The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (69 page)

Did that make the earl
better
than a wolf?

No. That was impossible!

“Hawthorn, I had lured you here this morning in the hopes of killing you for the crime of killing our alpha and stealing his daughter,” Dimitri admitted, even though his mind still whirled in light of what was happening. “It is a crime for which you had already been tried and convicted by the pack.”

Many in the pack, eager for revenge, surged forward, their shapes changing to wolf form.

“No!” Lia cried as she threw herself in front of the earl. “How can you do this to my family?”

Lettie screamed.

The earl bravely rose from the chair and stood his ground.

Dimitri raised a steadying hand, which instantly stopped the pack in their tracks. “However,” he said, raising his voice, “after hearing how you saved Lia from the hunters, I suspect we misjudged you. We were wrong to want to harm you. Because of you, Lia has been returned to us. From this day forward you, Hawthorn, and your family, will be considered honorary members of our pack and, as such, under our protection.”

“I am honored,” the earl said in a booming diplomatic tone. He stepped around Lia and reached out his hand to Dimitri. “For Lia’s sake, I had long hoped to meet someone such as yourself, someone who could teach Lia and guide her.” As soon as Dimitri accepted the earl’s handshake, the earl’s grip tightened and he pulled Dimitri close to his chest. What the earl said next was spoken so softly it could only be for Dimitri’s ears. “I am not pleased, however, that you have stolen my daughter’s virtue. You will pay for what you’ve done to her. And you will restore her honor.”

“As I was telling the pack before you planted that facer, Hawthorn.” He rubbed the side of his face. “I plan to marry your daughter.”

“In a church,” the earl demanded.

Dimitri shrugged. “Wherever you want.”

The earl scowled.

“I love him, Papa,” Lia said.

“You do?” Dimitri asked, stunned.

“You are my mate,” she said, glancing shyly away before meeting his gaze again. “We belong together. Isn’t that how it works with our kind? We mate for love...and for life?”

“We always hope to,” Dimitri said. A smile pulled at his lips.

“For the last several years I have been restless, unsettled. The restlessness had grown more painful with the passing of every day. And I didn’t know why. But now I don’t feel that anymore.” She sounded truly surprised by this.

“You have found your wolf. It had been begging to be freed. You did that, my cub. You freed yourself.” And he couldn’t be more proud of her for her strength. She was truly an amazing wolf.

“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “But I suspect something more than that happened to me last night. I no longer feel incomplete, as if I’m missing part of myself. Because of you, because of the connection we forged when we fought together and when we...” She blushed deeply. “I finally feel complete.”

His heart started pounding against his chest as if he had run across hundreds of fields and had the energy to dash across hundreds more. Not caring who was watching or who might be scandalized by an open display of affection, he crossed the room and enfolded her in his arms.

“I have never felt this feeling that I feel for you. My heart is tight and warm and happy and jittery as hell,” he said and reverently kissed the top of her head. “It’s really quite a confusing jumble that I’m feeling for you. I believe it must be love.”

“I believe it must be,” she said with a stunning smile that took his breath away. “And now back to the issue at hand. The property.” She gave Dimitri a quick kiss and slipped from his arms to return to her father’s side.

“M-much of our land is too rocky for farming and the rest is too wet,” the countess tearfully explained. “And dear, you aren’t interested in raising sheep. Our property is in the farthest reaches of Northumberland, remote and vast. The only thing we have in abundance is small game and vermin.”

“But the danger—”

The countess caught the earl’s hand. “Sh-she will leave us if we don’t. She was never ours. We-we knew that. And now she’s grown. We can’t force her to stay.”

The earl’s frown deepened. He cupped his daughter’s chin. “We loved you as if you were our own. We did the best we could for you.”

“I know, Papa. I don’t want to leave you. But I have to learn who I am, what I am. I… I don’t belong here.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose you do. Do you really love
him
?” He gestured toward Dimitri.

“I do, Papa. I truly do.”

And so it was decided that morning that the pack would make their home in the north of England on the Earl of Hawthorn’s vast property, but not before—the earl insisted—Lia and Dimitri were properly and legally wed, not just in a church, but at Westminster Cathedral with all of London Society in attendance.

Epilogue

Four Months Later

“Are you ready, my cub?” Dimitri asked.

Lia swallowed hard. The dark fields and fens spread out for as far as the eye could see. The vast space was both beautiful and terrifying. “I-I don’t know.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be right beside you.”

On a rise in the distance, a group of wolves gathered. They turned their gazes up toward the moon and howled. Their somber song called to her.

Lia glanced back at the manor house. There was a soft glow from the windows. It would be warm inside there. Her parents would be in the library by now. Was her father reading the newspaper? Was her mother embroidering another elaborate table runner? Was life moving on without her?

Part of her wanted to go back to the house, back to her family and the comfortable life she’d known. But the wolf in her paced restlessly, anxious to escape from its cage.
Please
, she could hear it cry.
Please, let me go
.

“You’ll see your parents again,” Dimitri promised. “I give you my word that you will.”

“Yes, I believe you.” She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “I’m ready.”

He gave her hand a squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Let’s go.”

Together they shifted. Her wolf, snowy white with a black-tipped tail, leapt from her body. Feeling more alive than she’d ever felt before, she ran beside her silver lover to join the rest of the pack.

And she ran free.

THE NUDE

To Jim

This story has always been for you, my personal hero.

And to my father, Robert Dollar McFalls

You were my best champion with my writing. I miss you dearly.

