The Wolf Duke

by K. J. Jackson

  Her head went down for breath as she smoothed the satin of her skirts, her heart thundering in her chest. She looked up at him with as much serenity as she could muster. “You speak of my future husband?”

  “You should know you were useful at one point. But sleeping with the enemy will only get you killed in the end.” His once distinguished face, now wrinkled with time, tilted to the side. “Or him killed.”

  “That sounds distinctly like a threat, my lord.”

  “Not a threat. A warning.” His boney fingers slid along the lapel of his coat, creasing the fold line. Only a scant shaft of light fell through the doorway to illuminate his face and his colorless grey eyes. “Have you found the book?”

  She blinked hard.

  Hell. He didn’t know.

  He didn’t know that she’d already found the book and left Wolfbridge with it. If he didn’t know, then who were the men that were following her in Buchlyvie that knew she had the book?

  Something wasn’t quite right and the best she could do was play along. “I have yet to find the book and this”—her hand flitted in the air—“relationship with the duke went much farther than I intended it to. I was forced into it, but within it a unique opportunity has presented itself.”

  “The book is what is important, Lady Sloane. Not your own advancement.”

  “You think this has a thing to do with me actually wanting to marry the duke?”

  “Explain.” Even with the low light, the distrust in his dull grey eyes made her pause. Like he could crush her with one grind of his boot heel.

  Her right hand swung out about her. “This. What better way to ruin the man than from the inside?”

  “How?”

  “The blasted fool fell in love with me.” She lifted her gloved left arm. “And with my scarred arm I’m damaged goods and will never make a proper match. So why not take my pound of flesh directly from the duke? I become a duchess. Gain so much wealth and power none in society would dare look down their nose upon my scars. It gives me plenty of time to find the book. And when the time is right, I can give you the book and the man’s downfall will be complete.”

  The corners of Falsted’s mouth strained so low they almost reached his jawline. “Yet if he’s ruined, your reputation will be as well.”

  “Do you think he would let it go that far?” She shook her head, maintaining the facade even as her tongue curdled over the words. “He’s far too honorable for that. He adores me and he will take care of the matter himself long before he lets his ruin affect me or his niece.”

  “He’ll off himself.” The edges of his mouth curled up, salivating. “Conniving wench.”

  “Yes. And I’ll be left with a sizeable estate and the power of the title.” She smiled sweetly. “But you do not get to call me sour names, Lord Falsted. We may be at the same purpose where the duke is concerned, but that does not give you reign to speak on my person. I don’t like to think of it as conniving. I much rather like to think of it as doling out due comeuppance.”

  His vulture eyes fixed on her for a long moment as his fingers ran up and down along the edge of his lapel. He nodded to himself. “You may just be far more valuable than I had given you credit for, Lady Sloane. Perhaps there’s someone you should meet.”

  Her head tilted to the side as she pinned him with her stare. “Why?”

  “He would be very interested in your plan and in your ability to sway the Wolfbridge investments. He’s someone you would do well to ally yourself with.” Falsted inclined his head, either threatening or confiding, she wasn’t sure.

  “Do not make presumptions about who I wish to ally myself with, Falsted.” She forced another smile. “That said, is the man here at Wolfbridge?”

  “Not yet. He’ll arrive tomorrow.”

  She dipped her head toward him and started to move out of the room. “I assume you will find an opportunity to make introductions?”

  “You may depend upon it.”

  Just as she stepped into the hallway, movement in the shadows of a doorway five paces away caught her eye. She started toward the movement, but then Falsted cleared his throat behind her.

  “There is one more thing, my lady. So you are aware, the duke just made a deal with me tonight to purchase the remainder of the Swallowford lands that abut your grandfather’s estate.”

  She spun back to Falsted. “He did what?”

  “The duke is purchasing the lands. He requested they be cleared as the others were, so you would do well to advise your brother to encourage any remaining residents to vacate the lands.”

