World of de Wolfe Pack: Nobody's Angel (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Meara Platt

  The earl strode from behind his desk to greet him as cordially as a father could, considering the circumstances created by his wayward daughter. “Glad you’re here, Brynne.” He turned to Jergens, asked him to summon Lettie, and then turned back to Brynne with a grimace on his face. “Lord Woodburne sent me a note early this morning.”

  “Then you know the situation.”

  He sighed and motioned toward a parchment resting atop his stack of ledgers. “I’m sorry for what your family has decided to do to you. I can accompany you back to your home once we’re done with our business here. I’ll insist they reconsider.”

  He wanted to tell Lord Beresford that Woodburne Manor wasn’t his home and the Woodburnes weren’t really his family, but that would be disrespectful to Suzannah and her father. “It’s for the best. I’ll drop Lettie in Wrexham and make certain she’s properly settled with your aunt before I travel to Southampton.”

  He motioned for Brynne to make himself comfortable in one of the oversized leather chairs beside his desk while they talked. “You’ll take one of my carriages, of course.”

  Brynne settled into the one closest to the desk. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll have it sent back to you as soon as Lettie is settled. I’m bringing Valiant with me and can ride him the rest of the way to Southampton.”

  “As you please, but you’re welcome to the carriage for the entire length of your journey.” He glanced over Brynne’s head. “Ah, Lettie. Have a seat, child.”

  Brynne’s heart skipped a beat as she brushed past him looking unbearably lovely. She wore a dove gray woolen gown and her hair was drawn back in a loose bun that looked about ready to burst from its pins and cascade gloriously down her back.

  She sank into the leather chair beside Brynne’s, primly folded her hands on her lap, and blushed lightly in obvious remorse. “So you’ve decided upon my punishment?”

  “Indeed, I have,” her father said. “Seems Brynne has been punished as well, thanks to you. He won’t be staying for Suzannah’s wedding. That being the situation, he’s agreed to escort you to my Aunt Frances.”

  Lettie’s eyes rounded in surprise. “What? But that’s outrageous! Why would Brynne be punished for something that was entirely my fault?”

  Because I’m an inconvenient nobody to them and they’ll latch onto any excuse to be rid of me.

  He didn’t need to say it aloud. The earl knew why and he saw the moment Lettie realized it as well, for her soft green eyes turned anguished. “I’ll make it up to you, Brynne. I promise.”

  “There’s nothing to be done. Leave it alone, Lettie.”

  But her hands were now curled into fists of determination and he knew he’d have a hard time talking her out of her resolve. “I can’t leave it alone.” She began to nibble her exquisitely formed lips, no doubt plotting how to repair the unexpected damage she’d caused him.

  “Their decision is made. You’ll only make matters worse.”

  “But–”

  “No, Lettie. They’re my family and my problem to deal with.” He gentled his voice, not wishing to hurt her, but her meddling would only lead to more hurt. “You do realize that at this moment, you’re the only person in England they dislike more than me.”

  He worried that he’d aimed that teasing jab too close to her heart, but she seemed to take his words without offense and smiled at him. “Quite an accomplishment on my part, I’d say. Very well, I’ll keep silent. But I still hate the way they treat you. I really do, Brynne.”

  “I know.” No one had a sweeter, kinder heart than Lettie.

  He looked away, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to kiss her soft, full lips. He loved their generous shape, and loved the exotic, cat-like slant of her eyes. Hell, was there anything he didn’t love about the girl?

  She leaned forward and placed her hand on his for the briefest moment to regain his attention. “Perhaps this was meant to be. I’ve just had the most wonderful idea. I know you don’t believe in Jeremiah, but–”

  “Bloody hell,” her father muttered. “Not him again.”

  She ignored her father and concentrated her full attention on Brynne. “Yes, him again. He’s real and I intend to prove it to you. Jeremiah is going to help me find out who you are, Brynne. I know how important it is to you, and after your ill treatment at the hands of those horrid Woodburne relatives, it’s imperative that we find out. We’ll start on the project as soon as we reach Wrexham.”

