Beauty and the Wolf

by Marina Myles

  The rumors of his insanity must be true.

  She flipped backward through the book. Stopping at an entry marked “rauna curse,” she read more.

  July 15, 1819

  Learned details of a rauna curse. It is a spell cast over someone who possesses full Gypsy blood—or a half-breed. It’s meant as punishment for dishonoring one’s heritage. Ironclad. The only way to have it revoked? I must show genuine redemption.

  If I don’t, I’ll be foredoomed by tasting even a drop of...

  She turned the page, but Draven hadn’t continued the entry.

  A drop of what? She was dying to know. To add to her confusion, she knew Draven had no Gypsy blood in his veins.

  He must be more delusional than I thought.

  Cupping a hand over her mouth, she raised herself on unsure feet.

  She bent to replace the journal when a hand clasped her shoulder.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabella’s heart slammed against her ribs. When she whirled around to meet Rogers’s gentle face, relief brought her shoulders forward.

  The valet slid the journal from her hands. “M’lady, ye shouldn’t be lookin’ at things that don’t belong to ya.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She fought to regain her composure.

  “Not to worry, yer ladyship.”

  She offered him a smile.

  He returned it. “I ’ave good news, m’lady. Yer father just sent word that ’e has arrived in Dunwich.”

  “My father?” she cried. “That’s wonderful!”

  “I’ll take ye to him, m’lady.”

  “Thank you, Rogers.”

  The manservant glanced down at the journal and ran a weathered hand over the moon symbol on its front cover.

  Isabella started to explain why she had been snooping but the valet interrupted her.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady. His lordship may enter here at any moment. I think it best if ye leave ’ere this instant.”

  “Of course.” She tried to step around him.

  He put his hand out. “The key?”

  She gave it to him, disappointed that she’d no longer have access to the room. Rogers returned the notebook to the chest and locked it. Still, there was no doubt in Isabella’s mind that he would find another hiding spot for it soon.

  “I guess I’ll be on my way,” she said. She hastened to the door but stopped at the threshold. “Do you know anything of the Gypsy curse his lordship referred to in his journal?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t say as I do, m’lady. I’m the sort ’a man who only believes in things I can see or touch.”

  She nodded.

  The hunched figure took a step forward. “And I see one thing for certain, yer ladyship.”

  “What is that, Rogers?”

  “There is love for ye in Master Draven’s stare.”

  Isabella was at a loss for words. She stared down at her hands and decided to change the subject. “Has the Winthrop carriage been readied?”

  “By me personally, m’lady.”

  She wasn’t about to ask permission from Draven to fetch her father. “I’ll just refresh myself in my room.”

  “I’ll be waitin’ outside, yer ladyship.”

  Isabella picked up her skirts and hurried to her suites. What would she say to her father when she saw him in Dunwich? Her thoughts were as convoluted as a twisted tree trunk. Nerves racing, she moved to the mirror. Her reflection stunned her. Blood crusted her upper lip and her entire mouth was swollen from the mad kisses Draven had thrust upon her. Her mane resembled a rat’s nest complete with thin blades of grass lodged in her snarled curls but oddly enough, the wild daffodil Draven had secured behind her ear remained.

  Lord above! What had Rogers thought of her disheveled appearance? Years of learning to hold his tongue must have kept him from commenting on it.

  After Isabella wiped away the stains that coated her face and marred the muslin day dress which doubled as a riding habit, she began to move about the room in tense circles. Draven had stunned her with his aggression. Yet it was that same urgency, combined with the journal entry asserting that he cared about her, that proved he didn’t trust himself in her presence.

  The fear she used to feel at her husband’s wrath was now hardening into a distinct purpose. She wasn’t going to let anything prevent her from finding out the true nature of Draven’s affliction.

  After re-pinning her hair and rinsing the last of the mud speckles from her forehead, Isabella left her suites and boarded the awaiting carriage. The vehicle clattered toward Dunwich and the solitary ride soothed her.

  The carriage stopped in front of the coaching station a half hour later. Her father was waiting on its wide, front step, balancing on a cane. She flew out of the carriage and flung her arms around his neck. “Papa, I’ve missed you terribly!”

  “Isa,” he murmured into her hair.

  She never wanted to let go but eventually Isabella pulled away to study her father’s face. The kindly, chartreuse eyes were just as she remembered and the wave in his silver hair caught the sunlight as it always had. Leaning forward, she welcomed his signature fragrance of peppermint.

  He smiled. “My darling—or should I address you as Lady Winthrop?”

  “Papa,” she said with reproach.

  “Gracious. That was quite a journey from London. It’s astounding how remote this village is.”

  “Frighteningly so.” She paused. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve already said that.”

  “I can’t believe you traveled alone.”

  “You aren’t the only one. When I told Fiona I was coming here, she made the same face you’re making.”

  She clasped his hands. “Well, never mind that.”

  His smile vanished. “The question is: are you well, my darling?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “Are you sure?” He eyed her deep scratch.

  Isabella ran a finger over her lip. “Draven and I went for a ride this morning. You know how clumsy I am on a horse.”

  “You fell off?”

