If only she could view this season with joy and excitement instead of with cold fear in her belly. The world around them had suddenly become a much more dangerous place.
* * * *
Thea sat patiently beside her cousin, Amy, in her uncle’s landau. In the London street, carriages lined up waiting to disembark their passengers. The dance promised to be a crush, which most said guaranteed a successful ball. The evening would be long and trying unless Thea managed to avoid Lord Akers.
Their coach moved to the building’s entrance, and they disembarked. Thea stood with her Aunt Cornelia, Uncle Rigby and Amy in the receiving line. She studied the guest of honor, Lady Jane. With diamonds shining in her hair and wearing a white gown covered with tiny silver sparkles, she looked like a fairy princess. An older woman, most likely her mother, stood to her left. A man on Lady Jane’s right whispered in her ear and stepped away.
The line moved slowly, but finally they stood in front of their hostess. Thea curtsied to Lady Radford. Her daughter smiled and welcomed her and Amy. Then, Thea and her uncle’s family joined the crowd moving into the ballroom. The evening seemed promising thus far.
Masses of pink and white roses decorated the columns and sent their sweet fragrance floating into the air. Light from the ornate crystal chandeliers overhead and standing candelabras spaced around the room filled the area with a warm glow.
The band took up their instruments and gentlemen rushed to ask the loveliest of the ladies to dance. Amy blushed becomingly and strolled onto the dance floor on the arm of a dashing young man.
“His father is only a baron,” Aunt Cornelia whispered to Thea. “I believe our Amy can do better.”
“He seems quite pleasant,” Thea said.
“Pleasant doesn’t count. I expect her to make a contract with at least an earl.”
“Maybe Amy could marry Lord Akers,” Thea mumbled under her breath, then felt a flash of regret for her hasty remark. She wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone.
“What?” Her aunt’s head snapped around.
Thea ignored her. She sensed someone staring and had no need to turn her head. Lord Akers must be close. Her skin crawled with the memory of his touch.
“Althea,” Uncle Rigby said, using her full name. “Lord Akers wishes to greet you.”
Reluctantly, Thea turned to her uncle and the man at his side. Lord Akers’ smile curved his lips, but didn’t change the avaricious look in his silver eyes.
He bowed. “My dear Miss Beckett, how lovely you look tonight.”
A hungry leer crossed his face and bile rose in her throat. Lord Akers continued to stare, his gaze roaming from her face to the low-cut bodice of her white gown.
Thea had been both surprised and pleased when Aunt Cornelia took her and Amy to the mantua-maker for several new gowns. The white one with green trim she wore this evening was her favorite, except for the low neckline. She’d tried to add a bit of lace to cover her bodice, but her aunt had pulled the trimming out and warned her to wear the dress as made.
Now she knew why. They were determined to keep Lord Akers interested in her. True, he was an earl and reportedly very wealthy. Was he paying her uncle for her hand in marriage? She hoped Uncle Rigby would not stoop so low, but feared he might.
The music changed denoting the beginning of another dance, a waltz. Oh, no, please not.
“May I have this dance, Miss Beckett?” Lord Akers bowed and offered his arm.
“Of course you may,” Uncle Rigby answered for her and pushed her forward.
Thea was glad for her elbow-length gloves. She set her hand gingerly on Akers’ arm and moved toward the dance floor. When the waltz began, he pulled her close. Thea pushed at his chest, but he laughed at her futile attempt to put more distance between them.
“Soon, my dear, we will be much closer. Every night, when I go to my room, I think of the time when you will be lying in my bed waiting for me,” his raspy voice whispered in her ear.
Thea felt light-headed. His overpowering perfume made her nauseous. She swallowed and straightened her shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words struck her heart with fear and loathing. Ignoring him, she continued to stare straight ahead and prayed for the dance’s quick end.
He chuckled. “Your pale cheeks and the tremor in your hands excite me. There is no escape, my dear. No one else will make a better offer.” He squeezed her hand. “You and your sister are as good as mine.”
