by Tamara Gill
Wolfe had never known such contentment as he had during this past day and night spent in Lucy Gordon’s arms. Before meeting her, he had thought the very notion of men and women pairing for all time for no other reason than love was but a silly notion straight from children’s fables. But now, handing her the packed lunch he had prepared especially for her, patting her fondly on her pleasingly plump behind, he fought a surge of anger for the fact that she was leaving him at all—even for a few hours of their day. Just as quickly as his anger swelled, it passed. For he knew how much she enjoyed spending time with her children. One thing he would now never do is deny her any pleasure—no matter how large or small.
She was his woman. As such, she deserved the best of all he had to give.
“I love you.” Standing on her tiptoes, she delivered a teasing kiss.
“Aye,” he said on a dissatisfied grunt. “If you truly loved me, you would quit this teaching and stay home to properly satisfy your man.”
They teased round and round the matter until she was late, running laughing to her carriage, waving her goodbye in dazzling morning sun. And then Wolfe was back inside, shutting the mudroom door, hoping to find enough diversions so as not to miss her too badly until the time she returned home.
He tidied the kitchen and dining room.
He went upstairs to retrieve soiled sheets from their bed, and went downstairs to load those sheets into the washer.
He dusted her many fine figurines.
Cleared the rugs of any stray pop-corn kernels.
Watched an hour of Baywatch—The Next Wave.
Ate a newfound delicacy called the ice cream sandwich while loading the sheets into the dryer, then retired to the library to study his reading. Before retaking his throne, tee-vee had taught him that, in this new age, he must be as strong academically as he was physically.
Lucy Gordon had brought him a fascinating stack of books from her school library, and he had a hard time choosing which to first read. She had taught him the difference between fiction and nonfiction, and he saw that she had included three of each type. The fiction he had difficulty deciphering, but the nonfiction—books with many pictures dealing with history and science and recipes—those he very much enjoyed.
A book entitled, The Amazon, with its spellbinding images of places so green he doubted their existence, held him enraptured until the buzzer on the dryer startled him from a passage on a most fiercesome flesh-eating fish called a piranha.
Rufus had been right, Wolfe thought, smiling all the way to the mudroom. To be compared to a fish was perhaps not such a bad thing!
Upstairs, Wolfe carefully fitted the bottom sheet to the mattress, then smoothed the top sheet over that. He nestled into their cases the pillows upon which Lucy Gordon rested her fiery hair. He next arranged them just so upon floral blankets he had once found offensive but, now, because she held them in such high regard he found them most pleasing to behold.
Stepping back to assess his work, his gaze landed on a corner of white peeking above one of the nightstand’s drawers. He opened the drawer to tuck in the paper, only to find a whole pile of messy papers very much in need of his cleaning assistance.
“Ah, my fair Lucy,” he said with an indulgent grin. “You are certainly a disorganized wench.” Not that he cared, especially not when he was charged with the wholly pleasant task of looking after her many messes!
Grasping the ungainly wad, he set it on the bed, intending to square up but a few sheets at a time, when from out of the sea of words he recognized his name.
Prince of Gwyneddor.
It took a moment to even realize that was his name but, by the time he had, tears pricked the backs of his eyes.
What an amazing feat this was!
Yes, he had known for days how to read, but to recognize his own name in print was a truly heady thing.
More—he had to read more. There his name was again and again, along with quite a bit of rubbish about an as yet undiscovered species of frog. And a bit about how... The scientific merits of such a discovery to the world biological community is heretofore unparalleled. Lucy Gordon continued by saying she... hoped her discovery might one day open the door for further such discoveries in lands thought to be previously explored.
Wolfe read on and on, his expression growing increasingly dark.
He wanted to pretend he knew not what these papers meant but he did know. Oh, did he know.
The wench did not love him as a man—she loved him as a frog!
The whole of this blissful time while he had made a fool of himself by revealing the true depth of his attachment to her, she had been but biding her time till the full moon.
At which point, she would no doubt trap him in a cage, then parade him about for all the world to see while she basked in applause.
Blinded by fury, Wolfe flung the papers across the room, burying in a sea of white the rug he had just swept clean.
It seemed he was not to be saved after all.
“Damn you!” he thundered. Damn what the conniving wench had done in making him actually believe himself in love. He had known better. Love was for women and small children. Men knew war. And soon, he thought, fists clenched tight, Lucy Gordon would know war. She would know war that started as a dream, only to end in her own personal nightmare.
***
“Mmm, that feels good,” Lucy said that night, seated in the tub between Wolfe’s legs, back resting against his chest while he poo-shammed her hair.
Slowing the fevered pace he’d set when she’d first come home, they’d made love again on the rug in front of the fire and again in her bed—each time more poignant than the last. Even though now, every muscle in her body ached—some muscles she hadn’t even known she’d had—she felt deliciously content. Whole. And it hadn’t taken finding a frog, or even her father’s respect. All it had taken was this magnificent man’s love.
“Close your eyes,” he said, rinsing the soap from her hair, using a bowl that had once housed a floating candle as a ladle.
