Lord of the Beasts

by Susan Krinard

  “And,” Theodora added, “you will show Ivy that she has far more to gain from your care and instruction than from an ingenuous stranger, however alluring she may be.”

  “Then I must set a better example than I have done thus far,” Cordelia said. “My actions must be beyond reproach in every way. I will become a confidante that Ivy can trust without demur.” She smiled at her cousin. “I am grateful for your wise advice, Theo.”

  Theodora opened her mouth as if she would speak, gave a slight shake of her head, and sighed. “I am always here, Delia,” she said. “Only tell me how I can help.”

  Cordelia rose and started for the door. “If you would look in on Ivy and Dr. Brown? I must find Dr. Fleming. We have an important matter to discuss that cannot wait.”

  As Theodora murmured agreement, Cordelia told herself that it would not be so terribly difficult to say what must be said. You will compel his honesty with your own. You will deal with Inglesham. And when it is over, nothing will be lost but the lies.

  Nothing at all.

  THE LADY BÉFIND, known in the world of mortals as Countess Pavlenkova, smiled as she leaned back on the squabs and gazed at the house from which she had been so firmly ejected.

  How foolish they were, these humans, to think that they could so easily be rid of her. She had visited the girl’s guardians for the sheer amusement of it, not because it was in any way necessary for her plans to succeed. Indeed, she supposed she had given them some warning by her treatment of Ivy. But Cordelia Hardcastle’s suspicions only made the game more enjoyable.

  Adding to her delight in the proceedings, Hern’s son had been there as well, glaring at her as if he had surmised what and who she was. Of course they had seen each other once before, at the race where Béfind had made her first public appearance as Pavlenkova. But they certainly had not “met”…and even if they had, it was clear that Donal Fleming had not known she shared his Fane blood.

  Perhaps if Tod hadn’t warned her of Fleming’s blindness, she might not have risked meeting him here. But it was all too delicious…that Hern’s son, recluse and misanthropist that he was, had fallen in love with Ivy’s would-be guardian….

  Béfind laughed. Donal was half-Fane, however much he denied it. He might play at loving a human; he might act the gallant and scorch an unwelcome visitor with the green fire in his eyes, as he had done in his lady’s drab little drawing room. Yet he would never truly belong among mortals. That fact gave Béfind an advantage no common female could ever hope to match.

  Béfind signaled to the coachman, who circled the horses around the drive and away from the house. She glanced back, hoping to see Ivy at a window, but what she saw instead stopped the breath in her throat.

  A man stood behind a large window on the first floor, his face distorted through glass and glare. The eyesight of a mortal could never have discerned his features, but Béfind recognized him at once.

  Geoffrey.

  Béfind sank down in her seat, all good humor fled. She had considered many possibilities when she prepared for her visit to earth, but this was not one of them.

  Her sources, Fane and otherwise, had informed her that the Hardcastle woman lived with her invalid father. How could they know that the mortal female’s sire was none other than Sir Geoffrey Amesbury? He would be old, now…old in human years, so fleeting and brief. The youth she had met far in the north of this island existed only in her memory. And yet old man and young were one and the same.

  She urged the coachman to a faster pace. It was highly unlikely that Geoffrey had seen her. Even if he had, surely he would not know her. Humans saw what they expected to see. Though he’d known she was Fane when they became lovers, his mind wouldn’t accept that she was still young and beautiful when he was wizened and gray.

  With a scowl, Béfind reminded herself again of the reasons she had come, and how much she stood to gain. Already she had achieved excellent results. Her servants had confirmed that the hob, Tod, had obeyed her commands and plied Ivy with tales of the Fane and Tir-na-Nog that could not fail to turn her head. They had also reported Ivy’s belief in a noble Russian father, which gave Béfind the perfect guise in which to approach the girl and win her favor.

  Nevertheless, obstacles remained. Like Tod, Béfind could not touch Ivy as long as she wore the amulet, let alone take her through the Gate. Yet if no Fane could remove the charm, one who was half-Fane might do so. And if Béfind could seduce or trick Donal into returning with her and Ivy to Tir-na-Nog…why, there was no telling what marvelous form Queen Titania’s gratitude might take.

