Christmas At Thorncliff Towers (4 page)

“Sometimes, opposites attract,” she suggested. “Besides, you’re a grown man now. Are you still scared of me?”

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. Attraction replaced the agony in his stare. He moved closer. “I’m not afraid. But I am lonely.”

“I can see why,” she murmured. “These people lack the Gypsy fire you’re accustomed to.”

Their lips hovered, inches apart. A whisper of air slipped into her mouth as she parted her lips. He nearly kissed her. But then he stepped back.

She wasn’t giving up that easily
.
“I liked the feel of your hand on my leg,” she purred. “If you let me touch you, I can erase some of that loneliness.”

As slowly as a ribbon flutters in a quiet breeze, she feathered her fingertips up his arm. Under her touch, his skin burned as hot as lava. She knew at that moment that he was going to kiss her.

With eyes blazing with desire, he craned his neck forward and clamped his mouth onto hers. Karina’s whole world changed in that moment. Responding to his warm lips, she pressed herself to his chest. And when she allowed his tongue to slip forward, her heart thrummed wildly.

“My God,” he said gruffly. “You smell like summer rain.”

Their bodies stayed molded together by pure lust. The feel of his muscles and his intoxicating scent reminded Karina that she’d never want any man but him. Would Constantin make her his tonight?

“Come with me,” he said against her mouth.

As he lifted her off the ground, Karina nuzzled close—and as he brought her to the rear of the stable house and laid her in the hay of an empty stall, she wondered again about Lydia Brentwood. She was tempted to ask him if he had feelings for the haughty governess, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment.

His breath catching, Constantin laid next to her. With a firm hand, he reached over and cupped her face. After he gave her an admiring smile, he kissed her again—this time more deeply. Karina heaved forward and moaned against the softness of his moustache. Her limbs tangled with his. And when he grasped her tightly, hungrily, she pitched against him.

“Karina—” he said in a guttural tone. No longer reserved, he veered his touch from her face to her breast and started fondling it through her dress. She clasped his hand to amplify the caress. Constantin countered by pulling down the trim of her neckline, exposing a breast.

“Lord,” he murmured before he took her nipple in his mouth. He sucked it fiercely. She groaned and raked her fingers through his unkempt hair. His scalp was damp with perspiration and his body was glistening with sweat, but she didn’t care. To her, he was untamed and feral. Just the way she liked him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispered against her bosom.

“Tell me how long,” she rasped.

“Since the day you jumped from the tree. It took a lot of bloody courage to do that.”

He gave her a broad smile before he resumed working his magic on her breast. Joy rumbled through her. As he edged her thighs apart with his knee, a wave of lust warmed her soul. She gave a soft squeak when he reached a hand under her skirt and plucked her petticoat layers aside. And her cries of delight grew louder while he stroked his way inside her bloomers.

But when his arousal pressed against her injured leg, she winced.

“I’m sorry.” He met her stare for a moment.

“It’s fine,” she replied.

After he released her hair from her careful chignon, Constantin tilted her head back so that he could skim her throat with his tongue. As he lay next to her, he reclined, his weight on one hip. When their eyes met again, she studied him. He was a brick house of defined muscles and shimmering skin. Looking like a God under wisps of moonlight filtering into the stable house, he set Karina into an anxious pant.

She ran a hand over his flat nipples. Closing her eyes, she urged him to kiss her again. He did. Her hand drifted over his muscled arm. Then it stopped when she encountered a puckered scar.
What on earth?
Since his face was so close to hers, she couldn’t take a look at it.

Brows creased, she traced the scar with her fingertips. It seemed to have been caused by a deep scratch. An animal’s paw?

A
wolf’s
handiwork
?

The discovery sparked Karina back to reality.
I want to know about the scar. Will it fuel Constantin’s transformation into a werewolf?

Constantin was about to shimmy her dress lower when Lydia Brentwood barged in. Constantin and Karina jerked upright.

“Look what I found in this woman’s room!” she fumed to Constantin. “I told you not to trust her!” Whipping her hand forward, she held up the tiny bottle that contained the elixir.

Constantin scrambled to his feet. Meanwhile, Karina covered up and stood beside him, completely mortified.

“Holy hell! What’s that?” he asked.

“Why don’t you tell us, Sabrina Petri?”

“It’s nothing,” Karina fibbed as her cheeks flamed. “An antidote for a werewolf bite. A little insurance against Lord Draven.”

“You’re lying.” Lydia seethed. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“What were you doing in my room?” Karina asked the governess sharply.

