Beauty and the Wolf

by Marina Myles

  “You look uneasy, my dear.”

  “There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. You do know you were poisoned, don’t you?”

  Helena’s expression remained icy. “Yes, I’m aware of the attempt on my life.”

  A brief silence passed between them. Helena sipped more of her tea.

  “Well,” Isabella continued, “I wanted to tell you that, in case you hadn’t been informed. I also wanted to tell you that I am leaving this place.”

  “Again?” the elder woman said callously.

  “It’s much too complicated to explain everything. Suffice it to say that I feel my life is in danger.”

  “Danger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Before my poisoning, I would have disputed that fact.” The dowager smoothed the counterpane covering her torso. “But it’s obvious that a lunatic is running loose in this house. However, I would be more inclined to believe that you were leaving because you realized that you and Draven aren’t meant to be in love.”

  Isabella squared her shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

  “You may think that I wanted Draven to find someone to marry,” Helena said.

  “Didn’t you?” Isabella asked sharply.

  Helena waved her hand in the air. “One can never wish things for Draven. He can be so volatile and moody. I believe his mind is permanently marred.”

  Isabella placed a hand over her lower, right arm—the arm Draven had nearly sliced open last night. She cringed.

  “Draven is a very handsome young man, an expert charmer in fact. Just as his father was. But you are right to leave him. He is evil and selfish.” Helena’s eyes formed two, catlike slits.

  Isabella raised her chin. “Have you never wanted Draven to be happy?”

  “It’s not that. He has the capacity for violence. Just who do you think is responsible for my heinous poisoning episode? Hmm?”

  Isabella sprang to her feet. “Certainly not Draven!”

  “How can you be so sure?” Helena clenched and unclenched the damask coverlet. “I have startling news for you, Isabella. Draven is a man with Gypsy blood in his veins. Despite my best efforts to raise him as a gentleman, he was born a bastard. You see, he is the product of his father’s affair with a Romanian tart.”

  Isabella remained silent.

  “Why aren’t you surprised to learn that your husband is not my blood kin?”

  “Draven told me as much.”

  The countess sank back against the pillows. “And I thought he preferred to keep secrets.”

  Isabella clasped the pillars of the bedstead until her knuckles turned white. “I don’t think you know him at all.”

  “You’re wrong. As a result of his tainted blood, Draven harbors a raw, uncontrollable side. He is full of hatred and has been ever since he was a child. He used to taunt the Gypsy children who trespassed on our property. He would throw rocks. He even lit one of their caravans on fire. He’s never had empathy for others.”

  “And what did you do about it?” Isabella’s temper flared.

  “I tried to make him a gentleman, but I couldn’t change his inherent wickedness.”

  “If he’s wicked, I suspect you are the reason for it.”

  Her words seemed to stab Helena like a knife. The dowager’s face twisted and Isabella could have sworn she saw remorse shadow her face.

  “Perhaps you are . . .” Helena said.

  “I am what?”

  “Perhaps you are right.”

  Isabella hadn’t expected the words.

  “I should have pitied Draven for being born a bastard. I should have loved him more. . . .” The noblewoman’s voice trailed off.

  Isabella was speechless.

  But the countess’s sentimental moment didn’t last long. Her eyes flattened into cold stones. “It would be in your best interest to keep your distance from my stepson. His behavior becomes more erratic every day. You will be free of him when you return to London and that is best.”

  Isabella knew firsthand that Draven was capable of violence but she didn’t want to hear it from her mother-in-law. In fact, Helena’s words provoked her to defend Draven to the ends of the earth. “Although Draven has many character flaws, I don’t believe he has it in him to poison anyone.”

  “I hope you are right.” The dowager sighed. Closing her eyes as a signal of dismissal, she murmured, “If you’re not, that means we are all in grave danger.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Isabella returned to her suites and pulled the bell cord for Gwyneth.

  Irritated when the girl didn’t appear to help her pack, she went downstairs to find her. As she made her way down the grand staircase, she was surprised to see that her father and eight members of the household staff were gathered at its base.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  A proud grin spread across Harris Farrington’s face. “I’ve called all the servants together to search for your amulet.”

  Isabella took the remaining steps in a shuffling run. When she reached her father, she gave him an enthusiastic hug.

  Harris beamed. “Come with me, darling. Rogers will help us search the apartments on the second and third levels while the other servants scour the main floor.”

  Rogers flung her one of his crooked, but endearing smiles.

  Harris placed his hand on the small of Isabella’s back and gripped his cane with the other. “After you, my dear.”

  The trio searched nine rooms in succession but found nothing. Outside Draven’s suites, Isabella’s stomach tightened. Her father rapped loudly on the door while she exchanged fretful glances with Rogers. When there was no answer, Harris instructed Rogers to open the door with the master key.

  Fear glazed Rogers’s expression. “But sir, ’is lordship dislikes being disturbed while ’e’s workin’.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Isabella chimed in. “We knocked and there was no answer. Draven must be extremely busy. Or he is elsewhere.”

