Page 32

T he clatter of the carriage was in the distance as Bella hurried down the footpath from the village. A longing burned through her with every step as she headed back to Hawthorne Hall. She wanted nothing more to shut herself in the library and stare at the book, trying to see the shifting vines and thorns and brambles.

She saw the hourglass that day on the desk. There wasn’t much time left.

Insurmountable pressure pounded through her. The deadline for his final transformation loomed like the last heartbeat of a life she hadn’t realized she was fighting for or one that she so desperately wanted.

As she approached the manor, she saw the outline of the familiar carriage sitting out front. She halted there a moment, cradling the books in the crook of her arm and her gloves crushed in the fist of her hand.

What was he doing here again? This was the second night Lord Vincent visited while she was out.

She dropped the books at her feet and hastily pulled on her gloves, then dropped the bonnet on her head, foregoing tying it. Scooping up the books, she headed for the door, trying to squelch the sudden panic that rose to her throat.

Once she was inside, soft laughter emitted from the parlor. Candlelight danced in the foyer and the strong aroma of roasted meat filled the air. She’d missed dinner again. Her stomach let her know its displeasure at skipping yet another meal.

When the door closed with a snap, the voices stopped. Footsteps, then Emmaline popped out of the parlor with an expectant look on her face.

“Oh, Bella, Lord Vincent is here.”

“Again. Yes, I see.”

She moved to the doorway of the parlor, stepping around the girl. Lord Vincent stood by the fireplace. His pristine white gloves were on the low table as well as his top hat.

“I came for the final translation of the book you provided,” he said, without greeting. “I’m impressed you finished it so quickly.” His gaze raked over her, studying her, as though looking for something out of place on her person.

She clutched the books tighter. “I’m glad I was able to finish it for you.”

“Miss Emmaline was gracious enough to allow me to stay for dinner,” he said, a smile playing upon his lips.

Bella cut her a glance as annoyance lanced through her. The girl, at least, at the decency to flush, her cheeks turning pink.

“Is that so? I don’t recall her being the lady of the house.”

“I-I’m sorry, Bella. I—”

“Miss Rinaldi, may I have a word with you?” Lord Vincent interrupted, effectively hushing Emmaline. “Alone.”

Her gaze swiveled back to him as curiosity—and a tiny bit of distress—flicked through her. “Em, will you take these books to the library and leave them on the desk for me, please?”

“Yes, miss.” She nodded and gave a little curtsy as she took the books from her and slipped down the hall.

Bella stepped into the parlor, closing the door behind her and remaining where she was. Thick tension filled the air. There was something disturbing about the way he looked at her from across the room. As though he had a sordid secret he was prepared to share with her. As though he knew something that would ruin her reputation forever.

She didn’t like it.

And she thought of their morning encounter and worried that somehow he followed her to Thornhurst Castle. Perhaps he thought he knew something. Perhaps he was wrong.

She tried to steer the conversation the way she wanted it to go. “If this is about my father—”

“No,” he said. “It is not.”

She stiffened. She refused to sit and invite him to do the same. Because that would mean she accepted him into her home, and she was perfectly fine with him here. She wasn’t. She wanted him to leave. She wanted him gone.

She lifted a brow, trying to remain calm. “And what is it then?”

“Where did you go this morning when you climbed into that carriage?” he asked, point blank.

She was momentarily caught off guard by the question. For a moment, she could only blink at him, the words lodging somewhere useless in her throat. She hadn’t expected the edge in his voice. A flicker of something ugly—hostility, maybe even suspicion—broke through his otherwise polished demeanor, and she felt it like a slap she hadn’t seen coming.

It rattled her. More than she wanted to admit.

She straightened instinctively, gathering the shreds of her pride around her like armor, even as something small and raw twisted inside her chest.

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern, Lord Vincent.”

He paced the confines of the small room, prowling up and down as though he were a predator about to pounce. The tight clasp of his hands behind his back did little to disguise his stiff energy.

“Perhaps not.” His voice too smooth, too sharp around the edges. He turned, fixing her with a look that made her spine stiffen. “I asked around about that carriage,” he went on, each word deliberate. “The one with the carvings of thorns and roses in bloom.”

She forced herself to hold his gaze, even as her pulse stumbled in her throat.

“No one knows it.” His tone dropped lower. “No one seems to have seen it. No one…except for me.” A beat of silence “And you.”

The room seemed to shrink around her, the air growing heavier with each syllable he spoke. The unspoken accusation in his voice wrapped around her like thorns. Tight, cutting deeper with every breath.

“Where did you go?” His gaze narrowed as he asked it. “Or perhaps I should ask, who were you with?”

She backed up to the door, reaching behind her for the knob. With a twist, she shoved it open. She didn’t want to answer. Didn’t need to answer. Where she was every day was none of his concern.

“I think you’ve worn out your welcome, Lord Vincent. You have your translation. You should go now.”

A faint, oily smile flickered over his lips. “As you wish then.”

He reached into his pocket and dropped a small coin purse onto the table. It jingled with the volume of coins inside. Payment for her translation, no doubt. Then he picked up his gloves, his hat, and the book she translated for him the night before. As he approached, she stepped aside to let him exit the room. She stiffened as he passed by her and headed for the front door. She hurried to get to it before he did.

She followed him out the door, pausing on the stoop as he stepped toward his carriage. A stiff breeze blew, and she scented it then—a feral smell that was all wolf. Saints help her .

He was nearby.

Her back straightened as she scanned the evening shadows looking for his beastly shape but saw nothing. It was a moment of distraction. She hadn’t realized Lord Vincent turned back to her and stopped inches from her.

“Are you in danger?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.

Her gaze flickered to him as she made a valiant effort to ignore the low muffled growl to her left.

“I can assure you, I am in no danger,” she said. “There is nothing for you to worry about.”

“If you were, would you tell me?” He clenched his jaw so hard, she saw the muscles flexing along the edge. Then he stepped closer and reached for her, placing a hand on her elbow.

The growl erupted next to her and, before she realized what was happening, the beast leapt from the shadows. Lord Vincent stumbled backward a step, his eyes wide with panic, as he released her instantly. The snarling beast placed himself between her and the nobleman.

“No, don’t!” Bella shouted. “He means no harm.”

The snarling beast turned his head and peered at her with those pale brown eyes she had come to love. But of the man, not the beast. She stepped closer, putting out her hand.

“Don’t hurt him, please,” she whispered.

“Bella—” Lord Vincent began.

The beast turned his head and snapped and snarled at the man. He shrank back against the carriage.

“No,” Bella said, her voice firm. “He is not a threat.”

She was close enough to touch him now. Her hand landed on his neck, her fingers sinking into the thick, coarse fur. His head swiveled to look at her, those wild eyes instantly taming to something softer, something warming. As though he recognized her.

“No threat,” she said again, her voice soft and soothing. She leaned her head toward him and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Go back to the shadows. Where it’s safe.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, her heart beating a wicked beat. She silently begged him to leave, to return, to be gone.

He reared back then, gave one last growl at Lord Vincent, and then melted into the shadows once more. The darkness concealed his form, but she knew he was still there, lurking. Protecting.

Finally, she turned back to Lord Vincent who cowered against the carriage.

“That beast is a menace,” he said, his voice as hard and cold as the steel in his eyes. “And I will see its end.”

The words hit her like a slap. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe past the rush of fury and fear that crashed through her. Before she summoned a reply—before she could even find her voice—he turned, climbed into the carriage, and barked an order to the driver to make haste.

The wheels rattled against the gravel drive, carrying him away into the shrouded darkness, leaving her standing there with a storm gathering in her chest.