Page 41 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
The walls of the room seemed to shrink even more, and his gut churned. “There will be no more dancing lessons,” he clipped icily. “You are dismissed Monsieur Gillespie. You’ll depart Longbourn Park tomorrow.”
His mother’s eyes widened. “James! Monsieur Gillespie is in high demand; you must not—”
“There will be no more!” he hissed, for once not reining in the raw emotion that surged through his chest.
He stilled when his mother lurched back and even his uncle shuffled away. A cold pricked at his skin and buried deep in his bones. Did they fear him? “Everyone out.”
“James!”
Her voice was a mere whisper, but it resounded with anguish.
“Out,” he snarled. “Monsieur Gillespie will leave Longbourn Park, and if I am disobeyed in this, madam, everyone will leave.”
The duchess made a gesture of frustration before whirling away, her motions stiff. Dr. Southby and his uncle retreated on the heels of the duchess, leaving James alone. He stood there feeling the space shrinking, the air stifling. This was all damnable nonsense. Why the hell should he belong to a world with people who would dare judge him if he did not dance well? His aunts fluttered around if he attended dinner without a cravat. Only this morning, Cousin Eloise affected a mock swoon to see him walking along the hallways without shoes.
How silly and self-pampered they were, buried in their world of artifice. Did they know starvation, or screaming until one’s voice cracked, or weeping in the endless void because everything that they cared about was gone? Did they even know what it was like to be bereft or alone for even a moment, or starved and filled with such despair that their bones ached?
He was bloody tired of hearing about balls and dancing and what centerpiece would complement the dinner table. James hissed out a breath.This is not life!He ripped the neckcloth from his throat and stared at his fingers clenched around the fabric. It was a piece of cloth. This was not a challenge, it was not a bear to fight or a jagged cliff edge to scale. Yet he stared at the scrap of linen, unable to bear it to be around his throat for even a minute longer.
I am not weak.
Needing to be outdoors, he went to the large doors that opened onto a terrace. James took off his shoes and stockings, removed his jacket, shirt, and waistcoat, uncaring that he was bare chested, and stepped outside. He inhaled deeply, letting the brisk air into his lungs, accepting the peace seeping under his skin from simply taking in the myriad scent of the outdoors into his being. The grass prickled beneath his feet as he walked across the lawn, feeling the stares of his family and servants on his shoulder blades like ants.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and a soft, misting rain fell. James raked his fingers through his rain-dampened hair. He lifted his face to the sky, accepting the icy sting of the drops pelting his forehead. He missed the emptiness of the mountains. The awareness shocked a rough, low laugh from him.
How could he, even for a second, long for the abyss?
Once at the edge of the woods, he started to run. He moved in sharp bursts of sprints and then long, looping strides. James sprinted over the grass until his muscles strained and filled with a burning pain. The wolves were no longer before him, urging him on with growls and howls, and he felt a surge of such loss, he stumbled. He caught himself and continued his run, wishing that his wolf brethren were with him. Or perhaps Jules Southby. She was strong and self-reliant, perhaps she would manage a hard run.
A vision of her naked, splayed on the wet grass and surrounded by nature, rushed to his thoughts. He held the image; fire filled his veins and the whisper of arousal ghosted over his cock. The hairs along the back of his neck prickled, warning him that he wasn’t alone. James lifted his head, drawing in the scents surrounding him.
Wildflower.
His entire body suddenly felt alive and as if it belonged to someone else. James shifted, watching her approach. She did so boldly, as if there was nothing to fear. In the distance, he could see several members of his family had ventured outside under parasols and umbrellas as if they were watching a play. Southby stopped and stared at him, her gaze lingering on his naked chest for long moments. James was almost amused by the slight color dusting along those elegantly slanted cheekbones. Her eyes widened when she saw the blade in his waistband.
Those lovely green eyes met his. “What is it made from?”
“Bone.”
“Is it sharp?”
“Yes.”
She looked from his weapon and off into the woods for a moment. “Are you not joining the family for dinner?”
“No.”
An emotion he could not read flashed in Southby’s eyes. James merely waited.
They stared at each other, and he raised a brow, curious as to when she would mention the reason the duchess bid her to follow him. His skin prickled once again and the need to run with the wind roiled through him. James turned away from her and started walking. A feeling he did not understand hooked into him, and he paused. “Run with me, Wildflower?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
Her lack of hesitation humbled something inside of James. Jules Southby was an unusual creature of strength and kindness and such patience. She darted ahead of him in a mad dash across the western lawns. James smiled and gave chase, easily overtaking her. He slowed his pace to keep even with her, and they ran until she was breathless. She surprised a smile from him when she tipped her face to the heavens and shouted before stumbling to a breathless halt.
Southby collapsed onto the verdant grass, taking ragged gulps of breath. She peered up at him smiling, the moustache twitching. “If the duchess is still watching I daresay I will be fired.”
James sat beside her. “I’ll rehire you.”