  Good spirits restored, Béfind shook her hair loose and laughed all the way home.

  THE ANIMALS WERE RESTLESS.

  They paced back and forth in their enclosures, leaping up and down on the branches, growling or grunting or chattering as their various natures decreed. Sitting on the bench opposite the cages, Donal feared that their agitation was a direct result of his own.

  Sir Reginald sat on the bench beside him, watching the captive beasts with alert and wary eyes. He, too, was still shaken by the encounter with Pavlenkova.

  Donal scratched the spaniel in his favorite spot behind his silky ears. “She was certainly unpleasant enough,” Donal conceded, continuing the conversation that had begun in his own mind. “But that hardly explains our antipathy, does it?”

  Reggie growled and placed a paw on Donal’s thigh. Othello paused in his endless pacing and glared at dog and man, coughing deep in his throat.

  “I know,” Donal said. “She is not to be trusted, that’s clear.” He glanced skyward, half hoping to see Tod appear with belated apologies for his absence. But Donal no longer knew what to expect of the hob. No more than he knew what to expect of himself.

  Yet his instant and instinctive loathing of Countess Pavlenkova was not really that difficult to explain. Her behavior toward Cordelia and Theodora had been discourteous at best. And as for Ivy…

  “Whatever that woman’s intentions,” Donal said, “they can’t be beneficial to the girl. Yet I’m certain that Ivy will want to see more of her—”

  “And that,” a feminine voice said, “I shall not permit.”

  Donal rose from the bench as Cordelia came to join him. He offered no welcome, for he could see that she was in no mood for pleasantries. Her mouth was set, her brows drawn, and her eyes were as dark as a storm over the Pennines. She planted herself before Donal, spearing him with her stare. Sir Reginald cowered at Donal’s back.

  “I see,” Donal said cautiously, “that you did not care for the countess.”

  “Most observant of you, Dr. Fleming.” She cast a glance at the animals. Her frown deepened. “It appears that all of Edgecott lies under a cloud today.”

  Donal gestured toward the bench. Cordelia ignored him. She gazed unseeing at the weathered wood, and only Reggie’s sorrowful whimper broke her trance.

  Her attention snapped back to Donal. “Countess Pavlenkova,” she said, “is my concern, not yours. But you may be of assistance in another matter.”

  “Anything, Cordelia.”

  “Anything.” She drew in and released a sharp breath. “Even lying in order to protect my delicate sensibilities.”

  Reggie rolled himself into a ball of red and white fur. Donal held Cordelia’s gaze.

  “This is about Sir Geoffrey,” he said.

  “Yes, among other things.”

  “Did Dr. Brown tell you?”

  “No. If you arranged for him to keep your secret, he abided by your agreement. But Chartier was under no such compunction.”

  Donal thought longingly of the Frenchman’s face under his fist. “What did he tell you?”

  “Everything about my father’s dependence on Inglesham’s ‘gifts,’ and the blackmail in which the viscount engaged to attain my hand and fortune.”

  Donal sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Cordelia. I only recently discovered the viscount’s role in Sir Geoffrey’s illness, and I—”

&nbs
p; “You thought it best to conceal this discovery from one who might find it too great a burden. Or perhaps you had some other motive for such prevarication?”

  “Prevarication?” Donal felt his temper begin to stir. “I did not lie, Cordelia. I simply withheld certain information, until—”

  “Until I was fit to hear it, or until you had fully prepared a suitable story?”

  Donal stared at her in bewilderment. “Story? You can’t believe that I had anything to do with Inglesham’s activities. I despise the man, even more so now that I know what he’s done to your family.”

  “Indeed. Then why did you attend a race with him, apparently to aid him in winning his bets? You, who strives to protect animals from such exploitation?”

