Beauty and the Wolf (19 page)

I
sabella walked along Dunwich’s jagged coastline at the break of dawn.

Last night she had awakened Gwyneth and Rogers so that they could take her to the town inn. Now, as she pushed her feet along the sand, nausea knotted her stomach. She was fixated on the fact that Draven had made passionate love to her before his personality had taken a violent shift.

She strolled along in a daze, a shell of her former self. She felt as if her soul had left her body and she had no more tears left. Two years ago, she had arrived at Thorncliff Towers brimming with every bride’s expectations of romance. Later that day, Draven had caused her to flee in terror. It had taken all of Isabella’s courage to return to him and when she did, she had discovered all of his darkest secrets.

Despite those secrets and in light of Draven’s violence, she’d fallen madly in love with him. Now he was sending her far away—possibly forever. It was enough to drive a woman mad.

Weighted against the forceful wind blowing in her direction, she gathered the lapels of her overcoat to her neck. She had sanitized and bandaged the bite Draven had taken out of her shoulder, but the wound was still incredibly painful.

Glancing over her shoulder at her footsteps in the sand, Isabella knew that none of her husband’s actions made sense. She wanted to find out whether Draven meant to protect her—or be rid of her—but she didn’t know how.

Wondering about the time, she climbed up the embankment and joined Gwyneth who had been waiting for her. The abigail glanced at the small pin-watch attached to her jacket. “Shall we get a cup a’ tea, yer ladyship? We have more than an hour before the next post chaise leaves for London.”

“You go ahead, Gwyneth. I think I will lie down.”

“Very well, m’lady.”

Gwyneth started across the street while Isabella moved in the other direction. A tall, dark-haired gentleman walking ahead of her caught her eye. He was moving at a brisk pace and appeared to be headed toward the edge of town. She strained her eyes to catch a better glimpse of him. With long hair that covered his stand-up collar and broad shoulders that complemented his regal height, he reminded her of Draven. But that was unlikely.

What would Draven be doing here in the village?

To her surprise, the man came to an abrupt halt at the edge of town. Standing in front of the dressmaker’s shop, he turned in a circle as if to confirm that no one was watching him.

An intense curiosity spiked within her. Perhaps if she followed her husband, he would provide her with some long-awaited answers.

Gathering her skirts, she slipped through a gate nestled between rows of cottages behind the dressmaker’s shop. The gate led to an open meadow. Dry and brittle, the thirsty winter vegetation crunched beneath Isabella’s boots. Elevating her body by the balls of her feet, she tried to catch sight of Draven’s hat.

Since he was more than a hundred feet in front of her, she was able to follow him unnoticed. As he approached the ridge of the bordering forest, he disappeared into a wall of trees. She entered the forest several moments behind him, careful not to make a sound. The fir trees stood at attention around her, resembling eerie rows of blank-faced soldiers. She gave a shudder.

Forcing herself to press on, she became unnerved by the silence. Every so often a bird flitted noisily from tree to tree and the sound stirred her heartbeat.

Keep Draven in sight.
He seemed to know where he was going.

He came to the edge of a small pond and stopped. Crouching down, Draven examined something by the water’s embankment. It was difficult for Isabella to make out what it was, but once he moved on, she saw it was a wooden cross marking a grave.

She crept behind him until he reached a clearing in the woods. As soft violin music lofted in and out of ear range, she spied six colorfully painted caravans encircling a roaring fire. Dogs barked while several people dressed in dark clothes and jeweled scarves milled about the area.

Isabella inched closer. She saw Draven remove his hat and climb a ladder into one of the wagons. Convinced she was hidden well enough beneath the ladder itself, she strained to make out an exchange between her husband and a woman.

“Why have you come here?” the woman asked in a thin voice.

“I have come to ask one last time: is there an alternate way of revoking my curse?”

“No, Lord Winthrop. I told you: our spells are much too powerful to be derailed from their path.”

Isabella sucked in a breath.
Why didn’t Draven say he’d spoken to this Gypsy?

“You said it is Isabella’s destiny to end my life before she takes her own,” he said with determination. “But I have sent her away.”

“She will return. She loves you too much to be parted from you forever.”

Isabella repressed a gasp.
Is it my fate to kill Draven after all?
Her entire body trembled at the thought.

“I refuse to believe that Isabella’s destiny is written in stone.”

The woman’s voice grew firm. “I told you: I have seen a vision of her pulling the trigger of a gun.”

Isabella’s mouth went dry. So that is why Draven sent her away!

He hesitated. “Are your visions always correct?”

“They are.” She paused. “But I must say, in all my years I have never seen anything like the double curse that plagues you and your wife.”

“Our love cannot end the way it was predicted,” Draven thundered.

