Persuaded to Love: A Kendawyn Paranormal Regency

by Amanda A. Allen

  She shook her head, amused for a moment, before she admitted, “I’m from Vancouver British Columbia, in Canada, and from the 1990s.”

  For just a moment, sadness flashed across her face.

  And he felt the fool for asking her a question such as that one. He’d forgotten in the excitement of meeting her that those who came to Kendawyn almost always arrived because their need was great. What tragedy had brought her here as a child? For she wouldn’t have been adopted if she hadn’t been too young to survive without a family.

  A small, imagined version of her seemed to appear in front of him and steal what was left of his heart. “I apologize,” he said, sincerely. “I shouldn’t have asked such prying questions.”

  “I believe I set the precedent for outlandish behavior,” she replied. Her eyes were direct and hid whatever feelings he might have brought to the surface.

  He noticed immediately that she did not say that his blunder was all right. And he liked her even more because of it. There was just something about her. Perhaps Alice had a hidden ability to recognize two souls who belonged together? For a moment ago, he’d become a believer in both soul mates and love at first sight. They were once two of the most foolish notions he’d previously considered.

  “Alice said you knew her from school.” It was a barely disguised plea for her to tell him more. But it was also a safe subject.

  “Alice, Antigone, and I attended the same school for several years and have since visited each other often.”

  And the answer was so very useless and colorless.

  He grinned at her evasion, feeling the hunt rise in his mind, and his wolf became even more alert.

  “Stop it,” she said. Had she caught a flash of gold in his eyes? He bet she had.

  He grinned—wolfishly—at her as the music came to a stop and she almost leapt from his arms. He tucked her hand through his arm and rather than taking her back to her uncle, he found Rhys and Antigone. One look told him that Alice had been right about Rhys as well.

  Perfection. Rhys looked as dumbstruck and shocked as Oliver felt.

  They could hunt together for that little female on Rhys’s arm had the same obstinate look of Oliver’s Venetia.

  * * * * *

  Venetia met Antigone's gaze, saw a mirrored panic, and tried to convey a desire to escape.

  “Shall we walk?" The Duke asked, placing his hand over Antigone's.

  Venetia's brow rose, but Antigone reached out a gloved hand, picked up the Duke's forefinger and lifted his hand off of her, unwound her arm from his, and took Venetia's.

  "Until next time, little cat," the Duke said and Venetia winced for him.

  Antigone had completely ignored the power and title of the man in front of her and treated him like an irritating boy who needed to be set down a peg or two. But propriety would not let them leave without a quick curtsey which they gave and avoided all attempts to persuade them to stay.

  “What was that?” Venetia shivered, knowing a set of piercing blue eyes were fixated on her form. She tried not to react to the weight of that gaze.

  “That was Alice,” Antigone replied with a bit of a growl in her voice.

  “I’m going to kill her,” they said in unison.

  Their eyes met and Antigone started giggling first.

  “Shall we curse her,” Venetia asked before giving into the laughter. They could imagine Alice looking out the window at whatever mansion that Wolfemuir Earl had stashed her in and laughing at them.

  “She’s evil,” Antigone said, straightening her gloves.

  “She’s well-intentioned.” Venetia countered but there was little mercy in her thoughts.

  “That makes it worse,” Antigone turned, and her gaze turned to the Duke, met his, and narrowed upon him

  “This calls for deviousness,” Venetia said, knowing full well that the wolfish hearing did not keep their conversation private. These wolves, however, did not know the level of experience the ladies had with abilities such as theirs.

  Venetia removed her own gloves, took off her pinky ring, dropped it into her reticule, and replaced her gloves.

  “I am," Venetia said, smiling evilly for the wolves could not see her face, "terribly hot. I have been...burning up all day."

  Antigone didn’t smile for that would have clued the Duke in, and the noblemen could see her face. Instead she said, “Shall we meet at the falls at midnight?”

  “Of course,” Venetia replied immediately. “Just what I need, and I do love a good swim.”

