Christmas At Thorncliff Towers

by Marina Myles

  “Why do you think I wanted to get Viktor away from here?”

  “About that—”

  “I don’t wish to speak of it,” he said. “I forgave you when you broke my leg, but I’ll never forgive you for letting my brother take the blame for something you planned.”

  Sickness roiled Karina’s stomach. “Viktor told me to run!”

  “He was only sixteen. He didn’t know what to do. But you. You shouldn’t have involved him in the first place.”

  “Our people were starving. It was Christmas Eve. We knew there’d be more than enough food at this house. Still, you refused to go with me.”

  “Stealing is a crime, any way you look at it.”

  “We’re Gypsies,” she reminded him.

  Constantin said nothing.

  Karina watched him pour some of the antiseptic onto the wound. She nearly jumped off the bed at the stinging pain. Inhaling, she said, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  He gave her a sheepish look. “A little.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry Viktor got caught. I truly am.”

  Another silence hung in the air. As Constantin bandaged her wound, he brushed his fingers over her skin again. Karina stiffened, but inside, her thoughts skittered all over the place.

  She tried to distract herself by surveying the room. There was nothing in it to remind Constantin of his Gypsy culture. He’s distanced himself from our people because he hates us.

  “I’m glad Lord Winthrop allowed you to take Viktor’s place,” she commented.

  “It took some convincing. I lived alone on the outskirts of town for almost a year. Every day I came here to try and see Winthrop. Finally, he agreed to let me stay and work in the stables alongside Viktor. Eventually, he released my brother.”

  “I want you to know Viktor has arrived back at camp safely.”

  He said nothing.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here, Karina.” He scowled.

  “Is that such a bad thing?” she asked. “I promise I’m not here to dredge up the past.”

  Constantin sat back and studied her with his intense eyes. “Why are you here? To steal more food?”

  Her eyes flashed. “That hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked away, only to resume eye contact a few seconds later. Karina thought she caught a gleam of amusement in his stare. “Well, I’m not wearing body armor—in case you intend to injure me again.”

  “I broke your leg and your nose, didn’t I?” She cringed.

  “You had a hell of an aim with those walnuts.” His lips quirked.

  “Well, you made me mad,” she said as lightly as she could.

  He sat back on his heels. “I want the truth about why you’re here.”

  “All right. I got lost in the woods.”

  “I don’t buy it.”

  Her face heated.

  “I see you’re still wearing the ring Marga gave you.”

  She glanced down at the enchanted band—the one the matriarch of their tribe had bestowed on her. With raised grooves and a design that portrayed a lion bowing under a full moon, the ring called to her in the dim light of the room. But Karina didn’t feel it was the right time to set its powers in motion.

  “I don’t intend to use the ring,” she said, “so you can relax.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  It was time to tell him. She leaned forward. “Your grandfather is very sick.”

  Worry darkened Constantin’s face. He ran a finger along the unshaven hint of a mustache. “Papa Stoica? What’s wrong? He’s always been as strong as an ox.”

  “It’s been a cold winter—” Karina looked down “—and he contracted the shilalo.”

  “Pneumonia?” He began to pace the room. “Has Marga tended to him?”

  “Yes. She also called in an English doctor. I’m afraid you grandfather has mere days to live.”

  “And they sent you to deliver the bad news?” Constantin fumed.

  “Yes,” she replied awkwardly.

  “I can’t leave here, Karina. Lord Winthrop won’t let me go back to camp. It’s part of the arrangement I made with him.”

  “What if you asked him? What if you explained everything?” She put a hand to her bodice. The vial was still hidden there. She swallowed hard.

  “If you knew Winthrop, you’d know that was out of the question. Besides, I don’t belong at camp anymore.”

  She gave him a haughty look. “I suppose you’re better than us now.”

  “Thanks to you, I had no choice but to leave our tribe.”

  There was a knock on the door. A freckle-faced abigail entered the room. “I’m Gwyneth.

  “Please accompany me for a bath, Miss.” The girl held an unfamiliar cane in one hand and a beautiful, amethyst gown in the other.

  Karina’s eyes darted to Constantin. He thrust her a surly look as he helped her off the bed. “Go on,” he said. “I need to secure Master Draven’s horse.”

  With the aid of the cane, Karina hobbled down the hall behind the abigail. Gwyneth led her to the female servants’ quarters and into a room Karina could use temporarily. The girl offered to help her out of her dirty dress, but Karina stopped her. She insisted on privacy so she could keep the elixir vial hidden.

  Once she settled inside the bathtub, she called the abigail back in. The girl kept the bandaged wound dry while she bathed. Once Gwyneth assisted Karina out of the copper tub, she helped her step into Lady Winthrop’s purple gown.

  When the lady’s maid began to comb her long, black hair, Karina brought forth a sigh. Having someone tend to her was a luxury she’d never known.

  “I’ll duplicate Lady Winthrop’s style.” Gwyneth smiled at her in the vanity mirror.

  The elaborate coiffure took a while and Karina longed to ask the abigail about Constantin. Fortunately, she didn’t have to.

  “You know Constantin?” Gwyneth asked.

  Because the girl seemed nice enough, Karina gave a tactful reply. “Yes. We’ve been friends since we were children.”

  The maid brushed Karina’s hair so hard her scalp tingled.

  “He’s is a stand-up man, that Constantin.” Gwyneth blushed. “Quite a gentleman for being . . .”

  “. . . a Gypsy?” Karina smiled. “It’s all right to say it.”

  A pause followed. Sounds of hair pins snapping filled the silence.

  “It isn’t my place to tell you this,” the maid continued, “but Miss Brentwood seems to ’ave taken a liking to Constantin. Apparently, she doesn’t know ’er place.”

