Chapter 7
BRONTE HAD THE towel wrapped around her body when Miss. Deveraux called into the bathroom from the bedroom. “Bronte, dear. Are you decent?”
Stepping out, Bronte saw the older woman standing by the bed, her hands clasped tightly together and creasing at the corners of her mouth. “Miss. Deveraux, you seem concerned. Did Roark ask you to deliver a message again?”
“Yes, dear. I waited until I heard the water draining to disturb you. I understand how we hate private time disrupted. Mr. Roark asked me to bring you this.”
“What is it?”
The older woman stepped to the side and Bronte saw the dress lying across the bed. Moving closer, she took in the beautiful black garment and her breath caught in her throat. “But…that’s from my favorite designer.” She ran her fingers over the silk material.
“Yes, dear. I’m sure it’ll look lovely on you. Mr. Roark has requested—,” she cleared her throat “—I mean, he has asked if you’d like to wear it for dinner tonight.”
Confused, Bronte turned to Miss. Deveraux, “He seems like a man who wears two different hats. Just when I’m convinced he’s an ogre, he turns around and does something nice for me, which seems odd when it’s not very pleasant that he’s keeping me against my will.”
Miss Deveraux tilted her head and sadness washed over her features. “Once upon a time, Mr. Roark was different, but over the years grief and heart break has made him build a wall. He’s still a man with great kindness, but it takes longer to uncover the layers. Trust me, dear, he doesn’t mean to be crude.”
“Have you worked for him long?”
“Yes, a long time.” Miss Deveraux busied herself with rearranging the pillows on the bed, then fiddled with the comforter as she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles. Bronte wondered if the woman was hiding something.
“Why am I here, Miss Deveraux?” Bronte had nothing to lose. Miss Deveraux continued piddling with the bed covers. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard,” the other woman said. “Ask Mr. Roark.”
“I have. He won’t answer.”
“And for good reason, I’m sure.” Miss Deveraux started for the door.
Bronte was quicker. She raced across the room and blocked the woman’s path. “Help me understand, Miss Deveraux. Don’t I have a right to know?”
She lifted her chin in a stubborn tilt. “If it were only that simple. I can tell you that Mr. Roark isn’t an ogre. He’d die for his family, and time is passing at a blinding speed. If you really want to know the truth, then search for it, my dear. Everything you need to know is within your reach.”
“I don’t know how to find the answers. I feel like everything is right under my nose, but I can’t seem to grasp it. I’m beginning to believe you, Roark and that crazy witch are screwing with my mind!”
Miss Deveraux’s eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip quivered. “I’m sorry, child. Maybe it’s too late.”
Bronte stepped out of the other woman’s path and watched her leave the room. She slid to the floor and allowed the sobs to fall. Her mind and heart were at a tug of war. Confusion and disappointment coursed through her.
She was afraid that if she didn’t get away soon, she’d be lost. Not only physically, but emotionally as well.
****
Roark had his head laid back on the leather chair when he heard Miss Deveraux enter his office. He opened one eye and looked at her. “Yes?”
“I did as you requested. I gave Miss Bronte the dress,” she said as she wrung her hands together.
“What’s wrong? Did she give you a hard time again?”
“No.” She moved into the room and stood in front of his desk. He could see the worry lines creasing the corners of her eyes. He sat up straighter. “I…well, I think you should tell her the truth.”
He swallowed. “Why do you say that?”
“There comes a point when you’ll have to trust in love again, Mr. Roark. Do you doubt who she is?”
He stood up from his chair and crossed the room to stare out of the window. The rain was falling in sheets and thunder pounded in the distance. Similar to the storm in his mind. “There is risk. It’s not only my life that is in my hands, but the lives of many. If I rush her, I’m afraid all will be lost.”
“And if you don’t help her with the truth, what then? Our lives are lost anyway. At least you would have done your best,” she said.
“You knew my father, Miss Deveraux. What would he have done in this situation?” When she didn’t answer right away, he looked at her over his shoulder. She was watching him.
Shrugging one shoulder, she sighed. “Your father was a selfless man. He loved you and your mother beyond words. I remember once he was faced with a decision that worried him day and night. He said his mind and heart were at a battle and he didn’t know which to trust. He followed his heart and a year later, you were born.”
“What? What do you mean?” he asked.
“I should have told you what I knew long ago, before that fretful night changed everything. Just promise not to hate me for not telling you sooner.” Her shoulders seemed to drop.
“I could never hate you, Miss Deveraux. You’ve always taken care of me. Just like a mother would.”
“Let’s sit, young man.” She sat and he waited. “Your mother was a human.”
He laughed. “Woman, this isn’t a time for jokes.”
Not a sliver of humor marred her expression. “I’d never jest about this subject.”
He relaxed back into the cushions and shook his head. “This isn’t true. Of course my mother wasn’t human, she only preferred living as one.”
“Your father worked in a mercantile while he was a young man. One day, your mother walked in an caught him by surprise. She was quiet lovely young woman with her dark hair and beguiling eyes. He knew the rules though. He’d been warned time and again what could happen if wolf and human mix. However, your father, being the stubborn man that he was, just as you are, wouldn’t allow anyone and their views to deter his choice. After a short courtship, he told your mother the truth and after the initial shock wore off, she realized she loved him enough to make it work. Let me ask, Roark…do you remember seeing your mother turn into wolf?”
