The Fall of the Wolf Ch. 03

Castle Argyle, Eastern Aglaia

Rafe Sinclair, the eighth Duke of Argyle, and known to all as the Wolf of the East, sat watching the festivities in his castle with a brooding frown. He had many causes to celebrate. His lands were prosperous and well defended. He was wealthy beyond imagining. He was devilishly handsome. It was time for the annual boar hunt, which was one of his favorite events of the year. And what should have pleased him the most, he had proposed marriage to the Lady Gwendolyn, and she had accepted his suit. The banquet to celebrate the next day's hunt and the couple's betrothal was in full swing. Nonetheless, Rafe sipped his wine morosely as he cast frequent glances around the hall. He could not overcome his roiling discontent.

He knew the source of his unhappiness. He did not really want to wed, because he had not found a woman he could love. Rafe knew that his dream of finding love was unusual among men. It was usually members of the opposite gender who strove for that ideal. However, he didn't care if his quest for love was unusual. Since he was a young man, Rafe had been looking for his one true mate without success. He had been determined not to marry until he found her.

Thus, Rafe had resisted marriage for as long as he possibly could. While he searched for the ultimate woman, he enjoyed his freedom, and he certainly enjoyed the many ladies who had shared his bed along the way. However, not one of them had ever stirred any deep emotion or held his interest for very long.

Women found Rafe irresistible, and he rarely had any difficulty coaxing them into his arms. His hair was black and close cropped. His eyes were vibrant green and deep set beneath black winged brows. His nose, mouth and cheekbones bore the sculpted lines of nobility. His body was that of a seasoned soldier, solid and strong. His various scars and battle wounds only added to his masculine appeal. He had broken many a heart with his wickedly handsome looks, but he was neither cruel nor uncaring to members of the fairer sex.

In recent years, Rafe had grown increasingly bored with the monotony and pointlessness of his various liaisons. He sometimes enjoyed the challenge of seducing a beautiful woman, but once the conquest had been completed, he felt more hollow and disappointed than before. He never liked to tarry. He preferred to move on before the woman began to make increasingly cloying demands for his affection. Their tearful declarations and pleas for his love left him weary and wary. He knew he could not offer what they wanted. No woman had ever stirred him to feel anything other than lust, and even that was felt only briefly. The last thing he wanted was to be tied to one woman for life if he did not love her.

With a self-effacing snort, Rafe wondered why he even cared about love. No other men of his acquaintance cared about such sentimental nonsense. Rafe wasn't even sure what love was supposed to feel like, other than the descriptions found in romantic fairy tales, songs and poetry. It was probably just a myth, a useless and elusive ideal that could never truly be found. He really didn't understand why the idea of a loving marriage was so appealing to him, but it was nonetheless.

Perhaps it was because Rafe had never really experienced love in his own life. He had never even witnessed love between a man and woman before. His parents had certainly not loved each other. His father had viewed his mother as little more than a broodmare. Her sole purpose was to provide him with sons. Unfortunately, giving birth to Rafe had been so difficult it had left his mother unable to conceive again. Her husband showed no further interest in her after that. Her husband's indifference had been fine with Rafe's mother. She did not love him either, and she wanted nothing from him other than the status and luxurious lifestyle that his wealth and title could provide for her.

His parents had not loved Rafe any more than they had loved one another. He was simply the heir to a dukedom, nothing more, nothing less. He was raised by nannies and tutors, and the only warmth that had ever been shown to him was by servants. He had been shuffled from one boarding school to the next, never having any real connections to anyone. He only saw his parents once or twice a year, when school was closed during the various holidays. Homecomings had never been pleasant. He had always been made to feel like he was intruding on his parents' valuable time. When his parents died, Rafe had found it impossible to mourn for them. Neither of them had ever shown him the slightest kindness or affection, and he couldn't even recall what they looked like.

The lords and ladies of his acquaintance never exhibited love either. Their marriages were all arranged, devoid of any feeling or caring, designed merely to maintain the purity of bloodlines and protect fortunes. Rafe drained his goblet and signaled a footman to refill it as he grimly realized that when he did wed, his own marriage to Lady Gwen was destined to be exactly the same.

