Beauty and the Wolf

by Marina Myles

  “How long have you been in Winthrop employment?”

  “Since before ye were a thought in yer mother’s mind, m’lady. I was hired by Master Cyril, Master Draven’s father.”

  “I had no idea. So you were here when my husband was born?”

  Rogers stood and churned the flaming logs absentmindedly with the tip of a poker. “Aye. ’Twas a terrible stretch o’ time.” His face lengthened as he stared at the hearth.

  By now, dusk had dimmed to a rich darkness. Beyond the glass-paned window, another crack of thunder split the air. Isabella suppressed a shudder as she tried to focus on the conversation. “Why was it so terrible?”

  “Master Draven ’as informed me that ye know about ’is mother so I can speak freely. That Gypsy woman brought him, a babe in arms, to Thorncliff Towers on a night much like this one. She sent the entire household into an uproar, she did.”

  “Tell me, what was this mysterious lady like?”

  “She was beautiful in a way all other women are jealous of. Big dark eyes, long, flowin’ ’air. And though she looked every inch the wild Gypsy, she seemed to genuinely care about ’er baby.” He set the poker in its wrought-iron stand.

  Isabella stood as well. The manservant turned to face her, as if he were searching for her trust. He placed a shaking hand over his heart. “I’m tellin’ ye in the strictest confidence that her ladyship was there that night, aware of who this Gypsy woman was.”

  “Lady Winthrop was there?”

  Rogers nodded his answer.

  Hiding her shock, Isabella’s lips curved into a smile. “You can trust me, Rogers. I’m just as good at keeping secrets as your master.”

  “And a great many secrets he keeps hidden,” the manservant said.

  “Why is that?”

  Rogers spread his hands apart “I’m afraid secrets are all his lordship ’as.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. “My husband would be lost without you.”

  He blushed. “I’m only a servant, but I worry about Master Draven as if ’e were my own child. I wish I could ’ave prevented what he endured in his youth. In those days, I just shook me head with pity.”

  “Why?”

  “Her ladyship was colder to Master Draven than a frozen iceberg.”

  “I have heard that the countess was cruel to my husband even when he was a baby.”

  “Aye. And though she’d have my head fer sayin’ this, things got worse after Master Cyril passed on from a sudden illness. Tragedy grabbed hold ’a this place and it hasn’t let go.”

  Isabella gave a little shudder. “I feel the black cloud that hangs over this house as well.”

  Will Rogers tell me all he knows of Draven’s curse?

  A brief silence passed between them. “For what it’s worth, m’lady, his lordship seems distraught that yer leavin’ this place.”

  “Draven has left me no other choice.”

  Rogers nodded as if he understood.

  “I’m afraid of him,” she said softly.

  “The master has a temper the likes of I’ve never seen before.”

  Isabella cocked her head to one side. “Tell me more about his childhood, Rogers.”

  “His lordship was a mischievous child. Always angry and always gettin’ into trouble.” He glanced around. “But ’e was a beautiful baby. Decades ago, this room was the nursery. Master Cyril had it painted a pretty shade of yellow.”

  “Did her ladyship spend much time with my husband in here?”

  Rogers frowned. “No. As charmin’ as this room was, I don’t think ’er ladyship ever set foot in ’ere when Master Draven was growin’ up.”

  “How about the earl? Did he give my husband much attention as a child?”

  “He managed to, even though her ladyship tried to forbid it.”

  She was fascinated. “So, despite Lady Winthrop’s cold heart, you maintain your loyal post for my husband?”

  Rogers nodded. “I could never leave ’is lordship to fend for ’imself.”

  Isabella offered him a smile.

  He scrubbed a hand through his thinning hair. “Since I’ve already spoken out of turn, I have a confession ta make. I do believe in the master’s curse. I see Master Draven’s good qualities as ye do, but ye mustn’t be near ’im when his temper flares.”

  “That’s very good advice,” she said.

