by T. S. Joyce
RED SNOW BRIDE
(WOLF BRIDES SERIES, BOOK 2)
By T. S. JOYCE
Other Books in This Series
Wolf Brides
Wolf Bride (Book 1)
Dawson Bride (Book 3) – Coming November 2014
Red Snow Bride
Copyright © 2014 by T. S. Joyce
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database or retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter One
Lorelei
“Are you all right, my love?” I asked Daniel. He’d been quiet all evening which was very uncharacteristic of my usually boisterous spouse.
His blond hair threw threads of golden color under the extravagant crystal chandelier, and his blue eyes were like ice frozen into his pale skin. A fine sheen of sweat dusted his brow, and I frowned as his gaze settled on me without really seeing me. Maybe he was ill or perhaps he was having a vision of his time in the war again. Those came frequently in recent months. Or maybe it was just more of the same, ignoring me because he found me useless in some way or another.
The Countess Delecroix d’Maine sat next to me and touched me lightly on the arm with her gloved hand. “And so I said, ‘Well get them to the ships then. Get them all to the ships!’”
The dining room exploded with delighted laughter and some small applause, but I still couldn’t manage to take my eyes away from Daniel. Something cold moved within my center, like some long buried instinct that told me to run.
The clamor quieted down as my husband rose with a toasting glass and spoon in his hand. “I have an announcement to make to you, all of our dearest friends.”
Twelve sets of dancing eyes settled on him as he made a tinkling sound against his crystal glass. The delicate noise was quite beautiful.
Richard Pratter, who sat at the end of the table with his fiancé, lifted his glass. “After a year of marriage, have you finally an announcement of the next heir to the Delaney fortune?”
The crowd burst into a happy murmur, and I wrenched my hands under the table. Giving Daniel a son would be wonderful, but he hadn’t visited my bed in months, and even when he’d done so before that, I was quite convinced we were doing everything wrong. No, there was no child growing in my belly to announce.
Daniel laughed but it sounded forced with an edge of cruelty. “No, something much better is happening.”
Richard’s deep-set eyebrows turned down. “Well, tell us, Delaney. What could be better than an heir?”
He looked down at me and smiled vacantly. “Right now, at this very moment, I have a team of lawyers working on a divorce between my wife and I.”
A few of the ladies at the table laughed. “Oh, Daniel’s just putting us all on again,” one of them mumbled behind a gloved hand.
The Count said, “Here, what’s this about divorce, Delaney? It’s hardly a joking matter to utter that word in mixed company.”
Something had grown cold and dark within me at the shame he’d brought by joking about it in front of me. In front of anybody, really. Divorce wasn’t talked about in society. It just wasn’t done.
“The law clearly states a divorce can be granted in the presence of impotence in the marriage. And if a man can be divorced for impotence, then Lorelei can be divorced for leaving my bed cold and wanting. She’ll never grant me an heir as is her wifely duty, and so the proceedings have begun long before now.”
Different flavors of horror sat upon everyone’s face. The only sound was the kitchen door opening, but the servant holding a tray of food froze when she laid eyes upon the table of silent high-born. Heat, burning and telling, crept up my neck and landed in the very tips of my ears until I had to stifle the urge to cover them with my cold, clammy hands for comfort.
“What is this?” The Countess whispered. Under the table she clasped my hand in a steely grip. “The disrespect you’ve shown your good wife in this joke is insurmountable. I’ve never witnessed anything so crass in my life. Give us the punch line and be done with this conversation, sir.”
Daniel’s mouth set in a grim and somber line. “No punch line, I’m afraid. I deserve better than the person I married.”
The Whitten’s and Ash’s stood as one, throwing their embroidered napkins onto their dinner plates with fire in their eyes. Without a word they left the room, quickly followed by Richard and his betrothed.
