This Rough Magic

by Heather Graham

  “How lovely,” she murmured, staring into his eyes.

  He nodded. “It is beautiful.” He put down his glass and reached for her fingers. “We were interrupted this evening. We never finished our dance.”

  “What?...” Carly whispered in protest. He smiled, took her hand and swiftly led her out of the library. Within moments they were on the terrace. The dying moon was a white orb in the sky, and the muted, misty colors of a new morning fell gently upon them. As if on cue, the dog ceased to howl, and the strains of the distant violin hauntingly floated on the morning air.

  Jon bowed low to her, then caught both her hands and swept her into his arms. He held her tightly against him and swirled her around the room as if they danced on clouds.

  She looked into his eyes, thinking that the tenderness and fascination she found there could not be a lie. This night was magic—sweet, rough magic. His hand upon her back felt like a brand on her satiny robe. There was so little between them, she thought. She felt the hardness of his chest against her breasts. She felt his hips and the muscles of his thighs and sensed a rich warmth seeping into her, filling her heart. She couldn’t draw her eyes from the amber depths of his.

  Suddenly they weren’t dancing anymore, though they were still touching, her breasts against his chest, hip to hip, legs almost entwined. He cupped her chin with one hand and slowly brought his mouth down upon hers. When she felt the sweet, keen pressure of his lips, she parted hers. The pulse of her heart raced so swiftly that it was agonizing. She gripped his shoulders and played her fingers over his back. She flicked at his lips with her tongue, then fell back into the greedy depths of the kiss again. She felt his hands upon her in a questing touch. With his palms he teased her nipples, then curled his hands around her breasts to explore their fullness. She ached at his touch. New fever rippled through her. The need, the hunger, filled her breasts, then pulsed through her veins to the core of her and erupted like fire in the pit of her abdomen. She wanted to fall against him and let the satin material slide off her to the floor. She wanted to feel his touch more thoroughly, wanted to drown forever in the magic of the kiss.

  Jon Vadim wondered at the magic, too, of this night, this woman. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone quite like her. Her skin was as soft as her satin gown, and as he held her he felt his pulse race, his muscles constrict. From the moment he’d seen her, standing like a lost princess among the wreckage of the carriage, he’d felt a curious ache seep into him. It was a hunger, deep and fervent, like nothing he’d ever felt. He wanted her; at this moment he burned for her. But he knew she would not be easily taken, nor would the hunger be easily appeased.

  He wished to God he could tell her the truth. No, he just wished that he could sweep her off the terrace and up into the privacy of his room.

  Already, though, he felt her drawing away. Just as the night sky was losing the magic of the moon, he was losing the sweet moment of her trust.

  And it was just as well, perhaps, he decided. It was all a lie.

  Carly met the question in his eyes with a shake of her head.

  “There is something here,” he said softly. “I really don’t think you can fight it. I don’t think I can fight it.”

  “I—I want to know where Jasmine is,” Carly said. “I want to know what is going on here.”

  “Jasmine is safe. I swear it!” he told her.

  “I want to trust you.”

  “Then trust me.”

  She had to get away from him. She wanted to hold him again, to feel his touch, and he knew it. There was something there, some rough magic on the mist and in the breeze. And for the life of her, she couldn’t deny it or fight it.

  She shook her head again, turned away from him and hurried back along the terrace.

  The moon had disappeared. The sun was rising, golden and glowing.

  She didn’t look back. If she had, she knew, she would see that he hadn’t moved. He had stayed there and watched her run.

  She fled up the stairs as if chased by demons. This time she did lock the door, once she’d entered the room. She slipped off the robe, ran to the bed and slid beneath the covers. She pulled them up to her chest and lay back, breathing hard.

  She glanced toward the door, then smiled at herself. She was being a fool. She knew he hadn’t followed her. She thought again about the legends of the region.

  If the count wanted to reach her, no lock in the world could keep him from doing so.

  She almost laughed aloud. One night, and he was all that filled her thoughts. Her heart still beat too rapidly. She had to take care. He was too fascinating. Too powerful, too masculine. And she was being drawn in way too quickly for a woman with good sense.

  Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Carly tensed suddenly.

  She held her breath.

  The inspector had said that whoever had killed the coachman might have wanted to kill her. Perhaps the footsteps moving so stealthily in the hall were those of a killer, coming for her....

  She prayed in a whisper and shot out of bed. On her bare feet she hurried across the room, barely breathing as she listened.

  She exhaled, slumping against the wall. The footsteps were not coming any closer. They had stopped at Tanya’s door across the hall. And no one was breaking in on Tanya. Carly heard a soft rap, Tanya’s door was opened. Tanya’s voice. “There you are.” Tanya giggled. “Come in, love.”

  A masculine whisper made a reply.

  The door was closed. There was silence out in the hallway, then Carly heard a soft moan and a whimper.

  Carly felt her cheeks flame. Tanya was meeting a lover, and Carly was spying on her. She had no right....

  But she did have a right; she just didn’t want Tanya’s lover to be Jon Vadim. Tanya had denied any relationship but hinted at something else.

