The Taming of the Wolf (24 page)

“It’s no’ proper,” Cait said, followed by a moan of pure delight as he licked across her center.

He raised his head for a moment and said, “I did warn you that I would have to do things that were completely inappropriate if I took off your stockings. Your only comment was ‘if ye insist.’” He mocked her accent.

His slow licks across her folds quickly became more and more vigorous until he put his fingers inside her. Cait lay her head back against the counterpane and let him take her higher, until she was arching against his mouth and hands and calling his name.

Then one quick suck at the pulse point between her thighs took her over the top, to a place where she soared above him, where he was her anchor to this wondrous sensation.

When he’d wrung every bit of pleasure from her, and only then, he crawled up the bed and looked down at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he brushed her hair back from her face.

“I
like
inappropriate,” she sighed, still quivering on the inside.

He laughed as he drove within her in one stroke. “I know you do.” Then he took her back up, until she wrapped her feet around his back so she could take him even deeper.

Once he’d taken her back to the top of that beautiful precipice, he joined her, which was the most wondrous sensation of all.

From the coach, Cait waved good-bye to Elspeth and Benjamin, and then brushed a tear from her cheek as the conveyance lurched forward. Dashiel enveloped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It won’t be long before you see her again, angel.”

Though she couldn’t see what the future held for her and Dash, she somehow knew that he was wrong. This journey they were on would last longer than either of them expected. Cait wished she had some inkling about what was in store for them.

Two days later, their coach crossed over the invisible border that marked the boundary of Eynsford Park. Cait sensed the change in her husband almost instantly. Gone was the loving and considerate man she’d married. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought someone had replaced him with an irritable duplicate.

He gazed out the window, watching the manor house grow larger as they approached it. Dash’s arms were folded across his chest, and his back was stiff. He appeared to be preparing himself for a most unpleasant encounter. Cait swallowed nervously. His apprehension only made her more anxious.

Cait slid closer to him on the bench and touched his arm. “Dash, are ye all right?”

He grunted noncommittally. Then the coach rumbled to a stop on the drive. Dash didn’t hop out as he generally did. Instead, he took a deep breath and allowed Renshaw to open the door for him. After he stepped from the carriage, he turned back and offered his hand to Cait.

As she stepped out into the sunlight, Cait stared up at the large baroque manor of sandstone that loomed before them. She gulped as she saw a frail old man in her mind, lying in bed. Aside from his nightshirt, he wore only a powdered wig and a scowl.

Dash tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and the vision vanished as though it had never been. That did nothing to relieve her fears, however.

They walked up the steps, between large stone pillars, and Cait gaped at the size of the place. It was larger even than Westfield Hall. As they approached the massive door, it was pulled open, and they were greeted by an ancient butler who looked as though he might have been in service during James II’s reign. How the man had the strength to open the door was a complete mystery.

Cait glanced around the front hall. Marble floor and pillars. It was as grandiose as any place she’d ever seen.

“Price,” Dash said in greeting.

“M-my lord!” the butler stumbled over his words. “We weren’t expecting you, Lord Brimsworth.”

Dash directed Caitrin over the threshold, though his eyes never left the old servant. “Please prepare a room for my wife and myself. I do not know how long we will be staying.”

Price bobbed his head. “Of course, my lord.”

“And, Price, I would like to see my father.” He led Caitrin further down the corridor and into an immaculate parlor that was stark white with golden accents.

Cait didn’t even want to sit down on the elegant divan for fear of disturbing the pristine nature of the room. “This place is—”

“A bloody prison,” Dash grumbled under his breath.

“I was goin’ ta say spectacular.” Cait’s eyes flashed up to him. His jaw was tight, and his amber eyes were so cold that she shivered.

“Hmm,” he grumbled. “Never thought of it that way.”

“Dash,” she began, touching his chest. “I’m sure it will be all right.”

A twisted smile appeared on his face. “You cannot know that, Caitie, and I highly doubt it.”

“Why doona ye go up and see yer father, Dash? I can entertain myself for a bit.”

Dash visibly shivered, and then she watched him straighten his spine and shake his head. “You afraid to meet the old buzzard?”

Cait sighed. “I’m no’ afraid. If ye need me ta go with ye, I will. I just thought ye might want some time ta be alone with him.”

“Why would I want to see him alone? If you hadn’t insisted on this journey, I wouldn’t even be here.” He fidgeted nervously and drew his eyebrows together.

