Luck of the Wolf

by Susan Krinard

  As if in answer to her thoughts, Cort’s warm, earthy scent came drifting into her room from underneath the closed door, and she heard his nearly soundless tread on the stairs. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday before bedtime; he had gone out, and hadn’t come down for breakfast.

  She didn’t care. It was better if she didn’t see him until the lessons were complete. Then she would show him….

  “Ah, Monsieur Renier!”

  Babette had opened the door wide, stepping out of the way so that Aria had an unobstructed view of the landing. Cort stood framed in the doorway, his face caught in a moment of surprise.

  “Will you not come see how delightful our charge appears?” Babette asked him. “She will turn heads everywhere in New Orleans!”

  Cort looked directly at Aria, cleared his throat noisily and turned red. “If you will excuse me…”

  He turned and almost ran down the stairs. Babette made a soft noise that almost sounded like a laugh and closed the door.

  “Why did you do that?” Aria demanded. “You told me this morning that a woman who isn’t married should never let any man but her husband see her in her underthings.”

  “I thought he should see how lovely you look. He has witnessed you in a state of undress on more than one occasion, has he not?” Babette asked, removing a pair of sheer stockings from a box on the table.

  She meant the Change, but Aria found herself thinking again about what had come after that last time in the woods. A time when she hadn’t had any reason to be ashamed. When Cort had seemed to feel…

  She grimaced. How many times had she promised herself not to think about Cort’s feelings for her, or her own about him? But the look on his face when he’d seen her through the doorway…

  “Mademoiselle. Kindly pay attention.”

  Aria tried to do what Babette asked, and after a while she was buried in a bewildering array of garments that felt as heavy as a mountain pony. The dress Babette had brought from Sacramento had far too many ribbons and too much lace, and the skirt clung to Aria’s legs like a deep snowdrift.

  “A lady must always select the appropriate dress for every occasion,” Babette said, adjusting the fall of the underskirt over the bustle. “This is a simple morning dress. The hem is cut so that it will not drag in the filth, should you wish to cross a park or a busy street. The weight of this gown is appropriate for warmer weather.” She produced a pair of white gloves. “A lady must always wear gloves outside or at any social gathering. Please try them on.”

  Aria did her best, but they didn’t want to fit over her hands, and her fingers felt like overstuffed sausages.

  “Well, we shall learn,” Babette said, patting Aria’s shoulder. “Next, I will show you a selection of hats and bonnets, and describe their use. After luncheon, we will begin…”

  Her words blurred together in a hum of meaningless noise. Aria did as she was told, took things off and put other things on, tried on this dress and that. Eventually she and Babette shared a quiet luncheon downstairs. Cort and Yuri were nowhere to be seen.

  After luncheon, Babette removed another gown from the wardrobe in Aria’s room. It was quite different from the other three the Frenchwoman had made her try on.

  “This,” Babette said with a satisfied air, “is a ball gown. You will see that the sleeves are short and the bodice is cut low, so as to reveal the lady’s arms and the upper part of her shoulders. The lady, however, will cover much of her arms with long gloves. She will wear only the most subtle of jewelry.”

  Jewelry was a subject that Babette had touched on only briefly, and Aria was more interested in the fact that the gown seemed a little fuller in the skirt. She might even be able to move in it, though certainly not ride or run.

  “Shall we try it on?” Babette asked.

  Babette fussed with the dress until she was satisfied and stepped back. “Ah,” she said. “Parfaitement. Once you have learned to walk properly in it, no man will be able to resist you.”

  She took Aria’s hand, led her to her own room next door and made Aria stand in front of the cheval mirror near the wall.

  Aria didn’t know the woman in the glass. The face seemed the same, as did the hair—Babette had promised to show her how to wear it up “properly” later—but nothing else looked the way it had been before. The whole upper part of her chest was showing, and her skin looked like fresh milk against the pale fabric. Her waist was pinched in, and the skirt flared out from her hips, sweeping gracefully to the ground.

