Beauty and the Wolf Read Online Free Page B

selfish to marry her . . . and his continuation of their marriage was just as self-serving. Why couldn’t he prove that he’d grown a heart by divorcing her and be done with it?
    If he ever hoped to rectify his curse, Draven knew he must seize this chance to show compassion. That involved driving Isabella back to London. Back to safety.
    As he resumed his place by the window, lightning illuminated the sky in a sudden burst. Isabella raised her glance to where he stood. He reeled away from the casement and held his breath. Had she seen him staring at her?
    He coaxed his head toward the portal again and watched her sink into a puddle of mud. In two days’ time, a full moon would peak. Its threat was stirring his thirst for blood—and his sexual appetite—to a frightening crescendo. That meant Draven must convince his wife to leave as quickly as possible. And he knew precisely how he was going to do it.
    Praying that he would be able to resist the scent of Isabella’s blood and the attraction she provoked in him, he ventured out of his suites for the first time in twenty-six days.

Chapter Four
    I sabella waited in the doorway while the rain dropped in deafening sheets behind her. The manor’s housekeeper, a woman she remembered as being colder than the Arctic Ocean, stepped into the light.
    “Welcome back, Lady Winthrop.” The housekeeper glimpsed Isabella’s low neckline and raised an eyebrow in disapproval.
    “Thank you, Mrs. . . .”
    “Eaton.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Eaton.” Isabella took in a breath. She hadn’t been at Thorncliff Towers long enough to learn any of the servants’ names. Gathering her collar together for momentary coverage, she offered the housekeeper a small smile. “You . . . you aren’t surprised to see me?”
    “Nay. His lordship informed the staff that you might return tonight.”
    Draven did receive my letter. Infuriation heated Isabella’s cheeks but she managed to control the anger in her voice. “The coach driver will be handing over my portmanteau.”
    Mrs. Eaton nodded curtly.
    Isabella was relieved when the housekeeper backed away to allow her entry. Shaking the wetness from her blue shawl dress, she crossed the threshold. Once she reached the edge of the foyer, she took a moment to survey the room she remembered so well.
    Nothing had changed. The antique furniture and fixtures were still shadowed in monochromatic shades of gray and the parquet floors continued to cry out for a good polishing. Her gaze swept the grand staircase as it curved upward. To Draven’s suites. Isabella pressed a fingertip to her lips. She could almost feel the sensual scorch of her husband’s mouth and the warmth of his large hands roaming her body.
    Shocked at the heat the memory still provided, she forced her eyes back to the darkness of the lower level. She noticed that the candle sconces along the walls were still and that the fluted oil lamps on the entry table remained dark. Was this nonchalant welcome representative of how Draven would receive her?
    Isabella laced her fingers together tensely only to shake them loose. As much as she tried to be more carefree, it was difficult for her. Her mother’s prolonged illness coupled with her passing had robbed her of any gaiety. And the promise she’d made to Mum on her deathbed—that she would always take care of Papa—had forced her to abandon her own wants and grow up in a hurry.
    Perhaps a cooing, rosy-cheeked baby would restore her joy. She longed for a child—and in this dreary, loveless place, she would certainly welcome a precious son or daughter with her entire soul.
    Once the coach driver deposited her belongings on the foyer’s parquet floor, Isabella removed her mud-soaked boots and followed Mrs. Eaton down a corridor. A room to her left caught her eye. Paneled in warm cherry wood and bordered by hundreds of books, it was a well-stocked library. The sight came at her like a rush of fresh air. She adored reading.
    An elderly manservant