Bitter Vows: A Twisted Arranged Marriage Romance (Crimson Falls Duet Book 1)

by Dani René

  I wonder if there’s a heating system of sorts, but my grandmother would never pay for this place to be kept heated if I had to guess correctly. A heavy chandelier hangs above me, with crystals glinting in the dim light.

  “Hello.” A voice comes from my right, forcing me to turn toward a doorway that leads off from the foyer. “Welcome to Bardot Manor.” A woman who looks to be in her mid-forties smiles at me brightly.

  “Thank you,” I respond. “I’m—”

  “Scarlett Bardot,” she says, interrupting me. “We’ve been so excited to have you visit. I hope you had a lovely trip?”

  “Yes, it was acceptable,” I tell her before glancing around once more.

  Ellington offers me a nod before tipping his black driver’s hat at us and exiting, shutting the heavy door behind him. And that’s the final nail in my proverbial coffin. Once the car leaves, I’m stuck here.

  “Let me show you to your room,” the woman, who I still don’t know, says.

  I place a hand on her arm, needing her to look at me before I ask, “What is your name?”

  She gushes, holding her hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me. I’m Estelle,” she informs me before curtsying as if I were the queen and she a mere servant. It seems Gran has taught the staff to bow down to her. I’m not surprised.

  “No need for formality. I’m not my grandmother.” Before Estelle can respond, I head toward the staircase and take a few steps up before turning to see the woman following without my bags.

  “I’ll have Gray bring those up shortly.”

  “Thank you.” I face the staircase, and when Estelle reaches me, she turns left, and I follow. The hallway is carpeted with thick, dark brown material that allows us to move silently, the plushness quieting our footsteps as she takes me all the way to the end and pushes open a dark wooden door. The bedroom ahead is prepared with fresh flowers in a vase on the vanity made of dark, rich oak, sitting looking over the enormous four-poster bed, draped in what looks like fresh bed linens. The pillows are the color of deep merlot, and the comforter a similar dark red.

  “This will be your wing of the house. Your grandmother is on the other end. You’re welcome to explore on your own, but just be wary of going out into the garden after dark.” Her voice is tainted with a dark threat that has me snapping my gaze toward her.

  “Why?” I question, waiting for her response. For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to reply, and I turn away, allowing her privacy rather than gawking at her. I open the curtain to look out over the lawn’s lush greenery and flowerbeds with bright leaves shimmering with water droplets under spotlights that illuminate the beauty that awaits me tomorrow morning.

  The bright colors of the petals—reds, yellows, oranges, and even purple—are so pronounced under the glow I can make them out easily. A pathway leads toward thick forests that further extends to a mountain that looks like a large, black mound. The forest ahead reminds me of those I read as a girl in dark fairy tales. “There aren’t any big bad wolves out there.”

  “Oh, no, not at all. We just have the gardener working at night. He sets the traps for the foxes who attempt to make a play for the chickens in the coop. It can be dangerous if you don’t know where they are.”

  “And he does this at night?” I spin on my heel, looking at the older woman. Why would someone want to do that at night? It’s rather strange.

  “Yes, he feels it’s better than doing it in the day; that way, we can explore the gardens safely while the sun is up,” Estelle says as she waves her hand in the air as if she thinks it’s as silly as I do.

  “I see. And how old is he?” My curiosity piques at the thought of someone wandering alone at night in the shadows, lurking outside my window.

  Her gaze snaps to mine at the question, her eyes wide as she regards me. “Oh, he’s not for you, sweet Scarlett. You stay clear of him.”

  Her words have me laughing out loud. “I’m not at all interested in a man who works in a garden setting traps, I can assure you of that.” I shake my head with a grin. Knowing that when I get home, I’ll have a multitude of bachelors waiting for me, and it will all be my mother’s doing.

  Her brows furrow at my words, but she doesn’t respond. Estelle only offers a curt nod before she heads for the door. Her reaction to me is strange, and I wonder if I’ve offended her by what I said.

