Luck of the Wolf Read online

  There was no earthly reason why he couldn’t make other inquiries, as he’d promised the girl. Such an investigation might take weeks, if not longer. But he could set it in motion immediately, and in the meantime make whatever preparations were necessary to groom her for her role as Lucienne Renier.

  Oh, she might resist at first. She certainly had a mind of her own. But more than once he’d seen yearning and sorrow in her eyes, especially when he’d spoken of other loups-garous in San Francisco or speculated about her family. She wanted to belong to someone.

  Perhaps he could win that sense of belonging for her as he had never been able to do for himself. And profit in the winning.

  “It is a reasonable plan,” he said to Yuri. “But you must contain your eagerness, mon ami. She is like a wild animal who must be coaxed into the cage little by little. We must begin by discovering what she does know. With rest, safety and careful cultivation, whatever she was before may emerge on its own.”

  “We can’t keep such a girl hidden long,” Yuri said, “even if Cochrane makes no attempt to steal her back.”

  “Then we’ll keep her confined until such time as we can find a safer place to put her.”

  Yuri fingered his short beard. “A safer place,” he murmured. “It should be outside the city. Leave it to me.” He nodded to himself. “She will need a complete transformation, and you and I cannot do it alone. I have thought of someone who would be ideal to teach her subjects on which you and I are not qualified to speak.”

  “Is that not somewhat premature?” Cort asked.

  “Not if we wish to move quickly.”

  “Who is this person?”

  “An old acquaintance from New Orleans, from a time before you and I met. She is well educated, has excellent taste and is familiar with New Orleans Society.”

  “How familiar?”

  “She is not loup-garou, but she has had frequent dealings with the leading families in the city. She knows your kind exist.”

  “And you trust her?”

  “As much as I have ever trusted anyone.”

  “How do you expect to pay her? Until I’ve won a few more games, we’ll have barely enough funds to cover the girl’s basic necessities.”

  “Babette has fallen on hard times. She is widowed and currently resides in Denver in a state of near poverty. I am certain she will settle for a modest salary and a cut of the reward.”

  “How much do you suggest we tell her?” Cort asked.

  “She can’t do her job unless she knows as much as possible,” Yuri replied.

  “Say nothing of my previous association with Lucienne’s family.”

  “Naturally.”

  “How long will it take to get Babette here?” he asked.

  “I can telegraph her immediately. She could be here in a few days.”

  “Then do it.”

  “At once.” Yuri examined Cort from under half-closed lids. “You’ll have plenty of time alone with the girl while I’m gone. Are you certain you have no…personal interest in her?”

  “My tastes hardly run in that direction,” Cort said with a cynical lift of his brow. “And even if they did, I would not act on them. The girl claims that no one touched her. She may or may not be a virgin, but she must be guarded from anyone’s amorous intentions from now on.”

  With a curt nod, Yuri removed a silver case from inside his coat, tapped out a cigarette and left the boardinghouse. Cort felt the uncomfortable weight of the half-truths he’d told Yuri, pretending he’d never felt any physical attraction to the girl.

  But the fact that he had felt such attraction in the past hardly meant he couldn’t ignore it in the future. He shifted the packages, returned to their rooms and walked through the door.

  The girl was bundled up on the sofa, her chin on her knees, her body taut under the mantle of her deceptive calm. Her nose twitched. Cort set down the packages and bowed.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said, “I trust rest and a meal have improved your health.”

  She glared at him from under the mane of blond hair that had fallen over her face. “I am very well, Cort.”

  “Did you enjoy your visit with Yuri?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  It surprised Cort that Yuri hadn’t tried to make himself agreeable, given his ambitions. “Perhaps you will like this better,” Cort said. He unwrapped one of the packages to reveal half a ham and another that held a loaf of bread, butter and jam.

  The girl’s nose twitched again.

  Cort set the food on the table. “You are free to eat as much as you like,” he said.

  “I can get my own food.”

  “By stealing it? That would be unwise, ma chère.”

  “Stop calling me ma chère.”

  “As yet you’ve given me no alternative,” he said.

  Pretending to ignore his comment, she eyed the other packages. “What are those?” she asked.

  “Clothing for you. Proper attire for a lady.” He put one of the boxes on the table and began to untie the ribbon.

  “A lady?” she echoed.

  Her voice held a note of scorn that surprised him. “Certainly. Is that not what you are, mademoiselle?”

  She tucked her chin against her chest. “No. And I don’t want to be one.”

  Cort let the half-untied ribbons fall back onto the lid. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve seen many ladies. They can barely move in the clothes they wear, and they act as if they are weak and helpless.” She sniffed. “I don’t have to be like them. I don’t want to be.”

  The contempt in her voice startled Cort into silence. The situation was far worse than he had imagined. She had not only forgotten that she had been raised as a lady, but she felt no desire to become one. What in God’s name had given her such a low opinion of her own sex?

  In truth, was his opinion any better?

