Wolf's Lady: Magic & Mechanicals, #1

By Jessica Marting

The only mistake Lady Adelle Thornber ever made turned into a scandal that rocked London and saw her banished to Scotland, the reluctant bride of a reclusive baron. But Lord Henry MacAulay isn't what she was expecting: he cares deeply for his barony and for her.

 

As the sole heir to the Roseheath title and werewolf alpha, Henry knew that he had to take a mate someday. He just didn't expect to find her in a disgraced noble's daughter forced into marriage with him. 

 

As he falls more deeply in love with Adelle, he can't bring himself to tell her what he really is. But if he doesn't, it may not be his werewolf nature that could tear them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Marting
• Release date: Mar 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989780053

Jessica Marting

Jessica Marting writes sci-fi and paranormal romance. She lives in Toronto with her husband and far too many pets.

Book preview

Chapter 1

15 January 1887

Dear Lord MacAulay,

It is my understanding that you have received word from the Private Secretary to the Sovereign regarding your arranged marriage to my daughter, Lady Adelle Thornber. She will arrive at Roseheath with a traveling companion in the coming weeks and accepts that the barony is to be her new home. We will miss her in London, but all of us, including her, understand why this marriage and relocation is necessary. It is a suitable match for her, and she will run Roseheath Manor in the way I taught her, as a lady.

She is bright, but too strong-willed and stubborn for her own good. I wish you the best of luck in your marriage to her. You will need it.

Yours sincerely,

Lady Weatherstone

The chill of the Scottish winter seeping into the carriage made Adelle aware that it was finally happening.

It wasn't the banishment from her family and London itself, nor was it packing her belongings for the forced journey ahead. It wasn't even seeing snowflakes whirling past the carriage windows like a zoetrope, or the sight of the man who called himself her chaperone seated across from her. No, it was the cold.

The realization made Adelle feel childish, and the rage that had been blooming the last four weeks nearly exploded from her. She wanted to scream and pound on the carriage walls and demand that her escort return her to the city so she could once again make a case for herself and force her family into forgiving her for something she shouldn't even be guilty of.

She didn't deserve this punishment.

Instead, her escort smirked at her from his seat on the other side of the carriage. His one good eye raked over her conservatively attired form for at least the hundredth time since they set out from the inn that morning, and the thousandth since they had begun their journey from the city. Adelle didn't have the faintest idea why the Duke of Wexfield wanted to tag along on this wretched journey, and she no longer cared. The one-eyed weasel could ogle her all he wanted as long as he kept his hands to himself. He made occasional lascivious remarks to her in between his coughing fits, but nothing more than that during the three-day trip from London.

Officially, Adelle was no longer in a position where being unchaperoned through such a long journey would be considered scandalous. But her parents still insisted on one and saw nothing amiss with Wexfield when he volunteered. Or maybe they did and hadn’t cared. His lecherousness wasn’t exactly a secret.

The duke's clockwork eye remained trained on her, gripping the skin of his face with tiny silver claws and moving almost in time with his working one.

Adelle didn't ask how he lost it, nor did she care. She rearranged her fur-trimmed travelling coat a little more snugly around her and glared at Wexfield.

I don't see why we couldn't have traveled in a dirigible, she said sharply. Wexfield had a dirigible. It was painted black, his favorite color. He rarely failed to mention it in conversation.

Wexfield laughed, a mirthless bark. Adelle only raised an eyebrow in defiance.

I am still a lady, and you will treat me as such.

Ladies of your status don't receive the luxury of dirigibles, Wexfield said lazily. I'm surprised you would ask that. His clockwork eye whirred as his gaze shifted to her chest.

Adelle clutched at her coat. A lady could still be a fallen woman.

And, oh, but Adelle was aware of her status. Being sold off to marry some minor noble in the middle of nowhere made her that much more aware of what was going on. Her family—genteel poor, but with a good title and on amicable terms with the rest of gentry—felt shipping her off overseas was just a little too harsh a punishment, but sending her to the farthest corner of Great Britain to marry a stranger was not. She was still being sent away from civilization as she knew it.

Is it going to be this cold all the time? She wished she could order the carriage to stop and for that hateful Wexfield to bring her a blanket from the hold in the back, but she knew neither the duke nor the driver would allow that. Adelle was merely cargo.

We'll be nearing your new home shortly, said Wexfield, looking out the carriage window and assessing the landscape. It was open and wild, with nary a building to be seen, the polar opposite of London. It was dark outside, save for starlight.

Heavy snowflakes hit the carriage windows. A blizzard would come in soon. Perfect, absolutely perfect. Late January wasn’t a miserable enough time of year as it was.

