Moonglow
Page 16

Daisy’s lips twitched, and she wondered how any person could maintain an ill humor when in Northrup’s presence. “Distressingly? Really, Northrup, I cannot see what could be distressing about a cherub.”
His brows drew in a scowl. “They’re baby angels, for God’s sake.”
As if this explained all. It mattered not. Jesting with Northrup made her feel right. The sensation was like that first true breath she took after removing her corset for the night, yet she felt a qualm of unease. Men were sources of amusement or pain, not comfort.
“The weather is turning,” Northrup said as they glanced about the crowds. Indeed, a thick fog was rolling in, as if cast out of London to haunt the bucolic peace of Highgate. With the fog came a chill that cut to the bone and made one’s insides quiver. “Perhaps they’ve gone inside the tent.”
Once inside the massive garden tent, they separated. Daisy searched the packed crowd for a cherubic-faced youth and his young fiancée, Annika. It was warmer here, the glittering light of two massive crystal chandeliers and the press of bodies heating the air.
Daisy had gone but a few steps when a nasal voice stopped her.
“Why, Jeffery, I do believe it is Mrs. Craigmore.”
“I believe you are correct, dearest. Though I would not have expected to find her here.”
“Here,” the tone of his voice implied, indicating a place of quality.
Grinding her teeth, Daisy turned to face the proper Mr. and Mrs. Bean, once good friends to Craigmore. The older couple lifted their thin brows in unison as if daring her to speak.
“Jane and Jeffery,” she said with a false smile. “How good to see you.”
As expected, Mrs. Bean’s thin mouth wrinkled at Daisy’s irreverent familiarity, and she sniffed as if smelling something foul. “I am surprised that you ventured out so soon.” Her eyes went to Daisy’s deep-green dress, or rather, to the low cut of the bodice and the abundant display of Daisy’s br**sts. “Lovely gown, my dear.”
A hit. Very palpable. Yet predictable. Daisy’s bosom would never be demure. Nor would she try to hide it. To wear an ill-cut gown would be a sin. She smiled again, taking a breath deep enough to make their eyes widen. But her smile felt pained, and her skin as brittle as ice crusted over deep snow. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong anywhere or with anyone. For a moment, the pain of such loneliness made her want to sob. It took effort to parry. “Thank you,” she said airily. “One tries to keep up with fashion, not be a slave to it.”
She paused as she took in Mrs. Bean’s monstrously ugly evening bonnet. “What a wonderful bonnet. That quail looks as though it shall take flight at any moment.” And perhaps be shot down by hunters.
Mrs. Bean’s eyes narrowed. “It is a dove.”
“Oh?” Daisy peered closer. “Yes, it is. My mistake. I’m rather dismal at categorizing fowl. Even when it is right before me.”
Unfortunately, Mrs. Bean was quite comfortable with social blood sport and refused to back down. “I see you arrived with Lord Northrup. Quite a big fish to catch.” The long nostrils on her aquiline nose flared as she let her eyes travel once more over Daisy, inspecting and dismissing in one swoop. “Though I fear the bait might be lacking.”
Northrup’s scent touched Daisy a moment before his warm hand landed on the center of her back. “Ah, now, Mrs. Bean,” he said over Daisy’s shoulder, “surely you can do better than that.” He smiled with teeth. “For example, there are times when a simple ‘bugger off’ works quite well.”
Daisy’s shocked gasp was lost among the Beans’. Northrup didn’t wait for a reply but spun Daisy away from the couple. “That was fun,” he said.
Daisy gaped up at him. “You really don’t care, do you?”
“About those fools? No.”
She laughed despite herself. “Good lord, but their faces.” She pressed a knuckle against her mouth to contain her mirth. “I’ve never seen such outraged shock.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, but his grin faded into something softer. “You look beautiful when you laugh, Daisy. I should like to see you do so more often.” Before she could answer, he leaned in close and his tone became serious. “We have a problem.”
Quickly, he ushered her over to a young man who stood alone at the edge of the tent. Northrup’s assessment of a cherubic appearance had been correct. The man’s eyes widened when they approached him. “I cannot find Annika anywhere,” the youth said without preamble.
