Layers to Peel

by Tilly Wallace

  * * *

  When Isabel ran a finger down his scar and whispered that she saw him, Alick knew he was lost. He would tear off his own limbs for this woman, if she asked it of him. Or tear off someone else's limbs to protect her. Now she slept, sated, in his arms and man and beast were at peace. He stroked her silken hair. There were things swirling in his brain that demanded to be released. But his courage failed him. Strange, how three tiny words had the power to reduce men to blithering idiots. He opened his mouth but his tongue refused to cooperate. It was only now, with her slumbering, that he dared give them voice.

  Holding her close, he whispered against her hair, "I love you."

  Having spilled his secret, he curled around her and guarded her sleep.

  They didn't emerge from their room until nearly noon. Not that they slept much. Once Isabel allowed herself to let go, she became hungry for more. Alick suspected there would always be a raw edge to their lovemaking; she needed to test his strength, to reassure herself she was safe before she could relent. Each time she challenged him for dominance and, with her, he could let his wolf stretch. One wrestling match saw them tumble to the floor in a tangle of blankets, but she was glorious in her position on top of him.

  He even forgave her when she distracted him by throwing the old red ball. Only her fit of giggles when he leapt after it clued him in on her game. She paid for that trick with a spanking that had her moaning for more.

  Now they sat in the kitchen having a late breakfast. Their friends served the meal amongst ribald jibes and laughter. He didn't mind; he finally had something to be smug about and nothing was wiping the grin from his face.

  The knock came at the door and they all stared at one another, wondering who on earth it could be.

  "I'll go," Alick said, rising from his seat. He dropped a kiss on the back of Isabel's neck and then headed to investigate. He flung open the front door to find one of Balcairn's liveried men standing before him. His good mood deflated a little.

  "What do you want?" he snarled and then glared, hoping the man would turn tail and run. The shadow of Balcairn cast a pall over the lodge that he wanted to disperse.

  The man's eyes bulged a little in his skull and he swallowed several times before finding his voice. "His grace wishes to see Lady Isabel."

  "Mrs. Ferguson is still having her breakfast." He wasn't going to interrupt her meal; she needed her strength for when dark fell. Alick was already making plans that involved ropes. His gut told him Izzy-Cat would appreciate a well-tied knot, especially when she got all squirmy.

  The man's lip quivered. "The matter is quite pressing."

  Alick grunted. What could the duke want with his daughter after the way he had treated her? The only reason he could see was an apology and perhaps to gift them a country estate as a belated wedding present.

  Isabel appeared behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Tell Father we will be along soon."

  "I believe he wishes to speak to you privately, my lady," the footman said.

  "We will be along soon," she repeated.

  Then Alick slammed the door in the man's face. Be damned if he would run when Balcairn crooked his finger, but he'd like to give vent to his common soldier's tongue and tell his father-in-law what he thought of him.

  Isabel stood on her tiptoes and reached up to kiss him. "It presents an opportunity to say goodbye, for adventure beckons and I'll not return to this corner of England."

  He still growled. He selfishly didn't want to share a moment of her with the duke. The man had his chance and did not deserve such a daughter. But he would keep his complaints to himself, since she planned to make her final farewells.

  "I'll hitch up the curricle, since you are determined." He tried to keep his face locked in a scowl, but the grin worked its way back as he headed out to the stables.

  While Isabel fetched a shawl and bonnet, he harnessed the horse to the small carriage and then they set off for the large house. Ianthe's chestnut gelding trotted along the dappled forest paths until they met the main road, just as it swung into the curved driveway.

  He pulled the horse to a halt under the ornate portico, where a waiting footman took the reins, while Alick jumped down. Another footman rushed forward, but one angry glare halted him in his tracks and Alick helped Isabel down himself. He didn't want any part of this world touching her. He kept her hand tucked by his side as they walked up the stairs and over the threshold of the front door.

  Alick tried to hold himself rigid, but the lavish house made him nervous and he wanted to shake like a wet dog. Isabel squeezed his hand and looked up, a question in her dark gaze.

