Wolf Bride (30 page)

Of course he had more than one mistress at court. What had she expected?

Wolf released her arm long before they reached their apartments, his face shuttered, unreadable. He passed the man-at-arms on the door with a nod, holding onto the wall as though he was finding it hard to stand. The man’s look was amused when Wolf began dragging at his jacket before they were even inside, yawning and not quite managing to walk in a straight line.

‘I need to sleep,’ he said roughly, limping inside the room and kicking the door shut once Eloise and Hugh were inside.

Mary had been asleep on the daybed by the fire, her mouth open as she snored gently. At the sound of the door slamming, she jumped up with a start, straightening her cap when she saw who it was.

‘My lord, my lady,’ she managed, staring wide-eyed from one to the other.

‘Take yourself to bed, Mary,’ he said curtly without looking at her, and began to struggle out of his tight jacket, his eyes on Eloise instead.

‘But I must tend to my lady . . .’

‘My lady can sleep in her gown for all I care,’ Wolf bit out, finally ridding himself of his jacket, and shot the maid a dangerous look. ‘Bed. Now.’

‘Aye, my lord.’

Mary sketched a hurried curtsey and disappeared through the door into the narrow space that served as her bedchamber.

Now it was only the three of them, Hugh lingering by the closed door as though uncomfortable at remaining but clearly unwilling to leave her alone with Wolf.

She looked back at her drunken husband, meeting his gaze with a cold shuddering shock that felt like the end. The end of their marriage, the dying of that tiny light that had begun to kindle in her heart whenever he looked at her.

‘I hate you,’ Eloise breathed, her heart breaking apart as what she had seen in the king’s chamber flashed through her mind like scenes from a tragic play, how Wolf had held that woman, Kate Langley, in his arms, had kissed her begging mouth, all the while telling the king in that scathing tone how cold Eloise was in bed, how little she could please him as a woman . . .

‘Is that so, my dearest love?’ he drawled, his brows raised at her vehemence, clearly mocking her.

‘Yes, and I’ll never share your bed again,’ she hissed, just about hanging on to her self-control.

The urge to launch herself at him was so strong. To flay his handsome face with her nails, let him see what he had done to her tonight. Yet what would that achieve? Better to rein in her agony and keep some shred of pride with which to clothe herself in the morning.

He was drunk anyway; he would not remember any insults she might fling at him tonight, though if she scratched his face that might give him an inkling of her anger tomorrow.

‘We’ll see,’ Wolf remarked, tossing his jacket carelessly across the back of the daybed.

He limped to the table and poured himself a cup of wine, as if he had not already taken enough drink that night, then stood drinking with his back to her.

His shirt was already loose, his slashed-sleeve doublet open, his muscular thighs and buttocks outlined in the tight black hose. The sight of his hard soldierly body, given so freely to other women, tore her apart. She was his wife; his body should belong to her alone. When he turned back, she had to avert her eyes from the aggressively masculine thrust of his codpiece, knowing what lay beneath it – and that it was not for her.

Wolf had barely registered her threat not to sleep with him again, as though he did not believe her. Which was perhaps not surprising, given how she was staring at him, not bothering to hide how desire simmered below her contempt.

He put down the cup, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and glanced across at Hugh. His lip curled at his friend’s wary expression.

‘Still here, Beaufort?’ The question was laconic, but there was steel beneath it.

Hugh hesitated, clearly reluctant either to argue with his friend or to abandon her when she might be in trouble.

He glanced at Eloise, as though seeking permission to leave. ‘My lady?’

‘Pray do not alarm yourself on my account, sir,’ she managed, though her heart was beating wildly at the thought of being left alone with her husband in this dangerous mood. She went to bid the young man goodnight, anxious not to see him get hurt by interfering between her and Wolf. Their marriage was fast becoming a battleground, but she would fight this war without outside help. ‘You have been more than good to me tonight, Master Beaufort. But you need not stay.’

‘You are sure, my lady?’

‘Perfectly.’

Hugh bent gallantly over her hand, kissing it. Eloise looked at him with gratitude as he straightened.

‘I am tired and will go to bed now,’ she murmured, and he released her hand. ‘Thank you for everything, sir. I shall see you tomorrow.’

Narrow-eyed, watching the two of them talk softly together, Wolf gave a furious exhalation of breath. He folded his arms across his powerful chest, tension in every line of his body.

‘I think not,’ Wolf said tightly. His hard gaze moved from Hugh’s face to her own, the warning in that stare unmistakeable.

Her gaze flickered across to him with disdain; she wondered how her husband could still stand, the amount of wine he must have drunk that night. Yet his stare did not falter.

It was almost as though he were jealous, she thought angrily. Which was a mockery of everything she knew to be true, of course. If he wanted her at all, Wolf saw her as a dog sees a bone: his to bite, and his to bury. She was his possession, and he was not willing to part with her, regardless of however many other women he might also possess.

The agony of seeing him in the arms of the beautiful Mistress Langley wrenched at her again, instinct telling her Wolf must have known her carnally before tonight. Just as there was no doubt in her heart that he would ‘know’ that woman again, repeatedly, while they were in residence at court. She had grown to appreciate his powerful desire for sex, and was not foolish enough to assume that she alone could satisfy a man like that.

With an expression of deep chagrin, Hugh Beaufort bowed to them both, cap in hand.

‘Forgive me,’ he muttered. ‘I can see that I am in the way here, and will trespass on your time no longer.’

He was about to take his leave when someone came thudding heavily along the corridor and hammered at the door with what sounded like a dagger hilt.

‘Ho there within, open up!’ a deep voice cried, full of urgency. The hammering came again, even louder. ‘Open this door; I must speak with Lord Wolf at once!’

