A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing Read online

  Lifting his glass, Alec drained the last of amber liquid inside and then slammed it down on a nearby table. He rotated, spoke hurried words to his clinging wife, and then started across the room. When he spotted Cian’s back to him, he disappeared into the dim hallway toward the lounges.

  Trev turned to Raven’s brother, who was in front of him. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, trying not to clench his jaw. “I have something urgent that requires my attention.”

  Paganne grinned over her champagne glass. “I’m beginning to like you, Trevelyn Sinclair. I wasn’t sure I would.”

  Without replying, Trev started after Alec. From behind him he heard Paganne urge, “Sic him!”

  Trev crossed the ballroom, not giving any pretence of politeness. Several people tried to stop him and offer congratulations, but he brushed them off with words he wasn’t even aware he spoke. He was totally focused on stalking Alec, who was stalking Raven. The whole evening was turning out quite differently than anticipated, and not in keeping with the low-profile entrance into Raven’s life he had intended.

  “I’ve proclaimed myself Raven’s lover, decided to help a Gypsy with blue eyes, and now I’m preparing to punch out Beechcroft. I hope I don’t get arrested. Des would be ever so ticked—and I don’t even want to think about Agnes.”

  Trev slowed his steps as he entered the dim corridor, allowing his eyes to adjust. Toward the other end there were sconces on both sides of the hall, and quaint signs over two doors on either side: Damsels on the left, Knights on the right.

  “Hm, what about wolves?” Trev muttered with a chuckle.

  He pulled up short when he spotted Beechcroft. Alec was pacing from the door of the men’s room to the ladies’ room and back, looking at the floor. The door to the ladies’ room opened, causing Beechcroft’s head to snap up. Raven stepped through, but she froze when she saw her ex standing there, hands in his pockets.

  “So, Alec, lurking around ladies’ rooms is your new fetish?” She tilted her chin in a defiant fashion and moved to step past him. “It’s positively lower class.”

  His left arm shot out and grasped the door frame, blocking her from returning to the ballroom. “Really, Raven, you truly expect me to believe Sinclair is your date?” His voice was edged with a demoralizing, patronizing tone. “A man like him wouldn’t give you the time of day. He can have any woman he wants. What? Did you hope to make me jealous? Tell me, did you pay Sinclair so you’d have an escort for the evening? It’s certainly not for the sex. We both know just how pathetic that area of your life is.”

  Barely hiding her repugnance, Raven shoved at his arm to force him to back off. “You’re drunk.”

  “What’s your hurry? Think lover boy is out there pining for you? Likely Paganne is all over him by now. I always wondered if I chose the wrong sister.”

  “Alec, you really should leave. You weren’t invited. Cian hasn’t booted you because he didn’t want a scene, but—”

  “Screw Cian. Screw you, too. But then Miss Semivirgin doesn’t like to screw, eh?” He locked his arm so she couldn’t budge him. “You love reminding me I’m a nobody, not worthy of a high-and-mighty Montgomerie. I don’t move in the same vaulted circles.”

  Trev’s temper flared, burning hot and dangerous. A peculiar slippage of time folded about him, as if a portal between two worlds had opened, allowing the past to bleed into the present. The weight of chain mail felt heavy upon his body, and his hand flexed around the grip of a sword hilt; he was ready to step before his lady and battle for her honor.

  Trev stalked over and took hold of Beechcroft’s wrist. He only used his index finger and thumb, but he got a good hold. Twisting the man’s arm like a lever, Trev soon had the bastard wincing.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Alec snarled.

  Trev gave a smug grin. “Tut-tut. Such coarse language before a lady.”

  Alec grimaced, attempting to jerk out of his iron grip. “She’s no lady, she’s my—”

  “Wife?” Trev’s brows lifted in mockery. “So drunk you don’t recall your wife’s name is Ellen?”

  “Let go, you bastard. That hurts!” Alec threw an awkward punch, but Trev yanked his arm up higher, controlling him.

  “That’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do, unless you take your drunken arse back to your wife and get the hell out of here.”

  “I’ll have you arrested,” Beechcroft threatened.