  She reeled backward, stunned, his words slicing her open from head to toe. Her shoulder blades banged into the opposite wall of the corridor.

  Out.

  She had to get away from the man before she crumpled.

  With a gasp for a raw breath and a slight shake of her head, she veered toward the staircase, her entire body shaking.

  Her legs moving on their own, she flew down the stairs, her feet slipping on the smooth edges of the steps. Only by luck did she make it down without falling and breaking her neck.

  Blindly, she moved through the corridors, keeping a hand on the walls to stay upright, fighting the pain in her gut, vicious as it twisted deep into her body.

  Reiner wouldn’t have.

  Wouldn’t dare.

  Couldn’t have.

  Could he?

  ~~~

  “Here you are.” Reiner walked past the tall hedge in the shadow of the night and the neatly trimmed evergreens brushed his shoulder and spilled a woodsy scent into the air. “Everyone has retired and you weren’t in your room.”

  Sloane jerked, her body twisting in the moonlight toward him, her eyes wide.

  Reiner walked around the bench Sloane sat on deep within the cove of perfectly manicured shrubbery. She’d been facing the fat moon sitting just above the tips of the evergreens, so big it filled the lower half of the sky. He’d been searching for her for the last half hour since he’d passed by her room and discovered she wasn’t there.

  She stayed seated and he stopped in front of her, looking down at her eyes, at her face, now in the dark of his shadow. There hadn’t been even a hint of smile when she had seen him. Not the slightest curve along the edges of her mouth. Just the straight lines of her lips, almost as though she was wrestling them into submission.

  It was the first time he hadn’t seen a smile on her face when he approached since they were married in Scotland.

  Something was amiss.

  His mind raced. Had he told her he’d meet her and not shown? Slighted her at dinner somehow? Promised something else entirely that he’d long since forgotten about?

  “You’re unhappy.”

  She blinked, her lips pursing. “I’m not.”

  “You are if that decidedly cruel frown you’re attempting to hide is any indication.” His hands clasped behind his back. “What is it? Does it have to do with your brother? If so, I apologize for threatening him, but I cannot have the man thinking he can come into my home and pluck you out of it.”

  She shook her head and tightened the shawl about her shoulders. “No—no—that I understood. My brother does not possess tact or he wouldn’t have charged in with swords at the ready. When he gets angry he is not always the best at controlling it.”

  Reiner offered a pinched smile. “I saw that.”

  “You were right to not try to placate him—ferocity calls for ferocity in an instance like that with him. It is the only thing he’ll respond to.”

  Reiner nodded. “So if it isn’t your brother, what is it? Tomorrow? The rest of the guests should be arriving before the wedding in the morning.”

  Her look shifted off of him and she stared at the moon over his shoulder.

  “Are you nervous about the ball? You shouldn’t be. You’ve done splendidly as hostess thus far. You’ve even managed to charm the crotchety old hens that love the gossip.”

  “No, I’m not nervous—this was what I was raised t
o do.” Her look whipped back to him, her stare intent on his face. “But yes, actually, who is it that will be arriving tomorrow morning?”

  “Several more peers and their wives.” Reiner shrugged. “A few men that arrange investments. One or two merchants.”

  “Tradesmen—they are welcome?”

  “We’re not in a London ballroom, so yes—one cannot imagine the amount of schemes and partnerships that are put in place during these house parties. People that wouldn’t dare to even glance at each other on a Mayfair street are inseparable connivers at Wolfbridge. It is most difficult to keep all these ancestral titles and estates afloat without new funds and investments making their way into the coffers. And this is a place to do that.”

  Sloane nodded, a decided frown landing upon her face.

  He reached down and grabbed her hands, tugging her to her feet. “So tell me what has put that sour look upon your face.”

  She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

