CHAPTER 10
Carly remained silent as they returned to her room through the narrow secret passageway. Dustin kept his hand on hers, thinking it was a show of bravado on her part. He wondered when she would speak and whether she would revile him, hate him.
He hadn’t meant to fall in love with her.
He hadn’t even meant to be here.
But Jon had been in trouble, and although the entire plan had seemed incredible at first, it had worked. Or it had been working. At least there was still a good possibility that he would be able to prove Jon’s innocence. There was nothing wrong with Jon’s determination or courage, but he didn’t have Dustin’s connections with other law-enforcement agencies and he hadn’t spent the years as Dustin had, learning to listen for the smallest detail, to watch and wait and move in silence.
Carly’s hand felt cold in his.
Well, at least she had not refused him. She was here, at his side. Perhaps the awkward quiet between them was growing combustible. Perhaps she had every right to be mad. Well, all right, furious. He just hadn’t had any choice. He was too close to the truth.
He struck the wall with his hand and the panel to her room opened. She walked on in ahead of him, her stockinged tread a whisper.
He followed her and stood waiting. He watched her as she paced to and fro. It was a mistake, for it made his mouth grow dry, and all he could think of was that things couldn’t have happened any other way. From the moment he had stumbled upon her he had been enchanted. Her turquoise eyes had been a dangerous sea that had beckoned him like an unwary sailor. He could still see the way her hair had tumbled over her shoulders in the moonlight. She had seemed a creature born of the moonlight, born of the mists and even of the dangers in the secretive forest, a storm, but sweet beyond belief.
No, he thought ruefully, he hadn’t meant to fall in love. He had wanted her to go home; he had warned her to go home. And now he was terrified that she would do so. He had never before worried about the future with a woman, and now he knew that he had been waiting; before, everything had been child’s play compared to this emotion. It wasn’t the color of her eyes, though that was extraordinary. It wasn’t the gold in her hair that glowed softly by moonlight and brilliantly beneath the sun. Nor was it the delicate perfection of her face or the slim, supple elegance of her form. It was the way she smiled at him shyly when she trusted him, and opened up about past wounds. It was in the way that she laughed and wound her arms around him so openly. It was in her eyes when humor filled them, and passion and tenderness.
She quit pacing and spun on him at last. “You could have told me!”
He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t.”
“You asked me to trust you. But you didn’t trust me enough.”
“I trusted you. Carly, I told you. I wasn’t in it alone. And it’s a very dangerous game. They still hang convicted murderers here. I’m playing with Jon’s life.”
She lowered her head, and he couldn’t see her eyes or, therefore, read her heart.
“I’m playing with my own life, too, I suppose,” he added. “Once the inspector realizes that I’m here...”
“You know the inspector?”
He started to smile.
“As yourself, I mean.” She sighed, exasperated. “Does the inspector know Dustin Vadim?”
He nodded. He wasn’t accustomed to begging, and he wasn’t going to beg her to forgive him.
He was ready to come damned close to it, though.
“I told you,” he said huskily, “Jon and I are close. I used to come here all the time when I was young.”
“You don’t think that the inspector suspects something?” Carly said.
Dustin shook his head. “Not even Jon and I realized how much we resemble each other until he came to London last year. I knew that I was coming to help in some capacity. When we were kids, I was kind of the runt. I think I’m still a quarter of an inch shorter. And I always wore my hair longer. I’d had a beard and a mustache until I shaved it off the night we worked out this scheme.”
Carly nodded, wandering over to the bed.
The next thing Dustin knew he had a pillow in his face. He staggered back—she could throw hard. “Carly—”
“You son of a—! I don’t even remember all the things that I said to him, when I thought I was talking to you.”
“You never said anything—”
“How do you know? I thought you were crazy at times. You could have very easily been a homicidal lunatic, because you had no memory whatsoever.”
“Carly—”
“Damn you! Damn the two of you!”
He stiffened. She stood next to the bed and stared at him hard, a glaze of tears adding color to the depths of her eyes. He wanted to rush over and hold her, but knew he couldn’t. She hadn’t forgiven him, and she didn’t want him touching her.
He picked up the pillow awkwardly. “I’ll just take this over by the doorway. I’d leave you alone, except that I’m afraid to. I don’t want you in any danger.”
She watched him walk across the room, position himself on the floor and pound the pillow. She stared for several seconds.
“I have to stay here,” he repeated. “Carly, I know you hate me right now, but I’m afraid to leave you.”
She shook her head. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going to sleep here!”
Dustin watched as she slowly approached him. She was in her stocking feet, but she wore the black dress beautifully, and though her hair was mussed and wild, he thought that she had never appeared more elegant or sexier. She paused and knelt down by him. There still seemed to be a glaze about her eyes, but she was smiling, too.
“You’re going to sleep on the floor. Why?” she said.
“Because I can’t leave—”
“Yes, yes, you told me that. I believe you. I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then—”
“It’s just that—why the floor? There’s a perfectly good bed just a few feet away.”
