Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  “Aye, Father,” Patrick agreed, “I shall take heed of your words.”

  Edward smiled, putting a proud hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Well, then, my son, back to work. We shall keep this between us.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Patrick grinned, picking up the folder with the new papers Lord Alaric had dropped off this morning.

  “Next week, I will show you how to work on the ledgers,” Edward said as they rode away from Ashford Manor on a Friday afternoon after Patrick’s second week of work. “I have no doubt you will grasp it quickly.”

  Lord Alaric paid well for the service Edward Blakesley provided. Even Patrick, as an apprentice, earned an income higher than that of a senior shop assistant. For now, he would have to keep his head down and learn what he could.

  Instead of heading straight home, they rode into Ashford. Since his arrival two weeks ago, Patrick had not been into town. His father needed to acquire paper and ink, and his mother had an order of yarn she wanted them to collect.

  Although Ashford had a population of over two thousand people, it was considered a small town. Nevertheless, Patrick had never wanted for anything that his hometown was unable to provide. Livestock was the primary trading product, but its shops provided a variety of modern conveniences, from haberdashery to writing implements. Gas lamps lit the town’s cobbled streets at night, and although Patrick had seen picturesque Iberian towns during his travels, Ashford remained the one closest to his heart.

  They halted their horses at the general store, and his father went inside to fetch his goods. Next, they went to the linen shop down the road, a place they would normally not go into, being men. Feeling awkward, Patrick entered the perfumed shop, its shelves laden with frilly, pink, and patterned fabrics.

  “I am here to collect for Lady Blakesley,” he said to the shop assistant, distracted by the strange bonnet on her head.

  The girl bowed and hurried to retrieve his order.

  “A thorn among the roses, Mr Blakesley,” a whispered voice said, brushing past him.

  An unexpected cold shiver passed over him at the sound of her voice. When he turned around, Angelica’s face was hidden behind the gossamer veil of her hat.

  Chapter 3

  Patrick inclined his head in respect, but his skin prickled strangely at her nearness. “My Lady, what a pleasure to meet you here.”

  Lifting her veil, Angelica moved around a table stacked with pretty boxes, glancing sideways in his direction. “I’ve seen you around the house.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “I am in your father’s employ now.”

  “I know.”

  “Would you meet with me sometime?”

  Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Forward, perhaps?”

  Patrick followed her around a table laden with hats. “We used to play together. Do you recall?”

  She giggled, holding her hand coyly in front of her mouth. “We could swim in the stream, as we used to.”

  The thought tantalized him more than he cared to admit. “Or, you could show me your father’s stables, and play in the hay as we always did.”

  Angelica’s eyes flashed brightly at him, but then she turned her head away, looking demurely to the floor.

  “Angelica,” Lady Alaric hissed, before shifting to Patrick. “Mr Blakesley, whatever are you doing here?”

  “Collecting my mother’s order, Ma’am.”

  “Here you go, my Lord,” the shop assistant interrupted, handing him his parcel.

  Suppressing a sigh of relief, he said, “Have a good day now, ladies.”

  Patrick doffed his hat and reluctantly left the shop. Something about Angelica quickened his pulse and, after their brief banter, he knew that behind the shy masquerade was a wonder to be explored.

  “You are quiet, Patrick,” his father said as they rode home.

  “I met Lady Alaric and her daughter within the shop,” he admitted. “She appears overly protective of Angelica. Is there a reason for this?”

  Patrick did not miss the odd look his father gave him before he answered.

  “Ever since the girl turned sixteen, she has become withdrawn. Unsettled, even. Mary thinks she may be ill, so she always keeps her daughter close. I’d advise you to keep away if it is romance you are looking for.”

  Unable to sleep that night, Patrick crept out of the house and into the forest, stacking his clothes neatly, as he always did. Instead of following the paths deep into the woods, he trotted in the direction of Ashford Manor. He had no plan in mind; merely followed his instincts driving him to her.

  Darkness clad the woods around the manor, but the wolf needed no light to see. As he got closer to the house, lamps shone into the yard, lighting the area, but he stuck to the shadows.

  Angelica’s sweet scent lingered everywhere; strong in the wolf’s nose. It was strongest in the orchard, and he guessed she spent a lot of time there. He found the swing where he had seen her that day from the office.

  He sniffed around the area, found a trail of her footprints, and followed it. They led to a pavilion; its benches covered in white cushions. Her scent was yet stronger here.

  In the stillness of the night, his sensitive hearing picked up a faint sound. Soft footsteps, drawing nearer. He withdrew deeper into the shadows of the trees behind the pavilion, lying motionless.

  His determination to remain undiscovered almost came to nought when the person who emerged out of the darkness proved to be Angelica herself. Clad in a black cloak, she entered the pavilion and took a seat on the white cushions.

  Patrick wondered what she might be doing there until she lit a small lantern and produced a book from within her cloak. It was a mild evening - beautiful, even - and although most people would find it strange for a girl to be out at night, he could understand why she would choose this setting over her bedroom walls.

