A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (7 page)

Brishen glanced at Trev. “I thank you for the honor—though I know it wasn’t the pony you were really bidding on.”

“Raven showed me the horse earlier. It’s worth the price.” Trev hadn’t meant to harm the Gypsy with his bidding, only to keep the horse from Beechcroft and to please Raven. “You were happy just a couple minutes ago,” he pointed out, seeing Brishen looked crestfallen.

“Oh, aye. Then I went and made a bloody fool of myself by agreeing the auctioneer and his art gallery pal could meet me at my studio to discuss possible future sales.”

Trev grinned. “And that deflates you? Sounds like a reason to celebrate.”

“No.” Brishen tried to summon a laugh. “That makes me the worst kind of idiot. I don’t
have
a friggin’ studio. And who am I kidding? No
Gadjo
is going to want a Gypsy anywhere near their fancy gallery.”

Trev stared at the younger man, understanding his frustration only too well, though he doubted Sagari would believe it. “When are they coming?”

“In a week. A week, a month…it makes no difference. I am screwed!” He threw up his hands in resignation.

Trev reached out and patted Brishen on the arm. “A lot can happen in a week.” He reflected upon the whole night, and extraordinarily realized he wasn’t the same person who’d driven up this evening. He wasn’t sure he liked the change, either. It had been too abrupt; it wasn’t comfortable to be a stranger to yourself. Still, he was no coward to hide from the fact. “Hell, a lot can happen in a few hours. Life takes strange turns when you least expect it.”

Brishen Sagari’s brows lifted. “So says the man who drives a Lamborghini.”

“Ah, but remember. They say to never judge books by covers.”

“True—even if that’s how Gypsies are judged, eh?” Sagari’s expression grew more intense.

Trev shook his head. “Only a fool would, and I’m no fool,” he replied, though Agnes Dodd might dispute it. But his secretary wasn’t there to gloat or contradict him.

Distracted, Trevelyn nonetheless felt warning bells go off as he caught sight of Alec Beechcroft on the far side of the room. The man was watching the arched entrance that led to the lounges, the same doorway Raven had gone through only minutes before. The man’s fingers flexed around his glass to the point Trev feared it might shatter. His mask of politeness down, revealed was a raw, blistering hatred that seemed ludicrous for a man who had remarried. The way Beechcroft glared it was as though he could see through the wall, and the strength of his malevolent regard sent a chill up Trev’s spine.

“Fingernails on a blackboard,” he muttered lowly enough that his words didn’t carry. Trev could see how having Raven and losing her might push a man to the limit, but the man’s feelings were unfounded—and unwanted. “Too bloody bad, berk. You blew your chance. It’s past time to step aside and allow another man—a
better
man—into her life.”

Lifting his glass, Alec drained the last of amber liquid inside and then slammed it down on a nearby table. He rotated, spoke hurried words to his clinging wife, and then started across the room. When he spotted Cian’s back to him, he disappeared into the dim hallway toward the lounges.

Trev turned to Raven’s brother, who was in front of him. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, trying not to clench his jaw. “I have something urgent that requires my attention.”

Paganne grinned over her champagne glass. “I’m beginning to like you, Trevelyn Sinclair. I wasn’t sure I would.”

Without replying, Trev started after Alec. From behind him he heard Paganne urge, “Sic him!”

Trev crossed the ballroom, not giving any pretence of politeness. Several people tried to stop him and offer
congratulations, but he brushed them off with words he wasn’t even aware he spoke. He was totally focused on stalking Alec, who was stalking Raven. The whole evening was turning out quite differently than anticipated, and not in keeping with the low-profile entrance into Raven’s life he had intended.

“I’ve proclaimed myself Raven’s lover, decided to help a Gypsy with blue eyes, and now I’m preparing to punch out Beechcroft. I hope I don’t get arrested. Des would be ever so ticked—and I don’t even want to think about Agnes.”

Trev slowed his steps as he entered the dim corridor, allowing his eyes to adjust. Toward the other end there were sconces on both sides of the hall, and quaint signs over two doors on either side:
Damsels
on the left,
Knights
on the right.

“Hm, what about wolves?” Trev muttered with a chuckle.

He pulled up short when he spotted Beechcroft. Alec was pacing from the door of the men’s room to the ladies’ room and back, looking at the floor. The door to the ladies’ room opened, causing Beechcroft’s head to snap up. Raven stepped through, but she froze when she saw her ex standing there, hands in his pockets.

