They stared at each other, as if no longer seeing the shadow of their past selves but each other as they were now for the first time. Alek was not the boy with easy smiles and a warm laugh that she remembered. He was harder now, scarred and burdened by the world. She was no longer a carefree young woman with a world of options open to her.
The razor’s edge glinted in the moonlight.
“Who is he?” Alek asked, breaking the silence.
“You do not know him.”
“Who. Is. He?”
Solenne lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “A gentleman farmer. Military. Retired.”
“Old and rich,” he said, a sneer in his voice.
“Not so old, and wealthy enough.” Solenne pushed, wanting a reaction out of Alek. When they met earlier at the cottage, he acted cool and indifferent, as if he didn’t know her at all.
“You must be pleased with such a catch. A spoiled thing like you always gets what she wants. Soon you’ll be knee deep in babies and diapers.”
Spoiled? What about the tumbledown house and her family’s desperate situation implied she was spoiled? Alek sought to wound her. If he wanted a fight, she’d give him one.
“They could be yours,” she said.
“No.”
“But you left.”
“I had to leave,” he snapped. She knew that was true, but still she pushed.
“You did not write. Not once.”
He surged to his feet, knocking the chair back. “And say what? Dear Solenne, today I cleared a pack of wolves, but the village could not pay the bounty they offered. Instead, they gave me a pair of chickens. I slept in a barn with my chickens.” His tone was cruel and mocking.
He continued, “Dear Solenne, I returned to the ruined husk of my family’s home. The roof is badly damaged, but the four walls remain upright for the time being. I cannot wait to make you mistress of this hovel. I had nothing to offer you then, and I have even less to offer you now.”
“I would have known you were alive.”
He held out his arms and turned slowly. Moonlight picked out the pale scars that crossed his abdomen and his back. It seemed as if every part of him had suffered from injury or wound. From the appearance of the situation, he worked very hard to remedy his affliction of being alive.
“Such as it is,” he said.
She shoved her supplies into her kit. So this was it. He was upset that her life had moved on and then wanted to make a grotesque exhibit of why she should have never wanted him in the first place.
She took out a jar of wolfsbane powder and slammed it down on the bureau. Bottles rattled. “One spoonful twice a day in tea or water. It’s bitter. I’d suggest honey, but I suspect you like to torture yourself so I won’t bother.”
“Solenne—” His voice almost sounded remorseful.
“No. No,” she said, snapping her bag shut and holding it protectively in front of her. “You do not get to have it both ways. Yes, we were children when we made promises to…” She swallowed, unable to say the word love. “Care for each other. I won’t hold you to that and don’t expect you to do the same.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak.
She continued on, “What I expect you to do is behave like a gentleman in this house and not insult me or make…aspersions on my character because I have to put my family first.” She lifted her chin. “If I must wed a not-so-old and wealthy-enough man for the good of my family, I will do so, and I will not suffer your crass comments or jealousy.”
“Jealousy.” He growled out the word.
“What else could it be? Are you willing to offer me a better prospect? I’m twenty-six, Aleksandar. My options are limited.” And growing more so every day.
“No. I cannot. That has not changed.”
“Then goodnight. I will see you at breakfast.” She paused at the door, unwilling to leave with such unhappiness between them. However far apart they had grown over the years, however much they both had changed, Alek had once been her friend. She believed he could be again.
“I did not know you were such a mercenary,” he said.
“Then you truly do not know me at all.”
Chapter 7
Solenne
Boxon Hill
The pond
* * *
The day broke with bright sunshine and warmth. Her list of tasks for the day kept growing, but wasting such a lovely day felt wrong. She wanted only to sit in the sunshine.
Gathering a basket of sewing, she stashed a well-worn book in the bottom. “All work and no play,” she muttered, then headed to the pond.
She situated herself on a small blanket under a tree, one of her favorite reading spots. Near the water’s edge, she got a lovely view, shade, and was hidden from the main path. It was the perfect locale to steal away a few undisturbed hours.
The book opened flat, the spine broken ages ago. Working her way through a basket of items to be mended, she kept one eye on her needle and the other on the book. Her hands worked on muscle memory, pulling the needle through the garments and tying off the thread. Buttons were replaced. Torn seams repaired. Socks darned. The work was tedious but mindless. She soon found herself pulled into the book, the story familiar and welcomed.
Shadows shifted, growing smaller under the tree, and the day’s heat increased. It’d be noon soon and someone would be sent to find her.
Someone rustled through the grass, and Alek plopped down on the ground next to her. He placed the basket in his lap. “Apple?”
“No, thank you. I need my fingers clean,” she said, eyes fixed on the pages of her book. She refused to pay attention to the heat rolling off his body, how their shoulders brushed, or the noise he made crunching into the apple.
Her stomach rumbled.
“I have cheese,” he said in a teasing tone.
Solenne frowned. This situation felt familiar, like how they used to be and how they could be now if they could willfully forget the last ten years. “What is this?”
“Lunch. And I brought enough to share.” He waved a second apple at her, red and ripe.