She did not see Wolf move. Yet suddenly he was right there at her side, his hands about her waist, whirling her behind him as though she weighed as little as a rag doll.

He sounded crisp and decisive, forestalling her protests with a raised hand. ‘Stay behind me, Eloise, or I shall not be answerable for my actions.’

The air of drunken stupor had fallen away as her husband spoke, standing straight-backed before the door with a threatening hand on his dagger hilt.

She was amazed by this change of demeanour, feeling like a fool as she realised he had dissembled in the king’s rooms. Wolf had never been drunk at all, merely play acting. But to what purpose?

‘Hugh, open the door.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The cloaked and mud-splattered man who entered their rooms threw back his hood at once, and Eloise gasped.

‘Renford!’

It was one of her father’s serving men, a sturdy fellow she had known since childhood.

She stared at him in sudden terrible apprehension and took a faltering step forward. ‘My father . . . He is not unwell? Not . . .?’

‘Forgive me, my lady,’ Renford interrupted, and knelt wearily before her husband. He wrested a letter from his pouch. ‘My lord, I bear an urgent message from Sir John in Yorkshire.’

Wolf took it without a word and unrolled the letter. His brows knitted together as he read. ‘God’s blood.’

‘What is it?’ she demanded at last, unable to bear the agony of waiting. ‘Is my father sick? Tell me, for pity’s sake.’

He glanced at her oddly, from under his lashes. ‘It is not Sir John who is in trouble, but your sister. Susannah has run away from home, and your father asks me . . . Nay, he begs me to send out a party of men to search for her.’

She frowned. ‘But if she is in Yorkshire . . .’

‘Sir John believes she was coming here, to court. She left a note to that effect and took one of his fastest horses. Money too.’

‘But a young woman, riding south unaccompanied . . .’ Eloise shook her head, looking horrified from one man to the other. ‘Susannah will not get far, surely? She would be noticed in every village and hamlet on the road to London.’ A thought struck her with the force of a sword thrust, and she wrapped her arms about her stomach. ‘God forbid she should be set upon before she is found. That road is so dangerous . . .’

Wolf looked over her head at Hugh, whose face was suddenly grey with fear for the young Susannah. ‘Your father says she took precautions against such a fate. Her old nurse believes she left dressed as a man.’

‘D . . . dressed as a man?’ she repeated, stammering, unable to imagine her fair-haired sister in man’s garb. It was shocking, and yet perhaps it might save her life. If Wolf could only reach her in time. ‘You must ride north and hope to intercept her, my lord. Then bring her on to court yourself.’

‘I admit, that is my own thought,’ Wolf mused, but his frown was dark as he met Hugh’s gaze. ‘Yet I cannot leave court. Not now.’

What on earth did he mean by that? She could find no significance in it, and guessed with a sudden painful insight that he would not stir for her sister when he had an assignation with his mistress that he would rather honour. Until tomorrow eve, my lord. That was what Kate Langley had murmured as she bid him farewell, her eyes promising more than just soft kisses on the king’s couch.

Eloise felt her gut twist as she realised how little she and her family must mean to him.

Hugh nodded, as though his friend had spoken. ‘I will find your sister and bring her safely to court,’ he told her grimly, and put his hand on the hilt of his dagger. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘You cannot ride that road alone,’ Wolf said swiftly, and handed the letter to Eloise, who was still waiting silently to read it. ‘As my wife has said, the way is dangerous, and her sister may not have travelled far. Sir John’s messenger may have overtaken her on the road, had he but known it.’ He fetched his jacket from the daybed, frowning hard. ‘I shall seek out some half dozen of my men below; they can journey with you. You ride at first light, yes?’

Hugh nodded, though he seemed impatient enough to set off at once, even in the darkness.

‘Come then, there is no time to waste. Let us bustle.’ Wolf clapped the messenger on the shoulder on his way out. ‘I give you thanks for your speed, man. Take some victuals now, and then a few days’ rest.’

‘Aye, my lord.’

Eloise drew an angry breath as Wolf limped back through the door, accompanied by Hugh, both men having forgotten her presence.

‘My lord!’ When Wolf turned to stare at her, his handsome face suddenly tense and wary, she could not help herself, much as she despised her own weakness. ‘When will you be back, my lord?’

‘Later,’ was his curt reply.

She took a step forward, meaning to interrogate him further, and his eyes met hers with a look of such violent authority that it both shocked and silenced her.

‘Go to bed, Eloise. You can do nothing here.’

It was a command, not a suggestion, and they both knew it. Like her impotent fury over his mistress, this business was for him, not her, and her interference was unwelcome. He was her master, and it was clear he intended her to understand it, whether she liked it or not.

Wolf tore his gaze from hers and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving her alone. She stood in a whirl of exhausted confusion, no longer sure what was true in her life and what false, wishing she could rush after him and demand an explanation.

But she could not. She did not have that power. She was Wolf’s bride, not his keeper.

It was dark when she was woken by a noise, lying face-down on the bed where she had thrown herself hours before, still in her gown but without her shoes and stockings. The candle had long since burnt out, and the only light was from the glowing embers in the hearth. She sighed, turning her head drowsily, and noticed a thin yellow light through the open bed curtains, coming from under the bedchamber door.

Eloise lay for a moment, still half-asleep, looking at that soft, flickering light and trying to work out what it was. Then she heard again the noise which had woken her, and sat up abruptly.

Someone was in the other room. And that crash had sounded like a weary man throwing his boots across the room, one after the other.

She slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the door. It opened with a slight creaking sound, but nobody challenged her. Indeed, the chamber seemed empty at first glance. Then she saw him. Wandering across the rushes, her crumpled skirts gathered up in her hands, Eloise came to the side of the daybed and stopped, staring down in disbelief.