Ensnared by Innocence: Steamy Regency Shapeshifter Read online

  He swore. Since when did he find his bare toes so enthralling? Since they look like toes and not like paws? “That part has been the biggest hubble-bubble, figuring out how it all works. Time and observation have filled in some blanks.”

  His shoulders started to feel the strain and he pushed off the wall, straightened to his full height and slowly spun to her, finishing with a light shrug. “Too bad there’s not a fortune-teller in our midst. Best we can determine, when the sun is in the constellation Leo…traveling through that zodiacal portion of the sky…

  “For those few weeks every year, the lion spirit is stronger, overpowering, as if the essence of what makes us human has slowly seeped away. It extends beyond belief, I know.”

  She waved his words away, a measure of realization dawning in her expression. “This is why your eyes glow at times, is it not? I always thought it was mine not seeing clearly.”

  “Francy, you see more clearly than any person I have ever met.”

  At that very moment, her calculating mind appeared fast at work. “Although…lion. That does make sense, I suppose. The charges on your coat of arms. The three lions—you, Nash and Phineas.” Then she blinked and turned her focused gaze back to him. “What became of him—your cousin?”

  “I know not. No word has been heard from him since that day.” Hadn’t seen hide nor tail of his elder-by-a-year cousin since the man’s wedding night.

  God Almighty, Phineas. Was he even alive?

  Or, heaven forfend, had The Change taken more than his soul? Landed him a trophy on some disgustingly vile and clueless lord’s hunting-lodge wall?

  Nausea plowed through him at the notion. He squeezed his eyes shut to blot out the image.

  * * *

  For the most part, Francine had listened in stillness, breathing deeply, lips clamped tightly together to keep from peltering him with questions. The grief over his missing cousin as obvious as what she’d seen last night. Certainly more plausible.

  She was still absorbing all that he shared, trying to grasp the enormity of what haunted not only him, but his family as well.

  “Answer something for me, if you can?” She whispered the request, unsure of its reception.

  Until he opened his eyes and braced himself, facing her straight on. “Certainly. You have every right to ask anything you wish.”

  “Now that I have seen the toll it demands, can you explain why you persist in fighting it so hard?”

  “How can you even consider that?” Shock stiffened his posture further. “’Tis an unholy, unnatural curse. Lions are predators. Carnivorous ones. Should I endanger all those around me by not doing all—”

  “Shhh. Shh.” His voice had grown in proportion to the agitation she so easily sensed. Lightly, she placed four fingers on his chest and tapped, two of them on the dressing gown, two slipping over warm skin. “So you fear losing control? Harming”—she could not bring herself to say eat, not in the most literal of senses—“those you love?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you considered you might not?”

  “Eh?”

  “That you, perhaps…” Tap, tap. “Remain in possession of your wits, just not of your form?”

  He swore, captured her fingers and pressed her palm firmly over his heart. “Would you have me risk it? For I will not.”

  “There is no need. As long as you let me, I shall tame your beast.”

  “Ah, Francy,” he chuckled, the first sign of true mirth she’d seen since arriving. “Despite last night, your demands I leave you alone, you are still my little innocent, are you not? Tame my beast, indeed.”

  “What do you mean demanding you leave? I never! I did all I could to pour myself into your arms, fighting back your constant rejections.”

  “Mayhap I misinterpreted?” Looking thoughtful at the possibility, he took her wrist and began divesting her of the long glove she still wore.

  “You most certainly did. Yet still… Everything you just shared. Last night. Curses! Lions…” Her mind a complete rimble-ramble over all he’d told her…

  No matter that she’d witnessed the truth of his preposterous claims, knew firsthand the veracity of them, everything he spoke of was just so…utterly and completely…

  “Impossible.” Succinctly, she summed up the last twelve hours and his Banbury tale—the one no rational person would ever believe. But she’d seen…

  “Fact.” He stoically insisted, pinching the glove in between her fingers and pulling it loose to toss it over his shoulder.

  “Improbable.”

  “Fact.”

  “Insane.”

  “Aye.” He agreed with a tight smile, releasing that hand with a kiss upon her palm and snaring the other.

  “Cursed?”

  “Forever.” His brow drew taut upon uttering that, as though pronouncing his own death sentence.

  She infused her response with every ounce of raw feeling she now possessed, thanks to knowing him. “Cherished.”

  “Ensnared.”

  “Loved.”

  “Married.”

  “Married?” He’d said it with such assurance, she had to issue protest. Best she start training him now, she thought with a self-deserving bit of pique, how she planned to go on. Could not simply let him go around assuming things without asking. So she drew back, leaving him holding nothing but the second glove and started shaking her head. “But that is not what we—”

  “Damn it, Francine!” He advanced. “Do not gainsay me on this. I will give you any freedoms you want, but agree to marry me in truth or, upon my word, I shall not allow you to leave.”

  “Ever?”

  “Never.”

  “Hmm.” Making him wait—had he not forced her to do the same, and for an entire week?—she weighed the freedoms he promised with the threat of absolute confinement he hazarded. Wanted to call him on his rapper, point out the blatant contradiction.