He didn't know why he cared. Perhaps it was precisely because of the way he had been raised that he craved a loving relationship with a woman. Perhaps it was because he had heard stories of the loving relationships between the royals of Aglaia, and those stories had inspired him to want something more for himself. Although recently, even his ideals about the royals had been shattered. He had learned only weeks before that the queen had become betrothed to the Duke of Livius, Rafe's most hated and bitter enemy. Surely the queen could not love that loathsome bastard! If she did, something was seriously wrong with her, as far as Rafe was concerned.

Rafe would have gladly sought the queen's hand himself. He had seen portraits of her, and she was lovely. Her likeness stirred him in a way that no other woman ever had. Of course she was beautiful, but her face was an intriguing combination of innocence and worldly wisdom. She was enchanting. Wanting to see whether she was equally charming in person, he had petitioned her for a meeting, but the queen had refused him. His overtures had been firmly rebuffed, and with her rejection, he had finally given up on his dream of finding a woman he could love.

Rafe gave a disgusted snort as he sipped his ale. It really didn't matter. After years of looking, he had accepted that he was not going to find a woman he could truly love. Therefore, he had decided to settle for a marriage like all the others, and in less than a month, he would wed the Lady Gwen.

At twenty eight years of age, Rafe had reluctantly accepted that it was time to choose a wife and sire heirs. He could have his pick of any eligible lady he wanted, and he had decided on Lady Gwendolyn. Since he could not have love, Rafe had chosen a woman who would not expect too much from him. Lady Gwen was beautiful, demure, graceful and socially adept. However, she was also aloof. She had greeted his courtship with little more enthusiasm than she showed for selecting a hat, and it was clear that once he took her to wife, their marriage would be one of convenience. Since that was exactly what he was willing to provide her, they seemed perfectly suited. At least, he would not have to worry about breaking her heart.

Lady Gwen had accepted his invitation to attend the annual hunt ball and to stay for a few days at Castle Argyle. When he had proposed, she had accepted as if by rote. Not even a spark of excitement or a contented smile had altered her face. She was like a beautiful but lifeless doll, and Rafe had begun to wonder whether she had any emotions at all. Her aloof manner should have alarmed him, but it stirred only mild curiosity, because he honestly didn't feel any emotions toward her either. He wished that the anticipation of his nuptials would stir some feeling other than boredom and a sense of dread. He wasn't the least bit impatient for the wedding or the wedding night, and that made him uneasy. In fact, he began to worry whether his body would respond to his bride at all. It certainly hadn't so far.

Lady Gwen was seated beside him at the table, and Rafe let his eyes slide down her figure, appreciating her beauty in a detached sort of way. Try as he would to muster some lust at the sight of her, his body remained unaffected. He hoped that she would please him in his bed, at least temporarily. If she showed as little enthusiasm for her wifely duties as she did for everything else, it might be a chore to bed her, he thought grimly. However, he reminded himself that pleasure was not his primary motivation for taking her to wife. We wanted her to provide him with heirs, and then to retire to his country estate while he continued on as before. He didn't care what his wife did after she gave him a few sons, as long as she was discreet and made no further demands on him. He fully intended to look elsewhere for his own pleasure.

He did intend to be a good parent though. He would shower his children with all the love and affection that he had been denied. If Lady Gwen wanted to help raise the children, he would welcome her involvement. However, he intended to take an active role regardless of her interest or lack thereof. No child of his was going to be shipped off to some boarding school at every opportunity.

If Lady Gwen was aware of his attention or his thoughts, she gave no indication. She sat serenely beside him, placidly sipping her wine with nary a nervous twitch. If she had any maidenly qualms about a loveless marriage, she didn't show it. That was precisely why he had chosen her. In his mind, it was far better to have a wife who didn't care than to have a wife who loved him when he could not return her love. He did not want to break a woman's heart, most especially over the course of a lifetime.

