He heard Miranda’s voice in the hall, sharp with worry as she asked his butler Diggs where to find Daisy. How she knew to come here Ian did not know, but her presence plucked at the nerves on the back of his neck. Ian closed his eyes for a moment and pictured Miranda, golden-red hair, her long, willowy form, and alabaster skin.

At one time, he’d fancied himself in love with her. And now? Seeing her was the last thing he wanted. He was thoroughly tired of redheaded women.

Beside him, her sister gathered herself together. She looked nothing like Miranda. Curling hair of morning sunlight mixed with polished gold. Enormous doe eyes, not the color of celadon but of summer skies. Daisy. A preposterous name. Frivolous. And yet he could not think of her as Mrs. Craigmore. The name did not fit.

Ian’s gaze slid lower. The unfortunate dressing gown she wore, a sad little orphan of some long-ago mistress’s wardrobe, did not fit but most certainly highlighted her undulating curves and that plump arse that practically begged a man to take hold of it. She surely was built for frivolity.

Ian resolutely tore his eyes from her lush form as the door opened and Miranda appeared, so beautiful it made a man’s chest hurt to look upon her. She spared him but a glance before rushing to her sister’s side.

“Daisy!”

“Panda. Oh, God.” Daisy pulled her close and shuddered so hard that Ian feared the woman might faint.

Miranda hugged her sister tight. “I was so worried. When you sent word that you’d been hurt…” She said nothing further but held on as if she might never let go.

They stayed like that, their bright heads close, glowing like sunrise and sunset, their slim arms locked in an embrace. Too pretty a picture for him. Damn, but he did not want this woman to be Miranda’s sister.

“Where is Archer?” Ian asked. The man usually hung about her skirts like an overgrown shadow.

Miranda lifted her head. Her words came out halting and reserved. “Home. Given the way you two are apt to get at each other’s throats, I thought it best that I come alone.”

He couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I am surprised he let you go.”

She gave him an admonishing look that was much like the one her sister had given him earlier. “It is you whom Archer does not trust, not me.”

Touché. He inclined his head in deference.

Miranda turned back to Daisy. “Are you harmed?”

Daisy shook her head, which made the wild tumble of her curls tremble. “I am well. Only frightened.”

A pair of green eyes turned to Ian, and he found himself bristling. “Because I get such joy in frightening innocent women.”

Miranda blanched. “Of course not. I am simply curious as to how my sister came to be in your care.”

“Then let us sit,” he said.

The sisters immediately curled up together on the settee, Miranda clasping Daisy’s hand in a show of comfort. Oddly, this made Ian want to smile. The temptation faded when Miranda pinned him with her green gaze. “Well then, how did you come across my sister?”

He hesitated. Hell, it was one thing to coax a story out of a frightened young lady. It was another to give up his secrets. Archer knew them. At least some. What was not clear was how much Archer had told Miranda. Right now, she was looking at him with a mixture of weariness and impatience. As to Daisy, he rather thought that if he revealed himself at this moment, she’d up and flee the room. He would not resent her one bit if she did.

Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I was in the area. I heard a scream and caught the scent of blood and ran to help. I found Mrs. Craigmore—”

“Daisy,” interrupted the very woman. She glanced around, taking in their shocked looks. “Don’t go reading anything into it. Given the choice between having to hear that name in reference to me and shocking society, I’ll take the latter every time, thank you.”

Ian admired her nerve. “For the sake of fairness, you must call me Ian.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Good. He ignored her, or did his best to appear that he was. “At any rate, I found Daisy, saw that she was overcome, and took her to safety. End of the story.”

It was clear that Miranda didn’t believe that was all to the story, but she held her tongue, and Ian took advantage of the moment to turn to Daisy. “I am more interested in knowing what you saw, Daisy.”

Daisy took a deep breath and her br**sts strained against the tight confines of the hideous green dressing gown. Ian found he couldn’t stand the sight of the gown. It shamed him that she should wear a whore’s clothes.

