Imprisoned at Werewolf Keep (Werewolf Keep Trilogy) (2 page)

She did know some of those men from her coming out season and the soirees she had held at her London house
, which had been designed to attract a husband for Phil. Of course, it hadn’t worked out. What did she know of match-making? All she’d succeeded in doing was embarrassing her friend and making Phil realize how unsuitable she was as a marriage partner. Maybe if she’d picked less prominent men to introduce her friend to, one of them might have taken a fancy to Philomena and been able to look past her poor circumstances. But that was not the case with the men she’d invited into her home. They’d all wanted wealth, noble lineage and beauty in their prospective bride. Character, intelligence and kindness were irrelevant to such men.

The rider was now at the bottom of the stairs and was dismounting with the aid of a stable boy who had come ru
nning from behind the house. It always amazed her how the servants all knew exactly what to do and when.

The ho
usehold had run automatically during her time as chatelaine, requiring no input from her whatsoever. It was just another area where she’d felt useless.

Howard’s first wife, Lady Caroline
, had been the epitome of noble accomplishments. Not only had she established a household that ran like clockwork, but had produced off-spring with admirable speed after their marriage. Her only failing had been in not producing a live heir. And she’d died trying to correct that fault. The little boy had only lived a few days longer than his mother.

‘My dear Lady Montgomery, how are you?’ The man spoke with exaggerated rounded
vowels as if he had pebbles in his mouth.

Who was this man? This slim, short peacock was totally unfamiliar to her. Was he the brother of one of her school friends? His lank brown hair
, with its long sidelevers and handle-bar moustache, seemed ludicrous on a man of his youthful years. It was as if he was trying to appear older than he was. Watery grey eyes looked at her with something close to adoration.

‘I am sorry, sir. You have me at a disadvantage.’ By rights
, she should not even be speaking to a man who had not formally been introduced to her. But this was her home, she was a married woman, and it would have been most impolite to have turned away from him at that moment, to walk back into the mansion and await his more formal approach.

‘Of course, I do beg your pardon. I am Sir
Victor Rathgart. I was a friend of your dear husband, God rest his soul. As soon as I heard of his untimely passing, I knew I had to make haste to your side to pay my condolences and to see if there was anything I might do to assist you at this difficult time.’

Fidelia studied the man f
or a few long seconds before finding the polite words of thanks that were required of her. There was something not quite right about this man’s presentation. He had delivered his speech as if he was performing on the stage at Covent Garden. It sounded false.

‘Thank you
, sir. But you need not have bothered making the long trip. I am well enough. I have only just now seen my closest friend off. She has been staying with me while the worst of my grief was weathered.’

‘Yes,
Mrs Philomena Carstairs. From Yorkshire, is she not?’

Filomena’s mouth dropped open in a most unlady-like gape before she had a chance to correct it.

‘Yes. How is it that you know of Mrs Carstairs?’ She was edging for the door now, hoping that the butler, Haversham, would come to her rescue soon. It was one of the old man’s most annoying habits, his ever-so-polite intrusion into every aspect of her life. But, in this moment, that trait was highly prized. She needed him desperately. Although this man had done nothing so far to threaten her, she felt under siege.

‘Oh, I have never met the beautiful lady, but she is quite the talk of the ton at the moment. The unseemly haste of her marriage to gentry
, who has not been seen in London for ten years or more, is quite the talk of the town.’

‘And that talk had her leaving today?
The gossip mill is more knowledgeable than I gave it credit,’ she bit out, no longer concerned with politeness. She turned her back and headed for the safety of the threshold of her home.

‘Have I offended you
, dear lady? I do beg your pardon if I have inadvertently done so. I know she is a dear friend to you. I am sure that the gossip is incorrect in regards to her.’

‘Thank
you for coming all the way out here to visit me, Sir Rathgart, but if you will excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to within. I am not at liberty to entertain guests at present. Maybe in a week or so. If you would care to send a card beforehand…’

She was through
the doorway now and Haversham was at her side, bowing obsequiously.

The man had followed her right to the threshold.
‘I will certainly do just that, my dear lady. In a week then. I will look forward to the occasion with great anticipation.’ His handlebar moustache dipped from side to side as he wobbled his top lip.

‘Haversham?’ she indicated t
he door and the man. The look the butler shot her was shocked affront. But he did her unspoken bidding.

With a stiff bow in the direction of the young man, he began to close the door. ‘Thank you for your kind concern
, sir, I am sure her Ladyship will be in a better state to receive guests in a week’s time.’ And he closed the door on the man.

Fidel
ia breathed a sigh of relief. She had never been so frightened in her life. And yet she knew she was being silly. The man had posed no real threat to her at all. But there was something not quite right about that man. The way he looked at her. The way he seemed to know exactly what was happening in her life, out here in the country. How could he have known Phil was leaving today? No one but the staff knew that information. Had he bribed one of her servants? But to what end?

