She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to remember what she had considered so important that they discuss. “How much have you had to drink?” she murmured.
“Entirely too much. I suspect I shall have plenty for which to apologize before long.”
Lucy felt a warm glow spread from her neck where Miles kissed and gently nipped throughout her entire body to her extremities. Twining her arms around his neck, she burrowed her hand in the softness of his hair as he drew his mouth along her jaw and finally captured her lips.
It was every bit as intoxicating as she’d imagined, and she moaned softly as he carried her along a maelstrom of sensation and emotion that robbed her of breath and rational thought.
He grasped her tightly, and she winced in pain. He immediately pulled back, his eyes glazed and dilated. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Lucy, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, truly,” she managed, trying to slow her breathing and stop the assault on her aching ribs. “I just need to catch my breath.”
He touched his forehead to hers, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as he cupped her face in his hand. “I shouldn’t drink. Were I a man of honor, I would leave you alone for someone more appropriate.”
“Well, then, I certainly hope you are not a man of honor.” She smiled.
His laugh rumbled deep in his chest, and she felt it. “I don’t envy Daniel the task it must have been to keep you safe.”
“Psh. I was obedient to a fault, and very demure.”
He lifted his head. “Let’s find some dinner. And I do believe I need a cup of coffee. Or three.”
In the kitchen, Miles watched Lucy nibble the bread and cheese on her plate and wondered if he were dreaming or merely feeling the buzz that accompanied too many glasses of whiskey. She was here, with him, had seen him shift, and still she offered him compassion without pity. She had touched his face, had kissed him with an ardor that matched his own and left him feeling an odd mix of bewilderment and arousal.
“Why?” he asked her, genuinely baffled. “Why are you here with me?”
She wrapped her arm around her waist as she straightened in her seat. Studying him over the rim of her cup, she took a sip of tea, then replaced it on the saucer and smiled. “I like you. You are handsome and intelligent, and actually quite funny.”
He cocked a brow. “When have I ever been funny?”
She wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin and chuckled. “All the time.”
Miles shook his head and took a swig of his coffee. “You’re the first to ever say it.” He stretched and sat back in his chair. Shifting always left him fatigued.
“Now then,” Lucy said, brushing crumbs from her lap. “What sort of condition do you find your heart in these days?”
He paused. “Why do you ask?”
“I know that the larger the animal, the harder the process is on the human heart. Many shifters require heartclock transplants that doctors are unable or unwilling to perform for fear of legal prosecution.”
“Did your mother never tell you it is unladylike to possess an overabundance of knowledge?”
“Thankfully, we live in a modern age and not a century ago.” Lucy eyed him flatly. “Besides, I daresay you have no patience for women who cannot think.”
“That’s true enough. I just would find it infinitely more convenient right now if were you not so . . . well informed.”
She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “Oddly enough, it seems that I am more well-informed on the subject at hand than are you.”
He held up a hand. “Touché. And I have had a transplant already. Two years ago.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “On the battlefield?”
“Yes. Well, no. We were in India, but the procedure was not necessitated as a result of combat.”
Lucy nodded slowly. “Sam. Of course he would do it for you.”
“The official documents state that the transplant was required because of a wound sustained in battle.” The memories were hazy and heavy. Anesthetic had been scarce, not to mention any kind of pain reliever after the fact. It had still been a better option, though, than coming home and risking discovery while trying to find a surgeon willing to do the transplant and not ask questions about why it was necessary.
“And how is the device now?”
He hesitated. Sharing information with anyone was such a foreign concept that he found himself fighting long-ingrained habits. He had a hard enough time confiding in his friends. “It is failing.”
There was a certain amount of satisfaction in rendering the woman speechless. He smiled in spite of himself.
“Failing?” She stared at him for some time before repeating herself. “Failing? What is Sam doing for you, then? I hope he is planning to replace it soon.”
“He is working on a prototype that will supposedly work indefinitely without even a hitch. But it isn’t a guarantee of success, and there are . . . risks.”
“Risks. What kind of risks?”
“You cannot fix everything, Lucy Pickett.”
“Knowledge is power. What kind of risks?”
He smiled and leaned forward, clasping her fingers across the narrow table. “The mild sort that suggest a positive outcome is likely.”
With a sigh, she rose, still holding his hand, and circled the table. She stood at his side and combed her fingers through his hair, gently pushing it away from his face before placing a light kiss on his forehead.
He linked an arm about her waist, his lips quirked. “Your brother is going to have my head.”
“My brother quite likes you. He’ll be most happy.”
He chuckled. “You are naïve.”
“Not entirely.” She tilted her head. “There have been enough instances with former suitors to bring out his protective nature, I’ve seen it.”
Miles lifted a brow. “What sort of instances?”
She smiled. “Nothing of consequence.”
He shook his head. “I can only imagine your social calendar once you made your debut. And the number of men Daniel had to beat back with a stick.”
“I’ve seen your sister. You must have done some protecting of your own.”
