Page 31 of Lady Petra and the Wolf

Petra jumped to attention as she heard Cecile returning, and she rushed to meet her at the door. At least in this she could spare Wolf any embarrassment.

“Thank you, Cecile.” Petra took the linens from Cecile. “You can leave them to me.”

“My lady?”

“Sleep, Cecile.” Petra smiled at the woman. “You already saved one life today, you can rest on your laurels.”

Cecile looked at her for a long moment. When Petra fled her father’s residence, Cecile adamantly insisted that she come with Petra, even though Petra pointed out that Kemberley House was much nicer in accommodations. However, Cecile had been a steadfast and loyal friend as well as an innate protector. Petra looked the woman in the eye to convey to her all was well and that she was safe.

“Very well, my lady.”

While Cecile was the soul of discretion, Petra felt oddly protective of Lord Wolfridge. Though his presence still baffled her, she would keep his secret for him.

Turning back, she tore the loose gown into strips, then went to find the whiskey she had stored on the shelf.

Pushing aside several other bottles, she jumped when a voice croaked, “Where am I?”

Turning around slowly, Petra considered how to explain her sanctuary when Lord Wolfridge’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Petra?” Why did her name on his tongue cause the hairs on her neck to stand on end?

“You are safe, Lord Wolfridge.”

“Wolf, please. I am naked lying on a strange table, you should at least call me Wolf.” He paused. “Or Julian.”

Petra weighed her options for moving forward, torn between comforting him and remonstrating him for his previous behavior toward her. “You were attacked today, my l-Wolf.” She went with the middle ground, deciding she could be personable but clear about renewing their previous connection.

“Right…” Wolf’s eyes seemed to dilate as he remembered his day. “I can explain.”

“There is no need,” Petra said quickly. Everyone had a right to their own interests and time, who was she to judge how Wolfridge conducted himself?

“I wanted to understand better. To see the world as you do.” Even though his voice was faint, his words were clear.

“To see the world as I do?” Petra repeated. That was the last thing she expected him to say. She had assumed his attire that day had been some strange bedsport gone wrong, even as the thought left a sour note on her tongue. But he had been thinking of her?

“I wanted to know what it means to walk the street as a woman. When we—when I wronged you, I realized I could not understand the depths of my betrayal if I did not try to understand your perspective.”

Although rather touched, Petra was still confused. “You took that rather literally, my lord,” she corrected herself. “Wolf.”

He shrugged or shrugged as much as a naked, prone man could.

“Is that whiskey in your hand?”

Startled, Petra answered immediately, “Yes.”

“Oh good, I am dying for a finger.”

“Lord Wolfridge…” Petra began but he spoke over her.

“I haven’t touched the stuff in ages…”

“Wolf,” she tried again but he continued to prattle on.

“Not for at least a month, if not more.”

“Julian,” she said firmly and finally he looked at her.

“The whiskey is for your wound. I…I need to sew your backside back together.”