  Brynne stifled a groan. “No, Lettie. It’s a terrible idea. I’m only staying long enough to drop you off with Lady Frances and rest Valiant. No more than a few hours at most.”

  She gazed at him in stunned silence for a moment, but only for a brief moment. Lettie was never good at restraining her feelings. “You can’t go! Not until after Christmas, at the earliest. I couldn’t bear to think of you alone over the holidays. You must stay. Aunt Frances will insist upon it. She’s getting on in years and not accepting as many social engagements as she used to, so she’ll be eager for your company as well as mine.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath and let it out with shattering sorrow. “Not yet, Brynne. Not that soon. Please. It’s so important... and you’re going to be angry with me again, but I must speak.” She drew another deep breath. “Jeremiah promised me that all will be revealed to you. He showed me wolves in my dreams last night.”

  Although Lettie could be persuasive when she wanted something from him, Brynne wasn’t about to indulge her now. He dismissed her remark and rose to leave. “Of course, you’ve been dreaming of wolves. You’re about to be banished to Wrexham to reside with your grandaunt, Lady Frances Wolverton. Wolves... Wolverton, it isn’t a stretch to connect the two.”

  She gazed upward at him. “The wolves in my dreams looked remarkably like your birthmark.”

  Despite what Lettie said, he wasn’t staying for Christmas with her and Lady Frances, as much as he truly liked the old dowager.

  “Jeremiah was most insistent. He said that this is your moment, your one chance to find out the truth. And if you knew anything about guardian angels, you’d know they rarely insist upon anything. This is a major breakthrough. We must pay attention.”

  He ignored her pleading gaze.

  He didn’t believe in her so-called angel, Jeremiah.

  “Well, Brynne? What do you think?” He hated that she cared so much about him, and hated that she ached to see him happy. It wasn’t going to happen. There was only one thing that would ever make him happy and it was out of his reach.

  “Wolves, Lettie? Seriously?” Glowering, he planted his hands on either side of her chair and leaned in close so that they were almost nose to nose. “Here’s what I think about your so-called guardian angel and his ridiculous ideas.” He paused the length of a heartbeat. “If I ever run into Jeremiah, I’m going to kick his scrawny, celestial ass from here to the Pearly Gates.”

  ****

  Brynne returned to Beresford Hall the following morning to collect Lettie for their journey to Wrexham. The overcast sky, so dark and threatening, reflected his own gloom, for he and Lettie would share a two day ride in the earl’s carriage and then he’d never see her again. Two days alone with Lettie.

  However, they would not be alone at night. Lord Beresford had arranged for them to stop in Preston to stay overnight with his cousin, a vicar by the name of Edward Falconer, a man who was unlike any representative of the church Brynne had ever known.

  Brynne was well acquainted with the vicar, for the man was often at Beresford Hall. A reformed smuggler and womanizer, he always seemed more suited to military service or espionage than to issuing Sunday sermons. Brynne liked him, for unlike most supposedly pious men, he didn’t pass judgement and had immediately accepted him on the basis of his character and not on the circumstances of his birth.

  He and Lettie would stay at the vicar’s residence in Preston tonight and then venture south to Wrexham on the second day if the rain held off.

  Two days.

  That’s all I have
left with you, Lettie.

  Since his belongings had been picked up from Woodburne Manor earlier this morning, they were already packed in the waiting carriage. Lettie’s belongings were far more substantial than his meager possessions since she was to settle in for a month-long visit with Lady Frances and would be expected to attend numerous social affairs. Her gowns alone would fill up several large trunks.

  As Brynne rode up, he noticed Lord Beresford standing outside watching Lettie’s trunks being stowed on board the carriage.

  Brynne dismounted and went to greet him.

  “We’ll miss you,” the earl said and gave him a hearty pound on the back. “Be well, lad. As my nuisance of a daughter often says to you, be happy. That’s what I wish most for you, happiness. Nothing matters more in life.”

