The Taming of the Wolf (26 page)

Cait’s soft lilt reached his ears. “She did love ye, Dash. Ye can see it in the paintin’. I think she was happy ye were ta be born.”

“Quiet!” the marquess yelled. “Out! Both of you, out!” Then a fresh wave of coughs gripped him.

As Cait leaned forward to offer the man some water, Dash saw the marquess move out of the corner of his eye. But he felt so out of kilter, realizing his mother was happy to be with child, with him, that he couldn’t prevent what happened next. His father raised his arm and swung it with all of his might, the back of his hand making a cracking sound as he struck Cait across the face. She landed on the floor with a dull thud.

“I said, ‘Out!’” the old man snarled.

Dash could see nothing but the redness of fury behind his eyelids. He crossed the room in three quick strides, yanked Cait to her feet, and then thrust her immediately behind him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt her tugging frantically on his arm, trying with all the strength she had to keep him from moving toward his father. But her slight form was no match for him.

He wrapped his hands around the marquess’ throat and actually felt a rush of glee at the thought of killing the old man. Eynsford’s face turned red, then purple. Then he sunk back against the pillows, the fight moving out of him.

Where tugging and pleading hadn’t worked, Cait’s gentle voice did. She said very plainly in his ear, “Please, Dash, I love ye. Doona do this.” Then she repeated it, pulling him from his haze. Dash looked down at the old man dying beneath his hands and loosened his hold.

The marquess gasped in a few lungsful of air. “See. I told you. He’ll always be a monster,” his father croaked out. Then he pointed a weak finger at Dash. “Always! You can’t run far enough or fast enough to leave behind the monster that’s within you.”

“If you ever touch my wife again, I will kill you,” Dash growled. Then he quickly quit the room, escaping as fast and furiously as he could, despite Cait’s pleas that he wait. Despite her pleas that he stop. Despite the fact that he was still livid with rage.

Lying in bed, Cait closed her eyes and willed Dash to return to her. She didn’t have the first clue where to search for him. Eynsford Park was sprawling, and she didn’t know her way around at all, especially not in the dark. She wouldn’t find Dash until he wanted to be found, though Cait was certain that wherever he was, he knew she was waiting for him. He had to have heard her calling his name for the last hour.

There was nothing to do but to wait. And perhaps do a bit of research. At least it would keep her mind off where her husband had escaped to.

Cait rolled to her side and opened Eynford’s copy of Debrett’s. She flipped through the pages, searching for the right entry. She went through the listings of dukes. Radbourne apparently wasn’t a marquess or an earl, either. Then she smiled when she finally found the page she sought.

“Radbourne of Baslow, Derbyshire, Viscount,” she whispered to herself as her fingers trailed across the words. The first in the line was a Timothy Hadley in 1573. Cait glanced at the bottom of the page, only reaching a Clarence Hadley in 1596. She flipped two pages, then two more, until she felt as though she was getting closer to the listing she needed.

There it was. The current Viscount Radbourne was Archer Hadley, born 1793. But that would make him younger than Dash. She moved up a paragraph, and then a sick feeling took her over. If the current Viscount Radbourne was younger than Dash, then his natural father was gone. Dash had never gotten the chance to meet the man. He’d never know what his father was like, never be able to judge for himself.

With a trembling finger she touched the name Edward Hadley, born 1765, died 1797. Good heavens! He’d been gone twenty years.

“Edward Hadley married Violet Archer in 1792, the eldest daughter of John Archer, the sixth Baron Wardley. He had issue by his lady three sons, Archer Hadley, the current viscount, born 1793, Weston Hadley, born 1795 and his twin, Grayson Hadley, born 1795,” she muttered softly.

Cait stared at the words on the page. Edward Hadley was gone, but Dash had
three
brothers. Three brothers he’d never met, never knew existed. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news, and she sighed. How long was he going to keep himself from her?

***

Dash prowled the grounds of Eynsford Park, cursing Eynsford for being such a miserable prig, himself for letting the old man still get to him, and Cait for making him come to this awful place to begin with. He wanted to bolt, to run as far as he was able, as far as it took for his father’s words to stop echoing in his ears.
He’ll always be a monster
. He didn’t want it to be true, but he knew in his heart that it was. Other Lycans managed to control the beast that lived inside them, to tamp it down when necessary. He would never have that sort of power over himself. He was too wild.

