by Zoe Chant
Hugh hesitated. “It’s like a farm. Anyway, the land itself is an ally. Shifters can’t even cross the property boundary without permission from the family. In the unlikely event that Gaze does track us down, he won’t be able to get in. But I don’t think he will be able to locate us. It’s not easy to find out who my parents are.”
“I hate to break it to you,” Ivy said, “but there’s this thing called Google.”
Hugh’s mouth quirked. “Which will tell you that Hugh Argent is a deeply private individual with no apparent digital footprint. Mainly because he’s fictional. Argent isn’t my real last name.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“I didn’t want people to be able to easily trace me back to my family. Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?” Hope asked.
Just in case anyone worked out he’s a unicorn, Ivy realized. If Hugh’s secret ever was discovered, it would be open hunting season on his family too.
“Wait,” Ivy said as a thought suddenly struck her. “Are there more, uh, people like you in your family?”
“More people like what?” Hope was sounding increasingly suspicious. “You mean healers?”
“I’m the only medical professional at the moment,” Hugh said, which Ivy interpreted to mean that he was the only unicorn. “But my father was, ah, in the same business. He’s not anymore, of course.”
“Of course,” Ivy echoed.
Naturally, Hugh’s father couldn’t be a unicorn shifter anymore. Hugh was the living proof of that. Though she supposed he could have been a test tube baby. He’d said that solo activities didn’t count.
She flattened her gloved hand over her stomach, catching her breath at a sudden vision of a beautiful baby with unicorn-white hair and wyvern-green eyes…but that was just a fantasy. Even if Hugh could donate his side of the necessary materials, she could never carry his child. Her body was as useful as a vat of cyanide when it came to growing a baby.
And anyway, I’d make a terrible mother, she thought bleakly. It wasn’t like she’d grown up with a good role model, after all.
Hugh slowed the car as they turned into a graveled road lined with ancient oaks. “We’re nearly there,” he said. “And this is probably the point that I should mention something.”
Ivy looked at the trees, which were planted way too evenly to be natural. The rolling fields and scattered copses beyond them were also much too artfully photogenic. The whole landscape looked suspiciously designed.
“Hugh,” she said. “When you said your parents had a farm, I was picturing something a lot muddier.”
Hugh cleared his throat. “I said it was like a farm. Well, actually, it’s quite a few farms. More of an estate, technically. And that’s my parents’ house up ahead now.”
Ivy followed the line of his pointing finger…and her jaw dropped.
A vast building rose in stately splendor amidst intricate formal knot gardens. The flowerbeds were bare and frost-touched at this time of year, but the low hedges were still immaculately pruned into eye-waveringly complex mazes. The setting sun glittered from dozens upon dozens of tall, elegant windows, and gilded the warm yellow stones of the ancient manor house.
If it was a manor house. Quite possibly it was technically a castle. It had honest-to-God turrets.
Speechless, Ivy stared from the towering building to Hugh. He looked moderately embarrassed, as if he’d just been forced to reveal that he had foot fungus.
“My real name is Hugh Montgomery Fitzroy Silver,” he said as they passed under an ornate archway with huge, open iron gates topped with a heraldic crest. “And my father is the fourteenth Earl of Hereford.”
Chapter 15
We should have told her, Hugh’s unicorn murmured reproachfully.
You think I don’t know that? Hugh retorted in annoyance as he helped Ivy carry Hope’s wheelchair up the steep front steps and into the manor house.
He’d been fretting for the past fifty miles about how to break the news. Oh, by the way, when you meet my parents you should technically address them as Lord and Lady Hereford wasn’t exactly an easy thing to drop into casual conversation. Especially not when he’d been trying to avoid thinking about what going back home was going to mean. In the end, his mounting dread had kept him tongue-tied until the absolute last minute.
He watched anxiously as Hope and Ivy stared around the cavernous entrance hall, trying to gauge their expressions. Hope looked frankly shell-shocked. Ivy maintained a better poker face, but she had a death-grip on the handlebars of Hope’s wheelchair, as if she was having to lean on it for support.
“Now that is a Christmas tree,” Hope said faintly, staring up at the twenty-foot gold-decked monstrosity that took pride of place between the two sweeping curves of the double staircase.
“It’s too early,” Ivy muttered. “By Christmas Day, that sucker’s going to be bare twigs and a mountain of needles.”
“Oh, my dear, this one is just for show,” said a familiar voice. “We always replace it with another one for Christmas itself.”
“Mother,” Hugh said warmly, stepping forward to take her outstretched hands.
Her familiar lilac perfume enfolded him as she kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, my son.”
As always, the touch of her long, elegant fingers sent an odd vibration through his own. It wasn’t uncomfortable, precisely; just a disconcerting awareness of deeply-buried but still powerful energies, something like walking over a cold, dormant volcano.
It was probably odd to be disappointed by the fact that one’s own mother was still celibate.
Not that he wanted her to give him a migraine, but he did want her to be happy—whether it was with his father or not. Preferably not, in fact.
But judging by his mother’s touch and aura, she was still living like a nun. With a slight sigh, Hugh released her hands with a parting squeeze.