  But not now. He’d had a difficult night.

  A difficult week. Mayhap a difficult life.

  And she could ease that for him. Could keep him laughing. Keep the haunting secrets that hunted him so persistently at bay—

  “Um…” She made a prolonged show of consideration, layered heavily with skepticism. Because she’d yet to share her own secret. Still confessed to more than a tiny seed of anxiousness over how he might respond. “This—the whole Felis leo thing.” She swept her hand between them encompassing the entrance hall and the stairs leading up to the bedchamber overhead. “This is your deep secret, correct? You do not have others I need to know about? Anything worse—uh, belay that—more unusual for me to learn of?”

  * * *

  The Den.

  The Curse.

  Family Responsibilities.

  He thought a moment. Chose not to worry her sweet head with his other suspicions…

  Possible connection to horrific murders. Tracking the monster committing said murders.

  Time enough for that. After the wedding. The one she’d yet to agree to.

  “Nay. That all seems more than sufficient to me.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “About the curse?”

  She nodded.

  “Members of our family, Adam. Most of our relatives reside in the northern shires. I cannot but feel it necessary to make a life in London, to—”

  “Your cubs!” she exclaimed, more astute than he would’ve wished. “You living here is about those fellows you befriend, is it not?”

  “Aye,” he sighed. In for a penny, in for a crown. “My grandfather and a couple of uncles were more indiscriminate than wise. Given the infidelities rampant in society, especially after the first two sons are sired, I decided to keep an eye on various coves carousing in and around London. In case any of them show tendencies toward being afflicted.”

  ’Twas also best not to mention the “debauched orgies” she once questioned him about—how every year he planned those toward the middle and end of summer, recruiting jaded women who lik
ed hard liquor and hard loving, hoping to be in close proximity should any of the young bucks display animalistic leanings, knowing the only way to halt them would be immediate sex. In the years he’d looked out for the cubs, none had shown signs of The Change that he was aware of.

  “Where is Nash? Upstairs still?”

  “He has disappeared again. Like someone else I know.”

  “I had an errand to run, one that could not wait. I expected to return before either of you awoke. But, smart lady that I am, I came back.”

  “For which I am most appreciative.” He couldn’t stop himself from hugging her. Didn’t try. “When I woke this morning and you were gone, and I could not remember much of last night—”

  “You cannot remember?” She sounded quite affronted at the notion. “You do not recall my time in your bed?”

  “Very little. The blighted curse, stealing those all-important hours from me.”

  “So you do not recall professing your enduring love? Nor swinging up onto the canopy, swaying from the hangings, imitating a gorilla?”

  “I would never—”

  “Tell me you love me or behave like an arse? I mean ape.”

  “How you make me laugh, and how I love you. When I awakened alone, I feared you might hate me, that you had left for good. Though I was coming after you…” He hugged her tighter. “Well. Quite relieved you saved me that trouble.”

  For that, he received an elbow in his side. “Trouble?”

  He wisely returned to the prior subject. “I never know when I might see or hear from my brother. He battles The Change by running from it, pretending nothing of it exists until he is faced with it every year. He arrived a few days ago, claiming that my internal struggle had heightened his, begging me to…”

  “Be with a woman?” she asked, and he gave an abrupt nod, relieved when all she did was give him an indulgent smile.

  “Impressive restraint.” A gentle nod of thanks, before she was moving on. “As to Nash, when do you expect he will return?”

  “I know not. I never know. Here.” He handed her the note that had fallen to the floor. “Evidently, he paused long enough to leave this. It is addressed to you.”

  Standing within the circle of Erasmus’s arms, her back snug against his chest, she read the missive out loud.

  Dear Francine,

  * * *

  My Brother is a Lucky Bastard Cove to have found You. You’re his Salvation. Not certain My own exists.

  * * *

  My most Sincere Apologies for how I Behaved. Did not mean to Attack you. Know that your Selfless Sacrifice gave me a few hours of Peace. My Humble Gratitude for that.

  * * *

  Be Well. Nash

  * * *

  P.S. I’ll kneel down and ask of thee forgiveness, shall I? I do beseech thee, grant me this…

  “That is very poetical, and a bit odd…the postscript.”

  “’Tis most likely Shakespeare. He butchers it regularly to suit his purposes when his own words should suffice.”

  Her eyes raced over the last line, but she chose not to read it out loud, instead to bask in the suspected meaning behind the cryptic words.

  P.S. 2 ~ Banns, Blake? And before you’ve even professed your Sins and Secrets? For Shame, dear brother.

  “Beautifully written,” she said, folding the note until only her name remained visible. “But unnecessary. Nothing exists to forgive.”

  “I doubt that. Through the murkiness, I seem to recall the jackanapes calling you a bi—”

  When he bit off the word, she asked, “A what?”

  “Ahem. Something I should have pummeled him for.”

  “I think you misremember.”

  “Mayhap he spoke in the African tongue? God knows neither of us were in our right minds. ’Tis the only excuse I have for how crudely we behaved.”

