Epilogue

EPILOGUE

M idnight.

The witching hour.

The French doors to the patio were open, and Carly could see the moon high over the black velvet of the night.

The full moon...

The breeze lifted the white draperies and sent them softly floating about, pale and ethereal against the panoply of the night sky. A stronger gust of wind came now and then and cast them about more strenuously. But Carly did not move to close the doors. She welcomed the breeze as she welcomed the night.

She longed to welcome her lover.

She was dressed in white herself. Soft, shimmering white that hung in silken folds about her body. Her shoulders were bare except for two slim straps that held the low-cut bodice of the nightgown to her breasts. Shadows fell against the creamy mounds so displayed by the gown and darkened the valley between them. Soft, sheer gauze flowed from the tight bodice to the floor and hauntingly displayed the shape and substance of the woman beneath.

She was obviously a woman awaiting a lover.

Suddenly she cried out. He was there, coming to her from out of the darkness. Forgetting what she was wearing, she raced out to meet him, throwing her arms around him.

"Dustin! What happened? Did he understand? He isn't still angry, is he? I mean, LaRue must understand by now that you had to do what you did!"

Dustin laughed and easily swung her off her feet. Carly rested her hands on his shoulders and stared down into his eyes. "Dustin, please, tell me. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, everything is fine."

"Oh!" she said simply.

Suddenly they heard a whistle. A wolf whistle that came from nearby.

"Let's get in, shall we?" Dustin suggested. He lowered her against the length of him, grinning. He caught her hand, and they hurried inside together. Let the young ones prowl, he thought. Let them whistle and envy him his mate.

They entered the room, and Dustin carefully closed and locked the door behind him. He swept Carly up and over to the bed, grinning as they lay down together. He tried to kiss her, but she pressed against him.

"Dustin!"

He sighed. "Oh, all right. LaRue knows he can't really arrest either of us—if it hadn't been for my friend in Manhattan who did the research on Geoffrey, we might never have caught up with him. You know LaRue. He did hem and haw about my being in the country illegally. But then, Jon is nobility, and it isn't wise for LaRue to get on his bad side. He's a socially conscious man, you know."

Carly nodded and smiled. She did know LaRue. Her smile faded. "What about Geoffrey? Are they going to...hang him?"

Dustin shook his head. "Geoffrey is terribly ill. He'll be confined for life. He'll never leave the hospital."

"Thank God," Carly breathed.

He kissed her, as if the warmth of his kiss could forever dispel the threat of the grave. "They're getting married next month."

"No!" Carly pushed him away. "Jon and Jasmine? Really! How wonderful!"

"It will be the social event of the season."

Carly laughed. "Yes, knowing Jasmine, I think it will be."

Dustin hesitated a minute. "You really don't mind, do you? I mean... Well, you did fall in love with a count. We ran away and got married in a little church on a corner in Paris. The count comes with a castle, but I'm afraid you'll be getting a Tudor house in Surrey."

She offered him a dazzling smile that touched her turquoise eyes. She played her fingers through his hair and watched him with humor and fascination.

"First of all, I thought our wedding was wonderfully romantic. I think that ‘mister' is a grand title. And I really think that the castle will always give me a few chills, while I absolutely adore London. We'll be keeping my apartment in Manhattan, too. But then most of all..."

"Most of all what?" he inquired. He lowered his head, and the tip of his tongue teased her throat.

"Most of all, I am just exquisitely in love with the man, the wolf I met in the woods."

"You've got to be very careful of wolves in the woods," he warned her.

As if on cue, they heard a chorus of wolves howling, crying to the full moon.

Carly laughed delightedly. "Your comrades are out there," she said lightly.

"Well, darling, this wolf doesn't need to howl to the moon any longer."

"No?"

"He's found everything that he could ever ask, right here in your arms."

"Oh, Dustin, that's so lovely."

"Thank you," he told her.

Then she saw the color change in his eyes, from amber to a heated, glowing gold. She knew the signs, knew the language of his body.

And when he kissed her she felt his ardor, swift and sure and certain.

The wolves continued to howl their curious serenade. But Carly scarcely heard them anymore, for the flame of her love seemed to crackle and heat and the beasts held no threat for her, for she was secure in the love of her one particular, passionate, stormy, stubborn, somewhat arrogant and still beautiful wolf. She knew now that neither of them would ever stray from the other. Love had struck too deeply. It had come like magic, against all odds, against fear and danger, and it would remain—magic.

"Grrr..." he murmured, growling his content.

She laughed until the quickening flames rendered her incapable of any more laughter, and she cried out her love instead.

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