Rafe grimaced as his gaze drifted lazily over the crowded hall. He was not looking forward to sealing his vows. Thoughts of his eventual wedding night made him inwardly cringe with dread. Bedding an untried virgin had never been appealing to him. Their heads were invariably full of girlish nonsense, and he found their inane prattling to be irritating in the extreme. Not to mention that once bedded, they would certainly expect marriage. Not wanting to be shackled to one of those mindless simpletons, Rafe had purposely avoided innocent maidens for that very reason. However, having a virgin for his wife was an exception. He accepted that deflowering his bride would be a necessary task that he had to perform before he could get on with the business of producing an heir. His frown deepened as he realized that he was becoming more like his father every day, and the thought did not please him in the least.

The celebration was gradually turning into a night of dissolution and debauchery. By tradition, the annual hunt ball was a masked affair. Lords and ladies donned masks that shielded much of their faces, and the anonymity that provided led to all manner of carnal excesses. Most of the women in attendance wore revealing gowns that showed indecent amounts of flesh, and the men were only too happy to take advantage of the situation. As his guests became increasingly intoxicated, the sexual overtures became more overt. Men and women kissed and caressed each other openly, while their nearby spouses carried on similarly with others. Rafe expected the ball would soon degenerate into an all-out orgy, as it had in years past. The sight of so much licentious behavior made him squirm restlessly in his chair.

During the three months he had courted Lady Gwen, Rafe had not taken any other lovers. He had hoped that a period of celibacy might lead to deeper feelings for Lady Gwen. Instead, he had been mildly surprised that his self imposed constraint had been a relief. For a brief period of time, he had not been focused on the disappointments of past relationships. Once again, he studied Lady Gwen, and he allowed himself to fantasize about their wedding night and their relationship afterward. Would his bride be open to satisfying some of his more unorthodox desires once they had dealt with her maidenhead, or could he only expect her to remain docile beneath him each time he came to her bed? Try as he might, he could not envision Lady Gwen responding with passion, and he couldn't summon the least bit of enthusiasm from his fantasies.

Rafe sincerely hoped that he would be able to feel some desire for his chosen bride before the wedding night. He had never gone this long without feminine companionship, but surprisingly, his abstinence was not serving to increase his passions as he had hoped it would. Still, he was determined to stay celibate until the wedding, and he hoped it would have the desired effect.

He cast another glance at Lady Gwen. She sat serenely beside him, pretending not to notice the many sins taking place in front of her eyes. She startled slightly when his low voice rumbled near her ear.

"Perhaps it is time for you to retire, my dear. We must rise early for the hunt tomorrow."

Without a trace of emotion, Lady Gwendolyn gave a stiff nod. "Of course, your Grace."

They both rose, and she curtsied as he bowed over her hand. As Rafe briefly kissed the backs of her fingers, he noticed how cold and stiff her flesh was beneath his lips. Lady Gwen straightened and gave another regal nod, not quite meeting his eye.

"Until tomorrow, your Grace."

He watched as she glided out of the hall, her head held high and her eyes trained straight ahead of her. She reminded him of an ice queen. He wondered whether she would thaw once she was in his bed. He shrugged off the wayward thought. It didn't matter in the least. His course was set, and he meant to see it through.

Rafe rose and crossed to the doorway, watching Lady Gwen ascend the stairs. He could not fault her grace or her form. Yet, the sight of her left him feeling cold and detached. He sighed heavily. Perhaps he was the one encased in ice. Perhaps he was just too jaded to feel a sincere connection to any woman. He turned to find a footman to refill his goblet and he froze.

His gaze landed on a woman he had not noticed earlier. She was standing across the room, and she was looking directly at him. He could not see her features, but with her lush figure and dramatic coloring, she instantly captured his keen interest. She was wearing a jeweled mask of silver filigreed lace that covered the top portion of her face. He could make out long sooty lashes around large expressive eyes, but most of her features were hidden by the mask. What he could see was tantalizing. Her jaw line was delicate and fine, but it was her mouth that drew and held his attention. Her red lips were full and luscious, inspiring all manner of erotic fantasies. As if she understood his fascination, her small pink tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, and then she flashed him a beguiling smile. Rafe stifled a groan. So much for being encased in ice! He felt as if his blood was suddenly on fire!

