The Bride & the Beast Read online

  Tupper snapped off a smart salute. “You can trust me to put the fear of God into them.”

  The Dragon swung around, his face set in such ruthless lines that even Tupper took a hasty step backward. “It’s not God they have to fear. It’s me.”

  Chapter Ten

  TUPPER CREPT THROUGH the Highland night, his stealthy footsteps guided by the dappled light of the rising moon. As he picked his way over a shelf of loose rocks, taking care not to dislodge a single one, his pulse quickened with exhilaration.

  He’d never cared much for danger, but he thrived on drama, something that had been in short supply in his life until he’d met the Dragon in that gaming hell two years ago. It had been as much boredom with his aimless existence as fear of scandal that had prompted him to put the mouth of that dueling pistol against his temple. Although neither of them had brought up that night since then, he suspected that the Dragon knew he would have never had the courage to pull the trigger.

  Had it not been for his friend’s intervention, he’d either be rotting away in debtors’ prison or drinking himself to death in his elegantly appointed London town house with nothing to look forward to but the occasional romantic entanglement with a bad actress and the legacy of gout and dyspepsia bequeathed to him by his father. The viscount’s one attempt to purchase him a commission in the Royal Navy had ended in disaster when Tupper had gotten seasick on his very first voyage and cast up his accounts all over the braided coat of an admiral who just happened to be one of his father’s oldest friends. Although his seasickness had eventually ebbed, his father’s contempt never had.

  Tupper almost wished his father could see him now—dressed all in black, creeping through a forest thicket without so much as stirring a leaf or snapping a branch. For the first time in his life, he was a man with a mission. As the foliage began to thin, forcing him to dart from tree to tree, he marveled that his footsteps were no longer plodding and clumsy, but fleet and full of purpose.

  As he leapt a narrow ravine, his black cloak rippled behind him, making him feel as if he could take flight. He hoped the Dragon didn’t mind that he’d borrowed the cloak. He felt it added a badly needed note of élan to his disguise.

  Leaving the copse of trees behind, he started across a meadow littered with stones, counting on the rocky ledge at its outskirts to hide him from the village tucked into the glen below. He scanned the thick grasses, seeking a good place to light the smoke pot tucked beneath his arm. Its brilliant flare and billowing smoke would rouse the villagers from their beds, making them believe the Dragon had made another strike against them.

  Therein lay the beauty of their scheme. The denizens of Ballybliss were so superstitious and so plagued by guilt that he had only to plant the seeds of fear in their fertile imaginations to convince them that some terrible supernatural force was at work in their lives. Then, if the milk curdled or the baby howled with colic or the cat coughed up a furball, it was surely the Dragon’s doing.

  Tupper positioned the smoke pot on a fat hummock of grass and drew a tinderbox from his pocket, chuckling beneath his breath. If the villagers were so foolish as to mistake sulfur for brimstone and smoke for dragon’s breath, then they deserved their sleepless nights. He struck a flint against the tinder, then bent to touch its flame to the smoke pot’s fuse.

  “Is that you, Niall? When I woke up, you were gone. Why did you leave me all alone in the forest?”

  As the lilting cadences of the sweetly female voice caressed his ears, Tupper straightened, the flame sputtering to its death. He slowly turned to face the woman who had caught him at his mischief.

  “You’re not Niall!” she exclaimed accusingly, taking a step backward.

  “No, I’m not. If I were, I would have certainly never left you all alone.”

  She faced him in the moonlight, a fey wood sprite with skin as fair as cream and a tumble of dark curls. Her skirt was stained with grass, her hair tousled, her bodice misbuttoned, but her dishabille only made her more appealing. She looked like a wayward child playing at being a woman.

  A woman whose rosebud of a mouth was still swollen from another man’s kiss, he reminded himself.

  She put her hands on her hips, and eyed him boldly. “I’ve never seen you in Ballybliss before, sir. And I know all of the men who live there.”

  Tupper had to clear his throat before replying. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  She looked down with embarrassment at her garments. “I hope you don’t think I always go around looking like this. I just… took a bit of a tumble.”