“I fear you will not believe me,” she whispered.

“Be assured, madam,” Ian said, “I will.”

Her bright blue eyes surveyed him as if checking for any sign of insincerity. “You seem so certain”—a bitter laugh escaped her—“when I wouldn’t believe myself.”

Ian leaned against the settee back. “What you saw appeared as something out of a fantasy, yes?”

“More likely a nightmare,” Daisy said with a burst of breath. But she would not continue. Her golden brows drew together as she glared down at her tight fists.

Ian looked at Miranda. Initially, he had wished she hadn’t come. But now he wondered if her presence might help. “I do wonder,” he said to Miranda, “how close a family you are.”

Fortunately, she read the question lurking there. Miranda touched Daisy’s hand. “Daisy, Lord Northrup knows about me.”

Daisy’s eyes flew to Ian in horror. Indeed, what Miranda could do was equally fantastic, and Ian suspected her family had kept her sister’s secret for a lifetime. After all, what would society say if they knew the lovely Lady Archer was a fire starter?

“And about Archer as well,” Miranda added.

“Which is why,” Ian said, “you can tell us what you saw without fear of judgment.”

Daisy cleared her throat, and as she recounted her tale, rage and the urge to do violence tumbled about in Ian’s chest. Hells bells, he knew too well the terror of confronting a fully turned werewolf. That this woman had faced one made the hairs rise upon the back of his neck and gave him an unsettling sense of helplessness. Yet he remained outwardly calm.

“I did not get a long look at it,” Daisy said, finishing her tale. Her eyes squeezed shut. “But that muzzle, the fangs, and the claws. It was a wolf. And yet it moved in an almost human way…” With a grimace, she shook her head and went quiet.

Ian sighed and told her the truth. “A werewolf is what you saw.”

It was almost comical the way her mouth opened and shut as if trying to form words and failing. All the color leached out of her soft cheeks. Her mouth kept working as she looked from Miranda to Ian and back around again. A little laugh escaped, but it died when she swallowed with visible effort. “A werewolf.” Her tone was scathing. She laughed again. “Right, then. A werewolf. Some fantasy beast of lore.”

“You think those claws and fangs nothing more than an elaborate costume, do you?”

“No! Although I… I suppose it is what I had hoped.”

“Unfortunately,” Ian said, “hope and reality are often at odds.”

The words settled like a shroud over the room. He regarded them for a moment. “I must ask a favor of you, Daisy.”

Gold curls coiled atop of her shoulder as she tilted her head. “What, pray tell, do you want?”

Ian crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I want you to refrain from telling anyone else what you saw.” He gave Daisy a small smile. “Given your reluctance tonight, I gather that you aren’t likely to say a word, but I need to be sure.”

“Consider yourself assured,” Daisy said with a touch of asperity. “I have no desire to be pronounced a raving lunatic.”

Her candor made him want to chuckle, and he wondered if this woman would ever hold back her opinion. “That is most sensible of you, madam. I have no doubt you would find the accommodations in Bedlam beneath your standards.”

Despite the insults she’d hurled his way earlier, Daisy slanted an amused look from beneath the bronze fan of her lashes, which set off an answering stir within Ian’s gut. Beside her, however, Miranda’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Ian fancied he could see the cogs turning in her brain.

“I well understand why Daisy would be reluctant to speak,” she said, “but it seems to me that your concern goes a touch beyond casual.”

Beneath the fold of his arms, his hands curled to fists, but he answered her easily. “Were the good people of London to hear that a werewolf is roaming the city, there would be panic. I don’t believe any of us want that outcome.”

“Understandable,” Daisy agreed, but she was frowning. “Only, well… ought they not be warned? What if it…” Her pretty lips parted on a strangled breath and she went pale. “What if it bites someone, and… well, turns them into one too?”