Cait stiffened her own shoulders. “I should like ta meet him, then.” She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. His muscle bulged beneath her fingertips. She tugged him to a stop when he began to move.

“Dash,” she whispered.

“What is it, Cait?” he sighed.

“I just wanted ta tell ye I love ye.” She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his quickly. He immediately drew her into his arms and sunk his face into her hair, inhaling deeply.

“I can do anything with you beside me,” he finally said, then pulled her up the stairs.

***

Cait believed in him. She believed there was goodness in him. She believed he could be worthy of her. He was determined to prove her right.

He rapped quickly on his father’s door. A mousy little maid immediately cracked the door an inch, just enough for him to see her.

“Move aside,” Dash said. Cait punched him in the arm.

“What?” he asked, not understanding the reason for her censure.

“Ye ken
what
,” she grunted, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “Behave yerself.”

The door opened quickly after his bark. Dash led her into the room with his hand at her back. The maid curtsied with a quick, “Milord, milady,” her gaze pointed toward the open doorway, as though she ached to flee.

The odor of an unwashed body immediately met Dash as they stepped through the door. He fought to keep from covering his nose. He took Cait’s upper arm in his grasp and turned her. “You should go. This isn’t a place for you.”

She pressed a hand to his chest and smiled softly at him. “I’m here for ye, Dash. No’ for anythin’ else. The rest I can ignore. All of it.”

“Who’s there,” a scratchy voice called. “If it’s that bloody physician, tell him he can go to the devil. I’ll die in good time, when I’m goddamn ready. And not a moment before.”

Cait stood back as Dash approached the bed.

“You do everything in your own time, don’t you, Father? Why should dying be any different?” Dash tried to modulate his tone, showing no emotion, whatsoever. Eynsford did not appreciate displays of emotion. A lesson learned many years ago.

“Who’s there?” his father called from the bed.

“The Monster of Eynsford has returned,” Dash said as he stepped into the man’s line of sight. In all his years, Dash had never seen the marquess look so… vulnerable. No longer strong and robust, Eynsford still wore that damned wig, but his face was gaunt and his skin so pale that Dash could have seen straight through it if he’d looked close enough.

Dash doubted whether the man would even be able to hold his own weight, slight as he now was. For a brief moment he felt a twinge of regret for what might have been, though it passed just as quickly as it came.

“The bastard of Eynsford. The scourge of Eynsford. The monster of Eynsford. What’s the difference? Get out.”

The man’s mind still worked, however. He was the same old rotten blighter, despite his decrepit state. “Charming as ever, I see,” Dash replied conversationally.

The old man snorted. “Did you come to ensure your inheritance, boy? Don’t worry. I haven’t disowned you, not for lack of trying. Damned entailments. But you’ll still have to wait until I take my last breath.”

He turned his head away, as though he refused to acknowledge Dash’s presence. “At least I’ll never have to see such a travesty with my own eyes. A monster like you inheriting all I’ve built. My family seat. My wealth. It’s intolerable.”

Cait stepped up to Dash’s side and tugged his sleeve. “Introduce me,” she whispered.

It was amazing that she could be so calm about all this. Dash shrugged. “Father, though I loathe the very idea of putting her into your hate-filled path, I want to introduce you to my wife, Caitrin Brimsworth.”

“The monster takes a bride?” the old man gasped. Then he coughed so hard it racked the bed. Dash feared he would expire before their very eyes. But the marquess eventually calmed and leaned back against the pillows, exhausted.

“Are you some kind of anomaly, too, Lady Brimsworth? Why else would you take someone such as my
son
,” he laughed at the word, “as your husband? It’s because he’ll be terribly rich when I finally pass, isn’t it?” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “It appears you found a smart one to tolerate you, Dashiel.”

“Actually, my lord, I’m a witch,” Cait said as she approached the old man. Dash sent her a warning glance that she promptly ignored.

The marquess grunted. “And she has a sense of humor to go with her death wish, I see.”

Let the man think she was joking. He didn’t particularly care.

“It’s a pleasure ta meet ye, sir,” she finally said, though her face told the truth. It wasn’t a pleasure at all. Her dainty nose was scrunched up, probably from the smell. And no smile graced her beautiful face.

“A Scottish lass?” The marquess blinked his silver eyes.

“Aye.” Cait inclined her head, and then she surprised him when she said, “A Scottish lass who isna afraid ta tell ye that ye smell terrible.” She turned and motioned for the maid to open the window.

