The Legend of the Werestag by Tessa Dare Page A

her, and she lifted her gaze. “You can’t do this, not yet.
    How can a lady refuse a man, when he hasn’t even proposed? I won’t stand for it.”
    “It’s not right, Denny. I’ve known for some time now that we wouldn’t…that I couldn’t…” He shushed her gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. “The truth is, we know nothing of what could be or would be. We’ve been delaying this conversation for years now, haven’t we? I’ve been waiting for… Well, I hardly know what I’ve been waiting for. Something indefinable, I suppose. And you’ve been waiting for Luke.”
    Her breath caught. Denny knew? Oh, dear . Perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised. They’d grown up together. He’d known her longer than anyone.
    “Yes, of course I knew,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Why do you think I invited you both here, to my home? I wanted to know how matters stood between you.”
    “And how do they stand?” she asked, hoping he would understand her better than she knew herself.
    He sighed. “I know he has some strange hold on your heart. But I believe you’d be happier marrying me.”

    Cecily shook her head in disbelief. If she didn’t know better, she would think him working in concert with Luke. Their arguments were one and the same.
    “But, Denny…” She prayed these words would not hurt his pride overmuch. “But we don’t love one another, not in that way.”
    “Perhaps not. But you’ve been in love with Luke for four years now. Has it made you happy?” She had no answer to that.
    “And I’ll admit, bachelorhood is losing its charms for me.” Gently, he folded her hands in his. “I know there is no grand passion between us, Cecily. But there is genuine caring. Honesty. Respect. Lasting unions have been built on foundations far weaker than these. And in time, perhaps some deeper attachment would grow. We don’t know what could happen, if only we gave it a chance.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them warmly—first the knuckles, then each sensitive palm—before pressing them to either side of his face and holding them there. The sweetness in the gesture surprised her, as did the fond regard in his eyes.
    This was Denny’s face she held in her hands. Dear, familiar, uncomplicated Denny, with the dimple on his right cheek and the tiny pockmark on the other. She’d known this face since her childhood. Could she learn to see to him in a new light, as a husband? She did want children and companionship and a happy home—all the things Luke refused to offer her.
    She sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”
    “That’s all right. I’m not asking you to say yes, not right now. Just…don’t say no quite yet?” He smiled then, that crooked, endearing Denny smile. And he kissed her, still holding her hands pressed against his face.
    It was sweet. He tasted of tea and peppermint, and his lips felt soft and warm. Denny’s kiss was mild, tender. Comforting and comfortable. And it was wretchedly unfair to him, that even as he claimed her lips, her heart remained divided. She couldn’t stop comparing this kiss to Luke’s.
    It just wasn’t the same.
    “Do you hear something?” Portia asked, after they’d been walking some time.
    “No,” said Brooke.
    “Wait!” Portia signaled the men to halt, then put a finger to her lips for silence.
    Luke shifted his feet impatiently, anxious to move on. If they stood here too long, Cecily and Denny might catch them.
    “There,” Portia said, cupping one hand around her ear. “Do you hear it? That rustling sound, like dry leaves.”

    “Dry leaves, in a forest,” Brooke replied. “Imagine.”
    Luke forged ahead, and the pair followed, bickering in agitated whispers. The cottage couldn’t be much farther. Perhaps he could simply barricade the two of them in it and leave. The sooner these two shared a bed, the sooner everyone else could get some peace.
    “Wait!” she called again.
    Luke pivoted on his heel. “What