Authors: Desconhecido
Max stood up and stared out the window, tail wagging.
“Sit down, you brute. You can’t do a damned thing
until you’ve changed back. No need to worry now, I’ll fetch your mate for you.”
Simon chuckled at the look on Max’s wolf face. It
appeared he’d understood everything he said, which was unlikely, of course,
still, the three of them always recognized each other when they were in wolf
form, though they couldn’t communicate through speech, just through their eyes
and scents.
Simon and Max stared out the same window, following
several yards behind Carrie as she walked down the walkway. She turned a corner
and Simon knocked on the top of the coach, his signal for his driver to pause a
bit. Couldn’t chance her thinking she was being followed.
Max’s sudden, painful howl pierced the quiet of the
night and Simon’s head snapped around to see his brother’s furry body
contorting, growing, his head thrown back in misery as he changed to human
form.
Simon sank back in his seat with a scowl. “I was
supposed to fetch her, not you. You changed back sooner than I’ve ever seen
you,” he complained.
Max, naked as the day he was born, knees to his chest
where he sat on the seat, gaining his breath, glared at his brother a moment
before coming to his feet. He yanked up the seat, and pulled out a white, long
sleeved shirt and dark trousers, boots and socks and coat. Then he yanked a
towel out and dried his sweat-slicked torso and face. Dropping the towel, he
snapped, “Hell, this is my mate, I’m fetching, not yours. It’s damned lucky I
have some control over how and when I change, even if it is every damned
night.”
“Then why in the hell did you require my assistance?”
“In case, for some odd reason, I didn’t change. Thanks
for coming along, though. You can change anytime you like now.” He gave his
brother a wolfish grin. “Bet you can’t wait to get out on a hunt, can you?”
Simon’s matching grin confirmed his opinion and he
reached up and knocked on the coach roof once more. The coach stopped and Simon
bounded outside and tipped his hat.
“Later, brother. Good luck.”
Max watched Simon stride jauntily away, toward a
tree-filled park on the north end of town. “Drive on, Fergusson,” Max said,
knowing once Simon found cover, he’d shift.
The coach started moving and Max kept his eyes focused
on Carrie not too far ahead of them. The woman had no sense, traveling home
alone, on foot, each night. She needed a man’s watching, a man’s care—his care.
And she’d have it, whether she wanted it or not.
* * * *
Carrie shivered in her coat, a foreboding feeling
encompassing her. She’d walked home for the past year by herself, without ever
having felt this insecure about doing so, but she did now. If she didn’t know
better, she’d believe she was being followed. But each time she turned to look
over her shoulder she saw no one. A few coaches parked alongside of the road,
but that’s all. No people, which was normal for this time of night. It was
after one in the morning and all was quiet as it should be, still she couldn’t
shake the dreaded feeling. Now she wished she’d allowed one of her brothers to
fetch her. When she’d first begun working at the tavern, one of them would escort
her, but they were always so tired at the end of their work day on the farm.
Then they’d have to rise early the next day, so she didn’t feel it fair to have
them continue taking her to and fro. Besides, she’d grown up in this part of
London and was comfortable on her own—until now.
Her thoughts turned then to the man she’d met a few
days ago—Max Dalton. It was too bad he was likely a cold-blooded murderer for
she’d felt things while in his arms—things she had never felt before with a
man; longing, rapture, an undeniable urge to stay within his arms forever. She
wondered if the constables had caught him yet for having killed the woman in
the alley behind the tavern. Never would she forget the sight of the poor woman
who lay in a pool of her own blood.
She reached the end of the boardwalk and the walk home
along the country road would only take her another ten minutes. Tonight, the
darkness was eerie and made her feel uneasy. She’d walked just a few yards when
she heard the sound of horse’s hooves, then a carriage’s wheels. Stunned, she
turned to see a carriage bearing down on her, the horse being whipped into a
full gallop.
She started running and as the carriage drew closer,
she went off the road and into the woods alongside it. Gasping for breath, she ran,
scattering rocks and dust along the way with each running step she took. Her
side ached and she held it with her hand, breathing in and out raggedly through
her mouth to try and catch her breath.
