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Authors: Ronda Thompson

BOOK: The Cursed One
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She wanted his hands on her. His mouth. She wanted to lie with him upon yonder bed and have him take what no new bride should still possess. Her innocence. As if he read her thoughts, Gabriel reached out and touched her. His hand was large and callused from work but warm against her skin. Slowly it traveled up her arm to her neck, then behind it as he pulled her closer. She still stared into his eyes when they suddenly glowed with a strange blue light.
Her mind was playing tricks on her, Amelia reasoned. Perhaps she was still dreaming. She must be, because regardless of how attracted she was to Gabriel Wulf, with all that had happened she wouldn't want him to kiss her. And she did. She wanted it desperately.
He slid his hand from behind her head, cupping her cheek before his thumb traced the shape of her mouth. “So tempting.”
His lips were so close she nearly felt the sensation of them against hers without touch. Amelia closed her eyes and raised herself upon her tiptoes.
It was wrong, deliciously wrong, she knew that, but for months she had wondered what it would feel like to kiss Gabriel Wulf. Warm, firm, the first sensation that registered when his lips brushed hers. A mingling of breaths before his hand slid back behind her head again and he slanted his mouth against hers. He nudged her lips farther apart and then his tongue penetrated her, teased hers into a dance. It was as potent as any brandy, his kiss.
Amelia was helplessly lost. Lost in sensation, lost in the scent of him—the feel of him—the warmth spreading through her. Her heart hammered against her chest;
her blood coursed hot through her veins. Robert's chaste kisses were nothing compared to this, had made her feel nothing compared to this. It was like drowning in chocolate. It was like nothing she had experienced before.
He teased her lips, nibbled at them, sucked at them, then claimed them again, a master at seduction although she couldn't say he seemed to know that. It was as if he was at the mercy of his emotions, just as she was, and just as helpless to fight them.
Amelia leaned into his solid strength. He pushed her back, not away from him, but toward the bed behind them. She went with a willing heart. She went without thought or doubt. She went without guilt.
A moment later her knees met with the end of the bed and she tumbled backward. Scrambling up upon her elbows, she stared up at him. His eyes still glowed with blue light. His broad chest rose and fell inside a nightshirt that once belonged to her husband. He wanted her; there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes as they raked her from head to toe. He took a step toward her, looked as though he'd join her upon the bed, but suddenly he stopped himself.
As if night had slipped into day, darkness into light, he blinked and stepped back from her. “What in the hell am I doing?” he asked in a husky voice. He glanced around as if he tried to recall where he was, who he was, and perhaps who she was, as well. His gaze strayed to the broken door joining her room to the master suite. He closed his eyes for a moment before he glanced back at her.
“Forgive me. I had no right.” That was all he said
before he stormed across the room, out, and closed the door firmly behind him.
Shaken, Amelia stared after him. Good lord, what
had
just happened? How could she have behaved so brazenly with him when her poor bridegroom wasn't even buried as of yet? True, Amelia understood that she was a sensual creature. She'd been much more interested in the wedding night than she thought poor Robert had been.
She'd shocked her intended once by putting her tongue into his mouth when he'd finally gotten up the nerve to kiss her, but even she had not behaved with him as she'd just done with Gabriel Wulf.
Amelia covered her face with her hands. Perhaps she was mad. She could no longer trick her mind into believing everything that had happened since last night was a dream. If she were dreaming of Gabriel Wulf just now, he would not have walked away from her. Instead he would have slipped into bed with her and made her a woman. What was she supposed to do now? Amelia couldn't hide upstairs all day. Decisions had to be made. Realities must be faced.
There was only one thing that she could do. Dress and go downstairs. The only thing worse than having to face Gabriel Wulf again would be forcing herself to go to the root cellar and view Robert's body. But she must. To accept that Lord Collingsworth was truly gone, she must see him for herself.
Gabriel had made a halfhearted attempt to eat. Manners
dictated that he wait for Lady Collingsworth to join them, but he sure as hell did not have manners. He'd thought he'd be starving, since he'd eaten little in the past week while making his way home, yet his hunger was not for food. It was for her. The woman upstairs. Damn, what was happening to him? He was a man used to having control of his emotions, control of his life. Suddenly he had control of neither.
He caught her scent before she appeared in the dining room. Her perfumed soaps masked it for the most part, but beneath the perfume, she smelled of woman's musk and hot promises a man could not ignore. Gabriel must ignore them.
The girl, Mora, sat across from him, looking out of place at the dining table. They had not conversed beyond general civilities. Once Lady Collingsworth entered the dining room, Gabriel rose, as had been taught him at one time when manners had still mattered. The lady looked lovely in a blue sprigged muslin gown. She'd swept her long hair up in some semblance of a
fashionable hairstyle, if it looked a bit haphazard and portions of it were already falling down her back.
He had no idea what had happened upstairs. Why he'd behaved as he had. Why he had dreamed of this woman before. Why he had nearly lost control with her. Why he'd given into the impulse to kiss her—the widow of his childhood friend, not even buried as of yet. Gabriel had wanted to do more than kiss her. Much more.