  “When did you decide this, mademoiselle?” he asked.

  “Before I came to—” She stopped, looking at him warily from under her lashes.

  Before she came to San Francisco? Had she begun to remember? “If you were not a lady, what were you before?”

  “Just…” She averted her gaze. “Just what I am now.”

  “You are a woman, are you not?”

  She seemed to struggle with an answer. “Not every woman is a lady.”

  If Cort had been prone to despair, he might have felt it then. “That is true,” he said. “Some are—”

  “A lady would never go to the places those men took me.”

  “You are hardly at fault for what they did. If you come from one of the families I mentioned, you are a lady by birth and breeding. And not all ladies are as you described.”

  “They all wear those awful dresses, don’t they? The ones with the…” She gestured at her blanket-clad body with eloquent distaste. “The stiff things they wear on top, and the bottoms like hobbles for ponies, and the pointed shoes and the silly hats and—”

  Cort raised his hand to stop her. “The dress I have brought you is quite plain, mademoiselle,” he said with all the patience he possessed. “It was purchased ready-made and can be put on without the help of a maid. You need have no fear of resembling the fine ladies you speak of.”

  One of her feet emerged from under the blanket, as if she were dipping her toes into frigid water. “But I’ve never worn a dress before,” she said plaintively. “At least…I don’t think I have.”

  “How were you dressed when the men took you?”

  “Like you.”

  He barked a startled laugh. “Like me? You were wearing a man’s clothes?”

  “Yes. Is that so funny?”

  Appalling, Cort thought, but hardly funny.

  “No,” he said, attempting to soothe her agitation. “It was a wise precaution if you were alone on the streets. Someone must have told you to disguise yourself.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  That refrain was rapidly becoming tiresome. “You have no
clothes of your own. Wherever you come from, whatever your past, society has certain expectations of any young woman.”

  “Even loups-garous?”

  “Even loups-garous.” He took the lid off the box, unfolded the paper in which the dress was wrapped and draped the garment over his arm.

  “Surely you have no objection to this,” he said.

  Her cheeks flushed. “How can I run in something like that?”

  “As long as you remain under my protection, you’ll have no need of running.”

  He could see her preparing to remind him that she didn’t need protection, but she seemed to think better of it. “Can you take it back?” she asked in a small voice.

  As he had guessed, she wasn’t nearly as confident as she pretended. “I suggest you try it on before you make any decisions.” He laid the dress over a chair and glanced at the other boxes with a frown. One contained sensible but attractive boots, another stockings and undergarments and the last the corset no lady did without. The shoes and undergarments would surely not be objectionable, but the corset?

  He left that box aside and opened the others, leaving their contents in place. “I will wait in the other room while you dress,” he said, and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  For what seemed like hours he paced the small room, twice bumping into the beds with uncharacteristic clumsiness. He imagined her letting the blanket fall, standing naked as she examined the dress. He envisioned her slipping the drawers over her strong, slender thighs and easing the chemise over her head. The thin lawn was just sheer enough that her nipples would show pale brown and tempting through the fabric.

  Cort wiped the image from his mind. He heard the rustle of heavier cloth, noises of frustration and the clatter of shoes. When he could bear it no longer, he opened the door.

  The girl was standing in the center of the room, the dress in place, balancing on one booted foot. She was very red in the face.

  “Here,” she said. “Are you happy?”

  Happy was not the word for his feelings at that moment. The dress was very plain, as he had said, intended more for a shop girl than a well-bred lady. But she…she made it look like the most expensive French couture. Her figure needed no corset, nor could her stiffness and embarrassment hide her natural grace. His body stirred in unwelcome rebellion.

  “Parfaitement,” he said in a half-strangled voice.

  She gave him a suspicious glance and suddenly lost her balance. Cort was beside her in an instant, but she shoved him away.

  “I hate these shoes,” she said, kicking off the one she had been wearing.

  “But you like the dress, yes?” he asked.

  She pulled the sides of the skirt away from her body. “No.”

  He took a seat in the chair and rubbed his chin. “How can I help you, ma chère, if you refuse my assistance?”

  The girl bristled. “What do you want in return for this ‘help’?” she demanded.

  He had already given her an explanation, but apparently she had yet to accept it. Once again Cort wondered what she had suffered before he had found her. What had she seen on the streets? Had she been living under circumstances where men routinely used women as objects of pleasure and convenience?

  “I regret if I have given you the impression that I want anything from you,” he said stiffly.

  Her face fell, and she stared down at her bare feet. “I’m…sorry,” she said. “I’m just not used to…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, but he couldn’t doubt her contrition. It was a step toward gratitude, in any case. And gratitude was exactly the emotion he wished to arouse. That, and unquestioning trust.

  He would have to work very hard to earn that particular prize.

  “Whatever you have suffered in the past,” he said gently, “not all men are like the ones who abused you. There are motives other than…” He stopped, unwilling to put his thoughts into words. They seemed far too dangerous when he himself could not quite control his physical reaction to her. “Have you known no kindness in your life?”