  Trev chuckled. “For what? Go ahead—tell the police how I pinched you with my index finger and thumb. I’ll be sure to tell pregnant little Ellen that you were in here claiming Raven was your wife. Should be an interesting evening.”

  Muttering an obscenity, Alec swung out once more with his right hand, but Trev simply spun him full circle and then slammed him up against the wall. Keeping an arm pressed to Alec’s spine, he said lowly against Beechcroft’s ear, “Come near Raven again and I’ll tie you up buck naked and leave you in the middle of Piccadilly Circus with a sign around your neck saying ‘I like rough sex.’”

  Jerking Beechcroft away from the wall, Trev positioned him to face Raven. “Now, apologize to the lady before I show you just how dangerous my pinkie finger is.”

  “You better be sure to get money for this. If you’re playing King Kong in the hope of sex, you’re shit out of luck. She’s a lousy l—”

  Increasing pressure on his arm, Trev growled, “Way…wrong…words. I want only the right three from your sewer mouth, and you bloody well better say them. Now.”

  Beechcroft was still going to refuse, so Trev applied a little more force. “S-s-sorry!” the jerk finally spluttered through a grimace.

  “That’s not three words, but I guess it’ll suffice. Run along now and collect your little wife—then leave.”

  Trev thrust Beechcroft away to stumble back down the hall. He watched to make sure the idiot was actually going, before he turned back to Raven, who was staring at him with unreadable thoughts, her spine pressed up against the bathroom door. Trev wondered if she was shocked or appalled by his actions. What he’d done was nothing compared to what he’d wanted to do to the bastard.

  “Did I scare you?” Moving closer, he reached out to gently cup the side of her face, and then allowed his thumb to stroke over her cheek.

  Those unblinking eyes watched him until she finally whispered, “Yes, you scare me.”

  “I apologize—”

  She gave a faint shake of the head. “Oh, not the roughness. You did little more than humiliate him. Alec deserved to have his feathers ruffled. He’s not a very nice man. It’s you who scares me. Who are you, Trevelyn Sinclair? What do you want with me? I’m not some princess in a fairy tale, and you’re no knight in shining armor. So, what do you want?”

  He leaned closer, intoxicated by her nearness, Raven’s essence filling every pore, every drop of his blood. No woman had ever spun such magic to ensnare him. “You’re right. You’re no princess. You’re Red Riding Hood. And what do I want? I’ve come to huff…” He brushed his lips softly against hers. “And puff…” He pressed another butterfly kiss to her soft mouth. “And blow your house down.”

  This time he leaned into the kiss, taking her mouth and claiming it. A small moan vibrated in her throat. The sound sent his blood to speed through him, vibrating with need; he wanted to grab her, pull her body against his, feel her soft curves pressed to the length of his hard muscles—but if he laid hands on that beautiful body he wouldn’t be able to stop. Placing his left hand flat on the wall beside her head, he stepped closer, but it also prevented him from touching her the way he wanted. He allowed their bodies to brush, felt the heat of her skin, inhaled her light citrusy perfume and the more intoxicating scent of woman underneath. It was simply spellbinding, too much for his senses.

  He broke the kiss and pulled back, forced a slow, deep breath. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous for a Red Riding Hood to be with the Big Bad Wolf in a darkened corridor?”

  “I thought you were the devil,” she replied.
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br />   He exhaled his tension, his sexual frustration, and snatched up her wrist. “Let’s go dance before I do something I regret.”

  It was a moment of kindness that he offered up, but hurt filled her voice. “Regret?” That sadness made him want to bash Beechcroft all over again. And this time, he wouldn’t be so nice.

  “Regret but thoroughly enjoy,” he promised.

  “You’re kind—”

  “Kind, nothing. Don’t let the garbage that man said to you take root and grow. It’s not the truth, you know. Sex with the right person is a beautiful experience. Sex with the wrong person runs the gamut from being boring to being a nightmare. Alec Beechcroft is the wrong person for you.” He glanced down and saw her hands were trembling. “Maybe for everyone.”