  Jasmine... But Jon Vadim had denied a relationship with her sister. It was all so confusing. She was worried silly and was falling beneath a spell, despite it all. A man was dead, she had nearly been killed herself, and all that mattered was Jon Vadim.

  She swore out loud and vowed to herself that she would get to the bottom of things.

  She walked back to the bed and crawled into it once more. She tried to sleep, but to her horror she kept wondering about the pair behind the other door. At last she pounded her pillow and crashed against it, determined to go to sleep.

  She slept at last. But her sleep was filled with dreams. She kept seeing Jon Vadim. He walked to her through fields of mist, smiling at her, and though she knew she should be afraid, she stood still and waited.

  He kissed her, and she felt that the clothing covering them both melted into the mist. They lay down together in clouds. He kissed her, the mist swirling around them. Then he rose above her, she saw only his golden glowing eyes and heard laughter, then Jasmine’s warning voice.

  “He’ll steal your soul.... He’ll steal your soul....”

  Carly knew it but could not stop him. He came to her again, and she stretched out her arms to receive him.

  * * *

  Carly had no idea what time it was when she awoke. For a long while she remained on the bed, wondering what of the preceding day had been real and what had been imagined.

  She groaned as she rose. She still felt so sleepy. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost three in the afternoon.

  Another bath might help, she decided.

  In the tub she mused that she must be losing her mind. She was in Transylvania, so she was creating imaginary demons. She was exhausted, which was why she had nightmares and woke up with a splitting headache. She closed her eyes but trembled even as she did so. Jon Vadim was real. So were her feelings for him. He was devastating, and she was not immune.

  “But not stupid, either!” she assured herself. The hot water felt so good. It eased all the tension from her. With the count she would be very strong and somewhat caustic. She wasn’t going to fall like putty into his arms anymore.

  “Carly.”

&n
bsp; Her eyes flew open. She faced the mirrored wall, and that was where she saw him first, in the mirror.

  He was in black jeans and a black polo shirt. His hair was damp and fell in a wave over his forehead. Where the V of the sweater lay against his chest, little tufts of hair showed, giving him a raw, sexual appeal.

  Her eyes met his in the mirror.

  At least he had a mirror image, she told herself. Unlike a vampire.

  But she couldn’t pull her gaze away. She noticed the pulse beating against his throat and saw his features tense. He stood still, but she could feel the vibrant energy within him.

  And the hunger.

  And she herself felt it sweeping through her body like a storm, making her weak, making her tremble. Something terribly strong leaped between them. She felt him...with all of her naked flesh, with the length of her body. She had never known what it was like to want a man so.

  “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.

  “You didn’t answer the maid’s knock on your door. You didn’t answer my knock. I was worried.”

  “You didn’t knock,” she reproached him.

  “I did knock. You didn’t hear me.”

  Her throat was dry. She wanted to offer him total indignation, but could barely whisper. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I had to see that you were all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  You should go now! she wanted to yell, but didn’t say it out loud. She said it with her eyes.

  He didn’t speak out loud, either. Nor did he leave. He continued to watch her, and powerless, she watched him.

  She searched desperately for the common sense she was so proud of having. He was in the bathroom, uninvited, while she lay in the tub, ridiculously vulnerable.

  She wanted to whirl around to face him. She wanted to accost him, to rail against him. She couldn’t seem to move.

  He entered the bathroom. Their eyes continued to meet in the mirror as he knelt behind her, as he drew his thumb gently down her cheek.

  Then he tilted her chin. Their gazes met now without the aid of the mirror. He kissed her. Lightly at first, then more deeply.

  He slipped his arms into the water, cupping her breasts with his hands. He moved his thumbs over her nipples, his fingers splayed over her flesh.

  Heedless of the bubbles, he pulled her into his arms and lifted her, dripping, against him. Then he carried her into the bedroom.

  Carly stared up at him. She knew she should say something, stop him, but she couldn’t speak.

  He laid her down and stretched himself beside her. She felt his eyes rake over her, taking in all of her. Then he kissed her again, and she felt the ragged fever of his breath, felt the fire of his touch. He kissed her lips, her throat. He ran his hand from her breast to the curve of her hip. Flaming liquid seemed to skim along her flesh as he stroked from her abdomen to her thigh.

  Then his kiss fell to her breast and she felt a sweet explosion of pure desire fill her as he closed his mouth over her nipple and delicately played his teeth against it. She dug her fingers into his hair and tossed and turned in an agony of longing. She arched against his touch as she whispered, “No, please... It’s too...fast.”

  He fell dead still against her. For an eternity he held her. She felt her heart thunder against his, felt the terrible constriction of his muscles.

  She wanted him so badly. He must hate her, should probably ignore her, because she should have denied him from the start. She should have railed against him for entering her room, and she should have been indignant....

  She shouldn’t even be here.

  But she was, lying naked beside him, denying him, wanting him. She had never felt such an awful confusion.

  He moved at last. Softly he kissed the valley between her breasts, then he rose above her. He studied her without condemnation.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. With a soft cry she reached up and locked her arms around him, burying her head against his neck. She started to shiver, cold and wet where her body wasn’t touched by his.

