This Rough Magic

by Heather Graham

  By the light of the full moon...

  Carly couldn’t remember what else went with the line, but she could imagine a score of movies in which the gypsy fortune-teller warned the unwary that danger lurked here, along with the full moon.

  So far she had been in the wreck of an eighteenth-century carriage and met a wolf—and a count. And her sister was missing.

  What more could she ask for?

  “I’m not going anywhere, Count Vadim. My sister wrote me a letter from your castle. I will not go anywhere until I have her with me again!”

  Sighing, he walked away, then returned to her. “Look, you know Jasmine. Here today, gone tomorrow. You’ve barely been here an evening, and already you’ve been hurt. You need to leave.”

  “No. Not until I find Jasmine. Or not until you can tell me exactly where she is.”

  “You stubborn little—” he began, then laughed suddenly and took her chin again. He didn’t hurt her, but his hold was strong. She didn’t try to wrench away. Her heart was pounding, her breath came too quickly, and deep inside, she was trembling.

  “I am Jasmine’s sister.”

  He sighed. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “She wrote to me—”

  “Yes, yes. But you must go home.”

  “No.”

  “You are a stubborn little creature!”

  He studied her with grave care. Some gentler emotion suddenly flashed into his eyes, and there was an intriguing blend of tenderness and mischief about his gaze as he touched her cheek and chin—too intimately she thought.

  It was a little too much like hypnotism, she decided. He seduced, and perhaps he did not demand blood, but Carly was afraid it could be far too easy to lose her heart.

  She was a survivor, she reminded herself. Tough and resilient. She lived in New York by choice. She could handle Transylvanian nobility. No problem.

  She caught his fingers and removed them from her face. “What did you have in mind? We can’t even seem to reach the castle, and you’d like to put me on a 747.” Carly decided to make practical use of his nearness, so she held his hand, mindful of the electricity of his touch, and staggered to her feet.

  “You can stay for the ball,” he said, “and you can stay the night.”

  “Thank you. I have a hotel room.”

  “That won’t be necessary. You can stay at the castle. It will only be for the night.”

  “I’ll stay at the hotel. And I’ll stay as long as I choose.”

  He smiled suddenly. “Are you afraid of me, Ms. Kiernan?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you should be.”

  “Why?”

  “We both know the answer to that,” he replied.

  “I’m so sorry, count. But I don’t.”

  “All right, then. Good. If you’re not afraid of me, come to the castle.”

  “But I’m not going home tomorrow,” she insisted.

  “We’ll see.”

  “I want to see Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine is a damned butterfly! Who knows where the hell she has decided to alight!”

  Carly lowered her eyes. “We’re going in circles,” she murmured.

  His attitude changed abruptly and he laughed suddenly, as if it all were a great joke. He finished his brandy, poured himself another shot, and turned around to study her again.

  “So you are Jasmine’s little sister.”

  “Yes, I’m Jasmine’s sister, but little? We’re not even a year apart.” She tried to hobble toward the fire and winced as she put weight on her foot.

  “Don’t step on it,” he warned her. There was a bench before the fire, and he helped her to it. The feeling of his arms about her was curiously natural. Even while they argued, she fought the urge to touch him. She would have loved this to be sheer fantasy, a world in which she could close her eyes, shut out the light, fall into his arms and follow wherever he might lead.

  Yet she really hadn’t stumbled into a fantasy, and none of this was imagination. This was the twentieth century. He was wearing an expensive after-shave that she recognized as one that had only recently reached an exclusive market.

  Once she was seated, he knelt down before her. Carly stared down at his dark head as he examined her ankle.

  “How well do you and Jasmine know each other?” she asked carefully. Jasmine was the one who had warned her. Was she treading, if only by a curious twist of fate, upon her sister’s territory?

  He paused a moment, then shrugged. “Well enough. She’s a clever and enterprising young woman.”

  “Yes, that’s Jasmine,” Carly said.

  “And she is a butterfly.”

  “She’s lively. I’m worried about her.”