  The old man seemed reluctant to leave. He glanced around him. “I told ye this room was the former nursery, but what I didn’t tell ye was that a secret passageway runs inside the house.”

  Isabella’s eyes widened.

  “It was built by the late earl to connect his rooms with Master Draven’s. He used it to make visits to his son, unknown to her ladyship.”

  Rogers proceeded to warn her how dangerous the hidden corridor could be by telling her a story of someone who’d gotten trapped inside its walls.

  “Where exactly is this passageway?” she asked.

  The valet hesitated.

  “Can you show me?”

  “I . . . I shouldn’t.”

  “I must be able to access it from here.”

  He hastened away without saying another word. Isabella’s shoulders rolled forward. By not answering, had Rogers meant to help her—or help Draven?

  It was no matter. She began to search for an entryway into the tunnel.

  Was it behind the main wall?

  Isabella ran her fingertips along the wallpaper that lined the chair rail. Nothing. Reaching up, she removed a candle from its resting place inside the wall sconce. Still nothing.

  She spent the next several minutes exploring the room. Then she returned to the brass sconce and pulled it down with a quick tug. The action caused an entire section of the wall to spring toward her!

  She lit a candle branch. After swallowing her nervousness, she stepped into the inky blackness of the corridor beyond. Staying within the realm of the light, she tried to block out the pungent smell of mildew. When that didn’t work, she covered her mouth with her dress sleeve. She meandered along the stone-lined corridor that paralleled the seaside. A quarter of an hour later, she wound her way into another wing of the house—the wing beneath the turret that housed Draven’s suites.

  As she treaded along the dark corridor, Isabella could hear nothing of the heavy rain or the crashing waves outside. The only sound that filled the darkness was the clicking of her heels and her wheezy breathing. She was grateful when she saw a set of steps that sloped upward and curved out of sight.

  The story Rogers told her came back to mind while she climbed the winding staircase. “Legend has it that the sounds of a servant cryin’ inside these stone walls can be heard at night. That woman was panicked at being lost and trapped inside. I like to think she was the only victim o’ these black hallways, but I doubt it.”

  Isabella grimaced at the morbid thought.

  She continued on, swearing that she felt rats scurrying over her silk slippers. Too horrified to look down, she hastened to what she figured was the entrance of Draven’s room.

  Isabella’s heart thrummed. Her black-hearted husband sat just behind the wall, no doubt working on his sketches.

  Before she could look for a secret latch or a retracting stone, she panicked. She reversed her direction and scampered down the stone steps. As she rushed back to her suites, she knew what her next move would be. Tonight, when everyone in the house was asleep, she would use the passageway to gain access into Draven’s bedchamber . . . to search for her amulet while her husband slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The wind howled that evening like an angry animal. Isabella twisted her wedding band around her finger, fighting off fatigue until the bedside clock signaled two o’clock.

  She rose, lit a candle branch, then moved toward the wall sconce located to the left of her four-poster. Full of trepidation, she opened the panel and inched into the shadowed corridor.

  Isabella knew she wasn’t doing the wisest thing, but she was beyond caring. She simp
ly wanted her amulet back. After securing the necklace, she would leave this place and never come back.

  She hurried beneath the glow of the fresh candles and when she reached the stone steps, she climbed them at a fast pace. Shuddering from the fierce draft that whipped along the stairwell, she stood in front of the stone wall that led to Draven’s bedchamber. She assumed that one of the stones would depress and allow her entry. After she pressed on five or six of them, an oversized stone made a latching noise. The entire wall swung away from her. When Isabella followed behind it, she realized she’d entered the room through the wall to the left of Draven’s bedchamber hearth.

  Her nerves prickled. What if Draven awakens, angry as the devil that I don’t trust him?

  Chiding herself for being so frightened, she crept toward the gigantic sleigh bed. Draven was asleep on his back, snoring softly. Shadows of light and dark spilled over his face and he looked unbearably handsome. He also seemed uncharacteristically peaceful—as if he were free of his usual torment for once.

