The Taming of the Wolf

by Dare, Lydia

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2010 by Lydia Dare

  Cover and internal design © 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by April Martinez

  Cover images © Franz Pfluegl/Fotolia.com; Alfredo Campos/Fotolia.com; Wam1975/Dreamstime.com; Saniphoto/Dreamstime.com

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Table of Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Glenn Switzer, the man from whom I got my love of storytelling, as well as my love for all things fantastical (like romptyguters and furples). How many daughters can say they have a dad who helps them plot romance novels? Not many are so lucky. And I do mean in more ways than one.

  To Becky, Stephanie S, Cathye, and Stephanie W:

  Thank you for helping me through the darkest days of my life. I couldn’t have made it without each of you.

  One

  Westfield Hall, Hampshire

  January 1817

  Caitrin Macleod vowed never to step foot in England again—or at the very least, to keep her distance from Lycans in the future.

  She stopped mid-pace to look out the bedroom window, her breath fogging the pane. She wiped it away with the flat of her hand and stared out into the darkness. She’d stayed in her bedchamber all day and now most of the night.

  It was safer for everyone that way.

  The visions had started days ago, wild visions where she saw wolves and their mates together under the light of the moon. There were several of them, all part of a family of Lycans. She was quite familiar with those particular Lycans, because her coven sister, Elspeth, had married into the family. Most days, they were simply the Westfield family. But one night each month, the male members walked on four feet instead of two under the light of the full moon.

  Those visions weren’t troublesome; she was quite used to them. But lingering around the edges of her visions was a wild wolf, an outsider. A danger. The Westfields were aware of the threat and had, indeed, prepared themselves to handle it.

  She’d begun to see visions of a golden wolf, the wild one, earlier that very day. She knew what mischief he’d cause before the night was over. But she couldn’t tell the others what she’d seen, or she’d risk affecting the future. And she didn’t want to be the one to disrupt the natural order of events. The results could be disastrous.

  To avoid breaking that unspoken rule, she’d locked herself in her guest room at Westfield Hall and refused to come out. She’d not set foot out the door and had only opened it briefly to take her meals. She’d wished several times for something to help her pass the time. At the rate she’d been pacing, she would wear a hole in the duke’s Aubusson rug before long. That thought made her smile.

  Caitrin closed her eyes tightly and tried to will the vision of the Westfield wolves into her mind. She sighed with contentment when she realized all was well. The danger to them had passed, and she was now free to leave the prison of her own making. None of them would return until the sun rose in the sky. The estate was empty except for her and any servant who happened to be still awake. No one would know if she donned her silk wrapper to sneak downstairs and retrieve her book while everyone was away. Maybe then she could try to get a few hours of sleep.

  She crossed to the chamber door and opened it quietly. On bare feet, she padded along the corridor and down the main staircase. The last place she remembered having her book was in the duke’s study.

  Cait turned the corner into the darkened study and stopped short. Standing behind the duke’s desk was a tall man, one she’d yet to meet. Most of him was hidden in shadow, but his face was lit by the moonlight that filtered through the drapes. He was a blond Adonis, tall and lean. A vague memory of him, maybe from one of her visions, created unease within her.

  A small gasp escaped her throat when he turned his amber gaze her way.

  “I’m sorry. I dinna ken anyone was up at this hour.” She turned to leave.

  “Don’t go,” he said. Then he closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. “You needed something in Blackmoor’s study?”

  “Aye, I left a book in here yesterday when I came ta find Her Grace.” She glanced quickly around the room, though she didn’t immediately see her copy of Maria Edgeworth’s Patronage. “Perhaps I left it in the library.” Perhaps I should run as quickly from this room as my legs will carry me.

  “Having trouble sleeping?” he asked, his tone amazingly familiar. As though he’d known her for a lifetime.

  “Aye. At times, I canna get thoughts out of my head.” Why had she told him that? He probably didn’t care to hear how her visions played in her mind at all hours of the day and night, preventing her rest.

  He walked around the desk and perched a hip on it. His hips were narrow, his shoulders broad. Stop ogling the man’s body, Cait. His eyes narrowed at her, as though he knew she had a secret. She closed her eyes and tried to get a vision of him, something to tell her who he was. But her mind was blank, which was more than disconcerting. Her mind was blank? That had never happened before.

  “I canna tell yer future,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Pardon?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Ah, there’s my book,” she said, smiling at him, hoping he’d believe she hadn’t a care in the world. She picked up a small, black leather book that lay on the desk behind him. It wasn’t hers, but it would have to do.