“Mr. Randal, I presume?” Daisy asked.
He gave her a quick nod. “Madam.” Randal turned back to Northrup. “Explain this to me again, sir. You believe that the London killer we’ve all been reading about is going after ladies who are wearing Annika’s perfume? How do you know this?” The tips of the lad’s ears turned deep red. Likely he did not want to discuss where he had purchased the perfume.
“He has already attacked Mrs. Craigmore.” Northrup inclined his head toward Daisy. “And two others who have worn the scent. It is imperative that we get her to safety.”
The young man’s frown deepened as he scanned the crowd. “She can’t have gone far. I saw her only moments before you found me.”
The cold air seemed to pluck at Daisy’s spine as she too looked about. “What color is she wearing?”
Randal straightened. “Pink. Pale pink.” His gaze darted between Daisy and Northrup. “Surely there is no harm in Annika wearing the perfume here? Where there are so many people about?”
A soft breeze swam over the lawn to play with Randal’s dark curls. For a moment, he appeared just a boy. Daisy’s unease increased.
“You have no notion as to what this killer will do,” Northrup said. He glanced at Daisy. “Perhaps check the house?”
The crystal chandelier inside the tent tinkled faintly as the breeze shifted toward them and Daisy caught the pungent smell of wolf. She turned to Northrup but his expression had gone blank. His nostrils flared, and the look in his light eyes grew deadly. Without a word, he sprinted toward the shadowed part of the lawn where no one had bothered to tread.
“What the deuce,” exclaimed Randal as Northrup’s lean form disappeared into the dark, and a stifled scream cut the night.
Daisy did not think but simply ran straight toward the sound. She reached the hedge line and halted as she saw the pale length of a pink satin skirt. She blinked at it before a rough shove sent her tumbling as Randal barreled past.
“Annika!” the young man screamed, his face white in the moonlight. He stumbled past the garden border to where she lay and gathered up her limp form. “Annika!”
Behind them, the garden full of people hushed upon hearing the commotion. Daisy’s heart felt hard and cold within her chest, but her gaze moved from the couple to the greenery where a few branches swayed with undue force, as if something had just slipped past them. Northrup was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Fourteen
Northrup was gone. But the girl needed help. Daisy stepped closer and licked her dry lips. “Is she…?”
The girl moaned and her fiancé touched her face with a trembling hand. “Anni,” he whispered. “Dearest, what happened?”
Annika burrowed her face deep into Randal’s coat and trembled. Her words came out muffled and halting. “Thing. Grabbed me. He was on me…” She shuddered violently and shook her head as if she could speak no more.
A sigh of relief left Daisy upon seeing the girl unharmed, and she sank back as a mass of humanity surged forward to see the spectacle. Someone elbowed her roughly, and another pushed her to the side. Angry voices tangled one over the other, rising high in an effort to be heard. Daisy drifted back from the gathering crowd and the heartbreaking sound of Annika sobbing. Daisy clenched her cold arms and wished for Northrup to be here. Only he was chasing after a werewolf. God help him.
Questions rang out in the night air.
“What happened?”
“Did anyone see?”
“The poor girl. I hear someone molested her…”
Jonathan Randal’s cut through the babble. “… Lord Northrup…” Daisy edged farther away, walking backward as more people pushed forward. “… said a killer was after Annika…”
“Northrup?” a man said sharply. “Wasn’t he there when the first attack occurred?”
The crowd grumbled in mass, heads swiveling around to look for Northrup.
Fingers of dread crawled down Daisy’s spine. They’d blame Northrup. And her. She quickened her pace, keeping her eyes on the crowd as a man with an awful walrus mustache surveyed the grounds.
“Don’t see him…” His voice drifted and swelled as more people began to protest and Annika started to sob once more.
“… was with a woman. Blonde, I think…”
“It was Mrs. Craigmore. Horrid woman.” That from Mrs. Bean.