  Resisting the urge to sweep a strand of his black hair from his forehead, she moved to his dressing room where she extinguished the candles and deposited the candle branch. The last thing she needed was its light waking Draven.

  Returning to the sleigh bed, she scanned his bedside table for the amulet then dropped to her knees in order to search under the bed. Isabella’s judgment became convoluted in the dark and she let out a cry as she banged her head on the bottom of the bed frame.

  Draven groaned and rolled over. Heart hammering, she remained still. Stifling the pain, she watched her husband fidget in his sleep before he settled down. Convinced he had slipped back into a deep slumber, Isabella continued her search under the bed only to turn up nothing.

  She was just about to stand when Draven yanked her to her feet. He was holding a sheet around his waist and his eyes were flashing madly.

  “How did you get in here?” He clutched her shoulder tighter. “I’m in the habit of locking my door at night.”

  She cleared her throat. “I discovered the secret passageway—”

  “You found it on your own?”

  She remained silent.

  “Ah, looking for your amulet, are you?” he asked. “I thought you and your father were finished searching my private quarters.”

  Flushed with embarrassment, she tried to escape his grasp.

  His black eyes narrowed. “You, my dear, are as cunning as a thief. How do I know you aren’t here to plant that amulet in my room? Perhaps you and your father have conspired together.”

  “How dare you insinuate such a thing?” she fumed. “Do you see that I’ve brought my amulet with me? Well, do you?”

  Draven eyed her with uncertainty and released her shoulder.

  “My necklace is still missing,” she retorted. “And furthermore, you were a cunning thief when you robbed me of the prospect of motherhood. I suppose we are even.”

  Wearing an amused expression, he made no effort to reply.

  She put her hands on her hips. “What do you have to say to that?”

  His lips curled at the corners and his tone dropped several octaves. “I say, ‘Let the passageway be our little secret.’ ”

  She squirmed at the suggestion. Standing this close to him in the moonlight, she became aware of the broadness of his chest and of the cut of his torso muscles. Although he radiated charm from beneath his bed-mussed hair, she pretended not to notice. “Another secret to add to your list, Draven?”

  “Secrets are the ammunition of life,” he said. “I would be naïve to think you have no secrets to share.”

  “I don’t.”

  He breathed heavily. “No? But I can think of one. The secret of Joseph Gossington.”

  Her face burned hotter. “I . . . I know no such man.”

  “Come now.” He tsked. “You shouldn’t lie.”

  “He is an acquaintance of mine. That’s all.” She wanted to race from the room.

  Draven fingered one of her curls. “Don’t worry, Isabella. I am well aware that you committed no impropriety with that vulture.”

  “I-I didn’t,” she stammered. “But how do you know about him?”

  He stepped closer still. “That’s another secret I can add to my ‘list,’ as you called it.” He loosened his grip on the bedsheet. It fell to the ground like a drifting feather, revealing his arousal. Isabella gulped.

  “Seeing you in your nightgown reminds me of the night you came back to me,” he whispered as he reached forward to stroke her cheek. “Your breasts were wet from the rain and asking for a man’s touch.”

  He lowered his hand to the ridge of Isabella’s shift. After playing his fingers along its trim, he slid his touch to the outline of her right breast and traced it in erotic circles. A decadent smile spread across his lips while he teased her nipple to full erection. “Did you dream of me as I dreamt of you during our time apart?” He paused. “Do you dare share my bed once more before you leave?”

  She batted his hand down and said nothing, though a fiery chemistry blazed between them.

  “Well?”

  She arched away from him. “You know part of me hates you.”

  “Yes, but it’s the other part of you that interests me.”

  Draven grasped the nape of her neck and edged her closer. His lips collided with hers and his tongue forced its way inside her mouth. Isabella’s head spun. Lifting her nightgown out of the way, he slid his hand inside her underclothes. He caressed her skin with a touch that was nearly too hot to bear. With three stiff fingers pressed together, he lowered his hand and sunk it into her moisture.

