Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (16 page)

The crisp rustle of dry leaves ceased behind him. He remained unmoving, silent.

Alanna wished the incessant roaring of blood in her ears would stop. He had to have heard her approach, yet he was as still as the tree he leaned against.

Her heart pounded in her breast, and breathing grew more difficult. An insistent rush through her body urged her to walk up to him, to slide her arms around his waist and put her cheek to his chest. She hoped she’d figured him right, that his silence was a signal that approaching would be acceptable. And she prayed her voice would not fail her.

“I’m sorry, Wolf.” She hung back, waiting. When he failed to respond, she repeated herself. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

“What a cold word sorry is,” he said without moving. “People say it as a matter of course, whether they mean it or not.” The smoke of his breath evaporated in the air.

Captured by the wind, his voice wound around the trees, haunting in its timbre. It was as if the icy wind punished her by carrying his words through the woods for all of nature to hear before releasing them to her. She wanted to run. She took in a breath of cold air. Icy needles pierced her lungs.

He shifted his body against the tree. “What you don’t know, Alanna, is that after my mother’s . . . after my parents abandoned me, I was given no answers, no explanation as to why I had no mother, no father, no home, no hope. All I ever heard were the words ‘I’m sorry’ spouted over and over by caretakers. ‘I am so sorry for you,’ they repeated until I never wanted to hear those empty words again.”

“Oh, Wolf.” Alanna stepped forward and winced at the loud snap of dry leaves. She walked around him and paused. One look at him and she stepped back with a soft gasp. What she saw was not what she had expected. Kindness infused his countenance. Such vulnerability. Such gentleness. Heart-stopping tenderness flowed from his powerful gaze. And the warm softness about his mouth nearly brought her to tears. It was as if his spoken words had come from another world.

In one strong, fluid movement, Wolf reached out, caught her at the waist, and swung her effortlessly around to him.

She let out another small gasp.

He brought her to a halt and leaned her against the tree. He caged her with one hand against the ragged bark, while the other held her at the small of her back. He brought his face down to hers, so close the heat of his breath fell against her eyelids. “What am I to do with you?” he murmured.

His very essence seemed to seep through his pores and permeate her as she drank him in. He kissed the top of her head, ever so lightly. “There’s a wonderful poise about you, Alanna. One that draws me to you like a fly to a spider’s web.” His lips brushed over her brow.

“Am I the poisonous kind of spider, Wolf?”

“No.”

Closing her eyes, she got caught up in his magnetic presence. Her body quickened with the burden of desperate longing. She couldn’t help it—she pressed against his hardness, all the while trying to will away a feeling of insatiable hunger. Such resolve proved futile.

His hand made soft, soothing, rhythmic circles. He pulled her gently closer to him and moaned. He held her tighter, pressed between the tree and him. His gentle massage sent currents of desire spiraling through her, making her senses reel.

His lips trailed down, brushing feather soft against the lobe of her ear. His hand continued to pull her into him until she, too, moaned softly.

“Stop me, Alanna.”

“I cannot,” she sighed into his chest. She pulled him still closer. “Lord, but I need you.”

Wolf pulled back and gazed into her eyes. Heat blasted through her body. Her breath labored. “Alanna,” was all he said before his mouth—sweet, full, and cool—found hers. He coaxed her lips open with his tongue, eased it inside.

Her breasts and belly arched against him. She moaned. His thighs shifted between her knees and he cupped her hips, drew her against his male hardness with one hand and roamed her body with the other until he found her breast. Her heart hammered against fingers that caressed and kneaded. Her body shuddered.

“Alanna!” Thompson’s voice echoed through the woods, shattering the moment.

Wolf lifted his mouth from hers. “You’ve been saved.” He smiled, but his voice was still husky, his breathing heavy.

He planted a hard kiss on her lips. Her senses reeled once again.

“Must you leave?” he whispered.

She nodded. “My father’s birthday is in little more than a week, and then the busy holidays follow. These three months are my parents’ favorite time of the year to be seen. Father would definitely come looking for me if I failed to show.”

“The holidays—I forgot.” His eyes held a fleeting shaft of pain.

Would he suffer at her leaving, as well? With a start, she realized he had more than likely spent many holidays alone. “You have a family here, Wolf. These are good people. Winston is loyal. Old Chinese is fatherly, given the chance.”

He only nodded.

“I meant it when I said I needed you,” she whispered.

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, ran a knuckle down her cheek, and held it under her chin. “What happened to us in the classroom this morning?”

There was no need to respond. They both knew.

