Compelled by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency) Page 4

  She smiled at him, recognizing the name of the scamp from Hugh’s stories who was always stealing tarts and chocolates.

  Henry said, “Hugh always does out-do the rest of us.”

  The four giants laughed together, clapping hands on Hugh’s back as though he’d won a race instead of been trapped into an engagement. And then they passed her around like a child. Terrible mage though she might be, she could, and perhaps might, set them all on fire to make them stop treating her like an infant, all the while leaving her and Mariah and Algernon out of the conversation.

  Alice and her family had been so thoroughly and immediately accepted that everyone forgot they didn’t know all of their old jokes and stories. She tossed a lost look at her cousins and saw them as overwhelmed as she.

  Plans were made with half-formed sentences that the Wolfemuir cousins understood but that left the others gaping. By the end of the conversation, when the duke was standing and glancing around with clear expectation, Alice stood and faced them all down. The men in the room rose out of courtesy, but that didn’t stop her hands from landing on her hips. She didn’t care if it made her seem like a fishwife.

  “What?” Her demand might have been slightly shrill. There was no question her temper rose when the cousins looked at each other and then, as one, to Hugh.

  “Did you have question?” He took her hand—as if it belonged to him now—as if she belonged to him. He placed her hand on his arm, squeezed her fingers, and left his own over hers. She felt comforted and owned at the same time.

  It was maddening, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “I don’t believe that you speak the same language as we do,” Alice said.

  The cousins shrugged and laughed. Perhaps she wasn’t the first person who told them they were incomprehensible as a group.

  “What is the plan?”

  “You’ll come with me to the Wolfemuir home in Lyndone. My mother and aunt are there as my home is under repairs again. We’ll join the season and set a date for our wedding.”

  She waited.

  He looked at her.

  She knew that he was well aware what the next question was. But he did not answer it.

  “And what about who shot you?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said, and then he kissed her forehead in front of everyone.

  She scowled at him. The condescending bastard.

  He pressed his fingers against her forehead, smoothing the line that formed as she frowned at him. She tried to twist away from him but was unsuccessful. He was simply so much stronger that she couldn’t get away without making a scene.

  “I am worried about it,” she said clearly and precisely.

  “It’s well in hand,” the duke said. He clearly expected her to do as he said. He was in for a rude awakening.

  “You’re safe now that we’re on alert,” Oliver added, trying to be comforting.

  She scowled at him, and Henry’s merry laugh rang out. Alice turned her frown on the pack of them. They stared towards her as if she were some rare bird. She wanted to scream. Instead, she deliberately twisted away until Hugh let go or was the one who caused the scene.

  “I do not like this,” she said. And she turned from all of them and walked from the room.

  “Does that mean she won’t be packing, then?” Hugh’s brother asked.

  “No,” Hugh replied.

  Algernon carefully countered Hugh with a gentle, “Maybe.”

  There was a moment of silence and then Mariah’s gently countered, “Obviously.”

  Alice paused for a moment, just out of sight, as Hugh asked, “Will you take care of it?”

  She didn’t know who the question was directed to, but she waited until Mariah answered, just as gentle, “I believe it is your responsibility to help Alice to be happy with what is happening.”

  Silence followed.

  Alice didn’t wait to hear what Hugh’s inane reply would be. She walked up to her rooms, looked around them, remembered how much she’d wanted to escape them a few days ago when she thought Hugh would be leaving her behind. Now that she was going but didn’t know if he wanted her, she thought they might have to tie her up and force her from her home.

  “He’s a lord of some kind, I think,” Mariah said. Algernon was closeted with the werewolves. The duke had sent for a healer, who’d arrived soon after Alice had left the parlor. She’d watched the carriage arrive and then watched the delicate man almost skip up the steps.

  “The duke?” Alice stared down at the carriage. The healer the Wolefmuir had beckoned had arrived in a carriage that was far, far nicer than anything Alice and her family owned. Nothing about this was right. “This is not happening,” she muttered.

  “Alice!”

  She turned to Mariah who was sitting in Alice’s favorite chair in front of the fire. Mariah sat on the edge of her seat. She looked nervous and upset.

  Alice waited.

  “Hugh is a lord.”

  “No, Rhys is the duke.”

  “Yes, Rhys is Duke of Wolfemuir. Hugh is a lord. He’s…”

  Alice was shaking her head already.

  “His mother married a lord. He’s Wolfemuir by his maternal line. I’m certain I understood correctly.”

  “What?” Alice felt as though her head had just fogged. “No that can’t be true.”

  “I think he’s an earl.”

  “No.”

  It wasn’t a question of believing or not. It was more…it was absolute denial. Alice could not be Lady Alice. She could not marry an earl. She would not manage some great house and throw balls and…

  She wasn’t even sure what the responsibilities of a countess were, but she was absolutely certain that she had none of the skills necessary. She didn’t even run this house. Mariah did.

  “Alice.” Mariah’s voice was as gentle as if Alice were being told she were terribly ill.

  “No,” Alice said. She’d slipped off the window seat where she’d been watching the world and knelt next to it. It was easier to lean onto the seat than to keep her body upright. Her head was too heavy to hold up, so she laid it on her arms.