His words motivated Thea even more in her determination to escape his loathsome suit. There had to be an answer to her dilemma. She’d find it and do whatever was necessary to keep Elvie and herself out of his clutches.
Thank goodness, after what seemed an eternity, the music stopped. Thea tore herself out of his arms. Her hand itched to strike him, and she let all the distaste she felt show in her face. “I’ll find someone, anyone, before I allow you to touch me or my sister,” she said between clenched teeth. His cruel laughter followed her as she hurried away.
* * * *
Wulf slipped through the French windows onto the veranda, leaving the noisy congested ballroom behind. Five years of being away from the nobility and London's fashionable parties hadn't been long enough.
His brother had tried to convince him to join the family in town last year. Ulric had refused. A twinge of guilt surfaced as he thought of Evan and his untimely death.
He moved farther toward a darkened corner to be completely out of sight. Seeing all the ambitious mothers still willing to throw their daughters in his direction made him realize he had a decision to make. One that could no longer be ignored.
Years of exhaustive studies and searching had yielded no results and given Wulf little hope of ending the family curse. Disgust at what had happened to him and his family left the taste of bitterness in his mouth. His father and grandfathers had finally embraced their ability to change into the werewolf. Wulf fought what was happening to him more quickly as the years went by. Ruthlessness, cunning, and cruelty were traits he saw take over his loving father and grandfather. But, he had struggled long and hard to resist the temptations.
Ulric had hoped Evan would outlive him. The curse struck the heir at sixteen, so Ulric reasoned Evan would be immune. Now, with his brother gone, he had only two choices; to marry and produce an heir to carry on the family name and curse, or let it all end with his death.
Suddenly a flash of recognition heightened his senses. He was no longer alone. The soft breeze delivered a hint of her fragrance, roses and jasmine, as he turned toward the French windows.
Her white gown rippled in the breeze. Ulric edged closer and studied her. He recognized a look of defiance on an otherwise lovely face. Her stern expression was softened by a Cupid’s bow mouth that begged to be kissed and glorious black hair, so dark that moonlight sparked off the lovely curls. He held in the growl that wanted to erupt. Mine. The word pounded into his body and heart.
Leashing the wolf tight inside, he subtly stalked his prey. With his enhanced vision, he noted the dismay in her deep green eyes. Who was she?
* * * *
Thea slid in and around the people lining the dance floor of the hot and airless room. She needed a few minutes outside to regain control. Reaching the French windows, she slipped through into the cool, dark night and inhaled.
Most of the foul odors of the day had wafted off to sea, but the smell of smoke lingered. She took another deep breath, trying to absorb the quiet and peacefulness. Raising her hand toward her hair, she caught the scent of Lord Akers’ heavy cologne lingering on her gloves. She ripped them off and threw them out and away from her. She never wanted to touch them again.
How she missed the country, her home and her parents. First, her father had died from an accident on the estate, and a few months later her mother caught pneumonia and faded away. With all the confusion of her aunt and uncle moving to the estate and her own grief, eighteen months had passed since she'd visited London.
A slight moveme
nt to her right caught Thea’s attention, startling her. She stifled a scream as a tall man edged into the meager light cast across the veranda.
Dressed in black, all she saw was his white ruffled shirt. His features were hidden by the darkness. Thea found herself both intrigued and frightened. She picked up her skirts to leave.
“Forgive me.” His silky voice slid across her skin like the touch of cool satin. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She nodded, but didn’t speak. He stepped closer. “I’ve been long in the country and am rusty in the art of casual conversation.”
She glanced from him to the doors and the light and people inside. “I understand,” she said and hesitated. Something about his stillness and the faint hint of his woodsy fragrance held her in place. “The crowd and noise is a bit overwhelming when you are used to quiet nights with only the hoot owl or whippoorwill to keep you company.”
“Am I correct in assuming your preference is for the fresh air of the countryside?”