Daisy turned and slipped into the shadows that flanked the house. Keeping her head down, she ignored the way her blood pumped and she walked with steady purpose around the side of Holly Lodge and to the gravel drive where the carriages were kept. They’d find her. Any minute, they’d come for her. And what could she say? No, sirs, it wasn’t Northrup who attacked those people, but a werewolf. She almost laughed.
She did not give the young groom time to question her, but simply took the reins of Northrup’s cabriolet and gave a prayer of thanks that driving a coach was one mannish skill her father taught her how to do well. Cool air slapped at her heated cheeks as the horse pulled away. Her insides were so tight she feared she might be ill. She didn’t even know where to go. The idea of leaving Northrup behind went against every instinct she had, and yet she was alone and vulnerable. She needed to find help.
Moonlight shrouded the country lane in misty blues and wavered in watery patches where it peeked through the towering trees. The skin along her neck prickled and dampened with perspiration. As the cab rounded a bend, she saw the large branch lying across the road. Daisy cursed loudly and pulled up on the reins.
God. God. God. It was a chant that went in time with Daisy’s pounding heart as she jumped down and, with coach lamp in hand, went to see if she could move the tree branch. Her rapid steps crunched along the gravel, the wind moaning just enough to unnerve. Where was Northrup? Had he caught the werewolf? Was he hurt? She took a deep breath and then tried to move the blasted branch. It did not budge. Tears of frustration prickled against her lids, and she blinked rapidly.
Behind her, the horse nickered and tossed its head. She eased over to the animal, but the poor thing was overwrought and pranced, rocking the carriage back and forth as it shied away from Daisy.
“Easy now,” she murmured to little effect. If anything, the horse’s agitation grew. Its harness clamored as the horse reared back and then stamped the ground. Daisy stepped back, not wanting a personal meeting with those slashing hooves.
“Can’t we come to some sort of agreement?” she whispered to the horse when a long, vibrating howl rent the night air. Until that moment, Daisy hadn’t understood the term “bloodcurdling.” She did now and shivered so hard that her teeth rattled. The horse was similarly affected and made a squealing sound, and then bolted. Daisy dove to the side just as the horse and carriage thundered past. Damn if it didn’t bounce right over the tree limb.
Wide-eyed, Daisy watched as the blasted animal and her last hope of salvation faded into the night. Fog swirled about her like a phantom as the trees overhead rustled and sighed.
“Bloody, buggering…” Her words faded as another howl rang out. Daisy’s stomach turned over, and she swallowed convulsively.
She needed shelter. A place to hide. She grabbed the coach lantern, her hand cold yet slick with sweat, and began to run. Before her loomed the high, gothic edifice of Highgate Cemetery’s west gate. Daisy’s fingers almost lost their purchase on the lantern, and she held it tighter. Forlorn and shadowed in the gloom of night, the gate might as well have been the doorway to hell. And she was going into it.
Ian flew past the shrubs and into the woods. Leaves and branches slapped at his face and obscured his vision. The were’s scent, tinged with sickness, hung heavy in the air. And when Ian wove past a copse of trees, he saw the beast, its back humped and its fur molted and indigo in the moonlight. Rage fueled Ian’s speed and made his blood boil. His wolf snapped against his bones, wanting out. Mine. My territory. My prize.
Bloody hell, but the beast was fast. It was nearly out of sight now, using its four legs and greater agility to leap over downed tree trunks and large bushes. A thick trunk lay in the were’s path, and the thing simply smashed it to splinters with a swipe of its claws.
Hell, Ian ought to be running the other way. One lycan against a werewolf was suicide. The intelligent part of his mind was shouting at him to stop and get help like a sensible chap. The other part thought of what it had done to those poor women, and Ian saw red.
The bastard howled long and wild and then picked up speed, doubling back. It was circling around. Toward Daisy. Ian growled. He would tear its throat out. His boots dashed over hard-packed earth, and his senses heightened as they hadn’t in years. This was a chase, not a mundane run. To chase, to hunt, this his wolf understood, craved. His body swelled in size, the wolf pushing to the fore, giving him a burst of strength. It was both a thrill and a warning. Control. Keep control. Get the were. Save the women.
Ice filled his veins because he feared he hadn’t a chance.
Chapter Fifteen