  “Good night, Miss Bardot. I trust you’ll sleep well,” she greets before walking out of the room, leaving me staring at the empty space. I want to close it, but only moments later, an older gentleman brings my suitcases, and I guess it’s Gray.

  “Good evening, Miss. Bardot,” he says, as he pulls the suitcases through the door and sets them down on a stool near the closet.

  I watch him for a moment, before enquiring, “You’re Gray?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nods with a gentlemanly bow.

  “Tell me something, Gray.” I turn to face him fully, watching as he straightens to full height. “The gardener who works for Gran. Is there something I should know about him?”

  The old man’s eyes widen as he regards me. “I… I think perhaps you should meet him yourself, ma’am,” he tells me, his voice shaking as he speaks, which only sets my curiosity alight.

  He doesn’t say anything more, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving me with even more questions than I had before. The house is large, and I’m excited to explore. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, and with the multitude of rooms, I wonder just what could be hiding within the walls, or more so, outside the walls of Bardot House.

  I cast my glance out of the window once more, taking in the darkness, and as a shadow passes across the lawn, my heart leaps against my rib cage, and I can’t drag my gaze away from the large figure.

  When he stops, I notice his head twist, eyes landing on me, as if he can see me in the darkness. I can’t make out what he looks like, but he seems more beast than man as he watches me. The whites of his eyes burn through the darkness, and I have to move away from the window, my breath coming in short spurts of nervous air.

  There’s something very peculiar about him. About the shadow in the garden, but perhaps it’s my mind playing tricks on me. Sighing, I move to the suitcases and promise to get ready for bed. Exhaustion takes over, and I know tomorrow, in the light of the sun, I’ll be able to explore better.

  7

  Scarlett

  When my eyes open, there’s no sunshine streaming through the window. Instead, I’m met with the dire grayness of clouds hanging heavily in the sky. The house seems more haunted, with the weather turning somber than it would if the golden glow of the day were shimmering inside.

  I quickly dress in a skirt with a sweater that warms me. Even though the heating is on, there’s still a chill in the air when I open my bedroom door. The moment I step foot in the kitchen, the chef and Estelle stop speaking and turn to regard me.

  “Good morning, sweet Scarlett.” The old lady grins happily. “This is Jean-Pierre; he’s the full-time chef at Bardot House.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I tell the older gentleman who’s dressed in a proper chef’s uniform.

  His face crinkles when he smiles. “Ma cherie,” he says with a tip of his head before turning his attention back to the stove.

  “Are you hungry?” Estelle asks, moving swiftly toward me. “I’ve set out breakfast for you in the dining room. Your grandmother said she’ll be back in a few days. She had business in the city, so she’ll be gone for a little while.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment squeezes in my chest, stealing the words from my lips. I was hoping to see her, spend some time with her before the ball. It’s been a few years since my gran and I were able to sit and talk, to catch up on the news of what I’ve been doing.

  “Don’t worry,” Estelle mumbles as she leads me through the dining room entrance, and I find myself in a familiar room. When I was much younger, I recall being in here for lunch with the rest of the family. Sitting at the long, twelve-seater
table always felt as if we were royals. “She’ll be back soon enough.”

  I’m seated at the head of the table, gifting me a view of the room, and then I’m left alone with what looks like a buffet set out for a princess. Fruits that shine as if they’d been polished, freshly made toast, eggs, and sausages, along with juice and a French Press of steaming coffee. I start with that, pouring myself a mug full and heading toward the window to take in the view.

  With the weather being so dismal, I think I’ll have to stay indoors and read. If I recall correctly, my grandmother’s library is filled with classics as well as some intriguing volumes of the ancestors who first moved to Crimson Falls.

  Sipping my drink, I watch two staff heading to what looks like a vegetable patch at the far side of the kitchen. They both carry baskets, and begin filling them with greens, which I’m sure will be used for dinner tonight.