Her legs ached with the stress and strain of running, wearing
full skirts and soft-soled shoes. Her feet felt every rock beneath them. She
didn’t dare go deeper into the woods, for there was no doubt in her mind that
danger lurked there as well. Who was this person chasing her down? She had no
enemies that she could think of. But then, this was London, and there were
enough ruffians and murderers who wouldn’t think a moment about taking what he
wanted from a maid like her. Why hadn’t she been more careful, or asked one of
her brothers to escort her home?
The carriage was right alongside her now and she
looked up, horrified to see a man hurtling himself out of the vehicle’s open
door, toward her. She shoved her spectacles higher on the bridge of her nose,
then slowed down when she saw, with utter amazement, that the man charging
after her landed on his feet and was gaining on her. The carriage, with its
driver, tore away down the road.
Chapter
Three
Her attacker caught her and she cursed herself for
having worn a scarf around her neck for the man latched onto one of the ends
that streamed behind her.
Her heart pounded with fright and dread as he pulled
her back and she felt herself falling. She landed against him, hard, causing
them both to fall backwards. Immediately, she began to sit up when she felt him
beneath her, then she stopped abruptly when he laughed.
She knew that laugh and with a scowl, she scrambled to
her feet and glared down at Max, the man she’d met a few short days ago.
“My God, man, you could have killed us both!” she
gasped furiously.
Amazingly, his laughter grew louder and his piercing
blue eyes glimmered with what she could only determine was something close to
licentious. Suddenly she recalled his kisses and she grew even more worried for
she hadn’t been able to resist him. But then, she hadn’t known he was a
cold-blooded murderer. Actually, she still didn’t know and, if he were, the
constables had yet to catch up with him, or hadn’t the proof.
“That woman—” she began.
“I didn’t kill her,” he said, laughter fading. “She
was a singer from one of the smaller opera houses in the area, I recently
learned.”
“The constables didn’t arrest you then?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Why, for God’s sake. The woman
was there, dead, before either one of us saw her.”
Anger built inside Carrie as she thought how she’d
been dragged down to the jailhouse and questioned unmercifully about the woman.
“You mean the constables didn’t question you?”
“They did, but they were satisfied and left my castle.
Haven’t heard from them since.”
Her eyes went wide. “Your castle?”
He bowed. “Max Dalton of Castle Darkwirth.”
“You’re one of the Duke’s grandsons? One of the
triplets?”
She’d heard of him and he had to wonder if that was a
good thing or not.
“I am, and yes, I have two brothers.”
Fury flared in her eyes and even in the darkness of
the night, Max saw her anger. He kept his expression serious but he nearly
laughed outright with her next movement.
She stomped her foot and spat, “Now I know why you
weren’t questioned as thoroughly as I, your lordship. The constables had me
down at the station for hours, as though I had a part in that woman’s murder!”
“Sorry about that. I did tell them you were innocent
and how we met as you stepped out of the tavern.”
“You didn’t tell them that we kissed, did you?”
* * * *
The clouds moved away and the moon appeared, casting a
light on her face. He hadn’t forgotten the golden hues in her brown hair, and
those big brown eyes now looking myopically at him. Tiny freckles were
sprinkled over her small nose. She had a wholesomeness about her, lacking in
many women. She was a pretty country girl, meant for him. Her clothing, a
modest white blouse tucked into a dark woolen skirt hid all of her, but he’d
felt her sweet curves when he’d held her in his arms. She could be dressed in a
flour sack as far as he was concerned and be the most beautiful of women.
“Did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Tell them we were kissing, you dolt.”
He looked at her with astonishment. “Dolt? I beg your
pardon. I am a solicitor, not a dolt.”
“Did you tell them!”
“Of course not. That wouldn’t be gentlemanly, now
would it?” he bantered. He leaned closer to her and nearly laughed outright
when she stepped back from him. Reaching out, he snatched the spectacles off
her nose. “You don’t really need these, do you?”