Warm water streamed in sultry rivulets down her shoulders and breasts on its return trickle to the tub. As if that weren’t pleasure enough, then came Wolfe’s strong fingers in her hair, massaging away not just physical aches but years of emotional pain.
On the surface, love seemed such a simple thing, yet here she was, a year past thirty, only just now understanding the word. Yes, concerning her growing affections for Wolfe it had been a gradual thing, but where had it come from, and why?
Her love for him was like a rare surprise gift, neither expected nor deserved, but wholly welcome all the same.
Hair rinsed, she leaned back against his chest, twining her fingers through the coarse hair on his arms. “This is one time when it’s good to be short,” she teased, eyeing Wolfe’s bent knees.
“Aye,” he said with a throaty chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “In my day, bathing was more chore than pleasure. Mostly I took baths in the pond.”
“Even when you were a man?”
“Aye. Twas much simpler to wrap a woman’s legs about my waist in chest-deep water than in a wooden tub.”
When he laughed, she reached behind her, landing a playful pat to his cheek.
“What do you mean by hitting me after I spent the whole of my evening servicing you?”
“That’s funny, because,” though she’d heard the smile in his tone, she scrunched round to give him a mean stare. “I seem to recall a certain guy having a good time, too.”
“Who, me?”
That earned him a full-fledged swat!
“Tell me,” he said, arms wrapped back around her, cuddling her close. “What finally made you fall for me? Was it the roses that won you? Or my charming smile?”
“The smile. Definitely, the smile.”
“So simple, when here I had thought studying all of those man-and-woman movies you adore would have done the trick.”
Done the trick?
Though the water around her sti
ll steamed, something about his tone scurried goose bumps up her arms and legs. “What do you mean?”
“By what?”
“You know, that you studied movies?”
“What else could I have done? I had already tried cooking my way into your heart to no avail. I had tried sharing your love of tee-vee and Scrabble. I had done those little things you yourself suggested. Fixing your hair. Washing your face. None of it worked. Not a damnedable thing. What else was I to do? Make no mistake, Lucy Gordon, these past weeks I have waged the fiercest battle of my life—a battle about nothing but my life. There is nothing I would not have done to make you see your love for me. Nothing. Now, that the deed is done, I have no further need of your assistance. You have been compensated with a thorough bedding and I shall now take my leave.”
“What?” Not only had the water turned cold, but her blood. What was he talking about? “Wolfe? What are you saying? I know you’re too proud to come out and say you love me, but you do, right?”
His laugh hit her as brutal. “Love is for fools such as yourself.”
Why was Wolfe suddenly acting so cruel?
She wanted—needed—to escape him, but panic froze her limbs as dawning slowly took hold. Deep down, she knew exactly what was happening and it scared her to her core.
Not again, she prayed. Please, God, don’t let this happen again. How many times had men played her to get to her famous father? Only, this time, she’d been duped by true master. Wolfe had no use for her father, only her very soul—for that’s the gift she’d given.
Crying, afraid she might be sick, she had to get away. Using the sides of the tub for support, she pushed herself up, ignoring the swoosh of water trailing her onto the white tile floor.
“It is good you are taking your leave,” he had the nerve to say. “Your constant proximity had begun, as you Yanks say, to cramp my style.”
How could he be so mean? She’d given what he wanted. After all they’d shared, couldn’t he at least toss her a crumb of kindness?
Swallowing unfathomable pain, she reached for a towel, wrapping it sarong-style around her, only it was the small one that didn’t quite reach all the way.
“W-where is it?” she managed through tears, launching a frantic search for her robe. “Did you wash it?”
“Where is what?”
“My robe. The blue one with the clouds.”
“I disposed of it.”
“You what?”
“I found it unsuitable for your frame, as are many of your clothes. But now that I will no longer be forced to reside in your presence, feel free to wear whatever offensive garments you like. Makes no matter to me...”
“What have I done?” she asked on a strangled laugh. All of her fears had been true. All along, he had just been playing her. “None of what we shared was real. What did I do to deserve this?”
“Hush. Your bellowing makes my head throb.”
“You’re a monster! How could I not have seen you for the man you truly are?” Tears streamed down her face as pride and the stupid meager cover of the too-small towel she should’ve long since torched turned her away from his stare. But then she turned back. What she needed to convey had to be said to his face. She had to at least have the satisfaction of knowing he’d heard her—even if he would never truly listen. “Everything we did tonight—the past couple days—I thought was about our love. Our commitment. But all it meant to you was the end of your game. You got what you wanted, and so making love to me meant nothing more to you than a silly bonus prize.”
Expression frighteningly dark, he rose from the tub. Standing at his full, glorious height, water glistening from his majestic form, Lucy might’ve have thought him a dream did she not know him to be her worst nightmare.
“You wish to speak of prizes, Lucy Gordon?” Hands set low on his hips, jaw hard, never had he looked more a true prince. “When I first learned I had been bested by a woman, I was enraged, but now?” He cruelly laughed. “I have grown to admire your cunning. This is a first, my having been bested by a woman. But this is a game we both shall lose. How could you have known by teaching me to read, you caused your own plan’s demise?”