  Before she could turn around, he reached out and grabbed her by the waist. She couldn’t even utter a gasp as he drew her body flush against his. Her breath stilled.

  “What are ye—” she began, but he covered her mouth with his, his lips hard and urgent.

  She shouldn’t let a man she’d never met before take such liberties. But he smelled so good. Felt so good. Tasted so good.

  Her tongue rose to meet his as a whimper of pleasure left he
r throat. Her heart beat wildly as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

  Cait had been kissed before, but never like this. Never so thoroughly that she couldn’t think straight. Never so expertly that her legs threatened to buckle. Never with enough passion that she could drown in it.

  A tug to her hair sunk into her consciousness. He pulled her head back and looked into her eyes. He gently tugged, guiding her head until it leaned to the side, exposing her neck. She nearly jumped when his lips brushed feather-light down the side of her jaw as he trailed a kiss down her throat. He pulled at the neck of her wrapper and nightrail until they opened, baring her shoulder to his gaze. She shivered.

  When he reached the place where her neck met her shoulder, he sucked at the tender spot and then nipped her gently. It was the most sensual thing she’d ever experienced. Light-headed, she heard a moan escape her throat. More. More, please.

  He nipped her again, then opened his mouth wide and bit through the tender skin of her shoulder, jerking her instantly from the passion-induced haze.

  “Ow!” she cried and smacked his shoulder. “That hurt!”

  The pain of the bite broke through the lust-soaked area of her brain, which she’d never known existed, and she smacked him again. One moment, he’d had her warmer than a fire in the grate on a cold winter night. The next, she was raising her hand to her neck to appraise the puncture wound he’d created on her shoulder.

  She punched his chest. “Why did ye bite me, ye big lout?” she asked as she rubbed the wound, dabbing at the small amount of blood from the bite and scowling at him.

  “I didn’t mean—” he started.

  But she didn’t let him explain as she turned and fled from the study.

  “Come back,” he called quietly. She heard him, but she ran down the corridor and up the stairs as fast as her feet would take her.

  Cait slammed the door to her room, threw the little leather book to the bed, and ran to the mirror. Baring her shoulder, she appraised the wound, which looked like a crescent-shaped bite mark, the same shape as his mouth. Blast him! He’d bitten her. And for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.

  Well, she wasn’t going to stay around Westfield Hall and let any other guest of the duke maul her. Not even if he looked like a Greek god and smelled positively delicious, like the outdoors and citric shaving lotion rolled together. They were ill-mannered English swine, the lot of them, and she’d had her fill.

  Cait’s cheeks were aflame as she remembered standing so close to the man in the study. She’d behaved like a common trollop. It was just another reason for her to leave for Edinburgh as quickly as possible. She was obviously losing her mind.

  She’d always prided herself on her comportment, though her behavior in the study was seriously lacking. The man was just so mysterious. In her twenty years, she’d never met anyone whose future, either immediate or otherwise, hadn’t popped into her head. The blond Adonis was like a blank page with nothing written on it. She couldn’t blame herself for being curious, could she?

  The bite on her shoulder burned slightly, and she frowned with a fresh wave of irritation. She’d already stayed in England longer than she’d planned. It was time to go home.

  Cait stomped over to the bellpull and tugged hard. She probably woke every servant in residence, but at the moment, she couldn’t be bothered to care. She needed to leave Hampshire, leave England for good and never look back.

  ***

  Dashiel Thorpe, the Earl of Brimsworth, sank into the Duke of Blackmoor’s large leather chair and buried his face in his hands. What had he done? Of course, he knew the answer to that. Under the power of the full moon, he’d bitten the girl—a lady he didn’t even know, for God’s sake. He should have been shackled this evening, not roaming around free. How did the other Lycans manage to control themselves?

  Dash groaned aloud. His circumstances had gone from bad to worse in the blink of a bad decision. The image of the angelic Scottish lass flooded his memory. She smelled so delightful, like fresh honeysuckle. Where did one even find honeysuckle in January?

  The fact that she was stunning didn’t help. He hadn’t been in control of his thoughts or actions from the moment she stepped into Blackmoor’s study. What was she doing padding through the ducal estate in the middle of the night during a moonful anyway? Didn’t she know that Lycans inhabited the residence? Didn’t she know it was dangerous to go around looking the way she did with men like him about?

  Dash peered though his fingers and noticed that she’d taken his book, and he cringed. At first, he’d been amused when she had picked up his little journal, claiming it as her own. But he’d had no intention of letting her flee with it. The contents were not fit for a lady’s eyes. The journal held details about every whore in and around Covent Garden—physical descriptions, addresses, specialties of sorts, and ratings. The idea of her reading it made his stomach churn. Facing the pretty little Scottish angel in the morning would be more than difficult if she had read even one entry.