“Alanna!” Thompson’s insistent call echoed through the woods.

“I have to go.”

Wolf brushed his lips against hers and then gave her a gentle push. “Don’t forget to come back, darlin’.”

He returned to leaning against the tree, his thoughts in a tangle. Why the hell had he gone and said something so foolish? Alanna Malone was the last woman he’d consider touching again. He liked his neck attached to his body just fine. A memory of her scent cleaved a sweet path through his mind. Christ, he’d been without a woman too long; that was what had his thoughts in a muddle. He intended to be long gone before she returned. St. Joe, and the little barmaid who took care of his lusty needs, suddenly sounded damn good. Once his mother’s murder was solved, getting his sorry ass out of Massachusetts and headed west couldn’t happen fast enough.

He remained where he stood until his feet felt near to freezing, and then he made his way back to the barn. But he didn’t climb the stairs. Instead, he went to the horses. He combed each one until their coats took on an even glossier sheen, and until he was so exhausted he could barely make it up the stairs to fall into bed.

And fall into his dreams.

There was a pond, a lovely pond, with a pair of white swans floating gracefully about. And then he was being rocked in the arms of someone who smelled sweet, and spoke in a soft, Scottish brogue. But then the dream turned ugly and he was stuffed under a bed. Mist filled the room, and through the mist he could make out a mirror. In the mirror, a figure moved about in the mist and shadows.

Wolf awoke, thrashing about in a pool of sweat.

 

What began as simple curiosity and a way to cope with boredom soon became vital to Wolf. Despite the wear and tear on his body, he attacked the lessons Old Chinese administered with a relentless fury. Under Old Chinese’s direction, Wolf and Winston sparred daily, with Wolf being pounded to the floor more times than he cared to count. Each night, he fell into bed drained of thought or feeling.

Then there were the acupuncture sessions that amplified his dreams. Little by little, the smoke in the mirror evaporated and the man stalking his nightmares began to take shape.

Most mornings vivid memories of Alanna floated in that obscure space between sleep and wakefulness. They also managed to hang around all day—if not at the forefront, then at the periphery of his mind. The taste of her mouth, the satin of her skin—everything about her seemed more than a recollection. Barely a month had passed since that day in the woods, but it seemed more like a year. Missing her forced him to come to terms with his fear of relationships, his fear of having his heart torn out again.

Wolf rolled over and shook another memory of her from his head. As his mind cleared, a faint rhythmic cadence vibrated through him. Horses’ hooves? He snapped to his feet and strode to the window. A fresh mantle of pure white snow had fallen during the night, glittering in the early morning sunlight like diamonds strewn about the landscape. Below, a team of four black horses, bodies steaming and breaths billowing from their nostrils, pulled an ebony coach to a halt. His heart kicked up a notch.

Thompson exited the carriage alone, glanced up at the window with a frown and a nod, and hurried inside. After a few moments of polite conversation, he asked to speak to Wolf privately.

“No need.” Wolf itched to know what was important enough for Thompson to depart Boston before dawn. “Winston and Old Chinese know I’m looking for my mother’s murderer.”

Old Chinese signaled for tea and motioned for Winston to join them.

“The detective you hired found evidence of substantial bank transfers to London in 1843, with a solicitor acting as power of attorney.” Thompson said. “However, the funds disappeared without a trace some eighteen months later. The solicitor is deceased, so that trail ended with his demise. Your father had a partner named James Grimes, with whom he had a falling-out.”

An ache at the back of Wolf’s neck nagged him. He dug into the taut muscles. “Go on.”

“We all know sizable fortunes are being made in Boston by importing goods from China,” Thompson said. “But there are those among the blue bloods of Boston who make even grander fortunes by trading both ways.”

“You mean opium trade?”

Thompson nodded. “Unfortunately. Opium delivered to China from India, and tea and goods from China back to Boston.”

Wolf’s gut tightened. “Are you saying my father—”

“He was a man of integrity. His falling-out with Grimes seems to have occurred because your father discovered that large sums of money had been diverted to the opium trade by Grimes and a clandestine partner.”

“Do you know who?”

Thompson nodded. “Jonathan Hemenway, father to Alanna’s fiancé.”

“Aw, Christ.” Wolf sprang to his feet and paced. “There couldn’t be more than one Hemenway at the top of Boston’s social ladder, by any chance?”

“Afraid not.”

“What happened to Grimes?” The ache in Wolf’s neck radiated upward.

“Don’t know. He disappeared without a trace. Alanna doesn’t know anything about your past, does she?”