Myths indeed. His mouth twitched but he kept a straight face. “You cannot be infected by a bite, luv. A man is either born with the capability to become a werewolf or he is not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He could see the questions forming on the sisters’ faces; they gathered and brewed like clouds over a darkening sea. Ian stood, needing to quell the storm before it broke. “Look,” he said. “Go home, get some rest. All will be well. I swear to it.”

Daisy did not look so sure. Miranda, however, nodded as if his word, while not good enough for her, would have to do for now. Ian rather thought she would like to get as far away from him as possible. He did not like the Ian Ranulf that Miranda saw, but he had been that man for so long that he almost forgot who he had been before. The suffocating feeling was back, threatening to swallow him down. Because he did not know how to climb out of the abyss and walk with the light steps of his old, true self.

Miranda’s skirts rustled as she stood. “Well, then, thank you, Northrup, for looking after my sister. It was good of you.” Steeling herself, she offered him a hand in friendship.

Between her haughty look and Daisy’s earlier disdain, the devil in Ian could not resist coming out to play. They thought him a cad, did they? Then he would be one for them. He clasped Miranda’s hand and pulled her close. “Will you not call me Ian?” he murmured, bending over her hand to lightly kiss it. “After all we’ve been through? Together?”

He could hear her back teeth meet. He ignored it and leaned in until her scent surrounded him. A familiar, pleasant scent but surprisingly not enough to excite him anymore. “You know, the hero usually receives a boon in such circumstances. A kiss perhaps?”

Her mouth slanted. “Are you quite through?”

Ian gave her an innocent grin and let Miranda believe that he still wanted her. He didn’t, but bloody hell, her suspicions irritated. “Well, you know where to find me, sweet, should you feel the need to visit. Or perhaps I shall call on you.”

Daisy too had risen. The sight of her sent a qualm of disappointment through his gut. Beastly man was he? She had no idea. He turned his smile on her, refusing to look apologetic. He bent over her hand and murmured pretty words of some sort or other. It didn’t matter what he said; he just wanted them gone.

Miranda headed toward the door, her slim back straight and proud. Ian moved to follow when, through the buzzing within his ears, he realized that Daisy had not stirred.

He stopped, and seeing the action, Miranda did too. Daisy clasped her hands tightly before her. “I would like a private word with Lord Northrup.” Her blue eyes sought his. “If I may?”

Miranda scowled. “Daisy, it really isn’t necessary.”

Her sister’s expression was implacable. “I believe it is.” A soft blush colored her cheeks. “It may take more than a moment. If you do not want to wait, I will understand.”

Surprise had Ian rooted to the spot, but hearing those words spurred him out of his frozen state and he found the ability to speak. “She may take my coach home.” He made a small bow. “It is at your disposal, as am I.”

Daisy gave the smallest of smiles. “Good.” She turned back to her sister. “See? It is all arranged. Now stop mothering me. That is Poppy’s manner of deportment. I am fine, really.”

Annoyance colored Miranda’s high cheeks and pinched at her mouth. “Of course I shall wait for you.” She gave Ian a glare that promised swift death should he try anything untoward, which made him want to laugh. He managed to appear benign as he escorted Miranda from the room, while inside his heart pounded.

What did Daisy want? And why had she stayed? He had a fairly good idea. A smile spread over his lips, one that he feared looked rather wolfish. As it should be, for the wolf had a delectable morsel of prey waiting in his den. It was time to play.

The door clicked quietly shut as Northrup returned to the library. In Daisy’s mind, it might was well have been the slamming of a cage door. She pressed her damp palms against her thighs and tried to steady her erratic breathing.

Northrup set his hunter’s gaze upon her, and her heartbeat tripped with a pained thud. She knew why he believed she had stayed behind, and damn if some small part of her didn’t agree with him.

“All alone, my dear. As requested.” He strode back to her, his gait loose-limbed and sure. A predator’s stride. One might try to run, but it would be useless.

She drew her shoulders back and faced him head-on. He noted the gesture, for a contented smile oiled over his features. She ignored it, and the little flutters that were running riot in her belly. “Thank you for letting me stay.”