Page 40 of Master Wolf
After a short silence, Drew said, “I think it may be different for all of us, you know—makers and made wolves. I think it may depend on what lay between each pair before the bite was given, and why the maker felt the Urge in the first place.”
“This sounds like an interesting conversation,” said a new voice from the doorway.
It was Wynne. He must have just come in. His high-crowned hat dangled from one hand and he carried an ebony cane in the other. Drew’s wolf circled unhappily within him at not having scented the newcomer, and Drew wondered again why Wynne used his magic to mask his scent.
“Wynne,” Marguerite said, a little tightly. “This is unexpected.”
“Mim,” Wynne replied and bowed, his gaze steady on her.
There was some tension between them, Drew discerned. He could scent it from Marguerite’s side, something unhappy and ill at ease.
Wynne strolled into the room and sat down. He smiled at Marguerite. “Aren’t you going to offer me some tea?”
“Not until you tell me why you are here,” Marguerite replied tartly.
Wynne raised his brows. “I wasn’t aware I needed a reason to call but if I’ve misstepped…” He set the tip of his cane on the floor and made to rise.
“Oh, sit down,” Marguerite said irritably. “Since you are here, you may as well stay for dinner.”
Wynne smiled, seeming amused. “Thank you,” he said. “I will accept your gracious invitation.” Then he sighed and added, “Lindsay rarely eats with me these days.”
Drew’s gut twisted. “He’s too thin,” he said. “He can’t be eating enough.”
“He says he’s not hungry.” Wynne said. “And these days he keeps to his rooms for his meals. His appetite is very poor and I irritate him with the way I badger him to eat.”
Drew couldn’t think how to respond to that. The thought of Lindsay not eating enough troubled him deeply and set his wolf to anxious circling. He felt it pressing at his edges, wanting to be let out to go to Lindsay. To satisfy itself as to Lindsay’s well-being,
His thoughts were interrupted by Marguerite’s voice. “I actually have something to show you, Wynne,” she said, opening her yellow silk reticule and fishing out the pilfered letter. “We have just discovered that the author of this letter has recently arrived in Edinburgh. He is one of the White Ravens and is also after the skeleton. Do you think you could scry to find out where he is staying?”
Wynne stretched towards her, taking the letter from her fingers, then leaning back in his chair again to study it. He turned it over in his hands, examining the seal and handwriting, before opening it up and quickly scanning it.
“I can do better than that,” he said, glancing up. “I can introduce you to this gentleman this evening. Mr. Bainbridge will be at the assembly.”
Chapter Twelve
After a hearty dinner,Wynne took his leave to return to Albany Street to change for the assembly.
Drew bathed and donned his usual soberly elegant black clothes before returning to the parlour to wait for Marguerite. When she appeared she was quite as ravishing as she’d promised in her low-cut garnet gown. A simple ruby pendant rested between her snowy breasts and matching ruby drops trembled at her ears. Her dark, glossy hair was simply styled, the knot of curls at the back of her head looped with fine gold ribbon.
“You look very lovely, my dear,” Drew said, bowing over hand. He was using his devoted husband voice, which made Marguerite laugh.
“You can save that until we have an audience,” she told him. “Come on.”
Outside, it was a mild evening, starless under heavy cloud cover and no sign of the moon at all, though Drew could still feel its sway, even without seeing it.
“It is going to rain later,” Marguerite said as she climbed into the carriage in front of him and settled herself down. “That is good.” Rain meant fewer people around when they shifted and ran. She added wistfully, “I only wish Lindsay could come with us.”
The reminder that Lindsay couldn’t shift at all made Drew’s stomach drop. In his mind’s eye he saw Lindsay’s ulcerated arm again. The poison poultice, a dark shadow under the linen bandage wrapped around his arm.
Drew’s throat ached with emotion and he was aware of Marguerite’s eyes on him, assessing but saying nothing.
The journey to the Assembly Rooms was, at least, mercifully short, and soon enough, their carriage was drawing up outside. A footman stepped forward to open the door, but Drew jumped out and waved him aside, stepping forward to hand Marguerite out himself. She stepped down with regal daintiness, firmly back in the role of spoiled, beautiful Mrs. Niven.
They found themselves in a crowd of assembly-goers, all moving towards the doors.
“I am impatient to dance,” Marguerite said conversationally as they progressed slowly forward. “I do hope you are going to be obliging,mon amour.” Evidently she was already firmly ensconced in her role.
“I am very confident you will manage to fill your dance card without my assistance, darling,” Drew replied, drawing her arm through his and patting her hand where it rested on his forearm. “Ah, here we are.”