  "I have an itch," he muttered.

  "We'll scratch it later." Her words were pitched low, so he hoped he was the only one who caught them.

  At least her promise distracted him from the surroundings. The footman showed them to the study and pulled back the doors.

  "Lady Isabel and Mr. Ferguson, your grace." He bowed and then backed away, leaving them to enter. The doors closed silently behind them while Alick pondered the strange announcement. Why didn't he called them Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson?

  As they crossed the carpet, his gaze went to the plain cabinet in the corner and more questions swirled in his mind. Where were the letters Isabel had once seen? Had Balcairn destroyed them, or moved them somewhere else?

  The duke looked up from a stack of papers as they approached. His brows pulled together on seeing his daughter was not alone. "Ah, Isabel, there was no need for you to bring Mr. Ferguson."

  Yes there bloody was, he thought. Shame the duke wasn't intimidated by size or evil glances. That didn't leave Alick much in his arsenal for this encounter, except brute force. Or he could shift form and start chewing on the chair legs or rip stuffing from the chaise. He decided silence was a better course of action; Isabel was far more practiced at verbal blows.

  Isabel stopped in front of her father's desk and, letting go of Alick's arm, she laced her fingers before her. "You wanted to speak to me, Father?"

  The duke frowned at Alick and then returned his gaze to his daughter. "Yes. I am returning to London today and I wish you to accompany me."

  Alick blinked and wondered what was going on as Isabel looked from her father to him and back again. Yet, strangely for her, she remained silent.

  Why didn't she laugh in her father's face, say goodbye, and storm out with him? Alick didn't like the direction this conversation was headed in and crossed his arms over his torso. "I think my wife would prefer to stay with me. Although we are likewise about to start our own journey. We are set to rejoin the rest of the Wolves in Scotland."

  The cold gaze shot in his direction. "I think not. Isabel is not your wife and therefore not yours to command."

  "What?" Two incredulous voices spoke in unison. At least that announcement prompted Isabel to speak up. Her wide gaze went from him back to her father, but Alick was equally confused.

  A lead weight settled in his gut, even as his wolf demanded he throw Isabel over his shoulder and charge out the door. There was so much he wanted to yell at the noble, but he sorted through and picked the most civil response. "Explain yourself."

  The duke narrowed his gaze and then laughed. "Quite the protective hound, aren't you? But all for nothing. As Isabel surmised from the beginning, the marriage was indeed a sham. A rather grand gesture on my part, I must admit, but then I've always enjoyed theatrics."

  Isabel's hand moved to lie flat on her stomach. "Surely you jest, Father? You assured me this was genuine, and you paid Alick a dowry."

  The duke fussed with a piece of paper, pressing down one edge that threatened to curl. Having subdued the paper, he glanced at his daughter. "You were always such a wilful child and I needed to teach you a lesson in humility you would never forget. While you suffered your punishment, I have concluded your true marriage negotiations with the Earl of Linwood."

  Isabel swayed and the colour drained from her face. Alarm clawed up Alick's throat. He had to
do something before the duke shattered the delicate start to their relationship.

  "Bollocks!" he shouted and took Isabel's arm, pulling her toward him. "Let's leave. Now."

  She stood her ground, frozen to the spot and unable to tear her gaze from her father. But she brushed off his hand, as though she did not want his touch, his support, or his love. A chill swept from his wife and enveloped him and, while physically she remained next to him, second by second she disappeared beyond his reach. She fell into a void and wouldn't stretch out her hand for his.

  Isabel had one question for her father. "If you ever had any shred of love for me, how could you treat me so cruelly?"

  Alick wanted to grab the duke around the neck, shove a hand down his throat, and tear his lying tongue out by the root. How could he say Isabel wasn't his wife, the woman he loved with his entire being and his wolf's mate? He would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve her. But she wouldn't look at him or take his hand. The poison seed the duke had sown took root in Alick's mind and his words of denial shrivelled and rotted in his mouth.