  Raven gave him a sad smile. “It’s too late, I fear, to not let his words hurt. Years too late. Alec has a way of going for the throat, and I never learned the skills to protect myself. I think it best I go home. I don’t feel well.”

  “Did you drive here?” Trev asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll drive you back.” She looked too shaky to get behind the wheel.

  Instead of answering, Raven put her hand to her forehead, massaged her temple and watched him, emotions warring in her eyes. That bastard Beechcroft really had made her doubt herself. Worse, Raven was now doubting him.

  “You’re shook up. You don’t need to be driving,” Trev explained. Not giving her a chance to refuse, he said, “I assume you have a wrap? Let me fetch it and then I shall see you home.”

  She nodded weakly. “A velvet wrap and matching purse. Ask Mary in the cloak room.”

  Escorting Raven to the rocking horse, Trev then crossed the hall to the entrance where the large coatroom was. A blonde woman nodded when he asked for Raven’s wrap. She returned shortly, carrying a red velvet cloak and clutch.

  Trev shook his head, accepting it. “Why didn’t I guess?”

  As he returned, he found Raven before the fortuneteller booth, staring at the mechanical Gypsy with an expression of puzzlement and perhaps a little apprehension. That struck Trev as a dichotomy when compared with her pride and insistence that the clockwork doll wasn’t for sale.

  “Want your fortune told?” he asked, handing over the clutch.

  “No!” Belying how loudly she’d replied, she quickly donned a look of indifference. “I had it told earlier. Silly nonsense.”

  “Perhaps you should try again. Your fortune might’ve changed since meeting me.” It hurt to see her so wounded. So vulnerable. Raven Montgomerie need a knight champion to protect her from the ugliness of this world, and Trev wanted to be that—for as long as he could.

  She looked at him as if weighing her decision. “Or perhaps it hasn’t.”

  “That’s supposed to mean…?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “Perchance it’s best not to see the future, especially if we’re powerless to change or shape it.”

  Ignoring her, he reached into his pocket and took out a coin. They both watched the mechanical Gypsy rock side to side, and then her eyes closed. The huge crystal ball shimmered with a bluish fog, causing Trev to ponder how that effect was achieved. A bulb inside the base of the globe could account for the blue tone, but he had no idea how the mist was created.

  Raven’s hand shot out to snatch the card, as if she were afraid for him to see. Giving a playful grin, he beat her to it and held it out of her reach.

  “Tut—my coin, my card,” he joked. His brow quirked when the tarot card was once again The Lovers. Same as he’d drawn before. Only, the fortune on the reverse wasn’t the same. “‘Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing,’” he read aloud.

  Raven paled. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then she said, “I told you my twin brothers stacked the deck. You got that card before.”

  “The same card, but the fortune was different.” Trev was surprised when all further color seemed to drain from her already wan face. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the first card and read it. “‘The lamb often proves stronger than the wolf.’”

  Raven stared at him. Oh boy, she recognized him as a wolf—he could see that thought reflected in her golden-brown eyes. Well, there’d been no disguising that fact, he realized. And when she said nothing, he placed her red velvet cloak about her shoulders.

  Something was causing a lump in the collar. Trying to smooth it down, he gently tugged on the material until it was free and then lifted the obstruction to cover Raven’s head.

  “How about that, Red? You even have a hood.”

  Chapter Eight

  Raven watched the ease with which Trevelyn handled his sleek black roadster. At one with the expensive car, he deftly guided it through the stormy night, almost defying gravity. Shifting gears and spinning the wheel, he easily took the curves down the winding road to Colford Hall. She was used to puttering around in her dilapidated MGB, and now it felt as if she were sailing along in a jet—flying low, as her mum used to call it.

  Looking over at the handsome man who set her pulse to pounding, she thought, All the better to crash and burn. Though in this instance she meant it figuratively.

  The notion might be silly, provoked by the Gypsy’s cards and the references to Trevelyn being a wolf, but there was something intensely feral about this man. Oh, he was a wolf all right. A rogue alpha male on the hunt.

  That’s what terrified her. For some reason he had targeted her, and she hadn’t the first clue why. Alec was a bloody bastard, but he was right about one thing: Trevelyn Sinclair could have any woman he wanted. So why did he want her? Rattled, Raven turned to stare out into the night, only to be haunted by his reflection on the rain-streaked window.