  Donal heard the anger in her voice and knew that she did not truly believe he had been in league with Inglesham. She was confused, resentful, perhaps a little frightened by what seemed like betrayals on every side, but she was not foolish. They had shared too much for her to reject all their hard-won trust.

  And yet, for her sake, he must lie.

  He lowered his voice to a soothing, reasonable tone. “I can understand why learning of this would concern you,” he said. “But there is an explanation, Cordelia. Inglesham was under the impression that my skill with animals, particularly Boreas, would enable me to pick winners at the races with greater accuracy than most turfites. I agreed to accompany him to one race so that I could watch him.” He cleared his throat. “You see, I had already begun to suspect that he was deceiving you in some way that I could not yet ascertain, and I hoped to learn more by feigning an interest in his…diversions.”

  Cordelia studied his face, sifting his words for truth or falsehood, and the tension began to drain out of her body. “Yet you felt you could not tell me.”

  “How could I accuse your…fiancé of transgressions I could not even name?”

  “And did you learn anything of value?”

  “No. But my suspicions were not allayed, and when Chartier admitted to me that Inglesham had been supplying the opium and absinthe to your father…”

  “I see.” Cordelia sat down on the bench, fingers buried in the folds of her skirts. “And you wished to shield me from this painful knowledge.”

  He covered her hand with his. “You drive yourself too hard, Cordelia. It isn’t wrong to allow someone else to take part of the burden.”

  She smiled humorlessly. “Theodora said much the same thing.”

  “Then you can forgive me for my interference.”

  Slowly she withdrew her hand from beneath his. “Yes, if you will answer another question. Do you intend to punish Inglesham yourself?”

  Her bluntness gave him no room to maneuver, no time to consider the right evasion. His hesitation betrayed him.

  “You do,” she said, “even knowing that assaulting a viscount would be extremely foolish for a man in your position.”

  “A commoner?” he said with a twist of his mouth. “A simple country veterinarian?”

  “A man without the connections the Wintours have had for many generations,” she said. “Do you believe he wouldn’t have you thrown in gaol for any transgression against him?” She seized his arm. “Donal, you must put all such thoughts out of your mind. Inglesham and his odious schemes are my problem, and I shall deal with him in my own way.”

  “You cannot turn your back on him, Cordelia, not even for an instant. He’ll become like a cornered rat if he feels trapped, and he won’t balk at making your life a living torment if he can.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I know Inglesham. I can handle him. You must swear not to interfere.”

  “Don’t ask me to let you face danger alone.”

  “I do ask. I demand it.”

  Donal stalked toward the cages, the growls and grunts of the animals beating against his ears. His heart slammed in his chest, demanding action, violence, vengeance. He was a wolf on the scent of its prey, Othello stalking his next hapless victim.

  “There is something more, Donal,” Cordelia said behind him. She drew near but not close enough to touch, allowing an invisible barrier to stand between them. “What we…what happened in your cottage…it will not be repeated.”

  He began to turn and stopped himself, sucking breath through his teeth. “Why, Cordelia? Have you grown to hate me so much?”

  “No.” Her voice cracked. “No. It has nothing to do with Inglesham or my father. It’s only that I have come to realize…such liaisons are not advisable, not when I have Ivy in my care, and Theodora…”

  “I never demanded anything of you,” he said, cursing the unsteadiness of his words. “We both knew there would be no future in it, but we agreed…there would be a little time….”

  “I know. I was too intent on my own pleasures, you see. It has happened before. But you must understand…Ivy hears the servant’s gossip, and she can only wonder why her guardian breaks the very rules she imposes on her young ward. I cannot expect her to maintain propriety when I do not.”

  “Then Ivy is the reason you’d deny yourself—deny both of us—a little comfort?”

  “She is more important than either of us, Donal. And since we will not…be together in the future, it can only make the situation more difficult if we continue.” Her fingers brushed his shoulder and slipped away. “Please try to understand. From now on we must return to what we were before.”

  “Employer and servant?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his bitterness. “Baronet’s daughter and lowly animal doctor?”