  Cort had said she was beautiful. Now she thought she was beginning to understand.

  “We will learn ballroom etiquette later,” Babette said. “After I have taught you the basic forms.” She smiled into the mirror over Aria’s shoulder. “Tonight you will wear a gown to dinner. Not this one, of course. We shall see what Cort and Yuri make of you.”

  Aria’s throat tightened. “You said no man would be able to resist me,” she said.

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “But why would I want men to look at me and want to be with me if ladies and gentlemen are supposed to stay apart unless they’re married?”

  “There are many rules of conduct that permit unmarried men and women to enjoy each other’s company in the public arena. In fact, no marriages could take place unless ladies and gentlemen met at balls and parties and similar engagements.”

  And fell in love, Aria thought. She smoothed her hands over the glossy fabric of her skirts.

  “Will my family expect me to meet gentlemen?” she asked, praying for the right answer.

  “They will undoubtedly introduce you to the most eligible young men in New Orleans.”

  “Eligible,” as near as Aria could figure out, meant “good enough.”

  “Will they be loups-garous?” she asked.

  “Another loup-garou would be better qualified to tell you that, ma chérie.”

  But Aria had no other werewolf to ask. “Will they want to marry me?”

  Suddenly serious, Babette turned her about and put her hands on her shoulders. “If they fall in love with you. And you are very much worthy of love. Never doubt it.”

  Not worthy enough for Cort. And Aria didn’t want any other man to love her except the one who didn’t want her. As for what the Reniers would expect…

  She might have to go along with many tedious rules in order to make her way in the world, but there were some decisions, some choices, she would never let anyone make for her.

  Not even Cortland Renier.

  THE SMELL OF Babette’s cooking was a siren song to Cort’s empty stomach, but the rest of him took little pleasure in it. He knew he couldn’t get away with avoiding Aria any longer; his behavior was becoming too obvious, and no matter how often he told himself that Babette’s opinion was of no consequence, he knew it was.

  Especially where Aria was concerned.

  He had no idea why Babette had opened the door to him when Aria had been in her underclothes—unless the Frenchwoman had meant to gauge his reaction.

  If that had been her purpose, he had certainly given her ample cause for suspicion. He’d gaped like a schoolboy glimpsing his first belle de nuit.

  And that was the strange thing about it. He had seen Aria naked, every intimate part of her exposed, and yet the sight of her wearing a corset, chemise and drawers had had a very unexpected effect.

  Uncomfortably aroused and feeling a fool, Cort made a final adjustment to his tie and went downstairs.

  The others were already gathered in the drawing room. Cort saw Babette first, elegant as always in a muted red gown. She turned and smiled as he walked into the room. Yuri was so busy with his drinking that he didn’t seem to notice Cort at all.

  Aria pretended not to notice him. But he noticed her. And what he saw nearly knocked him off his feet.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ARIA’S GOWN WAS made of cream-colored satin, tastefully embellished with ribbons and lace. The color was suitable for a young woman who had recently
made her debut, yet it was highly flattering, especially to a girl of Aria’s coloring. The bodice was so tight that even she could not have fit in it without the aid of a corset, and her breasts swelled full and ripe above the neckline. Her hair was still down about her shoulders in a golden cascade, but in no other way did she resemble the wild young woman he had brought to the lodge.

  Aria turned and caught him staring. She smiled with perfectly courteous detachment, and Cort felt a chill. There was a veil behind her eyes that he couldn’t penetrate. For the first time since the day she had told him her name, she was truly a stranger.

  He became aware that Babette was watching him, and strolled over casually to join her and Aria. He bowed to them formally and waited for one of them to speak.

  Babette nodded to Aria. “Mademoiselle Renier,” she said, “may I present Monsieur Cortland Renier. Monsieur, Mademoiselle Lucienne Renier.”

