The Wolf Duke

by K. J. Jackson

  “You might be surprised what will pass as fascinating conversation at dinner parties.” Sloane gave a visible shudder. “But I think we’ve run through enough French for the day. Tomorrow we’ll tackle the best ways to enrich soil in French. I think you’ll find that conversation fascinating.”

  “Yes. Oh please, yes, let us be done for the day.” Vicky sighed out the words. Far too dramatic, but it still brought a chuckle to Sloane’s lips.

  The girl pointed to the evergreen hedgerows several hundred paces away with her bouquet of flowers. “Shall we play Catch the Cat again? That was so much fun.”

  “First we must put the flowers in water, lest they wilt away.”

  “Claude could do it for us.” Before Sloane could stop her, Vicky bounded over to Claude where he stood with Lawrence at the gravel pathway that led from the yew labyrinth to the symmetrical rows of raised flower beds. “Claude, could you please bring these into Mrs. Flurten and ask her for a vase?”

  A burly man with dark curly hair skimming his eyebrows and leathery skin, Claude cringed at the request. “I’m not a cursed housemaid, young miss.”

  Vicky didn’t blink at his gruffness. “Please?” She held up the bouquet to him.

  His face scrunched in horrified indignation. But he grumbled nonsensical words and took the bouquet from her, turning and walking toward the castle.

  Vicky spun back to Sloane, an impish grin on her face.

  Sloane shook her head at her and the right side of her face lifted in a crooked smile. While what Vicky had just done reeked of prerogative, Sloane hadn’t minded that one of her constant, dour shadows had been sent off to deliver a frilly bundle of flowers. “You will drive your suitors in London into madness in ten years’ time, you scamp.”

  Vicky giggled and shrugged.

  They started walking across the wide expanse of lawn toward the hedgerows.

  “What is it that you think Uncle Reiner wants from you?”

  Sloane’s look lifted to the clear blue sky above them, dotted with only sparse, puffy clouds. For several steps, she didn’t say a word.

  “I wish I knew. I wish I knew exactly what I was doing behind the castle—if I truly was trying to climb the vines and get into his room. I wish I knew what happened to my arm.” She lifted her left hand. “I wish I knew why I would travel so far from home.”

  Several steps passed before Vicky looked up at her. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I hope you never remember. I hope you have to stay here with us. You are the only fun thing that has happened here at Wolfbridge in four years.”

  “Your uncle is not fun?” Sloane chuckled to herself. “Strike that question, for I ken very well how cold and sour your uncle is.”

  “You do not like him?”

  Sloane’s steps hiccupped and her eyebrows drew together.

  Did she like him? Regard him as anything other than an ogre holding her captive? She walked a few more steps, her head tilting to the side.

  “Miss Sloane, you do not care for my uncle?” Worry wrinkled Vicky’s brow.

  She grabbed the girl’s hand. “Do not fret. I apologize for my words. I absolutely despise his actions. But as for the actual man…” She shook her head and then looked down to Vicky. “It is just that your uncle is entirely aggravating.”

  “Oh yes.” Vicky nodded her head, her eyes going wide. “I know all about it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. My mama left me a letter speaking to that very regard.”

  “She did?”

  “She died, but she left me a letter first.” Vicky tugged her hand from Sloane’s grip and she pulled up the small rectangular metal box that she always had strung about her waist. She opened the top flap and tucked inside was a neatly folded paper—it looked like two sheets with ink covering every free speck of white space. “See? I keep it in here.”

  Sloane had thought the delicately painted metal box an odd adornment, but this made sense. No wonder Vicky wore it every day dangling from her waist.

  Vicky snapped the top of the box closed, flipping the wire down over the tiny nub to latch it. “Uncle Reiner is arrogant, bossy, and aggravating in how he has to control everything about him—a duke to his bones, my mama said. That he is prickly and will not regard me with much favor at times. But she also told me he is kind to his core, he likes to laugh, and he is terribly lonely.”

