Once A Wolf

Once A Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 02

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Once A Wolf

19th Century Werewolf Series – Book 2

By Susan Krinard

One

New York City, 1878

It really is the most wonderful news, Lady Rowena," the middle-aged matron said, smiling with

benevolent indulgence upon her hostess. "All society is looking forward to the wedding. And as

for short engagements"—she made a dismissive gesture—"everyone knows they are the ideal."

Lady Rowena Forster returned Mrs. Arthur Van Rijn's smile and offered her and her two

daughters another serving of tea. The young ladies accepted with just the right degree of

formal grace.

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"My girls have benefited so much from your tutoring," Mrs. Van Rijn said, observing her

daughters with pride. "I quite despaired of them ever becoming proper ladies before you took

them under your wing."

"It was my pleasure, I assure you," Rowena said. And, indeed, the girls were attractive. But they

would have been accepted in society, polished or not, because of their family's standing among

the aristocracy of New York—the aristocracy which, three years ago, had welcomed Lady

Rowena Forster into its midst.

When Rowena fled her arranged marriage in England, she had gone to the one place where her

brother Braden, the Earl of Greyburn, would never have thought to look for her: America. She

had lived quietly for a time, relying on the generous inheritance she'd received from a distant

relative. But then word had come from England that Braden no longer demanded her marriage

to the American of werewolf blood chosen for her. Though the Cause of preserving the

werewolf race was still his life's work, he no longer forced others to be an unwilling part of it.

All at once Rowena found herself free. She could go back to England, but there were painful

memories there she was not prepared to resurrect. And soon after she came out of hiding, she

found that New York society was only too glad to embrace an earl's sister from England. She

had slipped easily into the routine of a winter Season and summers at Newport or

Southampton. After nearly three years, she was an established member of the elite.

But the social round, and a strong commitment to several charitable associations, was not

enough to fill the vacancy in her life. The husband, children, and normal, human life of which

she'd always dreamed were still denied her.

Until the man she had least expected to meet had come into her circle and offered

companionship, unique understanding, and the answer to her dilemma.

"It's so gratifying that you have decided to settle here in New York," Mrs. Van Rijn went on.

"We should all miss you terribly were you to return to England."

"As I should miss you," Rowena said with a tiny nod. "We shall visit England several times a

year. Mr. MacLean no longer has any need to personally manage his family's holdings in Texas."

"But of course. He would be quite beyond the pale to expect you to live among savages." She

set down her cup and folded gloved hands in her narrow lap. "Mr. MacLean is a true

gentleman."

Yes, Rowena thought. A true gentleman. No one in New York could dispute that, least of all

herself. He was the fantasy of every unmarried woman in New York: immensely wealthy,

handsome, charming, impeccably attired and mannered, a generous patron of favored

charities, possessing the friendship of husbands on the Stock Exchange and blessed with his

family's substantial land ownership since long before the War of Secession.

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The fact that Cole MacLean had lost his arm in the War, fighting for the South, was not held

against him. It made him seem the more dashing to admiring young ladies.

How ironic that those ladies had lost him to the one woman who hadn't wanted anything to do

with him at first. Cole was, after all, the very man her brother had intended her to marry; that

knowledge had made her avoid him assiduously for nearly a year. Then she'd begun to learn

that he was the single perfect mate for her.

Yes, quite perfect.

"I'm sure you have many preparations to make," Mrs. Van Rijn said, rising. "We have imposed

too much on your time."

Rowena snapped out of her musings and stood with a muted rustle of skirts. "Not at all, Mrs.

Van Rijn. Your company, and that of your daughters, is always most welcome." She offered her

hand. "I trust that I shall see you again soon?"

"We will be attending Mrs. Peacocks Farewell Ball," Mrs. Van Rijn said. "We shall see you there.

And then, of course, we will be leaving for Newport." She pressed Rowena's hand. "Your

wedding will be the highlight of the summer Season."

Rowena murmured words of gratitude and exchanged good-byes with the two Van Rijn

daughters. Her parlor maid, Kate, showed them to the door.

Rowena watched from the window until the Van Rijn carriage was lost among the many others

negotiating the busy street, and only then allowed herself a moment to sigh and lean against

the nearest chair. The stream of callers had been endless since the formal announcement of

her engagement to Mr. Cole MacLean. She had been brought up to receive multiple guests with

perfect aplomb, and yet it was almost as if she were eager to be rid of the prescribed rituals

that amounted to little more than pretty words and self-satisfied pretensions.

