Luck of the Wolf (17 page)

Accomplished exactly what he'd wanted. Shouldn't
he be glad? As
she
should be, because it was what she wanted, too—wasn't it?

Then why was she anything but happy? Why did she keep wondering what Cort was doing, what he was thinking, how he felt when he—

“Are you ready, my dear?” Babette asked.

No, she wasn't ready. She didn't want to see Cort again so soon. Even a restless night's sleep hadn't lessened her self-disgust. Or her silly, childish anger. But she couldn't admit any of that to Babette.

“I am ready,” she said, and followed Babette to the stairs. As she had feared, Cort was already in the drawing room. He scarcely looked at her as he bowed and waited for the women to enter.

“Thank you for attending us, Monsieur Renier,” Babette said. She held out her hand to Aria. “Lucienne is eager to begin today's lesson.”

Aria smiled mechanically. “
Merci, monsieur,
for your assistance.”

Cort's glance flickered to her face. “
De rien, mademoiselle.
”

Nothing. That was exactly what it was.

“We discussed introductions yesterday,” Babette went on. “One does not simply introduce oneself to strangers, nor should one introduce one's friends to just anyone. An introduction is a social endorsement.” She smiled as if with secret amusement. “One addresses all but one's closest friends and family members by their titles. Were Monsieur Renier your brother or fiancé, for example, you might call him ‘Cort' in private. As an unmarried woman, however, in public you should address him in only the most formal way.”

That's fine with me,
Aria thought.
I doubt I'll be addressing him at all once we get to New Orleans.

The thought raised a lump in her throat that refused to be budged.

“As a gentleman,” Babette continued, “Monsieur Renier would never introduce one of his acquaintances to you unless he was certain that you would find the connection agreeable.”

An odd expression crossed Cort's face. Aria wondered if he was thinking of people he might have introduced to her if things had been different. His mysterious family, perhaps?

“If you should wish to avoid further dealings with one to whom you have been introduced,” Babette said, “you may avoid meeting that person's eyes when he or she approaches you.”

Just the way Cort was avoiding
her
eyes.

“As a lady, you must not give your hand to a gentleman unless he is a friend of a member of your family or an intimate acquaintance. A gentleman never offers to shake a lady's hand unless she offers first.” She gestured toward Cort. “Let us try it.”

Hesitantly, Aria put out her hand. Cort was slow in taking it. Though both of them wore gloves, the spark Aria felt was immediate. Burning heat penetrated deep into her skin.

Cort snatched his hand away much too quickly. He dropped his arm to his side, and his fingers worked as if he were trying to rid himself of her touch.

Babette pretended not to notice. “The kiss is another form of greeting that must be used only among family and dear friends,” she said. She took Aria's shoulders and turned her around, kissing the air to either side of Aria's face. “This is how it is done among Europeans. In America, it is considered somewhat vulgar to greet even a friend this way in public.”

Aria felt Cort's gaze on her back. She was remembering a very different sort of kiss. Was he remembering, too?

“Of course, a lady never leads a man to believe he should be permitted a greater familiarity than society deems correct,” Babette said, her voice growing dim in Aria's ears. “Formality is seldom an error with any male acquaintance. True intimacy should exist only among close family members, or between a husband and wife.”

Or two people who lie together without being married, like Babette and Yuri,
Aria thought.

Babette turned Aria to face Cort again. “You must continue to practice such formality with Monsieur Renier and Baron Chernikov,” she said, “so that you do not lapse into bad habits when you are introduced to New Orleans society.”

If only she'd been enough of a lady to begin with, Aria thought, none of this would have happened.

“I understand,” she said. “I will practice very hard.”

Babette smiled approvingly. “I am certain you will. It will also be helpful to remember that a lady should never reveal too much, or discuss personal or controversial subjects, with strangers or recent acquaintances. A certain frankness is admired, but it must be tempered with discretion. For instance, you should not gossip or introduce subjects such as the intimate relations between a man and woman.”

Aria knew Babette was referring to their conversation at the kitchen table and wondered why she had mentioned it in front of Cort. Cort seemed to be wondering, too. He was looking straight at Aria again, his dark brows drawn into a frown.

Was he afraid that she'd spoken to Babette of what they'd done on the way to the lodge?

“A true lady is modest in all things,” Babette said. “She always strives to maintain her poise. Too great a show of any emotion is discouraged.”

