Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

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    Tall, Dark and Wolfish
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Table of Contents Copyright Dedication One Two Three Four - фото 1

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

Thirty-four

Thirty-five

Thirty-six

Thirty-seven

Thirty-eight

Thirty-nine

Forty

Forty-one

Forty-two

Forty-three

Forty-four

Forty-five

Forty-six

Forty-seven

Forty-eight

Forty-nine

Epilogue

About the Author

Copyright © 2010 by Lydia Dare

Cover and internal design © 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc. Cover design by April Martinez

Cover images © fmbackx/iStockphoto.com; mehmet alci/ Shutterstock.com; billnoll/iStockphoto.com; StanRohrer/ iStockphoto.com; Photos.com

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of

Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

FAX: (630) 961-2168

www.sourcebooks.com

To Petrina and the ladies at the Historical Romance Critique

Group on Yahoo!—Thank you for cheering me on, your

wonderful friendship, an endless supply of smileys, and for

catching all those pesky typos.

One

Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh July 1816

If Elspeth Campbell revealed how much she wanted to leave the cold, damp cave, her coven sisters would surely think she was mad. Her plaid slipped from her shoulders, and she fought the shiver that threatened, trying to close her eyes and mind to the chilly Scottish air. She couldn't pull the plaid back into place until the ceremony was over.

They were meeting earlier than scheduled, as Caitrin foresaw trouble on the horizon for the

Còig,

though she hadn't revealed her fears to them yet. Truthfully, Elspeth didn't think Caitrin was certain what threatened them. They all knew the visions were clearest for their seer when the five of them were together.

To her right, Rhiannon tightened her grasp on Elspeth's hand while Sorcha and Blaire closed the space between them, which tightened the ring of four around Caitrin. In the middle of their circle, the seer's eyes were closed, her hands stretched toward the heavens.

Caitrin hummed an ancient melody, passed from one generation of

Còig witches to the next. Then sh

e stopped and all was quiet in the cave—so quiet that Elspeth could only hear the drumming of her own heart and Sorcha's rapid breathing to her left.

"I see a handsome man," Caitrin began softly. Her lilting voice echoed off the dark cavern walls.

"I'd like ta see one of those," Sorcha giggled.

The murderous look Rhiannon shot the youngest witch prevented any further levity from entering their circle.

"He bears the mark of the beast," Caitrin continued as though she'd never been interrupted.

Chills shot down Elspeth's spine, which had nothing to do with the loss of her plaid or the cool air in the cave.

The mark of the beast.

She'd heard those words her entire life.

"He will disrupt us. He will try ta take Elspeth from our circle."

Suddenly Elspeth had three sets of eyes on her. It would have been four, but Caitrin's were still closed as the vision played out in her mind.

"The beast canna be allowed ta break our coven. Disaster will fall if he succeeds." Caitrin's haunting blue eyes opened and she focused them on Elspeth.

Sucking in a surprised breath, Elspeth tried to snatch her hands back from Rhiannon and Sorcha, but their hold tightened. Her heart pounded faster and she felt certain she would faint.

Caitrin stepped forward and touched her fingers to Elspeth's brow. "Do ye ken the man I speak of, El?"

A nervous laugh escaped Elspeth's throat and

she nodded. She had never thought he would actually come for her. After all, he'd abandoned her mother long before she was born. "My father," she whispered.

Though Elspeth had never met her sire, she knew he wore the mark of the beast. So it must be him. Who else would try to take her from her coven?

Caitrin's brow furrowed. "He felt younger than that."

Elspeth shook her head. "I doona ken another man with the mark, Cait."

Finally the seer nodded. "Very well. Ye must be diligent. He canna be allowed ta take ye from us. The future of the

Còig d

epends upon it."

Elspeth nodded. She'd never known Caitrin's visions to be wrong, but in her twenty-one years, her father had never even contacted her. It didn't seem likely he would suddenly show interest in her well-being. "I will be careful."

картинка 2

At the same time in London…

Rain poured over the brim of Lord Benjamin Westfield's beaver hat. He stepped out of the darkness and crossed the threshold of Canis House, the exclusive social club to which he belonged. He handed his drenched greatcoat and ruined hat to the awaiting footman and walked into the warm light of the drawing room.

Ben glanced around at the other members, searching the faces for his older brothers. They weren't there. Thank God! He didn't think he could put on a cheerful face tonight, and they would most certainly see through his dark mood.

"Is the Duke of Blackmoor here this evening?" he asked the footman just to be certain.

The man shook his head. "I have not seen His Grace. However, Lord William was here, my lord."

Ben looked around the room once more. He didn't see Will. If he was quick, he could leave before his brother ever knew he was here. "And Major Forster?"

The footman gestured toward the back of the drawing room. "At his usual table, my lord."

Ben took the first relieved breath he'd had in days, hopeful the major could help him. He thanked the footman and then crossed the room to where his father's oldest friend sat in a dark corner, sipping whisky. "Am I interrupting?"

Major Desmond Forster's dark eyes twinkled as he looked up from his drink. "Ah, Benjamin. It's been an age. Please, please." He gestured toward an empty chair at his table. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Ben swallowed. It wasn't something he could just blurt out. In fact, now that he was here, he didn't know what to say to Forster at all. "I, uh, could use your counsel, sir."

"

My

counsel?" The old man leaned back in his seat and grinned. "I am flattered. I thought you generally sought out Blackmoor."

Usually he did want his brother Simon's advice. But this wasn't something he could discuss with either of his brothers. In fact, keeping Simon and Will from learning his secret was of the utmost importance. Ben took a deep breath and leaned in close over the table. "I'm in trouble, Major."

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