.”
Rosie’s lip jutted out further. “Then why doesn’t he wanna wear matching outfits? Twins hafta match. Amy said so!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Actually, no, sweetie. Even twins don’t have to match. They can wear completely different things if they want to.”
“Really?” she asked, looking thoroughly scandalized by this revelation.
Good Lord, what had Amy been filling her head with? That woman would do anything to ensure the twins looked like a matched set of porcelain figurines. She’d even bribed Dorothy into designing coordinated outfits for her to sew. I doubted the twins owned a single garment that didn’t have a corresponding piece in the other’s wardrobe.
I scooped Rosie into my arms. “Absolutely. And pouting isn’t good for your health. Let’s have some breakfast, shall we?”
“I’m not pouting,” she protested with great dignity. “I’m being sad.”
“There’s nothing to be sad about,” I assured her, wiping a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “Besides, don’t you want to wear things that Reuben doesn’t? You like pink, don’t you? But Reuben thinks pink is too girly, so you never get to wear it.”
Her eyes widened as though I’d just revealed one of the universe’s great mysteries. “I love pink! But I can’t wear pink ‘cause Reuben says it’s for girls and he’s not a girl!”
“Exactly,” I said, carrying her into the breakfast room adjoining the kitchen. I settled her onto her chair, which required two cushions to bring her to table height, before taking my own seat beside her.
“Miss Rosie, good morning,” Jenny greeted cheerfully as she emerged from the kitchen.
“Jenny!” Rosie exclaimed as if she hadn’t seen her just yesterday. “Did you know I like pink?”
“Yes, I know, Miss Rosie,” Jenny confirmed, placing a cup of warm milk before her.
“And did you know twins don’t hafta match?” Rosie continued, leaning forward so eagerly she nearly toppled her milk.
“Yes?” Jenny said, looking slightly confused by this line of questioning.
“That means I can wear pink now!” Rosie announced, beaming despite her still-reddened eyes. “Pink is the bestest color in the whole world!”
“Good for you, Miss Rosie,” Jenny replied before retreating to the kitchen, no doubt to escape further revelations about color preferences.
“Drink your milk,” I reminded her.
Rosie nodded and obediently lifted her cup with both hands, a milk mustache forming almost immediately.
We were halfway through our breakfast of sausages, eggs, and toast when Dorothy entered with Reuben and Waffle in tow.
“There’s a strange man in our house!” Reuben announced, his eyes wide with excitement. “He’s sleeping in the sitting room and he’s super big! Do you know him, Ian?”
Not sleeping. Unconscious. There’s a difference—one involves choice, the other involves possibly dying on our sofa.
“I know,” I nodded. “Waffle and I found him in the grassland early this morning.”
Waffle barked once, as if to say, “Actually, I found him first, but I’ll let you take credit.”
“You did?” Reuben gasped, practically vibrating with excitement as Dorothy lifted him onto his own cushion-elevated chair. “What happened? Did a dragon eat his horse? Is he a prince? Can I touch his sword? Does he have a sword? What does he look like?”
“Slow down, you little terror,” I said, raising a hand to stem the flood of questions. “No dragons, no swords, and definitely no prince.”
I doubted Reuben had gotten a proper look at our visitor. He’d likely caught only a glimpse while passing through the hallway. Grandma Eliza would have shooed him away the moment he showed interest—she was protective like that.
What does he look like?
Like a Greek statue come to life, with a face that would make angels weep with envy. And an alpha scent that made my knees weak, though I’d rather die than admit that aloud.
“I’m not sure what happened,” I said instead, “but he’s badly hurt. And no, we don’t know him.”
Dorothy, settling into the chair beside Reuben, looked concerned. “Oh dear, I do hope his injuries aren’t life-threatening?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied, though the memory of all that blood made my stomach clench. “Or at least I hope not. The doctor should be here soon.”
“Is he from the village?” Dorothy asked.
