by Marina Myles
Draven’s face flushed with anger as he circled the desk. He started across the room and Isabella’s stomach roiled.
Is he going to walk out on me?
She watched as he closed the door with a resounding thud then turned to face her with eyes that flashed with defiance.
“I noticed that things had been rearranged in my dressing room,” he said. “You were snooping.”
Fear erupted inside her. She moved to him and clasped his hands. “I’m sorry for prying, but I want to help you. I . . . I found your journal.” She took in a breath. “You must tell me about your curse.”
Draven studied her intensely before releasing her hands. “God help me,” he whispered. “And God help you.”
Her heart drummed wildly.
“I would never hurt you, Isabella. If I have any control over the situation, that is.”
She lifted her chin. “What if you don’t have control?”
He took her by the elbow and urged her toward the flickering hearth. “You must hear me out. You’ve already discovered the curse’s existence. Now you must know its details.”
He guided her to the tiger-skin rug where they lowered themselves to the floor. As they sprawled out before the dancing fire, Draven began to speak in a voice deepened by emotion. “What I’m about to tell you is the story my father told Rogers. He, in turn, relayed it to me after my father died.”
Continuing seemed extremely difficult for him. He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead.
“A band of Romanian Gypsies passed through this countryside many years ago. These Gypsies were heavy practitioners of black magic. By chance, my father encountered one of these vagabonds—a woman. She was a bewitching beauty, with long, dark curls and a stunning face. One night as my father rode into town on horseback, this beauty happened to run out into his path. So weakened was he by her allure that he began a brief love affair with her. Thus she became pregnant . . . with me.”
Isabella’s head spun. Helena was not Draven’s birth mother? Now their icy relationship—and the fact that they looked nothing alike—made sense. She remained silent since he might not continue the story once he was interrupted.
“Days after she gave birth to me,” Draven went on, “this Gypsy woman brought me here to Thorncliff Towers. I believe she truly loved my father because she begged him to divorce Helena and marry her instead. My father refused her pleas. However, Father’s cold exterior melted when he saw me, a small babe. He agreed to take me in and raise me as a nobleman—with every aristocratic privilege and avenue of education. However, there was one stipulation to all of this: my birth mother needed to disappear from my life forever.”
He took in a breath. “My father tried to give her a handsome sum to leave me here and vanish, but my birth mother turned down the bribe. Still, knowing that I would have a superior life here with my father, she left me at Thorncliff Towers. When she returned to her kinfolk dejected and discarded, her mother—my grandmother, as odd as it seems to say—was beyond angry. Perhaps that’s why she returned to this countryside with her band sixteen years later. Maybe she wanted to punish me, the catalyst for her daughter’s misery.”
Draven pushed himself to his feet. He began to pace nervously while Isabella tried to ignore the alarm sweeping her spine. “On his deathbed, my father told me that I had Gypsy blood running through my veins. I rode into the woods in a dismal state and sought out the Gypsy camp I’d spotted the day before. Since Helena had taught me that vagabonds were filthy, low-class beggars, the fact that I was half-Gypsy made me explode with rage. I ordered the trespassing tribe to leave. A girl about my age informed me that two of the tribe’s horses were sick and that they could travel no farther that night. My temper mounted. I ordered the Gypsies to go again. A boy asked what made me so much better than them. I saw red. I picked up a large rock and threw it his way. It was only meant to scare him. But”—Draven’s voice quivered—“he ducked and the rock struck the girl in the head. She . . . died.”
Isabella watched a fountain of tears flow down Draven’s cheeks. Her heart ached. Guilt was a horrible thing.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “It was an accident.”
His features hardened. “That didn’t matter to the girl.”
She paused. “What happened next?”
“An old woman emerged from her wagon. To my surprise she knew who I was. She’d heard of my intolerance of her kind and of my continual efforts to run Gypsies off Winthrop property. After telling me that she was my grandmother, she cast a curse of penance upon me. You see, I’m doomed by a spell that can only be broken if I can change my selfish ways and gain compassion.” He scowled. “Obviously that has been more difficult than I imagined. Regardless, since the spell was cast during a full moon, it’s considered a rauna curse.”
“What is a rauna curse?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“If you’re wondering if you can trust me, I promise never to share this information with anyone,” she assured him.
“A rauna curse is the most powerful black magic spell in existence,” he finally said. “My grandmother predicted that one day a beast would surface within me and would continue to surface during every full moon thereafter. When it did, she prophesied, the beast would match the foul, inner nature I possess.”
“You mean you become a monster in the metaphoric sense? An ill-tempered madman?” she asked.
“Y . . . yes.” He looked dejected. “That’s it.”
Isabella squeezed Draven’s hand. This explains his violent streak and his irrational behavior.
He squeezed her hand back. “The Gypsy also predicted that my curse will translate to any male heirs I might produce.”
“So that is why you refuse to have children,” she murmured softly.
“It’s also the reason I was incensed at the idea of raising a bastard. I know the pain of being one all too well.”
Isabella could swear she saw shame creep into his eyes. She shook her head. “My God, how could that woman cast a spell on her own grandson? It’s so hard to believe.”