  “Is it any surprise?”

  He took her hand and patted it. She felt badly for lying to him, but she was too confused by her own thoughts to reveal anything at the moment.

  “Let’s walk, shall we?” Limping against his cane, Harris started down the path toward the sea.

  Isabella picked up her skirts and followed. Treading over clusters of white and pink pebbles and pockets of sparse vegetation, she listened as her father relayed the conversation he’d had with his chaise driver about Dunwich.

  “A most charming place, but in a dire state I understand.”

  “ ‘A dire state’?” she repeated. She was ashamed to think she hadn’t bothered to learn anything about the place her husband governed.

  “Yes,” he said. “Apparently the Winthrop family refuses to help stop the erosion of Dunwich’s land mass.”

  “Erosion?”

  “It’s quite a shame. This place used to be one of the biggest merchant ports in England. Until a devastating tidal surge washed most of it out to sea.” He was clearly upset. “The town’s location invites battering tides and fierce coastal storms. The beaches are eroding at an alarming rate.”

  “It’s disappointing that Draven hasn’t offered to fortify them. I shall discuss it with him since I should have some influence as countess.”

  “Will Draven listen to your opinions?” her father asked.

  “I hope so.” She halted. “Papa, I’m glad you changed your mind about coming here.”

  He stopped walking as well. “You don’t understand. Something changed my mind for me.”

  Puzzled, Isabella raised an eyebrow.

  “This letter arrived the day you left for Thorncliff Towers.”

  Her hands trembled slightly as she took an envelope from him and opened it.

  Isabella,

  I will not mince words. I was shocked to re
ceive your recent correspondence. As you well know, two years have passed since you fled from me and from the wretched temper I displayed on our wedding night. My curiosity about your well-being has been satisfied through the gossip mill that reaches even this remote, fog-laced coastline.

  In response to your letter, I must begin by telling you that “if only” are two words that haunt me. If only you had stayed, I would have eventually relayed to you why it is I refuse to have children. If only my temper hadn’t scared you away during our blasted argument. If only I didn’t have to tell you not to come back to me.

  It is much too dangerous for you here now. Something vile has happened to me . . . something that you do not deserve to be company to. If only—there are those words again—a shameful act from my past wasn’t pushing me to the darkest recesses of evil.

  I beg you, stay away at all costs.

  Draven

  Isabella looked into her father’s face. Lines of distress creased his forehead and his frail eyes were overflowing with concern. If he had arrived an hour ago, before she had read Draven’s delusional words coupled with his astonishing admission of affection in his journal, she would have coddled her bloody lip and left Thorncliff Towers without looking back. But now things were different. She couldn’t leave Draven. Not in his mental state.

  She looked at the letter again, studying each word as if she were deciphering a riddle.

  What shameful act was Draven referring to?

  “You can tell me the truth, Isabella,” her father said. “Your lip. Did Draven strike you?”

  She gasped. “No! He’s done nothing of the sort. I told you it was an accident.” She needed to protect Draven until she could find out everything about his past.

  Harris breathed in a stream of fresh air. “Considering the ill will between you, I was hoping this letter was just a lot of nonsense drudged up by Draven to keep you away.”

  She feigned a smile. “Now that I’ve returned, we are getting along quite well.”

  Her father took her gently by the shoulders. “Are you being direct with me, Isa?”

  “I’m sure you could tell if I were lying,” she said lightly. “You’ve always had that ability.”

  He studied her for a moment then released a sigh. “Very well. But I don’t appreciate Draven Winthrop playing games with my girl.”

  Playing games? That was the grossest understatement Isabella had ever heard. She slipped her arm around him and led him back to the center of town.

  “Since you don’t seem to be in danger, I’ll be heading back to London,” he said.

  “You will not,” she said, clasping his elbow. “It’s too much traveling for one day.”

  He smiled. “I am rather tired. But I don’t want to intrude.”

  She clasped his elbow. “I insist you stay at the manor. There is plenty of room.”

  He frowned. “I won’t be in the way?”

  “Not at all. You are family—and family is never in the way.”

  They made their way back to the carriage and Isabella instructed Rogers to return them to Thorncliff Towers.

  Her father settled against the plush velvet squabs and smiled at her. “Tell me all about your reunion with the earl,” he said.

  Isabella’s knees quaked beneath her dress. What should I say? If Papa knew any more about his son-in-law’s dark side, he would surely insist that she leave him.

  “At first it was awkward, I must admit. But civility has grown between us.”

  “Civility, eh? Sounds like true love.” His eyes teased her.

  She swatted him playfully on the arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

  Harris looked out the window at a row of thatched-roof cottages. “You know, it’s the oddest thing. Inside the coaching station, two men were discussing the existence of a mad wolf.”

  She said nothing. He glanced at her.

  “Judging from your pale face,” he went on, “I see the rumors in town have reached you too. I understand several animals were killed by this beast.”

  “They were probably killed by a wild dog, not a wolf. Anyway, what I am truly afraid of is Helena.” She joked to lighten the mood.

  His eyes darkened. “Helena? Is that old witch visiting your household? Turn this carriage around at once!”