  “You shouldn’t be.” He looked up at her. “I must have some kind of a pot here. If I can heat some water, you can soak your foot, and perhaps by the time someone comes for us it will be somewhat better.”

  “Do you think someone will come for us?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I rode down to find you when you didn’t appear. Someone will come soon.”

  He rose, returned to the counter and dug beneath it until he produced a large pot. He filled it from the pump and hung it from an old-fashioned spit over the fire.

  “It will heat quickly,” he told Carly.

  Crouched by the fire, he watched her again. Firelight caught his eyes, and they gleamed golden upon her.

  “The designer,” he murmured, sweeping his gaze over her sodden costume.

  “Jasmine told you about me?”

  “Yes—but apparently not enough.”

  “Meaning?...”

  “Well, I had no idea that you were coming here. Not until you called this afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t you want to see me?”

  “Because...” He paused and shrugged. “Because Jasmine isn’t here,” he said. Carly wondered what he was hiding from her.

  He smiled, and she thought that it was a wonderful smile. He was such a contradiction—cold and hard one moment, curiously tender the next.

  “A designer—and a very good one,” he said. “Despite the damage it has received this evening, your dress is still stunning.”

  “Thank you.” Carly frowned suddenly. “Your accent is British.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is,” she told him suspiciously.

  He laughed, and she thought it had a disdainful tone to it. “French is our official language, Ms. Kiernan. We don’t all learn American English in Europe. British accents are much more common here.”

  “But there is no French accent in your speech!” she said, ignoring the intended insult.

  “And there is no English accent in my French,” he said with annoyance. He sighed, staring back into her eyes, which delved with a dead-set challenge into his. “My mother is—was—British.”

  “Oh,” Carly murmured. She was disappointed; she thought she had caught him in something. At her obvious chagrin, he smiled again. Then he touched her cheek with a gesture that was almost a caress and moved his fingers over her bodice.

  “You are very, very good. The dress is wonderful. You create a fantasy within it. You could be Désirée, the innocent young beauty who first stole Napoleon’s heart.”

  “She was dark, I believe,” Carly said.

  “Perhaps. And you are a golden blonde with turquoise eyes and a delicate heart-shaped face. But you’re very talented. I am sure that you will go wherever you want with your artistry.”

  “Jasmine has been talking.”

  “Jasmine is loyal and enthused.”

  “Yes, she is.” Carly felt a pang of jealousy of her sister, along with new worry. Where was Jasmine, and just how well had she come to know this fascinating stranger?

  This was, she thought, just the type of thing that Jasmine would do. Fall in love with an exotic count and run off to Romania, of all places.

  Except that the count, though an overwhelming and striking man, didn’t seem strange or exot
ic. He was built like a football player but had the manners of an Englishman.

  “Not quite George Hamilton,” she remarked.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said to her.

  She laughed. “Well, if I’m to be Désirée, I should try to figure out your costume.”

  He grinned broadly. “Count Dracula, who else?”

  “Yes, but which?” Carly teased. “Suave—George Hamilton. Hypnotic—Bela Lugosi.” She paused, then smiled and added, “Armand Assante—incredibly sexy. Then there’s Chris Sarandon—young and striking.”

  He laughed and took her hand between his two palms. He smoothed his fingers over hers and smiled warmly. “From you, mam’selle,” he teased her softly, “I will gladly accept them all.”

  The fire crackled, rose and flamed around them. Carly stared into his eyes, and a sweet heat filled her. This might have been the world, the entire world, this little log cottage in the misted mountains where the fire burned so warmly....

  And this man knelt before her, touching her. She could think of nothing but the excitement that seemed to fill her with liquid magic, golden tremors. In her life she’d had but one love. She’d never really dated; she’d married straight out of high school, and after she had lost him, she’d indulged in nothing more serious than proper dinner or theater dates.

  And now she knew that she wanted this man to hold her, to kiss her. She wanted to be alone with him in the cabin forever, and she wanted to feel the fire against her bare flesh and his.