“It’s true nonetheless.” He sat down, his shoulders forming a wall of tension. “My hex was realized on our wedding night.”
Isabella’s stomach contracted. “I didn’t know—”
“I was a damned fool and married you in full denial of my curse.”
“You were probably relieved when I left Thorncliff Towers,” Isabella said.
“I was relieved, but I missed you terribly. That is why I sent someone after you.”
“That hooligan scared me, I’ll admit.”
“I’m sorry, Isabella.”
She began to pace. “There must be some way to reverse the spell.”
“Only a member of the Gypsy tribe knows if there is a way,” Draven said, his eyes full of tentative love.
“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through in the past and for what you’re going through now,” she said. Moved by the torment she saw in his face, she put a hand to his cheek. “I’m glad you revealed all of this to me.”
He caressed her hand. “Isabella, I wouldn’t blame you if you were frightened away forever.”
“I’m working on not being frightened so easily.” She offered him a tremulous smile.
“You’ve been very brave. Brave enough to come back here. And brave enough to confront me.”
She supposed she had been courageous after all.
“I’m glad you sought me out today,” Draven said. “I was desperate to tell you but wise enough not to. You now have ammunition to divorce me.”
“But what evidence is there of your illegal birthright?”
“None, I suppose.”
“No one else knows but Rogers and Helena?” Isabella asked.
He stared into the fire. “No.”
“That explains Helena’s disdain for you.”
“Helena knows I killed someone in the Gypsy camp that night. But she is unaware of my curse.”
“There, you
see,” she said with certainty. “Your birthright will remain our secret.”
He fixed his pain-laced eyes on her. Before he spoke again, he took her hand. “Isabella, I have another confession to make. Your beautiful spirit seized me when we met, as did your loyalty to your father. Those admirable qualities inspired me to propose to you and I’ve come to care about you very much. But I had another reason to pursue you.”
“What reason was that?” she asked.
Draven broke eye contact. “I knew about the curse that haunts your amulet. I read about it in the newspaper during a trip to London. Beneath that curse, you are destined to kill the man you love. So that is my hope.”
“Your hope?”
“I want you to kill me.”
Under normal circumstances, Isabella would have been outraged at the admission of Draven’s ulterior motive. He had deceived her. But what mattered in the moment was that he was confessing everything to her. He was also baring his soul and she knew he wouldn’t be allowing her in unless he loved her.
She drew back. “I’ve told you: I don’t believe in the curse surrounding my amulet.”
“You should.” He scowled. “Look at me, a testament to the powers of black magic.”
“There must be something else I can do,” she said.
His face twisted with intensity as he took her by the shoulders. “You can do nothing but stop this madness.”
Isabella recoiled. “I could never kill you!”
“But you are the one I’ve come to count upon.”
“Why haven’t you asked Rogers—or Helena for that matter?”
A lock of hair spilled over Draven’s winged brow. “Rogers is a loyal servant ’til the end. But this he would never do. And Helena . . . if she knew about my curse, she’d only have me suffer more by returning me to the asylum.”
“Draven, you are married to me now. Helena no longer has a say in such decisions.”
He paused and stared into the fire. “While we are on the subject of my demise, I want you to know that I tried to end my own life. Bloody knife went in and out of my heart, but my skin healed instantaneously.”
The torment her husband continued to suffer constricted Isabella’s lungs. He wasn’t a fearsome, loathsome creature after all and the thought filled her with emotion as she tipped her forehead into the warm fabric of his waistcoat. In return, he wrapped his arms around her.
“We mustn’t think of ourselves,” he said. “We cannot chance that I might murder again. I couldn’t bear it. Remorse over what happened in the woods put me in that blasted asylum. I sunk into a black hole of melancholia for months. The worst part was I couldn’t tell anyone about the guilt that maddened me. You see, Helena saw to it that no one ever learned what happened in the Gypsy camp.”
“You let her sweep things under the rug?” Isabella asked.
“It was the only way for me to step into my father’s shoes. Taking over the earldom was something he expected. I wanted to honor my father’s memory. I was young and I thought it was the right thing to do.”
She remained silent.
He took her hands. “I need you to end this nightmare for me, Isabella. It’s your destiny.”
“Stop saying that.” She shook her head vehemently. “Besides, the attempt you made on your life didn’t work.”
“I will have you use something more effective than a knife.”
“No. There must be another way out of this. We need to find your grandmother and convince her to rectify the curse. She simply must undo it!”
“How will we track down a band of Gypsies . . . people who are, by nature, nomads?” Draven dropped her hands in frustration. “God only knows if the old woman is still alive.”
“Is there any way to find this Gypsy tribe?”
Isabella could see Draven’s veins pump with aggravation.
“Perhaps someone in the village knows of their location,” she suggested.
“I doubt it.”
“Then perhaps some sort of physician or specialist can be of help.”
Again, Draven thrust an agonized look her way. “I told you. I’ve consulted specialists from the Americas to Salzburg to Paris. There is no magic potion or tonic.”