If Caitie hadn’t begged him to stop, he’d have squeezed the air from his father’s body. He didn’t doubt it for one moment. He still had the urge to do so, to storm back inside the manor house and hasten the old buzzard’s demise.

Dash increased his gait, stalking toward Eynford’s rectory. The old sandstone building caught his eye under the light of the moon, and he stopped in his tracks. He wondered if Mr. Nelson was still there under his father’s employ. During some of his darkest hours as a child, he’d taken comfort in the old rector’s teachings. Peace, forgiveness, responsibility.

Dash leaned against the stone fence and stared at the old wooden door that led to the rector’s residence. No heartbeat came from within. No breathing. Not that he was surprised. Mr. Nelson had been ancient when Dash was a child. Still, the memories of the old man’s kind face and soft words washed over him and brought him a bit of peace.

Cait accepted him. He knew that in his heart. He could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Dash smiled as her image filtered into his mind. He could almost smell her flaxen hair with its honeysuckle scent. She deserved far better than he. She deserved a man who wasn’t wild and dangerous. If he was honorable in any way, he wouldn’t have forced himself into her life. But he’d been a selfish ass.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late, though. Perhaps he could still protect her from himself. He could send her back to Edinburgh where her coven sisters awaited her return.

God, he was a fool. How did he let the marquess get him so angry? Dash took a deep, calming breath and then another as he watched the moonbeams dance around the rectory. When his soul seemed more at peace, he hiked back toward the manor house, hoping Cait would accept his apology.

He ignored the reproachful look Price shot him as he strode through the front door. The butler could go straight to the devil. Dash didn’t give one whit what the man thought about him. Of all the people currently inhabiting Eynsford Park, only Cait mattered to him.

Dash found her sleeping on their bed in a gossamer nightrail, lying atop the counterpane, her glorious hair draped over one shoulder. She looked like an angel, so ethereal and heavenly. She must have waited hours for him to return.

He doused the lamp, then quickly shed his jacket and waistcoat before tossing his shirt to a damask chair near the bed. When he sat down beside her to tug off his boots, Cait rolled toward him, a smile upon her tempting lips. Dash brushed a curl from her face so he could see her better. “I love you, Caitie. I’m sorry I’m such an unruly beast.”

She sighed in her sleep, and he couldn’t help but smile at the way the sound soothed him. He tugged his boots off, then finished with the rest of his clothes. Gently, he eased the counterpane from beneath her and pulled it up back over her before sliding into bed beside her.

Dash lay down but sat back up at once when something hard poked him in the head. He retrieved a book from beneath his pillow and frowned.

What the devil was she doing with a book
in the bed? The answer was obvious, however. She must have been passing the time waiting for her wayward husband to make an appearance, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

Dash glanced at the title.
Debrett’s Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland?
It didn’t exactly make for light reading. It was worse than ‘Genesis’ with all those begats. He tossed the book to the chair where his shirt was, but it fell to the ground with a thud. He frowned at the sound and fell back against his pillow. Could nothing go his way?

“Dash?” Cait said sleepily.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, Caitie,” he said, as she snuggled against him, her sweet scent teasing his nose.

“Are ye all right?” she asked.

He was as good as he was going to be, stuck in Kent. “I’m fine.”

Before the words were out of his mouth, she smacked his chest. “Then ye are in trouble.”

“Yes, lass, I am in trouble,” he agreed, scrubbing a hand across the spot she’d assaulted. “But there’s no need to hit me.”

Cait sat up and stared deep into his eyes. “I called ye and called ye, ye lummox,” she complained. “Ye should have come back.”

“I wasn’t in any condition to be around you, Cait. Trust me on that.”

“Listen ta me, Dashiel Thorpe.” One slim finger jabbed at his chest. “I am yer wife, and ye doona get ta shut me out and stay away all hours of the night. I dinna ken what ta think, and I was worried about ye.”

Dash sighed, not relishing a fight. He was too tired for that. “There’s nothing to worry about, Caitie. I’m a Lycan. What do you think is going to happen to me?”

“Just because ye’re a Lycan doesna mean that ye’re invincible, Dash,” she said softly.

He tugged her back to him and brushed his lips across hers. “Don’t chastise me, lass. It’s been a long day.”

“I ken it has.” Cait’s arms slid around his neck, and she held him tight. “But ye’re part of me now, Dash. Ye canna just run off.”

“Caitie,” he whispered before kissing her again. “It’s not safe for you to be around me when I’m out of control.”