“Thank you for accommodating us at such short notice,” he said.
“This is your house as much as ours, Hugh. You’re the future fifteenth Earl, after all.” She looked past him at Ivy and Hope. “Won’t you introduce me to your…friends?”
Hugh noticed the slight hesitation, and the small crease that appeared between her eyebrows as she looked Ivy in particular up and down. He’d never brought anyone back to the estate before, let alone an undeniably beautiful young woman. Even though he hadn’t told his mother what Ivy truly meant to him, she was fully capable of reading between the lines.
His unicorn stamped a hoof in irritation. Our dam should not have to infer the truth. We should not be trying to hide our mate. She is our mate! We should proclaim that to the whole world with pride!
Oh, shut up, he snapped back. I’m not ashamed of Ivy. It’s just…private.
It would only worry his mother if he told her that he’d found his mate. She knew all too well what it meant.
Plus, it might lead to a discussion of feelings, and that was just too mortifying to contemplate.
“This is Hope, the girl that I’m treating,” he said. “And this is her sister and caretaker, Ivy.”
Damn. Despite his best efforts, his voice had softened on Ivy’s name. His mother cast him a sharp sideways glance, her eyebrows drawing down still further. Her forehead smoothed out as she turned back to her guests, though, her perfect hostess smile sliding back into place.
“Hugh mentioned that you were, shall we say, in something of a predicament,” his mother said to Ivy and Hope. “You are of course very welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Though,” she added, her gaze flicking down over Hope’s wheelchair, “I am afraid that this house is not the most accessible of buildings. I do hope you will not be too inconvenienced. Is there anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable, Hope?”
Hope stared up at his mother in tongue-tied awe. She looked as though the Queen herself had inquired after her well-being. Her wide eyes flicked to him, silently begging for rescue.
“I’m sure we’ll be f
ine,” Ivy said, before he could say anything. Hugh’s heart swelled with pride at the way she lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by either his aristocratic mother or the grandeur all around. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, uh…your…”
“Technically it’s Lady Hereford.” His mother waved a hand, brushing the title away like a fly. “But simply Margaret is fine.”
“We’ll stick with Lady Hereford, thanks,” Ivy said firmly. She hesitated. “Uh, just for future reference, what are we supposed to call your husband? The, um, Earl?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” Hugh said. “But if you do happen to cross paths, feel free to use any obscenity that happens to spring to mind.”
“Hugh,” his mother said, a shade reproachfully.
“Sorry.” Not sorry. “I take it he’s at home, then.”
“I’m afraid so. I didn’t know you’d be coming, or I would have encouraged…alternative arrangements.” She waved a hand round at the lavish swags of holly and glittering baubles adorning every pillar and beam of the entrance hall. “But as you can see, he’s needed here at the main house this week.”
“I did think the decorations were a bit much, even for us,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the appalling tree. “I take it the Christmas Ball is imminent?”
Hope’s eyes widened even further. “Shut up. An actual ball? For real?”
“For charity, in fact,” his mother said, smiling. “My husband and I hold it every year, and it’s always one of our most successful fundraisers. Even in this day and age, there are still people will pay quite handsomely for the chance to meet an Earl.”
“More fool them,” Hugh muttered.
“As you may have realized, my son has a very low opinion of his elevated position,” his mother said to Ivy and Hope, rather dryly. “In any event, you would both be very welcome to attend the festivities, of course.”
Hope looked like all her Christmases had come at once, but Ivy’s expression betrayed her dismay.
“Didn’t Hugh tell you about me?” she said. “I can’t be around crowds.”
“I understand that you share my son’s need for personal space, albeit for slightly different reasons,” his mother said delicately. She cast a significant glance at the discretely unobtrusive butler busy ferrying cases and cat carriers in from the car behind them. “I have informed the staff of your special requirements. You may rest assured that everyone here will respect your privacy.”
The butler had disappeared outside again, but Hugh lowered his voice anyway. “They don’t know about us. No shifters on the estate. And don’t worry about the ball. I’m not going either.”
His mother pursed her lips, looking slightly pained. “You know I would never ask you to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation, Hugh. But it would mean a great deal to your father if you would at least put in a token appearance.”
He cocked an ironic eyebrow at her. “You do realize that’s an excellent reason not to, as far as I’m concerned?”
“Hugh, I’m pretty sure we need to talk,” Ivy muttered under her breath.
“I too am beginning to feel that there is much my son has neglected to tell you,” his mother said, shooting him a somewhat sardonic glance. “Hope, dear, let’s go and get you settled into your rooms. Hugh, I think perhaps the Chinese Bedroom would suit Ivy.”
The Chinese Bedroom was, he noted with dark amusement, the furthest it was possible to be from his own suite without actually being in the stables. His mother had picked up on the vibe between the two of them.
He drew his mother aside under the pretext of sorting out the suitcases. “You don’t have to guard my virtue,” he murmured into her ear. “I do have some willpower, you know.”
Her gaze flicked to Ivy. “Does she?”
