.
walked for a short way as an idea formed. No one else had ever gotten so close to him. Maybe she’d gotten more intimate than even Julia. Of course, Magnus offered Julia marriage, but she’d refused and they had parted, in the physical form at least.
They hadn’t discussed marriage, but with contraception, there was no need these days. At least they had that freedom in their physical relationship. And, God, it was so good with him.
The complexities of life with Magnus needed a lot of mental agility. She swallowed past the ache in her throat, blinking her eyes to finish the tears.
Rain dripped from the branches, oozed through her hood, sneaked in cold rills down the back of her jacket. She ambled on, kicking dead wood out of her path with no real sense of direction. Did it really matter if she met a woman who could be his relative?
A huge sigh broke. It mattered all right. The news rocked her trust, shook up their insulated little world. That was part of the problem.
She must try to get him out of the house more. For twenty-four and a half days each month, he passed as an extremely attractive man. A dozen women checked him out in not so subtle a fashion the day they’d visited Hatfield. A fresh prickle raised gooseflesh. Never having been the jealous sort, the heart-thumping reaction to his news had surprised her as much as she might have shocked Magnus. She’d not permit jealousy to beat her. She’d squash the emotion before it took a hold.
For at least part of each month he could go out, meet people, socialize. They could even go to London. If she could persuade him to take a trip there, he could forget for a time the werewolf days. She would make sure they came back in time for the change.
She sniffed because her tissues sat balled in her hand, a sodden, crumpled mess. The raucous call of crows sweeping over the trees brought her back to the afternoon and where she stood. Wiping her nose on the back of her hand, she turned to head to the house, trying to work out the convoluted path she’d taken to get to this spot in the woods. She couldn’t see the building through the trees. Slowly, she checked for any sign of the roof or chimneys. The gleam of one of the lights from the turrets shone through the pines. Magnus had repaired a large part of the house after the bomb damage in the war. A pity there wasn’t more illumination on that section to show her a path back. Muddy and sodden as she was, she’d aim for the front door so she didn’t trail dirt into the drawing room, or have to take the longer route around the house to the kitchen entrance. She walked toward the light, cradling her hurt like an infant to be soothed. Magnus was hers, and one day they would be together forever.
* * * *
Inside the glazed portico, she paused, flipped off her muddy shoes, and took off her wet jacket. She placed her hand on the house door and it opened at once. She took an involuntary step back, dealing with the staff here didn’t come easy at times, and today the housekeeper seemed almost psychic.
“Miss Sian, what has happened?”
“Nothing dreadful. I got caught in the rain, Mrs. Tyson. I’m a bit wet that’s all.”
“I thought you’d gone out with Mr. Johansson.”
“He’s gone out?” She couldn’t hide the astonishment.
“Yes, miss. Mr. Johansson took the car over two hours ago. I thought you were with him. I thought it a little odd he didn’t say whether you’d be in to dine.”
“Yes,” she said, fighting off the catch in her throat. “It is a bit odd. I’m sure he’ll be back and we’ll…” She could hardly believe he’d gone out in the car. Would he be back this evening? “I’m going to take a hot shower. Would you please bring me a pot of tea upstairs?”
“Of course, miss.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Tyson.” Certain the housekeeper would be aware she’d been crying, she hurried into the main hallway to the stairs. Magnus never left the house. She had to give him reason to go out, or offer the lure of entertainments to persuade him to venture into the world beyond Darnwell. Every time they’d gone anywhere, she’d always found the venue. She thumped up the stairs.
Their room was spotless. The log fire burned steady, livid coals forming from the thick rack of wood. The hearth offered a comforting glow in the late afternoon gloom. Tyson would come up with her tea in a few minutes. The housekeeper would draw the drapes after she put down the tea tray, and then leave. The strangeness of having staff to wait on her, like in some kind of television drama, still struck her. Most days when Cook and Mrs. Tyson were here, there was at least one encounter when she waited for someone to call, “That’s a wrap.”
She glanced around at the sumptuous splendor. Soon, she’d be alone with nothing but the carved wolves at the foot of the bed for company. She sighed, tugging off her muddy jeans and damp socks. Clutching the wet bundle, she went into the bathroom where she stuffed the grubby clothes into a large laundry hamper.
The copper bath beckoned, offering her comfort and warmth. A long soak might make her feel better. She peeled off her shirt as the water ran. A shame he had no perfumed candles in here. At least she could have the lights a nice moody violet. She tipped some Ylang Ylang scented oil into the water.
The bedroom door slammed. Concerned Mrs. Tyson might struggle with a tray, she went through to the bedroom.
Magnus.
She froze, staring into the gray eyes that bored into her.
“Where did you go?” he asked, his voice clipped. His tone sent a shiver through her.
“To the woods. I needed to think.”
“I looked for you.” His voice grated like minced gravel.
“But you didn’t find me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No. You were lost to me.”
She swallowed hard, blinking back a hot teary sting in her eyes.
The tap at the door rang like a gunshot. Magnus snapped around to stare at the housekeeper.
“I’ve brought up the tea for you, Miss Sian. There are two cups. I saw Mr. Johansson park the car.” Mrs. Tyson’s voice faltered as she looked to them both. She placed the tray on the side table by the hearth. “I’ll leave this here, sir. Do call down if there’s anything else you need.” Tyson backed away and whisked out the door.
Magnus reached out. He touched the curls at the side of her face. “Your hair’s wet.”
She shivered. “I know.”
He rested his hand on her arm. “You’re cold, too.”
“Yes, Magnus. I’m wet, cold, and—” God damn it. She couldn’t stop her lips clamping together as she grimaced, fighting tears. A fresh shiver chased the first.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He slid his arm around her and urged her into his embrace. “Forgive me? Please?”
She didn’t put her arms around him but remained motionless.
He held her for a long, bleak time.
“The bath’s running,” she eventually said.
“Go and bathe.” He released her from his embrace. “I’ll pour the tea. We’ll talk when you’re warm.”
Right this second, though she ached for him, she couldn’t make this easy or offer what he wanted—forgiveness.
“Sian, let me help you.” He urged her toward the bathroom.
He’d said those words once before, the first day they made love in the flesh. She’d wilted with the power of his command that day. He’d robbed her of all the will she possessed. Today proved no different. He guided her with his hand on her shoulder. She moved as he wished until they both stood in the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Magnus flipped off the taps before he tested the temperature with his hand. He yanked off his shirt. The rest of his clothes followed, dumped on top of the chair in the corner.
Dazed,