She took his face in her hands. “If there exists a way to reverse this horrible situation, I promise we’ll find it. Together.”
Torment deepened the lines around his mouth. “If we are going to do that we’d better hurry. Your presence here is fueling my madness.”
“What do you mean?”
“All I can tell you is that something about you affects my demeanor. And I might lose complete control of myself very soon.”
She released his face and gripped his arm.
“You realize you have every right to seek an annulment considering that I wed you under false grounds,” he said in a solemn timbre.
“I don’t want to seek an annulment. I want to help you.”
He touched a curl that dangled over her ear. “But this overshadows our marriage with humiliation. While I am my father’s biological son, my blood is not purely noble. I was born a shameful, half-Gypsy bastard. And according to canon and common law, bastards receive no inheritance because they can never be heir unto any man. If my illegitimate beginnings were ever exposed, I’d be stripped of my title and you would have nothing.”
“Your well-being is more important.”
“It is?” Hope crested in his eyes.
“Draven, I may have been in dire straits when I married you, but something besides that drew me to you from the very start. Why do you think I was so devastated when you refused to start a family with me?”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Isabella. Your trust means everything to me.”
“You can trust me. I will never give away your secret,” she whispered.
Draven sat transfixed, as if he were pondering something. Then, very slowly, he ran his thumb across her mouth.
Chapter Seventeen
Draven’s touch caused a yielding sensation at the apex of Isabella’s legs. She closed her eyes, inhaling the delicate contact. To her, he was like an oasis in the middle of a parched desert—a cavern of delight that contained all of her extreme desires. Since the moment she met him, she had been trapped in a place that ached and pined for his affection. And now she was willing to fight for his devotion. Perhaps even his love.
Would Draven ever show her his feelings through intimacy? He’d written in his journal that he planned to make love to her. Would he right now?
Isabella’s breath caught. She flicked her eyes open only to be hypnotized by the orange flames reflected in the black gloss of his eyes. He lowered his mouth to hers, covering it completely. When she rose up to meet his kiss, the feel of his soft lips caused her body to convulse with excitement. Now that their history had been rectified and their passion had exploded into the open, being this close to him felt magical. For the first time since they married, she felt like Draven’s wife.
He slipped his tongue into her mouth with a gentle ease and Isabella let her head arch back in surrender. She sucked in a breath while he unclasped the front of her dress and stole a hand beneath the silk of her bodice. He stroked her breast languidly, like one would stroke a luxurious cat, and a low moan escaped Isabella’s lips. As his half-hidden hand squeezed and teased the tip of her nipple to an erect charge, she heaved against it to magnify the contact.
Draven urged her to the ground and rolled on top of her. “My Bella. You are the only good thing in my life. I want to make love to you.”
Her heart caught. Could this be happening?
Draven feathered his tongue over her ear and plucked her stays open with deftness. “I want to see your shining hair and your bare breasts. I want to see all of you.”
If only for a moment, Draven’s mind-altering touch erased the threat of his instability. He nuzzled the sensitive skin between Isabella’s neck and shoulder and she nearly cried out at the wetness the sensation fueled between her legs. Never before
had a man caused such a reaction in her. Draven made all of her senses collide into a maelstrom of desire and she refused to repress her attraction to him anymore.
His fingertips searched beneath the hem of her dress until they found the juncture between her thighs. He massaged the soft petals of her core while delight danced through her body. And when he yanked away her dress, bodice, pantalets, and chemise, Isabella felt drunk, completely seduced by his sexuality—as if she had no control over her actions. Before she knew it, she was lying nude and vulnerable before him.
She had planned on seducing him, but this was much better.
Draven’s eyes rolled over her body with admiration. “Holy Christ, you’re beautiful.” When he noticed she was shivering he said, “Allow my body to keep you warm.”
He stood and peeled his clothes away one button at a time. At first, it seemed like an erotic dance Isabella was too embarrassed to witness. Then she became captivated by each body part that became enticingly revealed.
Draven flung his shirt to the floor. Her eyes widened at the sight of his muscular chest and his solid, taut arms. His undergarments floated away next, exposing a chiseled torso and sinewy legs. And when his cock stood out from a patch of coarse, black hair, Isabella couldn’t help but gasp at its size.
In a fluid motion, Draven swooped down and lay beside her. He covered her with his body and her heart pumped as she struggled for air under his weight.
Will we finally consummate our marriage?
She quivered with excitement as his hand closed over her breast. He kissed her again and she slithered her fingers into the waves of his dark hair. As Draven’s tongue found the hardened pebble of her nipple, he tasted it, nearly devoured it—and she couldn’t have been happier. She could feel his manhood standing erect against her, its veins bulging and engorged. He kissed her face in a round of tiny pecks while she shifted her breasts closer so that he could tweak her other nipple. When he was done inciting the peach nub into a dark hill, he took her hand and guided it to his shaft. She heard Draven’s breathing grow guttural in her ear and felt his body harden like wood as he lay on top of her. She stole a look in his eyes. They were glowing a mysterious shade of red. Alarmed, she gulped against the words that raced through her head.