  “Lonely?” Sloane frowned. “But you said he has parties all the time.”

  “Yes, but I do not think the people that come are his friends. They are not nice people. They treat the servants horribly when they are not in front of him and I do not care for it.” The edges of her eyes crinkled in indignation. “Reiner always demands I treat them with respect—he says my station calls for it—but he apparently cannot control his guests.”

  “That is…interesting.”

  Vicky reached out and plucked a sprig of green leaves from the tall, sculpted boxwoods they passed and she spun it in her fingers. “Yes. And my mama also said Uncle Reiner would love me dearly. But I think she was wrong about that.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Her wide blue eyes lifted to Sloane. “He does not pay me any mind—not much at all. It has been quite lonely here.”

  “But your life had more joy in it four years ago?”

  “Before Mrs. Kean died, yes. Mrs. Kean was my mama’s maid and closest friend, I think. She was happy and she spent all her time with me. She taught me all the songs that my mama used to sing.” Vicky’s chin tilted up oddly in an attempt to not let sadness take hold. Sloane knew that look. Knew it well.

  “Do you have your mother’s voice?”

  Vicky shrugged. “Possibly—I am not sure. Mrs. Kean always said she could hear my mama in me. And whenever Miss Gregory has me practice songs and Uncle Reiner hears, he gets a sad look on his face and leaves the room. I think it’s because I sound like her.” She shrugged. “Or I am dreadful at singing and the screech of it brings tears to his eyes—that is the other possibility.”

  Sloane wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed her. “I would venture that is not the case, as your voice is very sweet. You must sing for me tonight after dinner. And if we can get your uncle into the room, I will watch him very closely to see if he is cringing or merely melancholy.”

  Vicky giggled. “Maybe he will join us. He never bothers with me much, but with you here…” Her shoulders lifted under Sloane’s arm. “He’s been different ever since he sent me in to you.”

  Sloane jerked to a stop. “What do you mean he sent you in to me?”

  Vicky took two more steps, but Sloane caught her arm, twisting Vicky to face her. The girl’s cheeks turned red, her eyes darting about, squirrelly to escape Sloane.

  Sloane grabbed her other arm, bending at the waist so she was eye level with the girl. “Tell me, Vicky.”

  “Into your room—when you were locked in there. He wanted me to ask you who you were.” Vicky hopped from one foot to the other, her arms squirming under Sloane’s grip. “He didn’t know and he couldn’t get you to tell him.”

  Sloane’s eyes went wide, stunned, and then her head snapped back. “He used you? He sent you into my room to ask me questions?”

  Vicky’s lips pulled inward, her mouth clamping shut.

  Her fingers dug into the girl’s arms. “Tell me right now, Vicky. Tell me if he used you to get to me.”

  Her cherub face crumbling, Vicky nodded. “I’m sorry, Sloane—but I didn’t know you and I didn’t know how nice you were and Uncle Reiner wanted me to help him. He never needs my help, never thinks on me, and he asked me to do it. So I did. He didn’t know if you were dangerous or not.”

  “He didn’t know if I was dangerous?” Her voice went into full screech. “So he sent a little girl in to talk to me?”

  Tears started to brim in Vicky’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sloane. I didn’t think it would hurt anything and after he let you out I was
just so happy to have someone to talk to that I didn’t think it mattered.”

  Sloane’s head dropped forward as she seethed in a breath of rage. Releasing Vicky’s arms, her head jerked up and she wiped a thumb across Vicky’s cheek, swiping away a fat tear. “Don’t you worry on it, Vicky. This isn’t your fault at all. That responsibility lies solely with your uncle.” She clasped her hands onto Vicky’s cheeks. “Do you understand? This isn’t your fault. I am mad at your uncle, not you. Tell me you understand that.”

  Vicky nodded, the distraught tears in her eyes somewhat mollified.

  “Good.” She pulled Vicky into a quick hug. “Now you will have to excuse me for a few minutes.”