  “I will keep you out here all night if I have to.” He set his hands along her shoulders, his fingertips curling into her soft shawl. “And it will get chilly. These last few days have been unusually warm, but summer is gone. So tell me before your absence in the castle is noted by one of the gossipmongers and we have to marry under a cloud of scandal tomorrow.”

  Her look slowly made its way back to his face, her eyes slits, pinpricks focused solely on seeing into his soul. “Lord Falsted caught me in a room alone an hour ago.”

  His head snapped back. “Falsted? But I had Claude and Lawrence tailing him. He wasn’t supposed to get within ten paces of you.”

  “Yes, well, he managed to slip away from them—if I recall, it’s not such a difficult task.”

  Reiner shook his head, muttering under his breath. Imbeciles. The both of them. His gaze focused on Sloane. “He didn’t touch you, did he? For if he—”

  “No—no—he didn’t do me any bodily harm.”

  Reiner’s head angled to the side as he stared at her. “But he harmed your mind?”

  She twisted her shoulders out of his grip and took a step to the side, backing three steps away from him. “He told me you agreed to purchase more Swallowford lands.”

  His breath caught in his throat.

  What in the blasted hell had Falsted told her?

  He stared at her. At her wide blue eyes glowing in the moonlight, begging him for an explanation.

  To her core, she trusted him or she wouldn’t even be asking the question—or at least she wanted to trust him.

  Trust he better not squander with lies.

  Reiner straightened, his chin dipping downward as his look went hard. “I did.”

  She took a deep breath, her jaw shifting back and forth. “And that you demanded the new lands be cleared of the tenants as well.”

  Dammit. Another test of loyalty. One he better not fail.

  She seethed in a wicked breath, her arms wrapping about her ribcage. “So tell me, Reiner, tell me you didn’t just do that. Tell me Falsted was lying. Lying to make sure I hate you. To make sure I hate you just as much as I did when I came here in the first.”

  His stance widening, he braced himself. “I did do it.”

  “What are you thinking?” She rushed him with a yell, her hands flying at his chest.

  He caught her wrists in midair, stopping her in place before her body rammed into his. “Quiet your voice, Sloane.” His words dipped to a whispered roar. “Falsted suggested the stipulation. I didn’t want him to think I cared one way or the other. I don’t need any more of the man’s suspicion. I would never sign the actual agreement to do so. I just need him believing all is the same as always—I don’t question him and he feeds off of that. It is just until he introduces me to the last man in the smuggling scheme. That’s the target. That’s the puppeteer that has caused countless lives.”

  “And what about the lives Falsted has taken? My brother’s life? You say you won’t sign a thing. But what will you do? How do I ken? How do I ken you haven’t already signed the agreement?” She twisted, savage, trying to free her wrists. “How do I ken anything at all about you? I walked into a web of lies and I appear to still be caught in them.”

  He shook her wrists, tried to shake the suspicion free from her body. “You know the man you married—I married you in that baker’s shop when we were covered in mud. That is the man you married—not this. Not this spectacle of people and parties and deals and schemes.”

  He yanked her toward him, their bodies colliding, his hot breath mingling with hers. “I am the man that taught you to dance the waltz. The man that held you against the terrors of your arm. The man that walked across a bog for you. The man that waits every morning to open his eyes and find your perfect, smiling face. The man that lives to hear your laugh. The man that took your naked body and made it mine—mine for all time. And if you dare to think I would betray all of that to be cruel to a few farmers on some measly strips of land, then maybe I had better be worried about your web of lies, Sloane.”

  Her body stiffened as her lip snarled. “I have told you everything—everything.”

  “Just as I have to you. The only difference being I have trusted you. Yet you—you still cannot trust me. Still.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Fair?” His left hand dropped from her wrist, his hand going under her arm to the side of her ribcage as he dragged his thumb over her nipple. The nubbin hardened instantly under his touch. “I know this curve on your body, Sloane.” His other hand released her wrist and he set his palm along the crook of her neck. “And this one.”

