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Tabitha regarded. And what she saw was unlike anything she had seen before.
One moment, she was observing the hand of the prince, as pale and pampered as one would expect from a person who had never done a day’s labor, and the next—the next, she was looking at a paw. A massive paw, covered in brown fur, claws like knives fully extended.
His Highness flexed those claws as she continued to stare in silence. A comment was wanted, then? “Ah,” she said.
“Ah?” He presented his palm, where she saw the pads common to…to animals, and in another instant, quicker than a blink, the paw changed back into his hand. “I will have you know, Miss Barrington, that only the most powerful of my kind can Shift a discrete body part.” He huffed, part annoyance, part amusement. “I expect a sanguine demeanor is essential to one in your line of work but is that all you have to say?”
Speechlessness would be an acceptable reaction to what she had just seen. “I am, of course, amazed.” It made her wonder about several acquaintances she’d made in her travels, the sense that there was something more to them than met the eye, the fact none of them encountered her and commenced cataloging their ailments. They had a glint in the eye, a robustness she could not categorize. And now this: a man turned, partially, into a beast. “You will know that confidentiality is key to any practice of healing,” she said. “I would assure you that no one will learn of what I saw here. In this room and, and in this place, land, er, I doubt many of my, my kind, uh, human females, I see why you said that now,human females, eh, are aware of this, uh—” Perhaps she was a little shocked after all.
“You are now part of a small band ofhomo plenemwho are aware of the existence ofversipelles.To wit: a human who knows of the existence of Shapeshifters.” She was grateful for the translation from what she guessed was Latin. “We are of every species you can call to mind and occupy every stratum of society. We are princes and dukes, housekeepers and butlers, solicitors and famous lady authors of Gothic novels. We contain two selves and are ever in communication with both sides.” He hesitated. Imagine, a nervous prince who hesitated! “We have a law, and I find I must break it. Who but I may do so, without rebuke? We are never to speak of our dual nature, nor inquire as to the species of anotherversipelles…nor disclose our knowledge of another’s identity once entrusted with it. But it must be done for you to do your work.”
He looked at her expectantly. So it was up to her to help him break his own law. “The duke is aversipellis.”
“He is a lion,” the prince said, and an angry flush of color touched the apples of his cheeks. “He was held in a menagerie in his Changed Shape.”
Had he kept the knowledge of his human self while in captivity? “That is horrific.”
The pressure the prince exerted crested and retreated. “We have an abhorrence for any animal held under such conditions and as such do not patronize that class ofentertainment.” He spat the last word as though it were a curse. “His identity was robbed, and I require you to aid him in retrieving it.”
“I have questions, as you may imagine—”
“Her Grace of Lowell will see to the details.”
Details the like of: What did he eat? Did he make a habit of chasing down prey for his supper? Would he condescend to be treated not only by a woman but also a mere human? “I would not know where to begin.”
“Ply him with your tonics. Et cetera.” The princely dismissiveness returned in full flow. “For he is, at least, half a man.”
Would any of her cures work on the likes of his kind? She wouldn’t know until she tried, but she doubted it. And yet she could not resist. “Speaking of tonics. Your complexion seems to be taxed with high color, Your Highness.” She eyed his flushed face and rummaged in her reticule. “I have just the thing.”
“Do you indeed?” The pressure was a building hurricane, and she flinched. He was truly cross.
“I have a soothing lotion ideal for those who suffer from a nature burdened with an excess of choler. I have seen it do a world of good—”
“All in my world is good, miss,” His Highness all but growled at her, “and I shall leave it, and you, at that.”
How utterly typical to insist someone else profit from her cures but refuse them himself.
The footman did a complicated backward step and turn on the threshold then came to attention as the regent swept out of the room. The royal attendant bowed with a fluidity that called to mind a salmon; before he could follow the prince, Tabitha slipped a vial of the lotion in the hand—or perhaps fin—of the footman, should His Highness change his mind. Felicity soon joined her with an Osborn retainer, whose wrinkly face and tiny hands made Tabitha think of turtles.
Later, the women gathered: she, Felicity, Beatrice, and Beatrice’s sister-in-law, Lady Swinburn. There was brandy, a rare indulgence, and womanly discussion, a delight. Her advice was accepted without question, a rarity; she thought that being in one place, amongst friends, would not be so trying after all.
However, the palpable contentment radiating off the happily married women was enough to inspire her to seek a breath of fresh air. What a low emotion, to feel such gloom at the joy of others. There was an ottoman sitting beneath an open window, an idiosyncratic placement. The whole house had a feeling of lightness and play, which Tabitha would not have expected from an arranged, unwilling marriage. They were making a go of it, Beatrice and her duke, and it showed. Tabitha sat on the oddly placed hassock and leaned against the sill.
One moment she was regarding a rose arbor under refurbishment, and the next, a man. He stood motionless in the moonlight, his form swathed in what looked like outsize clothing from another century; his hair was hopelessly snarled, yet its abundance was breathtaking. She could not read his expression from the distance and instead parsed his stance, a method she had heard derided in more than one learned circle, but it had always proved informative: the man’s shoulders looked like beams holding up a barn ceiling, his hands were loose, but she perceived tension in his elbows, surely the reason his shoulders were so taut. His feet were braced for fight or flight; either would suit, as he was more than prepared to move in an instant. His eyes did not settle for long in one place, and the overall impression was of a man uncomfortable in his surroundings, in his very self.
This could be no one but the Duke of Llewellyn.
Tabitha took in his stance, his stillness, his predatory aspect, and knew a moment of misgiving. Despite what she said to the prince, she knew little about dukes and even less about what aid she could lend to aversipellis. After rising from the ottoman, she stood in the window. He had not moved perceptibly, but she noticed his chest subtly expand with a breath, his chin tilt up, his left hand clench into a fist.
“Your Grace.” She suspected a lion’s hearing was acute and did not raise her voice beyond her normal tones. “You would be welcome indoors.”
He did not reply, but again, faster than her sight could reconcile, one moment he was in the distance, and the next, directly beneath the window.
Tabitha tried again. “We are to be made known to each other at some stage—”
“I know who you are.” His voice was low and rough, more a growl than human speech. It resonated from deep in his chest, and it was as though it stroked her from cheek to neck, her skin erupting in gooseflesh.
“I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.” An empty social remark such as she strove to do her best never to utter.
