Tiger's Den
Page 2
The moment passed quickly. After all, she did want to see the house, and being honest with herself, she found his effortless control of her intoxicating. Why fight it when she enjoyed it?
2
Seeing the Sights
"We'll start in here," he told her, "there's something I want to show you."
The room he led her into was impressive enough to make her stop and stare in awe, even after what she'd seen of the rest of the house. It wasn't the size of the room, though. Like everywhere else she'd been, it was bigger than it had any right to be.
No, it was the contents of the room that stopped her in her tracks. Books. A library of old leather-bound books of all shapes and sizes. There must have been thousands of volumes on the shelves and they took up two complete walls by themselves. She was instantly jealous. Her small home had a set of overflowing bookshelves, but her whole collection could vanish without a trace into this room.
The other walls held yet more art, in this case all portraits. Stern men and smiling women watched the room, many of whom had the same amber eyes as Maxwell and his sister.
"These are your family?" Lenore asked, feeling a little foolish as soon as the question passed her lips.
"Yes," he answered simply, guiding her into the room to give her a better view of the pictures.
"How old are they?"
"Not that old, really. None of the family portraits are earlier than the 18th century."
Lenore swallowed nervously. "That's not old?"
He chuckled at her reaction. "Not by the standards of a house like this. I don't have anything from the War of the Roses hanging here, for example."
"I suppose that's true, but the 1700s is still long enough ago for me!"
"It's not like you don't have ancestors from back then yourself, you know. Everyone does."
"But I don't know their names, or what they look like! And I wouldn't have anywhere to hang their portraits, even if I had some." Lenore snapped at him in a flash of annoyance she immediately regretted. It wasn't his fault his family was rich, after all.
"True enough," he conceded, taking no offense at her tone.
He led her through the room, the deep carpet silent under their feet as she looked up at his family. It really did look as though they were judging her, and not at all kindly. She couldn't imagine her own painting hanging on a wall like that, intimidating her descendants, but Maxwell didn't seem to mind their scrutiny. Maybe it's easier if you grow up around them?
One of the pictures in particular caught her eye.
"Who's he?" She asked, gesturing to where it hung above the imposing fireplace. The man in it watched with cool blue eyes, sitting behind a desk with what looked like maps scattered around him. "Is that the same man whose picture you've got hanging over the stairs? He looks quite different here."
"Ah, you've got a good eye," Maxwell said, smiling at her. Her heart jumped at the grin. "Yes, and he's the reason I live in this pile. That's Caulley Walters, the founder of our fortune, thorough rascal, and something of an adventurer. He made a lot of money trading in India, and a lot of that trade may not have been strictly legal. The treasure wasn't the most important thing he brought back, though."
His tone made it clear he admired the man whose portrait looked down on them, and Lenore couldn't blame him. The old man looked like a tough but cheerful sort, and besides that, if it was his wealth that had set up the Walters family with this house, well, who wouldn't love an ancestor like that?
"He doesn't have the same eyes as the rest of the portraits," she commented, and Maxwell nodded. "Does that mean he wasn't a shifter?"
"Got it in one," Maxwell said, smiling at her. Her heart bounced at his approval. "Old Caulley was the one who brought that side of the family back from Bengal to England. He married a princess over there."
"But, um, wouldn't that have been quite a scandal? I mean, at the time?"
"Oh yes!" Maxwell chuckled. "Yes, indeed, it could have ruined him except for two things. Firstly, well, Caulley didn't really care about scandal, which can really help it slide off one's back. And secondly, he made an obscene amount of money in India. It is amazing what being rich could help you get away with in those days; I'm sure that there were plenty of people whispering behind his back, but there wasn't anyone who'd turn away his money."
I'll bet, Lenore thought, looking around the house Caulley's money had bought. Being rich still let people ignore problems which would ruin the merely well-off, after all. But she couldn't help wondering about Caulley's wife, this Indian princess he'd brought home. Her portrait didn't hang with the rest of the family, and this place was so very English - she must have felt completely isolated here, away from everything and everyone she knew. Lenore felt a stab of sympathy for the centuries-dead woman, and shivered.
"So she was the tiger shifter?" Lenore asked, trying to get her thoughts back on track. The idea that the man beside her wasn't entirely human was still a strange one to her, and she couldn't quite focus on it. But she needed to understand that, if she was going to understand him - and that was something she desperately wanted to do. He could turn into a tiger. That sounded ridiculous in her head, something that couldn't possibly be true, but she'd seen the evidence with her own eyes.
She had to know more, as frightening as it was to think about it. She couldn't just ignore it.
"Yes." Maxwell paused, frowning. "That must be quite something to take in, I suppose. I'm not used to talking with outsiders about it. That's one of the reasons we keep to ourselves."
"What, um…" she trailed off, looking up at the portrait again. "What does it mean? How does it work?"
"Those are big questions, Lenore. I don't know how it works, exactly, but I'll try and answer as best I can. We, my family, are shifters. Everyone descended from Caulley and Devi, that is - but that's the whole family, now. If there are any descendants of Caulley's brothers and sisters still around, we haven't been able to trace them."
