The Ravencliff Bride (28 page)

There would be pain. She was prepared for it. What she wasn’t prepared for was the slow, tantalizing movements of this masterful lover, who seemed determined to spare her even the slightest hurt. Each stroke of his fingers was bringing her closer to the rapture she reached for, and she did reach for it, her hands splayed across his lightly furred chest, following the straight line of diminishing hair striping his flat belly, pointing like an arrow to the thick, veined shaft of his sex. He moved with the stealthy grace of a sleek jungle cat, responding to her caresses, and when he spread her legs wider and eased himself between them, she held her breath in anticipation of his very life moving inside her, filling her, making her whole.

All at once, a bloodcurdling scream echoed along the corridor outside, mingled with the guttural snarl of a savage animal. The scream came again, then another—a troop of them, piercing and shrill, growing more distant, as were the growling snarls. Then a howl, mournful and deep, rang through the hallway. Then silence.

Sara’s heart skipped its rhythm. “Nell!” she cried. “That was
Nell!
”

For a split second, Nicholas froze in place before he leaped from the bed and snatched his dressing gown from the floor where he’d dropped it.

“Stay where you are,” he charged. “Do not move from that bed!”

Nicholas didn’t give his wife a chance to reply. Snatching his pocket pistol from the gateleg table, he burst from the chamber, despite her cries, and ran along the corridor in the direction of Nell’s screams. He found her lying in a pool of blood beside her chamber door, and sank down beside her with a groan. The servants were coming; their milling voices echoing from below brought him to his feet again. He dared not linger. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t go back to the green suite either, without being seen. That was the worst of it. Sara was vulnerable and unprotected. Mallory was roaming the halls of Ravencliff in wolf form, and she thought he was Nero. The intensity of the passion that had nearly consummated their marriage, and the shock of finding the abigail savaged, was enough to trigger a transformation without the terror of being helpless to protect Sara. He couldn’t shapeshift before the servants, or Sara, either. It wasn’t safe to transform
at all
. He couldn’t appear as Nero when everyone in residence would surely be gunning for him now, and he bounded up the back stairs on the verge of madness over the whole circumstance, and just in time burst into his master suite sitting room, where Dr. Breeden was interviewing Mills.

Running through the suite, a howl preceding the transformation, he plunged through the dressing room door—no more than a blur—and Nero landed on all fours, still tangled in the burgundy brocade dressing gown.

Sara sprang from the bed and wriggled into her nightdress. She would not obey Nicholas’s command.
He’s going to kill
Nero!
was the only thought in her mind, as she ran from the bedchamber. Outside, the patter of many footsteps out of rhythm, and the racket of shouting voices wrinkled her scalp with gooseflesh. She cracked the door and peered into the dimly lit corridor, watching the servants—some in their dressing gowns and wrappers—streak by. Mrs. Bromley, Smythe, Robbins and Searl, and a stream of hall boys and scullions, all running north, past her suite. Mills and Dr. Breeden were not among them, conspicuous in their absence.

“Where’s the master?” someone shouted. “Somebody fetch the master!”

“We’ll have to send for the guards!” Mrs. Bromley wailed.

“Not until we’ve told the master,” Smythe returned. “I’ll go up and fetch him down.”

“We’re all goin’ ta be killed in our beds if that filthy animal’s not caught. I won’t sleep a wink till he is! I’ll give me notice!”

“Be still!” the butler snapped. “Collect your wits, Mrs. Bromley. There’s no time for hysteria here now.”

“
She’s dead
, Smythe,” the housekeeper moaned, bursting into tears.

Sara did step into the hall at that. Nobody noticed her. They were all gathered at the north end of the hallway in front of Nell’s chamber, which adjoined her own. Her heart was pounding in her ears. It was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other. Where was Nicholas? Why hadn’t he come back? Didn’t he know she’d be worried?

“
Her ladyship!
” Mrs. Bromley shrilled. “Has anyone checked on her ladyship?”

“I . . . I’m here,” Sara said, venturing nearer. “What’s happened?” She was almost afraid of the answer—afraid she’d heard correctly. The very air tasted of calamity, of death.