He waved temptation at her, but she remembered the harsh words they exchanged the night before. She’d be damned before she took his apple.
“No, thank you. I am working,” she said.
“Suit yourself,” he said, around a mouthful of apple. “What’s that?”
“It’s a book.” Solenne pulled needle and thread through the sock, her motion automatic, and barely lifted her eyes from the page. She needn’t have bothered, having read the book often enough to have it memorized.
“What is the book called?”
With an exasperated sigh, she lowered her sewing and closed book. “The Confinement of Twilight. Are you here for a particular reason or just general mischief?”
He grinned, a bit too broad and toothsome for his face. “I thought lunch and a refreshing dip in the pond seemed just the thing on a day like today.”
“Shouldn’t you be beating my brother?”
“We’re done for the day. We broke for lunch and will reconvene to inspect the weapon stores.”
“Well, as you can see, I am working. Please go elsewhere.”
“As you wish.” In a fluid movement, he rose to his feet and moved to the pond’s short wooden dock. Not that she could remark on it, because she was not staring at his position or any other part of his person. She simply made sure he complied with her wishes.
In the sun, he stretched and removed his shirt. The wounds she tended to last night looked mostly healed, and a network of scars crisscrossed his back. Again, she studied him to note his progress and look for signs of infection. It most certainly was not in admiration, and she failed to note or appreciate the way his muscles flexed in the sunshine.
He looked over his shoulder and winked, taking another bite of the apple.
“For goodness’ sake, Alek! Put on your shirt,” she snapped.
“I do not recall you being the boss of me, sweetpea.”
>
How dare he? The pet name stoked her anger like nothing else. No one had called her that since Mama passed.
“You do not have permission to be so familiar with me, Mr. Hardwick.”
He raised a brow and took another mouthful of the apple. “I think you’re spoiled and too used to getting what you want,” he eventually said.
Spoiled?
Spoiled!
Solenne jumped to her feet. As she stomped toward him, she gestured broadly to the basket of sewing, the ruinous house, Boxon Hill in general. “What gave you the idea that any part of this is what I want? My glamorous life of darning socks? Selling salves and poultices so I have a little coin?” She jabbed a finger at his chest.
Alek growled. Actually growled.
Surprised, she jabbed him again.
He grabbed her finger, hand sticky from the apple. “Do not.”
“Unhand me.”
“Not if you’re going to poke with your boney finger.”
“I’ll poke you with whatever I damn well please,” she said, which was such a ridiculous statement that it did not even register.
He smirked. “See, spoiled.”
“You’re impossible.” She shook her hand, but his grip held tight.
Fine. If he wanted to play that game, she would play.
Solenne planted her free hand on his chest and shoved with all her might.
His eyes went wide as he fell backward. Still holding her pointer hand, his grip tightened and the weight of him pulled her forward.
Into the pond.
Cold water shocked her. They were a tangle of limbs. She thrashed until she freed herself from Alek, kicking and flailing until she broke the surface of the water. She gasped, cold to the bone and furious like she had never been before.
“Stop! Stop fighting me!”
“Unhand me!”
“I’m trying to keep you from drowning,” Alek rumbled.
“I can swim. You know I can swim.” She splashed water at him and continued until he drifted away.
They stared at each other, wet hair plastered to their heads and both fully clothed.
“You pushed me!” Alek scraped away water from his face and shook his head like a dog, water and hair flying.
Solenne brushed back her own sodden hair, pond water in her mouth and up her nose. “You pushed me first!”
“You were…eleven?”
“Well, it was very memorable.” Lifting her chin, she paddled her way to the dock with as much dignity as possible. The weight of her skirts made motion difficult, no matter how hard her legs kicked.
Finally, she reached the dock. Grabbing the wooden plank, she struggled to pull herself out of the water. She could perform the maneuver in a swimming costume, but apparently her garments had absorbed the entire contents of the pond.
“You are a proud creature. Let me help.”
“I don’t need your he—” Her words were swallowed into a yelp as Alek planted two hands on her bottom and lifted her out of the water.
She flopped onto the dock like a fish and rolled to make room as Alek joined her. Sun warm, the boards leached away the worst of the water’s chill.
She turned her head to the side, meeting Alek’s gaze.
That was…
He was…
They burst into laughter.
“You’re a monster,” she said through gasping laughs. “What were you thinking?”
“Lunch and a swim. We used to do it all the time.”
“When we were children.”
“Yes. I see that.” He reached over, brushing back her wet lock. His fingers ghosted over her brow, her cheek and the seam of her lips.
Her mouth opened slightly, she couldn’t help it.
He licked his lips.
A strange awareness washed over her, knowing this was the moment he would kiss her and nothing would be the same.
Only he had been so cruel the previous night.
He had abandoned her for ten years and now expected kisses?
Self-conscious, she sat up, hunching her shoulders. The wet dress clung to her and left nothing to the imagination. Not that any amount of fabric layers would protect her from Alek’s grin—stop staring at him!—but it did not help to feel so exposed.
“I’ll fetch your blanket,” he said, rolling to his feet.