"So, um. Are you the only shifters out there?"
"Oh no! Not at all, there is quite a magical community in the world beyond my family. Tigers are rare though, at least in Britain, and we don't have much contact with our Indian kin."
He walked to the window, every step a graceful, prowling movement, and Lenore followed, acutely aware of her lack of elegance.
"It's a shame, but you were right before. The marriage was a scandal, and not just in England. The two branches of the family have never entirely gotten on, unfortunately, though we do retain some ties. I've spent a little time with them, and sometimes one of them will visit here, but it's always a bit strained."
He stared at the horizon, lost in thought, and seemed sad enough that Lenore wanted to hug him, to hold him and make it better. But he wrapped that sadness around him like a cloak, and she felt like she'd be intruding on some private grief, so instead she tried to bring him out of it with another question. There were certainly enough things she wanted to know.
"What is it like? Being a shifter, I mean?"
"That's a hard question to answer. I could ask you what it's like to not be a shifter, but neither of us can really compare with the other, can we? Still, it's pretty good. The fast healing is nice, for a start - wounds made with anything other than silver will heal very quickly for me. My senses are very good too, though I'm not sure if they are properly superhuman or not - again, it's hard to compare, but my night vision is very good, even in human form. It all gets better as a tiger, as well.
"We also have certain personality traits - like being solitary sorts, being playful, and stubborn. We don't tend to get along that well with others of our kind, and have quick tempers, which can be a problem."
Lenore remembered the shouting match between Maxwell and Penelope, and nodded.
"Lastly, and perhaps most importantly for this conversation, we have a sense for the right person for us. I can't describe it properly, especially since, well, I've only felt it once. It's like a smell, perhaps. Perhaps not. The po
int is that every one of my family has known when they've met their fated mate. Devi knew it when she met Caulley, my father knew it when he bumped into my mother, and not one of us has ever been wrong."
Lenore found herself blushing at his words, and he turned to look at her. He towered over her, and she was sure that she could sense something too. Some connection between them that made time stop their eyes met.
"It's not, to be honest, something I've looked for," he continued, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her heart skipped a beat at his touch. "We are, like tigers, solitary types. We like the hunt, the chase, and we like to play, and I have never been eager to go past that. But I know when I've met my one."
Flustered, Lenore started to reach for his hand, unsure how to respond. Before she could say anything, though, Maxwell turned away, looking out of the window again at the distant trees. She bit back a curse. One minute he seemed to be opening up, and the next he was so distant! It was as though he were locking his feelings away in a box somewhere, keeping them far away from her, or anyone else. Maybe even from himself.
"Do you have any other questions?" He asked in an infuriatingly level tone, gazing out of the window. Lenore found herself pouting helplessly, and forced herself to think. There was so much to take in here, so much to think about, and it wasn't easy to think when she was near him, near his strong gorgeous body, listening to his deep powerful voice.
"Of course I do, but I'm not sure what they are!" She could hear the frustration in her voice, and tried to fight it back. How would he react to an outburst like that? "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap."
He turned from the window, frowning. It didn't seem like an angry frown, more concern and confusion.
"Don't apologize," he told her firmly. "You are entirely new to this world, and I will have to take care introducing you to it. Perhaps that's enough for now; we can take a walk around the grounds, I can show you my home, and when you have a question you can ask it. How does that sound?"
"That sounds great," she said, feeling relieved. There was so much to ask, but what she'd already heard was overwhelming enough.
Maxwell led her to a door that opened to the gardens and held it open for Lenore. She stopped on the threshold and stared. Inside, she'd been distracted by him, and the conversation, and what had been outside the windows hadn't really registered. Now that she noticed it, the beauty of the gardens took her breath away. The distant orchard was bathed in warm sunlight, green hills and valleys stretched into the distance to her right, and to her left, the sparkling blue sea seemed to never end as it kissed the horizon. She had to force herself to take another step, feeling the lawn give beneath feet, and stared out to sea. The house was practically perched atop a cliff, looking out over the water.
"This is beautiful."
Maxwell laughed, sounding delighted at her reaction. "You should see it in a storm, the waves crashing against the cliffs. It's spectacular."
She was unsurprised, somehow, that he preferred storms to sunshine. It seemed very like him. Still, she had to admit that she would love to see a storm here. It would be terrifying, she imagined, lightning cracking and waves pounding the shore. Perfect weather to cling to a man, to feel protected by him and to shelter with him…
She realized that she was blushing, and forced her mind away from the thoughts of Maxwell's arms sheltering her. "I'd like that, I think."
"I know you would," he said with a slightly predatory growl in his voice, a note which sent a shiver of desire across her body. He took her by the hand, leading her to the edge of the cliff, a thick hedge between them and the fall to the rocks below.
Lenore peeked over it, feeling his strong grip keeping her safe, and saw the waves washing over sharp rocks far below. A delicious shiver ran through her - there was something about heights that both scared and intrigued her.
"If you like that view, I know another that you'll love," Maxwell told her, sounding a little amused. "Come on."