‘I am not at home to that man, Haversham. Now or in a week’s time. He said he
was a friend of my husband’s, but I have never met him. Do you recognise him?’

Again
, that look of affront, as if she had stepped over a societal line by requesting such information from him.

‘No madam, that gentleman was unfamiliar to me. Will there be anything else?’

Fidelia shook her head and turned toward the morning room where a mid-morning coffee was awaiting her. Of later, she had taken to the habit of drinking coffee instead of tea. Its strong, bitter taste seemed to suit her better than the milky tea that was her usual beverage. It was still not the done thing, except by the upstart Americans that were infiltrating the ton, but she didn’t care. This was her home, for the moment at least, and so she would eat and drink what she liked here without the critical eyes of the world on her.

But
, obviously, the eyes were on her, even here in her own home. Who was that odd little man, and what was the real purpose behind his visit?

Lord Jasper Horton paused for a moment over the tome he was reading to look out at the winter scene beyond the window. There had been heavy snow this year and the moors were pristine white with it, even now. Set against the clear blue sky and winter sunshine, it was quite the most beautiful sight he’d seen in some time.

In moments like this his life felt oddly satisfying. Certainly
, it was not the life he would have chosen for himself, largely imprisoned in an ancient Keep on the desolate Yorkshire Moors, but in the last six months it had become less onerous. Now he could appreciate his studies in the warm library, while the world outside was white and cold. Now he could appreciate the friendships of his fellow in-mates and the companionship of his best friend, Byron Carstairs. Now he could look in the mirror and not be disgusted by the handsome, gentlemanly face that hid the monster beneath.

If he still looked back at his old life with regret, it was only to be expected. His had been a fortunate life up until
that fateful night. He was the eldest son of landed gentry, wealth and privilege his birth right. His golden good looks and athletic physique only added to his good fortune. With parents and siblings who loved and respected him, an intellect that few rivalled, and all the time he needed to indulge his unquenchable thirst for knowledge, every day had been a blessing.

The
n the worst had happened and he’d willingly embraced atonement, accepting the limits placed on him for his crime. Up until six months ago that kind of acceptance was all he had. But then Philomena Davenport had come into all their lives and brought with her a different perspective, a different way of seeing who and what they were. She was the light in their darkness, and because of her, he had found the courage to reunite with his family.

It still felt wrong
, somehow – their willingness to forgive him for what he’d become, to accept who or what he now was. But if they were willing to do that, then he had to be willing to forgive himself and accept that part of him that was so unacceptable.

Or that was what he told himself. He still had a long way to
go before he reached that point. But it was his goal. One day he would forgive himself for murdering his housekeeper …

‘Jas? Any luck?’ Byron asked, coming up to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at the tightly scrawled notes on the page beside the tome.

‘I’m not sure alchemy is the answer. It all seems a bit too close to magic and witchcraft for my liking,’ Jas answered, turning from the scene out the window and focusing on his friend.

Byron was happier these days. Since Philomena came into his life
, he had become almost happy. Yes, his lot was still as heavy as it had always been. His role as their guardian, their keeper, was just as onerous as ever. But now with his bride beside him, he handled it with a lightness that had never been his before. Not in the last two and a half years that he’d known him, anyway.

‘Some
would say that you are the stuff of magic and witchcraft,’ Byron countered with a grin.

He grinned back, letting his mouth quirk up at the sides in self-
deprecation. ‘I suppose they might. Like vampires and ghosts. I suppose one must put aside the prejudices of the intellectual mind and allow for all possibilities. But it does annoy me to read how a mixture of hemlock, mouse blood and a ground scorpion’s tail can cure blindness.’

‘Some physicians are still leeching bad humours from the body to cure disease
s today.’

‘Yes
, but leeches can be useful in bringing down inflammation.’

‘Exactly. So
, in amongst the crack-pot theories, you might find grains of truth about magical beings. Don’t give up.’

Jasper gave a disgusted little grunt and turned back to his reading. If he hadn’t given up by now, t
hen he doubted he ever would. But that didn’t make him optimistic. It just meant he was, on some level or other, bloody-minded. He was never going to let himself accept that there was no hope for them.

‘Phil returned from
the south a little while ago. I have told Cook to prepare a welcome home dinner for her. She needs a little uplifting. Her friend’s grief has distressed her greatly.’ Byron leaned against the window frame and stared out at the snowy moors.

‘
Better pull out the violin then, had I not? We all became very adept at making your wife feel better when you left her.’

Jas
knew he was touching on a still-sensitive wound for Byron, but where Phil was concerned, he, like the other inhabitants of the Keep, could be very protective. When Byron had left Phil, trying to drive a wedge between their growing attachment to each other, he’d hurt her so badly that it almost led to her death. It had taken all the denizens of the Keep to help her weather that traumatic period. They all loved her – for her father, for herself and for her whole-hearted acceptance of them. They would do anything for her now, even stand up for her against Byron, if need be.