A quickening sense of dread filled her, unbuffered by the hot fury that stewed in her ever since Will’s betrayal. Her new home. And a husband who she didn't want and likely wouldn't want her. He had to be just as angry at being roped into this marriage as she was. She briefly wondered what Wexfield would do if she started to scream out her frustrations as she wished to do.

Or if she just wordlessly screamed, pretending she was unloading her rage into the proverbial void. Even that would suffice for a few moments.

Instead, she calmly reined in her temper and asked coolly, How much longer, do you think?

Wexfield withdrew a silver watch from his coat pocket. Very soon, I would expect. He leaned across the carriage, his knees nearly touching Adelle's. She moved away instinctively, shifting her legs to the side. Adelle, he murmured.

Her skin crawled. She did not like the sound of her name on his tongue. Lady Adelle, she corrected him.

Lady Adelle, he grudgingly amended. His good eye narrowed slightly, and the clockwork one softly whirred. I can offer you an opportunity out of this. You won't have to marry Roseheath.

Ah, yes, Lord Henry MacAulay, Baron of Roseheath. Her soon-to- be husband, forever and ever. Despite her misgivings at listening to the Duke, Adelle glared at him archly. I won't?

You can return to the city and your family, if you wish. I'm offering you a proposition.

Rage bubbled through Adelle. She had been offered propositions by other men of their class since her scandal broke. Go to hell, she hissed.

The duke leaned back and laughed. "Not that kind of proposition. I see you've learned your lesson from last time."

Her ire was further raised, but she didn’t respond. If Adelle had any idea where she was, she would have demanded to be let out of the carriage to walk the rest of the way to Roseheath Manor, blizzard be damned.

No, this is a different one, Wexfield said. I’m not looking for a well-bred mistress like your former friends were.

Humiliation twanged through Adelle like a harp’s plucked string at the accuracy of the duke’s statement.

I need a wife, he continued. You know as well as I do that I don't have a prayer of finding an appropriate wife among our kind. He gestured to his clockwork eye and coughed deeply. When he finished, he continued, "You also know that you don't have a prayer at finding a husband among them, either. It could be a very convenient marriage for both of us."

Disgust curled through her belly. No.

Wexfield was unperturbed. Consider it, my lady. I'm still a young man. Forty-seven can hardly be considered old, and I need heirs.

Adelle thought she could see fear flicker in his good eye in the carriage’s gathering darkness, but she didn’t know why. Just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual disdainful smirk.

"I need them, he said. I do not want my wastrel of a nephew to inherit this title. Your marriage to me would mean you could re-enter society and return to your old life. Of course, we won't have the level of respectability the Thornbers enjoy, but we would still receive invitations to the right parties. I have funds. He gave an uncharacteristic shrug that came off as forced. You're a lovely woman, I've always thought that."

Adelle glared at him. Never.

Wexfield again leaned across the carriage and had the audacity to place a hand on her knee. You don't have many options, Adelle. Do you really want to marry this man, sight unseen? He's only a baron, for God's sake.

Adelle slapped his hand away. Don't touch me, she snapped, her voice rising.

Surprise crossed his face, followed by anger. You shouldn't have done that.

Or what? What can you do to me?

She regretted it the instant the words flew from her mouth. He caught her face in his gloved hands, his iron grip squeezing her jaws so hard she thought he might break teeth. She squirmed, but to no avail. "I know exactly what kind of whore you are, he said in a low voice. Rage crackled between them. The queen and her whole fucking court know what kind of whore you are. So does your family. No one gives one good goddamn what happens to you. I am asking you for the last time, will you consider my offer?" He released her jaw and pushed her back against her seat. Her head smacked against the carriage wall.

She would not be cowed by him. I already have, she said. She damned the tremor in her voice and hoped Wexford didn’t notice her hands shaking in her lap. The answer is no.

But she couldn't help but wonder which would be worse: marrying a duke over twenty years her senior, or the unknown Baron of Roseheath? Marriage to Wexford would be certain hell; she had heard the whispers at social functions, had seen bruises on his mistresses. She could handle a cool, aloof husband, even one who had a mistress as long as she and her husband remained civil to one another. She would not knowingly enter a marriage with someone who would abuse her.

Wexfield was quiet for the rest of the journey, and Adelle kept her eyes on the snow swirling outside the carriage. The wind rattled the windows. Not for the first time, Adelle wondered how the coachman was faring in the cold. She wished she had been permitted the use of a steam- powered carriage instead of the horse-drawn one; it would have been faster. She was sore from jostling around for days.

The driver’s thump from the front of the carriage told her they were approaching their destination. Adelle and Wexfield exchanged glares as the carriage began a steep ascent up a hill to Roseheath Manor. This is your last chance, Wexfield warned.

No.

I will make it my life's mission to make you sorry for that.

Summoning every scrap of courage she could, Adelle faced