  Face her in the morning?

  Dear God, he hadn’t meant to bite the chit, though he’d never forget the rush he had experienced when he’d marked her flesh. It was more intense than any release he’d ever enjoyed in his life.

  It was best not to think about that, or he’d chase after her and finish what they’d started. Neither the Duke of Blackmoor nor Major Forster would forgive him that indiscretion. And he was already in enough trouble with the Westfield pack. If he had any hope of finding a Lycan mentor, he would have to be honest with them about his most recent actions. It was the only way to gain their trust after all he’d tried to do to them.

  Dash wasn’t accustomed to asking anyone for help, and the idea didn’t set well with him. For twenty-six years, he’d suffered in silence, not understanding what or who he was. And now that he knew, he had to know more. He needed to find a way to earn the Westfields’ forgiveness. That was the only way for him to obtain salvation.

  He heard Major Forster before the old wolf opened the study door. The retired officer appeared much more at peace than he had a few hours ago. Dash wished he could say the same for himself.

  The old man cleared his throat. “Well, I see you managed to stay put. That is something.”

  “I bit a girl.” The words flew out of Dash’s mouth before he could stop them.

  Major Forster’s brown eyes rounded in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  Dash shook his head as he rushed to explain. “I didn’t go looking for her. She came to me, and I was weak—”

  “Where did you bite her?”

  “Here, in His Grace’s study,” Dash moaned.

  “Not where,” the major snapped. “Where on her body?”

  “What difference does that make?” Dash started. But then something dangerous flashed in the major’s eyes. Dash pointed to the area where his neck met his shoulder. “Right here.”

  “Are you saying you claimed a woman?”

  “I’m not certain,” Dash admitted as he closed his eyes to block out the man’s disapproving expression. “I thought you should know.”

  “Dear God!” the old man grumbled. “Now you’ll bring Blackmoor’s wrath down on both of us.”

  Dash opened his eyes. What did the major mean by that? “Both of us?”

  The officer scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was supposed to keep an eye on you,” he growled. Then he lowered his hands and leveled an intimidating glare at Dash. “Who was she?”

  Dash shrugged. “I don’t know. She was beautiful. Flowing blond hair and light blue eyes.”

  Major Forster gulped. “Did she speak to you?” he asked softly.

  Dash nodded.

  “And was she Scottish?” It seemed as though the words were wrenched from him.

  “Yes,” Dash admitted. “You know who she is.” That much was obvious.

  The major winced and rubbed his temples as if the action would relieve his pain. “Aye, I know the lass. Knew her mother, too. This
isn’t good, Lord Brimsworth. Not good at all.”

  “Well, certainly, there’s something that can be done. I didn’t mean to bite her, and she—”

  “It doesn’t work that way, my lord. When you bit her, the moon was full. You claimed her as your Lycan mate under a bloody full moon, you lummox. You’re connected to the lass now. God help both of you.”

  “Well, what does that mean?”

  “It means,” the officer began as he dropped into one of the duke’s leather chairs, “that she’s your mate from now until one of you dies.”

  “My mate?” Dash gaped at him. “But I don’t even know the girl. Surely something like this has happened before. There has to be a way to remedy—”

  “Aye, Brimsworth. This is not the first time a Lycan, drunk on the spell of the moon, has claimed an unintended mate.” The major shuddered. “I don’t know of one instance where there was a happy ending, however.”

  “Why?” Dash asked as he sank into a seat across from the old officer, his heart hammering in his chest, still not ready to believe there wasn’t a way out of the situation.

  “Because the lass doesn’t love you, my lord. You said yourself you didn’t even know her. Marrying one of us, mating with one of us, is hard enough for women who love us every other day of the month.

  “But you’ve attached yourself to a woman who cares nothing for you, and she’s not bound by the same rules that apply to you and me. Whereas it will be impossible for you to take another woman to bed, Miss Macleod can marry whomever she wants. And you’ll be left all alone until the connection is broken.”

  The prediction was troubling on more than one front. Dash wasn’t a stranger to entertaining women in their chambers. He couldn’t imagine not being able to do so anymore. He wasn’t certain he even believed the man. It wasn’t possible for him to lose that desire.

  But what was even more bothersome was that his Scottish angel could choose another man over him. That hardly seemed fair. The thought of the delightful creature he’d held in his arms that very night marrying someone else was like a blade to his heart. Which didn’t make much sense. He didn’t even know the lass.