  Too much brandy! an inner voice warned her. Maybe so, she thought, because she looked straight at him and asked, “Are you having an affair with my sister?”

  He stared back at her. His answer seemed a long time coming, but despite that, she believed him. “No.”

  Carly nodded slowly. “Did you have an affair with my sister?”

  “Did I?...” He paused, then with a rueful half curl to his lip said, “Did the man here before you now have an affair with your sister? Never. I swear it.”

  She lowered her eyes. He caught her chin and murmured, “I’d love to have you stay.”

  “You’ve been practically throwing me back across the ocean.”

  “Because you should go home. It isn’t what I want. It would just be better for you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Maybe it is dangerous for you to be here.”

  “Where’s the danger? Wolves in the forest?”

  “Maybe,” he said ruefully. “Maybe wolves—not in the forest.”

  She laughed, then lowered her head again. He touched her hair. “Jasmine’s sister. You are beautiful.”

  She flushed. But it was true. She wanted him, as a man. And if she lost her soul in the bargain, well, so be it. The emotion was so strong that it was shattering, and yet it felt good to her. It was vital, and it was alive.

  “I think the water is hot,” he said. He took the pot from the fire. He gently removed the satin slipper she was wearing. Carly somewhat awkwardly removed her stocking and hastily set her foot into the water.

  She jerked it back out, nearly screaming. The water was scalding. Startled, Count Vadim leaped to his feet and caught her when she would have fallen.

  He didn’t let her go. He held her in his arms, watching her eyes. “I think we let the water heat too long,” he said.

  “Yes, I think so, too.”

  Then he kissed her.

  His lips fell upon hers, molding to them. She found herself enveloped, the damp black cloak engulfing them both. Though the material that lay between them was still damp, too, it didn’t matter. It seemed that their bodies fused with the contact. He was hard and lean, and she could feel the firm ripple of his muscled chest, where her breasts pressed against it. His mouth was fire as it moved against hers, molding and meeting, both so gentle and so commanding that he swept her away with it. He made love with his mouth. It ravaged and plundered, then moved softly, only to ravage again. Carly discovered herself clinging to him, running her fingers desperately through his hair. His tongue entered her mouth with its magic and embedded a growing desire deep inside her. He tasted her lips and explored her teeth. She and the count were frozen in that time and space, aware of only each other and of the abiding beauty of a first kiss. Their eyes met, they kissed again, and Carly had no idea of where things might go from there. At that moment, she thought, she could have done anything and welcomed it. She would have gladly removed the Empire gown and felt the firelight upon her naked flesh. She would have gladly watched him cast aside his clothes and seen him glimmer, too, before that fire as he walked into her arms.

  But he moved away from her suddenly, and his eyes were enigmatic as he stared at her. He smiled and touched her lips.

  “They’re here,” he said softly.

  “What?” Carly murmured.

  “They’ve come for us.”

  There was a rapping at the door. “Jon! Are you in there?”

  Jon Vadim strode to the door and opened it. Carly saw a man and a woman there. He was dressed as a mummy; she was a cat.

  “Yes, Geoff, I’m here,” Jon said. “And I have Ms. Kiernan, Jasmine’s sister.”

  “Thank God!” said the man.

  “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “Jon, no one can find the coachman. He’s simply disappeared. We called the police as soon as you left, and they started out on the road. The poor man simply isn’t to be found. We were so worried. I thought you might have come here.”

  “You thought right,” Jon said. “Mummy dearest, come here. Geoffrey Taylor, Jasmine’s sister, Carly Kiernan.”

  The mummy stepped into the room, offering Carly a swaddled hand. She couldn’t tell what Geoffrey really looked like, since he was covered in frightfully real and musty-looking wrappings.

  “Your costume is fabulous,” she said.

  “I am,” he remarked.

  He surveyed her with warm brown eyes. “And so is your Josephine,” he observed. “Jasmine tells me that you’ve designed for a number of off-Broadway shows.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “I’d like to talk over the next few weeks. I can see you know your business.”