  Without waiting for Vicky to reply, Sloane spun from her and charged toward the castle.

  She made it into the interior and was stalking down the main corridor that ran the length of the first level before Lawrence’s boots clomped onto the floor a distance behind her, quickly catching up. She stopped at the door to the study just down the hall from the library.

  Her look whipped back to the guard, her words a hiss. “Leave me be, Lawrence.”

  “But, miss, you cannot disturb his grace.” The words came out between heaving breaths that sent his whole body jerking with every gasp. He must have run up the hill after her.

  Her hand went onto the door handle. “But nothing—you think his grace cannot manage a wee woman like me?” Before Lawrence could jump in front of her, she pushed her way into the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Behind his desk, Reiner jumped at the intrusion.

  She didn’t give him a moment to breathe and was across the room in six strides, her rising voice filling the wide expanse. “How could you do that to poor Vicky—do you ken how distraught she is right now? Having to keep your blasted secrets?”

  Reiner watched her approach, a glacial look registering on his face. “Secrets? Slo—”

  Her arm flew wide, not letting him interrupt her tirade. “All she wants is for you to notice her—notice her just a little. And when you finally do it is only because you want to use her.”

  Belying the cold countenance on his face, a vein in his forehead started to throb. He stood, his hands splaying wide on the smooth surface of his desk. “I beg you not to barge into my study and scold me.”

  “You sent a child—a child—in to ask me questions when you couldn’t get answers yourself. You didn’t ken if I was dangerous—I could have hurt her.”

  Recognition sparked in his brown eyes. “You are speaking of when Vicky first went into your room?”

  “Of course that’s what I’m speaking of.” Her words hissed. “You sent an innocent child into a dangerous situation.”

  His head shook. “I was just outside the door, Sloane. I would have stopped you before you could do any damage to her.”

  “You would have stopped me?” Her right hand flew up and thumped down onto the desk. She leaned forward, her eyes skewering him. “You blasted idiot. Do you ken how long it takes to hurt someone—to kill someone? Seconds. Seconds it would have taken me to harm her—and you—you put her in that danger. What kind of a man are you?”

  The rage that flew across his face was palpable, spiking the very air around him. “You’re standing incredibly close to me when you rightly know it would take me only seconds to reach out and injure or kill you.”

  “So now you’re threatening me?” Her eyebrows went impossibly high and she straightened, pulling her shoulders back. “Although, that’s much more admirable than tossing your innocent niece in front of danger.”

  A growl bubbled from his throat and he stalked around the desk, stopping when he was only a breath away. His look sliced into her. “You are in no position to judge how I run my household, Sloane.”

  “I am in no position?” Her hand slapped onto her chest as she turned to fully face him. “Of course I’m in no position to do so—I’m a bloody captive here—so who better to tell you that you’re being a miserable uncle?”

  He leaned over her, a snarl on his lips. “Don’t force me to lock you up in your room again—for I will do so and throw away the blasted key.”

  “If that’s what it takes to get you to see what an ogre you’re being to your niece, then it’s bloody well worth it.” She stepped in closer, her chest brushing against his as she craned her neck to keep her eyes locked on him. “Do you ken how belittling that is—to not be seen as anything other than a means to an end? To be given no regard except for how she can serve your needs?”

  Her hands folded into fists at her sides. “She’s a real person, Reiner. A little person that needs to be seen as valuable just because she is who she is. She needs to matter aside from whatever blasted plans you have for her. Do you even ken anything about her? Do you ken that she has incredible wit? That she loves to run but is never allowed to? That she speaks French so flawlessly at this point you could send her to the French court and not a person would blink an eye?”

  Her lip curled up and she shook her head, taking a step backward. “Yet all you see her for is her studies. How to mold her so that you can marry her off the first chance you get. Or are you to make an alliance with her marriage—that seems much more your style. Use those under your thumb for your own purp—”

  His hand around her back was as quick as a descending hawk and he yanked her into him, his lips covering hers.

