Beauty and the Werewolf (26 page)

But then he turned his hand upward, and clasped hers.

Nothing more than that, but she thought nothing had ever felt so
right,
so comfortable and comforting, as his hand holding hers. He
closed his eyes again, and she went back to watching the musical instruments seem to play themselves, but something had changed between them. There was a bond—perhaps it had been there for some time, but now they had acknowledged it.

She frowned a little, then, and attuned her mind to search for the pressure of The Tradition. Because if
that
was what was responsible—

Well, there was pressure, all right, but it was not trying to shove her at Sebastian. It definitely stirred and took interest when she thought—tentatively—about how handsome Eric was when he smiled. But when she thought tenderly about Sebastian's funny little habit of pushing his glasses up on his nose and tilting his head to the side when she puzzled him, it withdrew, as if offended.

Ha.
Thus reassured, she went back to enjoying the music and the warmth of Sebastian's hand clasping hers.

Finally, there came a pause, which made him open his eyes again, and then the harp tentatively played a few notes of what she recognized as a familiar old lullaby.

Sebastian laughed. “All right, my friends, let this be your last piece.” He let go of her hand, and clasped both of his on his knee. “It's become a custom among musicians playing a concert that when they are tired and want to stop, they play a lullaby as a gentle hint. Of course, not every host is willing to take that hint, and rather too often he ignores the first lullaby, and the second, and only yields at the third. I, however, am not that mean-spirited.”

She smiled and nodded, and the rest of the players took up the melody that the harp had begun, playing it three times, slower each time, until the last tender notes fell softly into the air and ended in stillness.

And so, after a long moment, the instruments rose into the air and were carried out, leaving the two of them alone.

Sebastian rose to his feet, and held out his hand to help her up. “That was the best gift that anyone has given me in a very, very long time. And the crowning gift of a day full of them,” he said, still holding her hand, and looking down into her eyes. “I really do not have the words to thank you. You've done all these wonderful things for me, and all I have done for you was to lacerate your foot.”

The last surprised a laugh out of her. He grinned back. But he still didn't let go of her hand.

“It wasn't the laceration I minded so much,” she said lightly. “It was the thought of Genevieve in charge of the household. But strangely enough, that seems to be working itself out.”

“Perhaps because, without the stepdaughter there, The Tradition is allowing her to be herself, and not what it wants her to be,” he replied, startling her with the same insight that she had had. “I wonder what would happen if the stepdaughter never went back—or at least, not as the rival in the household.”

She caught her breath. “You cannot possibly be saying that you want me to
stay!
”

“Is that so revolting to you?” He still didn't let go of her hand, but he looked stricken. “I
know
I might never be rid of this curse—”

“Oh, that's nothing!” she exclaimed.

“Well, then, would you consider it? Would you allow me to speak to your father, once the King allows me to?” His gaze begged her. “I know you are my friend—and I have not had a real friend but Eric in a very, very long time—but would you ever consider wedding me? I know this is very sudden. Perhaps this offends you, but I hope not, and I am afraid that once you can leave here, your father may decide the only way to make sure you are safe is to arrange a marriage for you, with someone you don't even know. At least you know me, and you like me. Many good marriages are made in
friendship. I don't ask you to love me, but—I don't think I can do without you, now that I know you.”

She found herself stammering. “I…I suppose so…if the King allows it…if my father…”

“That's all I ask.” He kissed her hand before releasing it. “You deserve to be more than anyone has allowed you to be until now. That may be the only gift I can give you that will equal a part of what you can give me. If you stay with your father, you won't really have that. If another marriage is arranged, I think you would have less than you have with your father. In my house, you will have freedom.”

She hardly knew how she got back to her rooms after they parted. She felt very much in a daze, not exactly sure
how
she felt about him. That she liked him immensely—oh, yes. Absolutely. But love? Not so sure of that….

Not sure at all.

He was right, though, in that the longer she stayed in her father's house, the more she would become the unregarded old maid, the glorified—and unpaid!—housekeeper. And the more Genevieve would fester, pushed by The Tradition into an equally unhappy role. Her only escape would be that one she had wistfully contemplated, the little herbalist shop, perhaps to grow into a Granny….

No, definitely to grow into a Granny. Granny and the Godmother just about said as much.

But now, she was going to be a sorceress—she wasn't going to be a witch, the equivalent to the wizard, she was sure of that. Her talents definitely did not lie in that direction. She had been brought into the circle of those who knew about The Tradition, and had spoken to a Godmother! Sebastian had just offered her her
own
household, and if the servants were on the unconventional side, well, so was she….

But was that enough without loving him? And did he love her? “I don't think I can do without you” was not quite the same.

Genevieve is perfectly prepared to make a match for the twins without any love involved,
she reminded herself.
And the twins will jump through a fire for a title or enough wealth. Why should I be worried about love when my husband and I would be friends, not just partners in an…exchange?

She put both hands to her temples. There were still two months to go before either of them could do
anything
about this. The King was not going to lift his edict, which was that three moons must pass since the one when she had been bitten. A great deal could happen in two months' time. Look how much had happened to her in one! Sebastian might decide he loathed her. She might decide she loathed him. They both might decide this was the best idea of the century. The Godmother might oppose it. The King might oppose it. Her father might oppose it. A mob of torch-bearing peasants might discover that Sebastian was a werewolf and come storming the Manor.

They might actually fall in love.

They might…

She made her way into her bed, hardly noticing Sapphire's ministrations, but the Spirit Elemental didn't seem to take any offense. She had been certain that she would never be able to sleep, and took up the book on The Tradition with the certainty that she would still be reading by morning.