“So, Alec, lurking around ladies’ rooms is your new fetish?” She tilted her chin in a defiant fashion and moved to step past him. “It’s positively lower class.”

His left arm shot out and grasped the door frame, blocking her from returning to the ballroom. “Really, Raven, you truly expect me to believe Sinclair is your date?” His voice was edged with a demoralizing, patronizing tone. “A man like him wouldn’t give you the time of day. He can have any woman he wants. What? Did you hope to make me jealous? Tell me, did you pay Sinclair so you’d have an escort for the evening? It’s certainly not for the sex. We both know just how pathetic
that
area of your life is.”

Barely hiding her repugnance, Raven shoved at his arm to force him to back off. “You’re drunk.”

“What’s your hurry? Think lover boy is out there pining for you? Likely Paganne is all over him by now. I always wondered if I chose the wrong sister.”

“Alec, you really should leave. You weren’t invited. Cian hasn’t booted you because he didn’t want a scene, but—”

“Screw Cian. Screw you, too. But then Miss Semivirgin doesn’t like to screw, eh?” He locked his arm so she couldn’t budge him. “You love reminding me I’m a nobody, not worthy of a high-and-mighty Montgomerie. I don’t move in the same vaulted circles.”

Trev’s temper flared, burning hot and dangerous. A peculiar slippage of time folded about him, as if a portal between two worlds had opened, allowing the past to bleed into the present. The weight of chain mail felt heavy upon his body, and his hand flexed around the grip of a sword hilt; he was ready to step before his lady and battle for her honor.

Trev stalked over and took hold of Beechcroft’s wrist. He only used his index finger and thumb, but he got a good hold. Twisting the man’s arm like a lever, Trev soon had the bastard wincing.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” Alec snarled.

Trev gave a smug grin. “Tut-tut. Such coarse language before a lady.”

Alec grimaced, attempting to jerk out of his iron grip. “She’s no lady, she’s my—”

“Wife?” Trev’s brows lifted in mockery. “So drunk you don’t recall your wife’s name is Ellen?”

“Let go, you bastard. That hurts!” Alec threw an awkward punch, but Trev yanked his arm up higher, controlling him.

“That’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do, unless you take your drunken arse back to your wife and get the hell out of here.”

“I’ll have you arrested,” Beechcroft threatened.

Trev chuckled. “For what? Go ahead—tell the police how I pinched you with my index finger and thumb. I’ll be sure to tell pregnant little Ellen that you were in here claiming Raven was your wife. Should be an interesting evening.”

Muttering an obscenity, Alec swung out once more with his right hand, but Trev simply spun him full circle and then slammed him up against the wall. Keeping an arm pressed to Alec’s spine, he said lowly against Beechcroft’s ear, “Come near Raven again and I’ll tie you up buck naked and leave you in the middle of Piccadilly Circus with a sign around your neck saying ‘I like rough sex.’”

Jerking Beechcroft away from the wall, Trev positioned him to face Raven. “Now, apologize to the lady before I show you just how dangerous my pinkie finger is.”

“You better be sure to get money for this. If you’re playing King Kong in the hope of sex, you’re shit out of luck. She’s a lousy l—”

Increasing pressure on his arm, Trev growled, “Way…wrong…words. I want only the right three from your sewer mouth, and you bloody well better say them.
Now.”

Beechcroft was still going to refuse, so Trev applied a little more force. “S-s-sorry!” the jerk finally spluttered through a grimace.

“That’s not
three
words, but I guess it’ll suffice. Run along now and collect your little wife—then leave.”

Trev thrust Beechcroft away to stumble back down the hall. He watched to make sure the idiot was actually going, before he turned back to Raven, who was staring at him with unreadable thoughts, her spine pressed up against the bathroom door. Trev wondered if she was shocked or appalled by his actions. What he’d done was nothing compared to what he’d
wanted
to do to the bastard.

“Did I scare you?” Moving closer, he reached out to
gently cup the side of her face, and then allowed his thumb to stroke over her cheek.

Those unblinking eyes watched him until she finally whispered, “Yes, you scare me.”

“I apologize—”

She gave a faint shake of the head. “Oh, not the roughness. You did little more than humiliate him. Alec deserved to have his feathers ruffled. He’s not a very nice man. It’s
you
who scares me. Who are you, Trevelyn Sinclair? What do you want with me? I’m not some princess in a fairy tale, and you’re no knight in shining armor. So, what do you want?”