Her sweet breath blew across his lips, and Dash groaned as he ached to find solace inside her, to erase all the anguish and pain of the day within Cait.

“Are ye in control now?” she asked, as her fingers trailed down his chest.

Dash rolled her beneath him. “Teasing the wolf?” he asked against her soft skin, grazing her shoulder with his teeth. “That’s a very good way to get yourself bitten.”

Cait giggled. “Now who is teasin’ whom?”

***

Dash loved waking up with Cait in his arms. Her bare breasts pressed against him, her pretty hair spread out across his chest.

She shifted beside him and then rose up on her arms to look at him. “Good morning.” Her soft blue eyes twinkled.

He’d never seen a more beautiful sight, and Dash sucked in a breath. He’d deal with the future later, when she didn’t look so desperately in need of a kiss.

“Good morning, angel,” he whispered, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers. She tasted heavenly, like sweet summer berries.

After a moment, Cait gasped and reared back from him.

“What?” he asked, feeling as though his favorite plaything had just been snatched from his grasp.

Cait threw her leg over the edge of the bed. “I forgot. I told Price that I would help the marquess with his breakfast.”

Dash couldn’t help the growl that escaped him as he reached for her but missed. “The man has been feeding himself for seven decades. I think he can manage on his own.”

Standing before him without a stitch, Cait folded her arms across her delightful breasts. “He hasna been eatin’ well. Price said the little bit of soup he had last night was the most he’s eaten in quite some time.”

“If he chooses to starve himself, I don’t see why we have the right to stand in his way.” Dash stared up at the ceiling to avoid the scathing look he knew she sent his way.

“That is a horrible thing ta say, Dashiel Thorpe.”

Perhaps, but he was unmoved by her protest and focused on a tiny crack in the molding. “He’s a horrible man.”

She huffed and then stalked toward the dressing room. In an instant, Cait yelped as her foot made contact with something heavy and she fell back on her bottom. “Ouch!”

Dash bounded off the bed to help her.

Cait ignored his outstretched hand as she clutched the Debrett’s tome to her chest. “Dash, there’s somethin’, I have ta tell ye.”

He scowled at the book in her arms. “I have something to tell you too, Caitie. That thing jabbed me in the back of the head last night. You shouldn’t go around hiding books under pillows.”

A beatific smile lit her face, and then she erupted into a fit of giggles.

He’d obviously missed something. “Just what is so funny, lass?”

“That’s where I’d hidden it, yer wicked little journal. Under my pillow.”

She’d obviously lost her mind this morning. Dash raked a hand through his hair. “Impossible. I burned the thing. Is your head all right? Did you bump it on the way down?”

Cait laughed even harder. “No, ye silly wolf, that night in the inn when ye were searchin’ for it. I had it hidden under my pillow. Ye were rummagin’ through my trunk, up ta yer elbows in chemises and frilly drawers.” She fell backward, nearly breathless from all her laughter. “I wish ye could’ve seen yer face when Jeannie walked in on ye.”

Dash leveled her with his most scathing glare. “I thought you were asleep.”

She rose to her feet, still clutching the heavy tome against her chest. “Well, ye were wrong. I’m sure it willna be the last time.” Cait leaned forward and kissed his brow. “I found Radbourne last night.” She handed the book to him.

Dash’s mouth fell open. That’s what she’d been up to. He wasn’t certain whether to kiss her or toss her over his knee for plodding forward without him. “I’m not sure I’m ready to meet him, Caitie.”

Her light eyes started to water, and her lips drew up tight. “I’m sorry, Dashiel, but it’s too late.”

Radbourne was dead. He could see it in her tortured expression. “How long?” he choked out. A moment ago, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to meet his sire, and now he knew he would never get that chance. He felt it from his heart to the pit of his stomach.

“How long?” she echoed, shaking her head in confusion.

“How long has he been gone?”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Twenty years. I am sorry.”

Dash shook his head. It shouldn’t matter. He hadn’t even known the man’s name until yesterday. It shouldn’t matter that he was gone, but somehow it did, which made no sense at all.

“His name was Edward Hadley—”

Dash raised his hand, silently halting her. He didn’t want to know any more. His gut was clenching, and he didn’t want her to see him weakened.

Cait’s eyes softened, and she leaned closer to him. “There’s more, Dash.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Caitie.”

She pursed her lips stubbornly. “Ye have brothers,” she blurted out.

“Brothers?” he echoed as the room began to spin.

Cait nodded. “Ye have three brothers.”