Constantin’s hands curled into fists. “Tell the truth, for once in your life, Karina.”

His words stabbed her as surely as if they’d taken the shape of a knife blade.

“All right. I’ll tell you the truth if you tell me about that scar on your arm,” she said. “Were you scratched by a wolf?”

His face drained of color. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then I refuse to talk about the vial.” She snatched it out of Lydia’s hand and hugged it to her chest protectively.

“Blast it, Karina!” Constantin combed a hand through his mussed hair. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re always manipulating the situation. I can’t trust you.”

“If you weren’t so hardheaded, I wouldn’t have to manipulate anything!”

“Damn it!” He glared. “What do you want from me?”

“Something
you
obviously aren’t willing to give me.” She thrust him a defiant look.

“You drive me mad,” he admitted. “I can never figure out what you want.”

Lydia crossed her arms. “I knew you were up to something, Sabrina. I heard something odd jostling in your bodice.”

“Her name is Karina,” Constantin ground out. “Thank you for discovering the elixir, Lydia, but leave us alone now.”

“But I—”

“Please.” Constantin’s face darkened.

“Very well.” Red-faced, the governess turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.

Neither Constantin nor Karina spoke. The snapping fire provided the only sound in the stable house. When the quietness proved excruciating, Karina cleared her throat. “You must go back to camp, Constantin. I can help you, there. Prepare a tonic. As far as your grandfather is concerned, if you’ll just let me—”

Horror lit his eyes. He took a step back. “Don’t mention magic again. It’s never seemed right to me. Besides, I gave Lord Draven my word that I wouldn’t return to camp.”

“Integrity is something you live by, isn’t it?” For once, she hated his sense of honor.

“Yes.” He paused. “Anyway, how can I trust you? You’re infuriated with me right now. Maybe your tonic will turn me into a rat with a horse’s tail—”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Constantin.”

“I want to know about that vial,” he thundered.

“You don’t have to worry about it because I don’t plan to use it.”

He raised his chin. “You came here armed with Marga’s ring and that blasted bottle.

Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I have a lot to make up to you. I’ve swallowed my pride and braved the snow and Lord Winthrop’s wrath to do just that.”

Constantin huffed angrily. “I appreciate your telling me about my grandfather, but I suspect you have something up your sleeve.”

I’ll never tell you
, Karina thought.

Silence ensued.

“If you won’t spill the truth, then we have nothing more to say to each other,” he stated grimly.

She nodded stiffly.

He led her toward the stable door. “Lady Winthrop came to me and suggested you stay at the manor tonight.”

She suppressed tears.

“The room in the west turret has been made up for you,” he added. “Do you need me to escort you?”

“No. I remember where it is. Attend to the horses.”

“I’m sorry, Karina.” Regret clouded his stare. “I lost my head for a moment. It’ll never happen again.”

Her heart sank like a ship’s anchor. She grabbed the cane and limped back to the house. Constantin was right. She’d never been forthright with him. What she wanted was for him to love her, but she was afraid to voice that.

Ascending the servants’ stair well with the cane clicking alongside her, she reached the landing and stumbled headlong into Lydia Brentwood.
Damn.
The governess was the last person she wanted to see.

“Thank you for spoiling the best moment of my life,” Karina spewed as she brushed past her.

”You’re disgusting, Gypsy girl! Stooping so low as to cavort in a stable house!”

Karina whipped around and stalked back. “It’s none of your business what I do. What’s more, don’t ever call me ‘Gypsy girl’ again.”

Lydia put her hands on her hips. “But you are, aren’t you? A girl born in Gypsy poverty and shame. It’s no wonder Constantin speaks of you with resentment.”

“But he does speak of me,” Karina spit back. “What’s more, he’s born from the same stock.”

Lydia’s expression darkened. “I’d advise you to scurry back to your pathetic people and leave this fine Christmas celebration to the aristocrats.”

“Oh, I’ll be going back all right. But it won’t be because of your blackhearted jealousy,” Karina spat. “I can’t wait to return to people who genuinely care about each other.”

“Constantin cares about me,” Lydia said in a childlike tone.

“Really? You don’t know Constantin. He’ll never settle down with anyone. Duty and pride rule his actions and he would
never
marry above his social station.”

“He’s enchanted with me,” Lydia argued.

“
Enchanted
with you?” Karina echoed.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m refined and educated.”

“Then I can’t figure out what you want with a Gypsy man born in poverty and shame.” With that, Karina left the governess with her mouth agape.

T
o give his erection time to collapse, Constantin watched the fire burn inside the stable’s hearth.

