The Ravencliff Bride (41 page)

“Stubble it, old boy—just stubble it. There are other coils to unwind before we start on that one.” The conversation needed changing, and Nicholas was too worn down from his discourse with Sara to stand up to the valet, who was
always
right—except in this . . . he was certain. “We have to find Alex. Has everyone forgotten that?”

“I certainly haven’t, my lord, and I cannot see how you have, considering that you’ve haunted the halls of Ravencliff—pistols drawn—for nigh on a sennight now.”

“Well, good! Now help me change, so I can eat and continue the haunting.”

Sara set her dinner tray aside for Mrs. Bromley. Had she done the right thing, giving Nicholas an ultimatum? There was no way to tell. If only she’d had a few minutes more to plead her case. If only Mrs. Bromley hadn’t made her entrance at that precise moment. It had ruined her appetite, and half the food was still under the lids of the silver servers. She hoped the woman wouldn’t peek beneath until she left the tapestry suite; she was in no humor for a lecture.

It was odd not having someone hovering. She hadn’t been alone since she regained consciousness. She wasn’t afraid. The door was closed, after all. It hadn’t been left ajar since
she’d discovered Nicholas’s secret. She hadn’t seen Nero since, either, and that saddened her. She knew it was silly, but would she ever see him again, her beloved Nero? To her, they were two very separate entities—her husband, and her pet. She simply couldn’t think of them as one. Reminiscing, she sighed, and shut her eyes.

She had nearly dozed when Mrs. Bromley entered. The housekeeper made a beeline for the silver server, and lifted the lid.

“Aw, now”—she clicked her tongue—“how are ya ever goin’ ta get your strength back eatin’ like a bird?”

“I’ll do better tomorrow,” said Sara. “Dr. Breeden is going to let me up out of this bed for a bit in the morning.”

“Then ya should have put this inta ya tonight,” the housekeeper scolded. “Cook is goin’ ta throw a fit. Ya hardly touched a bite.”

“Tell Cook I’ll eat a big breakfast,” Sara said. “I’m too excited about getting up again to eat now . . . it would only upset my stomach.”

“All right, my lady,” said the housekeeper, taking up the tray. “I’ll just bring this down, and I’ll be right back with your herbal tea. You will drink that?”

“I will, Mrs. Bromley. I promise.”

The housekeeper waddled into the foyer, tray in hand. When she opened the door, a scream poured from her throat, for the hulking shape of a shaggy black wolf crashed through, knocking the tray from her hands and sending it into the hallway in a clattering racket of metal and china and glass, as the beast bounded past her into the bedchamber.

“
Mrs. Bromley?
” Sara shrilled, but the woman’s desperate screams were receding along the corridor.

Before Sara could blink the wolf leaped upon the bed, looming over her, its lips curled back, baring fangs. Drool dripped from its tongue and jowls. Its fur, wet with the evening mist, smelled fetid, of death and decay, especially in the
matted area of the wound on its foreleg. It began to growl. Sara scarcely breathed. It prowled closer, puffing foul breath in her face, pinning her beneath the counterpane. She couldn’t move—wouldn’t have, even if she could. Its dilated eyes were full of menace. It was about to spring.

Moments passed that seemed like hours before Nicholas charged through the door. Dr. Breeden was right behind him. Nicholas waved the physician back.

“No!” he said. “Leave this to me. Fetch Mills. Tell him to bring his pistols and keep the others out.”

“My lord . . .”

“Do as I’ve said and close that door behind you, he doesn’t leave this room alive!”

“Nicholas!” Sara cried.

“Shhh, don’t move,” her husband cautioned in a voice she couldn’t recognize. It was more bark than voice, something dredged from the finite edge of man and beast. It ran her through with cold chills. “Whatever happens, do not move!” She couldn’t; the animal was practically atop her.

Nicholas pulled off his boots and stockings, then his waistcoat, pantaloons, and shirt, throwing them on the floor. He stripped off his drawers and tossed them down as well.

Sara gasped. “Nicholas,
no!
”

“It’s the only way,” he said. “He’s caught us off guard.”

“The pocket pistol!” Sara cried. “It’s in the sitting room table drawer.”

Nicholas shook his head. “I won’t chance hitting you,” he said. “He’s gone mad, Sara. I’ve got to get him off that bed. I cannot do that in human form . . . but Nero
can
.”

“And if he bites you?”

