Luck of the Wolf (4 page)

And yet…

“She was only a cousin, of course, not one of the central line,” Yuri said, “but she was regarded as a daughter by Xavier Renier.”

“What of her real parents?”

“I presume they were dead, though nothing was ever said of them. Regardless of her relationship to the New Orleans clan, they would have spared no expense in searching for her.” Yuri paced from one end of the hall to the other, his breathing sharp with excitement. “You spoke of finding the girl's family and claiming a reward. This could not be more perfect! Of course we must make careful preparations. We will—”

“What if you're wrong?” Cort interrupted.

Yuri stopped as if he had walked into a wall. “I cannot be. I would know if she—”

“Memories can deceive.”

A calculating look replaced the exultation on Yuri's face. “Not only
my
memories. The Reniers remember her as she
was.
They will not expect to see what she is now—a wild, unschooled guttersnipe fought over by gamesters. You and I, however…we can make her into what they
do
expect.”

Cort rose and gathered up the boxes. He understood Yuri completely. The Russian recognized that he might be wrong, that the girl might only be a fluke of nature, a perfect duplicate no more real than the reflection of a face in a pond.

But it didn't really matter. Yuri's plan could work. The Reniers could be persuaded to accept her if they wanted her badly enough. So many, human and werewolf alike, lived in a world of dreams, blind to what they didn't wish to see.

Just as
he
had lived, once upon a time.

“You must see that it's worth the gamble,” Yuri said. “Their gratitude would be immeasurable if they were convinced of her identity. She—”

“You forget one thing, Yuri,” Cort said. “She may refuse. If she regains her memory…”

“Her memory will prove us right. You will see.” Yuri smiled, sly as a fox. “And what a coup for you. They may not even recognize you as Beau Renier, at least not at first. And when they do…” He rubbed his hands together. “The swamp wolf will have the pleasure of restoring a child of the noble Reniers to those who spurned him.”

After all their years together, Yuri knew exactly where Cort was most vulnerable to persuasion. Cort hadn't forgotten a single humiliation, a single curse, a single blow he had suffered at the hands of the New Orleans Reniers. He'd been no more than a temporary amusement for a bored girl in search of adventure, briefly titillated by the prospect of rebellion against her autocratic father.

Because of her—because of all of them—he had transformed himself into the very image of the gentleman Madeleine might have accepted. When he made his fortune and could look her father and brothers in the eye, equal in every way, then he would go back and show Madeleine what she had cast aside.

His fortunes had proven more fickle than he had anticipated, and he had almost given up on the idea of returning. Now he had the opportunity that had eluded him.

And what if she has another family searching for her?
He would be robbing her of a life she might have forgotten, but it would still exist, waiting for her return.

There was no earthly reason why he couldn't make
other inquiries, as he'd promised the girl. Such an investigation might take weeks, if not longer. But he could set it in motion immediately, and in the meantime make whatever preparations were necessary to groom her for her role as Lucienne Renier.

Oh, she might resist at first. She certainly had a mind of her own. But more than once he'd seen yearning and sorrow in her eyes, especially when he'd spoken of other
loups-garous
in San Francisco or speculated about her family. She wanted to belong to someone.

Perhaps he could win that sense of belonging for her as he had never been able to do for himself. And profit in the winning.

“It is a reasonable plan,” he said to Yuri. “But you must contain your eagerness,
mon ami.
She is like a wild animal who must be coaxed into the cage little by little. We must begin by discovering what she does know. With rest, safety and careful cultivation, whatever she was before may emerge on its own.”

“We can't keep such a girl hidden long,” Yuri said, “even if Cochrane makes no attempt to steal her back.”

“Then we'll keep her confined until such time as we can find a safer place to put her.”

Yuri fingered his short beard. “A safer place,” he murmured. “It should be outside the city. Leave it to me.” He nodded to himself. “She will need a complete transformation, and you and I cannot do it alone. I have thought of someone who would be ideal to teach her subjects on which you and I are not qualified to speak.”

“Is that not somewhat premature?” Cort asked.

“Not if we wish to move quickly.”

“Who is this person?”

“An old acquaintance from New Orleans, from a time
before you and I met. She is well educated, has excellent taste and is familiar with New Orleans Society.”

“How familiar?”

“She is not
loup-garou,
but she has had frequent dealings with the leading families in the city. She knows your kind exist.”

“And you trust her?”

“As much as I have ever trusted anyone.”

“How do you expect to pay her? Until I've won a few more games, we'll have barely enough funds to cover the girl's basic necessities.”

“Babette has fallen on hard times. She is widowed and currently resides in Denver in a state of near poverty. I am certain she will settle for a modest salary and a cut of the reward.”

“How much do you suggest we tell her?” Cort asked.

“She can't do her job unless she knows as much as possible,” Yuri replied.

“Say nothing of my previous association with Lucienne's family.”

“Naturally.”

“How long will it take to get Babette here?” he asked.

“I can telegraph her immediately. She could be here in a few days.”

“Then do it.”

“At once.” Yuri examined Cort from under half-closed lids. “You'll have plenty of time alone with the girl while I'm gone. Are you certain you have no…personal interest in her?”

“My tastes hardly run in that direction,” Cort said with a cynical lift of his brow. “And even if they did, I would not act on them. The girl claims that no one
touched her. She may or may not be a virgin, but she must be guarded from anyone's amorous intentions from now on.”

With a curt nod, Yuri removed a silver case from inside his coat, tapped out a cigarette and left the boardinghouse. Cort felt the uncomfortable weight of the half-truths he'd told Yuri, pretending he'd never felt any physical attraction to the girl.