  Women didn’t often run across men like Trevelyn Sinclair; she had never pinpointed the reason, but it seemed that, as the world increased technologically, the more men lost that warrior’s edge. A power, a strength, a force vital radiated from him. Oh, Sinclair was dressed to perfection in a tuxedo, but this man belonged on the deck of a ship, screaming orders to buccaneers over cannon fire, or in mail and armor, a knight barded for battle and astride his mighty destrier. There was a sensual, primeval earthiness about him, and dealing with him was way beyond her abilities. Bloody hell, she couldn’t even cope with Alec. Trevelyn Sinclair would wreak twice as much havoc if she dared let him close. If she was fool enough to…

  Oh, temptation slithered under her skin. She wanted him—which surprised her. Prior to meeting this unusual stranger, she’d always believed her emotions would have to be fully engaged before any man would receive an invitation to her bed. Trevelyn Sinclair was possibly the exception to the rule. Making love with him would be dancing in a bonfire: she wasn’t sure there’d be anything left when the flame had run its course.

  Ill at ease, she pressed a hand to her belly to quiet the butterflies. He made her nervous in ways she didn’t even want to consider.

  Breaking the silence, Trev asked, “You’re quiet. Still upset?” He glanced over at her, staring for several seconds, then turned the radio on low.

  “I seem to be thanking you for one thing or another this evening. First, giving me the way to save face before Alec, then buying the rocking horse, rescuing me from the idiot and now taking me home. You were right—I shouldn’t be driving. It’s raining too hard, the road is too dark and narrow, and concentration would’ve been difficult for me.” And likely she’d have been crying. Showing a modicum of wisdom, she bit that observation back. She was a coward, but that was her secret. She didn’t want pity from this man.

  He took his eyes from the road and allowed them to linger on her. That green stare had a banked sexual heat, but solicitude also flickered there. His salacious look was hard enough on her system, but coupled with concern, it battered down what feeble defenses she could muster.

  “You shouldn’t let that creep Beechcroft push your buttons. He’s not worthy of you and knows it—it’s precisely what has him so ticked off. You give
him power when you react as he wants. Take the power back, Raven. Don’t let him win.”

  “I know. I don’t handle confrontations well anymore. I never did, really, but since the divorce…” She allowed the sentence to trail off, not wishing to bore him, nor caring to rehash the depressing details. Life would be so much simpler if everyone came with delete buttons like computers. “I suppose I’m the misfit of the family. Runt of the litter. I dislike fighting and shrink from competition, which made it hard growing up a twin and one of seven sisters. My sisters are very…hmm…forceful. In a nice way, of course. Not me. I’m happiest when I can ignore life and its problems. I’m too trusting for my own good, wound easily, deeply. I ‘failed to toughen up,’ as they say.” Her words were a warning to this man—and a plea.

  Her eyes shifted to the elegant hand resting lightly on the gearshift. It was a magician’s hand, deft, artful, yet a strong hand you’d expect to see wrapped around the hilt of a claymore. Then she glanced at his much too beautiful face, its strong jaw and luminous all-seeing eyes, and finally the wavy, blue-black hair. Oh, his drop-dead gorgeous looks were enough to fluster her. A woman would have to be comatose not to respond to the carnal aura swirling around Trevelyn. Still, there was something else. He seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t begin to fathom; a sense of déjà vu wrapped around her and made every moment seem a step out of time.

  He gave her a cool smile, unruffled by her long appraisal. Arrogant and uncaring that she knew it, Trevelyn Sinclair was clearly at home in his skin. “What you need is a champion to fight life’s battles for you,” he suggested.

  “The world has a dearth of paladins,” she countered.

  If things appeared too good to be true, they generally were. And Trevelyn Sinclair was way too good to be true. But oh, for a weak moment Raven wanted Trev to be just how he seemed. For once she yearned to live the fairy tale where Prince Charming would ride up and rescue her, ready to slay dragons and ex-husbands alike. Long ago, she’d learnt life was not that simple.