  The formal introduction was a necessary part of Aria’s lessons, and they had all agreed that Aria ought to be called Lucienne when they were at the lodge. Cort simply hadn’t expected it to feel so wrong.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said with a shallow bow. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

  Aria met his gaze and swept into an equally shallow but quite proper curtsy. “Monsieur,” she said, “I am pleased to meet you.”

  Babette nodded approvingly. Cort locked his hands behind his back. “The gown is lovely, Madame Martin,” he said. “Your taste is exquisite.”

  “Merci,” Babette said, inclining her head. “But I cannot take credit for the beauty its wearer lends to the garment.”

  “Indeed,” Cort said. “Mademoiselle, my compliments.”

  “You are too kind,” Aria murmured.

  “Would you care for a drink, monsieur?” Babette asked.

  Cort did, but he didn’t dare risk losing control of his senses now. He felt as if he had walked to the very brink of a great chasm. A step in one direction would take him away from disaster. A step in the other would send him plummeting.

  “Thank you, but no,” he said. “If you will forgive me…” He bowed to Babette and Aria, and escaped to Yuri’s side just as Babette began to explain the finer points of formal introductions to Aria.

  The Russian had, from the look of him, already consumed half a bottle of vodka. He looked up blearily.

  “Renier,” he muttered. “You look much too sober.” He lifted his half-empty glass. “Have a drink.”

  “No. And you might reconsider having another yourself.”

  Yuri laughed and emptied his glass in one swallow. “This is a night for celebration, is it not?” He waved in Aria’s direction. “She is already halfway to being everything we had hoped.”

  “You exaggerate, mon ami,” Cort said abruptly.

  “Do I?” The Russian grinned. “She’s the most…beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  A rush of pure, irrational jealousy buffeted Cort with the force of a hurricane. He knew Yuri couldn’t have any personal interest in Aria beyond what money he could get out of her, yet that fact didn’t mollify him. It didn’t help that he’d been sensing something wrong with Yuri ever since they had arrived at the lodge. The Russian had always tended toward brooding and pessimism, but now his moods were black instead of gray. Cort’s were hardly better.

  He turned back to Babette, who was speaking very softly to Aria.

  “I shall instruct you as we eat,” Babette was saying. “Do not feel self-conscious, ma chérie. Poise and confidence are just as important as which spoon one uses for the soup.”

  Aria nodded and glanced over Babette’s shoulder at Cort. He quickly looked away.

  “Shall we go in to dinner, monsieur?” Babette asked.

  Without thinking, Cort started for the dining room.

  “Perhaps you would escort Mademoiselle Renier?”

  The Frenchwoman’s gentle prodding was a reproof to a man who had forgotten his gentlemanly duties. Cort retraced his steps, bowed again to Aria and offered his arm.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said.

  Aria laid her hand lightly on his forearm. She didn’t lean or cling, but floated at his side as if he weren’t even there. Though her arm was covered with a long glove, her scent, warmed by the heat of her body, drove every other smell from the room. Cort found himself breathing much too fast.

  As befitted Yuri’s higher rank and Babette’s maturity, the two of them preceded Cort and Aria into the dining room. The table had been set as well as one could manage in the hunting lodge of a wealthy man, which was to say quite handsomely. Babette indicated that Cort was to take his place at one end of the table and Yuri at the other. She and Aria would sit opposite each other at the sides. Since the table was large enough for a party of twelve, the seating arrangement left considerable space between diners.

  Cort moved quickly to pull back Aria’s chair. Yuri did the same for Babette, who waved him away and went to the sideboard.

  The fragrance of rich soup penetrated the haze of Aria’s scent just long enough for Cort to remember how hungry he was. He offered assistance as Babette approached with a tray, but she deftly declined, laid a bowl at each place and then took her own chair. Aria waited, hands demurely in her lap, and looked to Babette for instruction.

  Babette demonstrated laying her napkin in her lap and selecting the soup spoon from among the carefully arranged utensils. She dipped her spoon delicately into the soup, raised it and took a small sip. Aria mimicked her, an expression of intense concentration on her face.