He leaned closer, intoxicated by her nearness, Raven’s essence filling every pore, every drop of his blood. No woman had ever spun such magic to ensnare him. “You’re right. You’re no princess. You’re Red Riding Hood. And what do I want? I’ve come to huff…” He brushed his lips softly against hers. “And puff…” He pressed another butterfly kiss to her soft mouth. “And blow your house down.”

This time he leaned into the kiss, taking her mouth and claiming it. A small moan vibrated in her throat. The sound sent his blood to speed through him, vibrating with need; he wanted to grab her, pull her body against his, feel her soft curves pressed to the length of his hard muscles—but if he laid hands on that beautiful body he wouldn’t be able to stop. Placing his left hand flat on the wall beside her head, he stepped closer, but it also prevented him from touching her the way he wanted. He allowed their bodies to brush, felt the heat of her skin, inhaled her light citrusy perfume and the more intoxicating scent of woman underneath. It was simply spellbinding, too much for his senses.

He broke the kiss and pulled back, forced a slow, deep breath. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous for a Red Riding Hood to be with the Big Bad Wolf in a darkened corridor?”

“I thought you were the devil,” she replied.

He exhaled his tension, his sexual frustration, and snatched up her wrist. “Let’s go dance before I do something I regret.”

It was a moment of kindness that he offered up, but hurt filled her voice. “Regret?” That sadness made him want to bash Beechcroft all over again. And this time, he wouldn’t be so nice.

“Regret but thoroughly enjoy,” he promised.

“You’re kind—”

“Kind, nothing. Don’t let the garbage
that
man said to you take root and grow. It’s not the truth, you know. Sex with the right person is a beautiful experience. Sex with the wrong person runs the gamut from being boring to being a nightmare. Alec Beechcroft is the wrong person for you.” He glanced down and saw her hands were trembling. “Maybe for everyone.”

Raven gave him a sad smile. “It’s too late, I fear, to not let his words hurt. Years too late. Alec has a way of going for the throat, and I never learned the skills to protect myself. I think it best I go home. I don’t feel well.”

“Did you drive here?” Trev asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll drive you back.” She looked too shaky to get behind the wheel.

Instead of answering, Raven put her hand to her forehead, massaged her temple and watched him, emotions warring in her eyes. That bastard Beechcroft really had made her doubt herself. Worse, Raven was now doubting him.

“You’re shook up. You don’t need to be driving,” Trev explained. Not giving her a chance to refuse, he said, “I assume you have a wrap? Let me fetch it and then I shall see you home.”

She nodded weakly. “A velvet wrap and matching purse. Ask Mary in the cloak room.”

Escorting Raven to the rocking horse, Trev then crossed
the hall to the entrance where the large coatroom was. A blonde woman nodded when he asked for Raven’s wrap. She returned shortly, carrying a red velvet cloak and clutch.

Trev shook his head, accepting it. “Why didn’t I guess?”

As he returned, he found Raven before the fortuneteller booth, staring at the mechanical Gypsy with an expression of puzzlement and perhaps a little apprehension. That struck Trev as a dichotomy when compared with her pride and insistence that the clockwork doll wasn’t for sale.

“Want your fortune told?” he asked, handing over the clutch.

“No!” Belying how loudly she’d replied, she quickly donned a look of indifference. “I had it told earlier. Silly nonsense.”

“Perhaps you should try again. Your fortune might’ve changed since meeting me.” It hurt to see her so wounded. So vulnerable. Raven Montgomerie need a knight champion to protect her from the ugliness of this world, and Trev wanted to be that—for as long as he could.

She looked at him as if weighing her decision. “Or perhaps it hasn’t.”

“That’s supposed to mean…?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Perchance it’s best not to see the future, especially if we’re powerless to change or shape it.”

Ignoring her, he reached into his pocket and took out a coin. They both watched the mechanical Gypsy rock side to side, and then her eyes closed. The huge crystal ball shimmered with a bluish fog, causing Trev to ponder how that effect was achieved. A bulb inside the base of the globe could account for the blue tone, but he had no idea how the mist was created.

Raven’s hand shot out to snatch the card, as if she were afraid for him to see. Giving a playful grin, he beat her to it and held it out of her reach.