She gasped and her hand shot out but he tucked them in
his coat pocket. For some reason, he breathed easier, knowing now she hadn’t
had a clear look at him when he’d shifted. She wore spectacles, which meant her
vision was far from perfect.
“I do require them, or I certainly wouldn’t be wearing
the blasted things,” she protested.
He caught her wide-eyed expression, her teeth worrying
her lower lip and he laughed and stepped right up to her. Reaching out, he
picked up a long, rich brown tress and murmured, “No, I didn’t tell them how I
kissed you in the alley. How I wanted to do much more, and will—very soon. And
you don’t require any vision at all for what I have in mind.”
She stepped back. “Are you warning me then?”
He nodded and slid one arm around her waist, pulling
her against his chest. “Yes, for all the good it’ll do you.” And then he
couldn’t stop himself from kissing her. He gave her time to push away from him
as he slowly lowered his lips to hers, realizing, not for the first time, her
lack of stature made him have to bend his legs some to reach her tempting,
pouty mouth.
She pressed her hands against his shoulders, but he
held her even tighter. He was too strong, and he knew she didn’t want him to
stop. He could feel it by how her breathing slowed and how her heart raced
against him. He groaned against her lips, swept her up off the ground, and
pressed her against his groin when she wound her arms around his neck. God, he
wanted to take her here, now, and he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward
and pressing her back against the nearest tree. With his right hand, he
released her, only to lift her leg around his waist.
He ground himself against her, all the while ravishing
her with smothering kisses, his tongue probing inside her mouth. She groaned
against his lips and he knew she wanted him, too, especially when she lifted
her other leg and wound both around his waist. The only thing better would be
if they were both unclothed he decided as he grasped her buttocks and pulled
her firmly against his throbbing erection.
“Stop.”
He stilled. Could she really have said that one awful
word?
Max stopped kissing her and breathed heavily against
her neck. “Tell me you didn’t say that…word,” he groaned.
“I did.”
Reluctantly, he released her and she dropped her legs
to the ground and backed away from him.
Max frowned and, breathing heavily, managed to ask,
“Why?”
“Because we’re in the woods,” she whispered, “and
because I’m a good girl.”
“You are, for certain that,” he grunted, and folded
his arms with a scowl. “But us making love doesn’t make you a bad girl, Carrie.
I know you feel the same way about me as I do about you,” he insisted.
Carrie tilted up her chin, stepped around the tree,
putting more distance between them. “You said you’d marry me.”
“Actually, for me, this would be marriage, our
consummation.”
She peeked around the tree and stared at him as though
he’d lost his mind. “Our…fornicating”, she said bluntly, “…Is the same as
marriage to you?”
He shoved his fingers through his hair and said
softly, “In my family, yes, it’s the same as if we said our vows before a
priest.”
“But it’s not in mine,” she protested. “Where the
devil are you from, anyway? Aren’t you the Duke of Freemont’s grandson?
“I am the Duke’s grandson—one of three. You seem to
know about us already.” He came around the tree—rather stalked her around
it—and she backed away and moved to the next one. “But my father came from the
highlands in Scotland.”
“And was he of the peerage as well?”
She kept backing away from him, her eyes darting in
every direction, as he moved after her. He paused, wondering why she appeared
frightened.
“No, he was from a farm family…like you.”
Truthfully, Max knew little about his paternal family.
His maternal grandfather, the Duke, had known little, also. Only that his
father, Morgan Dalton, came from Scotland and had farmed the land. To this day,
the Duke had no idea how the boys’ father and their mother had met each other,
being from different classes.
Carrie scoffed, “You cannot tell me that a Duke’s
daughter married a farmer—a commoner.”
Max had learned little about his parents from his
grandfather except for one item, one letter delivered to his grandfather and
written by his mother; once his father had claimed his mother as his mate,
there could never be another. He wondered now whether his mother had been
fearful of his father, as Carrie seemed to be of him now. He didn’t want her to
be frightened—he wanted her to love him, accept him into her bed and into his
life.