When he’d lain with Karina, the feel of her in his arms had resurrected the love he always felt for her. But when Lydia had exposed the elixir, he remembered how bloody mystifying Karina was.

Lest he forget: reckless, selfish, devious, exasperating, and undisciplined!

Adjusting himself with a gruff motion, he swore under his breath.

He’d known Karina all her life, but she could still shock him.
Hell.
That’s precisely what intrigued him about her. She was a Gypsy through and through and she lived life to the fullest. Unlike him.

Maybe I’m becoming jaded here at Thorncliff Towers
.

Convention and formality ruled this place, but he was growing accustomed to it. He’d even sought out a friendship with Lydia Brentwood—just to have someone to talk to. Unfortunately, the woman was too high and mighty for his tastes. Karina, on the other hand, reminded him of the fire of his people and of their directness. Gypsies said what they meant and meant what they said, and they didn’t give a damn who they offended in the process.

Karina stirred that sense of defiance he’d lost. And tonight she’d looked so beautiful. All tumbled black hair and fiery eyes, she had stoked his red-hot desire like a dark temptress.

While Constantin limped to the manor’s kitchen, he pictured her shining amethyst dress and shimmering hairstyle. In fascinating contrast, she was feisty, unruly Karina beneath it all. The irony had made him hunger for her desperately.

She’d wanted him the same way, just now. He felt it. But then he learned about the vial
. God damn it!
Who knew what dark power that liquid contained?

Karina was a witch—and she scared Constantin to death.

Shaking his head, he plowed through the empty kitchen and made his way up the back stairwell. It might be too late for them to act out their passion, but they needed to decide what to do about his ill grandfather.

Maybe she
can
help Papa Stoica with her powers.

Leaning on his cane, Constantin’s leg ached from the cold. He’d have to endure the pain all winter. Glowering, he paused at Karina’s door. Pressing his ear to it, he listened. Silence greeted him.

He raised his fist and knocked on the door. “It’s me,” he called. “I feel badly for what happened in the stables. But we need to discuss Papa Stoica. If you’re not too tired, I’d like to come in.”

More silence. He waited another instant, then knocked again.

“Infuriating woman!” he murmured under his breath.

“Karina,” he said louder. “I’m putting myself out on a limb here.”

He waited. “If you’re in there, please open up.”

When she didn’t respond, it dawned on him. She was up to something.

He shouldered his way into the room. Moonlight streamed into the empty space on willowy beams. As a hush surrounded him, the only items he saw were a recently extinguished candle, an untouched bed, and the dress Karina had borrowed from Lady Winthrop.

She’s gone out in the cold
.

 

 

Karina crept down the back stairwell. Tugging on the tattered dress she had arrived in, she was careful to keep her footfalls silent.

She came to this ostentatious manor to inform Constantin about his sick grandfather. She had done what she was supposed to do and now she was free to return home. Besides, she hadn’t promised anyone she’d bring Constantin back. He was a grown man—an adult capable of making his own decisions.

Karina propped the cane against the frame of the kitchen door before she snuck outside. Thankfully, she could move quickly now. As a witch, she’d performed a healing spell in the small bedroom upstairs. Now her wound was sealed.

Unfortunately, there was no one in this house with whom she could share her victory. At camp, it’d be a different story. Everyone expected her to take over as the next official Gypsy Witch—when Marga grew too old, that is. But Karina wasn’t so sure. She’d watched Marga perform spell after spell in private for years on end, yet casting spells on her own still intimidated her.

“You’re a gifted girl,” Marga had told her. “When you were twelve, you healed your leg following that unfortunate accident. It seems you have a talent for channeling magic.” What Marga didn’t know was that black magic frightened Karina. She preferred to use her powers in a positive manner. To heal and to persuade.

That was why Constantin shouldn’t be scared of her witch status.

Disdainfully, Karina took a last look behind her. When they were children, Constantin had been mortified when she offered to heal his leg. He claimed that he didn’t want anything to do with witchcraft. “A Gypsy’s powers are undeniably strong,” he’d said. “I’m sure they can be very dangerous.”

Once Karina entered the starless night, she thrust the vial of elixir into a pile of snow. She had no intention of using it now.

As she made her way toward camp, bursts of frosty air assaulted her. Lungs stinging, she slipped along the layers of ice that covered an incline. Although her dress clung to her legs and her skin grew chilled, she trailed toward the forest.

She hadn’t made the wisest decision in leaving the estate in this harsh weather, but she didn’t care. She was desperate to get back to what she knew . . . what she was comfortable with.