  “My swimming clothes were left behind on our last trip to the seaside, I suppose I’ll have to swim in my underthings. Do you think that’s too scandalous?” Antigone’s face was conspiratorial, but only if you knew her.

  The men, however, couldn’t see Venetia’s wicked grin. “It won’t matter. We’re always alone when we swim late.”

  “Oh good,” Antigone said as if relieved, “after I’ll come back with you and we can consider other things.”

  The friends might not have been wolves but they knew when they were being hunted. Neither intended to play fair. The goal was to drive the men away and they had every intention of winning.

  With that thought, Venetia turned and found Charles Donovan and smiled at him. His eyes widened and he crossed the ballroom almost at a gallop. Venetia wanted to wince but instead she kept her smile steady.

  She could almost feel the smirk fade on Lord Stanwullf’s face. She prevented her own smirk from coming out to play as Mr. Donovan gushed, “Miss Malvern, may I have this dance?”

  Each word was said in an awed tone. He was a lummox of a man. Huge, handsome enough, but he moved as if he’d just had a growth spurt and hadn’t gotten a handle yet on his new size. He was also slow of thought. He wasn’t stupid, but his precise, lazy thought process drove Venetia mad.

  “Mr. Donvoan. I would love to. I heard you just came back from the Mortal Realm. Tell me all about your adventures.”

  Like an ill-formed puppy, he had worshiped the ground Venetia had walked on since she’d arrived in Kendawyn and had come to live with her dear Uncle Bradford. Added to that, Mr. Donovan was richer than Croesus and it would be easy for anyone to assume that Venetia intended to take up one of the many offers he’d thrown at her feet and allow him to spoil her for the rest of her life.

  She wouldn’t say she hadn’t considered it. He was so very safe. Which was what she wanted more than anything. It was Alice who had convinced Venetia to make her own safety. And that was why Venetia wouldn’t disown her friend. She’d just torture the poor, sweet, misguided Alice. Just as soon as she rid herself of Lord Stanwullf.

  * * * * *

  “You want to go to Arathe-By-The-Sea,” Hugh said flatly. He was curled around Alice in their great bed, nose buried in her hair, enjoying the movement of her breathing, the smell of her perfume, and the feel of her skin. The last thing he wanted to do was get up, let alone get up, order his bags packed, rent rooms, and attend assemblies. Not after he’d finally gotten her on his own grounds.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” she murmured, nuzzling her face into the crook of his arm, and weaving her fingers through his where they lay over where the baby grew.

  “But the baby,” he said with a little whimper.

  He didn’t want to leave. But…Alice winced as she thought of what she’d done. She had to go to Arathe-By-The-Sea and mend things with Venetia and Antigone.

  “Oh, I don’t imagine we’ll be there until the baby arrives. I’d like to be home for that.”

  He relaxed as she referred to this monstrosity as home before he asked, “But why Arathe-By-The-Sea?”

  “I think that the summer, by the sea, with our friends sounds lovely.”

  Hugh’s brow furrowed as he lifted his head to stare down at his Alice. She wasn’t making any sense. He didn’t mind that so much, but it was difficult to slip into sleep with this unsolved puzzle.

  “We don’t have any friends in Arathe-By-The-Sea,” he said, rubbing his chin into her hair a
nd letting the silkiness of those strands run over his face. There was nothing he enjoyed more than the feel of her in his arms. In all of his time, he didn’t expect ever to stop loving it.

  “Not yet,” Alice said, as her eyes drifted fully closed and her scent changed, letting him know that she’d fallen truly into sleep.

  Not yet. . .

  What the devil was she talking about?

  Chapter Five

  Oliver followed Rhys over the hills of the countryside. The waterfall was near the rising hills or so they’d been told. It was more of a creek that suddenly dropped off into a pool before moseying along again with its journey to the ocean. The footman they’d hired for Edgefield had told them it barely qualified as a waterfall, but it did form a little pond with nice grounds for picnics. It was well past midnight when they arrived.

