Beauty and the Wolf

by Marina Myles

  As they left the pub, they walked in silence for a while. Then Rayburn placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Remember, if Simon Collingsworth is willing to testify about what he heard, we can have Morton arrested on three legal counts: murder, illegal business dealings, and stealing his brother’s identity.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Draven’s head was heavy with confusion as he stormed back to Dunwich. He could swear he had smelled Isabella’s blood at the Gypsy camp, but when he’d exited the wagon, he saw no trace of his wife.

  Of course, the multitude of scents within the camp had bombarded his senses and he could have been mistaken.

  What dominated his thoughts even more were Marga Yavidovich’s words. The Gypsy never said that a woman must shoot him with a silver bullet. It made Draven wonder: could a man who loved him like a father pull the trigger instead?

  A man such as Rogers?

  Draven knew this was one request the faithful valet would turn down, but he was determined to persuade the old man otherwise.

  Once he retrieved Lucifer in Dunwich, he directed the horse back to Thorncliff Towers. Before he spoke with Rogers, Draven wanted to tie up some loose ends with Helena. They had never had it out with one another and he considered that silence unfinished business.

  Since his stepmother felt no maternal affection for him, she would probably be happy that he was going to vanish from her life forever. A long line of nannies and tutors had raised him without any effort or involvement from Helena. During that time, she never bothered to show an interest in him or inquire about his development. Bitterness had always plagued him on that account, but now he must release himself from it. And he wanted Helena to share in the moment.

  He yanked Lucifer to a halt in front of the stables. After tossing the horse’s reins to Viktor, he entered the house with his riding crop in hand. Striding determinedly throughout the first level, he was called to the parlor by the shadow of the flickering hearth. Entering the room in a rush, he saw Helena reclining on the divan, enjoying a glass of sherry. She didn’t seem to notice him standing there.

  “For once, Helena,” he said, “I’m glad to see you.”

  Her brows dipped into a frown. She turned to him. “You needn’t concern yourself with my presence much longer,” she said. “I am leaving for London in the morning.”

  “Having a sentimental moment, are we?” he asked, eyeing the glass of sherry.

  Helena’s look went sour. She glared at the riding crop her stepson held in his hands. “Did you torture your horse during your ride, Draven?”

  “Of course not.” He shunned her sarcastic tone. “And I wasn’t riding for pleasure. I had business in town.”

  “What sort of business?”

  Draven squeezed the leather rod until his knuckles turned white. “Business I must discuss with you here and now.”

  “Certainly,” she said vaguely.

  Draven sat across from Helena on a low, cushioned stool then leaned forward anxiously.

  “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “There is no delicate way to bring this to your attention, Helena, so I will get straight to the point.”

  Her tone grew impatient. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you know that my maternal grandmother placed a curse on me after I killed that Gypsy girl? A curse that would ultimately transform me into a murderous beast?”

  She set her sherry on a side table. Crossing her arms, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes, I am aware of that.”

  Draven stared at her in disbelief. “You knew? And you never discussed it with me? You couldn’t have thought to prepare me for what would happen on my twenty-seventh birthday?”

  “I followed you into the woods that night, Draven,” she said. “I saw you kill that girl.”

  His face flushed.

  She put a hand up to calm him. “You told me that it was an accident when you returned to the house, but I knew firsthand that you were telling the truth.”

  “Still, you buried that secret by having me committed?”

  Her stare softened. “To protect you.”

  He drew back, confused.

  “You see,” Helena explained as her demeanor completely changed, “I heard that woman cast her curse. And I thought that if you were safely tucked away in an asylum, you couldn’t be hurt, or hurt anyone else.”

  Anger heated his stare as she struggled for composure.

  “Though you were not aware of it at the time,” she said, “I visited the asylum. I saw how you were being treated by those inexperienced doctors. And when I saw those torturous machines, I ordered you to be released.”

