With increasing desperation, Ian watched the three-quarter moon rise. He felt strength flowing through him, but this time he didn’t back away from the challenging smile.
Earlier, he’d tried reasoning with the sheriff himself, warning the man that he needed guards at the ball, but the stolid sheriff was as intimidated by the Harbaughs as most people in the district.
The thought of Lil going to their vast estate alone fair chilled Ian’s blood. Deliberately, he lifted his face to the mellow warmth of the beacon outside, letting it counteract his human fear. If Thomas could transform at will, so could he.
Ian concentrated on the sensations that foretold the change. The acute sensitivity, the feel of bone lengthening in his spine, the two rear legs forming. Even more importantly, for the first time, as he felt the prickling transformation begin, he didn’t struggle against it. Instead, he ripped his shirt and pants off and shoved his bed to the tiny grilled window. He stood on the bed to better bathe himself in the basilisk gaze of the moon.
The change came faster then, delighted to be welcomed. And welcome it Ian did, with a peculiar exhilaration he’d never known. This time, the unnatural strength, the hearing and sense of smell offered hope, not despair. Perhaps that made the difference in how much of his human self he retained.
These changes were his only chance to save Lil.
For Ian knew, with the instincts of both man and wolf, that Thomas planned to kill her that night.
And somehow make it look like Ian did it. Griffith blood to Haskell blood, inflamed by the moonlight, Thomas would say. Of course, given the chance, Ian could claim Thomas Harbaugh was related to Ian Griffith by more than a common fate, but who would believe him?
Even as the change began to draw a curtain between Ian’s two realities and two halves of a whole, some portion of caution remained. He knew as a werewolf, he’d have strength enough to break the door down, but if Thomas succeeded in his plan, Ian also knew he might as well hang the noose around his own neck. No one would believe he didn’t kill Lil, especially when he was seen leaving the cell as a werewolf.
But fear for Lil was stronger than the atavistic need to preserve his own safety and freedom. For in truth, if Lil died, Ian Griffith wouldn’t care to live, either. In any form.
The first time he took her he’d thumbed his nose at destiny, employed laborer, and a Griffith too, enjoying the ultimate intimacy with a woman above his station, though certainly not above his touch. The second time, however, destiny made a mockery of such futilities as class warfare, and curses born of hatred.
Next to the pool, he and Lil proved that the only force in the universe strong enough to counteract such age old biases was…….
Ian bit his tongue to staunch the idealistic notion, and only then realized his fangs were almost fully extended. As he licked his own blood, he was relieved to find that the human thoughts, this time, didn’t recede down the dark maw of his sanity. He held onto memories of Lil, and they were talisman enough for the wolf to take the memories of the man into the darkness with him.
But this most recent memory was as painful to the wolf as it had been to the man. He’d confessed his love like the veriest schoolboy and she’d not said a word in response. Besides, even if the last heiress of Haskell Hall so far forgot herself as to fall in love with her lowly estate manager, a cursed man who might kill her to boot, there was the little problem of his malady.
A sardonic, lupine smile stretched Ian’s still changing countenance. He could visualize himself, with a cheery wave at the little woman, telling her, “I’m off on the hunt, darling. Oh, and by the by, do you prefer your deer heart cooked or raw?”
Ian’s chuckle turned into a husky whine. He felt a tail whip against his back, tickling him to a sense of the ridiculous. Though his sense of humor was certainly more than a touch macabre.
As his spine finished its curve and claws formed on all four feet, Ian gladly ceded his mortal frailties for the superhuman strength of the wolf. He bunched his muscles and sprang against the door, knocking it from its hinges as if it were made of tin, not stout English oak.
As he loped upstairs in three giant leaps, both sides of Ian Griffith’s personality empowered him to save the woman he loved. And somehow, before the night was out, he’d also prove that rich whelp might be the most blue-blooded hound in the kennel.
But he was also the most vicious.
Ian bounded into the office, knocking over two guards as he went, but their scents of fear and surprise stirred nothing more in him than indifference. As Ian loped outside, he caught the sheriff’s shocked expression, but he could scarcely pause for explanations. By the time the man fumbled out his pistol, Ian was already halfway up the street.