“He doesn’t want it open, milady,” the maid said.

“If he wants it closed, he’ll have ta get up and close it himself,” Cait replied.

The girl hesitated until Dash nodded his head for her to follow the order. Then the young maid rushed to do their bidding. The smell had to bother her, too. There was no odor as unkind as that of an unwashed, bedridden body.

Once the window was open, Cait inhaled a breath of fresher air. “That’s better already. Call for a bath. The marquess is in need of one.” The maid hesitated again. Cait said quickly and decisively, “Now!”

The girl quickly took heed, scurrying from the room as fast as her feet would carry her. “We’ll need clean linens,” she mumbled to herself. “And clean night clothes.” She glanced quickly around the room.

“Cait,” Dash started. It wouldn’t matter what she did. Her efforts wouldn’t be appreciated. Nor would they be heeded. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Cait completely surprised him when she sat down on the side of his father’s bed and took the old man’s gnarled hand in her own.

“Ye smell terrible. And I and his lordship,” she said, gesturing toward Dash, “would like ta spend some time with ye. Will ye consent ta a bath for me, and bein’ cleaned up a bit?” Then she did the unthinkable and batted her pretty blue eyes at the man. She could charm just about anyone by blinking her lashes. And she took full advantage of that fact.

His father nodded absently. “I’ll do it for you. Not for him, mind you. But I’ll do it for you, because you’re a pretty little thing, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been a host in my own home.”

“Then ye’ve something ta look forward ta?”

“It would seem so.”

Dash’s heart swelled to the point it was ready to burst. Cait had broken the ice for him, somehow softening the old buzzard up. She was making it all right, succeeding where he would have failed. She was doing the impossible. She was being Cait, the love of his life.

“What a charming fellow,” Cait said as she flopped down on the bed in their guest chambers. “I can see why ye dinna want ta make the journey.”

“Warned you about that.” Dash sat beside her and kissed the top of her head. “But you are amazing, Cait. I never would have believed it, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“Believed what?” She tipped her face up to see him.

“You turned the grouchy old lion into a lap-cat.”

She couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. No one who’d ever laid eyes on the Marquess of Eynsford would call him a lap-cat. The man was a ball of pent-up anger.

“Hardly. I just have a bit of practice managing difficult men.”

“Indeed?” Dash asked, his brow high with amusement.

Cait smiled at him. “Hmm. My husband, for example, is a very difficult man.”

Faster than lightning, Cait was on her back with Dash hovering over her. “Do you mean to manage
me
, angel?” It came out a low throaty growl, but a roguish grin tilted his lips.

Desire raced through Cait and settled low in her belly. All it took was a look from him to make her insides melt. She giggled and tugged on his ear. “Every day of my life.”

“Witch,” he accused, lowering his mouth to hers.

Before she could kiss him back, a scratch came at the door and Dash bolted off the bed to keep whichever servant was on the other side from catching them. “Come,” he called.

Cait pushed up on her arms as the door opened and the aged butler peered inside from the threshold. “Lord Eynsford is asking for Lady Brimsworth.”

Even though there was no blood between Eynsford and her husband, and only shared animosity, Cait could feel Dash’s disappointment. Even after all this time, it seemed he craved his father’s approval or perhaps merely his acceptance. She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress.

“Thank ye, Price. I’m fairly tired from our journey. Perhaps Lord Brimsworth can keep him company for a time.”

Dash shook his head. “Go on, Caitie. It’s you he wants to see.”

“Ye’re his son,” she countered, though they both knew that wasn’t true.

He stepped toward her and lowered his voice. “You saw the vision. You said it meant something. I came to terms with the man’s rejection many years ago.”

She didn’t believe that, however. His voice almost cracked, and that seemed a very telling sign to Cait. Still, she wouldn’t push him to do something that made him uncomfortable. She squeezed his hand. “Very well, my lord.”

Dash smiled at her, urging her to go. So Cait stepped around him to where Price still waited in the hallway. She followed the ancient butler to the other wing of the house where he scratched at the door before he opened it for her.

“Lord Eynsford, her ladyship is here.”

The room smelled a little better this time around, and the marquess, lying in his bed, looked as though he had a bit more color to his cheeks. Cait stepped inside and crossed the room, dropping a curtsey once she reached her father-in-law. “My lord, ye are lookin’ well.”