  “Oh. Alice…”

  Alice could hear Mariah rise, but the door opened, and then there was the sound of boots. Alice didn’t care who it was. She closed her eyes against the sun and the world and refused to think further.

  It was Hugh.

  She knew it the moment he smoothed back some stray strand of hair. He said nothing, but Mariah left, and Alice was left behind with this approximation of a fiancé. She would have to be ostracized. She’d buy that cottage by the sea and live alone and discover if loneliness was worse or better when you lived by yourself.

  “Am I so bad then?”

  His voice reverberated against her ear because she’d let herself be scooped from the floor, carried to a chair in front of the fire, and settled on his lap. What did she care if it was inappropriate? What did she care about what society thought anymore?

  She swallowed, and then said, “We are not engaged.”

  “Of course we are,” Hugh said and the growl was back in his voice. She wanted to raise her head and see if his wolf was back. She’d missed the wolf. But she kept her eyes closed.

  “I am not. I can’t. You need to marry someone who is more--”

  “I am marrying you,” Hugh said. The growl now had the sharpness of a dagger. “It’s far too late,” Hugh said, and his great hand was placed against the base of her spine.

  She knew it for what it was—the echo of the times she’d steadied him in the woods. He was letting her know that he was there with her, just as she’d done for him. But it was more than that.

  It was a claiming.

  She turned to look up at him, and his fingers pressed into her back slightly. Not a warning. There was no intimation in his hand or his gaze or the way he held her.

  But there was also no give.

  “I am not an appropriate fiancé for you. I don’t have the skills to be yo
ur wife. I cannot be a countess.”

  Her confession was met with a startled laugh.

  “You have the only skills that I need,” he said.

  She didn’t know what that meant, but she found in the following hours that she was overwhelmed. She refused the servants, so Rhys and Oliver packed her things. When she demanded her favorite chair, shabby though it was, they didn’t even blink but carried it down to the wagon they’d hired.

  Or bought.

  Who knew with men such as these. They’d probably thrown gold at some underling and told them to take care of it, regardless of that underling’s life and needs.

  She growled low in her throat and told them to leave her be, but they just smiled, or tickled her ear, or started telling some story as if she hadn’t spoken at all, and in the end, her books were placed into crates, and Oliver had wrapped her dresses in tissue paper, responding to Mariah’s instructions while Alice watched.

  And when she found that she couldn’t leave behind her now empty rooms, everyone but Hugh left. He knelt in front of her, placing his hands in hers. He looked up at her with eyes that were as yellow as they were brown, and he simply said, “Please.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath and rose.

  He followed her to his feet, stepped back, and held out his hand.

  She placed hers in his and wasn’t sure whose fingers were trembling, but before he opened the door, he promised, “You are not alone.”

  She stared at Hugh as the carriage rocked back and forth.

  She could hardly believe that this was happening. A week and a half ago her biggest concern was avoiding the rector and whether she could talk Mariah into embroidering a shawl or if it would better to buy the more luxurious one and skimp a bit on other clothing items that needed to be replaced.

  Alice had that luxurious shawl wrapped around her shoulders right now.

  He’d laughed when he got the bill and kissed her on the forehead. As if she were a child. Just thinking of it made her angry. She’d given the stockings to the servants and Mariah as the men packed.

  He’d laughed at that, too.

  She wasn’t sure what to do with this laughing and relaxed version of Hugh. The one who hadn’t cared that she’d handed Katy silk stockings. Whatever would the maid do with silk stockings? Alice felt like he was a stranger. She was used to the wolf being so close that she could practically call the beast out. She was used to the brooding. The tense shoulders every time they heard a horse or a carriage. Every time a servant passed.

  “Why are you so angry?” His voice was soft.

  “This isn’t my life. You are an earl.” It was an accusation.

  “That isn’t my fault,” he said idly. “You see my father was an earl. And his father before him. None of us could really help it but the first.”

  “Your cousin is the Duke of Wolfemuir.”

  “Yes, you see my mother was the daughter of the former duke.” He said it slowly. She knew he intended to tease her, but she didn’t want to be laughed at.

  “I was just helping. I couldn’t leave you.” She stared out at the window, unable to see him anymore. She wanted her little sea cottage and her novels. She did not want to be part of the ton. Not the party-going, ball gown-owning, titled class. She did not want to run a large household and estates. She did not want to marry someone who did not love her.

  She did not want that at all.

  She couldn’t help but remember the way her father traced his fingers over her mother’s face as if he was constantly startled by her. Amazed by her. Her father had gazed at her mother as if he were astounded that he’d been so lucky. They had laughed together, the three of them.

  They had laughed and danced and read stories and walked on the beach and loved each other.

  She wanted to be loved.

  “Thank you,” he said. He reached out, and his fingers traced over her cheekbones. She looked up at him. She expected the wolf. It was the wolf who touched her like this, but she found the man.

  She looked back at him. His chocolate eyes were focused on her with that bare hint of yellow at the sides.

  She raised her brows in question.

  “Thank you for coming and looking for me. Thank you for not leaving me. Thank you for my life. Thank you for coming with me. Thank you for linking your life to mine.”