  As she read and turned the pages, it dawned on Patrick that her parents were probably unaware of their daughter’s midnight strolls. It would account for Angelica’s withdrawn behaviour and pale complexion; awake for most of the night, and tired during the day. This girl was not ill, mentally or physically, but merely misunderstood. Not unlike himself, she probably did not enjoy the stifling atmosphere of the manor households.

  It took all his willpower to remain still, and in hiding. He could not show himself to her in the form he was in, and he could not change, for he had no clothes.

  Angelica sat there, reading her book, often humming a tune, for close on three hours before her lantern fluttered, its oil nearly depleted. Closing her book and extinguishing the lantern, she left the pavilion as silently as she had entered it.

  Padding stealthily, Patrick followed her at a distance as she made her way along the path. Angelica walked so lightly; even his wolf ears strained to pick up the sound.

  Nearing the end of the orchard, Angelica stopped, and turned around, peering into the darkness behind her. Patrick stood motionless within the dark shadows of the trees; knowing it too dark for any human to see.

  Raising a pale hand, Angelica put it over her heart, as if to still its frantic beating. He could hear the soft oh that escaped her lips before she turned and hurried the rest of the way home.

  For the rest of the night, Patrick agonised whether Angelica had seen him or not. It had certainly appeared that way, but logic told him that she couldn’t have. It had been too dark. He had been too silent. If anything, she might have been afraid; a sixth sense warning her of danger, urging her to hurry to the safety of her home.

  Patrick did not tell his father of the night’s occurrence, for he would not have approved. Once his parents came back from morning church, Patrick helped his father with the horses until noon.

  “What is troubling you, son?”

  “I have no troubles, Father.”

  “We are pack, Patrick,” Edward looked at him sternly. “I know when something is troubling you.”

  Patrick turned his back on his father; to wash his hands at the water pump, and so he woul
d not see Patrick’s jaw muscles clenching as he thought of a way to distract his father. The trouble was that there could be no lies amongst wolves. Patrick could get away with an omission; or even a small untruth; but never a full lie. As a full-bonded member of his pack, Patrick’s father would know the lie immediately.

  “I know you said it might not be wise, but I have not been able to stop thinking about Angelica,” Patrick admitted.

  Edward laughed. “A girl,” he chuckled. “A girl’s got your heart. Well, it could be worse.”

  Relieved, Patrick moved over so his father could wash the horse sweat and dirt off his hands, too. Amicably, they stood side by side; his father relaxed now that he knew what was troubling his son.

  “I know the girl not,” Edward admitted. “You should speak to your mother, for it is from her that I receive my information. It may all be nonsense what they say about Angelica. She sure is a pretty girl. Guard your heart until you know for sure, my son.”

  “I will, Father.”

  When Monday dawned, Patrick’s horse danced beneath him on the way to work, sensing his excitement. Edward laughed at his son’s youthful folly.

  Although Patrick did not expect Angelica to be awake at such an early hour, he still suffered the stab of disappointment at not seeing her that morning when the servants brought their morning tea.

  After Patrick’s talk with his father, he had sought out his mother, hoping she could give him some advice. Lillian Blakesley, however, gave him a whole lot more than that - she gave him something to think about.

  “I do not think there is anything wrong with the girl,” his mother had said. “She is lovely and intelligent, and I am sure she would make someone a fine wife someday.”

  “But?”

  “Think of who, and what, you are, Patrick,” his mother had continued. “I have lived with your father’s secret all my life. When you choose a girl, be sure she is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

  Patrick had thought about his mother’s words long into the night, wondering what kind of burden it was on her to carry the secret of the wolf. Could he do that to Angelica?

  Sometime after their luncheon - Patrick had immersed himself in a pile of trade bills - the door to the office opened and, before Patrick even looked up to see who entered, a shiver passed over him and he caught her scent. His stomach clenched; suppressing his sudden arousal; and he placed his hands firmly on the desk in front of him to stop them from shaking.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Angelica addressed Lord Blakesley. “My father asked me to give these to you.”

  She handed Edward two thick envelopes; probably containing more bills; and turned to leave. As Angelica turned, she looked up and locked eyes with Patrick for a brief moment. Her dark eyes sent searing daggers into his heart, and he wanted nothing more than to rush to her side.

  How could a girl so pale and delicate have so much fire within her? Just one look and his body was all lust and no common sense. Patrick's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath to steady himself. A little smile tugged on the corner of Angelica’s mouth before their eye contact broke, and she turned her back on him to leave the room.

  “Wait,” he called after her.

  Edward gave him a warning look for being so abrupt.

  “Just one moment, Father, please.”

  “Very well.”

  Angelica paused in the open door, a pale hand on the door handle. She looked back at him over her shoulder.

  Hoping his arousal had settled enough not to show, Patrick rose from behind his desk and hurried to the door.

  “Miss Angelica,” he began, “I was hoping to continue our conversation. Preferably not amongst the frilly finery of the haberdashery shop.”

  She looked demurely to the floor. “I would like that, Master Patrick, although my parents may not think it a good idea.”