I couldn’t move. Every angry glare was a lance across my heart. My friends stood and left one by one until only a few endured to witness the remainder of my plummet from society. The Count waited by the door for his wife, and the Countess stood over me with a poisonous glare for Daniel.
Her delicate nostrils flared as she said, “You’ve ruined her with what you said here tonight. News of her cold bed will reach even the darkest crevices of Boston by morning.”
“That’s the plan. It’s the only way my lawyers will be able to win my case. It has to be common knowledge that she is an undeserving wife,” he said dryly before he downed his champagne.
“She’s a McGregor,” the Countess fumed. “You’ve just spat on generations of good breeding for the chance to elope with one of your whores.” She turned and with a whoosh of deep, red silk skirts, she disappeared through the door after her husband.
“Why?” I asked in a small, trembling voice.
“I’ve already told you. You don’t please me in bed. You bore me, like the flavor vanilla or the sight of yet another brown horse.”
The tears that built in my eyes made dual rivers of warm water down my burning cheeks. “I want my dowry back.”
He sat heavily in the chair beside me and poured more champagne until his glass was filled to the brim. “Your dowry was spent in the first few months of our marriage, I’m afraid. You’ll have nothing, and no one from society will call on you after this scandal. Your best bet is to borrow money from your family and move away. The farther the better.”
White hot anger boiled inside of me until surely I’d explode into a million broken pieces. “I hadn’t any idea you hated me so much, Daniel.”
He made a clucking sound with his mouth. “Poor naive Lorelei. Your problem has always been that you’re too sweet for your own good. I don’t hate you. I just never loved you. We married because my family line benefited by being tied to the McGregors, but now, I don’t care about all of that so much. I’ll remarry and this scandal will be old news by next season. At least for me it will be.” His eyes were cool and emotionless, like some slithering serpent. “I’ve arranged for a carriage to take you to an inn. You may gather your most personal possessions, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave the valuables here in my care. Go now. I’d like to eat my dinner in peace.”
The palm of my hand itched to slap him across his smirking face, and if I were lower born and able to get away with such behavior, I would’ve. Instead, I covered my mouth to hide my treacherous sobs and ran from the room. He didn’t deserve to see how much he’d hurt me.
Divorce! That was the foulest word you could dare to utter, and he’d thrown me under a carriage in front of the most prominent members of society with it. The Countess was right. I was ruined—utterly, unerringly, and devastatingly ruined.
No man would ever touch me after such a scandal. I’d die cold in my bed, alone and without the comfort of a husband, or of children. He’d cursed me to an existence beneath everything I knew.
Mariel Loche flitted across my mind and my heart sank in te
rror. I didn’t know anyone else in the living world who’d weathered divorce except for Mariel Loche. Her husband divorced her and left her nothing but a meager living to eat on. When that had been spent, she’d fallen further and further and last I’d heard, she was working in a brothel in the worst part of town. Whoring and making coins by selling her body to survive.
That would be my fate.
No. I was still a McGregor. I could borrow money, surely, and eventually some man would overlook my scandal and marry me. I shook my head in devastation. What man would ever want a woman who’d been so cold in bed, she’d pushed her husband into divorce?
Shame filled my veins until I was filled to bursting. I hadn’t known how to fix that part of my relationship, so I just let it go. How could every other woman manage to please their man but me? I’d bare this humiliation like a heavy metal chain around my neck for the rest of my life. My fists clenched until my nails dug into the skin and the smell of moist iron hung faintly in the air. I’d never marry a man for anything but necessity ever again. I’d loved Daniel and look where that got me. Men were harsh and unfeeling creatures, incapable of receiving love, incapable of giving love.
As long as I breathed, I vowed my heart would never be touched by another again.