  “Never lowly, Doctor. I shall always hold you in the highest esteem…and affection.”

  “Cordelia—”

  But she was already walking away, steps uneven and head bowed.

  Reggie crept along the bench, his body drooping with sadness. Donal scooped the spaniel into his arms and pressed his face into the warm, soft fur.

  “It seems we’ve both been abandoned,” he said hoarsely.

  The spaniel licked his chin. Reggie’s simple thoughts were filled with shapeless dread, for he had no means to discover what had aroused his fears.

  But Donal was half-human. He looked into his soul and saw clearly, for the first time, the specter that most terrified him. He envisioned a life without Cordelia…never to see her again, spar with her, hold her in his arms.

  Oh, yes, he had been the one to tell her that they had no future together. But now she had deprived them both of the weeks they might have shared, days of companionship and nights of rapture where the future did not exist. And she had done it because she still denied the passion within herself, refused to accept her own needs and desires, feared she might pass her shameful “weaknesses” on to Ivy like some infectious disease.

  If she knew what Ivy was, she’d be forced to accept that the girl she sought to protect existed only in her imagination.

  Donal set Reggie down, afraid that his anger would further upset the little dog. His fury was building to fever pitch: rage at Inglesham and Sir Geoffrey, at Ivy for her fickle Fane blood, at Cordelia, at himself most of all. Such anger must find an outlet, or it would fester and burst like an overripe boil, poisoning every animal within reach of his mind.

  With a deep, deliberate breath he expelled the tightness from his muscles. He might not have a cure for all of his present dilemmas, but at least one would yield to direct and ruthless action. He had every reason now to take the drastic steps that Tod had advised, without guilt or hesitation.

  Tod was not here to enjoy his triumph. The responsibility would be Donal’s alone. And when it was done, nothing would impede Cordelia’s freedom save her own stubborn heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “SO,” BÉFIND SAID, “it would seem that you have fulfilled your task with admirable efficiency, little hob.”

  Tod didn’t answer, his tongue tied in knots, his thoughts torn between longing and terror while the lady bestowed her deceptively benevolent gaze upon him from among the pillows heaped on her velvet couch. He had never
thought this moment would be easy, but now he found the very prospect of venturing his request daunting beyond all his imaginings.

  “Come, come,” Béfind said, selecting a ripe peach from a tray held aloft by a giggling sprite. “You have done well. You have earned your reward, and soon I shall take Ivy away from your master, just as you desired.”

  Tod bowed deeply. “Yes, my lady. But…there is…” He swallowed and closed his eyes, his mouth too dry for speech.

  Béfind leaned forward to study Tod’s face with pale, emotionless eyes. “Is there something more you would tell me, hob? Something else you would ask in return for your labors?”

  Tod’s heart began to speed like Epona’s horses. “My lady…Tod was not always as you see him now.”

  “Indeed?” Béfind yawned and snapped her teeth together with a click. “And what were you before, pray tell? A god, perhaps? A king?”

  Tod winced at her mockery but held his ground. “Even in the world of men, there is magic…curses of great power…”

  “Ah. You speak of curses.” She rested her chin on her hand. “Now that I think of it, I do recall a tale of a young Fane lord cursed by some mortal a thousand years ago. He was condemned to live out his life as a hob…or was it a troll? I cannot recall….”

  “A hob, my lady,” Tod said. “This hob standing before you.”

  She flashed her diamond-bright smile. “Yes. How remiss of me not to have noticed.” She stroked her lower lip. “As I remember, the curse was laid upon you by a mortal holy man, a follower of the White God. Such a curse is powerful indeed. Only one of equal power might break it…one such as Titania, perhaps?”

  Tod inclined his head. “My lady is wise.”

  “But you were banished from Tir-na-Nog with your first master, Donal’s father, many years ago.”

  “Aye, my lady. But one of the High Fane might carry Tod through the Gate, and speak for him before the queen.”

  “So one might.” Béfind examined her ivory nails. “I wonder, little hob, why you did not make this request when I first approached you.”