Not that they were
needed in that way, anymore. Byron loved his new wife to distraction. Despite his harsh persona, he was all gentle kindness and warmth whenever he dealt with Philomena. Jasper had no doubt that Byron would die for her if it was required of him.

‘I wish there’d been someone with a violin to help me feel better back then…’ Byron sounded defeated for a moment
, and Jasper was immediately contrite. Of course, Byron had suffered as badly as Phil had. He’d been sacrificing his own needs for hers by leaving. It was only in hindsight that such a sacrifice had proven unnecessary.

‘Well
, you have no need of violins anymore. You have the love and companionship of a beautiful woman who adores you. Few are so favoured in life.’

Byron let the sombre expression slip from his harsh features
, and he smiled again. His hazel eyes were suddenly as warm as a midsummer forest.

‘No need for violins, but your playing i
s always a pleasure to hear. If you had been a lesser man, you might have made a career for yourself with that instrument.’

‘A lesser man? My social position neither makes me a greater or lesser man. If anyone should know that, you should.’

Byron grinned at him again, as if he’d led Jasper to a conclusion that he’d wanted him to make. Just as the comment about leeches had been designed to get him to see value in all learning, so the comment about being a lesser man had been designed to make him acknowledge the man he was. To measure himself against the virtues he valued, so he could measure how far short of them he actually fell.

In truth, except in the instance of his housekeeper’s death, there was little Jasper felt he’d
done to lower his value. He prided himself on being a gentleman and living by a gentleman’s code of conduct. For all intents and purposes, he had been true to that code.

‘When will you stop employing Socratic method
and just say what you mean?’ Jasper asked, more curious than annoyed.

‘You a
re the philosopher. It seems a natural method to employ when I seek to make a point with you.’

‘Yes, well, s
ometimes the direct approach saves time.’

‘Ah yes,
but does it achieve its end as effectively? I think not.

‘
I must go to my wife. She may need my assistance in removing her heavy travelling apparel. It is a great pity that Howard Montgomery saw fit to ride to hounds in the middle of winter when the ice made such pursuits so dangerous. What was the man thinking, to risk himself that way when he had a lovely young wife at home waiting to keep him warm?’

Jasper considered this question closely. What would drive a man into the icy outdoors to pursue a fox
, weak from poor pickings over the cold months? It was certainly the done thing by the gentry, and anyone who was anyone did so to be seen. But from all that he’d heard of Montgomery, he had been a slave to the pastime, putting aside all other activities for the pleasure of pursuing the outnumbered, unwitting victim.

He and all those at the Keep had more of an affinity with the fox than the hunters. Maybe Howard’s death was fair payment for his bloodthirsty
predilections. But it did seem unfair that a young wife should have to pay for them, too, and because of her, that their Phil should have to suffer additional sadness.

‘A fox’s winter pelt is the prize,
’ Jasper informed his friend, almost forgetting where their conversation had started.

‘Poor sport in my eyes
. I am off to do my husbandly duties. I wonder if I will ever tire of them. It sometimes feels quite impossible that I was alone for so long. Now that Phil is here, it almost feels as if she has always been here.’

‘And yet the last nine
months have flown by like the blink of an eye. I am happy for you, ‘Ron, you do know that, don’t you?’ Jas rose to put a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

A
look of surprise and then guarded pleasure crossed Byron’s face. He cleared his throat and gave a brief nod. ‘I know. Thank you.’

B
efore the emotions flowing between them became more than either could comfortably handle, Byron turned on his heel and strode from the library. Jasper watched him depart with bemused envy. He knew what his friend and his wife would be doing for the next few hours.

Trying to turn his mind from such amorous thoughts, he sat down at the desk again. But his concentration was gone. Images of a welcoming female body filled his mind. Not Phil. He would never let
his mind conjure such a picture. But an anonymous female, like so many he’d known in his younger years, all pretty and willing, providing the kind of pleasure that only fine whisky could equal.

He had known no such pleasures of the flesh for two and a half years. Not because he didn’t still have the
urge. He did, more so than ever. But they knew so little about the condition. What if he could pass on his disease to a woman during sex? Who knew if he might lose all control of his wild side during the act and break her skin? They still didn’t know if the contagion could be passed at other times of the month. And because of that unknown, and because he didn’t believe he deserved the pleasures to be found in a willing female’s arms, he kept to a celibate life.

And as far as he knew,
all the denizens of the Keep kept to that strict regime. They didn’t even form bonds amongst themselves beyond the superficial friendships based on shared interests. It was as if they each lived within their own lonely, isolated prison while sharing the physical space of their greater prison with each other

It was yet another way that he paid for his crime.
And he imagined it was how the others saw it, too. He accepted it as his lot, just as he accepted all the rest.