“The laws of the universe are greater than us,” the woman said. “Now, I will give you the silver bullet Isabella must use.”

There was a pause. The floorboards creaked. Then there was the unmistakable scrape of wood as a drawer opened and closed.

“Draven,” the woman said, “sending Isabella out of harm’s way and putting her life before your own shows you have learned what it means to be a merciful human being. But, as I said before, the dark forces must be convinced.”

Draven remained silent.

“Your mother would be proud of you at this very moment.”

“I wouldn’t have changed without my wife,” he answered.

Emotion quaked through Isabella.

“Learning to love selflessly is part of the spirit cycle,” the woman said.

“Well, the spirit cycle can go to hell as far as I am concerned,” Draven growled. “I just want to be with Isabella.”

“Unfortunately you have no choice. The next full moon rises in two days. Isabella will kill you at your mother’s gravesite by the pond. Did you pass the spot today?”

“Yes, it is still marked by a cross, but Isabella—”

“She will certainly fight it, but she will kill you then kill herself. At that time, both curses will have come full circle.”

The revelation that Draven had begged her to go to avoid fulfilling the amulet’s curse, made Isabella love him all over again. Desperation clogged her throat as she heard the woman’s voice again.

“Here is the bullet.”

“My life is nothing without Isabella by my side. I won’t let this happen,” Draven vowed. “I will find another way.”

Before Draven could leave the wagon, Isabella took flight into the forest. As she retraced her steps through the maze of trees, she could hardly function. The conversation between Draven and the Gypsy woman repeated itself in her mind, pelting her with emotion.

She wiped away her tears and tried to think clearly. If only she had the bracelet of Amenhotep. But she wasn’t that lucky.

Since nothing dire would happen until the next full moon rose two nights from now, Isabella decided to go to London to speak with Uncle Benjamin. It was a ten-hour journey each way, but it was plausible. Though she’d lost contact with Benjamin after her father’s disappearance, she remembered him as a gentle, honest figure—and she valued his advice a great deal.

Would Uncle Benjamin think her mad? Or would he listen without criticism?

Regardless, she would seek his counsel before coming back to Thorncliff Towers in time to stop the prophesized plan of execution.

W
hen Isabella arrived in London proper, the late-afternoon sun was giving way to the impatience of dusk.

As she and Gwyneth climbed out of the post chaise, they blended into a stream of street vendors peddling their wares. Heavy fog rose from the harbor below London Bridge while scents from the rolling carts wafted beneath Isabella’s nose. Hot cross buns, baked apples, even the smell of syllabub enticed her empty stomach. But this was no time to think about food.

While the masses hurried against the cold near the St. James coaching station, Gwyneth dragged Isabella’s heavy portmanteau down the street. Isabella tried to flag down a closed carriage without success. To add to her frustration, worry over Draven’s fate built inside her.

Gwyneth, who had traded her flimsy cap and maid’s costume for a more fashionable bonnet and dress, looked equally frustrated. They had been standing by the roadside for nearly a quarter of an hour. The girl finally stuck two fingers in her mouth and blew an ear-piercing whistle. A closed carriage stopped with a jerk. Isabella and her maid hastened forward and were relieved when the driver handled their baggage.

“Where to, Miss?” the burly man asked politely.

Isabella retrieved the card her uncle had given Draven and recited the address to the driver.

“Inns of Court. Right away, Miss.”

The two women settled against the rear bench as the carriage rattled forward. Gwyneth started twisting a handkerchief nervously around her fingers and Isabella shot her a puzzled expression. “Is something wrong, Gwyneth?”

“Oh, I ’ate to be difficult, m’lady, or speak out a’ turn, and I’ll certainly be happy to attend to ye anywhere—”

“You’ve seemed uneasy ever since we left Thorncliff Towers. Please speak freely.” Isabella realized her tone was impatient, but she couldn’t help herself. She had too much on her mind.

“Mrs. Tidwell said this mornin’ that I shouldn’t jeopardize me post . . .”

Isabella waited for her to go on.

“Well, my fiancé lives in Dunwich and considerin’ that we’re to marry come November, I was wonderin’—”

“—how long I’ll be in London since you don’t intend to work for the Winthrop household after your wedding?” Isabella smiled.

The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, thank ye fer understandin’, m’lady. Yer as kind as they come.”

Isabella patted the girl’s hand. “Something tells me I shall be returning to the coast very soon.”

Gwyneth wiped the moisture from her enormous blue eyes. “If it isn’t too bold, m’lady, can I speak about another matter?

Isabella frowned. “Yes.”

“It’s Master Draven. He’s the reason I’m leavin’ the house. He frightens us all.”