  “I…”

  Don’t remember, of course. “If that is true,” he said, “I regret it deeply.”

  She met his eyes. “I believe you.”

  Another small step. “You do me honor, mademoiselle,” he said.

  All the yearning he had seen before filled her face again. “Do you really think you can find my family?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  “There is so much I don’t understand. Everything is so strange.”

  “I will guide you.”

  Something in her seemed to give way, and she stumbled back against the table. Cort jumped up to support her, and this time she didn’t push him away. All the resistance went out of her body, and she looked up, vulnerable and frightened and trusting. Her eyes were like the sea at its most tranquil, right before a storm.

  He didn’t intend to let that storm break. He held her, feeling the warmth and suppleness of her body, taut with the kind of muscle built by vigorous exercise. If he had ever doubted that she had experienced something very different from the soft, easy life of a Madeleine Renier, he had no such doubt now.

  And yet she was so beautiful.

  “Ma belle,” he murmured.

  Her eyes half closed, dreamy and inviting. Her lips parted. She could not have offered a more appealing invitation.

  He lowered his head. She made no move to stop him. With a staggering flash of insight, Cort recognized that she didn’t fully comprehend what he was about to do. She had understood enough to realize that the men who had taken her had planned something unpleasant for her.

  But in this matter of a kiss her expectations were only half-formed, like those of a child who has heard snatches of conversation between her elders about things no youngster should know. Cort was certain now that she had never been touched.

  A string of bitter curses ran through his mind, each one more profane than the last. He had lied to Yuri when he’d said he had no interest in this woman. He might tell himself so, but his resolve was not nearly so firm as a certain part of his anatomy, which had quickly developed the troublesome habit of demanding his attention whenever he was near her. And even when he wasn’t.

  Perhaps if he had never seen her body in that diaphanous gown, or witnessed her Change, he might have dismissed such unwelcome sensations more easily. But he had seen it. All he wanted now was to feel her flesh touching his, taste her lips and her breasts, hear her eager little cries of joy when he introduced her to a world of pleasure he was certain she had never known.

  And that would make him no better than the others who had lusted after an innocent girl. Would turn him into a barbarian who would use her for the sake of his own satisfaction. Destroy the very trust that was so essential in what was to come.

  Slowly he released her. She swayed a little and found her balance again. The protective stiffness returned to her body. She edged away from him and toward her safe harbor on the sofa.

  The sound of ripping fabric made Cort wince. She started, glanced at the shoulder seam of the bodice and bit her lip. He no longer doubted that she had little experience with dresses.

  At least the garment hadn’t been too expensive.

  He smiled at her. “Would you feel more at ease in a shirt and trousers?”

  “Oh, yes.” She grinned, all embarrassment forgotten, then her shoulders slumped again. “But if you really think I need to wear a dress to see my family…”

  “I do. In spite of your doubts, I remain convinced that you are of good family. I am certain that they would be deeply dismayed if they had any suspicion that you had suffered as you have. Dressing properly will help ease their worries. That is what you would wish, is it not?”

  She hung her head. “Yes,” she said. “I will learn to wear a dress.”

  She was so earnest that Cort almost felt ashamed.

  Her loneliness was like a wound in his own body. Whatever companionship she’d had be
fore he had won her, it couldn’t have been enough. She would do anything to ease that emptiness inside.

  Once he would have done the same.

  “I promise,” he said, “that I will not ask more of you than you can give.”

  Her smile was radiant, giving without holding back any part of herself. “Thank you,” she said, glancing down at her updrawn knees. “I have remembered something.”

  Cort braced himself. “And what might that be, mademoiselle?”

  “My name,” she said. “It’s Aria.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ARIA.

  Not Lucienne, as Yuri had hoped, but something far more enchanting.

  Aria. A song. She was a song, as enticing as a waltz, as earthy as an Acadian air, as full of fire as a Beethoven symphony.

  God forbid that he should learn that melody too well.

  “Aria,” he repeated. “A lovely name.”

  “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  The tone of her voice brought Cort to attention. “You wish to keep it a secret?”

  “I…I just don’t want anyone else to know.”

  Which was most peculiar. Was that the name she had been using since her abduction, the name her captor had given her? But why would she want to conceal an assumed name? Had she remembered something she didn’t want to share even with him?

  “You can confide in me, Aria,” he said. “Why don’t you want anyone to know?”

  “I don’t know why!” she said, her voice rising. “It must be important, but—”

  “Do you remember ever having gone by any other name?”

  She frowned. “I remember someone calling me ‘Anna.’”

  Anna. Not an inspired name for a woman like her. “Would you prefer that I call you by that name?”

  “Yes,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Except when we’re alone. But I still don’t want you to tell anyone else about Aria.”

  Cort saw no good in pushing her too far. “I will not share your name with anyone without your permission,” he said. “You have my word.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.