“Is the same true of a gentleman?” Aria asked, meeting Cort's gaze.

“It is even more true for them. Is that not so,
monsieur?
”

Cort didn't answer, but he looked very uncomfortable. Aria was glad.

“If you have other business to attend, Monsieur Renier,” Babette said, “Lucienne and I will continue our discussion of dinner menus. Will we see you at luncheon?”

He looked slightly startled at the dismissal. “Yes. Of course.”

They left Cort standing alone in the drawing room. After a moment Aria heard him walk out the door and close it with a slight but noticeable bang. She found herself shaking as she joined Babette in the dining room, and even Babette's praise at the end of the lesson didn't make her feel any better.

For the next week Aria practiced and learned everything from how to manage a conversation to making social calls. Babette placed particular emphasis on the specific obligations of an unmarried woman of good breeding, though she never again brought up their talk on the subject of mating. And neither did Aria.

Aria's encounters with Cort were coolly formal, just as Babette had advised. She gave him a shallow curtsy every time they passed each other, and he bowed in return. Their eyes, if they met at all, did so only briefly.
By the end of that first week, Aria felt as if she had turned to ice, as unfeeling and transparent as glass.

At the beginning of the second week, Babette mentioned a ball.

“Naturally we cannot have a real one,” Babette said, “but we can make two couples and imagine the rest.”

“Are you going to teach me to dance?” Aria asked, a sharp stab of worry catching her under her tightly compressed ribs.

“That is a rather essential part of a ball,
n'est-ce pas?
” Babette said with a smile.

“So I will dance with you?”

“The entire point of the exercise is that you learn how to dance with a
man
.”

“Yuri is a man.”

“The Baron is not a very good dancer. Monsieur Renier, given his nature, must be graceful as a matter of course. As you will be.”

There was no getting away from it, Aria thought. And when Cort joined her, Babette and a slightly unsteady Yuri in the drawing room, she could see he hated the idea as much as she did.

“First, the host or hostess will generally see to introductions,” Babette said. “A ballroom acquaintance seldom extends beyond the ball itself, unless the individuals meet frequently on other occasions. Therefore a young lady cannot accept more than two dances with the same man, or others may misconstrue their relationship.”

No one could misconstrue my relationship with Cort now,
Aria thought bitterly.

“A true gentleman will always accommodate a lady's reasonable request, whether it be to take her into the ballroom when she is without an escort or retrieve a
glass of punch.” Babette nodded to Cort. “I am certain that Monsieur Renier has been in much demand as an escort at those events he has attended.”

“You do me too much honor,
madame,
” Cort said.

But Aria could hear something wrong in his voice, as if Babette had said something that made him want to laugh.

“A ball usually begins with a waltz,” Babette said, “so that is what I will demonstrate first. Though we have no music, I will endeavor to hum a tune. Anna, watch me and Baron Chernikov.”

Her heart sinking even lower than before, Aria watched Yuri place his right hand rather clumsily on Babette's waist and take her hand with his left. They both wore gloves; Babette had been firm in explaining that bare hands must never touch at a ball.

Humming softly, Babette nodded to Yuri. He took an awkward half step, caught himself and then slowly swung Babette in a circle. He was certainly not graceful, but when she glanced at Babette's face Aria could see that Babette didn't mind at all. She was smiling faintly, and her eyes were half-closed in pleasure. Even Yuri looked happier than he had in days.

Aria didn't want to think about what they felt when they touched each other. But trying to avoid those thoughts only brought her back to Cort and
his
touch.

She glanced quickly at his face. He, too, was watching Yuri and Babette, avoiding Aria's gaze with such determination that she knew he was thinking of her, too.

You're made of ice, remember?
she told herself.

Imagining herself as an icicle helped a little when Babette and Yuri stopped dancing and Babette indicated that Cort should take Aria's hand. Even when she felt
his heat through her glove, she told herself that she was in no danger of melting.

But when he put his other hand on her waist, all the layers she wore, from her chemise to the ball gown itself, seemed to peel away and slide to the floor.

Cort didn't look at her. He only smiled stiffly and waited until Babette indicated that they should begin. The other woman counted out the steps as Cort guided Aria with his movements. It didn't take very long for her to catch on. The speed of Babette's humming increased, and so did the pace of the dance.

