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He froze, apart from an inquisitive flick of an ear.
“Oh, double damn.” The beast blinked. “I do hope my language doesn’t offend, kind sir.”
He stood, frozen, watching her, and she comforted herself that she would have been his midmorning snack by now if he was a…a wolf. Helookedlike a wolf. His snout was long, the ruff of fur around his neck bristled with tension, and fangs appeared beneath his upper lip. She took a deep breath as she sought to quell any trepidation and fear that would translate to the animal. With another breath, she concentrated on releasing her tense muscles and kept her hands loose at her sides. As with horses, the more confident one was around them, the more relaxed the animals were, but a creature less likely to be as skittish as a horse she had yet to see. Moments passed, and when he did not attack, she became less convinced he was a wild animal. Another breath, then another, and her confidence increased. She would befriend this creature—she would be damned were she to fall prey to yet another enormous beast.
She moved toward him, and he tensed again. “No, no, stay…staaaaay… Good boy, goooood boy. Are you a boy? Are you? I suppose you must be, good Lord, look at the size of you. Look at you! Look at you!” He slowly sat and then lay down, never taking his eyes off her.
As she cooed at him, her mind ran riot. Who in their right mind expected a wolf in the middle of England? Hadn’t the Scots reeved them all away? Or was it the Irish? His legs were long and muscular, his coat thick and wild, his paws were massive, paws which he now placed over his muzzle, his eyes gleaming at her as if…“Are you laughing at me? Are you? Am I silly? Oh, how handsome you are, so very handsome,” and on and on until she moved as near to him as she dared and sat down on the ground.
“You’re like a cross between a Great Dane and a wolfhound. I’m sure I’ve seen Welsh cobs smaller than you are. What must you eat?” He edged forward; she pretended not to notice and looked out over the meadow. “I am so unhappy with Jupiter for bolting, how I would love to sketch you. Although if I did, I doubt anyone would believe you were real, you are five feet tall at the shoulder, for the love of God—galoshes.”
He crept closer still. “I’m no artist, but I am good at animals. Or people who look like animals, like my cousins. Rollo looks like a stork and Cecil like a hedgehog, and my uncle their father like a boar, B-O-A-R not B-O-R-E.” She ran her hand back and forth over the grass, to allow the creature to get her scent. “I am also able to draw my dear friend Jemima—the Lady Jemima Coleman to you, my friend, as you’ve not got an acquaintance with her. She is lovely, so small and delicate, not like me, not a great strapping girl who should eat a husband out of house and home at this stage rather than her uncle… I may find such a future in the duke’s household, whether I like it or not. If only I can persist until my birthday without being forced to marry…” The dog reared back, ears at attention. “Well, you should recoil, my friend. What lady in her right mind would reject the hand of a duke? Oh, what is your name, and to whom do you belong?” He nuzzled her, and she cautiously patted him on the head.
“I will call you Your Grace, I believe. You are the nearest thing to wolfish peerage, aren’t you, handsome? Aren’t you, Duke Alfred? Oh, no—you are Alfie.” The dog’s ears perked up, and he smiled, his teeth showing to alarming effect, but she laughed as his tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth. “Oh, Alfie, Alfie, yes! That will be your name when we are private with one another.”
He laid his head near her thigh and chewed at her trousers. “Are you admiring my rig-out? His Grace the Duke of Doom and Gloom seeks to dictate my dress, and I will continue to defy him. Lady Coleman would be beside herself did she know I was wearing something this scandalous that wasn’t one of her creations. She designed a cunning habit for me, split skirts so I might walk around the grounds with dignity and yet ride astride. I’m afraid I hurt her feelings when I declined them, but it was only that I was too afraid to wear it.