The teary-eyed housekeeper gasped and rushed to her side. “You’ll catch your death out here in that thin gown!” she cried. Turning her around, she led her back toward the tapestry suite. “Go on back inside, put your wrapper on before
you take a chill, and lock your door, my lady. This here is not for your eyes.”

“What has happened?” Sara demanded, digging in her heels. They had reached her suite, but she wasn’t crossing the threshold until she knew. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me!”

Mrs. Bromley broke into tears. “ ’Tis Nell, my lady . . .” she wailed.

“What’s the matter with Nell?” Sara cried, still praying she’d heard wrong.

“She’s dead, my lady,” the housekeeper moaned. “Nero’s tore her throat out, and he’s on the loose in here somewhere. He must’ve gone mad. The men are huntin’ him now. They’re goin’ ta shoot him on sight. Now, you go back inside, and lock yourself in till one of us comes and tells ya it’s all right to come out again.”

The sound of shrill cries and raised voices from below had begun to funnel up the grand staircase from the second floor, and Mills shoved the doctor into the dressing room after Nero, and shut the door.

“Hold him!” he cried. “Don’t let him go until I see what’s happening.”

Mills skittered through the suite, closing the doors as he went in a frantic attempt to stifle the howling, snarling, whining din he’d left behind in the dressing room. He didn’t wait for the knock he feared imminent. He burst out into the corridor just as Smythe came running.

“What the Devil’s going on down there?” he barked at the breathless butler. “We can hear the racket all the way up here with the doors closed. I was just coming to see.”

“Where’s . . . his lordship?” Smythe panted.

“He isn’t here,” said Mills. “What’s happened, man?”

“It’s Nell,” said the butler. “She’s dead, and Nero’s killed her.”

“
Nero?
” Mills breathed. “Have you attics to let? You know that animal hasn’t a vicious bone in his body.”

“She’s dead just the same,” snapped Smythe. “Her throat’s torn out, and she’s got two fists full of dog hair, Mills. We’ll have to have the guards in, and it’s his lordship that has to send for them. Where’s he gone at this hour, then?”

Gooseflesh receded the valet’s scalp. His mind was racing. It couldn’t have been Nero. He would stake his life upon that, but Nero would take the blame, since no one else except Dr. Breeden and himself knew there was another animal loose in the house. But why had Nicholas come bursting in like that just now? In all his years attending him, not once had he ever seen his master transform
clothed
.

“He asked that we not wait up for him,” he said, closing the door to the master suite, and leading the butler back toward the staircase. He dared not risk Nero bursting out as Nicholas had just burst in; his demeanor alone would damn him. “I believe he said something about a walk on the strand. He often does when the weather permits. The moon is full, and it’s warmer at last. You know how he does. He could be gone for hours.”

“What are we to do?” asked the butler. “We can’t just leave her there like that!”

“She will have to stay as she lies until his lordship returns,” said Mills.

“What about the guards?”

“That is up to his lordship, Smythe, we cannot presume to have them in without his authority. I’ll come down. We shall cover her, and send the others back to bed. They shouldn’t be abroad here now until we know what’s what.” Another terror struck. “W-where is her ladyship?” he asked, swallowing his rapid heartbeat.

“Mrs. Bromley’s with her in her suite,” said the butler. “She’s dreadfully overset. You can imagine—”

“Yes, yes, I can,” Mills cut in. “Go on back down. I was just in the midst of something. I’ll finish up, and join you directly. Where . . . did it occur?”

“Right in front of her rooms adjoining my lady’s. Nell was evidently trying to reach her chamber, when the animal . . . attacked her. We heard her screams clear to the servants’ hall, but then we’re closer down there than you are up here in the turrets.”

“I didn’t hear a thing until you lot started making enough of a din to raise the roof,” said Mills.

“Shouldn’t we fetch the doctor?” the butler queried.

Smythe wasn’t aware that Dr. Breeden was closeted in the master suite. So be it. He was needed right where he was. Nero could not be left alone now. It only took seconds for the valet to respond.

“The doctor has retired,” he said. “If the girl is dead, we needn’t wake him. There’s nothing he can do, after all. The master is concerned that he isn’t getting enough rest on his holiday, what with all the urgencies that have occurred in this house since his arrival. Tomorrow will be soon enough to bring him into this, unless his lordship decides otherwise when he returns.”