  “Did we miss them,” Oliver asked, taking a deep breath and recognizing with that one smell that neither of their females had been swimming or near this place anytime in the recent past.

  “We’ve been had,” Rhys said with a grin. “Clever minxes.”

  Oliver laughed. Rather than being angry, he shrugged down to his smallclothes and leapt into the pool. Rhys joined after pacing several times around the pond. He rarely did anything spontaneously—his alpha wolf nature demanded far more caution than even his cousins exerted even though they were all alphas in their own right. Neither were they the types to bare their souls to anyone else, let alone another alpha werewolf, but each knew they’d been set up and whatever feelings they had about it wouldn’t be shared beyond those initial laughs.

  What their prospective loves didn’t realize is that successfully pulling a trick over on them…that wouldn’t stop the hunt, it would make it far more enjoyable.

  But then again, Oliver and Rhys hadn’t realized just how well they’d been had until they got out of the pond.

  “Oh sneaky wench,” Rhys said as he stared at Oliver standing in the moonlight. It was followed by a shout of laughter that echoed across the empty fields. At the sound of it, a distant dog began barking and then another. The barking was picked up by coyotes and then an even further wolf pack until howls surrounded the hills. Moonlight filtered through clouds that were rolling in on the breeze highlighting the scene far better than typical in the countryside in the middle of the night.

  “Can’t take you anywhere,” Oliver said as the dogs howled in response to Rhys. But then, Oliver looked down and found he was covered in leeches. He growled and began yanking them off, leaving behind red y-shaped marks on his skin.

  “I might kill the lass before I make her my own,” Rhys said as he pulled off his own bloody little buggars.

  Oliver didn’t bother to respond. They couldn’t know, either of them, as they were mages that they in being tricksy females, they only heightened the need to win. He hadn’t even been aware he could want her more than he had before this moment.

  They removed the leeches, shifted into wolves, and roamed the countryside until the sun started to appear on the horizon. Then, they made their way back to the estate, had a hearty breakfast and collapsed into the rooms they’d claimed until late morning when they intended to “go calling” and invite themselves into whichever home contained their quarry. They discussed long enough to agree the two would be together. But, if they weren’t…two local matrons would be delighted instead of one.

  * * * * *

  The wolves weren’t wrong.

  Venetia and Antigone raced their horses through the countryside, far faster, farther, and wilder than anyone would have expected from such proper ladies.

  “What do you think? Mr. Donovan?” Venetia asked where they should visit. Neither questioned that the men would not give up, so already they were laying their next trap.

  “He is a chatterbox,” Antigone agreed. “But the best bet, I think is Martha Wells. She’s popular, certain of her beauty, and horrible.”

  “May I direct her at the Baron? He’s more believable I think than the Duke of Wolfemuir. I mean the Duke is used to terrify wild wolflings. He’s a boogeyman.”

  “Alas,” Antigone said. “I fear you are right, but I would much prefer that they throw themselves at the Duke than your Lord."

  Venetia’s eyes narrowed as she said, “Though, of course, a boogeyman of children is the perfect match for you.”

  Her face was stone as she said it and remained so until Antigone reeled around. She knew of course that Venetia was teasing, but that didn’t make the swat of Antigone’s horse whip any less stinging. Especially considering she’d never use it on her horse.

  “You are an evil wench,” Antigone declared as she pulled back her whip and considered swatting Venetia again.

  “You’re a wanted wench. A duke wants you. Count your blessings, my dear. Perhaps also you are a wanton wench,” Venetia said, ignoring that Lord Stanwullf had made it very clear that it was not Antigone he was after.

  Or that there was this secret part of Venetia—buried very, very deep, who appreciated how blue his eyes were, recognized that Alice would never have sent him if she didn’t have faith in the chance at love, and wished that she were capable of that feeling. A wish she viciously squashed.