  “What were you thinking before you had me committed?” Draven scowled. “That time spent in an asylum would equal a stay at a high-class hotel?”

  “No one could have guessed how terrible that place was.”

  He flew to his feet. “I don’t believe it. This is a bunch of rubbish. You hate me. You’ve always hated me.”

  She drew in a defiant breath. “No. I hated your father for what he did to me. The humiliation was more than I could bear and seeing you every day reminded me of his infidelity.”

  “So you transferred your hatred of my father to me?”

  “I did. I was outraged over his betrayal. So much so that you became a pawn in our relationship. I am certain you’ve learned this from servant gossip, but I threatened your father with divorce if he ever left me. I had proper grounds to do so.”

  “And my father refused.”

  “Yes. He enjoyed being a well-respected earl with an impeccable reputation.”

  Draven’s teeth tingled with hatred. Why must she tarnish Father’s memory?

  Finding her familiar air of superiority, she continued. “Cyril and I were very much in love at one point. Then he had the gall to succumb to that bedeviling woman. Following their tryst, we never placed ourselves in the position to have children of our own. It’s something I never forgave him for. Therefore I wasn’t about to allow him to disgrace me publicly. That explains why, to this day, no one in Society knows that you are illegitimate, Draven.”

  He wanted to strangle her, but the notion that Helena had gotten her fill of pain over the years would have to do. He took a moment to calm himself. “So you felt that all Father left you with was me?”

  “Yes,” Helena’s face twisted with despair. “You.”

  Before Draven could pose his next question, Helena said something quite unexpected. “I never told you this before, but a part of me regrets not being a proper mother to you. Resentment paralyzed me from being maternal in any way.”

  The statement caught him completely off guard. What did she expect him to say? That she had always been as cold-hearted as they come and that it was perfectly fine with him?

  “I have my own confession,” Draven said. “I allowed you to stay here at Thorncliff Towers on the thread of a hope that you would become more affectionate. After all, you were all I had left after Father died.”

  “Is that true?” Pain laced her indigo eyes.

  Draven pushed his fingers through his hair, unraveling his queue. His voice quivered and belied his emotion. “I regret never knowing my birth mother. Did you know that she committed suicide on the very night she came here to Thorncliff Towers to speak with Father?”

  “Committed suicide?” Shock rocked Helena’s voice.

  He nodded. “She drowned herself in the pond just beyond Dunwich. It’s safe to say that giving me away broke her heart.”

  Her face went ashen. “I had no idea. H . . . how did you know?”

  “I’ve had contact with a member of the Gypsy tribe. The grandmother of the girl I killed, in fact.”

  She leaned forward. “Have you asked her to revoke your curse?”

  “Yes. I practically got down on my knees and begged her to lift it. Do you know what solution she presented me with?”

  Helena shook her head slowly.

  “She said that
the woman I love is doomed to end my life whether I like it or not.”

  “Isabella’s Egyptian prophecy—” Helena gasped.

  He tossed the pearl-handled pistol into her shaking palm. “This gun contains a silver bullet. Supposedly Isabella will kill me with it tomorrow evening, as the full moon peaks. This will stop my reign of terror as a wolf.”

  Staring at him in horror, she thrust the gun back at him.

  “I can think of no one who despises me more,” Draven said, “so I’m sure this is all you ever dreamed of. To be forever rid of me, a scandalous thorn in your side.”

  Helena tilted her head back in her regal fashion. “I can’t deny that I have wished you out of my life many times.”

  Draven gave her a half-smile. “After tomorrow night, you never have to worry about being publicly disgraced again. I’ll be dead. Isabella will be in London. And you can remain here.”

  “But I thought Isabella would be dead too, according to the prophecy.”

  “I have another plan.”

  Perspiration beaded his upper lip while Helena’s hatred for him resurfaced.

  “This is morbid beyond belief,” she said.

