TOUCH OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

Isabelle leaned forward. “What happened after the ceremony last night?”

“You know… I couldn’t turn into a wolf.” Cassidy hung her head, pleating the edge of the blanket between her fingers. “I went to Braden afterward, to explain. He was upset. He said it comes naturally, that our people don’t have to be taught. I didn’t know how much it mattered… that I could do it.”

Matthias’s cryptic comment came back to Isabelle:

“Becrike, there’ll be fratchin tonight.” “Cassidy, if he was cruel to you—”

“Oh, no. But Isabelle… it’s so important to him. I convinced him that I could learn. He told Quentin to teach me, but—” she bit her lip. “We never started the lessons. Quentin kissed me.”

Isabelle sat up. “Kissed you?”

“We went out riding just before lunch, and when we stopped, Quentin kissed me. Braden must have been following us. He came as a wolf and Changed, and then he sent Quentin away.”

Oh, Lord, Isabelle thought. “And… how did you feel, Cassidy?”

“I felt sorry for Quentin—”

“No. About Quentin’s kiss.”

She flushed and shrugged. “No one ever kissed me before. But—” Her gaze grew unfocused, starry-eyed, sensual in a way Isabelle could not misinterpret. “Braden took me to the woods to teach me himself. And then he kissed me, too.”

A disconcerting picture crystallized in Isabelle’s mind. “How did it happen?” she asked carefully.

” First he told me to undress—”

“He what?”

“To be a part of the earth and the trees and the wind, so I would be ready. Loups-garous have to undress to Change. But I asked him to hold my hand, because when he touched me I feel closest to… what he wants me to be. And when I was beginning to see, when I was almost there… he kissed me.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled dreamily. “I remember a poem: ‘Once he drew with one long kiss my whole soul through…’ ”

Tennyson. Who’d have guessed that a handful of battered books, carefully preserved by a naïve young romantic, could prove so dangerous? She stood up and paced across the room. “Was the earl also undressed?”

“No. But I… wanted Braden to touch me more. I wanted us to be closer. That was when he—” She swallowed. “That was when he left.”

So the earl had some scruples after all. Isabelle had wondered what he intended for Cassidy, yet this was not in character. He had been so formal, so rigid with her. As if she were more a necessary burden than a long-lost cousin—or a woman. Whatever his flaws, Braden Forster had seemed honorable.

Some men concealed their most dangerous passions behind a facade of austerity and coldness. Was that Braden’s game? Cassidy couldn’t possibly know how seductive she was in her very innocence, how irresistible that would be to certain kinds of men.

And Cassidy was lovely in body and spirit. She was available and unprotected save by a lone human woman. She shouldn’t need a chaperon among her own relatives.

What did Isabelle know of the earl of Greyburn’s past, or his proclivities? How was she to guess how a werewolf male behaved, when she had only the openhearted Edith as an example?

Ordinary men were uncivilized enough. Aristocrats could be worst of all. What primitive, uncontrollable impulses might drive a man who was more than half beast? Was it possible that the two brothers were competing for the same girl? And where did Cassidy’s ability to Change fit in?

Answers must be found, and soon. Matthias—perhaps he would know. She turned back to Cassidy. “Were you able to Change?”

“No. But I was so near—”

Isabelle reached for Cassidy’s hands. “Listen to me. I know that what happened felt wonderful to you. Your whole body felt more alive than ever before, and you didn’t want it to stop. But what happened in the woods wasn’t all there is between a man and a woman, Cassidy.”

“I want to understand,” Cassidy said. “You can tell me, Isabelle. You know so much more than I do.”

“Yes,” Isabelle said bitterly. “Let me tell you a story. When I was very young, even younger than you are now, I knew a man. I wanted to be with him as you want to be with Braden. I was poor and he was rich, but that didn’t seem to matter. In England, you see, young, unmarried men and women of good family aren’t supposed to be alone together. It’s a very strict rule. But I didn’t care. I believed he loved me.”

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