“Sorry I'm late,” the lady said, seating herself. “Have we decided anything?”
She was good at pretending as if nothing untoward had happened upstairs between them. She didn't even blush. Gabriel decided to follow her example. “No,” he answered, reclaiming his chair. “I still think we must somehow forge ahead to Wulfglen, where the two of you will be safer.”
“We can't leave,” Mora whispered, lifting her big eyes to the both of them. “Not with the beasts waiting for us out in the woods. They're planning something, mark my words.”
Lady Collingsworth placed a napkin in her lap and turned toward the girl. “Wolves do not plan,” she said. “I have decided that our imaginations got the better of us last night. Today, we will approach our situation with rational thought. Perhaps it would be best if we left Collingsworth Manor and forged ahead to Wulfglen.”
“Gives them the advantage,” Mora mumbled softly. “Forgive my forwardness, my lady, but I believe we'd all be safer staying put. Maybe they will go away now.”
Studying the girl, Gabriel picked up his spoon and contemplated the porridge sitting before him. “What
makes you believe so, Mora? Why would they suddenly just go away?”
The girl was obviously uncomfortable being the center of attention. She squirmed a little in her chair and tugged her bonnet down around her face. “Because of Vincent,” she answered. “I think he was one of them. Since he did not get whatever it was he wanted from the lady, maybe they will all go away now.”
Gabriel glanced at Lady Collingsworth for a reaction. Her face paled and her hand strayed automatically to the scratches upon her neck. “What he wanted was obvious,” she said. “He wanted me to believe that he was Lord Collingsworth so that I would submit to him.”
Leaning forward, Gabriel rudely placed his elbows upon the table, although he knew better. “If you believed he was Robert, why did you not submit to him? Why did you scream? Why did you fight him?”
Lady Collingsworth's face bloomed with sudden color. So, she could blush after all. “The man was hurting me. He kept laughing … only, his voice did not sound … human.”
“I told you so,” Mora said softly. “I am convinced he was one of them.”
Since Mora had spoken up, Gabriel had a few questions he wanted her to answer. “How did Vincent get into the house? I checked the locks myself while searching for Lord Collingsworth. Everything had been bolted up tight.”
The girl shrugged. “I'm assuming through the root cellar. There's a door leading to the outside. I didn't think about anyone coming in that way. Truth is, I relaxed my guard a little since the young lord had returned.
I was more than happy to let him decide how to keep both me and the lady safe.”
What Mora said made sense. Robert was found in the root cellar. He'd probably heard something down there and gone to investigate. “Did you tell Lord Collingsworth that wolves that could turn into men had frightened the other staff and field workers away?”
Suddenly Mora's eyes filled with tears. She shook her head. “Was afraid he'd think I was touched and turn me out. I should have told him right away. I should have warned him. He's dead now because I didn't.”
The girl seemed generally distraught over the situation. Gabriel had no idea how to comfort her. He wasn't used to dealing with women and their tendency to weep. To his surprise, it was Lady Collingsworth who rose from her chair and went around to the girl, placing a hand upon her shaking shoulder.
“It is not your fault, Mora,” she said. “Lord Collingsworth, well, I'm sorry, but he wouldn't have believed that tale any more than I do. I don't know what is going on, but it isn't your fault.”
The girl shyly touched Lady Collingsworth's hand. “Bless you for saying so, my lady.” The servant looked as surprised by Lady Collingsworth's show of kindness as Gabriel felt.
He hadn't expected kindness toward a servant from Lady Collingsworth. He hadn't expected the passion she'd shown upstairs. She became more intriguing to him by the moment. She turned from offering the girl comfort and looked at Gabriel.
“I need to see him,” she said softly. “I cannot believe Robert is gone if I do not see him.”
The lady had acted as if she believed Robert was gone easily enough upstairs, but that was not her fault. Gabriel was the guilty party. His scent had been what attracted Lady Collingsworth—what had made her act irrationally with him. His younger brother Jackson had once told him of this particular “gift” all Wulf brothers possessed.
Gabriel had never to his knowledge used it upon a woman. Perhaps he couldn't help it upstairs. Perhaps the scent simply seeped from him when he was unreasonably attracted to a woman.
“I need to bury Robert,” Gabriel said. “Him and the other two in the stable.”
Lady Collingsworth took a steadying breath. “Robert deserves a proper burial. One with his friends around him to mourn his passing. And how will I explain … I mean, if he was murdered …”
“There is no proof that he was murdered,” Gabriel reminded her. “I told you, there was not a scratch upon him. It was as if he'd been frightened to death.”
The lady shuddered and he realized he had not taken care with her sensibilities. Gabriel wasn't a stranger to women, but he preferred them as jaded and world-wise as he was himself. He had no idea how to deal with a delicate butterfly pleasing enough to look at but rather useless when it came to the harsh realities of life.
“We cannot leave Robert and the others as they are,” he said. “They deserve to be laid to rest.”