Leading her along the cliff, away from the house, he guided her into a patch of woodland. The cool green shade of the leaves had a gentle beauty, and a soft breeze rustled the boughs to give a wonderful background to their silent walk. Lenore was intensely aware of his hand holding hers, and felt her pulse pounding as he led her along. The woods were a carefully tended part of the garden, with no undergrowth to stop them, but they weren't walking a path either. Maxwell seemed sure of his directions, though, and soon they emerged into a clearing on the cliff's edge.
This time there was no hedge to keep them back, no railing - just a straight drop to the sea below. And facing it, a stone structure, only a few feet across but intricately carved in a style not at all native to Britain.
It looked like a small pavilion, and inside it sat a cross-legged statue of a woman, carved in perfect detail and staring out to sea. Lenore recognized the style at least roughly as Indian, though she couldn't tell which part of India it might have come from. Despite its foreign style it sat here on the cliff's edge and blended in perfectly, a tribute to the sculptor's work or the gardeners', or both.
"Is this…?"
"It's Devi, my ancestor, yes." Maxwell smiled and guided her to stand beside the statue, looking out to sea. Before them, the sheer drop to the sea below opened up, and Lenore could hear the rhythm of the waves. "This was her favorite spot, and Caulley wanted her to feel at home. I can't imagine it was easy getting the statue made in the style of her homeland, but with enough money, that's the kind of problem that can be brushed aside."
Lenore shivered, drawing close to him, feeling the warmth of his body as he folded his arms around her. "It must have been lonely for her, here."
"I expect it was," he said, squeezing her gently. "But she was with her love, and that mattered more to her than being in her homeland. As I said in the house, we never regret the one destiny chooses for us."
He didn't sound entirely convinced by that, and Lenore could see why. He seemed to think that she was his one, his chosen-by-destiny mate, and why wouldn't that put him off the idea? She was hardly the model type that he should be used to, and a man as handsome as Maxwell Walters would have no trouble finding his perfect woman.
She looked away, trying to keep her eyes from tearing up, and found herself looking at the statue, its stone face serene in the face of the vast gulf of miles and cultures between here and Devi's home. It helped a little, making her own troubles seem insignificant in comparison to a woman who'd uprooted herself so thoroughly to be with the man she loved.
"What's wrong, Lenore?" Maxwell's voice was full of concern. "What did I say?"
"It's nothing. I don't have any claim on you, I know that, and you don't… don't seem to want…"
Her words trailed off as he took hold of her chin and gently turned her face up to meet his stern gaze.
"Lenore Kimble," he said, with steel in voice that wouldn't be denied. "You are never to doubt that I want to be with you, am I clear? That is never in question."
"But..." Helplessly, she trailed off again.
"No buts. You, Lenore, are perfect for me, and I will not have you doubting that. I will be cross with you if I catch you doubting that, or me. Understand?"
All Lenore could do was nod. His sincerity, his need for her, was clear in his voice, and his eyes glowered intensely into hers. Her breath caught as he pulled her to him, kissing her firmly on the mouth, sending tremors of need running through her body. His strong arms lifted her, and he pushed her back against a tree, pinning her there with a kiss, his tongue meeting hers urgently, his hands roaming over her, caressing her curves.
After a moment, he let go, stepping back panting and looking at her. She noticed the bulge in his pants and bit her lip, blushing under his hungry gaze. His presence filled the clearing and it was as though he were a god, as though he could do anything.
"Maxwell…" the word came out a sigh, and Lenore felt herself melting under his eyes.
"Undress for me, Lenore. I want to see you."
"Lenore," he said again, drawing out her name slowly, as though tasting it. Standing before him in only her underwear, she blushed, feeling the doubts creep back in, wanting to cover herself. Here in the bright daylight, he could see all of her. Every imperfection was on display. But she couldn't disobey him.
And he didn't seem to find any fault. Here she was with the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen, and he was drinking in the sight of her. His powerful body was poised, almost as if he was about to pounce on her, and Lenore wanted nothing more than that.
"Lenore, turn around, let me look at you," he ordered, and she obeyed without thought. His voice spoke directly to her, bypassing her doubts and her insecurity. She wished that she could just believe it, believe him.
Well, why don't you, a little voice asked in the back of her mind. She didn't have an answer for herself. He was here with her of his own free will, after all. So what if he could have any skinny starlet he set his eyes on? Lenore didn't doubt that he could. But right now, he'd chosen to be here, with her. He certainly didn't look like he had any complaints about the extra pounds she was carrying.
"God, you're beautiful," he said as she finished her turn. "Perfect and beautiful."
She saw how big the bulge in his pants had grown, just from watching her turn. Just from seeing her. It was almost unbelievable. She had to make sure that it was real.
Heart pounding in her chest, she reached out to touch him, hearing him gasp as her hand touched his hardness through his pants. He was like iron, and the touch of him made her melt inside. God, she ached for him!
"See what you do to me, Lenore?" He groaned, reaching out for her and drawing her close. "I can hardly stand it!"