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“All due to the application of a little oil.” And the soap, which she suspected had been made of the same stuff. “And now that my essence is discernible?”
“It is howvera amorumknow one another,” Ursella piped up. The authority in her little voice belied her youth. “And so if you had no scent your true mate could not tell if you were his.”
“Artie was reacting to the revelation of yours.” Charlotte waggled her eyebrows. “And your fragrance is, eh, affecting him.”
“This is as far out of the realm of polite conversation as I have ever dared.” Beatrice took in the hopeful faces around her. “Is the effect due to, due to…” Was she Arthur’s true mate? How could that be?
“It is not for us to say,” Charlotte said as she put her hand over Ursella’s mouth. The child’s shoulders dropped as she heaved a weighty sigh.
“Then there is only one way to find out.” Beatrice rose as the family—herfamily—bared their necks to her. “I shall seek out the duke.”
Seventeen
Arthur could not remain as his bear indefinitely, and yet he chose to wander the edges of the land.
His land.
He could not fight thesentio, not now. When and how it would be done…If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done…properly. Quoting the Scottish play again? As Madam said, not the most auspicious choice.
He did not dispute the feeling rising in his heart for his mate…and thanks to that had such compassion for his father’s grief it was as though his papa’s heart beat in his chest. He now understood the depth of his Alpha’s despair at the loss of his mate, the mother of his children.
In experiencing that loss, in empathy for his father, he knew without a doubt he would welcome his true mate with open arms. The fear of loss was not greater than even one moment of the euphoria the bond would bring. He understood not only his father’s desolation but his father’s joy. The notion Arthur would sacrifice even one moment of that reality was the height of absurdity.
He understood the child’s grief as well and knew it was time to set it aside.
To trust. To dare. To lay himself bare.
To the bond. To his mate.
True mate!his bear sang as they splashed through the brook.
His bear, whose great sensitivity allowed him to deeply feel the breeze ruffling his fur, to perceive the beauty of the blossoming spring, to inhale deeply the scents of the earth, his earth, his land, to admire the beauty of the changing light as the day waned. He climbed the sturdiest tree in his copse to watch the sun paint its nightly farewell over Arcadia and welcomed it—this place, that woman—into his heart. His heart, which would soon no longer be his own and in turn would be so much the stronger for it. A shiver ran up his spine as he scented his mate on the cooling breeze, turned to see her walking toward him unerringly through the wood, without hesitation, head held high. And beyond his comprehension, his heart expanded even further.
***
Beatrice followed the path she had seen Arthur walk that first morning. The way carving through the wood was broad yet careful of the flowering shrubbery and mindful of the saplings straining for light and growth. It led to a clearing surrounded by dead stumps scored by claws and soaring trees forming a canopy. She would have continued on had she not seen the branches of the largest oak flutter.
A small boulder at the edge of the clearing would serve as a place to rest.
She sat. She took a breath. She spoke.
“According to your brother, I was given an oil made of neem that masked my scent. I was exhorted to use it every day without fail by the housekeeper of Adolphus Place, whom I considered an ally. The oil’s purpose was not to ensure Castleton’s succession, as I had been led to believe, but rather to prevent it.” Beatrice sought him in the branches, but he was well hidden. “I went from one abode in which the staff distrusted me to one in which I was universally disliked and thwarted. I presume they did not want ahomo plenisas the Alpha female? I would be gratified if you could shed some light on this.”
He was awfully quiet for one she must assume was of great size. “I used the last of it and so… I gather I have an odor? And it is causing a reaction in you?” Beatrice asked. “You must appreciate how impossible it is for a lady to converse about the scents of her person, made somehow worse by your lack of response.”
Impatience gathered, and behind her breastbone, her heart flared. “How glad I am I practiced on smaller beasts. Although I am not so much conversing with you as I am with this mighty oak.” Another flutter of leaves greeted her pronouncement.
This would not do. “Osborn, show yourself,” Beatrice demanded. She rose to move closer to the tree. “Arthur. Please.”
A bear dropped down from a height, which was not so very great as he was very, very large. He towered over her like the tree itself, his massive shoulder well over her head, the hump of his neck adding to his bulk. His coat, a rich brown, was the color of Arthur’s hair, and its—his—eyes were the brightest gold. He snarled, baring his teeth in a fashion Beatrice supposed was meant to send her screaming for her life. She would admit to a quiver of unease, but she had not been called Lady Frost for no good reason. She folded her hands at her waist and held the bear’s gaze.
It chuffed, then growled, then roared up into the canopy; the leaves swirled as if blown by a gale. He lowered his head, glared at her, and pawed at the earth. She went so far as to yawn.
The bear slowly reached out with his nose and snuffled the pulse on her neck.
She giggled.
He Shifted.