A cynical sneer tugged at his lips. “You are a liar, Lady Brimsworth, but a pretty one, I’ll grant you that.” He pointed to a wooden chair at his bedside. “Sit.”

Cait wasn’t even part Lycan, but she felt as though she was being ordered about like a dog. She sat anyway. “Ye wanted ta see me?”

A sigh escaped his lips. “A word of advice, my lady. Take your things and run as fast and as far from my
son
as you are able.”

Cait sucked in a breath. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised at the man, but she was anyway. “Lord Eynsford.”

The marquess was unmoved by her chastising tone. “You seem like a charming lady, and I’d rather not see you hurt by the likes of him. I’m not long for this world, and there’s very little I can do. But I’ll see to it that Brimsworth settles you with a nice allowance. And—”

“I’m no’ leavin’ my husband,” she said more harshly than she meant to.

Fear flashed in his eyes, and his pale skin became even more so. “The full moon is only days away, my lady. You can trust me… you do not want to be around him then. You’ll not want to see the monster that lives inside him.”

“I know what he is,” Cait said softly. “What he’s capable of. And he’s not a monster.”

Eynsford closed his eyes. “I wonder if Philippa knew what his true sire was.”

“I beg yer pardon?”

The marquess’ face twisted in pain. “You may think you know what he is, and I am surprised he told you—but you cannot possibly know what he can and will do to you, Lady Brimsworth. I don’t think my wife knew, and she was never the same.”

A sickening uneasiness settled on Cait. Eynsford knew who Dash’s father was—his
real
father. She could hear it in his voice. She sat forward in her chair and clutched his cold, trembling hand. “Who are we speaking of, my lord?”

“Brimsworth,” he spat the name at her, his eyes now narrowed with contempt. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

Cait nodded. “Of course, sir. I wasn’t certain if we were still speaking of Dashiel or of his natural sire.”

Eynsford snatched his hand away from her and winced. “I’ve not spoken that blackguard’s name in nearly three decades. Why would I speak of
him
?”

He did know. Cait breathed a sigh of relief. How could she get the marquess to divulge the information? “I dinna kent ye were aware of who he was.”

“Of course I knew,” he grumbled, which then turned to a series of coughs that racked his body.

Cait rushed to a side table and poured him a glass of water from a porcelain pitcher. She returned and brought the goblet to his lips.

When he was done, the marquess brushed her hand away and then sank back against his pillows, closing his grey eyes once more. “I brought the scoundrel into my home.”

Cait listened quietly for fear that any interruption would end his story. She resumed her seat and took his hand once more.

“Foolish of me,” Eynsford continued, running his tongue over his parched lips. “I was flattered by his praise of my speeches in the Lords. I was vain even then, it seems.”

He was quiet for a time, and Cait imagined that he was recounting past events, like reading the pages in a book. “I had no way of knowing the man was a monster, that he’d take my wife out to the woods and reveal the animal he truly was to her.”

Eynsford winced and his words slowed as though the memories were painful.

“Philippa, so young and pretty. She’d been trying to give me an heir for so long, but I was old even then. I think she fell in love with the man. I was upset when I learned of their liaisons, and I knew the child wasn’t mine when she told me she was expecting. But she promised not to see him anymore. I let it rest with that promise. I needed an heir, you see.”

His eyes rose to meet Cait’s, as though silently begging her to understand. “She came back with scars on her neck. And I firmly believe it was that night with Radbourne that killed my Philippa because she was unable to survive the birth of that
thing
everyone calls my son.”

Dash. Eynsford blamed him for the death of the marchioness. She could hear the pain still in his voice. Though it wasn’t fair, she could understand it. No man enjoyed being cuckolded.

Caitrin reviewed the marquess’ words. Radbourne. She had a name, as well as the beginnings of a very sad story. The marquess thought Dash’s mother had been left scarred and weak from her encounter with Radbourne under the light of the full moon. Cait swallowed past the fear the story brought to her.

She assumed she bore the same scars, the bite marks left when Dash had claimed her, yet she was not affected by them, aside from a brief moment of pain. And Elspeth hadn’t seemed any worse for the wear after her marriage to Benjamin. She had bounds of energy, in fact, even for an expectant mother.

Eynsford turned his head and pierced her with his silvery eyes. “You say you know what Dashiel is, but I am worried for you. Pray leave before the full moon, my lady. It’s not too late for you. I wouldn’t have you or any other woman subjected to my Philippa’s fate, being forced to carry a monster within her own body.”