“She did. Now stop running from me.”
Pausing, her eyes widened on him. “It won’t?” At the
shake of his head and his growing grin, she asked, “Why not?”
“Because I’m bigger than you—faster than you—and you
belong to me. It’s really quite simple.”
She sputtered, “Grant it, you are definitely bigger
and faster but how can you be so sure we’re meant to be together?” she asked.
His gaze remained on her, even as she backed away from
him. He stayed still, not wanting to use force, just sweet, simple coercion—the
right words—to make her come to him.
“I just know,” he finally said. “Only your scent is
meant for me—only
you
are. In time, you will realize what I say is
true.”
Tears came to her eyes and she looked around
frantically then met his gaze again. “I don’t understand any of this, including
your infatuation with me. I’m a simple Irish girl from a farm family, as I
said. I am not a lady or of any heritage of consequence while you are a lord.”
“No, not true. I am the second born son. My older
brother, Simon, will inherit the dukedom. I work for a living, sweet. I’m like
any other man.”
* * * *
No, he was far from any other man Carrie had ever met.
Hope tore through her body at his news; Max wasn’t the eldest! Then it probably
wouldn’t matter if he married her—a commoner.
Then Carrie wondered why he wanted her—as she said—a
commoner of little consequence. Only to play with, she imagined. And
fornicating, to his mind, would be the same as marriage? Hardly! Not until they
stood before her priest would she spend a single moment in his bed.
Nodding staunchly, she said, “I expect a normal
courting, for an appropriate amount of time. I deserve that at least.”
Max presented a courtly bow and grinned as he
straightened. “Of course you do, and you will have it, but we must consummate
our union first.”
Carrie was astonished. “What! Have you as poor hearing
as I have vision?” she exclaimed. “I said I want to be courted. That means
flowers, walks, and wonderful suppers at a fine inn in the better part of
London. That means sweet kisses under the moonlight. That constitutes you
purchasing me a gift of some sort, perhaps even a ring?”
“As in wedding ring, you mean,” he said his voice low
and gravelly.
Carrie bit her lip and nodded as she backed away from
him. The glint in his eyes made her think he planned on attacking her
again…with his big, strong arms sweeping her up, and the most exquisite pair of
male lips kissing hers, and—heavens! She had to get herself under control, or
lose her virginity, now, on the damp forest floor. Or, possibly, against a
tree. Shivers of arousal seeped through her then and a tiny voice inside her
told her maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
No. He would do the correct thing; he would court her.
After the appropriate time passed, she would expect him to go down on bended
knee and gallantly propose to her. She frowned, wondering how much time was
appropriate. That devilish little voice inside her said she hoped it wasn’t too
long.
* * * *
As Max leaned against the nearest tree and folded his
arms across his chest, he decided he was glad he’d already made his once an
evening change. For he knew if he hadn’t, the beast inside him would exert
itself, ready to ravish her into submission. Her proposal for a courtship
wasn’t all that unreasonable, yet he truly believed she would allow him to make
love to her first. He knew she wanted him, could tell by her eager embrace and
soft, welcoming lips. Yet now she sounded staunchly against it. He knew he
could overpower her, mate with her and not give her a choice, but he didn’t
think he could live with her or himself afterwards.
Max had never experienced the true excitement of an
unwilling woman, for many a doxy had played that game with him and his
brothers. Yet it had all been a game with them—it wouldn’t be with Carrie.
So deep in thought was he, he didn’t notice that she’d
backed several steps away from him. He stiffened then at the scent of danger
nearby; his blood ran cold—wolf. Damn, could Simon be here in the woods with
them? Breathing deep through his nostrils, he identified the scent and breathed
easier when he realized it was a normal, every day wolf—not a shifter. Still,
not a good thing. Then he narrowed his eyes on an area directly behind her and
fear tore through him.
A big, gray wolf growled behind Carrie, not more than
a few feet away. Damn! Why hadn’t he been more attuned to his surroundings?
Because Carrie had distracted him, he thought in chagrin.