  Balcairn laid down his quill and rose from his desk. He moved to the window and glanced outside, as though the view inside bored him and no longer held his attention. His words were cannonballs, fired inside the room. "Some horses need to be broken before they can become fabulous ridden mounts. You, Isabel, were a rather large problem that demanded an equally large solution. I once paid an outrageous amount of money to a mage but he still couldn't bridle your actions for long. Your wilful nature broke through. He said sorcery would never work and that you needed a physical solution."

  Isabel's shoulders slumped and her chin dropped to her chest.

  Alick didn't understand. Why wasn't his hellcat spitting and hissing at her father and challenging his lies? Instead she seemed defeated, like a beaten dog that simply gives up fighting and lies down, waiting for death to claim it. He needed to say something, to reach his distant bride before she collapsed in on herself.

  He slammed a fist down on the desk. "She is mine and we are wed."

  Her father laughed and turned his attention back inside. "No. The reverend was a junior member of the Oxford theatre group. I couldn't employ anyone too well known, in case he was recognised."

  "Society knows of events here. They all believe Alick and I are truly wed. How will you explain that?" At long last Isabel raised her head and spoke.

  "A ruse, in keeping with your character, dear Isabel. Society expects to be outraged by your behaviour. I shall tell everyone that you and Linwood were wed earlier in the day and you simply wanted to shock the ton one last time, before settling down to be a respectable matron." Balcairn laced his fingers behind his back and watched his daughter. Like a vulture watching its prey, he waited to see if she would run or not.

  Inside, parts of Alick gave up hope. The wolf whimpered and his heart shrivelled and blackened around the edges. All along he had thought it was too good to be true. He couldn't believe that life had gifted him with this extraordinary woman and now the truth revealed itself. But he would battle for her to his last breath, if she would only look at him, if she would only give him some sign that she still held the tiniest fraction of affection for him. The wolf howled for the smallest scrap of warmth from her. But nothing came.

  Isabel gave a slow shake of her head, her voice so soft, barely a whisper. "I still don't understand. Why?"

  Balcairn spread his hands wide and smiled on his only child. "I only have your best interests at heart, daughter. You were a wild filly who needed taming. No noble wanted to risk life and limb performing the task. The Earl of Linwood agreed to wed you, but only if you were made malleable first. And in that, an Unnatural succeeded where magic failed."

  Alick had heard enough. No man was going to discuss his wife like she was an unruly thoroughbred. He loved the tussles for dominance with her. He paced in front of the desk and slammed one large fist into the palm of the other. "Isabel is my wife and she will be leaving with me."

  The duke arched an eyebrow and had the audacity to look bored. "She is not, but Isabel can certainly walk out this door with you, if she so wishes. A lifetime of drudgery awaits her if she does. Or she returns to Mayfair with me, today, and all her rights and privileges will be reinstated."

  Alick laughed. Whatever the truth of the matter that was too simple a choice. Of course she would leave with him. Wouldn't she? His Izzy-Cat didn't want all the fancy fripperies that weighed her down. She wanted to breathe free, to explore the world, and have one adventure after another. He had promised to take her to India to ride an elephant. He held out his hand to her. "Let's go, Izzy-Cat. Adventure awaits."

  She ignored him. "You are returning to Mayfair today, Father?"

  The noble had a self-satisfied smirk that Alick wanted to wipe from his face. Preferably by scouring it against a brick wall. But the cold chill that gripped his heart wouldn't go away. How could Isabel actually consider staying when she had fought for so long to be free?

  "Yes. I have lingered too long here. I have most urgent business to attend to in London. I am also missing one of my men. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Mr. Ferguson?"

  Alick knew exactly where his missing man was—fertilising a patch of forest. The only shame was that Forge wasn't planted under the same tree. "I thought they were watching us, not that we were supposed to be watching them."

  At last Isabel roused and crossed to Alick. She laid a hand on his arm but still she did not meet his gaze. Instead she stared at her left hand, the one that wore the plain gold band. "Given the current circumstances, I think it is the better course of action if I return with Father."