With her light brown hair and eyes, Dorothy was almost the exact image of her mother, Lady Olivia Harrison—Father’s legal wife, who had abandoned the family years ago but refused to grant a divorce. Dorothy was lovely in both appearance and temperament, and I couldn’t understand why she remained unmarried at twenty-six. Several men had sought her hand, but she’d declined them all, claiming her priority was caring for the twins. She’d also confided that these suitors seemed more interested in our family’s title and land than in her heart.
It was the romantic in her speaking, though I shared her wish that she find someone who truly loved her for herself. Yet I couldn’t help but think how different our circumstances might be if she had married and produced a son—Cheswick would have remained in the family rather than passing to some distant relation.
“No,” I said, returning to the question of our mysterious guest. “He’s not from around here. I’ve never seen him before.” I frowned, recalling his fine clothing and the quality of his boots. “He looks like he’s from a big city. The kind of man who’s never had dirt under his fingernails a day in his life.”
“Like St. Louis?” Dorothy asked.
I nodded. He had that unmistakable air of wealth and refinement that marked him as someone from the capital. And his scent—that rich, complex alpha scent—spoke of expensive colognes and the kind of grooming only the wealthy could afford.
I set down my cutlery. “I’ll go relieve Grandma now. She must be hungry, and I’d rather not have her bite my head off because we delayed her breakfast.”
In the sitting room, I found our guest still unconscious, his breathing steady but shallow. His alpha scent had permeated the room, rich and complex, with notes of sandalwood and leather that made my omega instincts stir uncomfortably.
“I’ll watch over him now, Grandma,” I offered.
Grandma Eliza rose, patting my shoulder as she passed. “Mind you keep your distance, boy,” she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. “That’s a powerful alpha scent if I’ve ever smelled one. The kind that could make an unmated omega do foolish things.”
I nodded, though I knew it was already too late for such cautions. I’d spent the morning with his head in my lap, his scent enveloping me completely. The damage, if there was any to be done, was already accomplished.
Once alone with Mr. Stranger, I picked up a book from the tea table and settled into the armchair she had vacated. It was an old mystery novel I’d read countless times, but today the familiar words might as well have been written in ancient Greek. My eyes kept straying to the man on our sofa, drawn by some force I couldn’t name.
After ten futile minutes, I abandoned the pretense of reading and moved to sit on the floor beside the sofa, allowing myself a closer study of his features. His jaw was strong and cleanly defined, his nose straight and aristocratic, his body powerfully built beneath the blanket.
Almost without conscious thought, I reached out to trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, marveling at its perfect contour as though appreciating a masterpiece in a gallery. His scent seemed to intensify at my touch, becoming warmer, spicier.
“Wow! He’s gigantic!”
Reuben’s voice made me snatch my hand back as though burned. I looked up to find my little brother peering over my shoulder at our visitor with undisguised curiosity.
“Reuben, you shouldn’t be in here,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Grandma will have both our hides if she catches you disturbing our guest.”
“But I wanna see the strange man in our house,” he protested. “Is he a giant? He looks like a giant!”
“And now you have. So please go play elsewhere before you wake him up and he eats little boys for breakfast.”
Instead of leaving, Reuben wrapped his arms around my shoulders, rocking me back and forth as he pleaded, “Pleeeease? I promise to be super quiet! I won’t even breathe loud!”
I looked at his hopeful expression and felt my resolve crumble. Damn it, the little imp knew exactly how to get around me.
“Ugh! All right,” I sighed. “But if he wakes up and gobbles you whole, don’t come crying to me.”
I pulled him onto my lap, encircling him with my arms. The sight of our unconscious visitor didn’t seem to distress Reuben. The blanket covered him to the neck, and his head injuries had been cleaned and bandaged, concealing the worst of the damage.
We sat in silence for a moment before Reuben said quietly, “Papa used to sleep like that.”