  As difficult as it was, he had come here to tell Helena that he didn’t blame her anymore. Never thinking he’d see the day he would pose the words, he took in a breath. “Since we’re speaking so frankly, I’d like to tell you something. I know my father made you suffer greatly. I also know that I shouldn’t have been born the bastard son of a Gypsy woman. I should have been your son. For that reason, I forgive you for hating me. In fact, I consider you vindicated.”

  “You are . . . forgiving me?” She seemed flabbergasted.

  “Yes. And for what it’s worth, I wasn’t responsible for poisoning your food. It may not matter to you, but it’s my wish to inform you of that before I’m gone.”

  Draven rose, spun on his heel, and left the room in order to spend his last afternoon elsewhere.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  By late afternoon the following day, the post chaise from London deposited Isabella and Gwyneth in front of Thorncliff Towers’ double doors.

  Isabella had cried over the news of her father’s death during the entire journey. Gwyneth had tried to comfort her, but halfway through the trip, the girl gave up and left her to her sorrow.

  Now the abigail lifted the ornate knocker and let it crash forward. As Isabella waited for entry, she practically burst with the knowledge she wanted to relay to Draven.

  Mrs. Eaton greeted them with a look of surprise. Isabella, who had no desire to explain why she had come back, rushed across the threshold and glanced around in a sort of frenzy. “Where might I find Draven and LadyWinthrop?”

  “Master Draven ’asn’t left ’is quarters for hours and ’er ladyship is keepin’ to ’er room as well.” The housekeeper crooked a finger toward Isabella, drawing her closer. “I’m glad ye’re ’ere, m’lady. And if ye ask me, the two o’ them seemed unusually distraught today. Between them there’s a silence and a tension the likes of I’ve never seen before.”

  While Isabella was aware of the reason for that tension, she was not about to discuss it with a servant. “Thank you, Mrs. Eaton. Kindly have Rogers bring my belongings back up to my suite.”

  The gray-haired woman nodded. “Yes, m’lady.”

  As Isabella ascended the staircase, dread over her ensuing confrontation with Helena escalated with her every step.

  Helena hates me. Why would she believe me over Uncle Morton?

  When she reached the second-floor landing, Isabella turned toward Helena’s chambers which were located in the farthest wing of the house. After treading over the paisley-patterned carpet, she stood outside the countess’s door. She raised her fist to knock. Footsteps sounded behind her. Before she could whirl around, a heavy object struck the back of her neck.

  Blinding pain encompassed Isabella’s skull and her vision went black.

  Isabella awoke slowly, her eyes struggling to focus on her surroundings.

  As her grogginess began to lift, she realized she was lying on her stomach with her hands bound tightly behind her back. Her mouth was gagged.

  Trying to ignore the throbbing pain at the back of her head, she stared into an unforgiving darkness. Panic gripped her as she forced herself to a sitting position despite the tangle of her skirts.

  She could only guess that Morton had come back to Thorncliff Towers and had attacked her. She also assumed that from the familiar smell of mildew that surrounded her, he’d locked her inside the secret passageway.

  He learned of the corridor the day I was trapped. Would he be back for me soon? And is the bracelet of Amenhotep still in my pocket?

  Grunting, Isabella looked about. There wasn’t a source of light anywhere. How could she possibly fumble around in the darkness without hurting herself? And how was she to sever the ropes that incapacitated her hands and mouth?

  Because she had no idea what time it was, horror flooded her emotions. She must escape before the full moon reached its nighttime ascension.

  Heaving her back against the damp stone wall, Isabella used all of her strength to stand. In an effort to gather her bearings, she ran her fingertips along the stones behind her and shuffled her feet to the right. Perhaps she could recognize some configurations of the passageway from its curves and corners. Following a few, futile attempts however, she stopped. Every inch of the stone passageway felt the same.