  Shrugging would have been rude. Ineffably, horrifically rude. She didn’t want his thanks.

  She wanted him…to love her? She wasn’t sure that was it. She wanted to be loved.

  But also wanted.

  “I’ll make you happy,” he said.

  She did not want to be a burden or an assignment. She didn’t want to be some reason that he wasn’t happy while he quested to pay her back for his life. She didn’t expect that. She’d never expected that.

  She’d heard him whispering to his brother about a woman named Leah. Had he been in love? He hadn’t been engaged, but they had spoken emotion-fraught words and the brothers had stalked away from each other.

  “You can’t make someone happy,” she said sadly thinking of his lost love and her dreams of love. The trees drew her attention again, so she didn’t see the way his eyes flared full yellow and missed the low growl that escaped him before he cut it off.

  They pulled up outside a house. But it wasn’t a house. It was a monstrosity of brick and hallways and lands.

  It was an estate.

  “This is not your house.”

  It simply could not be.

  “Wolfemuir House,” he said.

  Her sigh of relief made him laugh. A servant opened the carriage door, he leapt out and then swung her down.

  “Brookeholme is the name of my home.”

  “Your house has a name,” she said sarcastically as they walked toward the wide, stone steps, worn with age, but grand beyond anything she had ever seen.

  “Our home,” he said firmly, before carrying on as before. He added, “It is very different.”

  There was so much laughter in that voice that she eyed him, looking for the reason.

  “But it’s not--” she couldn’t find the words. “It’s not this?”

  The brick house might well go on for miles. Certainly you could get lost in the house. You could have people living in one end and others in another and never even know that you weren’t alone.

  “Oh, no,” he agreed. “You would never be tempted to compare the two unless you were comparing extremes.”

  The duke, who had ridden next to the carriage, heard Hugh’s words and his nod of agreement settled her mind. She was not going to be a mistress of some monstrous house. Perhaps it would be like the Wolfemuir hunting lodge near Miller’s Crossings. Wood and some brick, large windows. Nice. Luxurious. But not overwhelming. Something fitting a well-landed gentry.

  But he wasn’t gentry.

  He was nobility.

  Her heart began to race again, but he took her hand, settled it on his arm, and said softly, “You are not alone.”

  Their promise made her feel better than anything else. Perhaps she needed to stop being angry with him. It wasn’t his fault he’d been shot. It wasn’t his fault that Mrs. Smythe-Anderson was horrible. It was certainly Alice’s fault that Mrs. Smythe-Anderson hated her. Neither of them had chosen this life, and of course, they would prefer something else.

  He would prefer Leah, probably some wolf princess. And she’d prefer someone who wanted her.

  But they could be allies couldn’t they?

  Maybe even friends.

  It wasn’t what she’d dreamed of, but a man who was honorable and kind would be better than…

  She wasn’t sure it would be better than being alone. But better than being ostracized. A partner who was a partner wouldn’t be terrible.

  They walked into a hall so massive that a house—and not a small house—could easily fit inside of it. There were suits of armor and great paintings. The ceiling had a mural of mythological themes. And even Alice could tell it had been painted by a m
aster. She wanted to just stare. Every nook, corner, alcove--it was put together by an artisan.

  But she could not. She had to follow the men.

  “Aunt,” Hugh said, leaning down to kiss a woman as lovely as anyone Alice had ever seen. “This is Alice Barnett, my intended.”

  The look of joy that overcame the woman’s face so astounded Alice that she couldn’t help but accept willingly the kisses that were pressed against her cheeks.

  “Would you take care of her until my mother arrives?”

  “Oh, darling Hugh, I will take care of her forever.”

  Alice was whisked away while the seven cousins—for three more were waiting for the others—turned as a pack to head down a wide hallway.

  Alice didn’t follow the dowager duchess. She watched the men, most importantly Hugh, leave her. They were up to something. He hadn’t done more than quickly introduce her to George, Liam, and Luke and leave.

  Without her.

  While those idiots pushed her off on a woman who was clearly fading from this life. Death in Kendawyn wasn’t falling asleep and never waking up. It was slowly and literally fading from the world into weakness, and then a ghost like state, and then…nothing.

  “I am so delighted to meet you,” the dowager said.

  Alice didn’t know the woman’s name. She couldn’t call the woman Aunt. What should she do?

  “Thank you, your grace,” Alice said.

  “Oh, darling,” the dowager duchess said, “please call me Henrietta.”

  “Oh,” Alice said, not wanting to accept that familiarity, furious that Hugh had left her so quickly. She wanted Mariah. She wanted Mariah and Algernon and the children and her rooms at her home and…

  And that wasn’t to be.

  Alice forced a smile at the dowager duchess and said, “Hello, Henrietta.”

  “Well, my dear, we have several options. We could go up and play with silks or needles.”

  Alice couldn’t hide her reaction to that comment.

  The dowager duchess’s laughter filled the hall. “Or we could go for a walk about the house, and I could show you around. You’ll be lost without a servant, so that’s really just to show off this beast of a house.”

  Alice tried to keep her face still this time.