With the predictable result that she fell asleep with the book still in her hands, and woke in the morning, rather earlier than usual, with a slightly stiff neck and no more idea of what she was going to do than she'd had when she went to bed last night.

She wrote out her usual letter to her father, telling him about everything
except
Sebastian's proposal—and the way that Eric had beaten the poacher. She got it into the box before her father would be at his desk with a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted him
to do was
not
find his usual letter, since he already knew she was going out with Eric, and would assume that something terrible had happened to her. His letter was not in there yet, so all was well. Sapphire hovered at the closet, the movement back and forth of her ribbon telling Bella that the servant didn't know what clothing to bring out.

“Is Eric back yet?” she asked.

The slate rose, the chalk scratched.
“No”
came the reply.
“Mesa this morning. Not back 4 5 mor daze.”

Message? How— “How on earth does he get a message back here?” she asked.

“Pijin.”

Oh…well, that made sense. She knew there were several households in the city that kept pigeons for carrying messages. For that matter, her father had some, at the warehouse, for sending urgent messages back and forth from the port. And given that Eric wasn't a magician, a pigeon or a human messenger would be the only way for him to let Sebastian know if he was going to be delayed or detained. A human messenger was not a good choice, all things considered.

Well, in that case—

“The same thing I wore last night,” she declared. “A pair of Sebastian's breeches, one of my bodices and a shirt of some sort.” If Sebastian was offering her freedom—well, she would see how he took to her walking about in breeches.

Sapphire whisked out of the closet with a pair of rather lovely, buttery fawn-colored suede breeches, a bodice of a darker brown and a cream-colored blouse with huge sleeves caught up by ribbons at the wrist that she didn't even know she had. And just as Sapphire finished lacing up the bodice, there was a faint tap at the door, it
opened and a pair of beautiful, soft, brown leather boots came gliding in.

Now, she could see immediately that these boots weren't new. But the Spirit Elementals had cleaned them, buffed them and refreshed them until they were actually better than new, for they had none of the stiffness of new boots or shoes. Sapphire steadied her as she tried them on. They were only a little too big, not enough to matter, not even enough for an extra pair of socks.

She had a good idea where they had come from—they'd probably belonged to Sebastian's mother. She doubted very much that he would recognize a pair of her boots. A gown—perhaps. Or perhaps not. But not a pair of boots. Footwear was not exactly memorable.

Not this sort of footwear, anyway.
She felt a twinge of amusement at some of the incredible shoes and dancing slippers Genevieve had ordered, both for herself and the twins. And, she supposed, it was possible one of the twins' would-be swains would remember a pair of that fanciful footgear.

But probably not.

Well, since Eric wasn't going to be here, and they weren't going out on a patrol, that left her morning free for other things. Although this
might
be a test of sorts….

While she watched her father in the mirror, and read his letter, she thought about that. She was supposed to be counterfeiting Eric's new Under-Gamekeeper. He might be testing her with this, to see if she was up to the challenge of at least a limited patrol alone.

All right, then, she would do it. In her coat, no one would be able to tell she was a woman. And she could get back with plenty of time to put in some work in the stillroom before she met Sebastian for dinner and her magic lesson.

A fine plan.

“I need my horse saddled and ready,” she told Sapphire, who whisked away.

She explained her plan to Sebastian, who readily agreed it was a good idea, ate her breakfast as quickly as she could manage and went out on her ride.

She returned—with a tangle of snares in her saddlebag—in good time to get some work done in the stillroom. She had a suspicion about those snares, because they had been just a little too easy to find. And it would not have been difficult for Eric to set them up before he rode off to the city. If that was true, she would definitely have passed the test. And if it was not, she could report with some satisfaction to Eric that Abel had made his solo presence known to the poachers.

There was a basket of things waiting for her on the stillroom workbench when she opened the door: the various items that Granny and Godmother Elena had promised her, and the recipes she would be using them in. There were two she was able to complete before lunch, and three more—which required much more steeping and combining and distilling—that she got started. All in all, a good morning!

She brought the two completed items with her—a powder and a decoction—when she came down to dinner. Sebastian greeted her with a happy grin, and her concoctions with a whistle of appreciation.

“I don't know what it is, but I have no luck at making these things,” he said ruefully, over rabbit stewed in wine—they still had an over-abundance of rabbits in the larder, thanks to all the ground she and Eric had been covering. “I either measure it wrongly, or I steep it too long or not enough, or I boil it over when I try to distill.”

She paused a moment, and sucked on her spoon. “Maybe I
am
a
witch, after all?” she hazarded. “Witches are supposed to be very good with herbs and potions and all that sort of thing.”

“But so are sorceresses,” he reminded her. “It's not just what you are good with. It's what you are good
at.
”

Well, that was true… She wasn't any good at Transformations, which was a witch specialty, nor the little cousin of Transformations, Illusions. The stable cats were absolutely indifferent to her, and generally you could not manage to walk through a witch's house without having to shove aside half a dozen cats. Witches were quite good at sending their spirits out “piggybacking” on animals and birds—her spirit stayed quite stubbornly in her body, refusing to budge.

On the other hand, when it came to the manipulation of sheer, raw magical energy, her control was getting better and more precise every day. And that was certainly the hallmark of a sorceress.

“But if you haven't any luck making the components—” she began.

“Ah! You see, a wizard doesn't have to. That's why he has an apprentice!” Sebastian laughed. “I'll tell you the truth—the ‘absentminded wizard' is more true of me than I would like to admit. Making components bores me, and that's half the reason why I'm no good at it.”