“He isn’t rabid. It’s the wound that’s driven him mad. It was never treated. That’s probably why he hasn’t changed back. He cannot give me what I have already, but he can give it to you. You must do exactly as I say!”

“Mills is coming!” Sara cried. “Please, Nicholas, wait for Mills!”

“If I can’t get a clear shot, how will he? No! Not while you’re in that bed! Are you well enough to get out of it?”

“I-if I must . . . Oh, Nicholas!”

“Then do it the minute I get him off you, and get out of this room!”

Before she could protest further, a blur of flesh and fur and sinew streaked through the air, like a flash of molten silver, and slammed against the wolf broadside with such an impact Sara could scarcely tell them apart. They collided hard, but not hard enough to take the contest to the floor, and she drew her knees up out of the way as the two animals engaged in battle at the foot of the four-poster.

She inched to the side of the bed. No longer pinned beneath the counterpane, she slid her feet over the edge. Vertigo starred her vision with pinpoints of white light, and the room swam around her. Behind, the growling snarling ball of tooth and muscle locked together had finally taken the battle off the bed. Blood-speckled drool spattered the linens, and the counterpane was torn. The pillows were leaking feathers. Those floated in the air like snow around the two wolves, who were dancing on their hind legs, locked in mortal combat.

Sara couldn’t tell one from the other. If only they weren’t moving so fast. If only she weren’t so dizzy. On her feet now, she reeled toward the vacant hearth and grabbed a poker. She would not leave the room as Nicholas had ordered. If Nero needed her help, she would be there to give it—but which one was Nero? Both their coats were wet with drool and streaked with blood. She could no longer tell which had the injured leg for the slime that painted them head to toe. Both their eyes were glowing red in the candleshine. Both their fangs were bared, and neither would give quarter.

The dull ache in her shoulder had become a sharp pain again. It didn’t matter. Nothing did but making an end to the nightmare once and for all, and she staggered toward them, dragging the poker. It was too heavy to carry.

“
Nero!
” she cried, trying to force recognition, but it was Mills who replied. She hadn’t even heard him enter.

“Stand where you are, my lady,” he said, his pistol aimed, his free hand supporting his injured elbow. “Do not move from that spot. Do not draw its eyes. Let me handle this.”

“They’re killing each other!” she shrilled. “What if you shoot the wrong wolf?”

“Trust me, my lady. I will not.”

Sara stood her ground, but it was too late. She had already attracted one wolf’s attention. He prowled closer, and the other turned and lunged at her, driving her down on the carpet out of harm’s way.

Mills raised his pistol.

“
No!
” she cried. “Don’t shoot! It’s Nero!”

If ever there was a human look of desperation in an animal’s face, she saw it then in Nero’s eyes. He was trying to shove her out of the way of danger, but it put him off guard, and the other wolf jumped on his back.

Rolling on her side, Sara covered her ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the howling, snarling pandemonium of sound reverberating off the walls—the floor—the ceiling.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Mills called over the racket.

“Y-yes . . . just winded,” she responded. “Don’t shoot! My God! You nearly killed him!”

“Trust me not to do that, my lady,” said the valet. “Please now . . . stand out of the way! You are in my line of fire! I am at a disadvantage with this deuced arm here.”

One of the wolves was down, but which one? The Aubusson carpet was fouled with blood and foam and clumps of fur. Sara staggered closer, raising the poker, despite Mill’s warning. Both wolves were on their feet again. They had squared off, feet apart, heads down, their bloodied fangs bared. Leaking deep, guttural growls, they circled each other. Then one bit the other’s heel and they joined in another whirl of fighting frenzy, coming closer and closer to Sara with each revolution.

She hefted the poker.

“Which one? My God, Mills . . .
which one?
”

The valet raised his fingers to his lips. A piercing whistle ripped the air—the same whistle she’d heard on the strand before Nero disappeared and she lost consciousness.

“
Nero!
” Mills thundered in a voice so loud it reverberated through her body.

One of the wolves responded—a hitch in his stride, a half-turn of his tousled head; a gleam of recognition in the dilated, bloodshot eyes blind with battle madness. The other lunged at Sara, and Nero sprang between, diverting its attention. It was a costly move. The other creature sank its teeth into Nero’s neck, driving him down on the carpet.