  Tupper dragged his gaze away from the soft swell of her breasts, his tongue growing more tied by the minute. “I’ve been known to take a bit of a tumble myself on occasion. Once I drank too much port and tumbled right off my horse into the lap of a lady who was riding through the park in her phaeton.”

  “And did this lady think you were falling in love with her? “

  It took Tupper almost a full minute of basking in the warmth of her sparkling brown eyes to realize that this beauty, this Highland rose, was flirting with him. Him. Theodore Tuppingham, the plodding son of a minor viscount.

  “If she did,” he replied, “then she showed it by screaming for a constable and beating me about the head with her parasol.”

  A merry half-smile curved the girl’s lips as she took in his black silk shirt with its full sleeves and fall of lace at the throat and cuffs, his clinging knee breeches, the shiny jack boots that pinched his toes abominably but gave him a dashing air that was well worth any suffering he had to endure, and the elegant folds of his cloak.

  As her gaze traveled back to his face, her smile began to fade. “Why, I know who you are.” Her eyes widened to luminescent pools as she began to back away from him. “You’re the Dragon!”

  Tupper was about to deny it, but the glow of awe in the girl’s eyes stopped him. In his entire life, he had never had a woman look at him like that.

  Before he even knew what he was going to do, he had sucked in his stomach, puffed out his chest, and said, “Aye, lass. I am the Dragon.”

  He wouldn’t have been surprised had she fled the meadow screaming in terror or recoiled with disgust to discover that the Dragon was a balding, slightly paunchy Englishman. But what she did instead was hurl herself into his arms.

  “You!” she shrieked, pummeling his chest with her small fists. “You’re the wretched beast who ate my sister!”

  As one of those fists connected with his newly concave stomach, his chest deflated with a mighty whoosh. Desperate to silence her before she roused the entire village, he dragged her against his chest and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t eat your sister,” he hissed in her ear. “She’s alive and well, and I can prove it. She even told me about you. You must be the youngest—Catriona. But she calls you something else. Um—Katie? Cat? “ As he frantically searched his memory, she dug her sharp little teeth into his palm hard enough to draw blood, and he jerked his hand away.

  “Kitty,” she spat, squirming more like an outraged tiger than her cuddly feline namesake.

  “Kitty! Of course! How could I have forgotten? You’re Kitty and your sisters are Glenda and”—he snapped his fingers—”Nellie! You live in the manor in the village with your father, who’s several cards short of a full hand of whist!”

  Kitty ceased to struggle, but continued to glare up at him. “It’s Glynnis and Nessa. And Papa has never cared for whist, only faro. He cheats atrociously, but Gwennie says we must allow him to win because it makes him laugh.” She clung to his ruffled shirtfront, her eyes clouding as she began to absorb the full import of his words. “Gwennie… ? Could it be? Is she really alive?”

  “She’s alive and well,” Tupper said gently, covering Kitty’s hands with his own. “She’s staying at the castle as my guest and she has beautiful clothes, ample food, and all the books she cares to read.”

  Kitty sagged against him, the silky sweep of her lashes fluttering as if s
he might weep. Tupper feared he might burst into sobs himself if he was forced to watch a tear tumble from those beautiful eyes of hers.

  But she stilled the quivering of her delicate chin and slanted him an oddly sultry look from beneath the fringe of her lashes. “Who would have thought that Gwennie would end up being your mistress instead of your meal.”

  “I can assure you that she hasn’t been either,” Tupper hastily protested, stepping away from her. “I haven’t compromised your sister. Her virtue is as intact as it was the night she was left at the castle.” Remembering the fiery kiss he’d witnessed between Gwendolyn and the Dragon only that morning, Tupper wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to make that claim.

  Kitty sighed and shook her head. “That’s a pity. If ever a lass was in need of a thorough compromising, it’s our Gwennie.”

  Shocked by her frankness, Tupper turned away to hide his blush, cursing his fair complexion.