“As a rule,” Babette said, as Cort swung Aria around the room, “there would be much more space for dancing. A ballroom can generally accommodate anywhere from a few couples to several dozen, perhaps more. The dancers take care not to bump into each other, and once a rhythm is established the effect is quite beautiful.” It
felt
beautiful, Aria had to admit. Her body seemed to be flying, her feet barely touching the ground.

And Cort was flying, too. He was just as graceful as a man as he had been as a wolf, each effortless motion sweeping her along until she could barely remember what it was like to walk. It was magic, just like in the fairy tales Franz had read to her when she was a child.

And just like magic, something happened on the fourth circle around the room, something Aria hadn't dared expect. Cort looked down into her eyes. And smiled.

It wasn't a distant smile, like before. His body had lost its rigidity, and the tension had gone out of his face.

“You dance very well, Lucienne,” he said softly.

“I…I do?”

“Yes. I should have told you before how much I…admire you for what you've accomplished.”

“I've done my best,” she said, trying not to let him see just how confused she was.

“I know you have.” He squeezed her hand. “I am proud of you.”

Aria could see much more than pride in his eyes. And then the ice cracked. It sloughed away from Aria's soul and left her warm all the way through.

He still wanted her. He could pretend and pretend, just as she did, but his eyes didn't lie. Neither did his hand holding her waist so tightly, or his body brushing hers. She could feel his arousal when the dance brought them close, could hear his breath coming faster than such mild exertion would cause. The wolf was there, barely hidden, and her own wolf howled with joy.

The wolf she was afraid to trust.

“Tell me,” she said, smiling up at him, “did that other woman, the woman you loved…did she dance as well as I do?”

C
ORT'S STEP FALTERED
.
Babette's humming stopped suddenly, and the dance came to a halt. Cort seemed to shake himself, and soon there was nothing left of his smile but a shadow.

He released Aria and bowed. She returned the courtesy, and when she straightened again, he had already stepped away.

How could she have been so stupid?

“Very good,” Babette said with forced cheer, “but I can see that you will need a little more instruction,
chérie.
”

“Yes,
madame.
” Aria looked out the window, where the late-afternoon sun was casting the woods in shadow. “May I…speak to you privately?”

Cort took the hint with alacrity. Once he and Yuri had left the room, Aria took Babette's arm.

“I would like to take a walk in the woods,” she said. “There is something I'd like to discuss.”

“This sounds most serious,” Babette said, peering into Aria's eyes. “Has this anything to do with our previous conversation?”

“In a way.”

Babette sighed. “Very well. Let us go upstairs and change into something more suitable for walking.”

For Aria, “suitable” meant the shirt and trousers Cort had reluctantly bought to replace the clothing
that had been destroyed when she had Changed for the fight in the alley. Babette clearly didn't approve, but she agreed to let Aria wear them when Aria promised she would never consider donning such garments in New Orleans.

“It would be scandalous,” Babette said. “And a terrible blow to your reputation.”

Neither scandals nor reputations were of any interest to Aria now. She couldn't even bask in the freedom of an unencumbered stride and lungs that could expand all the way.

There was far too much at stake for anything else to matter.

She listened carefully when she and Babette stepped out the door. The usual woodland noises and scents were evident, but Aria couldn't hear or smell Cort at all. He, too, had probably left the lodge.

Nevertheless, she led Babette some distance away from the building, moving downslope as fast as Babette's dress would permit.

“Please!” Babette called out behind her. “I beg you, let us rest. I am neither
loup-garou
nor machine.”

Aria stopped and looked back. Babette was leaning heavily against the trunk of a tall pine, bent at the waist and breathing hard. It was the first time Aria had ever seen her perspire.

They had gone far enough, in any case. Aria looked around for something to sit on and found a small cluster of boulders a few yards away. She took Babette's hand and led her to the rocks, waiting as patiently as she could for the other woman to sit and catch her breath.

“Mon Dieu,”
Babette breathed, dabbing at her forehead with a handkerchief. “I trust what you are about to say is worth such exertion.”

“I think you will find it interesting,” Aria said. She sat beside Babette and watched a small beetle meander its way through the rocks and pine duff. “I just don't know how to begin.”

Babette was paying full attention to her now. “This is to do with Monsieur Renier,” she said.

“Yes,” Aria said. “But there are other things…” She hunched her shoulders. “Promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say until I…until we decide what we should do.”