“No.”

“Maybe it’s best to keep it that way. We wouldn’t want her compromised.”

Old Chinese and Winston nodded.

Wolf rubbed at his temples. “For more reasons than one, since we have no idea what the hell I’m getting into.”

“Alanna came to tea yesterday and mentioned something that threw up more red flags,” Thompson said. “It seems Hemenway Senior likes to punish his female servants by cutting off their hair.”

“What?” Wolf’s head pounded in earnest. “My mother’s hair—”

“My thoughts as well. There’s more. Some years back, Alanna befriended Hemenway’s daughter. Apparently, Hemenway cut off her hair after he caught her with a young man who didn’t fit his well-laid plans. Alanna learned of this when she sneaked into the Hemenway home to visit Miss Hemenway. Alanna reported that the daughter fled to France shortly thereafter, where she remains to this day. Alanna said she’d be shot if her mother caught her repeating the story, so Mrs. Malone must be aware of what occurred.”

Wolf paced and cursed. “What are the chances I’d get mixed up with a woman who is supposed to marry into the family of my mother’s killer?”

“Since we don’t know if that’s the case yet, rein in that temper of yours,” Thompson said. “Boston isn’t that large a town so we have to be very careful from this point on. With the police so corrupt, if Hemenway did have anything to do with your mother’s murder, who knows who owes him favors?”

“Jeezus, this sitting out here waiting for someone else to solve things—”

“I know,” Thompson interrupted. “We should get you back to Boston right away. The harbor froze seven miles out last winter, so we’d better get a man to London before the weather worsens. An Andrews Company clipper leaves for England on tomorrow’s afternoon tide.”

“What about Alanna?” Wolf asked.

Thompson rearranged himself in his chair. “You’re going to have to steer clear of her for the time being. If we can prove Hemenway had anything to do with your mother’s demise, neither one of you will have to give that fiancé of hers another thought.”

Wolf’s gut tightened at the idea, but he had to agree. “If someone at the top of the social hierarchy is involved, it would make sense why my visit to the police station landed me in a cell. It would also explain how someone got into the newspaper archives to do a little snipping.” He wanted to get out of the barn, wanted to walk in the woods, untangle his thoughts in the cold air.

He wanted Alanna.

Thompson eyed Wolf over his cup. “I see the wheels spinning. Sneaking Alanna into a hotel room is too risky. You can lie low in my home and when the time’s right, we’ll figure out how the two of you can meet up, but for now, keep your distance. Besides, the holidays are upon us, and you don’t need to spend them alone.”

Wolf pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m beginning to remember details about the night my mother was murdered. If I could get a look at Hemenway, maybe I’d recognize him.”

Old Chinese flashed a silent message to Winston before he veiled his gaze.

Wolf caught the exchange. “What the hell was that about?”

Instead of responding, Old Chinese poured more tea.

Thompson lifted his cup to the pot’s spout. “The Searses’ Christmas ball next weekend is the finest the season has to offer. The Hemenways attend, as do Martha and I. We’ll get you an invitation.”

“What about the police recognizing me?”

Thompson shook his head. “The police commissioner may attend, but no one of a lower rank would be invited.”

Again, Old Chinese eyed Winston. The air sizzled between them. “Winston will drive the carriage back so you two can mull over whatever needs discussing.”

“Winston can stay with us, as well,” Thompson said.

Old Chinese shook his head. “Winston practices the art of invisibility. He knows where to go so no one can find him but me.”

 

 

 

A stalwart, sixtyish-looking gentleman with a generous display of gray side-whiskers marched boldly into the vestibule of the Sears mansion with an elegantly dressed woman on his arm.

A muscle in Wolf’s jaw rippled. Even his teeth hurt, he was so tense. It took everything he had to appear relaxed.

The couple paused. A much younger woman, wearing a jewel-encrusted tiara, approached with her hand tucked into the elbow of a man who wore a red sash festooned with medals across his chest. The foursome moved into the ballroom.

“The elder man is Augustus Lowell,” Martha Thompson murmured in her clipped British accent. “The young woman who joined them is his niece, married to the Duke of Leav-enthal.”

“Let me guess,” Wolf whispered, hoping to alleviate some of his tension with a little humor. “The man beside her, looking like he’s all wrapped up for Christmas, is his royal what’s-his-name.”

Martha suppressed a grin. “I suspect you are about to become quite wicked again.”

A hearty chuckle erupted from Thompson. “Has he ever stopped?”

