The Passion (32 page)

"But isn't that what you came among us to do al those months ago?"

Confusion shadowed her face as she turned away.

"You're mad," she repeated. "Mad to think I would do this thing." But her voice held less conviction than it had only a moment ago.

"Perhaps." He moved closer. Lightly, his fingers fel upon her shoulder. He heard her heart thudding, the fabric of her dress sliding back and forth over her breasts with the lurch of her breath. "But it is only reasonable, Tessa LeGuerre, for you to consider it."

She jerked away from his touch and without another word left him, pushing through the vines, not looking back.

He watched her go calmly, smiling a little to himself, with long-seeing eyes until the leaves stopped stirring in her passage. "Poor little human," he murmured. "What a pity that for al your vast education no one ever warned you about conversing with the devil."

When the long gray wolf eased itself silently out of the vines and came to stand beside him, Denis dropped his hand companionably to its head. "Don't worry," he said, and smiled again. "She'll be back.

Had I not been sure of that, I never would have let her go."

Chapter Fifteen

Alexander's house had an oddly deserted feeling to it, with no one in attendance except human servants. Poinceau, Lavalier, Mme. Crol iere—al were gone, and without them to supervise, the humans were lazy and indolent. There was no one to drive Tessa to the Palais, and she had to straggle to saddle a horse for herself, losing precious minutes in the process.

Denis Antonov. The very name had the power to invoke evil, like a chant muttered over a fire. He
was
evil. He had proved that with his demented scheme to murder the queen, with his arrogant assumption that she, Tessa LeGuerre, would assist him. And when she remembered his touch and what it had done to her, she went hot with shame. The queen had said he was handsome, and he was.

She had said he was charming, and he was. She had not mentioned, however, how persuasive he was, how powerful. Even Alexander had not prepared her for that. There had been times when he had almost convinced her that everything he said was the truth, when she had
wanted
to believe it.

His power frightened her. Her response to it made her weak.

The horse shied and danced as she turned down the long avenue that led to the Palais, and she knew it smel ed the wolves watching from the shadows.

She held the horse tightly in check and directed her eyes straight ahead and pretended she didn't feel their hot gazes burning into her back.

She dismounted at the front steps before the gazes of the dozens of curious, disdainful werewolves who were strol ing up and down the broad staircase or mil ing lazily around the front lawn. Some of them sniffed the air and moved close to her, but she dodged past them quickly and ran into the front hal .

For over a month she had cal ed this place home, but now it frightened her. The marble floors echoed with the voices of strange werewolves in flamboyant dress—transparent, shapeless robes of bright scarlet and yel ow, feather boas and tal hats fashioned after animal heads. Some were naked, others were in wolf form. They looked at her askance when she passed, or shrank back with horrified, disgusted expressions and murmured among themselves. Tessa hurried by with lowered eyes, her heart thudding hard.

At the double doors which led to the interior living areas two attendants stepped forward, blocking her way. She had not expected this.

"Please," she said, a little breathless, "I have to see the queen."

The two looked down at her, stone-faced.

"You know me!" she cried. "You've seen me here every day for the past six weeks!"

They shared a glance, and seemed to relent somewhat. "You're not on the list," one of them said in a moment. "No one else is al owed in."

She drew a breath to protest, but knew it would be a waste of time. Frantical y she cast about for an idea.

"Alexander," she said quickly. "Alexander Devoncroix—just send word to him. Ask him to come down. I just need to see him for a minute."

"M. Devoncroix is not in the Palais," was the reply.

She wanted to demand to know why he wasn't there, where he had gone, when he would be back, but realized such behavior would avail her nothing and would only fulfil the worst expectations of the werewolves who were watching her. She felt a smal sweat break out on the back of her neck and she knew they could smel it.

"Wil you send word to the queen?" she asked, beginning to lose hope. "Wil you tel her I'm here?"

"The queen isn't in, either."

She swal owed back a choking sensation in her throat. Denis's words came back to her about Elise and Alexander and she pushed them away furiously. Of course they were together. Alexander was the queen's favorite; everyone knew that.

She had to get a message to Alexander. If he knew his brother was here, if he knew what Denis had planned, he would send out an army to stop him.

But if she, Tessa, told anyone but Alexander that his outlaw brother was waiting for him at home—what would that do to Alexander? Couldn't he somehow be held to blame for Denis's presence, for the threat to the queen? No, she could trust this information to no one except Alexander or Elise. And if she delayed here much longer Denis might discover what she had done. There was no guarantee that he had not fol owed her here already.

She said abruptly, "Gault. Send for him, please. Tel him there's an urgent message from the estate."

One of the guards slid open a smal grate in the door and spoke softly to someone on the other side.

When he resumed his post, eyes straight ahead, Tessa could only assume the summons had been sent. She turned away, pacing.

Gault kept her waiting for almost a quarter of an hour, and by that time she was so agitated she was ready to burst out with the entire story and throw herself at his mercy. If he had been even the least hospitable she might have done so, for she knew, no matter what his attitude toward her, his loyalty to Alexander was unquestioned. But Gault stepped through the double doors, sniffed the air elaborately, and said, "Oh, it's you." He turned on his heel to go

—

"Wait!" She caught his sleeve, dropping it immediately at his haughty gaze. "I need your help.

I have to talk to Alexander. Where has he gone?"

Every werewolf in the building was watching them, listening to them. Gault was as aware of this as she was and it only increased his disdain. "Obviously, somewhere you can't find him. Perhaps he has left the country, or thrown himself into the sea. I couldn't blame him. What does it take to convince you you are not wanted here?"