He paused, all his senses taking flight. His heart jumped into his throat, and a swift, rigid ache jutted into his loins. He wanted to reach out and touch her; he was afraid he would drag her down. He stared up at her instead, afraid to move.
“Is that some kind of an invitation?” he asked.
“I suppose it is.”
He didn’t dare move. She leaned forward and stroked his cheek. “Yes. I suppose it is,” she said once again.
“But I thought...”
“What?”
“I thought you were mad.”
“I am.” A mischievous smile touched her lips, and she curled up beside him as sinuously graceful as a cat. “Mad, angry, irate, furious, et cetera. But...”
“But?” he asked, not daring to breathe.
“But I think I love you, anyway.”
“You think?”
“I could use some persuasion at the moment.”
He touched her. He cupped her skull and held her fast and kissed her, drowning in the kiss. She had opened the door; he stepped through with a flourish. They rolled on the floor, and he drank in the heady taste of her. His hands ravaged her legs, stroking, tearing at her hose. The silk of her gown slid over his flesh, smooth and cool, while the silk of her skin seared and warmed and inflamed him.
He got to his knees, pulling her with him. She smiled languidly.
“There is a perfectly good bed,” he said.
“Mmm,” she agreed.
He strode to the bed and set her upon it. She slipped her fingers to the buttons of his shirt to undo them. “It’s a pity,” she said on a sigh.
“A pity?”
She feathered her fingertips over his flesh, just here, just there, a merciless tease. “Yes. I’m just as furious with Jasmine and Jon.”
“Uh-huh?...”
She slid the edges of her nails beneath the waistband of his trousers and eased them around. “They behaved horribly, too.”
“They di
d. Horribly.” He reached behind her, ruffling her hair, found the zipper to her gown and pulled it down with a rasp. He heard the same sound as she found his fly. It was the most erotic sound he had ever heard.
“But they have the champagne,” Carly said.
“Do you want some champagne?” he asked.
“Umm...” she murmured, mulling it over. Her fingers feathered over and around him.
He groaned deep in his throat and drew her close. “Carly?”
“Yes?”
“The hell with the champagne.” He cast their clothing aside and swept her fiercely beneath him.
Outside, somewhere on a distant mountain, a great silver wolf howled at the half moon, and the night passed swiftly.
* * *
The two weeks that followed were curiously tender and painfully tense for Dustin and Carly. Although they could easily have convinced the inspector that Jasmine was not a corpse, Jon decided that she should remain in hiding, so Carly saw her sister by slipping through the secret passageway to his room.
Tanya grew moody and bored and complained that she wanted to go home—or to the south of France or the Costa del Sol or Monte Carlo, or anywhere that was away. Tanya was petulant and spoiled, but Carly still felt sorry for her. Tanya had been good to her. But none of them was going anywhere—the inspector had taken their passports and they were obliged to remain within the boundaries of the duchy.
Dustin arranged a riding party and picnic. They saw a film at the one movie theater in the village. They dined in elegance each night, and each night Dustin slipped up to her room.
Night was the magic time for them. Carly knew that by day he was listening and watching and waiting, even if she didn’t know what he listened or watched or waited for. The closer she grew to the others, the less she could believe that any of them could be evil.
She thought that Tanya must be growing bored even with her lover, for Carly no longer heard her meet anyone in the hall. But then, maybe Carly herself was involved enough not to see or hear anything else. She hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to any major news in the world at large, so perhaps it was natural that she wouldn’t notice what went on outside her room.
The secret passageways led all over the castle, Carly discovered, so it was easy for Jon to reach the library and put in a day’s work—since Dustin really knew very little about running the estate. One morning when Dustin had to go into the village—to send a telegram, he told her vaguely—Carly went down to the library and had breakfast with Jasmine and Jon.
She was amazed now that she had ever thought that the two men were exactly alike. The more she knew them, the more the differences became apparent. But then, she was in love with only one of them. She knew the little things that a lover discovered, a freckle just beneath the hairline, a tiny scar here, a mole there. And she knew the different inflections in their voices and even the differences in the way they moved.
Dustin had a tendency to swagger, she decided with amusement. Then she wondered whether she would ever tell him so.
No...she’d let him swagger a little, she decided.
“You’re smiling,” Jasmine complained.
Carly realized that her sister had been growing very tense.
“Sweetheart, you could have stayed in Paris,” Jon reminded her.
Jasmine sat back in her chair, then shivered. “It’s just that this goes on and on! If only it would end!”
Jon walked around behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It will end.” He hesitated. “The moon will be full tonight.”
Now it was Carly’s turn to shiver. She suddenly felt as if she were suffocating. She mumbled some excuse to the two of them and ran out of the room.
In the hallway, she nearly collided with Geoffrey. “Hi, stranger,” he said, his dark eyes warm.
“Oh, Geoffrey.” She flushed, hoping he didn’t want to go into the library. She slipped her arm through his and started walking toward the terrace. “I’ve been doing sketches for the play.”
“You have?” He seemed surprised.
“You do still want me,” she said.