Up the stairs I ran and no sooner than I’d entered our chamber did I slam the door behind me. My wooden jewelry box stood on the stone surface of the mirror I brushed my hair in front of before I went to bed every night. In a flash of fury, I emptied its contents into the bottom of a large, floral-printed bag. On top of the miniature pile of gold necklaces and sapphire rings, I thrust two of my plainer dresses that fit inside because of the thinner skirts. Stockings, shifts, hair ribbons, a silver embroidered brush set, and a nightdress, as well as a few toiletries that I managed to shove in the sides. I threw my coin purse into the pocket of my dress and forced my knee against the bulk of the bag and fastened it as best I could. When I pulled it off the bed, it pulled me right down to the floor with it.
Right. Much too heavy for me to lift.
With a pitied look at the gleaming surface of the perfectly polished wood floors, I dragged the bag, leaving a scuff trail behind me. Good riddance. I hope it reminded Daniel of me every time it annoyed him.
The bag clacked down the stairs like the burst of gunfire as I flew toward an escape. Hesitating at the door, I spared a glance for the dining room. Daniel’s polished black shoes rested on top of the fine fabric of the table cloth.
Wrenching the bag over the door frame, I didn’t say goodbye. His smirking face was the last thing I wanted to see as I headed off for my new wanton life. The luggage skidded noisily behind me as Jacob, our groom, tipped his hat. He jumped down and hefted my luggage on top of the fine, black carriage with the golden embroidered D for my soon-to-be previous last name. Jacob was usually the friendly sort, but he didn’t say a word to me. Daniel must’ve talked to him before the announcement. Apparently it was against the rules to show me any kindness in my last moments in society.
Further and further the clopping two horse team led us until Jacob pulled to a stop in front of an old, dilapidated building a long way from home. Hell’s Tavern, a sign that hung from rusted chains said.
“Jacob? Are you sure this is the right place?”
He dropped my baggage from the top of the roof and opened the door. “Afraid so, mum. Mr. Delaney said specifically to take you here.” His eyes swam with the reflection of the oil lantern light and something more. Pity? “Have a nice life, mum.” He tipped his hat and jumped spryly back onto the carriage bench. “Hup!” he said with a smack of the reins, then he was off down the cobbled street.
Three rough and heavily bearded men stood under the high post of the street lantern. They whistled and sneered as I put all of my strength into dragging my luggage across the layer of grime that decorated the walkway to the inn. Upon opening the splintered front door, it was abundantly clear that Daniel had sent me to the most unsavory place in all of Boston. The wooden floorboards were covered with liquor and spit and I screamed as a couple of men flew through the window right beside me as they fought each other violently. A portly woman behind the bar smiled widely, but was missing most of her front teeth and I was all but certain she hadn’t bathed or brushed her hair in a truly long time.
“You must be Mrs. Delaney,” she said. She gave my bag a hungry look before she pointed up the stairs. “First room on the right is the one for you, deary.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She put her hand around her ear and yelled, “Huh?”
“Thank you,” I said louder to be heard over the crowd cheering on the fight that was still raging in the street outside.
She’d already gone back to talking to a group of raucous men who were drinking heavily at the bar. I weaved my way through the smog of cigar smoke that seemed to fill every crevice of the small inn. More than a few terrifying men watched me with unsettling smiles as I bumped and bounced my bag up the stairs and when I was finally to my room, I leaned my back against the closed door and sighed in relief. That was, until I opened my eyes. The room stank of unwashed linens, dirty men, and wood rot. I dragged my luggage around a large hole in the floor boards and was horrified to find I could see straight to the bar below through it. The bed was lumpy and before I even sat upon it, something crawled across the covers. I placed the back of my hand across the mouth and clenched my nauseated stomach with the other.
I wished tonight had never happened. I wished I was back in my own bed, sleeping at this very moment with all of the comforts of home, surrounded by the things I loved and the knowledge of my secure place in the world.
Instead I was in my own personal purgatory sitting uncomfortably atop my luggage because it was the cleanest area to sit in the entire filthy room.