  Then she realized that she had turned him away, but was holding him again. She released him, twisting out of his hold. She leaped from the bed and rushed into the bath, where she wrapped a towel around herself. When she returned to the bedroom, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 4

  Carly lay in bed for a long while. Though she sensed that he understood, she still felt that she needed to explain. What could she say to the man? Yes, I’m dying to touch you, too. It’s just that it’s all....

  So sudden, so fast. At this time yesterday she hadn’t even known him. But she couldn’t pretend there wasn’t some sweet chemistry between them.

  She hadn’t handled things very well, she knew. She had let it all escalate—and then she had said no, like a confused teenager in the back seat of a car.

  At last she rose. Glancing out the windows, she saw that it was already growing dark. She had lost the day. This seemed to be a place where night reigned supreme anyway, she thought dryly. Night hid secrets, and it could also hide the truth.

  She dressed in clothing borrowed from Tanya. What was Tanya up to this evening? she wondered. And who had Tanya’s nocturnal visitor been?

  Secrets, she mused. The place was awash with them. And the main one was still where Jasmine was—hiding?

  Carly brushed her hair, then paused, staring at her image. She had to believe in Jon Vadim. She didn’t think he’d gone out and killed the coachman, and she was certain he hadn’t done away with her sister, either. She didn’t know why she should believe in him. She shouldn’t believe in him, really. But she did. Such things didn’t always make sense, or else they were part of one’s sixth sense.

  She turned, sighing. She had to say something to him.

  She left her room and went down the stairway and through the terrace. A young girl was sweeping the floor. Carly smiled at her, and the girl smiled back shyly. How many people worked in the castle? Carly wondered. None of them seemed alarmed about the recent events. If they suspected Jon Vadim of maniacal behavior, wouldn’t they all be running for their lives?

  She smiled at the image and approached the library. The door was closed, and she paused. She should knock, she thought. But as she stood there she realized that she wanted to run back to her room. Squaring her shoulders, she told herself that chances didn’t come that often in life. Magic was fragile and ethereal and not at all easy to touch.

  She couldn’t just walk away.

  She knocked on the door and turned the old brass knob at the same time. She stepped into the room and felt her heart begin a double-time beat. He was there.

  He was seated behind his desk, studying some document. She didn’t speak. Now that she had made it into the room, she couldn’t think of what she wanted to say.

  Jon Vadim looked up. He didn’t smile, and she wondered if he was still angry. He had a right to be, she thought.

  “Ms. Kiernan,” he murmured.

  He had no right to be so proper, she decided. His British accent made it worse. He sounded remote and distant and arrogantly aloof.

  “What is it?” he asked, and she realized that she was staring at him and hadn’t moved. He rose, came around the desk and sat on the edge, watching her with great care.

  She shook her head. “I just wanted to say that I was sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Even if it had all meant nothing to him, he owed her more than that, she thought. “Nothing! Never mind!” She whirled around to leave; the whole thing had been ridiculous.

  “Wait! Please wait!” He caught her shoulders and turned her around. His hair was brushed back, she saw. He seemed a little older than she remembered.

  “Please, tell me,” he said. “Why are you sorry?”

  The question seemed sincere. If it was sincere, she thought, things were worse than she had imagined. She pulled away from him, backing toward the door.

  “C
ount, I am aware that you spend a great deal of your time in Monte Carlo, playing the roulette wheel, and in the Caribbean, yachting about. It’s a different life-style. From mine, that is. But I come from the big city, and even there, people behave with some thought and some purpose!”

  He inclined his head in confusion and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling down at her like a patient parent. “I really don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  She didn’t know either, except that she had just made a fool of herself. “Just now, in my room. What you did...what I said—oh, never mind. I’m leaving. Thank you very much for an...interesting evening. If Jasmine should contact you, let her know that I’m very worried, please!”

  “Carly—”

  She didn’t wait to hear any more but slammed her way out of the library. She raced through the terrace, her face flaming. How could he have behaved so coldly! she wondered. Had he forgotten the moments in the hunter’s cottage, or the way that they had danced? Had he forgotten the way he had touched her in her room not an hour earlier?

  She ran up the stairs, determined to leave Castle Vadim as quickly as possible. She shouldn’t have stayed last night. On the landing she nearly collided with the young maid who had been on the terrace earlier.

  “Madame, excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît!”

  Carly managed to smile. “No. It was my fault, excuse me, s’il vous plaît. Please, tell me, what is your name?”

  “Marie.”

  “Marie. Where is the nearest telephone?”

  “Oh.” Marie smiled with relief. “Ici. Here, in the hallway, madame.” They passed majestic windows that looked out on the courtyard below. Halfway along the hall, Marie paused. There was a great Deco-style niche in the wall, and within it was a small marble bench with a matching table and an elegant brass telephone. Carly thanked Marie and sat down. She stared at the telephone and realized that there was no way to dial.

  “Marie!”

  She looked out to the hallway, but the maid was already gone. Carly picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. She jiggled the phone and an operator responded. Carly tried to remember some simple French, but her mind was blank. “Taxi, s’il vous plaît. I’m at Castle Vadim,” she said at last.