  Once he’d claimed her mouth with another kiss, he pulled away to gaze into her eyes. “I can’t seem to resist you,” he murmured with smoldering want. “Give me the chance to convince you to stay—”

  Clamping both hands around her waist, Draven lifted her onto the bed. Isabella’s hair fanned away as she dropped like an apple from a tree onto the bed-sheets. He hung over her appraisingly then dove in for a kiss. She, in return, wrapped her arms around him with a desperation that surprised even her. Ensnaring her fingers in his hair, she closed her eyes as he devoured her with abandon.

  Breathless with desire, Draven opened the drawstrings of her nightshift and tugged the garment off her body. He pressed her bare breasts together and lifted them up, suckling them hungrily, while his gleaming hair draped over her chest. Sitting back on his haunches, he tugged off her pantalets in quick yanks. Stifling a cry, Isabella did nothing to stop him. He pried her legs apart with his bulging arms and slipped his torso between them. Rising up on one arm, he grabbed his hard shaft and rubbed her slick folds with it.

  “By God you’re wet enough,” he rasped. “But I won’t take you just yet.”

  His eyes blazing and his cock as stiff as steel, he put his swirling tongue to the tender spot beneath her chin. Streaming it down her neck and chest, it reached her dark nipples in a trail of excitement. Taking her nubs in his mouth, Draven pulled them into hard points.

  An impatient whimper escaped Isabella’s throat. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Would he enter her?

  Draven drank in the sight of Isabella under him, flushed and breathless, and he wanted to scream out. She looked like a radiant angel, innocent and pure—yet evocative enough to make any man go mad. Her hair, the color of rich cinnamon, draped across the pillow like a silken sash, and her lips, as glossy as a still lake, hardened him like a rock.

  Draven’s mind whirled. Should he reach for a sheath? That he would leave her with child was a slim possibility. From that slim chance there was a fifty-fifty probability he would plant a male seed.

  He made no move for the sheath. After all, having a child is what Isabella wanted.

  If I make love to her without protection maybe she won’t leave.

  Meeting her eyes with a deep-seated passion, Draven tested her readiness again. She was as moist as dew. He found her budding center and eased his sex inside
of her. Isabella sucked in a sharp breath. His shaft fit like a key’s perfect entry into a lock.

  She was tight at first. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to break the barrier he felt deep inside her. He pushed. She winced then groaned. His throbbing charge filled her while blood rushed through his veins like a mighty river. Cries of their pleasure mingled together. The moonlight streaming through the window made her body shine like marble. Now that he was inside Isabella, he wanted to ride her until night brightened to day.

  Draven grabbed her hips and fisted the flesh around it. Pulling her buttocks off the bed, he dove into her at a steeper angle. With her pelvis lifted toward him, her stomach became hollow and her breasts stood at attention. He gazed into her almond-shaped eyes and rocked his hips forward fast and hard, making his cock throb hotly inside her. Isabella’s center pulsated around him, further intensifying his thrusts. Sweat beaded on her breasts and she clung to the sheets as if her life depended on it. Draven crushed his chest against her mouth and she tasted the salt of his flowing perspiration.

  Isabella had given him a reason to live and he was about to make her his. Nothing on God’s green earth could possibly make him more aroused. A spark-flying friction brought him incredibly close to glory as he pumped his way in and out of her. And when Isabella’s squeaks of delight heightened to cries of ecstasy, he couldn’t withhold his seed any longer. Emitting a protracted grunt, he shattered a long and satisfying climax. She responded by flooding his erection with her own rush of warm liquid. As he slumped forward, the rise and fall of his breathing vibrated against her breasts. He gasped for air while her tears dampened his skin—and he wondered if he’d hurt her.

  “My Bella,” Draven whispered against her neck. “I’ve waited so long to show you my passion.”

  A myriad of emotions rushed at Isabella. Her heart raced and her face whitened. Had she lost her mind? She was leaving Draven. Why hadn’t she urged him to use protection during their lovemaking?

  Could I have been impregnated? If so, let it be a girl.