Unfortunately, her long skirt, coupled with the darkness, made it difficult to see where she was stepping. As she entered the forest, she focused on not tripping. Thus, she paid no mind to the route she’d taken before. Eventually she grew disoriented—and, when a crescent moon finally penetrated a veil of clouds, she knew she’d officially lost her way.

A sudden rustle in the bushes seized her attention. Then a wolf’s snarl pierced the cold night air and she froze in mid-motion.

 

 

The supper dishes had been cleared from the dining table long ago. Grace Ann sat back in her chair and patted her protruding belly. There was nothing to do but stare into the fire.

Soon, the flames began to stutter to a halt, but nobody else seemed to notice.

She rolled her eyes, straining to see over the tabletop.

Her stomach began to ache.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have eaten all that food.

Dinner was delectable, but she’d consumed four pieces of goose, three slices of bread, two helpings of raisin stuffing, and two servings too many of pudding.

Satisfied—if not a bit nauseated—Grace Ann suppressed a burp. At the table’s head, Lord Draven was going on about how absurd Christmas was. His wife, who had such lovely auburn hair, smiled and reminded him that holiday cheer was the backbone of Christmas.

Cheer?
Grace Ann thought.
What about presents?

She fiddled her fingers under the table. Then she crossed and uncrossed her feet about a hundred times. Deciding she couldn’t sit still any longer, her eyes darted between her grandmother and Miss Brentwood.

Deciding that no one would give two turtledoves what she did, Grace Ann scooted her chair away from the table and exited the dining hall. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to open
one
present.

She gave a nervous glance back.
Good.
The grown-ups were still engaged in their boring conversation.

Creeping along the shadowed corridor, she wished the house wasn’t so dark and ominous at night. She snatched a glance at the portraitures adorning the walls. Would the stern noblemen with their long noses tattle on her if they had the chance?

Well, they can’t.
Grace Ann suppressed a giggle. She rather enjoyed sneaking around and stirring the pot with her antics. More often than not, she was the only child in a roomful of adults. Being naughty was her way of getting attention.

Of course, being here at Thorncliff Towers scared her. She’d heard wolves growling in the night and had seen the terror on the servants’ faces.

Fright prickled her skin, but the urge to check on her presents trumped everything. Scents of cinnamon, pine, and fresh peppermint greeted her as she peeked into the drawing room. She wanted to sneak over to the tree—to see her presents close up, but the candles on the boughs had been extinguished.

“Safety is of the utmost importance,” Grandmamma always said.

“Dash it all,” Grace Ann whispered. That was another thing Grandmamma always said. She strained her eyesight in the dark. Through the shadows, she managed to spot two glittering presents stacked on the tree’s lace skirt.
Those
hadn’t been there before.

What could they be? The porcelain doll she’d asked for? A new tea set, perhaps?

A wolf’s howl split the silence. Racing back to the dining room, she breathed against its outer wall. Studying her presents wasn’t that important.

As she prepared to rejoin the others, a movement caught her attention. The Gypsy girl who’d appeared out of nowhere this afternoon was moving down the corridor.
What was her name?
Oh yes.
Karina.

Grace Ann watched Karina glance behind her. She didn’t look happy at all. How could anyone be unhappy on Christmas Eve?

Intrigued, Grace Ann followed the Gypsy lady into the kitchen. After hiding behind a stack of flour bags, she observed the raven-haired woman tiptoe to the back door.

Grace Ann observed her withdraw something from her dress. It was a vial of some sort. Her blood rushed in fast circles.
This is much more entertaining than opening presents.

Karina proceeded to lean her cane against the doorframe and head into the night.

Still hidden from view, Grace Ann watched the Gypsy lady toss the vial into the snow and shut the kitchen door behind her. As she waited in the crouched position, her legs ached and her belly strained against her dress.
Count to thirty,
she urged herself.

Karina should be out of sight by then
.

Popping out from behind a flour bag, she hurried to the door and opened it against a sharp wind. Thank goodness! The vial had landed in a nearby pile of snow.

She hastened to the vial and lifted it to eye level. Forged of metal and glass, it held a few ounces of scarlet-red liquid.

Wine!
She wasn’t going to chance tasting
that
inside the house!

Grace Ann unplugged the cork and took in a breath. Her curiosity teetering out of control, she drank the red liquid.
How strange
. Wine didn’t taste anything like she thought it would
.

The warm fluid spread through her body like a raging flood. In an instant, it paralyzed her limbs and dilated the pupils of her eyes. As her muscles grew too heavy to move and her mind went completely blank—she slumped into the snowdrift, motionless.