“I am tired of being afraid, Alfie. Afraid that I will be cast out of society should they discover I’ve been building my own breeding stock.” The dog’s mouth gaped open. “Yes. It is scandalous. A lady in trade, much less a man’s trade. But I know I can bring my mother’s mares bloodlines into sound union with my stud. Yes, I have a stud.” She giggled, and the dog growled. “I’m having no luck with him; he’s refusing to do his duty, but I insist he be the one to found my line. He is so big and strong, and the mares so volatile, I am certain I can develop the perfect, safest ladies’ mounts…”
A tear trickled down her cheek, and the dog came near to tackling her in his effort to lick it away. “Silly me. I am a grown lady and should be beyond tears. But sometimes I miss my mother so much. She was so beautiful and fine, and her love for my father was like a fairy tale. Like so: Once upon a time, there was a daughter of a wealthy Cit. Her much older brother, who adored her no end, bought her a fine palfrey—she loved horses, you see, and it was as though she’d been born to the saddle. She would ever sneak into the throng during the fashionable hour in Hyde Park, and there my father—I mean, the handsome baron, saw her, fell in love with her, made her his lady, and gave her everything her heart desired…
“My father’s heart broke when she died, as did mine, watching him pass away by inches. Drowning his sorrows in the bottle, losing vast sums every night at the gaming tables. I can’t imagine how there is anything left for me to inherit. Yes, me, a female, to inherit my father’s fortune.” She tapped the beast on the nose. “I know what you’re thinking, but my uncle said if I remained unmarried until this birthday, then…” The dog nudged her arm as if encouraging her to go on and barked to emphasize the request.
“No.” She curled up on her side, and the dog lay down as well. “I tire of worrying, tire of waiting. I did not imagine my life to be this way. Nor did Mama. She dreamt my whole life for me, and none of it has come to pass. And now I try to dream it for myself, and it is nothing like to hers. Oh, Alfie, what am I to do?
“I wish you were a wolf.” She yawned, blinked, let her hand rest on the beast’s paw. “How safe I would feel, with a friend who was a wolf…”
* * *
Alfred watched her, unblinking, and thus caught the moment when she abandoned herself to sleep.
He was stunned by how unafraid of him she was, how easily she took him into her confidence. How clever she was not to have fled from what was clearly a predator; how confident she became once she understood he meant her no harm.
Shifting shape had its drawbacks; here was a notable advantage. He regretted not having thought of this before. He’d learned more in his wolfskin in a handful of moments than he had as a man. While he was able to respond in a limited manner, she seemed more than adept at reading his intentions.
He ran his muzzle all over her face, her hair, tickled her neck. Perhaps his wolf could win her heart, and his human could woo her body? Perhaps they might meet in the middle—if theycompromised—and achieve the all-important bond?
What was this nonsense about inheriting a fortune? He leaned into her side, and she curled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He was no solicitor, but even he knew the laws of primogeniture were ironclad. More information for Bates; now he understood why she sought legal advice.
And horse breeding! He’d surmised she was thinking along those lines, given their discussion last night. He snorted. She could do what she liked as far as that was concerned. They had the land and the facilities for it; O’Mara might try glamouring the stud into doing his job. It was the work of a moment to make this dream come true, and he would see it done.
Thought she’d take him as a lover, did she? Thought he was charming? He grinned, all lupine toothiness, as he considered ways in which he could charm her. Oh, yes, he would be her friend and so much more.
The salty taste of her tear was still on his tongue, and he let out a low, mournful howl. The notion that she had been alone, grieving, made him want to tear the world apart.
Over the rise came his Beta and his Omega, leading a pacified Jupiter. They both gasped when they saw him curled up next to his mate.
“Alpha!” Bates looked apoplectic. “She was meant to stay away from the meadow.”
“Shall I see if I may glamour her in her sleep?” O’Mara offered.
Alfred rose and shook himself, then growled.
“But this is a catastrophe,” Bates insisted. “She must not become curious about you.”
The wolf bared his teeth, and Felicity stirred. His Beta and Omega looked aghast—was she about to awake? With one last sniff, Alfred bounded away.
* * *