He smiled. “A fair amount. She couldn’t find a man to match her personality, or more to the point, a man who wasn’t afraid of her, but I think she might have eventually. She met Daniel on a few occasions, you know. Mentioned in passing she found him most attractive.”
Lucy smiled widely. “Of course she did. And what a handsome pair they would have made.”
He paused and placed his knuckles lightly against Lucy’s cheek. “I believe this is the first time in months I’ve smiled when speaking of her. Perhaps it won’t hurt forever.”
Lucy’s eyes dropped to his lips, and he waited, wondering if she would take the initiative and kiss him first. She was tentative, hesitant, but she leaned into him and touched her lips to his mouth. She was sweet and soft, and everything he’d been convinced he would never have. He almost didn’t dare believe it still.
“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her mouth and gently nudged her away from him. “In more ways than one. I am not willing to subject you to a lifetime of the potential dangers of living with a predatory shifter.”
He found himself smugly satisfied that her eyes were glazed from the kiss, and she blinked, trying to focus on what he was saying.
She shook her head. “We’ve already discussed that. I’m not in any danger. In fact, you saved my life while in shifted form. We’ll be fine. We can go for long walks together.” She smirked. “I’ll buy a leash.”
He was laughing, long and hard, when Mrs. Romany entered the kitchen carrying a basket of cleaning supplies. She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. He realized the poor woman had probably never seen him even smile.
He reached up and twea
ked Lucy’s nose. “Awfully sure of yourself, Miss Pickett.” He was still laughing when a light noise—just a hint, really—penetrated the happiness that enveloped the room.
He grew very still, his hands tightening on her waist. “Shh,” he whispered.
The crack of a twig. An animal, perhaps? It came from the back door—the one that led to the thicket and the ravine where Lucy had taken her tumble. Ever so slowly, he eased out of the chair and padded swiftly to the door across the room. Lucy’s eyes were huge, her fists clenched, and Mrs. Romany was still as stone. For the first time in his life, he wished that he were in wolf form.
The night outside was black, punctuated with swirls of white snow that blew into the glass before settling against the panes and onto the ground below. A low growl involuntarily escaped his throat, and thrusting his feet into the boots by the door, he turned the knob with a glance over his shoulder at Lucy, her face pale.
He put a finger to his lips, and she and Mrs. Romany both nodded at him in response. He slowly opened the door.
A cold gust of wind and snow tore into the kitchen, nearly ripping the door from the hinges. As he squinted into the dark of the night outside, he smelled something—something entirely familiar, something he knew he would have identified as a wolf but which remained frustratingly elusive to him as a human. And then the scent was gone.
As he pulled the door closed, an object bumped against it, and he looked down to see a small, metal box. If it contained the message he suspected it did, it meant his stalker was changing the routine. Picking up the box, he glanced around outside one more time. Whoever had left it had done a fairly thorough job of masking his tracks.
One notion in particular gave him cause for concern as he closed the kitchen door firmly behind him. As he locked it and closed the shutters over the windows, he had to wonder what would have the wherewithal to brave such a storm.
Miles had immediately retired to his chambers. He had placed a kiss on Lucy’s forehead and left the kitchen with the box under his arm, telling Mrs. Romany to take care of her.
Feeling more than a little concerned about whatever was in that box, Lucy tried to relax in her room while Mrs. Romany kept her company, knitting in a chair by the fire.
Lucy hadn’t pressed the issue of the box, had figured Miles would tell her what was happening in his own time. Which would be fine if she could maintain a good hold on her patience.
Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. As she studied the connecting door between their rooms, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t going to get any rest while stewing over what was in that infernal box.
“I’m checking on him,” she told Mrs. Romany, who looked up from her knitting with a frown.
“You need to rest.”
“I’ll come back straightaway. And I’ll leave the door open.” Lucy felt ridiculously young, much like she had at school when she’d been chastened by an instructor.
Mrs. Romany nodded at her and turned her attention back to her knitting. Biting back a smile, Lucy gave a perfunctory knock on the door and cracked it open to see Miles sprawled on the sofa in front of his hearth.
She made her way across the floor and was nearly to the couch when Miles said, “Why are you out of bed?”
She sat down carefully beside him, hiding a wince. “What’s in the box, Miles?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the orange flames in the fireplace. “A note of affection.”
“Is that all?”
“No.”
She waited, but when he didn’t elaborate further, she frowned. Rather than speak, however, she rested her arm on the back of the couch and placed her hand on his head, lightly running her fingers through his hair.
“Why are you here, Lucy Pickett?” He stared into the fire, his expression blank.
“I thought we’d already established that.”
“It can lead to absolutely no good for you. Somebody wants to destroy me, and I will not have you caught in the cross fire.” The alcohol had clearly worn off. His guard and sense of duty had slammed back into place.
“I don’t believe that is your decision to make.”
He glanced at her. “You think I cannot make you leave?”