“Most definitely, and in my little village we know each other well, which brings a certain comfort.”
He came forward, his movements graceful yet almost menacing, like a sleek cat stalking his prey. She was being ridiculous, letting her imagination overcome her common sense.
He faced her fully for the first time. The dim light, reflected from the doors behind her, cast shadows across his face, but not enough to hide the jagged scars running from forehead to chin on the right side. Only his eye and corner of his mouth remained untouched. She held back a gasp. The saint and the damned flew through her mind, perfect profile on the left and desecration on the right. The silence and emptiness around them created a small circle of intimacy, and her hand involuntarily reached up to touch his scars.
His eyes widened and brows rose, but he didn’t move a muscle.
“Does it hurt?”
“Often,” he replied, his voice almost a growl.
“Nothing can be done to help?”
“No.”
Her hand trembled when a spark of red seemed to glow briefly in his eyes. Fear brushed fleetingly across her shoulders, but ignoring the urge to turn and run she flattened her palm against the ruined side of his face. Focusing her concentration, she let the healing warmth of her hand penetrate into the tight ridges.
He towered over her. Her gaze traveled from his silky golden brown hair to his face where thick, curling eyelashes shaded his shining golden eyes. His sensuous mouth softened his appearance until she noted the strong jut of his jaw. A faint hint of stubble darkened his cheeks. His black velvet coat fit snug across wide shoulders.
Thea continued to focus her healing energy directly into his scars. His particular fragrance, which reminded her of cedar and woods, swirled around her. A sound, like a purr, disrupted her concentration, and when she moved her attention from his scars, she jerked her hand back. His eyes glowed with a fiery light. Suddenly, the realization of how very forward her behavior was and how isolated they were, swept over her. She stumbled backward out of his warm aura and hurried through the French windows into the ballroom. Her heart bounded in her chest, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or fascination.
If Uncle Rigby or Lord Akers had seen her, they would insist on her accepting Lord Akers’ offer immediately. Thea hid herself in the crowd of people lining the dance floor until the heat in her face cooled and her rapid heartbeat returned to normal.
* * * *
Ulric waited in the dark. Her gown fluttered behind her as she disappeared in the crowd. He touched the side of his face. The pain was gone. He'd had an impression of heat and gradually the ache subsided. How had she succeeded, where all his renowned doctors had failed?
When he was sure no one would notice his return, Ulric reentered the ballroom. The buzz of voices almost drowned out the music. Jeffrey leaned against a column near the door to the card room.
“I was beginning to think you had missed the ball,” Jeffrey said.
“I went outside for a breath of cooler air.”
“Hiding,” Jeffrey said and smiled. “I should have known.”
Ulric glanced around the dance floor, searching for the intriguing woman with the soft touch. Where had she gone? He raised his head and took a deep breath, but with so many other fragrances in the room, it was impossible to isolate that particular one.
“Hunting for someone?” Jeffrey asked, drawing his attention back to him.
“Not really,” he said, and then he spotted her. She stood beside an older woman across and to the right of them.
“Which lady has caught your attention?” Jeffrey glanced in the direction where Ulric stared.
“It’s not important. Join me in the card room?” Ulric motioned for Jeffrey to follow him.
Jeffrey shrugged. “Lead the way.”
Even playing cards, Ulric’s thoughts wandered back to the unusual occurrence on the veranda. His scars no longer ached, as they most often did.
One of the men at his table spoke up. “Your turn, Radford.”
Knowing he was too distracted to enjoy the game, Ulric put his cards down. “I’m finished.” He nodded good-bye to Jeffrey and left.
As he strolled around the ballroom, several mothers stopped him and eagerly pushed their daughters forward. Ulric felt sorry for the young girls. They tried to hide their aversion to his face, but their wide, frightened eyes revealed their true feelings. Evan had often encouraged Ulric to return to town and find a wife among them. After witnessing the palpable relief on another young lady’s face as he excused himself, he had his doubts any of them desired his attention.