  “The Duke will track you down like an injured doe, drag you home, and make you…”

  The second slap of Antigone’s whip had Venetia laughing as she exercised her magecraft to let the vines that had been growing on the oak tree they rested under reach down for her friend. Antigone gasped as she was lifted off her horse and dangled precariously over the ground.

  Her eyes narrowed and fixated on Venetia’s face before Antigone faded into a spirit and reappeared on the ground. Her eyes remained narrow as they considered Venetia who immediately lifted her hands in surrender.

  “We can fight after we get rid of them,” Venetia promised.

  Antigone sighed and then said, "Martha Wells.”

  She mounted her horse despite her skirts and led the way to the rambling country house where Martha Wells held court. Neither friend was excited as they approached, but sometimes it was necessary to sacrifice to win.

  * * * * *

  “I’m so delighted you came to call,” Martha said. Her lips turned up in a perfect lie of a smile, making dimples flash in the most charming manner possible. A look that Martha Wells, no doubt, practiced daily in her mirror.

  Venetia and Antigone had joined Martha and her sister, Ana, in an overdone sitting room of pink wallpaper, chairs, and settees. It was rather as if the pink portion of a rainbow had exploded in the room in the form of flounces and roses. Just looking around it made Venetia dislike the color—though she enjoyed it when not in this particular setting.

  “Well,” Antigone said bypassing all the normal chatter, comments on the weather, the looks of Martha. Antigone despised Martha and preferred to escape even if it was abrupt and rude.

  Venetia took a careful sip of her tea, letting Antigone lead.

  “Honestly,” Antigone lied, “we couldn’t wait to tell you the news.”

  Martha was an easy victim due to her utter and complete self-love, so she leaned forward eagerly as the two friends tossed each other a choreographed glance. It was a little too slow and too deliberate to be anything other than purposeful and it was intended to make Martha lean forward and need the ‘news.’ But of course, Martha had seen the Duke and the Baron dance with the two friends the day before. She knew the two of them well enough to know that they wouldn’t be nearly so interested in the noblemen as others might expect. But, she couldn’t be sure that even the two hated women before her would be foolish enough to forego a Duke. Martha could only hope. Martha’s eyes widened further in a silent plea for gossip.

  “Alice Barrett wrote us. You remember her. She visited us so often,” Venetia said and then let Antigone take over. “She’s a countess now. Married to a cousin of the Duke of Wolfemuir and the Lord Stanwullf.”

  “She told us,” Antigone gushed—and though her words were ridiculous, they were s
o exciting and so exactly what Martha wanted to hear that she took it all at face value.

  Venetia kept her face stone to hide her thoughts. She was not nearly so good at lying as Antigone.

  “. . .that the Duke is anxious to marry and have children. And, that after the Earl of Vohlk had married below himself when he married Alice and was so happy, the Duke and the Baron decided on a random location in the countryside to find the perfect country bride. Both the Duke and the Baron are looking to select a bride right here in Plavington.”

  Martha’s eyes were huge, she darted them at her mother and then back to the two friends with solemn, serious faces. Her sister, Ana, however snorted. Only Venetia caught the noise because she was sitting right next to the younger Wells girl. Venetia darted a look at Ana and saw a wicked little smile on her face. Neither Mrs. Wells or Martha, however, noticed. They were too encompassed in hearing exactly what they hoped to hear.

  “I know we haven’t always been close,” Antigone said. She reached out to squeeze Martha’s hand and added, “but I cannot imagine any other girl from Plavington as Lady Stanwullf except you. Honestly, you are so lovely. The rest of us just pale in comparison.”

  Now that was true, Venetia thought. Martha Wells was shockingly, astonishingly lovely.

  “It seems. . .implausible,” Ana, Martha’s younger sister said. Venetia paused thinking that statement seemed to contradict the joy the girl was having in the lie Antigone and Venetia were telling, but then she saw Martha’s face firm. It was as if anything Ana said was, without question, wrong. Both Mrs. Wells and Martha frowned fiercely at Ana and then turned back to Antigone.