The lady had steadied herself with a hand placed upon the back of Mora's chair. She put a brave face forward, but Gabriel noted that her hand shook. “I suppose you're right,” she agreed. “But please at least bury Lord
Collingsworth in the family cemetery. I know it must be somewhere on the property close to the house.”
“Not far from here,” Gabriel said. When she lifted a brow, he explained, “We used to play there sometimes when we were boys. We'd hide behind the stones and jump out at one another.”
Lady Collingsworth nodded. “Please, I'd like to see him now.”
“But your breakfast, my lady,” Mora said. “You need your strength.”
The lady shook her head. “I find my appetite seems to diminish the moment food is placed before me. I'd rather get this behind me.”
“Then I'll come along and offer you my support,” the girl said.
Lady Collingsworth pressed a hand to the girl's shoulder gratefully. Gabriel placed his napkin aside and rose. He paused to pull Mora's chair out for her, a gesture that seemed to surprise the servant almost as much as Lady Collingsworth's comfort had earlier. Gabriel reasoned it probably was for the best that Lady Collingsworth viewed her husband's body. She needed some type of closure regarding what had happened last night.
Although Gabriel still wasn't certain what was going on at Collingsworth Manor, he could at least allow the lady to grieve. His leg throbbed, but the wound felt better than it had for the past two weeks. Gabriel tried not to limp as he led the way to the root cellar.
 
The root cellar reminded Amelia of a crypt in itself,
with its damp smell and cool, dark confines. Her legs
trembled beneath her gown, but she put one foot in front of the other and followed Gabriel Wulf down the creaky steps. Mora followed behind her, and she was glad for an extra body. Strength in numbers. As she moved farther down into the cellar, she tried to mentally prepare herself for the task of viewing Robert's body.
Although she'd attended viewings in the past, most had been old relatives. It seemed sacrilege that a young man would be cut down in his prime. But then, Robert had never looked the picture of youthful vitality. He hadn't liked to dance, she recalled. He always seemed winded afterward.
“He's over here,” Wulf said, holding a lantern that did little to dispel the darkness. Amelia braced herself. When Lord Gabriel shone the lantern light to the floor, there was nothing there.
He frowned, then walked around the cellar, casting light in all the corners. All Amelia saw was a few sacks of potatoes, a basket of carrots, one of onions, but no body.
“He's gone,” Wulf said.
“They must have taken him,” Mora whispered.
“Damn,” Wulf swore. “It never occurred to me that Robert's body would also come up missing, and it should have.”
Amelia shivered in the damp, musty air. “Why would anyone take him?”
Wulf looked none too pleased by the development. “More important at the moment is how?”
Mora walked to a dark corner. “The root cellar door, my lord,” she reminded. “Someone could have carried him out that way.”
Lord Gabriel joined the girl and shone the lantern
light up earthen steps. “Mora, we need to block the door.”
The servant nodded. “Yes, my lord, but we'll have to do it from outside. Should we leave the safety of the house?”
He considered. “It is at least daylight,” he finally said. “And I do have a pistol. I think we'll be all right long enough for me to have a look at that door.”
Amelia had visions of opening the cellar door from below only to be confronted by a killer waiting on the other side. “I think we should go back through the house and outside.”
Wulf glanced back up the darkened stairs. “Probably a wise idea,” he agreed. “I can look out of the windows before we go out and see if anyone might be lurking about.”
The matter decided, Wulf led the way back to the stairs leading down from the house. Amelia and Mora followed. After checking the outside view from several vantage points, Wulf unbolted the front door and swung it wide. Amelia stood behind him while he removed the pistol from the waistband at the back of his trousers, unseen beneath the nightshirt that hit him midthigh.
“I'll warrant the bodies that were in the coach are also now missing,” he said. “Whoever these people are, and I'm convinced there are more than one of them, they cover their tracks well.”
“They are not people,” Mora whispered behind them. “At least not normal people. Mark my words on that.”
Amelia suppressed another shiver. It was ridiculous. To fear something that could not exist. Wolves were
wolves, and men were men, and that was that. She tried to forget the claw she had picked up from the floor in Robert's bedchamber.
“I'll check the stable first.” Wulf extended his pistol toward Mora. “Do you know how to use a weapon, Mora?”
The girl shrank back from him. “Won't touch one,” she said. “Seen too many times firsthand what they can do to a body.”
His gaze strayed to Amelia. He seemed to dismiss the possibility before even asking the question. That he would annoyed her. “I know how to use a pistol,” she said. “I am, in fact, quite an accomplished marksman.”
Her professed skill had him lifting a dark brow.
Amelia supposed she should explain. “When I was younger, I was determined to show my brother up at all things masculine. Mostly to upset my father,” she added.
His lips turned up in the usual hint of a smile. “Why does that suddenly not surprise me,” he remarked. Lord Gabriel handed Amelia the pistol. “Stay here on the porch until I return.”
The pistol was heavy in her hand, but Amelia welcomed its weight. It represented a measure of safety. What, she wondered, as she watched Wulf walk away, did he plan to do if confronted in the stable? A thought occurred to her.

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