Solemnly Babette laid her hand over her heart. “I promise.”

“Cort and Yuri told you that I lost my memory?”

“Oui.”

Aria could feel Babette's tension and hear the unease in her voice. This would not be easy.

“That was a lie,” Aria said. “At first, I was afraid to trust Cort. I didn't want to tell him anything about myself after what those men had done to me. Later, when I knew he wouldn't hurt me, I still couldn't tell him. He thought I was…someone I wasn't, and I was afraid…”

“Ah,” Babette sighed. “I begin to comprehend.”

Aria refused to let her courage falter. “I am not Lucienne Renier. I am not even Anna. My real name is Aria, and I grew up in the mountains in a place called Carantia, on the southern border of Austria. I—”

“Did you say Carantia?”

The question was so sudden and urgent that Aria was taken off guard. “Have you heard of it? When I first came to America, no one I spoke to had heard of it.”

Babette nodded. “I have heard of it. Please continue.”

“I never knew my parents. A man name Franz raised
me. I didn't realize other werewolves existed for most of my life.”

She told Babette how she had grown up in the mountain cottage, ignorant of her origins and family.

“Franz never seemed to want to answer my questions, and after a while I stopped asking. Then, a few months ago, he decided to bring me to America to meet other werewolves who had come from our country. He said he would explain everything when we got to San Francisco.” She swallowed. “He died in New York before he could explain much of anything. I came to San Francisco by myself, hoping I could find the people he wanted me to meet.”

Babette covered her mouth with her hands, muffling laughter. “Ah,
chérie
. The world is indeed a marvelous place.”

“You're not angry that I lied?”

“Angry?
Non, non
. Doubtless I would have done the same.” She lowered her hands. “Did you always go by the name ‘Aria'?”

“That was what Franz always called me, though he never wanted me to tell anyone else.”

“Do Cort and Yuri know?”

“I told Cort after he rescued me, but I asked him not to tell anyone but Yuri. I went by Anna when we met the other people who lived in the village.” She smiled weakly. “I seem to have a lot of names.”

“More than perhaps even you can guess.” Babette released a long, quivering breath. “If you are not Lucienne,” she murmured, “you cannot be Alese.”

“Who is Alese?”

Babette seemed not to hear. “Have you heard the name di Reinardus?”

“No. Is it important?”

“Non,”
Babette said, and hurried on. “If I understand correctly, you knew from the beginning that you could not be Lucienne Renier.”

“Not always. I didn't know until you told me that she was a baby when she was kidnapped and had grown up in New Orleans.”

“And you were afraid to disappoint Cort?”

Aria nodded. “He wanted so badly for it to be true. And after he…after he didn't want to be with me anymore, I thought having a family, even if it wasn't really
my
family…”

“Cort no longer wished to be with you? What do you mean… Aria?”

She met Babette's gaze. “On the way here, we did what you and Yuri do every night.” She lowered her eyes. “I know it's rude to mention it.”

“I am not offended.” Babette took another deep breath and let it out again. “Is this why you asked me so many questions the other night?”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible that Cort got you with child?”

“I don't think so.” Aria touched her stomach. “Wouldn't I be able to tell?”

“If he entered you—”

Aria swallowed. “He didn't. I wanted to, but…”

“Then it is very unlikely you are pregnant.”

Babette seemed relieved, but Aria was almost sad. “He told me that we couldn't be together,” she said. “I was angry. I thought it would be easier to ignore him the way he ignored me if I really did become a lady.”

“Do you know
why
he ignored you, Aria?”

That was a question Aria didn't want to answer. “He has been staying away from me and treating me as if we
don't know each other. Until today. Today, when were dancing, he told me that he was proud of me.”

“And that makes you unhappy?”

“I…”

“Aria…do you love him?”

Aria couldn't make herself answer.

Sliding down from the rock, Babette began to pace. “This is not unexpected,” she said. “Your attraction to each other was clear to me from the first moment I saw you together, but I did not realize how far it had…” She kicked at a pile of sticks with one small booted foot. “I have been blind, but Cort is an even bigger fool.”

So am I,
Aria thought.
And I can't seem to stop being one
. “He can't love me,” she said. “I know that now.”

Babette turned to face her again. “Do you remember when I said that gentlemen must hide their feelings, too? Cort may fear what he feels for you.”