My heart squeezed painfully. Father had indeed lain just so during his illness, still and pale against the pillows.
I rested my chin atop Reuben’s head. “You miss him? Father?”
He nodded, making my head bob along with his. “Mm-hmm.”
“Me too,” I admitted. And Mother as well, though I kept that thought to myself.
Reuben, still gazing at our visitor, asked in a small voice, “You won’t leave us, will you, Ian? ‘Cause you promised. You said you’re the man of the house.”
I tightened my arms around him. “I won’t leave. I am the man of the house.”
Even as I spoke the words, they rang hollow. Compared to the powerful figure before us, I wasn’t a man at all—just a boy playing at adulthood. An omega pretending to be something he wasn’t.
What would it be like, I wondered, to have an older brother like this stranger? Someone tall and strong, who looked capable of handling any challenge life might present. Someone who could take on the world without flinching.
What would it be like if we had such a brother? The thought warmed me unexpectedly. It would be wonderful, I decided. Like having a shield against all the uncertainties that plagued us. Someone to look up to, to learn from—someone whose strength went beyond the merely physical.
I glanced down at Reuben and wondered if I could ever become such a person for him and Rosie. Could I grow into someone who would spare them the fear and insecurity that haunted my own thoughts? The constant worry about our future, the what-ifs that kept me awake at night? I wanted better for them—a bright, secure future without the shadows that darkened our present circumstances.
“Reuben, are you in here?” Dorothy called from the doorway.
I turned to see her standing there, with Rosie hovering nervously behind her, clutching her doll to her chest as if it might protect her from the stranger in our sitting room.
“I’m here,” Reuben confirmed, not moving from my lap.
Dorothy approached the sofa, her gaze assessing our visitor. “He looks quite pale, doesn’t he?”
“Not as pale as when I first found him,” I replied. “Though that’s not saying much, since he looked half-dead then.”
“That’s good then. It means he’s improving.” She extended her hand to Reuben. “Come. Let’s leave Ian to look after our guest. We mustn’t disturb them. We can do some reading instead.”
“Can we read the one about dragons?” Reuben asked, perking up instantly.
“If you like,” Dorothy promised.
Reuben slid from my lap. “All right, but I get to pick which dragon book!”
A moment later, they were gone, leaving me alone with the unconscious stranger who had so thoroughly disrupted my morning routine—and, perhaps, my peace of mind.
***
Dr. Webb finally arrived an hour later. After examining our visitor and assuring us that his life wasn’t in danger, he thoroughly cleaned the wounds with antiseptic and dressed them properly with sterile gauze.
Since we couldn’t leave him on the sitting room sofa indefinitely, we moved him upstairs to my bedroom. Dr. Webb insisted we remove his damp undergarments, a task during which I kept my eyes firmly averted from certain anatomical regions. Once he was settled under clean sheets and blankets, the doctor turned to me.
“It’s best someone watch over him until he regains consciousness,” he advised. “His life isn’t in danger, but he’s clearly a gentleman of means, and we must take every precaution. Would you be willing to act as his nurse until he recovers, Master Ian?”
I nodded. “Of course, Dr. Webb. I’ve already ruined my day’s plans of walking the property line. I might as well make myself useful.”
He chuckled warmly. “You’re a good young man, Master Ian. And you did a remarkable job as a first responder.”
“I did what I could, sir,” I replied, uncomfortable with the praise. “Though I’m not sure ‘don’t you dare die on my property’ counts as proper medical care.”
“Indeed,” he said with a smile. “Your quick thinking likely prevented his condition from worsening.” He studied our unconscious guest with professional interest. “A strong alpha, this one. His constitution will help his recovery, but you should be prepared for some... instinctive reactions when he regains consciousness.”
“What sort of reactions?” I asked, suddenly wary.
Dr. Webb adjusted his spectacles. “Keep your distance, use those herbs I recommended for your scent, and have someone else nearby if possible.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promised. “If he starts growling and marking territory, I’ll toss him out the window.”
He studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve never been around an unmated alpha your age before, have you?”
I shook my head.
“Well, just be cautious. Your scent is... maturing, shall we say. It might trigger protective or possessive instincts in him, especially in his weakened state when his control may be compromised.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Dr. Webb was one of the few people outside our household who knew of my secondary gender—he had been present when I first presented at fourteen, after all.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmured, eager to change the subject.
He nodded, seeming to sense my discomfort. “Don’t worry too much. Just take sensible precautions. And send for me immediately if his condition changes.”
I nodded, though privately I thought his concerns were exaggerated. I’d managed just fine around the few alphas who occasionally passed through Greenhill. Besides, I’d been using herbs to mask my scent for years now, and no one had ever seemed particularly affected by it.
Dr. Webb stayed for lunch, regaling Grandma Eliza and Dorothy with tales of his recent trip to St. Louis while I took a quick meal in my room, keeping watch over our guest.
Later that afternoon, after a final check on his patient, the doctor departed with a promise to return the following day.
I kept myself occupied with a fantasy novel Headmaster Anderson had brought me from his last visit to the capital. I had just finished chapter ten when a soft knock interrupted my reading.
“Come in,” I called quietly.
Dorothy opened the door, and Rosie entered carrying a small bouquet of autumn flowers clutched in her tiny hands. “For the man,” she announced. “So he feels better.”
I smiled, leaning forward to accept her offering. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m sure our guest will appreciate them when he wakes up.”
“Are they magic flowers?” she asked, her eyes wide and serious. “To make him not be sleeping anymore?”
“No, but they’re very pretty, which is the next best thing,” I assured her.
I recognized the blooms as those that grew wild on our estate. Dorothy must have taken the twins for a walk after lunch.
Once they had gone, I filled the vase on my windowsill with water and arranged the flowers before returning to my vigil.
Time passed more quickly than I expected, given my relative inactivity. Before I knew it, night had fallen and the manor had grown quiet. I settled deeper into the armchair, pulling a blanket over myself as I attempted once more to focus on my book—the same fantasy novel I’d failed to read that morning. Once again, the words refused to hold my attention.
After several fruitless attempts, I set the book aside and leaned back, allowing my gaze to drift to our sleeping visitor. I had just closed my eyes when a soft groan startled me fully awake.
“Sir?” I whispered, leaning forward. “Are you all right? Are you awake?”
Silence, then another groan as he shifted restlessly. Pain was etched across his features, his brow furrowed in discomfort.
I reached out instinctively, my hand coming to rest against his cheek. “Sir, it’s all right. I’m here.”
The gentle touch seemed to soothe him. I was about to withdraw my hand when his own suddenly captured it, his grip surprisingly strong despite his weakened state. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through me.
His scent shifted subtly, becoming warmer, more inviting. My omega instincts responded without my permission, my own scent sweetening in response. I quickly tried to control it, remembering Dr. Webb’s warnings, but it was difficult with the alpha’s large hand engulfing mine.
Perhaps he mistook me for someone from his family—a wife or sweetheart waiting anxiously for his return. The thought that he might have such a person in his life created an odd, hollow sensation in my chest. Why should it matter to me if this stranger had a wife or a sweetheart? We were nothing to each other.
And yet...
I stared at his hand engulfing mine, marveling at its size and strength, at the warmth and peculiar comfort of his touch. I remained still, allowing the connection to linger until his breathing deepened and his grip relaxed. Only then did I carefully extract my hand and tuck the blanket more securely around him.
“Sleep well, Mr. Stranger,” I murmured. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to solve the mystery of who you are and why you were half-dead on my property.”
Settling back into my chair, I prepared for a long night of watching over this man who had so unexpectedly entered our lives—and who, for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate, had already begun to occupy an unsettling amount of space in my thoughts.