  “I’ll do my best, my lord.”

  “I know you will.” He ran a hand roughly across the nape of his neck, as though stuggling for his next words. “Brynne, I wish things had turned out differently. You’re a good man. I’m sorry the Woodburnes are so caught up in their own greed, they refuse to acknowledge your worth. You must know that Suzannah and her father have always cared deeply for you.”

  “I do. I feel the same toward them.” He cast the earl a mirthless smile. “Suzannah will be settled shortly with Summersby–”

  “Despite Lettie’s efforts.”

  Brynne laughed softly. “Her well-intentioned, but misguided efforts. And now Lord Woodburne’s sister and nephews have moved in to secure their golden goose, so to speak.”

  “And you’re off to start a new life. If ever you require a letter of recommendation from me, just ask and I’ll gladly give it.”

  “I appreciate that, Lord Beresford.”

  Their conversation came to a natural end just as the earl’s wife and daughters walked out of the house. The earl stared lovingly at them. “I know you’ll do well for yourself financially. But Brynne, don’t neglect your heart.”

  After more farewells to the earl and his family, he waited for Lettie and her sister, Eugenia, to stop hugging and crying and promising to write to each other every day. Their mother was crying as well, but managed to maintain her poise as any well trained countess would. In truth, Lettie’s mother had all the good qualities one would hope for in a countess, a genuine warmth that made her loved by all, especially her husband who obviously doted on her.

  Brynne had considered taking a wife, but never very seriously. No woman could ever measure up to Lettie, so the possibility of marriage was out of the question until the impertinent, flame-haired beauty was well and truly out of his thoughts. He didn’t think he would ever get her out of his heart.

  But time and distance would heal his wounds.

  He absently rubbed his shoulder to ease the itch on his birthmark. Wolf, indeed! It was nothing more than a red blotch signifying nothing.

  Lettie finally released her sister and allowed Brynne to assist her into the carriage. His palms tingled as he touched her, and continued to tingle as he climbed in after her and settled his large frame opposite her against the leather squabs of the fine carriage.

  The mere touch of her warm, lively body had him reeling, but Lettie hardly noticed, for her face was pasted to the window and she was sniffling as she stared out of the clear glass pane.

  The carriage drove off, separating her from her family for the first time in her life. Fortunately for her, it was to be a mere month-long separation. She’d be reunited with her family at the end of that time.

  But he and Lettie... they would be separated for the rest of their lives.

  The realization caused him more pain than he’d ever experienced, even when fighting the French army before Napoleon’s capture and then again at the little Corsican’s defeat at Waterloo. He’d been stabbed in the thigh with an enemy bayonet and grazed in the arm by a musket ball, but those were nothing to the hurt he was feeling now.

  He studied Lettie, determined to take advantage of their time alone. This first leg of the journey would take about eight hours. Or nine, if they stopped at a reputable inn for refreshments. Then on to Preston where they would stay overnight. Perhaps two nights, if the weather turned bad and they were caught in a violent storm like the one that had struck last week and dumped a mountain of snow across the countryside.

  No, he wanted the journey done and over.

  It would do no good to prolong his torment.

  He leaned forward and tucked the blanket that Lettie’s mother had thoughtfully provided around her legs. “Don’t want you catching cold,” he muttered, lacking no heat, for his blood had caught fire the moment he’d touched her.

  Earl’s daughter.

  No touching allowed.

  “Aren’t you cold? We can share–”

  “No.” He turned away and gazed out of his window, cursing inwardly as he caught her reflection against the glass pane. He couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. Couldn’t get her out of his sight. Couldn’t get her out of that organ within his chest that was practically pounding a hole through it because she was within arm’s reach of him.

  “Brynne Evelyn Roger Twickenham.” She tapped him on the knee to force his gaze back to her. “What do you think of that name?”

  He frowned. “It isn’t mine.”