  I settle in the chair and fill my plate with delicious smelling food. The silence of the house is startling, the clinking of the cutlery is the only sound, and I wonder if spending a month here was a mistake because I do like to have someone to talk to or music to listen to. I’m sure Gran won’t mind me using her music room, but it’s going to be lonely all by myself.

  With the ball a week away, I’m sure she’ll be in attendance, but with her running Bardot Industries, she may not stick around if she didn’t even want to greet me before leaving this morning.

  Loneliness seeps through me like a rabid poison.

  Growing up with my folks who were more interested in spending time with their friends, I’ve learned to be alone, but there are times it becomes too much. Perhaps I can call Aelin to come to visit for a few days. She’d love it here.

  Once I’ve finished eating, I head toward the kitchen only to find it empty. Furrowing my brow, I turn and make my way through the house, taking a long hallway toward the library, which I remember as a girl. The room hasn’t changed much. The walls are lined with shelves of uncracked spines, calling to me to explore. An enormous open-brick fireplace sits against one wall, which has a large grandfather clock above the mantle.

  A three-seater couch with matching armchairs furnish the middle of the room, surrounding a thick brown throw rug and a knee-height coffee table. On the smooth surface, I spy a few magazines, mostly home improvement ones, which don’t interest me.

  I allow my gaze to take in the bookshelves, tracing my finger over the smooth spines. Some are old, first editions, others are newer, with sleek glossy covers, and I can’t help but giggle at some of the romances she’s collected over the years. I find an old copy of fairy tales. The one of Red Riding Hood piques my interest, and I slide it out.

  The cover doesn’t have an image; instead, the title is engraved in gold on the dark green jacket. I flick it open and find a handwritten note, which I scan with furrowed brows.

  My darling, Grace,

  As the wolf loves his damsel, so I love you.

  Yours always,

  C.S.

  I’m not sure who C.S. is, but I must ask my gran when she returns. My grandad died before I met him, but his name was Randolf Thurston. I recall Gran telling me she would never take another man’s name, and that’s why she was always Grace Bardot.

  It must be an old friend. It’s a beautiful gift. She’s always loved the old stories by the Grimm Brothers instead of the newer, less scary retellings.

  Settling in one of the amber leather armchairs, I curl my legs under my butt and open the book.

  A sound startles me, causing the book I’d fallen asleep holding to tumble to the floor. Another heavy crunch sends my mind reeling. The room is now drenched in black, and I glance at the fireplace where a clock hangs above the mantle. I’m not sure if the hands are correct, but if they are, I’ve slept most of the day away.

  It’s almost six, which means dinner will probably be served soon. Pushing to my feet, I move to the window, wanting to find the sound that woke me, but all I see are shadows in the garden ahead. A shiver takes hold of me, and I force my sleepy body up the stairs to my bedroom to find a hoodie. Perhaps some fresh air will help me wake up.

  I still can’t believe I spent my first day in Crimson Falls asleep. In my room, I discard the sweater I’d been wearing and grab the red hoodie and pull it on over my T-shirt. Donning the hood to cover my hair, I race down the stairs and out the patio doors onto the stoop, which is hard beneath my sneakers.

  Light streams from the spotlights, illuminating the garden just like they did last night. A howl from somewhere in the forest has a gasp falling from my lips. There isn’t any staff outside, but I should be safe since Estelle told me there are traps for any foxes wanting to get onto the property.

  I take one step off the stoop onto the lush grass, which feels as if I’m walking on a cloud.

  A sound to the left of where I’m standing startles me, and I wonder if the gardener is outside doing work. “Hello?” I call out, but there isn’t any response. Shrugging, I move farther into the garden, to where I recall two of the staff picking vegetables this morning. The patch is dimly lit, and I can make out a few types of lettuce and some carrots which have been pulled out. I don’t recognize a few other plants, and I make a mental note to ask Jean-Pierre about them.