Prologue

London. May 1814

He’d finally lost his sanity. There was simply no other way to explain it. His breathing quickened as a solitary tallow taper sputtered, the bright orange flame turning smoky. Dionysus tore his gaze from his work long enough to search the cluttered workshop—the floor littered with discarded brushes and paints—for a replacement.

“Sir?” a servant called after tapping on the door. “Sir? Please, will you eat today?”

Dionysus, too absorbed in his work, lit a new taper and returned his attentions to the canvas. His heart thundered in his chest. He lifted his brush and pulled it slowly across the canvas—tracing the gentle curve of a thigh.

Her thigh.

He’d only seen her briefly at the Baneshire’s ball. She was a widow, one of the grand matrons of the
ton
had whispered, after taking notice of his overlong stare. He could not, no matter how hard he tried, lift his eyes from the beautiful creature dancing—nay—floating like a gossamer faery across the glassy ballroom floor.

“She’s my niece,” the Earl of Baneshire had told him when asked. “Her husband died on a battlefield in France, poor thing. Left her without a
sou
. It appears his estate was mortgaged to the hilt.” The earl paused to watch his niece curtsy to the man she’d been dancing with as the set came to a close. “She’s just now out of mourning clothes. It warms my heart to see her in something other than widow’s weeds. I could introduce her to you.”

Dionysus’s heart had been hammering, like now. His palms had grown moist and his mouth dry.

Could it be her? Could it really be her?

“No, no, thank you,” he’d said with a bow. He didn’t even ask her name before finding a footman, before demanding his carriage sought and his cloak retrieved. No matter what, he could not stay.

He could not.

That very evening he’d locked himself in his workshop, trying desperately to exorcise the demon that had stolen his sanity. He’d tossed aside six canvases before finally finding the right strokes and the right shades of pigment to create a portrait of the woman.

He held his breath, lightly tinting the tips of her breasts with a delicate paint prepared from powdered garnets. Her deep eyes from crushed sapphires. Her full lips from the dust of rubies.

As he stepped back, a wave of dizziness overtook him. He reached out to steady himself against a small worktable. He’d missed too many meals, lost too many nights of sleep. Pulling a shaky hand through his hair, he stared at the image in front of him.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Now that the work was finally finished and his obsession drained away, he could see what he’d done for what it was—madness.

Unable to lift his eyes from the painting, he sank to his knees. What had he been thinking? What had he created?

No one could ever see it.

No one.

But to destroy it, to deface the perfect image of
her
, would surely be echoed by the destruction of his soul.

His strength gone, Dionysus curled up at the base of his easel and fell asleep with her perfect ruby lips smiling down on him.

Chapter One

“You must come!”

The breathless demand sailed into the tiny parlor where Elsbeth sat alone. Not a moment later the parlor door came crashing open. Elsbeth glanced up from her embroidery work and frowned. What excitement had caused her cousins to forget, yet again, that they were gentlewomen and well beyond the reckless age of sixteen?

“The exhibition promises to be the grandest event this week! You simply must want to come,” Olivia shouted as she dashed into the parlor. Lauretta, the younger of Elsbeth’s cousins, came trailing closely behind. The two ladies crowded around Elsbeth’s overstuffed chair.

“Papa already said we could attend, but only if
you
agree to chaperone,” Olivia said in an overeager tone. She tugged on Elsbeth’s sleeve, nearly ripping the tender pale-blue muslin.

Their exuberance brought a bitter pang to Elsbeth’s chest. They were both so innocent, so excitable. She paused, trying to remember what it truly felt like to be so mindlessly happy…

No matter, such foolishness only led to trouble.

She pried her cousin’s fingers from her arm. “I fear I’m suffering from another headache.” She set aside her embroidery—a table runner she’d been trying to finish for the past three months—and reached for the tea tray. A delicate Wedgwood cup clattered against the saucer in her hand while her conscience battled a silent war.

Her uncle, the generous Lord Baneshire, had invited her to come live with his family after her husband’s death. Although her options had been severely limited, she’d accepted his charity only after he’d agreed she could serve as chaperone to his two daughters for the Season.

She shouldn’t be shirking her duty to her uncle. Not after all he’d provided. It shouldn’t matter that the thought of mingling with the gossipy ladies of the
ton
frightened her all the way down to her trembling toes.

No, that wasn’t precisely correct. It wasn’t society she was afraid of facing—but herself. How could she live with herself when nearly everything that passed her lips felt like naught but a lie?

“La, you’ve suffered from a headache for the past week,” Lauretta said with a long sigh.

“Ever since Mama’s and Papa’s ball,” Olivia finished.

Ever since the ball. All gathered had praised her for her strength of character. And they praised her husband for his heroism.

Elsbeth winced, and thought just how undeserving they were of those praises. But she’d accepted their words, agreed with them even though she felt by no means strong. And her husband…She shuddered at the thought of him; her husband was certainly no hero. He’d been just a man…a man foolish enough to be shot by a Frenchman a mere six months after purchasing his commission.

Thank the Lord.

“Yes,” she agreed, yet another lie forming on her tongue. “I haven’t been well since the ball.”

Her gaze strayed to the new pile of invitations that had arrived in the morning post. Her husband’s dead hero status—a by-product of a brutal war—had made her a curio, a much sought after one at that.

Despite the
ton’s
eagerness to include her at their entertainments, Elsbeth had discovered she was unready to face the
beau monde
and continue the charade. She planned to pen gracious refusals, delaying her full return to Society for at least another week.

As if a week could change the truth.

“Ask your Aunt Violet if you’re so anxious. She should enjoy the frivolities of such an art exhibition.”

The younger ladies drew long faces.