Bang! The door flew open and hit the side of the wall so hard, the room shook. Two men with black handkerchiefs over their mouths strode in, their boots making clomping sounds against the moist wood floors. Their hats were lowered and all I could see were their eyes—cold and empty eyes to match my husband’s.
I clutched my chest as my heart jumped straight into my throat. “What do you want?”
“A peek inside your fancy bag there,” said the one with green eyes.
“You can’t. It’s mine.” I lifted my chin bravely while my insides turned in on themselves. These were bad men who stank of alcohol and bad decisions. I pulled my skirts farther down my ankles.
The other man chuckled a sound that chilled the air in the room. “Oh, well if the bag is yourn, I guess we ought to be on our way.”
I gave a prim nod. “I think that’s best.”
The other advanced on me and before I could scream, he yanked me off of the luggage so hard my head banged into the harsh-cornered foot of the bed. My vision doubled but I kicked frantically at the man hoisting my bag onto the filthy bed. “Get out of here,” I screeched as I flew at the man’s face with my fingers clawed. That bag was necessary for survival. I scratched him down the neck but strong hands grabbed me from behind and wrenched my wrist behind my back until I gasped in pain. Surely it was being snapped in two!
Carelessly, the man threw my only belongings on this earth to the ground until he reached the bottom of the bag.
“Well, Syrus, what do we have here?” He pulled out the small handful of treasures I’d smuggled from my old life and his eyes squinted happily from above the handkerchief.
“Please, I haven’t got anything else. Please don’t take those,” I begged. “They were gifts from my family.”
“Well,” the man who held me rasped against my neck. “Tell your family, thank ya kindly from your friends at Hell’s Tavern.”
He shoved my back and I went flying across the room, lucky to have missed the hole in the floor by just inches before they left my room laughing. Something warm trickled down my face and the dizzy, throbbing pain in my head was disconcerting but I hadn’t time to worry about such things. I had to get out of h
ere before something worse happened.
Wracked with the sobs of my misfortunes, I shoved my belongings back into the bag and hauled it back down the stairs as fast as my clunking high-button shoes could take me. Out on the street, I searched in vain for a carriage that could take me away from this horrid place. With nary a one in sight, I hobbled at top speed down the walkway in hopes of finding one eventually.
A small buggy sat a few streets up, and sweating freely and chugging breath, I asked if he would give me a ride.
The man wore thin cotton clothes and a drooping cowboy hat. He took his time looking me up and down and then spat onto the ground near my feet. “Pay first.”
I pulled a few coins out of my purse and tried unsuccessfully to haul my bag up with me. By the third try, the driver exhaled a put-upon sigh and helped. “Don’t have all night,” he said. “Where to?”
The Count Delecroix d’Maine’s house, if you please.”
“Where the hell is that?”
Oh, right. The drivers on the other side of town knew where all of the high-born ladies and gentlemen lived, but down here was a different world. Horribly different. I gave him the address and hoisted myself into the buggy before he took off at a clipped pace.
I couldn’t burden my parents with this scandal. If I sought sanctuary in their house while all of the turmoil of my failure enveloped the whole of Boston society, they’d be dragged down on this sinking ship right along with me. Unlike Daniel, I couldn’t hurt good people for my own comfort.
If anyone could help me in my desperate moment of need, it was the Countess.
Chapter Two
The driver didn’t wait long after he’d dumped my bag, upside down I might add, onto the clean cobbled street beneath the buggy. The smelly man said he, “wasted half the night driving all the way across town.”
The time of night was atrocious and I hesitated for a moment before I knocked. The clenched knuckles of my fist froze in midair just inches away from the polished burgundy door. My options were to sleep on the stoop or let her know I was here though, so knock I did. One of the Countess’s servants opened the door and ushered me into the parlor while she went to fetch my friend. The Countess came down minutes later, tightening a silk night robe around herself and glancing with the startled eyes of a deer from side to side. She sent all of her servants to their quarters and commanded that they not usher a word about my late arrival.