  A branch cracking has me whipping my head behind me, but I don’t see anyone there. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I hear another scrape of what I can only guess is a shoe against concrete. My gaze snaps to the stoop, but there’s nobody there either.

  “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working!” I call out to who I can only guess is the gardener attempting to freak me out. Shaking my head, I move toward the house, and that’s when I see a large figure at the door. A scream is stuck in my throat when he moves slowly, predatorially toward me.

  I can’t see his face properly, but from the shadows, I can tell he must be at least six-five with broad shoulders, and he’s wearing a dark hoodie that covers his face. Then I notice the glint of a blade in his hand. And that’s when I race through the garden.

  8

  Lycan

  Being back in Crimson Falls is intriguing, but also, I’m anxious to get this contract in motion. The home I grew up in, the one where my memories now lie, is where I’ll bring her. Even though I haven’t been here in a long time, I know it will be the perfect place for me to ensure my little red is safe while she comes to terms with her new life.

  The flight back from New York was quick, and the drive up here was refreshing. A change from the city. The furnishings my decorator chose are exquisite—all dark woods, glass and steel in the kitchen, and claret carpets overlying the expensive marble tiles.

  I head up the sweeping staircase and turn left down the hall to the room I’ve had set up for Scarlett. Upon pushing open the door, I find the ornate four-poster bed, a myriad of cushions, and a deep red comforter.

  On the opposite side of the bed is a vanity with a beautifully intricate mirror. Carved from the finest oak, the frame shows a little girl with a red hood and the wolf right behind her. They’ve painted the hood perfectly, her long hair hanging over her shoulders as the predator makes his way toward her.

  Reaching for the sculpted scene, I trace my finger over the hood, the memory of Scarlett’s sleek, red hair flickering in my mind. The length perfect for fisting around my hand, her eyes wide and bright as she regarded me with fire and defiance. My cock jolts with the memory, and I can’t help but grin. How perfectly delicious it will be to break her down and watch her submit to my whims.

  When I planned to bring her here, I wanted the room to feel like home. Even though she’s going to hate me for a while, I figure at least she can hate in comfort. The contract I signed with her father ensures she’s mine and no longer a Bardot. She will be a Shaw as soon as the ceremony is complete.

  A man relinquishing his hold on his daughter because he fucked up is a sad state of affairs. But he did it to ensure I never divulged what he did behind his wife’s back. Yes, she kne
w about the money, the club, but she I’m certain has no clue her husband has a much larger secret, one that would most certainly break the perfect family unit he’s managed to build.

  Power has been my drug for a long time. I’ve reveled in it. Knowing I have the command to take down anyone who steps in my path is a heady feeling. Dominance goes hand in hand with the emotion, and I can’t wait to see Scarlett on the other end of my control.

  A smile slowly moves along my face, one that isn’t filled with humor, but a sinister need to have her here right now. I have time, but I’d like it sooner rather than later. When the Bardot ball takes place, she will be on my arm. And if she tries to escape, I’ll lock her up in this palace until she submits fully, in every way possible. Another grin graces my lips at the thought, this one filled with dark humor.

  “Mr. Shaw,” the voice of the man I put in the Bardot home to keep an eye on my new possession calls to me, causing me to return to the present. “I’ve met her,” he says as he enters her bedroom, where I’m still standing over the vanity.

  “And?” I turn, facing him as he moves deeper into the room. I’ve known Gray since I was a child. From the moment I realized I would never have a normal life, he was there for me. He’s been good to me, obeying my commands without question.

  He nods slowly, a small beam of happiness on his face, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me not to do this, but then he says, “She’s beautiful, I have to admit. You will make a wonderful couple. But there’s something you do need to know.”

  “What is it, Gray?” The frustration in my tone has him wincing, and I have a feeling whatever it is he has to tell me, I’m not going to like.

  “Your brother is here,” he informs me, and he was right in being wary of telling me. My hands fist at my sides as I focus on trying not to smash my knuckles into the brand-new mirror. I can’t break anything I’ve set up for her.