  Karina watched Gwyneth shake her head disapprovingly. “Does Constantin return Miss Brentwood’s feelings?” she dared ask.

  Gwyneth stopped styling and shrugged. “Women can never read men’s minds.”

  She was right. Not even Karina could do that.

  The maid urged her to stand and take a look in a full-length mirror. The amethyst gown showcased Karina’s creamy bosom and accentuated her slim waist. She cleaned up as attractively as any aristocrat.

  “Ye look beautiful, Miss.” Gwyneth beamed. “If I do say so myself.”

  “Thank you. I’ve never worn anything so fancy.”

  “Now be careful with that cane,” the brunette girl warned. “It belongs to Lady Winthrop’s father, Sir ’arris Farrington. ’E hurt ’is leg in Egypt and though ’e needs the cane most of the time, ’e is lettin’ you borrow it for a few hours.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Karina protested.

  “Lady Winthrop insisted. Now follow me. Ye can ’ave some tea while the nobles eat their supper. We servants eat later.”

  Karina nodded. Before she followed Gwyneth to the first floor, she eyed the dirty dress she’d arrived in. Alongside her satchel, it lay on the bed, the vial still hidden safely inside its bodice.

  On the way to the kitchen, Karina and the lady’s maid passed an alcove that opened into the massive dining room. Karina took a peek insi
de and sucked in a breath. A high, vaulted ceiling canopied a stunning, mahogany dining table. Incredibly long, the table shimmered with crystal glasses, towering candlesticks, and polished flatware.

  What made Karina gasp more than the table was the sight of Constantin engaged in a stolen conversation with Lydia Brentwood in another alcove off the dining room. As they huddled together, he had one hand pressed to the wainscoting behind the governess’s head. Leaning forward, Miss Brentwood twittered and giggled like a bleating sheep.

  Catching her first name in their conversation, Karina’s cheeks heated. She jerked her stare away. Pay them no mind. You have no right to be jealous.

  She entered the warm kitchen. Constantin still despises me. After dinner she would fetch the vial and get him to drink the elixir it contained. Only then could they leave this place together.

  Unfortunately, there was a snag in her plan. The elixir’s power would dissipate in a few hours’ time.

  Supper with the servants was an uneventful affair. As Karina ate, she tried not to wolf her food down. She also tried to push the image of Constantin pressed against Lydia Brentwood from her mind. When he’d whisked Karina down the knoll to the house, the feel of his corded muscles and broad chest had enticed her. Excited her. She closed her eyes and pictured them lying together—his muscled pelvis wedged between her legs.

  In her daydream, he traced his hand over the curve of her hips up to her breasts. Then he laid her back and stroked her with his expert hands, readying her for—

  “Miss Petri?” Mrs. Tidwell’s voice cut the lustful vision short. “Are you feeling faint?”

  “I . . . I’m fine,” Karina stammered.

  Good lord. Her isolated life was taking its toll. In her defense, there were no men at camp she could flirt with—or even talk to. That’s why she was desperate for a man’s touch. Starved for Constantin’s touch.

  Mounds of gooseberry jam, buttered bread, succulent goose, and sweet wine disappeared from Karina’s place setting. Topping off the perfect meal was the cup of Earl Grey tea Mrs. Tidwell set in front of her. Now that she was stuffed, she sat back in her chair and glanced around for Constantin. He’d never shown up for dinner. Had he foregone the meal to avoid her?

  Well, she planned on having a word with him about that.

  Scooping up a few pieces of bread, she slipped out the back door. With the aid of the cane, she made her way to the stable house, where the windows flashed a brilliant orange glow.

  Hearing the crackle of a fire, she entered, uninvited. Constantin had his back to her. Shirtless from the waist up, as he’d been when she had spied on him earlier, he was brushing a pewter-colored mare. The chore set his tendons into a fluid stretch and his biceps into a rippling bulge.

  Karina shut the door with a loud clatter. He whirled around—his foul expression softening as he perused her new appearance.

  “Karina. You look . . . nice.” Then he seemed to remember that he was angry with her. Resuming his task, he spoke in an icy tone. “Christ, woman. I came here to be alone.”

  She ignored his comment. “I brought you some bread, since you missed dinner.”

  “Thank you,” he said curtly. “Leave it on the workbench, please.”

  She did and strode toward him. Gathering her courage, she released the cane and touched his solid shoulder. “Do you like my dress?”

  He snatched a look at her, then avoided her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

  “You hardly saw it. Come. Take a long look.”

  His stare swept over her tiny waist, rounded cleavage, and elegant hairstyle. He gulped. “You look very—different.”

  She smiled seductively. “Is that a compliment?”

  “Yes.” His voice was a growl. “You’re stunning.”

  Motivated by the jealousy she felt over his connection with Lydia Brentwood, Karina slid both hands up his chest and laced her fingers behind his neck. “You’ve always been my friend, Constantin. But I missed you in another way when you left camp.” She paused. “Did you miss me?”

  He untangled her fingers. “I’ve missed your companionship. That’s all.”

  “Is that all I’ll ever be?” Frustration coated her voice. “A companion? A friend?”

  He held her by the arm and she could swear she saw agony in his forest-green eyes. “We lost our parents at a young age,” he said. “That’s why we became friends, Karina. We had that in common.”

  “You never thought I was pretty?”

  “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but you scared me. I had to grow up and be a father figure to Viktor. I couldn’t afford to let your rebellious ways distract me.”

  “So that’s the reason . . .” her voice trailed off.

  He released her arm and anchored his hands on his hips. “You were always defying authority and getting into mischief. I was too straitlaced—too responsible—to join in.”

  “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 he
r 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.