  “So you’re the Dragon.” She looked him up and down with brazen regard, making him regret that he hadn’t had time to suck in his stomach again. “Is it true that you can change from man to dragon at will? “

  “Only on Tuesdays and the second Sunday of each month.”

  As she drew nearer, he began to back away from her, unnerved by the predatory glint in her eye. “And have you developed a taste for human flesh, as Maisie’s mother says?”

  Tupper jerked his guilty gaze from her mouth to her eyes, having been wondering at that precise moment what her lips might taste like beneath his. “I honestly don’t think I’d fancy it. Underdone roast beef gives me indigestion.” His back came up against a tree, making further retreat impossible.

  She leaned toward him, her little pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “My friend Maisie swears you’re possessed with a fierce hunger to mate with one of the village lasses.”

  He was, but he hadn’t known it until that very moment. His gaze flicked back to her lips, a denial dying in his throat. He’d already done the Dragon’s ferocious reputation enough harm for one night. Perhaps a sacrifice of his own scruples was in order.

  “ Far be it from me to cast aspersions upon your friend or her mother,” he murmured, closing his eyes and leaning down with every intent of stealing a kiss.

  When his lips met only air, he opened his eyes to find Kitty scampering away from him.

  “Where are you going?” he cried out.

  She spun around, looking more like a fairy than a wood sprite beneath the gossamer caress of mist and moonbeams. “I have to tell Glynnis and Nessa that Gwennie is alive and that I’ve met the Dragon! Do you know how jealous they’re going to be? Glynnis is always playing ‘lady of the manor’ because she’s had two husbands and I’ve had none and Nessa is always mocking me because she has all the juiciest tales. Now I’ve one of my own to tell!”

  Envisioning the wrath of the real Dragon when he discovered Tupper’s foolishness, Tupper cast about in desperation for some way to stop her. “Wouldn’t it be better to have a secret than a tale? A secret that can remain just between the two of us? “

  She cocked her head to the side, plainly intrigued by his proposal.

  “Just think of it, Kitty,” he said, moving toward her. “You’re the only one in Ballybliss who knows my true identity. Can’t I coax you into keeping that secret for just a little while longer? Surely the responsibility of guarding such a treasure would lift you in your own esteem, if not your sisters’.”

  She poked at the ground with her toe, a petulant cast to her lips. “Gwennie always said I couldn’t keep a secret. She says I blather too much.”

  Tupper smiled. “A friend once said the same thing about me. But perhaps you’ve just never had one worthy of keeping. Come now, be a good lass and promise not to tell.”

  She slanted him a provocative look. “I might be able to do it. But only if you’ll make me a promise of your own.”

  Tupper swallowed, hoping she wasn’t about to ask him to show her his wings, breathe fire, or deliver Gwendolyn to her doorstep. “Very well.”

  “Meet me,” she boldly demanded. “In this very meadow. Tomorrow night after the moon rises.”

  Tupper slowly nodded, convinced he was getting the sweeter end of this bargain. “Until then, dear lady, you must remember that you hold my fate in your gentle hands.” He brought one of those hands to his lips, a gesture he’d watched the real Dragon use to great effect on any number of women.

  When she responded with a gratifying shiver, he drew off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She tipped her head back, her eyes drifting shut and her lips parting in invitation. Shaking his head ruefully, Tupper leaned down and brushed her brow with a chaste kiss.

  When Kitty opened her eyes, she was alone in the meadow. She gazed up at the moon, utterly bewildered by the Dragon’s desertion. Most of the lads of her acquaintance, including Niall, would have had their hands up her skirt a dozen times over by now, yet this Dragon fellow hadn’t even tried to stick his tongue in her mouth.

  But he had kissed her hand, called her a lady, and wrapped her in his cloak.

  Kitty hugged the warm folds of the garment around her, wondering if she would ever see him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS after Gwendolyn’s miserably botched escape attempt, the Dragon was nowhere to be found. Yet his presence was as inescapable as the muffled roar of the sea.