Freedom had never smelled so sweet. On the breeze that carried the scents of home, another memory lingered in the wolf’s nostrils, the taste of it still seductive in his mouth. Lil’s kiss. A powerful taste and scent strong enough to thwart the wild urge to bound onto the moors and be lost forever to the agonizing uncertainties and weaknesses of mankind.
But he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. Tonight, no more hesitation. No more fear.
His amber eyes gleamed with savage excitement as, with great, soundless padded paws, he followed the path the man still remembered.
Tonight, he was an alpha male. He fought for his mate. And when he saved her from the other, she would be his. Always….
The lights blazing from the palatial mansion should have been welcoming, but Lil and Safira both paused as they stepped down from the carriage and looked at the guests streaming into the ornate portico. Lil had deliberately chosen to arrive ‘fashionably late.’ So her hosts would be extremely fashionably busy. But she wondered now if she’d been wise to come at all.
If Dante himself had busily tacked up a placard above the door that read, ‘abandon hope, all ye who enter here’ Lil could not have been more leery of entering.
The music echoing over the drive had a bacchanalian lilt. And many of the women wore gowns considerably more low cut than Lil’s own. Lil had met enough rakes in her time to recognize men of loose morals and manners, and it appeared that most of the roues in England had been invited to this secluded estate in Cornwall to revel in…..what?
Watching a drunken couple stagger down the side steps, not even reaching the shadows before they passionately embraced, Lil said, “Safira, I’m not quite sure if we’re going to be handed a menu or be on the menu at this feast, but I’m game if you are.”
Safira’s lovely dark throat moved as she swallowed harshly. She kept both hands in her voluminous robe pockets, and Lil wondered how many of her own talismans she hid there. But Safira’s reply was bold enough. “I have some concoctions of my own I can mix, if I’m forced to, Mistress.”
Why am I doing this? Lil asked herself as two quite disreputable looking men eyed her and Safira. But still, her feet crept closer despite the caution being transmitted to them by her practicality. As another couple sat down on a bench in the garden and shared a long, passionate kiss, Lil sighed, wishing, down to her slippers, that she could do the same with Ian. And afterward, stare right back at the moon, thumbing her nose at it, unafraid of its power.
But since she could do neither, she took the only course of action open. Doggedly, Lil climbed the steps, inching along in the crush of people, but looking inward in a discovery as difficult as it was painful.
She’d continued to dress up her feelings for Ian in pretty disguise, and some, not quite so pretty. While it was true that their relationship began in bed, she wasn’t here, potentially risking her life, because she wanted sex. She wanted what other women wanted, whatever their station. Love. Children. Happiness. And she could only find them with Ian because…
….She loved him. With a deep, passionate love all the more transforming because it began in lust. She loved the artist in him, the wanderer in him, the hungry intellect displayed by his love of books and travel. She loved the tenderness in him, the arrogance and the pr
ide. She even loved the wolf in him.
Why couldn’t she admit as much to him, too? Because deep inside, she still feared him. And love gave him another power over her greater than the bond that brought her here tonight. They were at the top now. Lil looked at that brilliantly lit doorway and took a deep breath. It was too late to change her mind now.
It would be too late for Ian, too, if she didn’t somehow find proof that more than one werewolf preyed on the moors.
The two women exchanged a sparkling look that successfully hid their trepidation, and arm in arm entered the Inferno. In the vast foyer tiled with white marble, glittering sconces adding a mordant, merry glow to the festivities, the Harbaugh brothers greeted guests. Thomas wore a navy blue silk jacket above formal pantaloons. Preston wore the more modern white tie and tails, but both were handsome.
And both were quite aware of it.
As Lil and Safira moved closer in the receiving line, Lil cast a quick look around, trying to get her bearings in the huge house. With the rooms so packed, it shouldn’t be difficult to melt into the crowd and do some quite rude, but quite necessary spying. Then it was her turn to shake Thomas’s hand.
