Chapter Two
Darkbrook
Desmond had almost forgotten about the impending arrival as the day turned to night and he retired to his study. As he poured himself a brandy and poked at the fireplace absently, he idly wondered if Isaac had not simply brought the threat of a bride to him as a warning.
I fail to understand how Father could possibly know what happens at Darkbrook while he remains across the pond. Isaac must be writing him about this silly innuendo which surrounds the estate. That blasted man and his meddling. What good could possibly come from him telling Father about me?
Regardless of the reasoning, Desmond knew he had little choice but to obey the words of caution. He was not the alpha wolf yet but when his father passed the torch, it would be Desmond who accepted the flame. He knew that scrutiny of any kind surrounding him would only cause discord among the pack.
It had taken Desmond every manner of cajoling and promise to permit George Waters to grant him the freedom to leave England at all.
“You are not ready,” George insisted. “You are far too young, too impulsive. You think with your temper and act out irrationally. It is bad for the pack and bad for you.”
“You cannot shelter me forever, Father,” Desmond had complained. “How will I ever learn how to be a leader if I am constantly in your shadow?”
He had seen then that the argument held some grit with George so Desmond continued his well-rehearsed speech.
“And how are we to spread our power if not across the earth? We haven’t a pack in the Americas. Allow me to lay the ground.”
It had taken years of pleading but in the end, George had relented, possibly because he grew tiresome of Desmond’s endless broach of the subject. Desmond had merely wished to slip away from the unyielding eyes which seemed to follow him throughout the castle. It had not occurred to him that George would insist on sending Isaac along to monitor his every move.
For five decades, Desmond had remained in the remote area of northern New York, selling himself as a businessman to the locals but he knew that his lack of aging and reclusive behavior had caused whispers among the people.
Coupled with the disappearances on my land, I see why there may be cause for concern.
He could quite nearly hear his father’s voice warning him about his impulsiveness and emotional responses.
But to marry him to a mortal? That seemed a strange decision for George to make, even if Desmond did understand the reasoning. They could not procreate. If the newcomer did not possess Lycan blood, there would be no heir to the name.
Father certainly must want an heir. He could not have arranged such a union.
By the time darkness had completely enshrouded Darkbrook, Desmond had convinced himself there was no cause for concern whatsoever.
No, he decided, taking a long sip of his beverage. It was merely meant as a threat. There is no bride arriving. I will note this and behave accordingly going forward.
With renewed confidence, he sat at his desk and opened a ledger, blotting a quill in ink before turning to his books. No sooner had he begun to write did a knock come at the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Bridget, Mr. Waters.”
He frowned and sat back. She was the sole indoor servant and she only remained as such due to her nearly invisible way.
“Enter.”
The maidservant hurried inside, a platter of food in her hands. She sat it down on the small table near the settee and stepped back.
“Your supper, Mr. Waters.”
He nodded, examining her face closely. She seemed ill at ease, possibly more so than usual, and Desmond found himself watching her with alarming interest.
Could Bridget be a spy for my father also?
It was not something he had considered before but given the conversation with Isaac the previous night, he could not help but be suspicious of her suddenly.
Or perhaps I am merely becoming a grand paranoiac.
“Is something amiss, Bridget?” he asked casually, not wanting to appear pushy. “You seem quite off-put this evening.”
She looked up sharply and shook her head.
“No, Mr. Waters. I…”
He waited expectantly but she said nothing, perhaps considering her next words.
“You what, Bridget?”
“I was merely wondering if I should turn down a bed for your bride or if she will be sharing yours this evening.”
Desmond’s back stiffened. He was not sure which bothered him more—the idea that Bridget knew about the arrival of this woman or that she implied he would take her to his bed without the benefit of marriage.
“What do you know about a bride?” he demanded. Bridget’s face paled and she looked nervously away.
“I know nothing but that she is to be expected today. Is that still so?”
“She is not here, is she?” Desmond growled. “Have you spoken with Isaac on the matter?”
“Yes, Mr. Waters. He was the one who had me prepare her quarters. He has apparently taken the coach and six to New York City to collect her.”
“And you did not think to question me on this matter earlier?” Desmond demanded
“I…” Bridget did not seem to have a proper answer and she shook her head miserably. “I did not.”
“Why would you assume that an unmarried woman would remain in this house, let alone in my bed?” he continued, his infamous temper flaring. “That is quite a scandalous assumption, is it not? Have you ever known me to bring an unwed woman into my bed or have an unescorted lady spend the night?”
He knew his anger was not with Bridget but with his father and Isaac, but she was closest and his ire required an outlet.
“Where else would she sleep?” Bridget protested before she could consider her words.
“How is this my issue?” Desmond roared. “It was not my choice to bring her here!”
Bridget stood still, her face registering a near-panic, but before he could spew forth any more of his consternation, the sound of approaching hooves attracted his attention.
“They have arrived!” Bridget gasped and Desmond scowled at her as he rose from his chair to peer from the window. Indeed, a coach and six had drawn up to the moonlit yard, the horses snorting with exhaustion as they stopped.
“Well?” Desmond snapped at her. “Tend to them. Or am I to make those arrangements too?”
Bridget hurried gratefully out of the study but Desmond did not follow, his eyes trained on the carriage. He did not wish to be caught by more surprise when he first saw the wench whom he was meant to wed.
Father likely found the plainest peasant he could, Desmond thought with increasing bitterness. Why does he punish me so? I am his only son, after all. Why would he send me a mortal with whom I cannot breed?
It was becoming more and more clear that he was still a puppet at his father’s hand, despite the distance between them, and anger washed through him in wave after wave.