  Although she would awaken from a dream-tossed sleep and search the shadows only to find herself alone, each day Tupper would deliver some new treasure from the Dragon’s magical and seemingly inexhaustible trove—a gilt hairbrush and comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a first edition of René de Reaumur’s History of the Insects bound in calfskin, a round wooden tub filled with scented bathwater.

  The village, her sisters, even her beloved papa were all beginning to pale in the Dragon’s shadow, like ghosts from another lifetime. It was as if she had existed not for days, but for centuries as his pampered thrall.

  Her only company consisted of Tupper and Toby, and neither of them was very forthcoming about her mysterious captor. Tupper entertained her with stories about his spirited great-aunt Taffy and entertained himself by coaxing her to reveal some of Nessa’s tamer amorous adventures and Glynnis’s schemes to catch a new husband. He grew especially attentive whenever Kitty’s name was mentioned, although he always seemed to stammer some excuse to leave whenever Gwendolyn brought up Niall, the freckled rogue who had stolen her sister’s innocence. Toby simply rolled himself into a massive ball of fur at the foot of her bed and napped the long hours away.

  Gwendolyn envied him his indolence. She found herself restlessly pacing the chamber for hours on end. Although Tupper continued to bring her delicious meals prepared from the finest offerings the village could provide, more often than not she found herself without an appetite, pushing the food from one side of her plate to the other.

  One morning Tupper shoved his way through the panel door, staggering beneath the weight of a tall, sheet-wrapped burden. Gwendolyn jumped out of the bed, unable to disguise her childlike anticipation, an anticipation she hadn’t felt since the Christmas morning before her mother had died. All that was visible of this new treasure was a pair of gilded feet that looked like the talons of a dragon curved around twin balls of gold. Tupper rested it next to the table with a grunt of relief, then fished a folded piece of stationery from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Gwendolyn.

  While Tupper mopped the sweat from his brow, she slid her fingernail beneath the drop of bloodred wax sealing the stationery. A single sentence was scrawled across the creamy vellum: I wish only that you might see yourself as I do.

  “Shall I?” Tupper beamed as he prepared to whisk away the sheet.

  “No!” Gwendolyn cried, suddenly guessing what lay beneath it.

  Although Tupper appeared baffled by her refusal to unveil the Dragon’s gift, he was tactful enough to make no further mention of it. Late that evening, long after
he had delivered her supper and gone, Gwendolyn tossed down her book, disgusted with herself for rereading the same paragraph for the eighth time. It was impossible to concentrate when her thoughts kept wandering back to the Dragon’s last visit and her gaze kept being drawn to his latest gift.

  She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t read. If it hadn’t been so absurd, she’d have thought she was suffering from lovesickness. Heaven knows she’d seen the signs of it often enough in Nessa: the fitful mooning, the listless appetite, the desolate sighs.

  But how could she be falling in love with a man whose face she’d never seen? A man who was nothing to her but a smoky voice, a seductive touch, a ravishing kiss?

  She brushed a finger against her lips, plagued by an old fear. Perhaps she was as vulnerable to the temptations of the flesh as Nessa was. She’d always fancied herself immune to such enticements, yet it had taken no more than one kiss from the Dragon’s lips to melt her will and make her yearn for his touch.

  She shifted her gaze from the Dragon’s gift to the plate she’d left abandoned on the table, feeling the familiar urge to down what was left of her supper in a single swallow.

  Instead, Gwendolyn slowly rose from the bed and approached the Dragon’s shrouded offering. Before she could lose her courage, she reached up and snatched away the sheet.

  A full-length mirror of pure hammered silver stood before her, cradled in a frame of ornately carved mahogany. Gwendolyn might have paused to admire its beauty had she not been captivated by the woman reflected in its polished sheen. Candlelight glinted off the golden tumble of her hair. A dressing gown of pure Oriental silk draped her lavish curves. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes luminous, her lips moist and parted. She didn’t look like the plump, square-jawed sister of three legendary beauties. She didn’t look like the captive of a ruthless madman. She looked like a woman waiting for her lover.