  “The soup is always first,” Babette explained. “Ordinarily this course would be followed by fish. After that come the roast and other dishes, but we are necessarily limited in what we may serve here.”

  “It’s very good,” Aria said.

  Babette inclined her head, looking pleased. “We have plenty of time to learn the proper etiquette and particulars of dining,” she said to Aria. “Tomorrow we shall discuss the use of the various implements in greater detail.”

  She continued to speak in a low voice as the meal progressed from soup to canned meat. “As a rule,” she said, “one would not speak directly to someone seated across the table but focus one’s attention on the guests to either side. However, these being extraordinary circumstances, such niceties are not practical.”

  In fact, Cort thought, given that no one else was talking, it wasn’t even possible. That suited him very well indeed.

  “On any occasion,” Babette went on, “prolonged silence is an indication of an awkward gathering.” She looked pointedly at Cort. “Wouldn’t you agree, monsieur?”

  “Of course,” Cort said. He cut a small piece of canned beef, the metallic taste of which Babette had skillfully masked with some kind of sauce. “You have done wonders tonight, madame.”

  “You compliment me too highly, sir,” Babette said.

  “Tomorrow I will bring fresh venison,” Cort offered, “and dress it for you.”

  Aria turned to Cort. “You’re going hunting?” she asked.

  “That would seem to be the best way to acquire venison in the forest, mademoiselle,” he said, aware of the unreasonable sharpness of his voice.

  “I assume you will use a rifle,” Aria said sweetly, “given how much you despise Changing. You would not wish to rely on bestial instinct.”

  Babette shook her head. “Lucienne,” she chided, “one must never be confrontational at mealtime.”

  Aria’s eyes widened. “I am sorry, Madame Martin. I did not realize I was stating anything but fact.”

  Yuri snorted. “Give them both a drink,” he said. “That will settle them down.”

  “Let us save that for another time,” Babette said. She smiled at Aria. “It takes practice to drink properly, as with everything else.”

  “I don’t want to drink if it will make me clumsy and bad tempered,” Aria said.

  No one could mistake her meaning, but Yuri seemed not to notice. He simply poured himself another glass of vodka.

&
nbsp; The rest of the meal was completed in relative peace. When everyone was finished, Babette rose with a nod to Aria.

  “The ladies will retire to allow the gentlemen to enjoy their port and cigars,” she said. “When they have finished—”

  “Why should the ladies go out?” Aria interrupted. “And why would any loup-garou want to smoke a cigar? They stink.”

  Babette gave Aria a reproving look. “Whether or not a man chooses to smoke, this is the way things are done.”

  “I think it’s foolish,” Aria said.

  Cort stifled an unwilling grin. Only a moment ago he’d been angry with her, but suddenly he was glad. The old Aria wasn’t gone after all.

  “Unfortunately,” Babette said, “we do not make the rules. Come, my dear.”

  “Yes, madame,” Aria murmured, and glanced at Cort. He remembered to pull her chair back, and she quietly left the room with Babette.

  “I spoke too quickly before,” Yuri said, slopping liquor over the rim of his glass as he poured another drink. “The girl still has far to go before she is ready to join civilized society.”

  Cort snatched the bottle away from him. “Your judgment is hardly to be trusted, Baron.”

  “My judgment?” Yuri chortled and leaned back in his chair until the front legs were well off the floor. “What of yours, tovarishch? Sometimes I wonder if you really want her to become Lucienne Renier again.”

  “Why should I want anything else?”

  “Perhaps you are not ready to let her go.”

  Cort laughed shortly. “What in God’s name gave you such an idea?”

  “The fact that you have been so careful to avoid her. I have always known you had some personal interest in the girl, even a certain affection, but it seems you are almost…” He hiccuped. “Almost afraid to be in the same room with her.”

  “Absurde.”

  “Is it? The girl seems angry with you. A little too angry, considering her former attachment to her benefactor.” He sneered. “What happened when you were traveling alone together, eh?”