  The words bubbling in her throat fizzled into nothingness against the hardness of his lips, the whole of him consuming her.

  His heated breath on her cheek. The slight dark grizzle on his face pinpricks against her skin. His hand moving up her back, his fingers digging into her hair as he tilted her head for better access.

  Lost.

  She fell into a chasm of instinct that swallowed her whole—all thoughts abandoning her head except for the feel of his lips, his body long against hers, his tongue slipping past her teeth, carnal in how he explored her.

  She’d never been kissed like this. Not to this extent. Not this thoroughly. Not with such wanton resolve that the core of her began to vibrate, hum with insistence for things she’d never explored with a man.

  Entirely right.

  Every speck of her body felt right. Hot. Craving more.

  Entirely wrong.

  She was his captive. Being held here against her will. A pleasant prison. But a prison nonetheless.

  Her head snapped back, her hands wedging between them and she shoved backward with all her might.

  She stumbled three steps, catching herself on the desk.

  Her gloved hand went to her swollen lips, wiping the taste of him from her mouth. The taste she was thirsty for not but a moment ago.

  Wrong.

  Wrong and she had to remember that fact.

  She shook her head, trying to right her askew equilibrium.

  For how much she’d just enjoyed that kiss, it was wrong.

  It had to be wrong.

  No matter how right it had just felt to her body.

  “What—what was that for?” She spit out the words through heavy breaths, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “To cease your tirade.” His hand lifted, running along the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic fidget. His crisp gaze pierced her, scrutinizing her.

  He was just as shaken as she was.

  Her fingers fell from her lips. “You could have closed my mouth in a thousand different ways.”

  He shrugged, his hand dropping from his neck, and he tapped his fingers along the edge of the desk. “Then it was you.” A deep breath lifted his chest. “You. You come in here to yell at me about—of all things—how I’m failing my niece.”

  “You are failing her.”

  He exhaled a long sigh. “It is not my intention.” His left eyebrow cocked. “If I may be so bold in suggesting it, it sounds like you are acutely familiar with how she feels.”

  “I…I…” Her lips drew inward for a long moment. She hadn’t intended this to be about her, but he had just succinctly h
it the mark. “If you knew my grandfather, you would understand quite well how familiar I am with how Vicky feels at being a pawn.”

  “You were raised to make the finest match?”

  “If by that you mean the most advantageous match for the Vinehill estate, then aye. I was.”

  “Yet that has not happened as of yet?”

  “I have been…resisting my grandfather’s machinations. I went to London for a spell to placate him. It bought me some time.”

  “There were no gentlemen to your liking?”

  “None that didn’t attempt to hide their paramours from the scandal sheets and the gossips. I was not about to harness myself with such a man. I found much of the season distasteful—the common acceptance of mistresses. Growing up in Scotland, I am mostly accustomed to matches that are at the very least, founded upon mutual respect. There is often genuine love, which negates the need of affairs with whores.”

  An odd smile curled the corners of his lips. “There are no affairs in Scotland?”

  She flitted her fingers in the air. “I am not a prude—of course there are plenty of husbands that stray. I ken it well. That does not mean I will be accepting of such a man for myself.”

  Reiner nodded, the odd grin gone from his face.

  She wasn’t sure if he was placating her or if he truly understood her desire for a match of mutual desire and affection. Regardless, he was sidetracking her from her purpose in his study. Jacob liked to do that when she was in a fit—change the topic until she was no longer railing.

  “But this is not about me, this is about your niece—about you sending her in to try and extract information from me. It is about you using her.”

  “I do think you overstep your judgement,” he said. “You have only spent several days with her.”

  “And that is all it has taken. You’re the one that allowed me near her, Reiner. And I, for one, am not about to let an innocent fall to the mercy of an overbearing ogre if I can help it.”

  Her intended barb hit as intended.

  His hand on the desk curled into a fist. “If you were innocent, Sloane, you would have long since told me what you’re truly doing here.”