“As you know, she died when I was young.” He scratched his forehead as he thought back. “No, I didn’t ever see her as a wolf.” The truth left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Why didn’t they tell me?”
Her sigh echoed off the walls. “Your mother and I were close…best friends. We talked many times about you and your heritage, but I knew she feared what your future held as part human, part wolf. Your father and mother searched everywhere for others until finally they met more wolf-humans, but still different than you. Your strength, intelligence, and power is above any of the others, human or wolf. They knew from the very start that you would be unlike another.”
He sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees. “How many others are like me?” His stomach twisted. The room seemed to collapse around him.
She laid her palms in her lap. “Not many. Roark, you and Jillian could have lived together, if tragedy hadn’t struck. Yet, what is difficult for a wolf-human romance is the secrecy involved. Many humans have a difficult time understanding the wolf ways and that they must roam with his pack. Jillian would have had a hard time letting you go when your need arose to lead your clan. You would have returned, but sometimes humans can doubt that will happen. And how do you explain to other humans where you disappear to at long lengths of time? Then we come to babies born of mating between human and wolf…which is your plan with Bronte to release the curse…”
“It is possible, right? I’m here and I’m a mix,” he said.
Her sigh echoed off the walls. “Yes, it’s very possible. However, a human carrying a wolf child can wreak havoc on her body. She must be prepared that it’s impossible to have a traditional birth at a hospital, doctor and nurses.”
“You’ve delivered many babie
s, Miss Deveraux.”
“Only you were a mix, my son,” she said.
Roark’s chest tightened. “Can Bronte survive?” That could change everything… “I couldn’t put her at risk, more than she already is.”
Miss Deveraux nodded. “She has a fighting spirit with a strong will. I believe she will be fine. You said the witch has seen your child’s future.”
“Can the witch be trusted?” He scrubbed his jaw.
“That we shall see,” she said.
“I know I can no longer keep the truth from Bronte. I guess I had hoped she’d realize everything on her own.”
“Although you are certain Jillian lives in her, that doesn’t mean she is Jillian with all of the same characteristics. She is as innocent in all of this as you are. It’s time to fill her in on why you brought her here,” she said. “I wonder if you have chosen not to tell Bronte the truth because you’re afraid she’ll deny you? Or, do you fear the deep abiding love you are surprised to find remaining in your heart?”
He paced the floor, hoping to relieve his tension. “That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t matter what I have in my heart. Our fate is sealed.”
“Is that what you believe? Or what you hope?”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Spit it out.” He gritted his teeth in frustration.
“We have one heart, one mate.” she said. “Don’t tell me you have forgotten…”
“Don’t say it aloud.” He began pacing again. “How could I ever forgive her for her betrayal of the family? Of me? Even if Bronte is different, Jillian’s blood flows with hers.”
“And yet you look at Bronte with such devotion, swearing to protect her against those who would do her harm.” Miss Deveraux’s voice oozed through him like lava. “I saw you two outside playing in the rain like kids. I haven’t seen that joyful look in your eye since you were a young lad.”
The walking wasn’t helping. He went to the whiskey bar and poured himself a glass full of bourbon. He started to take a drink when he caught Miss Deveraux’s grave stare. “What? Can’t a man have a drink?”
“Do I need to remind you of the effects on you?” she asked.
“No, please don’t start on a lecture. Why are you so worried? Moreover, trying to convince me that love is thicker than blood. You didn’t even like Jillian.” He downed the liquor, squinting as it burned all the way into his belly. “You wouldn’t even talk to her.”
She huffed. “Don’t you tell me who I liked and who I didn’t like. I was only watching over you. I promised your parents I’d take care of you. And back in those days, I didn’t think anyone was worthy of you.” She sat back into the cushions. “I only wanted the best for you as I still do now. And don’t forget my words. Bronte is special.”
“Do you believe that Jillian and I were meant to be partners? Had I made such a mistake?” he asked, then grabbed the whiskey decanter and poured himself more. He didn’t even look at Miss Deveraux. He could have bet his fortune that she had her piercing glare on his back.
“No, you didn’t make a mistake. I believe the path you have been on has led you right where you belong. Bronte is best for you.”
The whiskey shot down the wrong pipe, sending him into a coughing fit. Finally under control, he turned and managed to say, “Don’t go there. Bronte and I have one purpose and that’s to put right the curse that has hung over our heads for far too long.”
“And point is, she’s at a disadvantage. You’re afraid to tell her everything.”
“There’s nothing for me to be afraid of,” he said. The alcohol did nothing to dull the ache in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t tell her for obvious reasons. She despises me for having her brought here, against her will.”
“You fear getting hurt. And can you blame her, Roark? Just as you hate the imprisonment of the curse, she hates being imprisoned also.”