A bone-deep chill set in, making Lucy shiver. Would she ever be warm again? “What’re you talking about?”
“Do not play the innocent with me, Lucy Gordon. Had you not taught me to read, I would now be oblivious to your duplicity yet to come. Make no mistake, I believe part of you genuinely cares for me, but not more than you care for yourself—your professional gain.” He raised his chin in what she took as a show of defiance. “That small piece of affection was the only chink your armor. For when I bedded you, it was my firm hope to twist that affection. To forever imprint you with my memory. Even when I am gone, I wish you to reflect upon what your act has done to a man poised to give you the world. I wish you to mourn what might have been between us, which your greed destroyed. I intended our mating to bring you such pleasure that you feared your heart might burst. Now? I wish for you to never find pleasure again. For I will be damned if not only do I spend all eternity as a loathsome frog, but allow you to prosper from my pain.”
“P-prosper from your pain? I don’t know—”
She brought her trembling hands to her mouth. Could he know of her former plan?
Heart pounding with the terrifying implications of his words, she asked, “Wolfe? I can’t imagine what you mean. I-I love you.”
“You love me?” Shaking his head, he stepped from the tub.
“O-of course, I love you. You know that.”
“How dare you speak to me of love?” Storming naked into her bedroom, he tore out the upper drawer on her nightstand, raining dozens of loose pages from her WBC report down upon her, burying her in cold shame. “Most especially when, after claiming nothing matters more than love, you were only too willing to turn me back into a frog for all eternity just to satisfy your whim to be as infamous as your father.”
Staring at him in stunned silence, Lucy’s formerly oh-so-righteous heart whispered, he does know. Everything.
But then why had she expected different? He’d been alone in her house for weeks. She’d blabbed on and on about her miserable relationship with her father but how she hoped that, one day soon, he’d see her as the special someone she’d always wanted to be. Hell, she herself had taught Wolfe to read, then left her notes all over the house, only to finally stash them away in a forgotten drawer. What had made her think for one second he wouldn’t have read the most damning, irrefutable evidence proving that she’d been far more conniving than him.
Head still bowed, she said, “I’m sorry. I wrote all of that before. Before we...you know.” The beautiful memory of their physical connection was still too fresh to voice aloud, let alone label. “I wrote it before I told you how much I love you. Other than that, I don’t know what to say.”
“Nor do I,” he said, “other than that perhaps tis time for me to bid you farewell. For since your vow of love was anything but true, I wish to be alone when the deed of my transformation is done.”
“But, Wolfe, haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? I do love you. Your curse is broken. Trust me on this. Please stay.”
“Stay? The cunningly beautiful Lucy Gordon wishes me to stay?” His smile read pure malice, hatred on a level she couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Ah, yes, but why would you not? For if I leave, you lose our little game when your one-of-a-kind frog is forever lost. Who should know better than I how much you hate to lose?”
“No...” Openly weeping, sinking to her knees onto the cold white tile floor, she wasn’t too proud to beg. “Please believe me, Wolfe. I love you. I never meant to cause you harm. Please don’t go. Please.”
“Even knowing the treachery living in your soul, your tears move me, Lucy Gordon. But alas, I declare myself victor of this game—at least until I am once more changed into a frog. And then, on that day, when I am far, far from you and this place, we shall both be defeated.”
While
she sat alone, naked and shivering, desperately searching for something—anything—to say to make him believe her, he stormed to his bedroom where she heard much slamming of drawers. A few minutes later, he strode by dressed in jeans and the mossy green sweater she so adored.
“I have left more than adequate amounts of coin and jewels to compensate you for your inconvenience, Lucy Gordon. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Just like that?” Her heart broke with the loss of a thousand shimmering hopes. “You’re leaving? You won’t even try listening to reason?”
Lips pressed tight, eyes dark, unreadable stone, he shook his head.
“But it’s the middle of the night. At least let me drive you somewhere. To a train station or an airport or inn.”
“Lucy Gordon, stop your charade. No matter what you say, I know the truth to be opposite, which is why I must go.”
“You’re lying. You do believe me, but since I’m not your perfect princess—rich with a whole continent just waiting to be joined with your precious Gwyneddor, you don’t want me. Is that it? You don’t want me? But are too cowardly to admit it, so you designed this whole elaborate ruse to make me look like the bad guy?”
Sighing, he said, “Believe what you will. My honesty will be proven by the light of the next full moon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Luce, darling? That you?”
Lucy held her phone away from her ear, wincing from Bonnie’s shouts above the noise of a tinny teenaged rock band.
“What’s going on? Where are you? You’re not going to believe this, but the duke showed up at the dance with another woman.”
“I know.” Hand to her forehead, Lucy watched Buzzy spin round and round on his exercise wheel.
“What do you mean, you know? Does this have something to do with that rumor about you making out with some long-haired giant in the school’s primary hall?”
Eyes tearing, Lucy said, “Can we talk about this some other time? I’m really beat.”
“Sure, but—” Before her friend launched into a whole new set of questions, Lucy pressed the disconnect button on her phone, then cradled it to her chest, staring into the cold fireplace and then into the black beyond paned windows.