“I think you can try. You can pretend that there is no affection between us, that we have not become friends. You can pretend that you are not attracted to me.” She blushed in spite of her resolve to be sophisticated and urbane. “But we both know that all of those things are lies.”
He turned his body to face her. Placing his lips to her palm, he lay the lightest of kisses upon it and closed his eyes. When he finally looked at her, his face was bleak. “There is no future with me. If I am not destroyed by my enemies, I will be hunted down by the Committee. And if that doesn’t take me, my failing heart will.”
“I never met a problem I couldn’t fix.” She smiled at him, despite the burning in her eyes, the tears that threatened to fall. “And never have I faced one with higher stakes. You need me. And I need you.”
He shook his head. “You do most certainly do not need me.”
The tears fell, first one and then another. “You treat me as an equal,” she whispered. “You do not doubt my intellect or mock my interests. You do not placate me with platitudes or suggest that my studies would be better suited to a man’s abilities. I tell you I am searching for a cure to counteract the Vampiric Assimilation Aid and you believe me. Your only concern is for my safety, and as frustrated as it has made me, I also appreciate it. There are men within my own circle at the Society who scoff behind my back, despite my accomplishments.” She smiled, although it felt shaky, and wiped at a tear with her fingertip. “So, yes, my lord, I do need you. You are a most singular man, one I daresay is most suited to me. I sincerely doubt I would find your equal, even should I search far and wide.”
Miles pulled a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and gently wiped her cheeks. “Well, then,” he finally murmured. “I suppose I must devise a plan.”
“You may begin by telling me exactly what you are facing.”
He sighed, just a small sound that carried a wealth of meaning behind it. “You’ve seen one of the notes before, I take it. From someone who, apparently, ‘knows my secret.’ I take great care to be alone when I shift, but someone is clearly aware of it.”
“What else was in the box?”
His voice was low, reluctant. “Last month when I shifted, I waited too long to undress. My shirt was ripped to shreds, and as I was trying to remove it during the process, I sliced my arm open. I bled all over the shirt, of course, and when I returned at dawn to shift back, only my trousers were there. Someone had made off with the shirt.”
“And returned it tonight, with another note?” Lucy pursed her lips in thought.
He shook his head. “Only a part of it was returned. A scrap with blood on it.”
“This has been going on for how long?”
“This makes the eleventh note. They were arriving monthly until last week at the manor, and now this one.”
“And how are they usually delivered?”
“Plain envelope, nothing on it but my name. Usually delivered here to the lodge, but I did receive one at the London town house. And the most recent before tonight went directly to the manor.”
“Might we assume your stalker is preparing to act, then? Perhaps the next note will be one of extortion. Money, other assets.”
Miles moved to the fireplace, piling two more logs and fanning the flames until the wood crackled in the quiet night. “There was more written on the note tonight,” he finally said as he straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets. Leaning one shoulder against the tall mantelpiece, dressed in trousers and a white shirt open at the throat, he was breathtakingly handsome, and she felt her heart trip, wondering how on earth no woman had snatched him u
p already.
“What did it say?” she managed to ask as she took in the sight of him. Tall. Strong. Hers.
“It told me to pass the earldom on to my brother.”
Lucy blinked. “Who would benefit from Jonathan being the earl? Besides Jonathan?”
Miles arched a brow. “You believe my brother is behind this?”
She widened her eyes and shrugged. “It’s baffling. Perhaps Arthur wants to inherit and is trying to rid himself of both you and Jonathan.”
He shook his head. “Why not just kill me outright? Or turn my name in to the PSRC?”
Lucy frowned. “There is that.”
“There is a man on the PSRC, a ridiculous fool who fought alongside me and the others. I suspect, although I’m not certain, that he may have followed me one night when I shifted. It was miles away from our camp, but he was in the area the next morning. He doesn’t know that I saw him.”
“What is his name?”
“Bryce Randolph.”
Lucy squinted into the fire, thinking. “It does sound familiar. I wonder if Daniel has mentioned him at some point.”
“And then there are my father’s former friends.”
“I’m sorry?”
Miles shook his head. “My father made promises to two neighboring land owners to sell Blackwell to them. The buyers were then going to divide the land and sell it piecemeal at exorbitant costs, making a tidy profit. New money is taking the place of old, and land ownership isn’t the guarantee of wealth and status it used to be.”
“If your father was looking to earn money off the land, why did he not just parcel it off himself as the neighbors were planning to do?”
“His health was failing, and he couldn’t be bothered with business details. He had opted to take the lump sum and be done with it. Then he died suddenly without completing the transaction.”
“And you refused to sell.”
Miles swallowed and looked away. “My father had gambled away almost everything, used the land as collateral. When I returned from India, Blackwell Manor was all but lost. Creditors were pounding at the door, threatening to seize this hunting lodge and the London town house as well. I had enough money of my own invested to cover the two properties and Blackwell Manor itself, but the extensive lands where the tenants are located was nearing foreclosure and mandatory sale. I didn’t have enough to cover everything.”
Beauty and the Clockwork Beast Page 23