Cait rose from her seat and pressed a kiss to the marquess’ brow. He didn’t quite seem the tyrant she expected. And he’d suffered his own heartache, it seemed. Then she smiled down at him.

“Thank ye for yer concern, my lord. Please try no’ ta worry for me. Dashiel is all that is warm and considerate. He would never hurt me.”

***

Dash wasn’t so certain about that. He would never intentionally hurt her, but he wasn’t in control of himself during a moonful. He doubted he ever would be.

Eavesdropping wasn’t something he could control either, and especially not when his Cait’s soft lilt was anywhere in the vicinity. Radbourne. He’d never even heard the name. No idea who the man was. His father. Knowing the name was a bit like bringing the man to life, making him real for the first time ever.

Dash ran his hands along the dark stone walls of the windowless wine cellar. The musty smell of the room brought back many memories, none of them good, of the nights he spent chained up in this room. The marquess had insisted it was for his safety, but truly it was for the safety of everyone else at Eynsford Park.

The lessons were so imbedded in Dash’s mind that even after he’d left Eynsford’s home, he’d still had himself bound and cuffed before each full moon to keep those around him safe. Though he had no intention of mating with Caitrin during a moonful, the disturbing story from the marquess’ ancient lips only solidified that decision in Dash’s mind. He would never forgive himself if he hurt Caitrin. He’d sooner take his own life.

A creak at the far end of the cellar announced the arrival of a servant, and Dash stepped further into the darkness of the room. Then his nostrils were assailed by the scent of honeysuckle, and he closed his eyes.

How had Caitie tracked him to this godforsaken place?

“Dash,” she called softly as she pushed the door open.

“Go back upstairs, Cait,” Dash called, refusing even to look at her. He wanted her gone. He didn’t want her to see the evidence of the beast that lived within him. “I’ll be up in a moment.”

“I wanted ta talk with ye,” she said, her pert little eyebrows drawing together as she gazed about the room. “What are ye doin’ down here?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, knowing his tone was a bit too harsh.

“And, why no’?” she asked. Damn the woman.

“Because it’s dirty,” he lied.

She snorted. “Ye think I’ve never seen dirt before?”

Dash sighed and moved toward her, ready to steer her from the room. And use bodily force, if necessary. If she saw the shackles in the shadows of the room, he’d be forced to face her questions. Thankfully, she let herself be steered away.

“I just finished talkin’ with yer father,” she said, a sneaky smile stealing across her face.

“Yes, I know.”

“How do ye ken?” She stopped and faced him, her hands on her hips.

Dash pointed to his ears with a sigh and an eye roll and said, “Nice to meet you, Cait. I’m a Lycan. We have extrasensory hearing.”

She giggled. Just when he was fully prepared to be an ass, she giggled. Damn her for being so perfect.

“Ye can really hear from that far away?” She softened and leaned into him. She fit so perfectly there that he couldn’t keep himself from wrapping his arm around her.

“I can hear the stable hands talking about the horse race that’s coming up.” He tilted his head and listened again. “I can hear the maids in the kitchen prattling on about how the monster has returned home and now they’ll all be ordered from the grounds before the moonful. And I could hear you discussing my parentage with my father. Yes. I hear it all.”

“And?” she prompted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“And what?” he asked. It was more of a grunt and he was aware of it, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself from being a bit surly.

“And the marquess told me who yer father is.” Her blue eyes twinkled with merriment.

“Radbourne.” Dash nodded.

“Do ye ken who he is?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Dash replied, and then he bent to kiss her forehead. He needed to get away from her before he said or did something to upset her. “I need to go and talk with my father’s steward. And take a look at some of his books. Will you be all right by yourself for a bit?”

Cait tensed. She could apparently see right through him.

“I’m perfectly fine by myself. But ye shouldna be runnin’ from me.” She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. He closed his hand around hers and brought it to his lips.

“As the moon gets fuller, it becomes harder to stay in control. I’m sorry.”

“If I’d wanted a man who was in control all the time, I’d have married someone else. It’s no’ as though I dinna have offers.” He turned to walk away, but she grabbed him.

“I kent what ye were before I married ye. And I wanted ye anyway. And I always will. Now, run off ta sulk if ye need ta. But ye canna blame it on the moon or the fact that ye doona want ta hurt me. Because I’ll never believe ye could do so.”