Thomas clasped both his large warm hands around her white silk glove. “I’m delighted you could come, but what happened to your male guest?” His teeth gleamed, dazzling as the polished marble beneath their feet, but Lil wasn’t fooled. He had no doubt deduced that she intended to bring Ian as her guest, to crash his upper crust party, as it were.
But Lil made sure her own smile would shame the snootiest Denver debutante. She only hoped it didn’t look as false to him as it felt to her. “Safira has been bored of late, and I knew you and your brother would welcome any guest I chose to bring as warmly as you’ve welcomed me.”
The appalled look Preston had been sending at Safira’s exotic dark good looks and strange dress was quickly shuttered behind politesse. “Quite so, Miss Haskell. Do remember now that you promised me several dances.”
As the brothers were forced to turn to the next guests in line, Lil gave a noncommittal nod and hustled Safira toward the refreshment table. There was food aplenty to feed an army of dilettantes. But strangely, the artful array of canapes, exotic fruits and pastries of every type that had looked so appetizing from a distance only turned Lil’s stomach as soon as she smelled them. By unspoken agreement, the two women sought the ballroom next.
Here, too, the Harbaugh brothers had spared no expense. The parquet floor gleamed, and a string quartet that would have harmonically pleased a London concert hall played dainty airs. More scandalously clad guests waltzed to the music, some much too close for propriety.
Several handsome bachelors veered toward Lil, but she saw them coming in time to make a graceful escape to the ladies receiving room set up behind several partitions. Fanning herself with her hand as if she were hot from dancing, Lil pretended to fuss over her hair before a mirror. If she dawdled the men would give up and seek fresher game.
Safira straightened her turban and walked outside with a conspiratorial look that said, ‘I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.’
A flock of giggling young women, with condescending glances at Lil, put the finishing touches on their own ensembles. One remarked loudly, “If I’d known Thomas and Preston were going to invite upstarts from all over the county, I would not have attended. Some people have no notion of their proper place in the world.” The young lady shared an acidic glance equally between Lil and an ashen faced Miss Farquar, who exited one of the makeshift water closets, her cheeks streaked with tears.
Lil had always despised social climbers. One glance at the young cat, who was dressed with the over ornamentation of the newly wealthy, told Lil that she was on the prowl. And not just any old tom cat would do, so she was digging her claws into the competition. Lil was tempted to hiss that she had this particular alley all to herself, but since the cat had already spent part of her night tormenting Miss Farquar, Lil wasn’t going to let her off that easily.
“And some people have notions for a life they don’t deserve. And too little sense to realize the cost such a life might exact.” Lil offered an equally catty smile in return as the young woman’s back all but arched. They battled with their eyes, and then the cat lit outside as if her tail were on fire.
“Happy hunting,” Lil muttered after her. And then she added, “Tally ho, Thomas,” wishing she could see the look on his face if he caught her glee at siccing the unpleasant young woman on him.
Miss Farquar gave a watery giggle at that look. “She’s quite insufferable, isn’t she?”
“Yes. And she and Thomas deserve one another. Are you feeling quite the thing now or should I look for your Mama?”
Miss Farquar had the grace to look ashamed and both women knew she was recalling her earlier behavior when she and her mother had called on Lil. “Miss Haskell, would you forgive me for my own brand of insufferableness? It’s just that the other heiresses of the Hall were quite snobbish, and we expected you to be the same.”
“That’s quite all right. I suspect I might have been a little snotty myself that day.”
Amiably, the two women exited the receiving room, agreeing that they’d have to meet for tea again. But as Miss Farquar turned to look for her mother with the obvious intention of going home, Lil stopped her. Lil lowered her voice. “Have you lived in the area long?”
“All my life.”
“Have there been any…..rumors about either of the Harbaugh brothers?”
Miss Farquar looked away so quickly that Lil realized she must have heard something. But the girl tried an evasive laugh, and a light, “Nothing more untoward than is spoken of other wild young men of Cornwall.”