He wanted to tell Miss Deveraux that he didn’t care what Bronte felt, but fact was, he did. Instead, he jerked a shoulder. “And how should I have gone about this? Approached her and told her kindly that her life, along with mine, is in danger? Tell her that years ago we fell in love and got—” He shook the words out of his mind. “It doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t have understood and came here on her own free will.”
She blinked. “No, she wouldn’t have understood. But she’s here now.” He watched her get up and head toward the door. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure there are any logical answers.”
“Maybe I should give up,” he whispered, not really to Miss Deveraux, but more for himself.
“You’re a fighter. It’s in your blood and bones.” And she left.
Chapter 8
ROARK LEANED AGAINST the wall outside of Bronte’s bedroom. He could hear her moving around and his anticipation grew. The longer he waited, the angrier he became. Not because she took her time, but feeling the urge to see her annoyed him.
A few minutes later, when the door finally opened, he didn’t even look at her as she came out of the bedroom, although he knew she wore the dress he’d given her. He simply stated, “Come on.”
“Back to the attitude I see,” she mumbled at his back.
“It never left,” he retorted.
“Where are we going?”
“Miss Deveraux has prepared a meal.” He was thankful that she didn’t say another word as they made their way into the dining room and sat down at the table. He knew her silence wouldn’t last long though. She couldn’t hold her tongue if it killed her.
“How did you know I love the designer of this dress?” she asked.
Keeping his gaze on his food, he shoved his mouth full of peas before he answered. “Call it luck.”
“Is everything that comes out of your mouth vague and childish?”
He glanced at her. Her beauty caught his breath and that’s exactly what he was afraid of. Her long ebony hair hung in ringlets along her bare shoulders. The top of the dress gave ample view of full breasts. He didn’t have to see the hem to know the dress stopped above her knee, showing off silken, long legs.
Swallowing the scratchiness in his throat, he knew she weakened him, yet empowered him. She infuriated him, yet titillated every sense. Miss Deveraux was mistaken. No woman was good for him, but why couldn’t he shake his emotions? Jillian and Bronte shared blood, a birthmark and a resemblance, and the connection between him and Bronte seemed to burst into flames every time they looked at one another. That made it even more dangerous. “I saw you wearing a similar dress and you looked lovely, as you do now.”
Her gaze slanted. “I haven’t worn…” her eyes widened. “Wait, almost nine years ago, I’d just graduated college and was living on bread and water while paying off school loans, and I was invited to a formal dinner by my new boss. Because I couldn’t afford a new dress, and I didn’t have credit cards, I took what cash I had and stopped at a fancy boutique. The black designer dress was the cheapest and that’s why I bought it. I kept the tags on and what I remember is, all through dinner I was afraid that I’d spill something on the material and ruin it. The next day, I returned it. That’s why I still love the designer because I’m humbled.” She laughed and it made him smile. “But were you at the party?”
He shook his head. “No. I was watching when you arrived home.”
She squinted. “That seems stalkerish.” All humor left her expression.
“I promise you, I wasn’t stalking you, at least not in the literal meaning.”
“Then what were you doing?” she asked. He removed his gaze from her. “Well, since you’re not going to answer that question, I want to talk about Azelda.”
Roark forked a potato and popped the chunk into his mouth. He took his time in chewing and swallowing before finally answering, “Can’t we eat in peace? I can do without indigestion.”
She laughed. “That’s what happens when you stuff your face like a pig at his slop trowel.”
He lifted his gaze above his steak-speared fork. “Silence is a virtue. And for
some it’s a rare occurrence.”
“Okay, about Azelda. You two know each other well, or so it seemed.”
“I wouldn’t say we know each other at all,” he stated. His gaze dropped involuntarily to the neckline of the dress she wore. The birthmark wasn’t visible with her clothes on, but he knew what it looked like. He swallowed a bite of his filet mignon and it got stuck in his constricted throat.
“You knew the story she’d tell, Roark. You took me to her so she could fish around in my mind and put thoughts there. Why can’t you just explain to me what I need to know?” Her voice was almost pleading.
He laid his fork down and pushed his plate away. He no longer had an appetite. “Why don’t you tell me what I need to know?”
A look of confusion marred her delicate features. “What do you mean? There’s nothing which I’m hiding, or that you’d need to know.”
“The birthmark,” he pointed a finger, “Are you the only one in your family that has the spot?”
She brought her hand up to her chest and palmed the area of interest as her cheeks turned crimson. He knew she recalled he’d seen her naked breasts in the tub. “If you’d been a decent man you wouldn’t have seen this one. Then again you did undress me when you brought me back from the witch’s.”
“I didn’t remove your bra and panties. The damn birthmark. The curse. This whole situation is on my last nerve.” He couldn’t control the demanding tone of his voice. As his guard lowered, vulnerability infuriated him.
“Why such an interest in my birthmark? People are born with them all of the time.”
He exhaled through his teeth. “True, but not like that one.”
“You’ve seen one like mine, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.”
She moved from her place at the table and grabbed the chair closest to him. “Who was it? Is that the link?”
“You wouldn’t know her.” Roark relaxed back and stretched his legs. He didn’t want to hold her hand through a trip down memory lane—at least not in the direction of his past with Jillian.
Wicked Pleasures Page 10