This mysterious seductress was standing on the far edge of the room, but he could feel the sexual tension arching between them like a bolt of lightning. Rafe eagerly scanned her figure, taking in her statuesque height, her gently rounded hips, her tiny waist and her full breasts all encased in tightly fitted green velvet. Her curves were generous but slender, and his hands literally itched at the thought of caressing them. The swells of her bosom were displayed to mouth watering perfection by the daring neckline of her gown. The upper curves looked like the most tempting fruit. Her skin was lustrous in the dim candlelight, and it contrasted dramatically with her ebony hair, red lips, and emerald gown. While her gown was designed in the latest fashion as was no more daring than many others he had seen at the ball, the sumptuousness of her curves made the garment seem positively indecent. Her breasts had been pressed upward by her corset, and they appeared as if they might overflow the bodice at any moment. The thought made his breath hitch.

Before Rafe was even aware of his actions, he had begun walking toward her. His eyes never left her as he threaded his way across the crowded room, sidestepping couples engaged in all manner of amorous activities. She did not move, clearly waiting until he reached her. He stopped with barely a foot between them and smiled down at her. Although she was tall for a woman, he still towered over her, and she had to tilt her head well back to meet his eyes. Up close, Rafe could make out that her eyes were a most unusual color, as clear and warm as fine sherry in a glass, and they sparkled with humor from behind the mask.

"Good evening, your Grace," she murmured. She sank into a deep and graceful curtsy, allowing him an even more dazzling view of her flawless bosom. "I was beginning to wonder whether you would ever notice me."

Her voice was husky, and a shiver of awareness tingled down his spine. The velvety tenor of her voice brought to mind all sorts of deliciously naughty ideas. The combination of her voice, her smile, and the intoxicating scent of her perfume sent his senses reeling. It was not the smell of some heavy cologne, but rather the scent of clean, fresh woman and just a hint of some exotic flower. He couldn't remember ever feeling an attraction this immediate and all encompassing before. With a single glance, she had managed to fascinate him completely.

Rafe bowed in response, and as he reached for her hand, his eyes strayed once again to her charmingly displayed bosom, delving into the shadowed valley between the ripe swells. Rafe felt the blood pounding into his loins. Only moments before, he had been puzzled by his lack of desire for Lady Gwen. Yet suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to make love to this woman. All manner of indecent fantasies began to flow through his mind. She stood still while he visually devoured her, and he wondered whether she knew that he was not only mentally undressing her but debauching her most thoroughly in his mind.

"How could I not notice such a beautiful and alluring woman?" he purred. "You are a most singular blossom, my lady."

She gave a low laugh of pleasure and nodded at the compliment. "Thank you, your Grace. Please accept my congratulations on your betrothal."

While the reminder of his engagement gave him no pleasure, Rafe ignored it. He flashed her a wolfish grin as he lifted her hand. "Thank you, kind lady." His lips were soft and pliant on the backs of her fingers, and he held her gaze as he lingered over the kiss. He was not surprised to find her skin was like heated silk. His grin widened as he straightened and raised a questioning brow. "May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

She gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Oh how fickle the male heart," she intoned. "I am simply shattered that you do not remember me."

She belied her disappointment by leaning against him, allowing her breasts to brush against his chest. The pressure pushed the heavy globes up even further, and Rafe grinned as he thoroughly enjoyed the awe inspiring display of flesh. The peaks of her breasts were only just covered by her gown, and he longed to know what color the lush tips were. Perhaps he would find out in the near future.

Rafe was confused by her claim that they had met before. He could not believe it would be possible to forget this enthralling creature, and he racked his brain trying to place who she was. With her height and her dark hair, he was able to narrow the possibilities somewhat. However, with the sheer number of women of his acquaintance, he was at a loss. Still, something about her was vaguely familiar, he just couldn't place where he might have seen her, and he certainly didn't remember being this close to her.

"Dear lady, of course I remember you," he lied smoothly. "How could I possibly ever forget such a delightful and beautiful goddess? It is only your name that escapes me." He still held her hand, and he caressed her fingers boldly while trying to find some memory of her. His devilish smile would have had most women swooning at his feet. "Won't you give me a hint?"