“Of course, of course. I just didn’t know—well, it’s none of my business, of course, but I didn’t know if you would be coming back to the States or not.”
Carly lowered her head as a little river of uncertainty flowed through her. What would her future be? Her little apartment, on the fourth floor of an old brownstone, seemed so far away. She had worried about being in love with a count. Rushing off to become a countess was something far more likely for Jasmine to do than for her. Dustin wasn’t the count, so she needn’t go into trauma worrying about that, but still...
He was English. He worked in London. He had never said anything about the future. She believed that what they had was solid and real, but she had no idea whether or not he meant it to be forever.
“Well,” she said, “I’m certainly still quite anxious to work on the show.” She offered him a dazzling smile. “To think, Geoffrey, I feel that I know you so very well. And I was in such great awe of you before I came here. A Broadway producer and director. I’m still in awe.”
He laughed, and she was reminded of the way he had looked on the night they had first met, all wrapped up in his mummy rags. He was handsome and very warm, and she thought, giving Geoffrey an affectionate smile, that if she hadn’t been so swept away by storm, she might have taken a much slower route. She liked Geoffrey very much. Maybe not forever, but as a good friend.
“Run up and get the sketches,” he suggested. “I’d love to see them. We can meet in the library.”
“No!” Carly realized how horribly guilty she sounded. “No—I’d much rather be on the terrace. Wouldn’t you?”
“Well, it’s a little cold—”
“But the sun is out. Would you mind terribly?”
“No, of course not. I’ll be waiting.”
When she came back down with her sketches, he was seated at the dining table on the terrace. Marie had brought out some hot chocolate.
“Spiked,” Geoffrey assured her.
It was spiked, with brandy, and it was delicious.
The afternoon passed easily. She and Geoffrey went over the sketches, and he pointed out where she might have a few problems with some of the stage business he had planned. He grew excited, describing the production so clearly that she could see it in her mind’s eye. She modified her work as he talked, and when evening came around, she was very excited and had done a tremendous amount of work.
“I can’t wait to look for fabrics....” she said, erasing to adjust a train for an evening gown.
“Alexi! Hello there!” Geoffrey said.
Carly glanced up. Alexi, in a red sweater and jeans, was coming from the hallway. He smiled at her.
“Hello. May I join you?”
“Of course,” Carly said.
He sat down and planted his feet on another chair and looked at them glumly. “The inspector has men following me,” he said.
“Oh, surely he wouldn’t be doing such a thing!” Carly protested, then she wondered why she had. After all, she was the only one in the group who wasn’t a suspect, and that was simply because she hadn’t been there last Halloween.
Had Dustin been there? she wondered.
“I’m willing to bet that he also has men eyeing Jon,” Alexi said. “Somewhere around here.”
“Why do you say that?” Geoffrey asked.
“Because the moon will be full, and that’s when the murderer strikes.” Alexi said the words with certainty.
A shiver ran down Carly’s spine. She glanced at Alexi’s hands, where they rested on the table. They were large, powerful hands, she thought. He was a deceptive-looking man. He was young and striking and appeared to be lean and wiry. But he wasn’t really slim at all. He was rock solid and strong.
Her heart began to beat a little too swiftly. Dustin suspected him, she thought. Dustin refused to say, but she suddenly felt that she knew he suspected Alex
i. So did the inspector. He had men following Alexi.
But then, according to Alexi, men were watching Jon Vadim. Or Dustin Vadim.
And the moon was going to be full....
“Where is Jon?” Alexi asked.
“He’s gone into the village,” Carly said.
“Will he be back soon?”
“I don’t know,” she told him. He probably should have been back hours ago, she reflected. How long did it take to send a telegram?
“Why?” Geoffrey asked.
“Oh...I’ve had some trouble with some of the masonry in my hallway. Jon had work done just last year. He sent to France for a specialist, and I wanted to get Jon’s opinion and the name of the firm that did the work.” Alexi smiled vaguely. “It isn’t really that important. I wanted company more than anything, I suppose.”
Geoffrey and Carly both nodded sympathetically. “Perhaps,” Geoffrey murmured, “we should all make sure that we stay together tonight.”
“All night?” Alexi laughed.
“Why not? We’ll have a slumber party in the formal dining room,” Geoffrey said.
“Will that do any good?” Carly asked. The other two looked at her, and she flushed. “I suppose that technically the moon is only really a full moon one night. But it gives the appearance of being a full moon for several nights.”
They both stared at her. She felt acutely uneasy.
Alexi turned away. “I’m sure they’re watching this place. What with the Vadim history...” He shrugged.
“The history?”
“Yes, of course, insanity. And maybe a legend doesn’t even have to be true. Maybe a man only has to believe it to go over the brink. The wolves have always prowled these forests, and strike out of the mist. The people in the village believe. They’ve kept those crosses on their doors for centuries. He doesn’t have to be a wolf; he needs only to think he’s a wolf. The moon makes us all restless.” Alexi leaned forward. Even as he’d spoken, it seemed that darkness began to fall and the inevitable low mist began to sweep in enchanting swirls along the ground beyond the terrace.
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