Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"WELL, OF COURSE I never thought any such thing! My goodness—imagine me thinking I would marry you!" Cecelia exclaimed with a forced smile upon her face, which she prayed looked real. "You deserve as much happiness as anyone, and Lady Dashenwold sounds the best person to bring you such happiness."

Cecelia had no idea what she was saying. The lies escaped so easily from her tongue that she wondered briefly if the prince had rubbed off on her.

Her hands were still clasped within Lord Willington's strong grip. She did not want to let go—she knew she would never be able to cling to his hands in such a way again. But she did not want to hold on, either. She could not. They were not her hands to hold.

"And when did you propose to her?" Her fingers tightened upon his, the only sign of how painful such a question was to ask. She hoped he mistook the unconscious action as a sign of eagerness. Laughing gaily, she remarked, "I wish I could have been there to witness it. Was it as romantic as any girl could hope for?"

Cecelia could not hear the words he spoke; it was as if her own ears were protecting her from such unpleasantness. All she could make out were the dreaded pounding of her heart and the voice inside her head repeatedly telling her to leave. Run. Quick, before he caught her crying over him.

How did she ever find herself in such a predicament? Whatever would she tell her mother and her brother, William? They would never let her live this down. Ever. She would become the complete laughingstock of the whole village. And yet, she could not keep this charade up. She must tell them. They must know Charles never meant to propose to her at all and, in fact, was very much, at this moment, decidedly engaged to another.

How she kept her composure the whole way home was a miracle unto itself. She was in a state of utter shock. She had no recollection of anything she had said or was saying. But by the good graces of luck, she had found herself answering, giggling, and doing all things happy and proper. It was as if her body was on some sort of automatic reflex and the real Cecelia Hammerstein-Smythe was very far away, looking down upon it all in a sad remembrance of everything she believed she once had. She had to say goodbye to a world that would now never be hers.

She was shattered. She was heartbroken beyond anything she had ever known before.

Oh, how she had loved him. How she loved him still! There was nothing she would not have done for him, nothing she would not have given him. And yet, it was not enough. He did not want her.

He wanted another.

In a haze, Cecelia thanked Lord Willington and made her way up the stairs to her room. One look at the butler as she passed was enough to let him see she needed a few hours of privacy. Sanford would take care of everything for her and make her excuses until she could face them all. Plopping onto her bed, she took enough time to remove her pelisse and bonnet, setting them on the bench in front of the footboard before curling up in a ball—boots and all—and burying her face in her pillow.

Several hours later, Cecelia opened her eyes to a darkened room. She was still in her gown, but it looked as though her maid had come in and placed a blanket over her. Rolling onto her back, she could just make out the moon as it slivered through the cracks of the curtains. It was quite high, signifying the night was well underway. Blinking and stretching a bit, she debated between removing her shoes and putting on her nightgown or just staying as she was. But she was not tired, and memories of that afternoon came flooding back with a vengeance.

Groaning, she flung the cover off and sat up. This would never do. She simply could not waste another moment of her life sniveling over Lord Willington. Cecelia hopped down from the bed and paced around the room, acting more like a caged lion than a girl deep in thought.

She needed out. She needed air. Room to breathe. A change of environment. Peace. Something.

Halting, she reached over and grabbed her pelisse and bonnet from the small bench. Before she had completely rationalized all that she was doing, she had donned them both and threw the small blanket around her like a shawl for added warmth. Then as quickly and as silently as possible, she made her way down the servants' staircase and out the back door to freedom.

The brook. She needed to get to her brook. It was the only thing that would calm her now, and she needed it more than she needed anything else in her life.

Her mother would be livid if she knew the danger Cecelia was placing herself in, but honestly, what could be out there? Everyone else was asleep. The only real danger she faced were the few night animals roaming the forest. But to the creatures, she was larger and scarier than any of them could be to her. The moon was high enough to light her path so she would not get lost. Besides, she could probably walk the whole trail to the little stream completely blindfolded, she knew the way so well.

