Page 11 of Master Wolf
He settled himself on the seat opposite her, unsurprised to find that the coach was the last word in elegance and comfort. This thing was fit for a maharajah. Drew tested the padding on the bench beneath him, raising his brows at the plushness of the upholstery.
“I have not the slightest idea who or what we will find in Edinburgh,” Marguerite said. “But I can tell you this: we will be staying as long asIdecide. If you think you will need more clothing, get it now.”
Drew shook his head. “I don’t need much, no matter how long the trip might be.”
Marguerite sighed. “You are such a puritan. It’s very tiresome, I must say.” She tapped on the ceiling and the coach began to move.
“I’m not a puritan,” Drew protested. “I don’t pay much mind to clothes, it’s true, but there are other pleasures I enjoy.”
“Like what?”
For some reason, the image that came to his mind right then was the one of Lindsay from his dream: Lindsay leaning over him in that sunshine-filled bedchamber, his smile both wicked and tender. It hadn’t even happened—they had never lain together in such a room at such a time of day—but the dream was so persistent, it felt like a memory now. Drew could picture the moment in his mind, every detail of it caught in hazy golden perfection, like a drop of amber.
“Well?” Marguerite prompted, her interested tone dragged him back to the present. She was far too sharp. Saw too much.
Drew thrust the image of Lindsay from his mind. “I like art,” he said decisively. “I can’t get excited about waistcoats, but my art collection is bursting at the seams.”
Marguerite considered that. “As annoyingly high-minded as that is, I have to admit that collecting art qualifies as a worldly pleasure. I shall have to allow it.” She sighed, as though disappointed, and drew out an ornate enamel box, which she opened with a flick of her thumb. “Dragée?”
The box was full of little sweets, all huddled like tiny birds’ eggs of palest blue and yellow and white.
Drew smiled. She did so love her luxuries.
“No, thank you,” he said. He was not fond of sugary things. Most wolves were not, but Marguerite was never typical. In many ways she reminded him more of a cat than a wolf, with her sleek, glossy beauty, love of comfort and utter contrariness.
Shrugging at his refusal, she selected a pale blue dragée and popped it into her mouth, snapping the tin shut and turning her attention to the window. The coach was moving slowly through the city streets and would likely continue to do so for at least another hour, until they finally left London behind and were able to start covering some distance.
After a while, Marguerite said, “As much as I love cities, crawling through the streets by coach is extremely tiresome. There are somanyhumans, don’t you find? They are very annoying when you are trying to get somewhere. It would be easier, would it not, to just run in our wolf forms and let the luggage follow?”
Drew’s wolf tugged at him, liking the idea. He ruthlessly kept his shifts to the full moon, when it was impossible to resist, but shifting now was a tempting alternative to being cooped up in a carriage for days on end. He preferred to spend his time with Marguerite in their wolf forms. The human Marguerite was quixotic and often incomprehensible, but in her wolf form, she was all clarity and strength. Direct as an arrow and a steady, soothing presence.
Altogether easier by far.
Glancing up, Drew found she was watching him curiously.
“I was speaking hypothetically,” she said. “But you seem to be quite attracted to the idea. If so, I am pleased to hear it. As you know, I do not approve of the way you restrict your shifts.”
He did know. She had told him many times that he needed to get to know his wolf better and that shifting often was the best way to achieve that. And while he did not agree with her, he could see the sense in agreeing to an additional shift on this occasion.
“Perhaps we could manage one night-run during our journey?” he said.
Marguerite was silent for several more moments, then she nodded. “Yes. If we wait until after York, perhaps? We should be able to safely run then.” She sent him a glinting smile. “Can you bear my company in the meantime? In this form?”
“Very easily,” Drew assured her, not entirely truthfully. Although his wolf liked her proximity, she was like a burr on his fur too, a steady constant abrasion, reminding him always of things he’d rather ignore.
Lindsay, mostly.
“Good. We have much to discuss, though we do not need to do so immediately. Time is one commodity we will have plenty of on this journey.”
Drew’s stomach sank. Was this the conversation he had been dreading? The lecture Marguerite delivered to him every few years about why Drew needed to forgive Lindsay for transforming him and accept his role—as she saw it—as Lindsay’s mate?
“I’m not sure what we have to discuss,” he said carefully.
She eyed him for a moment, expressionless. Then she said, “I am talking of the parts we will play when we reach Edinburgh, mon cher, nothing more.”
Drew relaxed. “I see.”
“You will be posing as my husband—Mr. Niven, is your new surname. You may keep your first name.”