  She turned her attention back to her father. "Might I have a moment alone with Mr. Ferguson to say goodbye?"

  The duke shook his head. "No, anything you have to say can be said in my presence."

  She stared at her father in silence for a long moment, then turned and reached up to kiss Alick's cheek. "Thank you for the last few days. I shall not forget them."

  A final goodbye, but not the one she was supposed to make.

  "I will go change clothes before we leave, Father." With that, his wife dropped a curtsey and walked out of his life. A cold hand plunged into his chest, ripped out his heart, and tossed it to the floor where it shattered into a thousand frozen shards.

  "Isabel." His voice was hoarse as he tried to call her back, but she slipped between the double doors.

  Balcairn made a tsking noise. "Don't make a fuss, Mr. Ferguson. You can see that Isabel has made her decision. She is an aristocratic woman, not a camp follower. And you have your purse for the job you did. Quite an excellent one, I must say. I have never seen the girl so docile. Linwood will be pleased. Now, shall I have you shown out? No point in setting the hounds on you, I suppose."

  In that moment Alick learned that a dead man can stay upright and that not all corpses crumple to the earth. By turning away from him, Isabel had ripped his still-beating heart from his body and crushed it under her heel. He had thought life was toying with him, and now he was proven to be a fool all along. God help him but he loved her with all that he was, yet her father had only to admit their wedding was a sham and she flew back to her cage. If only he had another day with her, or a month, or year. Then, perhaps, he might have wrapped his love around her, shown her the world, and she would never consider returning to boring parlours and stiff conversations.

  Except now she was gone, and so was his light and reason for breathing.

  24

  Isabel

  * * *

  Isabel heard her father say the words that their marriage had been a sham performed by an actor, but she didn't care. The gruff soldier and his wolf had a place in her heart and their vows were simply paperwork. Far more interesting was her father's insistence on returning to Mayfair due to pressing business. She wondered if it were legitimate business or the treacherous business of grasping for the crown. Either way, it presented an opportunity to search
the town house for the missing French letters.

  The only teeny problem was she would have to acquiesce to her father's offer and the duke gave her no chance to discuss her plan with Alick. She couldn't very well wink at him and announce, I'll go with Father so I can search his hidden safe. Never in her life had words sliced her tongue like those saying goodbye to Alick. She only hoped that after their parting, once she was safely away with her father, he would reflect on her cryptic final comment and realise she had a plan.

  She couldn't meet his pale gaze for fear of what she would find. The pain was so great she thought her heart would rupture as she turned her back on him. It was in that moment of walking away that she realised she loved him. She wanted the wolf to protect her through life and she ached for the man who matched her in both temper and passion.

  Isabel dug her fingernails into her palms, needing the stab to keep her back rigid and her eyes forward. If she faltered, she knew both man and beast would fight for her. That was a truth that settled in her bones; Alick would never let her go. He'd either draw a blade and start slaughtering the footmen or, more likely, shed his clothes and tear out their throats.

  She needed Alick to think she wanted to return to her shadow box if she was to fool her father. The duke had to believe his plan was masterful and that his punishment had resulted in a docile, compliant daughter ready to marry his political ally.

  Pain seeped through her body and tears sprang to her eyes as she shredded Alick's heart. Lord, would he ever forgive her? It was another debt her father owed her, the damage he made her inflict on the gentle ogre who held her own heart so tenderly. Games and plots had to come to an end, and she intended to see this one out. The duke was no longer her father but a suspected traitor and she would play her part in finding the evidence against him. If it still existed.

  She knew the Earl of Linwood. He was a supporter of Bonaparte and a vocal critic of both the Prince Regent and King George. He also spoke scathingly of Unnaturals and believed them to be inferior to ordinary men. If her father was marrying her to Linwood it was to curry favour and to advance his own plan. The more she learned, the more ammunition she would have in her very personal arsenal. This would be the greatest challenge she faced yet, playing a submissive aristocratic daughter looking forward to a wedding to an inflated bore.