She was completely safe. More safe than with her thoughts.

***

PRINCE ALEXANDER SHUDDERED AT the transformation as he ran beyond the castle grounds, still not used to the agonizing pain of his skin tearing to make way for the wolf within him. Even though it had been four months since he had first been cursed by the witch, each night he relived the horror all over again. He had hoped that by now he would have become more used to the sensation, but alas, pain, pain, and more pain was all he ever knew.

Tonight was agonizing and to add to it, time was running out. From what he could remember, he needed to find a girl to love him as an ugly wolf before the year was over or he would remain a beast forever. It seemed a hopeless cause. The witch was right—he was a monster, inside and out.

He did not always feel that way. After the first few weeks, every time he thought of the old woman he had wanted to her to die all over again. How he hated her. But now, now it had been so long, he'd begun to see things in a different light. For a prince, he was not the best, and his kingdom suffered greatly for it. They needed a better ruler than some selfish brat to take over the throne when his mother died. They needed a strong, valiant man who loved them. His father, when he was alive, had been one of the best kings this country had ever had. It was not fair to either of his parents to have a son so determined to have his own way and destined to disgrace them both.

Since the transformation had begun, there were many nights when Alexander had tried to destroy himself, thinking death was the answer. He was positive nothing could be worse than this fate. How wrong he was. Now he knew differently. Now he knew just how needed he was, and he hoped he had enough time to make things right for his family before his dreadful secret was out. He simply could not rule as a beast, but he had hoped to help his cousin see the great responsibility and prepare him to take over the throne. There were less than eight months before no one would see Alexander again.

Miss Hammerstein-Smythe was right—he was different. He was very different. But it was too late.

Perhaps it was because he was thinking of her, perhaps it was because he really needed some solitude tonight, or perhaps it was because the place seemed magical. Whatever the reason, Alexander found himself, as a wolf, at the same place he had discovered the night before—the gentle brook.

Except this time he was not alone.

She had been weeping for quite some time—he was certain of it. In fact, he had never seen the girl so at a loss before in his life. If someone were to ask him if she ever cried, he would not have hesitated to respond in the negative. Yet, here Miss Hammerstein-Smythe was crying as if her world had ended.

Did she often come to this place and cry in secret? She seemed so peaceful earlier that day. Had something happened?

A surge of sympathy shot through him as he crept forward on silent paws to see if he could be of some comfort to her. He was just about to announce his presence when it dawned on him that he might very well frighten her in his present form.

***

CECELIA FELT THE HAIRS behind her neck rise. They were quickly followed by gooseflesh erupting all over her back and arms.

She was not alone.

Her ears picked up the gentle sound of the water trickling as well as the midnight breeze rustling through the forest trees—nothing to alarm her. Yet, the feeling she was being watched would not go away.

Cecelia wiped away a few tears with her left hand while she surreptitiously gripped the thick branch lying just under her gown and out of sight. She had collected it on the way down just in case a situation like this did arise. Her father had always reminded her to be vigilant and aware of everything around her, and after today's earlier encounter with the prince, she wasn't about to take any chances.

With her hand clutching the large branch, she slowly raised her head and took in all of her surroundings at once. Her eyes scanned the dark crooks and crevices of the trees around her. If something was out there, it was right behind her. It was as if she could almost hear their breathing if only she listened more intently.

Cecelia's father had warned about danger and men who might try to assault her. She learned early in life that the best way to fight off an attack was to do so immediately while the enemy was still catching their bearings and not fully certain of their plan. She had to be swift and strong in defending herself to guarantee they would flee or leave her alone long enough that she could get to safety.

If she wanted to catch them off guard, it was now or never.

Heaving herself from the ground in one rapid movement, she spun around, hurling her thick branch forward, and forcing the wind from her throat in a loud, guttural howl.