Nero’s agonized yowl rang out in concert with Sara’s scream. Pinned down by the other’s jaws, Nero couldn’t right himself, and she raised the poker and swung it with all her strength at the wolf that had him in a death grip. It hit between the eyes. Stunned, the animal staggered, shook its head, and let Nero go, only to turn on her again. Sara screamed. Its bloody jaws clamped shut on her nightdress, just missing her thigh as she reeled away, taking another swing with the poker. She was tiring. This time, her balance was untrue, and she missed. Loosing a bloodcurdling snarl, Nero scrabbled to his feet and sprang at the creature’s back. A shot rang out. One of the wolves fell at Sara’s feet. The other howled and whirled and fell to its knees panting, before it sprang through the air and surged to full human height.

Nicholas stood naked before her, his wet skin running with blood—so much blood, she couldn’t tell which was his, and which belonged to the twitching animal breathing its last on the carpet. Sara dropped the poker, and went into his arms.

“Your gown is torn!” he panted. “Tell me he hasn’t bitten you, Sara!”

“N-no . . . he hasn’t, Nicholas,” she murmured. His eyes
were wild and terrible, searching her face—her body—again and again, as though he didn’t trust her.

“I’m just . . . overextended,” she murmured, forcing a smile. He crushed her close in a smothering embrace.

“Here,” said Mills, thrusting Nicholas’s clothes toward him. Shouts from the corridor and frantic pounding on the door could no longer be ignored. “There’ll be time enough for that later, my lord. Let me help you. This is not over yet.”

“I’ll do that in the dressing room,” said Nicholas, snatching the clothes. He led Sara to the lounge. “Have Dr. Breeden come at once,” he said to Mills. “Tell the others that we have shot the wolf that killed Nell. Bring them in and let them see—
now
, Mills! Before it dies, or they will likely see something else lying there!”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Sara begged, taking his measure. “There’s so much blood . . . !”

“It’s not all mine,” he murmured. “Dr. Breeden will tend me later. Do as Mills says, until I return.”

The next few minutes were a blur of gasps and sobs and milling voices, as Smythe, Mrs. Bromley, footmen, and all poked their heads in to view the fallen animal. In the midst of the inspection, it wasn’t Nicholas, but
Nero
who pranced through the dressing room door and a collective gasp filled the room. It was a brief appearance. Sara’s jaw fell slack, as he padded to her side, wagging his tail and offering her his paw. Then, trotting about the room, he stopped and nuzzled Mills’s hand before he bounded back through the dressing room door as though nothing untoward had occurred.

“There now, do you see?” said Mills, triumphant. “
Two
dogs, not one—and you lot had all condemned poor Nero. ‘Twas Nero who helped me put that creature down.”

Minutes later, dressed, the wounds in his arms and shoulders hidden beneath his shirt and waistcoat, his face splashed with water from the dressing room pitcher, Nicholas emerged and sent all but Mills and Dr. Breeden from the room.

The doctor knelt beside the wolf, probing its neck and body through the fur. “It’s dead,” he said, getting to his feet on stiff, unsteady legs.

“What now?” said Mills.

“We wait,” said the doctor.

“What are we waiting for?” Sara murmured.

Mills had stripped the bed, and made it with fresh linens. Nicholas lifted Sara off the lounge and laid her down, propped against what remained of the pillows. He tucked the fresh counterpane around her. Then sitting beside her, he gathered her close in his arms. They were strong and warm, and she went into them murmuring his name.

“We are waiting to see if he changes back,” he told her.

It wasn’t a long wait. All at once, the blood-matted fur began to melt away before their eyes. The barrel-chested wolf profile shifted, lengthened, and took another form—one that scarcely resembled the Alexander Mallory Sara remembered. He was thinner, wizened. Deep shadow stains wreathed his eye sockets. His festered arm was black and swollen with gangrene, and the mark left by the poker dented his brow.

“Oh, my God, Alex . . .” Nicholas moaned. Sara turned her eyes away from the anguish in his staring down at the barely recognizable remains of what had once been his steward and his friend, and Mills threw the soiled counterpane over the body.

“We cannot show this to the guards,” said Dr. Breeden, nodding toward the corpse. “How would we ever explain it?”

“We don’t have to,” said Nicholas, struggling for composure. “That’s why I had you bring the staff in, why Nero made an appearance. They all saw two animals, and they all think I sacked Alex long ago. As soon as you’re sure none of them are still lurking about, we’ll take him down the back stairs and bury him in the graveyard. I shan’t have Mills brought up on charges over this. Consider what has just occurred
here a duel, because that is just exactly what it was.”