Martha turned to her husband, her soft green eyes crinkling at the corners of an otherwise dignified face. “I don’t know about you, Captain, but I am enjoying myself immensely. However, I’m afraid I shan’t have much of an opportunity to enjoy our dashing
Mr. Wolf’s
sly comments—not with the young ladies circling him. We haven’t been here the better part of an hour and would you listen to the silk of those fashionable ball gowns rustle like dry leaves in an autumn breeze around our dear friend.”

She touched Wolf’s sleeve. “But, oh my, you do look delicious. Were I young and single, I would be begging for an introduction as well. Do save a waltz for me, darling?”

“Of course.”

From where the three stood in the immense Greek Revival ballroom, they were afforded a full view of everyone who entered, as well as a view of the dance floor. Wolf had already commented that if the polished surface held a bit more sheen, its mirror finish could be quite an embarrassment for the ladies. They also stood near the elaborately decorated banquet tables holding enough food to serve Boston’s poor for a week. It was, according to Martha, another fine place for people watching.

Wolf glanced to the entry and nearly gaped at the couple entering. “Good Lord, that has to be the homeliest woman I have ever laid eyes on. My horse’s face is better-looking. Although, I do see a resemblance, come to think of it. And that gown of hers beats Mrs. Bumblebee’s taste all to hell. Don’t tell me one of them is another Cabot or Lowell, since the room’s full of them.”

Martha leaned toward him. “A little of both on her side, actually. My dear Wolf, those are the Jonathan Hemenways.”

Wolf froze.

Here was the very man who’d instigated Wolf’s attending the damnable ball in the first place. He recognized nothing about Hemenway. There wasn’t much to set him apart from the other portly men in the room, either in dress or figure. Wolf couldn’t know if Hemenway was the man he sought. Not yet, anyway. Still, the very idea sent another ripple through his jaw.

Martha moved closer to Wolf, slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow, and gave it a squeeze. Thompson stepped to the other side of him.

“I’m fine,” Wolf said. “I know better than to act on impulse.”

“Tell that to your face,” Thompson replied. “It could use some blood running into it.”

Wolf shifted his attention to Mrs. Hemenway. She had the face of a man, with a head too large for her body, and a long, square jaw. Low, thick eyebrows slashed across a broad forehead. “Yup, looks like my horse. She has a decent nose, though.”

Thompson pursed his lips together.

“It looks as though the entire social registry is here tonight,” Martha commented.

Wolf didn’t catch what Martha meant until he looked past the Hemenways. He wished he hadn’t—the Malones were in tow. Mrs. Malone’s portly frame was swathed in bright chartreuse and olive green.

Wolf groaned and turned his back on them. “No wonder those two women get along. They share the same blind dressmaker.” A chill snaked down his spine. Some sixth sense told him Alanna had entered the room. He turned.

She stood at the entry, a beautiful vision in blue.

Unequivocally, painfully beautiful.

God, he’d missed her.

He was surprised by the man standing at her side. Jonathan Hemenway III was the spitting image of his mother, only taller. Wolf had been right—Mrs. Hemenway did make a good man. Odd, but on her son, the horsey features didn’t look half-bad, and he didn’t appear to be sniveling.

Wolf needed to turn his back. Either that or give himself away. With as much interest as he could muster, he smiled warmly at one of the single ladies waiting for an introduction.

 

 

The sapphire and diamond engagement ring that had been thrust upon Alanna this evening hung heavy on her finger—seemed to cut through her glove and right to the bone. She wanted to grind her teeth in frustration. Captain Thompson had told her to play along and not disrupt her parents’ matchmaking while he worked on a plan to help her out of her predicament. He’d exuded some kind of underlying tension when he’d told her, but he’d asked her to trust him and not question his actions. The Thompsons would surely be here tonight. She hoped for a moment of his time to find out whatever she could.

She assessed the crowd—the same boring people as always, out to impress one another. Didn’t they tire of the game? And what in the world did they speak of at function after function, year after year? At least the music was fine. Since this was the night of her formal engagement, she’d not have to dance but once with Jonathan; numerous well-wishers were sure to take their turns.

She caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered stranger dressed in the same black tails as the other men in the room. Who was he? Even with his back turned and his profile unclear, a lithe elegance in the way he moved cast him apart from the others. His hair, clubbed at his neck and shining golden under the chandeliers reminded her of Wolf, which was likely the reason she thought of him as sensuous.

He turned.

His hoop earring caught the glint of candlelight, his profile unmistakable.

She gasped.