  His left hand moved off her breast and dipped along the curve of her waist and hip. “And this one. I know your body. And I know your mind. I know how your brain is already working, trying to figure out who is what. Suspicion on everyone, including me. But don’t let the voices in your head take over what is in here.” His right hand slid from her neck to cover her heart as his looked sliced into her, his voice a growl. “Don’t let them take over what you know in your soul.”

  She held his stare for breath after breath. Not moving. Not blinking.

  In one motion, her eyes closed and she inhaled, her chest rising under his palm. Her eyelids parted, the dark lashes fluttering, unable to decide on opening or closing. They closed, defeated, her words a whisper. “Don’t destroy me, Reiner. Please. That is all I ask.”

  “Your destruction would be mine, Sloane.” His words ripped from his throat, raw. “So no. I’ll not let that happen.”

  { Chapter 19 }

  For how he parted with Sloane in the gardens, it was a feat of Roman proportions that he managed to walk halfway normal to his chambers. As much as he wanted to drag her deeper into that alcove and dive under her skirts, he also didn’t want to risk the last moments of keeping her reputation somewhat intact.

  He paused as he passed Sloane’s already closed door. He’d given her ten minutes to reach her room before he left the gardens for his own chambers. He wasn’t about to leave her alone outside with Falsted on the prowl.

  His ear tilted toward the door. Her bare feet padded across the wooden planks of the floor. Drawers of a chest opening. Fabric rustling.

  He moved on down the corridor.

  Three steps before reaching his chambers, he heard a soft wail through the door he passed.

  Vicky.

  He knocked once, opening the door before there was an answer.

  Vicky didn’t cry. Ever.

  His heart beating hard in his chest, he searched the dark corners of his niece’s room only to find her sitting up in her tester bed. A little pixie in the enormity of what had been her mother’s bed. The low light from the fireplace reflected off her face, sending sparkles onto the fat tears rolling down her face.

  “Vicky, whatever is amiss?” Instantly at a loss, he glanced over his shoulder toward Sloane’s room. She could handle tears. He was utterly inept at it.

  “No.” The word, strangled with tears but violent, burst fr
om her lips.

  He looked back to his niece. She was shaking—quivering with whatever was happening.

  He approached the bed, his fingertips tapping on the edge of the peach coverlet. “Whatever it is, I’m sure Sloane can help.”

  “No.” Vicky’s head shook, fat curls swinging about her heart-shaped face. “Not Sloane—she cannot help.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is her—it is about her. I thought I could forget—I thought I could sleep, but then I had a dream and it was so awful—so awful.” Her voice petered into half-swallowed sobs.

  With a deep breath Reiner sat on the edge of the bed, his hand awkwardly lifting to pat Vicky’s arm. “Would you like to tell me of it?”

  Her eyes went wide. “No. No, no, no—not if it will harm Sloane.”

  “Why would it hurt Sloane?”

  Vicky shook her head, her hands gripping onto the edge of the coverlet and pushing the folds of fabric under her chin.

  “Vicky, why would your dream harm Sloane?”

  She shook her head again, curls swinging wide.

  Reiner moved up on the bed, leaning in. “Vicky, you need to tell me whatever it is that has put the fear of the devil in you.”

  His niece bit back another sob. “You will not harm her?”

  “Harm her—Vicky—I would never. But you need to tell me this instant what is happening.”

  “You swear it?”

  “I do.”

  It took her four more breaths before she let the coverlet drop from her chin. “I heard her talking with a man and I don’t believe it, but she said it. She said it, Uncle Reiner. I didn’t want it to be true but she said it.”

  “Sloane? What did she say?”

  “She’s not who you think she is.”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t see me in the hallway. She was in a room in the north wing and she was talking with a man—I didn’t see who he was. I only stopped and hid because I heard her voice and I thought to ask her to come to the kitchens with me for a tart. But then she started saying things—awful, awful, awful things.”