"Say what you like," she said, refusing to back down from him. "Be as cruel as you must. But I
wil
see Alexander."

"So he can toss you out again? As much pleasure as that would give me to watch, I wouldn't put him to the trouble. Go home, foolish human. This is no place for you." And he raised his voice to add, clearly enough so that even those on the far reaches of the lawn could understand, "As you have been told over and over again."

She realized that Gault was more annoyed with her for endangering Alexander's status by disobeying an order and appearing here on the day of the Festival than for any other reason. Denis was right.

She didn't belong here, and she was welcome only as long as it suited the queen's political purpose.

But she couldn't leave without getting word to Alexander.

She stepped close to Gault and said in a low, furious voice, "Listen to me, you pompous little toad.

What I have to say to Alexander is a matter of life and death, and the queen won't thank you for keeping him from me, either! Now, you may tel me where to find him or I'll wait here until he comes back—and if I wait I'll make certain every werewolf in the Palais sees me and knows you are the reason I'm here!"

He scowled down at her fiercely. "I'll cal the guards and have you ground up into pig fodder!"

"The guards won't touch me and you know it."

He looked at her for one more long contemptuous moment, and then turned a corner of his lip upward in a dismissive sneer. "Take your chances with them if you want. You've quite spoiled enough of
my
day."

He turned again to go.

"Wait!"

Tessa went to the guest book that stood on a smal dais in the center of the room, snatched out a blank page and scrawled a note: "A visitor from the north has come making threats. You are in danger. I don't know what to do. Please come at once. Tessa."

She folded the note twice and then again, and she pressed it into Gault's hand. "I wil go," she said, "if you promise to give that to Alexander the moment he returns. Don't delay. Something—something terrible wil happen if you fail."

He regarded her with cold eyes and she feared she had just lost her last chance at persuading him. But then he lifted his head, as though sniffing the air, or hearing something. He listened for a moment, and a cruel little smile lifted the hard edges of his mouth.

"Give it to him yourself, stupid human." He held out the note to her. "You'll find him in the west garden, just down the steps."

Tessa was moving almost before he had finished speaking. Gault grinned with satisfaction as he watched her go, then dropped her note into the fire as he turned to go back to his private quarters.

Tessa must have known in the back of her mind that anything which gave Gault so much pleasure could not be good for her, but she was intent only on reaching Alexander. If she could just get to Alexander, everything would be al right. She fled the room, weaving through the crossfire of cold werewolf gazes and curious werewolf sniffs and down the front steps, onto the lawn and through the hedges, where even more of the same awaited her.

She turned toward the west garden, which was reached by a set of steps that descended into a sun-splashed little copse of wil ow trees and tal pink lupine.

And that was when she saw Alexander, and Elise.

ALEXANDER

Chapter Sixteen

We were mostly silent on the ride back to the Palais.

I would like to say it was out of consideration of the driver, and the fact that the business we had discussed was not for ordinary ears. But the truth was my head was spinning in such a marvel ous ecstasy of hope and confusion, of excitement and expectation, that I could barely form a thought, much less a word.

Owing to the Festival, which by its very nature made formality of any kind seem out of place, protocol was much more relaxed at the Palais than was customary, and when the carriage pul ed up before the wide front steps, our arrival was marked by nothing more than the appearance of a footman with the carriage step. There were several dozen werewolves in sight and hundreds more within hearing distance. In the lazy warmth of the late afternoon they were languid, stretched naked upon the grass or lying upon flat rocks in the sun, stroking each other, licking away the sweat, laughing throatily at some witticism or another. Cubs played in the fountains or climbed upon their elders' fur; couples strol ed, in parasols and gloves, along shady garden lanes and read to one another from volumes of poetry, revel ing in the meter and the sound of the words balanced against the stil sunny afternoon. From deep inside the Palais I could hear the sounds of a dozen different musical instruments, from pianoforte to viola to voice, each creating its own song and together, to my ears, forming a symphony. I felt, in that moment as I stood on the steps looking down at my queen and my love, a rush of joy so intense I could barely contain it. Never had I been so glad to be a werewolf.

I took her arm and guided her down the steps toward the west garden, where fewer were gathered and some smal privacy could be obtained. I was selfish with my love. I wanted to extend our time together by whatever means I could, and I wanted to keep her to myself for as long as possible.

We reached the bottom of the steps and I said,

"Shal we take the waters?"

Others before us were soaking in the heated pools that were situated within a fern grotto at the back edge of the garden. I could smel the steam and the floral petals that scented the water, and it was al uring.

Elise reached up and pul ed out the hatpin that held her hair bundled beneath the charming little violet-covered hat. She removed the hat and tossed her head, and her hair fel like a veil of gold over her shoulders. She combed it out with her fingers.

"Perhaps later," she said. "I promised to speak with the chef about next week's menus, and the group from Scotland has arrived—can you smel them? I should make them welcome."

I nodded, concealing my disappointment. We walked a little away, taking our time, for she seemed no more anxious to part company than I was. Our fingers brushed when we moved, and we enjoyed the touch and the smel of each other.

"You have not told me," she said at last, "what you think of my plan."

"Haven't I?" I chose my words. "I think it is bril iant. I think it is bold, timely, pertinent. I think it is our salvation. And I think it is quite a chal enge for one werewolf to expect to achieve in her lifetime."