  Harris shook his head. “All of this talk is wasting our time. Rogers, we’re going in whether his lordship is busy or not. Finding my daughter’s amulet is of the utmost importance and, to be perfectly honest, I suspect we’ll find it inside your master’s room.”

  Anticipation welled in Isabella’s throat. She would forfeit her last breath not to see Draven.

  Harris asked Rogers to open the door with his key again. When the manservant continued to hem and haw, Harris snatched the key ring from his hand. Fidgeting with it, he said, “Don’t fret, old boy. I’ll take full responsibility for this.”

  Rogers neither spoke nor moved.

  “That will be all.” Harris dismissed him.

  Turning red, the valet cast a sympathetic glance at Isabella before he disappeared around the corner.

  “You were rather harsh on him,” she said.

  Harris singled out a key on the ring. “If one wants something done correctly, one must do it oneself.”

  “Rogers hesitated because Draven gave him direct orders never to disturb him while he’s working.”

  Her father ignored the comment as he fit the key in the lock and turned it. He swept a lock of auburn hair from Isabella’s forehead before they entered. “When it comes to my daughter’s happiness, no lock is an obstacle.”

  Isabella followed him into the chamber and her pulse raced. Although she resisted it at first, she eyed the empty tiger-skin rug. The vision of Draven lying beside her yesterday flooded her memory and warmed her skin. And when her glance rested on the door of the bedchamber, she could feel his solid body on top of hers....

  But shouldn’t she be surveying the bedchamber for signs of the amulet?

  As she started across the room, she spotted her husband leaning against the doorway. His angry stare pierced right through her.

  “What the hell are you two doing?” Draven thundered.

  Harris straightened from searching the lowest shelf of a bookcase. He came to stand in front of his s
on-in-law with defiance in his eyes. “In case you haven’t heard, someone stole Isabella’s amulet. It’s very precious to her since it’s something I sent her from one of my digs.”

  Draven brushed past Harris. “I didn’t take it, if that’s your assumption.”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I assumed,” Harris challenged him.

  Draven whirled in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. For reasons I can’t yet explain, I believe you stole the amulet right off my daughter’s neck while she slept. Furthermore, I suspect you’re responsible for Helena’s poisoning episode.”

  Shock rifled through Isabella’s body. Her father appeared frail, but his words cut like a knife. “Papa! You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Think about it, my dear.” Harris shot a dark glance her way. “Who else hates his mother enough to kill her?”

  Draven’s stare flashed to Isabella before it shifted back to Harris. “Think what you will, sir.”

  Harris continued his challenge. “I vow to get to the bottom of this, after which I’m taking my daughter away from here.”

  “You seem to forget that your daughter is now my wife.” Draven puffed his chest forward.

  “Beg off!” Harris bellowed.

  “I’m master of this house, not you.”

  “Stop it.” Isabella pried the two men apart.

  Harris glowered. “I can see this conversation is getting us nowhere. I just hope to hell you don’t have that amulet. I’ll find out for certain . . . one way or another.”

  Draven’s face flushed. “You and your accusations are no longer welcome in my house.”

  Ignoring the comment, Harris turned to Isabella. “We aren’t leaving this place until we find that necklace.”

  “I don’t care about finding it anymore.” She was unable to keep the alarm out of her voice.

  Harris pointed a finger at Draven. “If you hurt my daughter in the meantime, I promise it will be the last thing you ever do.”

  He stormed past Isabella and Draven as fast as his cane could carry him.

  Isabella avoided Draven’s stare in the awkward silence that lingered. To get her attention, he took hold of her arm and squeezed it. “So your father thinks I’m a thief, does he?”

  “He o-only wants to get to the bottom of this,” she stammered.

  He studied her with blazing eyes. “You’re afraid to be alone with me, aren’t you?”

  “No.” She locked eyes with him with equal heat.

  “Has your father convinced you to leave?” Draven demanded.

  “I want to go.”

  His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “You know you are free to do so.”

  So my prisoner status has been revoked.

  “Before you go, tell me this.” His black eyes bore into her soul.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “For all I know, you prodded your father to come to my rooms to look for the amulet.”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Isabella said. “My father insisted on searching every room. Including yours, despite my earnest protests.”

  Draven’s mouth curled into a smile. “So you took it upon yourself to defend my privacy, did you?” He gathered her to him. Her legs trembled as he edged his tongue smoothly over his lips. “What am I to do with you, my dear Bella?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Everyone in this household seems to despise me,” he said. “So, the question remains: Do you have it in your generous heart to loathe me?”

  “I—”

  Draven drew her even closer. His long fingers played along her back. “Come now, my kindhearted wife. You must be honest.”

  “I don’t hate you,” she said. And it was true. Being in his arms and listening to his heart beating wildly was melting her resolve. She forced herself to arch away from him. “I think it best if we simply avoided one another until I find my amulet. After that, I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

  He laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh that amplified his magnetism.

  “What could possibly be so humorous?” she asked.