From his spot in the sanctuary of the study, he watched as the coachman opened the door and Isaac emerged, straightening his coat handsomely. He turned to extend his hand toward the second passenger and Desmond watched with a scowl as the dirty hem of a dress appeared.
She could not be bothered to make herself presentable. What if I turn her away? What will Father say then?
He imagined the aftermath of such an action but as the woman’s body descended the steps, his breath was momentarily caught. She was far lovelier than he had anticipated, despite the fatigue etched upon her face.
He could not quite make out the color of her eyes but her pale complexion shone against the moon’s beams and off the silvery glints of blonde in her hair. Desmond gauged her at possibly two and twenty and of modest means but he could not take his eyes from her face.
So, she is comely. I expect she is simple, he thought, but somehow, he could not stop his heart from beating quickly as he continued to stare from the window.
Suddenly, as though she felt his eyes upon her, her head turned and she met his gaze through the night. It was then he realized her eyes were a deep chocolate, seemingly without pupils.
Her rosebud mouth parted in surprise and it took Desmond several seconds to pull his eyes away.
Attraction means nothing, he thought angrily. There are many attractive women in the brothels in town also. That does not mean they make for good wives.
He forced his legs to move from the study and he made his way toward the front of the house where Bridget struggled to bring forth a single trunk.
“Is that all she has?” he barked and the maid nodded. He took it from her and waved her away.
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose she expects me to outfit her entirely,” he grumbled, but as he said it, he imagined what his bride-to-be would look like in lace and silk.
I imagine her in sapphires. I wager they would make her skin glow like pearls.
“Desmond, do not dawdle behind the door,” Isaac said crossly. “Do come and meet your bride.”
He inhaled sharply at the word but again managed to move his stiffened legs, striding toward the duo. He resented being spoken to as a child.
One of these days, Isaac and I will sit down and have a deep conversation about the way he speaks to me. I am the master of Darkbrook and he would do well to remember it.
Jefferson, the stable boy, tended to the tired horses but Desmond noted how he looked at the newcomer appreciatively.
I am not alone in my assessment of her beauty… but that is an irrelevant fact.
“Desmond Waters, may I present Miss Isadora Childs, your betrothed.”
She curtsied formally and nodded, her voice husky and low.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Waters.”
She shuffled forward, her hand extended, and Desmond eyed her pale fingers warily. He was oddly worried that if he touched her, he might forever become entranced.
What nonsense are you thinking? he growled to himself, but he did not touch her hand.
“She cannot stay here tonight,” he said instead, ignoring Isadora, who seemed too close to resist. “You are so concerned with the appearance of propriety and yet you bring an unwed woman here without a chaperone?”
“I am her chaperone,” Isaac replied shortly. “And you will be married on the morrow.”
The words apparently shocked Isadora as much as they did Desmond.
“On the morrow?” they demanded in unison before casting one another a strange glance and turning their attention back to Isaac. He had not expected such a short amount of time to know his bride.
“The fact remains that she is unmarried tonight,” Desmond replied, recovering quickly from yet another surprise. Isaac smiled thinly.
“You must learn to choose your battles, Desmond,” he said in a voice which seemed quite close to snapping.
“And you should be consistent or else I fear you come across as hypocritical, Isaac,” Desmond retorted.
“What would you propose we do, Desmond?” he asked icily. “The hour is late and Miss Childs has traveled for weeks to be here.”
It was yet another shock.
Weeks? Where does she hail from? What is the meaning of all this?
He decided not to ask the questions which burned at his lips but in his heart, Desmond vowed to get the answers he desperately craved on the matter. He maintained his annoyance and avoided her eyes.
“I daresay that is something you should have considered before bringing her here. Take her to the towns if need be and find her an inn.”
“At this hour?” Isaac snorted and Desmond could see he was not to relent. “Out of the question.”
“I will sleep in the barn.” Isadora’s suggestion caused both men to gape at her and a stab of guilt pierced through Desmond as he recognized the look of resignation on her face.
“You will do no such thing,” Isaac retorted when Desmond did not protest with speed, the ire in his tone clear. “If Desmond is suddenly so consumed with the appearance of propriety, he may sleep in the barn.”
The men glowered at one another and Desmond felt his body tingle.
You must not shift. This is a test from Father and you are apt to fail on the first night and if you shift before her, you will be forced to kill her.
Isadora Childs was far too lovely to be killed.
“I do not mind,” Isadora insisted. “I would not like our nuptials to begin on such a sour note, Mr. Waters. Please, permit me to make this small sacrifice.”
She turned to Bridget, who had returned outside and stood by, awaiting instructions.
“Madam, will you show me to the barn? I fear I am weary and I would like to be well rested for the minister.”
Bridget looked helplessly at Desmond, whose face flushed scarlet under Isaac’s penetrating gaze.
“Mr. Waters?” the maid whispered. “Shall I?”
Desmond closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, willing his body to be calm. When he opened his lids again, he saw that all watched him for a response.
“Prepare the loft in the barn at once,” he said grimly and Isaac shook his head in shame, but before Bridget could turn away, Desmond continued his thought.
“I will be staying there tonight. Turn down the bed in Miss Childs’ chambers and ensure the fire is lit on the hearth.”
He spun but not before he caught the look of admiring surprise in Isadora’s eyes.
She should not look so grateful, he thought as he stormed into the house to retrieve his belongings for the night ahead. I did not do it for her but to save face.
Yet as he thought it, he wondered whom he needed to save face for if not Isadora Childs.