  She pursed her lips in thought. “I find I must agree. You’re not an Evelyn. You’re not dapper at all. You’re built like a warrior. A very handsome one, of course. I can see you in my mind wielding one of those ridiculously heavy medieval swords, slashing and thrusting it about as though it weighed no more than a London newspaper. The Dark Wolf,” she said in a deep and overly theatrical voice. “A knight loyal to the English king. All who see him quake in fear.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  She laughed merrily. “Very well, not a knight. How about Brynne Elliot Richard Tewkesbury?”

  “Lettie, I’m going to toss you over my lap and spank you if you don’t stop this ridiculous game. I’m not a Bert. Nor will my real name, whatever the hell it may be, ever spell out B-E-R-T.”

  She playfully stuck her tongue out at him, knowing he’d never raise a hand to her. He’d sooner cut off his arm than ever strike her. However, the prospect of his hand on her perfectly formed– he had to stop those wayward thoughts about her and her delightful derriere.

  “Jeremiah talks to me in angel-speak,” she said after they rode in silence for several minutes.

  “In what?”

  “Angel-speak.” She shook her head and sighed. “Angels always talk in riddles. They tell you something that sounds meaningless and you have to figure out what it means. But I’m simply dreadful at interpreting Jeremiah’s words. Eugenia is much better at it than I. Too bad my parents wouldn’t allow her to come with us.”

  “You’ll see her soon.” He knew the sisters had always been close even though they looked nothing alike. Both were beautiful, but Eugenia was taller and had dark curly hair like their mother’s. Lettie reminded him of the runt of a litter, for there was something sweet and vulnerable about her that always roused his protective instincts. She wasn’t small by any means, but neither was she very big. Just soft and perfect.

  Her hair was also perfect, the lustrous strands of red and gold always seeming to catch the sunlight in a different way that never failed to fascinate him.

  Her eyes were incredible as well, a soft, expressive green that sparkled.

  She looked upward so that her gaze was now on the ceiling. “Dark Wolf. And roses?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Are you talking to Jeremiah now?”

  “No, I’m talking to you.” She cast him a gentle, teasing smile that caused his heart to skip beats. This is how it always was when he and Lettie were together, his heart stopping cold or beating so fast it pounded a hole through his chest.

  There was no middle ground.

  He’d been in love with her since they were children and he was too stupid to realize that girls and boys were different. He’d soon found out, of course, for he was
a tall boy with hard muscles and had no lack of offers from women of all ages and all walks of life willing to teach him just how to please them.

  He’d long ago lost his innocence.

  Lettie had never shed hers. She was still so splendidly pure and innocent, it quietly drove him to madness to know that another man would have her, would have the right to run his fingers through her silky hair and kiss his way down her passionately responsive body. He yearned to be the one to rouse her to pleasure and hear her soft, satisfied cries.

  But not for one, meaningless night.

  Lettie deserved better.

  He forced his thoughts back to the conversation. “What did you say about roses? What have they to do with your dark wolves?”

  She pursed her lips as she pondered the answer. “In truth, I’m not sure.”

  He remembered the exact day he’d fallen in love with Lettie. It was the day Suzannah’s older cousin Mortimer and some of the nastier village boys had surrounded him and begun to pummel him with their fists. He was eight years old at the time and Lettie was all of five. She and her father happened to be passing by in their carriage while those boys were kicking and punching him to the ground, their intention to push his face into the filthy mud where they believed he belonged.

  Her father had jumped out to save him, and so had Lettie, kicking and biting those boys with a vengeance. They knew better than to harm a hair on the head of the earl’s precious daughter if they valued their lives. Even so, Lettie commended herself well. She did not back down from the fight.

  Lettie’s lips were still adorably puckered as she continued to ponder his question. “There are red and white roses strewn across a vast field. They aren’t live rosebushes, but flowers already cut and dying. I’m not sure what they signify.”

  The answer seemed obvious to him, for he knew his English history. “War of the Roses? Red rose and white rose, representing the warring factions?”