She shook her head. She must be weary indeed to have such contrary thoughts. Cole would not

appreciate them. He expected her to be the exemplary hostess, a credit to his standing and

situation. When she and Cole were married, life would be much the same, if not more

challenging. She couldn't let herself falter, not even when the children arrived. Children who

would never know of their beastly heritage. Wasn't that worth every sacrifice?

Suddenly aware that Kate was still in the room, Rowena dismissed the girl and climbed the

stairs to her bedchamber. She went at once to the wardrobe and drew out the heavy wedding

gown that had been finished just days ago.

The gown was of white mousseline and silk brocade stitched with pearls, its virginal purity

appropriate in spite of Rowena's years. Few in New York would guess that she had reached the

age of thirty, and no one challenged her complete respectability.

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The dress was beautiful, extravagant, and extremely expensive. Cole had commissioned it from

Worth himself on a trip to Paris. He'd told her that it was essential to display wealth as well as

possess it; to do less would damage his reputation among their peers. Rowena had questioned

him about the necessity for such exorbitance wasted on a gown she'd wear but once. A few

coolly reproving words from him had silenced her on that subject.

She shuddered to remember how she'd behaved with Cole at the beginning. The bad habits

she'd accumulated in a life-time of defying her brother soon became disagreeably apparent.

She reacted to any challenging masculine authority with discreditable spite and sarcasm.

Cole had been the one to point out to her that her manner was overly bold, her speech much

too pointed and hardly fitting for a lady of delicacy and rank. In fact, it smacked of the vulgar

beast she wished to overcome.

He was right. He was always right. It was not his business to change; she must do the adapting.

She had not been forced to marry him; she had chosen, after two years of his acquaintance. He

had given her one final reason above all others to accept his proposal of marriage.

He alone knew what she was. She need never fear that some slip would reveal her shame, or

that her keener senses, however she struggled to keep them in check, might betray her. She

would not be burdened with knowing she deceived some ordinary man who believed that she,

too, was normal.

Human.

Cole was not human. But Braden had been mistaken in assuming him to be a willing participant

in his Cause. Cole had grown to feel the same distaste for his werewolf blood as Rowena. He

wouldn't let his wife stray one step from humanity. He alone could keep the wolf at bay—and

protect her from herself.

A gentle voice sounded deep in Rowena's mind: "But do you love him? Love is the most

important thing in the world."

Of course Cassidy, Braden's young wife, had never spoken those exact words to her, not at

Greyburn in England nor in the girl's letters to New York. But had she been here now, she would

have said something very similar.

Cassidy hadn't lost her innocence in marriage to the earl, or in embracing her werewolf nature.

She still believed that love could solve every problem.

It had no place in Rowena's plans. Once she had hoped to love, but no longer. Love and passion

were too closely entangled. Passion lay close to the animal nature, the uncontrolled wildness

that was the beast. Rowena had long ago decided that she would die rather than foster that

monster within herself.

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Romantic love, anger, yearning, desire: Ardor of any kind was behind her. Her sole desire was

for stability, and ordinary children who would look to her for guidance.

Surely that was enough.

Carefully Rowena restored the gown to its place, as if she could put troubling thoughts away

just as easily. Her uncooperative mind moved to the latest rumor—subtle, generally ignored—

that Cole had engaged in some less-than-honorable business practices.

Of course all men in his position had enemies, those who would look for blots in an otherwise

spotless reputation. Such envious busybodies would speak of dark secrets and hidden motives.

But Cole's only dark secret was his loup-garou blood, and he had renounced that forever.

Rowena sorted through her gowns to choose the one most appropriate for tonight's dinner

party at the Green-wells'. Cole would be there, of course—his last engagement before leaving

on business for Chicago. She would stand at his side as living proof that he had nothing of which

to be ashamed.

She smiled at her own conceit that Cole needed her protection. He was a man who stood

unshakably firm and dignified in the face of his anonymous detractors, and would scorn the

support of a woman. Just as he'd scorn her if she ever suggested such support.

Ringing for Kate, she removed the pins from her hair and studied her face in the dressing table

mirror. In a month, she would no longer be Lady Rowena Forster, but Mrs. Cole MacLean. Her

old identity would cease to exist. Cole made it possible. He made it inevitable.

She shivered and looked away.

The girl entered the alley without hesitation, a plain shawl drawn over her hair and her slender

form wrapped in a nondescript cloak. She paused beside a haphazard stack of crates, searching