  “She won’t be here for the next few weeks,” Jon said.

  “Yes, I will be around,” Carly corrected him. “Until I can find Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine?” The mummy looked over at Jon. “I thought Jasmine was off to Paris or somewhere else for the holiday.”

  Jon lifted his hands. “She’s off somewhere. Carly doesn’t believe me.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” the woman interjected. “Jasmine is gone, and the damned party will be gone, too! It’s already being ruined terribly!” She spoke in a bored and petulant voice that had a very proper English accent.

  Carly watched as the woman, who made a very sleek and shapely cat, stepped forward. Carly didn’t think she’d ever seen a costume so well calculated to display in the most flattering way the assets of a woman’s anatomy.

  “Tanya, meet Carly,” Jon Vadim said dryly. “Carly, Tanya Bannister.”

  Tanya barely nodded. “Such a commotion!” she complained.

  “And with good reason,” Jon said. “The carriage is in ruins. I don’t know what happened to the driver, but we’re quite lucky that Carly wasn’t hurt—or killed.”

  “Of course,” Tanya said.

  Carly realized that the woman couldn’t care less whether she was dead or alive, just as long as she could get back to her party. Tanya stepped up to Jon and linked her arm through his.

  “But Carly is all right. Can’t we please get back to the castle? We never have the opportunity in London to see a group like the A.J.’s. I want to hear them play,” Tanya fairly purred, her fingers resting on Jon Vadim’s arm. He smiled at her, and Carly thought that Tanya’s fake tail was about to swish with satisfaction.

  “Tanya,” Jon said, “I have to kill the fire—”

  “But I need to talk to you! For just a moment,” she said.

  “I
’ll walk you back to the car—”

  “I’ll kill the fire,” Geoffrey offered.

  “Jon, it’s very important,” Tanya insisted.

  Jon appeared irritated. He glanced Carly’s way, and she smiled sweetly. “Please, you two go on out. I’ve been so looking forward to meeting Geoffrey.”

  “Let’s go, Tanya. Make it brief.”

  He had her out the door quickly. Geoff gazed at Carly and grinned. “She is a cat,” he said. “Equipped with claws and fangs, I think.”

  “So it seems,” Carly agreed. “But whose cat is she?”

  Geoffrey shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. “I really am anxious to talk. I’m so surprised that Jasmine isn’t here. She was eager for the two of us to get together, you know.” He walked over to the fireplace and poked the logs apart, then stooped to dig sand out of a black pot to kill the flames. He glanced back at Carly and offered her a lopsided mummy smile.

  “Yes, Jasmine was eager for us to meet,” Carly said. “And I’m worried about her.”

  “Don’t be,” he soothed her. “You must know Jasmine. She moves with the night wind, does whatever takes her fancy.”

  “Yes, I know, but...” But she wouldn’t have invited me here, Carly thought. She wouldn’t have written the words “I need you.”

  “Well, we will talk, and I am very impressed. You do plan to stay awhile,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “No matter what Jon has to say?” He said this with a smile, but she found it difficult to tell what he was thinking, with his face obscured.

  “No matter what anyone says,” she replied firmly. “If Jasmine is off somewhere, she’ll know she can reach me here.”

  “Well, that seems to be about it. Let’s get going, shall we?”

  He opened the door for her. Jon and Tanya Bannister were just outside in the damp night. Their heads were close, and Carly wondered what they were whispering about.

  She felt a bit like a fool. There was no reason Jon Vadim shouldn’t have close...acquaintances. But first she’d been concerned about his relationship with Jasmine, and he’d denied any involvement with her sister. Now Carly was wondering, though she tried to resist, about the beautiful but selfish Tanya.

  “We’re all set,” Geoffrey announced cheerfully.

  Carly kept a smile on her face and tried not to look at Jon. She had no rights here. She had just met the man, and perhaps she was really just proving her naiveté about the ways of the world—or of the international jet set, at least.