“I don't believe he feels anything for me, except maybe for wanting to lie with me again.”

“And what does that mean to you, Aria?”

“It means I'm never going to tell him that I am not Lucienne. I'm going to go to the Reniers just as we planned. But before I do, I want to make Cort see that he has made a mistake. I want to make him forget that other woman.”

“What other woman, child?”

“I don't know her name. It doesn't matter. I'm going to make him want me so much that he'll never be able to forget
me
.”

Aria had expected Babette to disapprove of her plan, and it was clear that the other woman was distressed from the way her brows drew together and her full lips tightened.

“You're speaking of revenge,” Babette said softly. “Are you sure you know what you're doing, Aria?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think this will make you happy?”

“Yes.” Aria lifted her chin. “I want you to help me, Babette.”

“How can I possibly help?”

“Can you…can you teach me how to make him unable to resist me?”

“You wish to seduce him?”

Aria wasn't quite sure what the word meant, but she could guess. “Yes,” she said. “Can you show me how?”

Babette turned away and was silent for several long, agonizing minutes. “There are things I must think about. We will speak of this further tomorrow.”

It wasn't what Aria wanted to hear, but she knew she should be grateful that Babette might be willing to help her at all. And it was a relief that at least one person knew her secret.

“Let us return before the men begin to worry,” Babette said. “Behave just as you have been. Nothing must change until we are ready.”

For the first time in days, Aria felt in control of her life again. The word
revenge
didn't sound very nice. But it seemed that getting it was the only way she could go on with her life and forget Cort once and for all.

 

“S
HE CANNOT BE
A
LESE
.”

Yuri stared at Babette, certain that he couldn't have heard her correctly.
This
was what she had made him swear never to reveal? He knew her to be a sensible woman who was usually free of the pleasant illusions that imprisoned most of mankind, but she could be as
irrational as any female under the right circumstances. Their frequent arguments were a testament to her lack of judgment where Aria was concerned.

Or perhaps this was only a new tactic in her subtle war to convince him to defy di Reinardus.

“It is true,” Babette said, coming to sit in the chair near the bed. “She never lost her memory. Though it appears she was ignorant that other
loups-garous
existed before she came to America, nor did she know how to find her countrymen here. She does not recognize the names Alese or di Reinardus. She left her home only a few months ago, and thus could not have lived with the Reniers or been stolen by the duke.”

It was a ploy, surely. A ploy to throw him off guard and sow doubts in his mind. But he refused to be baited. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.

“Give up this game, Babette. It will do you no good.”

“It is no game.” She looked at him from under half-closed lids. “Of course I understand why you do not wish to believe me. It must be difficult to accept that Aria has deceived you all this time.”

Yuri snorted. “I had my doubts about her claims of amnesia from the beginning. That hardly means that she is not—”

“Think,
mon ami!
Think of what this could mean if we use this information wisely. It might be possible to trick di Reinardus, fool him into—”

“Trick him?” Yuri felt his skin flush, and he realized that Babette's conviction was beginning to have its effect. “The
trick
is how this girl appears identical to the princess and happened to be born in the same country!” He got up from the bed and paced across the
room. “Perhaps you have noticed the birthmark on her back?”

“Of course. What of it?”

“It is the mark of the Carantian royal line.”

“Why did you not tell me before?”

“It would have made no difference. The point is that it is very likely the girl is lying
now
.”

“But why?” Babette held out her hands. “Only think, Yuri. She would have had to perform an astonishing masquerade to appear the bumpkin if she was raised a lady as the real Alese was. The fact that she was apparently brought up in strict isolation explains so many things. If she escaped di Reinardus four years ago, why did she not attempt to return to the Reniers before? She knows nothing of your original plan to seek a reward for returning her, much less your intention to offer her to di Reinardus. Why should she go along with all these lessons and submit to so many rules and restrictions if she already knows everything I can teach her?”

“Why should she submit to them if she knows she cannot return to the Reniers as their lost cousin?”

“The man who raised her is dead. She wants a family, Yuri. That was reason enough to continue the masquerade.”

“Then why would she tell you the truth now?”

“The deceit had become too great a burden for her.”

Yuri returned to the bed and stared unseeingly at the mismatched patchwork of the quilted bed cover. “If you are so certain of her honesty,” he said, “how do you account for her identical appearance to Alese di Reinardus?”