The girl’s stare housed genuine terror. “’Aven’t ye heard them, m’lady? Bays of a wolf comin’ from inside the manor ’ouse? From the master’s suites? Do ye really think he’s the black wolf?”

Isabella looked away. She wished they had a dog so she could blame the sounds on the animal. But they possessed no pet and there had been no one else in her husband’s bedchamber at the time. “I’ve noticed the howls too, Gwyneth. And I’ve come to London to help his lordship.”

The maid nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. We’re forced to lock our doors at night and—”

It is a wonder there are any servants left at Thorncliff Towers,
Isabella thought. “Gwyneth,” she said gently, “the last thing his lordship and I need is hysteria from the staff.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

To Isabella’s relief, the girl remained silent for the remainder of the ride. In the meantime, she prayed that her uncle was still in his office at Britain’s Inns of Court at this late hour.

The carriage finally bustled to a stop before a tree-lined square just south of Strand and Fleet Streets. Isabella looked up at a sign hovering from a gold chain:
MR. BENJAMIN RAYBURN, ESQUIRE, ESTABLISHED BARRISTER
.

Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped into the haze of twilight. Instructing Gwyneth to wait, she left her valise with the twittering girl. When she pushed the door open, a delicate bell announced her arrival.

“May I help you, Miss?” A young intern glanced up from his paperwork with irritation.

“I’m Lady Draven Winthrop. I’m here to see Mr. Rayburn.”

The young man’s expression didn’t change. He placed his quill on the desk and folded his hands neatly together. “Do you have an appointment, your ladyship?”

“No, I don’t. I’m Mr. Rayburn’s niece. Well, I’m not actually his niece—”

“Are you or are you not Mr. Rayburn’s niece, Lady Winthrop?”

“Excellent tone, Nathaniel! Use it during your next cross-examination.”

Isabella glanced over at the sound of the familiar voice. Grinning, Benjamin Rayburn stood up from his desk and circled round a small partition. “I taught that boy everything he knows.”

A straight flagpole of a man, Uncle Ben was just as Isabella remembered. His bulbous nose hovered over a bushy mustache and his salt and pepper hair brushed the tops of his substantial ears. She smiled as she realized his witty, gray eyes still studied those around him with humility and grace.

“I apologize, sir,” the intern said.

“Quite all right, Nathaniel. But there is no need to interrogate this young woman. She is the closest thing to a niece I’ll ever have. Let me look at you, Isabella.” Although his words were kind, his expression was grave as he clasped her hands in his. “You’ve certainly grown into a lady of stature.”

“Thank you, Uncle Benjamin. But you haven’t changed a bit.”

“It’s wonderful to see you,” he said. Again a worried expression washed over his face.

“Is something wrong?” Isabella asked.

“I shall tell you shortly.” The barrister tipped her chin up with two fingers to analyze her countenance. “And you. Do I sense a dark cloud somewhere in your midst?”

She couldn’t lie to him nor did she wish to. “Yes.”

Benjamin withdrew a gold pocket watch from a tiny slip in his vest and glanced at it. “I think we’ve been at this long enough, Nathaniel. What do you say we close up shop? If you will lock up, I will escort this elegant lady to supper.”

“Yes, sir,” the intern replied as his employer tossed him a small ring of keys. “Good night, sir. Good night, your ladyship.”

After Isabella had sent Gwyneth ahead to Uncle Benjamin’s residence, Rayburn donned a fashionable beaver hat and strolled with her arm in arm until they reached a nearby pub. Benjamin seemed to be a regular patron at the establishment as he was greeted with exuberance. The pair was shown to a secluded booth in the back where they ordered the shepherd’s pie.

Isabella settled against the soft leather pads of the booth and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

“My dear,” Benjamin began, “you must tell me what is happening at Thorncliff Towers. I came to meet with your father several days ago. Do you have any idea why he wasn’t there to receive me?”

“He was with me here in London.” She lowered her voice. “He mentioned nothing of your planned visit. Lately, I’ve been concerned about his behavior, Uncle Benjamin. He hasn’t seemed himself since the accident in Egypt. In fact, I’ve consulted an amnesia specialist about him.”

Benjamin looked troubled. “And what did this specialist say?”

“Nicholas Van Sant is a very reputable physician. He said my father’s irrational anger is perfectly normal. A great jar to the head can bring suppressed emotions to the surface. It can also stir sides of our personality we weren’t in touch with before. The doctor claims Papa’s loss of short-term memory is normal as well.”

“Very interesting. You assume this is why your father forgot about my scheduled visit?”

“Perhaps. Many things slip his mind lately. As I said, Papa seems to be a different person.”

“I’m glad you have noticed,” Rayburn said, his gray eyes darkening. “But amnesia is not the reason your father seems so queer to you.”