But the fact that he had felt such attraction in the past hardly meant he couldn't ignore it in the future. He shifted the packages, returned to their rooms and walked through the door.

The girl was bundled up on the sofa, her chin on her knees, her body taut under the mantle of her deceptive calm. Her nose twitched. Cort set down the packages and bowed.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “I trust rest and a meal have improved your health.”

She glared at him from under the mane of blond hair that had fallen over her face. “I am very well, Cort.”

“Did you enjoy your visit with Yuri?”

“I don't like him.”

It surprised Cort that Yuri hadn't tried to make himself agreeable, given his ambitions. “Perhaps you will like this better,” Cort said. He unwrapped one of the packages to reveal half a ham and another that held a loaf of bread, butter and jam.

The girl's nose twitched again.

Cort set the food on the table. “You are free to eat as much as you like,” he said.

“I can get my own food.”

“By stealing it? That would be unwise,
ma chère.
”

“Stop calling me
ma chère.
”

“As yet you've given me no alternative,” he said.

Pretending to ignore his comment, she eyed the other packages. “What are those?” she asked.

“Clothing for you. Proper attire for a lady.” He put one of the boxes on the table and began to untie the ribbon.

“A
lady?
” she echoed.

Her voice held a note of scorn that surprised him. “Certainly. Is that not what you are,
mademoiselle?
”

She tucked her chin against her chest. “No. And I don't want to be one.”

Cort let the half-untied ribbons fall back onto the lid. “I beg your pardon?”

“I've seen many ladies. They can barely move in the clothes they wear, and they act as if they are weak and helpless.” She sniffed. “I don't have to be like them. I don't
want
to be.”

The contempt in her voice startled Cort into silence. The situation was far worse than he had imagined. She had not only forgotten that she had been raised as a lady, but she felt no desire to become one. What in God's name had given her such a low opinion of her own sex?

In truth, was his opinion any better?

“When did you decide this,
mademoiselle?
” he asked.

“Before I came to—” She stopped, looking at him warily from under her lashes.

Before she came to San Francisco? Had she begun to remember? “If you were not a lady, what were you
before?
”

“Just…” She averted her gaze. “Just what I am now.”

“You are a woman, are you not?”

She seemed to struggle with an answer. “Not every woman is a lady.”

If Cort had been prone to despair, he might have felt it then. “That is true,” he said. “Some are—”

“A lady would never go to the places those men took me.”

“You are hardly at fault for what they did. If you come from one of the families I mentioned, you are a lady by birth and breeding. And not all ladies are as you described.”

“They all wear those awful dresses, don't they? The ones with the…” She gestured at her blanket-clad body with eloquent distaste. “The stiff things they wear on top, and the bottoms like hobbles for ponies, and the pointed shoes and the silly hats and—”

Cort raised his hand to stop her. “The dress I have brought you is quite plain,
mademoiselle,
” he said with all the patience he possessed. “It was purchased ready-made and can be put on without the help of a maid. You need have no fear of resembling the fine ladies you speak of.”

One of her feet emerged from under the blanket, as if she were dipping her toes into frigid water. “But I've never worn a dress before,” she said plaintively. “At least…I don't think I have.”

“How were you dressed when the men took you?”

“Like you.”

He barked a startled laugh. “Like me? You were wearing a man's clothes?”

“Yes. Is that so funny?”

Appalling, Cort thought, but hardly funny.

“No,” he said, attempting to soothe her agitation. “It was a wise precaution if you were alone on the streets. Someone must have told you to disguise yourself.”

“I don't remember.”

That refrain was rapidly becoming tiresome. “You have no clothes of your own. Wherever you come from, whatever your past, society has certain expectations of any young woman.”

“Even
loups-garous?
”

“Even
loups-garous.
” He took the lid off the box, unfolded the paper in which the dress was wrapped and draped the garment over his arm.

“Surely you have no objection to this,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed. “How can I run in something like that?”

“As long as you remain under my protection, you'll have no need of running.”

He could see her preparing to remind him that she didn't need protection, but she seemed to think better of it. “Can you take it back?” she asked in a small voice.

As he had guessed, she wasn't nearly as confident as she pretended. “I suggest you try it on before you make any decisions.” He laid the dress over a chair and glanced at the other boxes with a frown. One contained sensible but attractive boots, another stockings and undergarments and the last the corset no lady did without. The shoes and undergarments would surely not be objectionable, but the corset?

He left that box aside and opened the others, leaving their contents in place. “I will wait in the other room while you dress,” he said, and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

For what seemed like hours he paced the small room, twice bumping into the beds with uncharacteristic clumsiness. He imagined her letting the blanket fall, standing naked as she examined the dress. He envisioned her slipping the drawers over her strong, slender thighs and
easing the chemise over her head. The thin lawn was just sheer enough that her nipples would show pale brown and tempting through the fabric.

Cort wiped the image from his mind. He heard the rustle of heavier cloth, noises of frustration and the clatter of shoes. When he could bear it no longer, he opened the door.

The girl was standing in the center of the room, the dress in place, balancing on one booted foot. She was very red in the face.

“Here,” she said. “Are you happy?”

Happy was not the word for his feelings at that moment. The dress was very plain, as he had said, intended more for a shop girl than a well-bred lady. But she…she made it look like the most expensive French couture. Her figure needed no corset, nor could her stiffness and embarrassment hide her natural grace. His body stirred in unwelcome rebellion.

“Parfaitement,”
he said in a half-strangled voice.

She gave him a suspicious glance and suddenly lost her balance. Cort was beside her in an instant, but she shoved him away.

“I hate these shoes,” she said, kicking off the one she had been wearing.