  Patrick took a step closer; he could have touched her now had he reached out. His pulse raced in his ears. “What do you think, Miss Angelica?”

  “It may not be wise …”

  Patrick’s heart sank, a cold iron fist taking hold of it.

  “… but then I am too young to be wise,” she whispered.

  The cold clenching around his heart eased, and he looked at her, confused.

  “Will you be attending the dinner party at the Fosters on Thursday evening?” Edward cut in, making Angelica blush.

  “Yes, My Lord, I will be going with my parents.”

  “We shall see you then, Miss Angelica, as we have also been invited. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to get back to work.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Edward returned to his desk, and Patrick took the chance to look once more into Angelica’s mysterious eyes. Here, in the gloom of the office, he could have sworn they were black, but he knew them to be the darkest of blue.

  “I shall look forward to Thursday, then,” Patrick said.

  “As will I,” Angelica smiled. “Unless, of course, I see you around the house.” She paused. “Or the garden.”

  Before he could read her expression, she darted out the door.

  “Thank you, Father,” Patrick said as he took his seat at his desk.

  “For what?”

  “The invitation to the party at the Fosters. I don’t think I have ever been at such a loss for words before.”

  His father laughed but did not comment, returning his gaze to his books.

  Patrick did not know what it was about Angelica that had him under such a spell. Every time he thought about her, the animal within him rose up. Every time she was near him, he had to fight to control himself. Never had a woman made him feel this way.

  That night, Patrick went for a run in the woods. For once, he set the wolf free, letting him roam the vast forest around Ashford until the early hours of the morning.

  With some of his pent-up energy spent, Patrick stoically bore the next few days of work at Ashford Manor. Thursday could not come soon enough, as he did not get a chance to see Angelica during the week.

  Dressed in their finery, the Blakesleys took the carriage to Foster Manor. All of Ashford’s nobles and upper class had been invited to this dinner, and the hall was already crowded with guests.

  Patrick drew his finger along the inside of his neckline. The dress suit inhibited his movements, making him feel uncomfortable; he had not dressed like this in years.

  A band played soft music in the corner of the hall, while guest gathered in small groups with their welcome drinks to exchange small talk.

  Patrick stood next to the door leading to the balcony, unwilling to mingle. As he lifted his glass to his mouth to take a sip, the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, warning him of danger. Immediately alert, he looked up, scanning the crowd for the threat.

  There, on the stairs leading down to the hall, were Lord Alaric and his wife, descending. Patrick could not shake his dislike for the man. Behind them, stood Angelica, dressed in an unusually bright red dress, surveying those below her. Something about her pale skin against the red fabric set his blood racing. The way she looked at the gathered sent warning shivers along his spine. The way the people all looked back at her triggered a pang of jealousy such as he had never known.

  Setting his glass down on a table, Patrick pushed his way through the crowd. Purposefully climbing the stairs, he walked up to Lord Alaric.

  “My Lord,” he said, his voice deep and respectful, “may I ask your daughter to dance?”

  Albert Alaric frowned at him down his hooked nose. “If my daughter wishes to dance.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.” Patrick held out his hand to Angelica. “Shall we dance?”

  “No one else is dancing,” she said wide-eyed.

  “Then we shall be the first.”

  Hesitantly, she took his hand. The touch sent a tingle all along his arm, and he wished never to let go. Once on the floor, he carefully placed his other hand around her back, holding her at a respectful distance. Folk moved aside
to give them space to dance. At first, they stared, but as the band played a livelier tune, others joined them, and Angelica relaxed.

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Only tonight?”

  Patrick laughed. “No, you are always beautiful, but this dress looks so much better with you in it.”

  “You are very forward, Master Patrick.”

  “I am only responding to your cues.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I think I may not need to be as stifled around you as with this lot.” He nodded towards the people dancing around them. “Or am I wrong?”

  “Indeed,” she laughed. “I cannot abide by their pompousness.”

  “We have that in common.”

  “I think we could be friends then.”

  “Just friends?”

  The music stopped, and the dancers stepped apart as Lord Foster called all to dinner. Ruefully, Patrick stepped away from Angelica, without having received his answer. Angelica hooked her hand into his arm as he walked her back to her father.

  “Lord Alaric, please may I accompany your daughter to the dinner table?”

  Mary Alaric held a placating hand on her husband’s arm, and Patrick felt a moment of panic that they would not be allowed to spend the evening together.

  “You may, young Master Patrick. Maybe you can tell me how well you’re settling into the office after dinner?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Patrick’s mother smiled at him from across the table as he pushed the chair in for Angelica.

  “Do you read, Patrick?”

  He took a moment to understand the question. Of course, he knew how to read, but he did not think that was what she was asking. Knowing her secret, he chose his answer wisely.

  “I do, on occasion. I did not have much chance during the war, and now all I seem to read are your father’s accounts.”

  Angelica laughed. “I am reading a Jane Austen novel, but I do not think it would be to your liking. I also discovered a new author, whose work is of the darker kind. His name is Edgar Allan Poe. Have you heard of him?”