“I expect so,” said the butler. “It just seems . . . there should be someone in authority to deal with this.”

“We shall just have to wait for his lordship,” Mills replied. “Now, go back down and keep order. He shan’t appreciate coming back to chaos. I shall join you directly.”

Mills ran back into the master suite and bolted the door. Streaking though the bedchamber, he burst into the dressing room and shut that door as well. Having shed the dressing gown, Nero was running in crazed circles, his broad chest heaving, drool dripping from his tongue and spotting the rug. His high-pitched whine ran the valet through like a javelin.

The doctor stood, slack-jawed, watching Nero’s every move. The minute Mills moved away from the door, Nero lunged and attacked it. Mills gasped. The lower door panel was rutted with scars from Nero’s fangs and claws. Splinters littered the parquetry. He’d nearly chewed through it.

“Extraordinary,” said the doctor. “I’ve never seen the like.”

“Well, I have,” snapped Mills. “Not quite to this degree, I will allow, but he has good cause.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“My lady’s abigail, Nell Critchton, is dead. Her throat has been torn out. The consensus is that Nero killed her, but we both know not. There isn’t a drop of blood on him that I can see. ’Twas Alex Mallory in wolf form, I’d stake my life upon it, but Nero is sure to catch the blame.”

“Good God!”

“There’s no time to tell the whole of it here now. I shall fill you in later. I must go below. Will you be all right . . . you aren’t afraid?”

“I’m a scientist, Mills. I’ve come in close contact with far worse than this. My whole experience here is invaluable to my research. No, I’m not afraid. Nero poses no threat to me, but I daresay I wouldn’t know how to hold him if he breaks through that door.”

“Nero,
stay!
” Mills thundered, and the wolf ceased his relentless assault on the door, looking up with eyes so full of desperation, the valet’s own eyes teared. “She is safe,” he soothed. “You have my word.” He turned to the doctor. “See if you can calm him,” he said. “He will stay as he is as long as he is excited. They need him below, and he cannot roam these halls like this now. He will be shot on sight. Just see if you can hold him till I get out. I shall be back as soon as I can. Bolt this door when I leave. Whatever you do, do not let him out of these apartments!”

The minute Mills closed the dressing room door, the doctor threw the bolt, and Nero resumed his attack on the panels. The sound raised gooseflesh along the valet’s spine and he spun on his heel, ran back through the suite, and into the corridor. There was no time to lose.

Sara paced the carpet in her bedchamber. Mrs. Bromley was the last to leave; she’d stayed to comfort her. The others had
long since trickled back down to the servants’ quarters behind the green baize door. Where was Nicholas? No one had seen him, and everyone was looking for him. She’d had a cursory visit from Mills, who’d said that Nicholas had gone for a walk on the strand. That couldn’t be. He was with her until it happened, and then he disappeared. What were they keeping from her? And where was Nero? No one had seen him attack Nell, but he’d been convicted of the crime nonetheless. They would find him, and they would kill him, but not if she found him first.

Pulling her wrapper closer about her, she unlatched her door and poked her head out in the hall. There was no one about. She shuddered at sight of the quilt mound covering Nell’s body farther along the corridor, half hidden in the shadows, and fresh tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back, and glanced in the other direction. There was no sign of Nicholas, or of Nero.

She was just about to close and latch the door again, when she recalled seeing Nero enter the green suite earlier. Could he have gone there to hide? Without a second thought, she crossed the threshold and tiptoed across the hall. It wasn’t far, and if she didn’t find him there, she would concede defeat for the moment and return to her suite until morning.

Once inside the bedchamber, she lit the candle branch and glanced around the room. Her gaze fell on the rumpled bed—very nearly her conjugal bed—and more tears threatened, reliving the intimacies she and Nicholas has shared in it. She felt again the phantom of his arousal leaning against her thigh, the warmth of his short breaths puffing on her naked skin, his deft fingers and hungry mouth quickening her heartbeat, awakening her to pleasures she scarcely dared imagine. Why hadn’t he come back to her? Where was he now? It was beyond bearing.

“Nicholas?” she called. Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. He didn’t answer. She knew he would not.
But maybe Nero would. Again and again, she whispered, walking from room to room, but he didn’t respond either.