“More than you can possibly imagine.” He touched his mother’s stiff shoulder, wishing with all his heart that his powers could soothe her anguish. “You don’t have to fret, Mother. I’m not going to turn into my father.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Her expression was as controlled as ever, but her blue eyes betrayed her hidden sadness. “I’m worried that she might turn into me.”
Chapter 16
The bed had damask hangings.
At least, that’s what Ivy suspected the richly-embroidered gold curtain-thingies were. The only place she had previously encountered carved four-poster beds was in fairy tales, where they had inevitably been described as having ‘damask hangings.’ She had a sudden mad urge to search for a pea underneath the two-foot-thick mattress.
Hugh put her battered suitcase down on the oriental rug, where it immediately lowered the tone of the entire room. Closing the door, he leaned against it as though barricading out the whole world.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For all this?” Ivy gestured round at the preposterous surroundings. Excluding her suitcase, she was fairly certain she was the youngest thing in the room by several centuries. “You know, I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’re a unicorn. Of course you come from a castle.”
He let out a long sigh, raking a hand back through his hair. “I still should have warned you. I was just terrified that if I told you the truth about my family, you’d refuse to come.”
“Well, I probably would have done,” she had to admit. “Hugh, your mother is much more gracious about the whole thing than I could have hoped. But I can’t possibly stay here.”
“Why not?” He took a step forward, a hopeful, entreating light in his eyes. “It’s private. Secluded. The estate boundaries are secure, and we carefully vet everyone allowed into our territory. There aren’t any shifters apart from ourselves. You’d be free to be yourself, without having to worry about endangering anyone.”
She knew that what he said made sense. A dangerous freak like her should be locked away in a remote castle, where she couldn’t hurt anyone. But to narrow her world down to one house, and a bare handful of people…something deep in her soul recoiled in horror from the thought. A cage was still a cage, no matter how beautiful the bars were.
Hugh would be here, she tried to reason with herself. It wouldn’t be so bad.
And maybe it wouldn’t be…if they could touch.
“What about you?” she asked. “Could you be happy here? I got the impression you don’t come home very often.”
His shoulders tensed a little. He went to the window, brushing back the brocade curtains in order to stare out into the dusk. On this side of the house, the trees crept close to the walls, their tangled branches black and bare. There were no signs of other human habitation, or artificial lights. They might have been the only two people in the world, surrounded by forest older than time.
“I ran away from all this,” he said quietly. “I told myself that I was going out into the world to use my talents, that it was my duty…but in some ways, I was just running away from my other duties. Maybe it’s time for me to work out a way to balance them both.”
He turned back to her, a forced smile stretching his face. “My mother’s renowned for her charity work. I’m sure she could find a role for me in one of her projects which would give me an excuse to visit the local hospitals. I could still go out and heal people. I’d just be working undercover. On my own.”
She thought of the tight camaraderie of Alpha Team—before she’d ruined it all—and her heart broke for him. But he was standing so straight and tall, so determinedly putting a brave face on things, that she couldn’t bring herself to argue with him.
He was willing to sacrifice everything for her. How could she tell him that she didn’t want him to?
“Okay,” she forced out, through her tightening throat. She matched his smile, attempting to make a joke of it. “But I honestly have no idea what I’m going to do here. Unless your parents could use another maid.”
“We do have a lot of toilets,” he agreed solemnly. “If you’re truly missing your old job, I’m sure I could find you some bleach.”
She threatened
him with one of the tasseled pillows. He raised his hands in surrender, his smile finally reaching his eyes.
“More seriously,” she said, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “If I am going to stay here, there’s clearly a few secrets you still need to tell me. Like just what’s up between you and your father.”
“Ah.” He dropped down into a richly-upholstered armchair, wincing. “Yes. Though that’s not so much a secret as just dirty laundry. Not something the family airs in public.”
“I’m not public.” She perched on the bed opposite him. “And believe me, your family can’t possibly be more dysfunctional than mine.”
He raised a wry eyebrow at her. “Want to bet?”
“My mom’s in shifter jail for murder,” she said simply.
He stared at her, his mouth half-open.
“Right,” he said, after a beat. “You win. Good Lord. Who did she murder?”
“Hope’s dad.” The words came easily, the plain facts worn smooth by time. She’d long ago abandoned any anger or sadness about this part of their past. “We don’t have the same biological father. Our mom always just shacked up with a guy for a few months and then moved on. She did it for their own good—she could control her venom pretty well, but she was worried about small doses building up over time.”
“I can only imagine that prolonged intimate contact with a wyvern shifter isn’t good for one’s health,” Hugh said. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“Anyway, she didn’t exactly have good taste in men. Mostly they were just deadbeats, but Hope’s dad was different. Dangerous. A viper shifter, and a crime boss, kinda like Gaze. He’d use visitation rights to Hope as an excuse to try to pressure Mom into making him poisons and stuff. Sometimes she’d do it, sometimes she wouldn’t. Then, one day when Hope was ten, our mother said no to him once too often. There was a fight.” Ivy shrugged. “And she killed him.”
“In self-defense, though, one assumes,” Hugh said, looking rather wide-eyed by this tale. “Yet she was still jailed for it?”