She did not twist to watch his confident amble, and she certainly did not admire the way the wet trousers stretched as he bent to retrieve the blanket. Don’t be absurd. She was a gentleman’s daughter.
And she absolutely did not feel his eyes watching her figure as she retreated to the house.
Aleksandar
What was he doing?
He was a monster. She said the words in jest, but they drove home the point that he had to keep his distance from Solenne.
Last night he had been purposefully cruel. He wanted to drive a wedge between them, to make it clear that whatever they had been, they no longer could be. Clear to her. Clear to him.
And today, when he saw her reading under the tree by the pond, he remembered all the summer days they swam in that pond. He recalled every story Solenne read aloud as he lounged in the grass. They climbed trees and scraped knees and laughed, and it was as if no time at all had passed. He wanted that back with a fierce hunger.
He wanted her back.
It was foolish, but just for a moment when they laughed at the absurdity of them falling into the pond, he felt the spark. This was his friend. Whatever time and distance stretched between them, she would always be his friend.
Then the beast had to ruin it.
He had nearly kissed her and would have if she had not jumped away like a skittish colt.
Alek dried his face with his shirt, dressed, and returned to the house. The entire journey, he thought of ways to apologize. Solenne had pushed him, but he had deserved worse. Travers was none too thrilled about the puddles he left on the floor. Once he changed into dry clothes, he snuck into the kitchen and begged Cook for a favor. With promises made to clean and organize the scullery, he took his basket and found paper and ink in a desk drawer in the library.
He scratched out a note.
“Please accept these lemon cookies as an apology for my atrocious behavior last night and this afternoon. Cook says these are your second favorite and that more groveling is required for your favorite. So I apologize for that, as well.
“I understand that we are no longer the people we once were, but I had hoped that our friendship had not changed. Again, my apologies.”
He blew over the ink to dry and reread. The apology fell short of his intentions, but anything other than laying on the ground and bearing his throat to Solenne felt inadequate.
Alek delivered the basket to her workshop door and knocked. He hurried around the corner, in case she did not wish to speak to him.
The door opened. Her hair hung down to air dry, and she had changed into a shapeless tunic and trousers.
Shame. He rather liked the breezy yellow dress she had worn. The fabric went nearly translucent when wet. The beast especially liked that fact.
She read the note and folded it carefully. “You do realize you wouldn’t have to sneak cookies away from Cook if you behaved,” she said.
No doubt, but she had pushed him, and he did not regret the moments he held her in the water.
He scrubbed a hand over his brow. This was dangerous. He gave his word not to interfere with Solenne, and here he was flirting over baskets of cookies. Still, he could not resist the pull of her. He needed to stay away.
Alek retreated down the corridor.
Chapter 8
Solenne
Boxon Hill
Marechal House - The Library
* * *
“I say!” Colonel Chambers shouted, rearing back as he spotted the creature lurking in the shadowy recess of the library. His cane thumped against the floor as he took a defensive stance. “Miss Marechal, are you well?”
“Oh, that’s just Tri
stan. He’s quite harmless as he is stuffed.” Solenne turned her attention from the window and faced her visitor.
Chambers approached the stuffed monster, radiating curiosity. “Stuffed. Godwin mentioned this curiosity once, but I did not believe him. Fascinating.”
“Grandfather hunted him and had him stuffed.” Gutted and stuffed with a concoction of chemicals and sawdust, the transformed wolf stood on his hind legs. Tucked into a corner to prevent further degradation from sunlight, he lurked, mostly ignored. Tristan needed a good dusting, but Solenne hated the thing.
The creature had a remarkably human face. Perhaps it was familiarity on Solenne’s part that saw the human still trapped inside the beast, because so many natural features had been twisted by the curse.
Tristan’s nose and mouth pulled forward into a short snout. Deformed lips had been curled back into a snarl. Age yellowed the teeth, but Solenne knew they were still razor sharp. Faded violet-tinged fur covered his face in a shaggy beard, but the rest of his body was covered in a short pelt.
The eyes, though, remained fully human. Painted glass, they sparkled in the light when cleaned, watching. Sometimes it felt as if he understood his fate, hunted, stuffed, and kept as a curiosity. Dusty as those eyes were now, they stared out blindly from under a gray film. It seemed kinder, somehow.
The fierceness of Tristan’s visage was ruined by a silk coat, cut in the fashion of fifty years prior, complete with trousers and a rather limp gray cravat around his throat.
“The taxidermist was remarkably skilled. Was he called Tristan in life?” Chambers rubbed the snout, fingers coming away with a layer of dust.
“He was Grandfather’s dearest friend, Tristan Wodehouse.” Saying the words made her feel ill. The curse forced her grandfather to end the life of his friend. It was the hard truth of their lives, but he chose to humiliate the corpse of his friend, stuffed and put on display in a costume and a cravat.
“Wodehouse? I say.” He peered closer, as if searching for a familial resemblance. “Wodehouse always hinted that something hinky happened with the line of succession.” He stood abruptly. “Shame.”
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