He continued walking until he saw his mystery healer standing about five feet away. A younger girl, face animated and hands moving as she talked, held her attention. He noticed that while his healer listened to the girl, she also glanced several times to her left.
Lord Akers stood not far away, a predatory demeanor in his stance and gaze. Ulric had heard unsavory gossip regarding Akers and his prurient lust for young girls. After running with a wild group in his youth, many said he’d never lost his taste for vulnerable young women.
A flash of distaste crossed the face of the unknown woman when she looked at Akers. Now would be as good a time as any to find out her name and Akers’ business.
Wulf ambled nonchalantly toward the man. “Enjoying yourself?”
Startled, Akers took his eyes off his prey. “Haven’t seen you for a long time, Radford. Thought you might be dead.”
“At thirty-one?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “No. I simply prefer the country to London.”
“Guess you had to come to your sister’s ball.”
“I wanted to come.” Wulf frowned at Akers. “Jane is special.”
Akers’ attention went back to the two women talking.
“You seem interested in those ladies,” Wulf said.
“Yes, the tall, black-haired one is going to marry me.” Lord Akers smirked.
“I hadn’t heard you planned to wed again.”
Akers scowled. “I need an heir and that one pleases me.” He continued to scrutinize his future wife.
“So does she have a name or is that an insignificant detail in your plans?”
Akers grunted. “Her name is Althea.” His tone suggested Wulf had overstepped his bounds.
“She isn’t familiar to me, but then again I’ve been away from London for several years. Who is her family?”
“Her parents are dead. She’s Lord Beckett’s niece. Her father was a Viscount, but she’s no one now. A poor relative, no dowry, but I want her.”
So do I. Wulf surprised himself by the vehemence of his desire for a woman whose name he hadn’t even known a minute ago. He tensed and the hackles on his neck rose. Clenching his fist, he managed to speak. “May I wish you both the best?” Wulf bowed and continued his walk toward the door and his escape to his study.
Her family must know the type of man Akers was. No proper family would let the man near their daughter. But p
erhaps Akers has fooled them. Or Akers had impressed them with his lofty title and wealth.
Ulric glanced around. He couldn’t wait to leave the loud overdressed guests behind and seek the sanctuary of his den. Diamonds sparkled around necks and fingers, and women stared at the eligible men with avarice intent. He took one last glance at Althea.
She stood beside an older man and woman, probably her aunt and uncle. Her shoulders held back and face forward, she presented herself as cool and calm amidst the clamor around her. Her black hair shined glossy in the candlelight. Too tall for many of the men, she only reached his shoulder. She was not the typical golden beauty so adored by the Ton, so few of the men took any notice of her.
For a second, she glanced his way and her captivating eyes held his gaze. He took a step toward her, then stopped. Merely looking at her stirred the beast inside to unmanageable levels. But, he’d made a decision. She was going to be his. Akers would never touch her. He left the room for the quiet of his study before the animal inside him brought out his worst behavior. He needed time to think and plan.
Wulf removed his tight coat and opened the neck to his shirt before planting himself in front of the fire. He took a puff on his pipe, enjoying the warmth and solitude. The fire crackled and flared as one of the logs burned in half.
He tried to clear his thoughts, but the memory of her pale face haunted him. He rubbed the right side of his face. The pain, as yet, had not returned. What had happened when she touched him? The evening had brought many surprises and even more questions.
When her leaf green eyes had locked with his a moment before he’d left the ballroom, he couldn’t deny or forget the anguish in their depths. His own reaction had shocked him. With his first wife, there’d never been the intense need to possess her that Althea aroused in him. If he were in the country tonight, he’d run the fields and howl to loosen the tightness in his chest. Desire swirled through his veins, creating a deep-seated need to make her his, to cherish her, and keep her safe. But would she consider herself safe if she knew about the wolf?
McNeely, Rachel - The Marquis' Mystical Witch (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 2