  She laughed. “Helena isn’t visiting. She’s in residence at Thorncliff Towers. It’s another thing I need to discuss with Draven.”

  “That’s my Isa! Always thinking. Always organizing her future.”

  She smiled.

  He reached over and patted her hand. “No worries. I’m certain there is an explanation for what killed those cows.”

  She broke eye contact with him and studied the landscape rolling by.

  “I have an uncanny ability to read your mind, you know,” Harris said.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled. “What am I thinking?”

  “You won’t admit it, but the story Uncle Morton read to you when you were a child stayed with you.”

  She cringed. Why must I be reminded of it again? “Speaking of Uncle Morton, did he visit you at Fiona’s home as he promised?” she asked.

  Harris flushed a deep shade of pink. “I shouldn’t have planned a meeting with him at all.”

  “Why?”

  “Morton never showed up. After making some inquiries, I learned he’s been thrown in the Fleet.”

  She gasped. “What happened?”

  “Morton was a buffoon, as usual. He stole money from his employer.”

  “How awful,” she said, recoiling.

  Fleet was a debtors’ prison. It was alleged to be the worst place on Earth. The prisoners were left to rot in its stench, unless their debts were paid, which Isabella surmised, wasn’t very often.

  Harris shrugged. “My brother has gone and done it this time. But I suppose it’s high time he paid for his mistakes.”

  She and her father lapsed into silence. Never before did she remember a falter in their conversations before his disappearance. In the awkward moment, she reached for the amulet and rubbed it between her fingers.

  “That’s a lovely necklace,” her father said. “Where did you get it?”

  Isabella flung him a confused look. “You gave it to me, Papa. This is the amulet of Tousret. You were searching for its counterpart, the bracelet of Amenhotep on your last dig. Don’t you remember?”

  He sank back in his seat. “My memory hasn’t fully returned. I’m sorry.”

  He went silent again and Isabella felt an ache in her heart.

  Will Papa ever return to the man he was?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Night fell over Thorncliff Towers with a palpable hush. Draven watched a veil of tattered clouds push across the sky. The masses parted, revealing a perfectly round moon, and his nerves jumped. The appearance of a full moon had fascinated him once, but now it struck fear into his heart like a keen-edged sword.

  He stood behind the horse stables, completely nude. What was the sense in donning clothing that would be ripped to shreds?

  After pacing the length of the small structure, Draven stopped in front of the stable’s back door. The sound of his erratic heartbeat rose above the hissing wind.

  For nearly half of his life, he’d been disturbed by the knowledge that he was unloved and unwanted. Raised by a string of governesses, he had longed for the attention of his preoccupied father. Helena, of course, was rarely to be found.

  During those years, he wanted to be somebody different. Now, ironically, he was. He was a monster.

  Ivory beams of moonlight shone upon him, encircling Draven in a glow of light. A flash of heat surged through him, burning its way up from his toes. His body trembled and as much as he battled to control it, to conquer it, the painful metamorphosis started.

  Cries of agony escaped his throat as his fingers and hands extended into sharp claws. A layer of black fur coated his skin and his nose extended into a hideous snout. His body bucked as he crouched to
the ground as a creature bigger than a tiger.

  In one agile motion, Draven leapt into the night. After scaling the soft earth of the headland, he stalked across the lawns of the estate and headed for the opposite side of the house.

  He needed to see Isabella. No doubt she despised him for frightening her, but something beyond his wolf form yearned to witness her goodness, her genuine nature. And he needed to implant her in his memory—so that he didn’t lose more of his humanity.

  Isabella’s bedchamber faced the open sea. It wouldn’t be the easiest place to reach but he knew he had to try, no matter the risk. Using every ounce of his primal strength, he pounced from the soft ground up to a jutting balustrade, then higher until he reached the narrow balcony of her bedchamber. Panting from the effort, he leaned his head forward and peered through the large windowpane.

  Isabella!

  Draven hid in the shadows and watched as she strolled through her bedchamber wearing nothing but her Egyptian amulet. In graceful strides, she carried her smooth, petite curves toward the chiffonier. Her full breasts swayed gracefully, riveting him, inviting him. Isabella gave a twist to light a candle branch and offered him a glimpse of her firm buttocks in the incandescent moonlight. In his beastly form, Draven could smell the scent of her blood from where he stood and his mouth grew wet.

  Isabella slipped into a dressing gown and took a seat before her vanity. When she withdrew a single pin from her hair, her auburn locks tumbled about her slim shoulders and fell between her breasts. Unaware that she was being observed, she proceeded to comb her curls with long, elegant strokes.

  Heat spiraled through Draven’s loins. He ached to touch her. To tell her how he felt. But it was as if she were miles away, behind a wall of glass so thick it could never be penetrated.

  A bolt of lightning slashed across the sky, its bright light flooding the narrow ledge. The sudden flash caused Isabella to shoot a glance out the window. When her eyes met his, she screamed and recoiled.

  Draven froze. The human part of him wanted to go to her and hold her. He was desperate to tell her not to be frightened of him, that he would never hurt her as long as he had control over his actions. On the other hand, the canine part of him wanted to devour her in savage bites.