  She smiled to herself. “Mayhap he only called me brilliantly debauched.”

  “If you are, you only have me to thank.”

  “Do not deride yourself.” She leaned back, pressing her entire backside all along his muscular front. “I adore knowing that you tend to lose control around me. Your unbridled actions make me feel alive. Until we met, I kept parts of myself stifled, not allowing myself to feel—or love—because I knew the emotion would not be returned.”

  His chin rested over her head. “It is now. You know that, do you not?” She felt the kiss he gave her next. “A thousand times over.”

  “I do. But as to Nash…” She ran her fingers across the harshly scrawled line of her name and looked over her shoulder at Erasmus. “His pain is apparent.”

  He hugged her again, strengthening the security she always felt in his embrace. “Only until he finds someone like you.”

  She exchanged the note for her reticule, loosening the drawstrings. “I have another proposition for you.”

  He relaxed his arms and turned her to face him. “As long as you are not asking me to vacate the country, I accept.”

  “Without even knowing what it is?” She laughed, relieved, nearly giddy. “You are very brave.”

  “As are you.” The heat in his eyes made it clear he was referring to last night.

  The sharp bite of renewed desire ran through her as she pulled out the bank note she’d obtained that morning, after making arrangements with her solicitor for it to be ready and waiting. “Today is my birthday, you know. Your payment, my lord. Now our original bargain is complete and… What?”

  Erasmus was already shaking his head. “I refuse to accept your money. That was never part of anything.”

  “You paid my aunt’s debt to Peterson. I owe—”

  “Not a shilling of it, Francine.”

  “What about my body? My heart? Does that proposition interest you?”

  “Now that is most definitely worth discussing.” The bank note forgotten, he picked her up, curving one arm beneath her knees and securing the other at her back. “Are we talking the same terms as last time? You fulfill my desires. I fulfill yours?” He began ascending the stairs in a steady, measured pace.

  “Of course, for as long as you want.”

  “Forever?” He hefted her closer. “Because that is the only duration I will accept.”

  “Forever…”

  “Why are you hesitating? Now that you know what I am and I have you in my arms, I shall not be letting you go. Your independence? Are you concerned I might stifle you?”

  “Never. I experience a greater sense of freedom with you than I ever thought to. ’Tis only…” She spread her fingers along his neck and stared over his shoulder.

  “Tell me, woman. What makes you hesitate? Have you not laid all my secrets bare?” When she remained silent, he added, “Most of them, of a certainty,” prompting a reluctant smile.

  One that faded when she murmured, “What about my eyes?”

  Erasmus reached the landing and paused. “What about them?”

  “You know I need spectacles.”

  “No wonder. With all the stitchery you persist on doing with such a frown. Have you any idea how many times I arrived at Rowden House, when the weather was unfavorable, to find you hunched over a task you obviously find unpalatable?”

  His arms strengthened beneath her bent knees and gave a little shake, inviting her to look at him. “When you ply a needle, you frown as though you have just caught sight of your hatless head on a rainy day.”

  He imitated, pinching his forehead and pursing his lips till she laughed. “What a piercing scowl, indeed.”

  “Then why do you do it? Persist in an activity that gives you no joy?”

  “I have done it to hold tight to her memory—Mama’s.”

  “Francy. You know better. Her memory is here.” His arms lifted her until he could place a tender kiss between her breasts. Then shifted his stance, returning her to his chest where he could kiss her temple. “And here. Not to make light of your concerns, but they certainly do not pose a reason sufficient to keep you from me.”

 
He hugged her tight and began walking again.

  “My eyesight. It is waning. Which is why procuring my inheritance and freedom was so vastly important, you see.”

  “I begin to.” His strides slowed.

  “I needed the funds to accommodate myself and a companion, perhaps a small staff, in a cottage. Mayhap by the sea, so I could hear the ocean. Somewhere flat. With rich soil—”

  “For a garden.”

  “Exactly. I needed time to ensure that the space was arranged properly, the soil prepared, with everything dug and marked so I could identify what is planted and where. Plenty of seeds…”

  “You do realize, do you not, that particular dream is not one that only works in isolation.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, do tell. You have a cottage by the sea to tempt me with?”

  “What you envisioned and just described? Mayhap not the ocean out your back door, but the rest of it? Certainly.” And while she started to breathe easier—for had he not confidently dealt with her concerns?—he added, “Is this why, in near darkness, apprehension takes hold?”

  As it did right then at his perception, the arm not wrapped around his neck fidgeting with the empty space near the bridge of her nose—where her spectacles usually resided. “Long-held anxiousness, I confess. Worry over being trapped by a husband without your unique view of things, one who might have… Kept me intentionally locked away.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. My brave, intriguing baggage.”

  “It sounds ridiculously silly now. Especially given the exemplary example of my parents’ most unusual match. But tales of Aunt Prudence’s first marriage and seeing what it did to her?” Restless now, she swung both her feet. “There you have it.”

  “Francine.” He waited until she looked at him again, then continued. “I can see well enough for the both of us and bring the light to where ever you are.”