  “I find it funny that you’re doing exactly what you accused me of when you returned here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve spoken the words, but your eyes are saying something completely different.”

  She tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

  Another laugh escaped his lips. He fell silent while his gaze shadowed her with lust. Before she could protest, Draven’s mouth found its way to the curve of her neck. His breath jostled the tendrils of her hair and tickled her skin. And when he spoke naughty words against it, her core dampened. Draven’s tongue thrashed along the length of her neck and against her will, her eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into him.

  “You don’t hate me,” he murmured between sweet nibbles. “That’s very encouraging.”

  “Draven, don’t.” She gathered a breath.

  But her husband was too busy to respond. His mouth traveled up and down the column of her neck, depositing kisses wherever it made contact. One of his hands encircled her waist, the other cupped and caressed her chin. She surged against it, causing his embrace to become more firm.

  “Now your words are telling me to stop while your body is urging me to continue,” he murmured.

  He was absolutely right. Isabella parted her lips. His mouth came crashing down over hers while he jerked her buttocks forward. She stole a look into his eyes where torment and want lived. She cared for him, was afraid of him, and felt sorry for him all at the same time. But there was no time to weed through that complicated cluster of emotions. She was swooning in his grip and she couldn’t stop her tongue from intertwining with Draven’s.

  Sounds of pleasure escaped her throat and floated toward the rafters.

  “You tantalize my every sense,” he whispered. “And you know how I react when my senses are stirred.”

  He pulled her head back by her hair and nearly bruised her mouth with his lips. Fear mounted inside her. Draven’s roughness reminded her of how violent he could become.

  “No!” She managed to break free and hurry to the door.

  Something made her look back. Draven stood motionless in the center of the room, his face buried in his hands. The stance made Isabella wonder if perhaps he had a heart after all.

  She was about to exit the room when she heard him murmur, “I can’t lose her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Isabella headed up the stairs. She had wanted to tell Draven so many things a moment ago, but words had seemed powerless instruments. Now it was too late.

  Thunder boomed close to the house, surging panic through her. Another storm is moving in.

  Even if she could convince Papa to leave without the amulet, foul weather could trap them at Thorncliff Towers for at least another day.

  She went to her father with raw nerves. They shared a brief conversation before Isabella sought refuge in her bedchamber. She began to undress while the sound of heavy rainfall thrashed her window.

  Gwyneth arrived to confirm her suspicions that there would be no leaving the estate until the storm cleared. The girl fussed about for a moment then closed the curtains against the dismal weather. “Master Draven says ’e’s afraid yer carriage will be tossed around like a tiny coin if ye get caught in the middle of this storm,” she said.

  The girl left and Isabella opened the curtains. Peering into the velvety light of dusk, a distressing heaviness hung over her. Black clouds topped the forceful rain that pelted the sea and the landscape was blanketed by a dreary layer of gray. London experienced days like this, but people went on as usual—and its hustle and bustle always neutralized the melancholic weather.

  How she wished she was back in her old parlor before a raging fire.

  Nestled in the window seat, Isabella went over the conversation she’d had with her father. She had omitted the part about Draven’s Gypsy curse, but she did tel
l him that her husband’s barmy state was increasing, without his control. Inspired by a bruised ego, she also informed Papa that Draven had proposed marriage under the guise of an ulterior motive: her Egyptian curse.

  Papa’s face had grown redder than a beet. “That bastard lied to us from the very beginning,” he’d raged.

  She had calmed him down by telling him that she planned to use the information to request a divorcement from Parliament.

  A soft knock jolted her out of her thoughts. “Yes?”

  Rogers entered, cradling several logs. “I’ve brought more kindlin’, m’lady.”

  “One moment, Rogers. I’ll put on my dressing gown.” Once she was properly covered, she let the elderly man in.

  “The fire must be dyin’ out by now and this room tends to be a bit drafty.” He dipped his narrow chin in her direction as he passed her. In the brevity of the moment, she swore she had seen a hint of fatherly affection in his eyes, although it lay below a trained expression.

  Rogers made his way across the room to the marble-framed hearth. While he tended to its dying embers, Isabella moved closer to him.

  “You’re right,” she said. “The fire is about to die out. However did you know?”

  “I suppose ye could say it’s me job to know, m’lady. I can never trust a flighty girl like Gwyneth to check on ye properly.”

  “It seems you’re very valuable to this household, Rogers.”

  The manservant shrugged as he replaced the extinguished logs with new ones. After he lit them, they filled the room with the scent of the forest.

  “Storm’s a comin’,” he said with a quick glance out the window. “We’ve buckled the ’ouse down, as usual.”

  “Yes, I know.” Isabella sighed. “I suppose my journey will just have to wait.”

  “I’m sorry to hear yer leavin’, m’lady.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She crossed her arms and rubbed them for warmth. Then she bent down and smiled. Was he willing to tell her more about Draven?

  “Rogers?” she asked. “Will you sit with me for a moment?”

  He nodded but looked uncomfortable as he slid into a winged-back chair by the fire.