“Wild is perhaps the exact word I’m looking for,” Lil pounced on her choice of words. “Is there any possibility that either Preston or Thomas could share Griffith blood, ah, perhaps on the wrong side of the sheets?”
Miss Farquar gave a half-hearted attempt to look shocked at Lil’s boldness, but then she leaned forward and confessed, “Well….there were some rumors whispered when I was in leading strings, but my mother told me that those who carry tales often end up being carried away by them.”
Her expression had a salacious tinge beneath the self-righteousness. With a nod and a cheery wave, as if she’d noticed nothing, Lil wished Miss Farquar a good evening.
But the hints gave Lil motivation to keep looking. And look she did, for the next few hours, deterred by neither suitor nor suitability. With Safira at her side, Lil stayed with the flow of humanity through the downstairs rooms when she could, but she separated from the tide when she couldn’t.
Finally, well after midnight, in the downstairs study, Lil came across the single constant in both poor and wealthy families alike. An enormous black Bible stood on a stand in pride of place, with generations clearly labeled in various hands.
With Safira guarding the door, Lil lit a candle and read the spidery writing.
She repeated the names in a whisper, and was disappointed to see no Griffith name. But what had she expected? The Harbaughs would no more admit their by-blows than the Haskells had. But then, near the end of the entries, Lil saw a familiar name. Lil looked at her companion, recalling that Safira had helped Mrs. McCavity sort the family books in the library, some of which had belonged to the Griffiths.
“Safira, what was the name of Ian’s sister? The one who died many years ago?”
“Lydia, if memory serves me.”
Lil’s finger paused on the same name. “Wasn’t she much older?” Unlike most of the entries, here only the forename was listed.
“Yes, according to the dates of her death and birth.”
Thoughtfully, Lil closed the Bible. Lydia was not such an unusual name, but for her name to appear in a branch that looked as if it had been erased and then inked in by a different hand, both marked next to Thomas’s name, certainly warranted further investigation.
That chance came much sooner than Lil anti
cipated. Or wanted.
A smooth voice came from the doorway. “My dear Miss Haskell, if you’d told me you liked to snoop, I would have been happy to oblige. I see several, ah, areas I might enjoy investigating myself.”
Lil froze in the act of putting the Bible back. The way Thomas quietly closed the door and then locked it was as expressive of his intent as the look in his bottomless black eyes. The music suddenly sounded very far away.
As the Bible plopped back in place, dropped by Lil’s numb hand, she realized she’d seen those eyes before. They’d stared at her with just the same lustful intent. For flesh. And blood. And humiliation.
For such base lusts were all that Thomas Harbaugh knew, now that she saw him stripped of his veneer of civilization. Same look, same eyes, only in a different, longer face. A face even now changing, the snout lengthening….
With a half moan, half sob, Safira stuck both hands in her pockets and began a strange incantation, but Lil suspected it was far too little, far too late.
As Lil fumbled desperately for her derringer, pulling at her reticule strings with fingers numb with fright, vaguely she wished she’d lit more candles. She didn’t need the sudden warmth of the moonstone to realize, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Thomas Harbaugh did indeed have Griffith blood.
Blood that was stirred to kill her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
What did it say of her, Lil wondered on that cool, logical level that so formed the core of her being, that she wasted precious seconds when she could have run, or screamed, or pulled the pistol nudging its stubby, comforting nose into her hand. Instead, she watched.
In fascination. Curiosity so strong that it overwhelmed her natural survival instincts. What she witnessed, after all the speculation and lurid rumor, was not legend. It was fact. How she wished Shelly could be here….
First the spine began bowing, lengthening, and Thomas bent over like a runner at the starting line. When he crouched, the change came more rapidly. His legs, bent at the knee, lengthened and straightened into long, strong canine legs that matched the front legs his arms were forming. Lastly, a tail sprouted from the end of his spine, and his growing snout began to fill with sharp, menacing teeth. The human’s well-shaped ears formed into furry ones already pricked, as if this Thomas, the true animal revealed, heard things–and understood things–no mere human could comprehend.
The Wolf of Haskell Hall Page 22