  Biting her lip, she tried to calm her nerves. It was her best bet if she hoped to get to the grave of Draven’s mother. She searched feverishly for something sharp enough to cut through the ropes. But only the dark abyss was there to terrify her out of her mind.

  Reversing her direction, she crept along, taking tiny steps, keeping her body close to the cold wall. I need a candle to illuminate the way.

  That’s it! Isabella thought. The day she was trapped in this same corridor, she had dropped her candle branch before Draven rescued her.

  Was it still inside the barriers of the passageway?

  She could only hope. If she managed to locate the object in the dark, it would give her a point of reference as well as provide her with something to cut the ropes.

  She had dropped the branch near the entrance to her bedchamber, but where was she now? With aching arms, she moved in the opposite direction. There were no other passageways, so it shouldn’t be difficult to locate the candle branch. Feeling with the tips of her toes, she waved her foot back and forth in front of her, hoping to touch anything hard in the foreboding blackness.

  Perspiration dripped from her brow while frustration replaced her panic. She retraced her steps over and over, becoming completely disoriented. Being without sight was horribly debilitating, but blindness did heighten one’s other senses. The pungent aroma of mildew swirled heavily in the air. She listened for any sound indicating help was nearby as she searched about for several more minutes. Suddenly, the stillness was interrupted by the high pitch of a voice.

  Gwyneth was calling her name. Where was she?

  Desperate to notify the abigail of her location, Isabella shuffled around with greater speed. Then her foot tapped something heavy and hard. It was the candle branch!

  She lowered herself by sliding her backside down to the ground level. Entirely by feel, she could tell that the large branch, with its ornate iron leaves, rested in a corner of the passageway on its side. Without wasting another minute, she started to rake her wrists back and forth against the leaves. Her pulse quickened as she tried to prevent piercing a vein or an artery. After a few minutes, the sharp ironwork had sliced through the rope.

  She was free, but it was too early to celebrate. She was confined inside this passageway and Gwyneth’s voice was gradually fading. Isabella dragged the rag away that restrained her mouth and started screaming at the top of her lungs. She hollered again and again. With tears pricking her eyes, she groped in the dark for the handle that would trigger her bedchamber wall to open.

 
Shoving her hand into the pocket of her dress, she felt for the bracelet of Amenhotep. Despair seized her when she discovered it was gone.

  Had Draven been able to convince someone to shoot him with a silver bullet? Where was he?

  Several minutes passed and Gwyneth’s voice disappeared completely. Isabella’s fingertips began to bleed from the rough surface of the stone. If no one knew she was in here, what would become of her? And what would become of Draven?

  She groped for the panel’s handle once more. As if the motion were cast down by God himself, she located it and the wall slid away. Isabella slumped into the fresh air of her bedchamber with a thud. Gwyneth hastened into the room.

  “M’lady!”

  Isabella’s throat was parched. “It was my father,” she croaked. “He is not who he says he is.”

  “He put ye in the passageway?”

  She nodded weakly.

  “But I never thought—”

  “Never mind that, Gwyneth. I must get to Draven. He’s in the woods by the pond.”

  “Yes, yer ladyship.” Placing a hand beneath her arm, the abigail helped her stand.

  Isabella’s breath rasped and her head ached.

  The girl frowned. “Do ye want me to go with ye?”

  “No. I must do this alone.”

  In one sweeping motion, Isabella ripped the bottom ruffle from the expensive, silk frock Draven had made for her and threw it aside. She also removed the dress’s paneled jacket for the last thing she needed was cumbersome clothing getting in her way. Faster than she’d ever moved before, she streamed down the grand staircase and out the front door.

  Chapter Forty

  Rushing to saddle a horse and reach the pond before it was too late, Isabella scrambled down the embankment toward the stables.

  Ignoring the frigid wind, she ducked inside the structure. It only took a moment for her to see that Draven’s stallion, Lucifer, was missing. Thankfully, her old friend, Dante, was lounging against a dark corner.

  “Come here, Dante!”