A Deep Dark Call Read online

  There was a long pause before he answered.

  “What an interesting idea!”

  From there everything became dark.

  * * *

  Ioan felt her body go slack in his arms—suddenly asleep, he knew, listening to her breath. He stopped midway on the stairs, immersing himself into the feel of her. Warm and soft and inviting. Definitely inviting. And he was sure that she would not mind too much if he were to ravish her. He closed his eyes. Ravish, indeed...had it been a taunt? Could she have sensed how close he’d come to doing just that, as soon as he’d set eyes on her?

  He sighed. No, it had not been a taunt. For all her soft warmth, she was clearly inexperienced. He almost cursed, as he breathed in the scent of her hair. Hair that was severely knotted into one of those proper English buns. Hair that was supposed to make her look like a governess.

  Well, she looked nothing like a governess. He wondered if she realized how unlike a governess she really seemed.

  Miss Lucinda Cross. He had especially asked Mr. Hawthorne to look for an English governess who did not seem too stern and stiff and forbidding, if such a thing existed. He had wanted Alexandra to have a young governess, warm and cheerful, because his daughter was too serious for her age. And, besides, winters were often rather dreary for a child here.

  Miss Lucinda Cross. Full lips. Luscious body. Quicksilver eyes. Usually quite alert, he sensed, but now rather tired after her journey, and wary of her surroundings. Miss Lucinda Cross, who had donned a severe bun in order to hide that her chestnut hair was thick and shiny, with red-gold highlights. Pre-Raphaelite hair, most probably, as in the paintings he’d seen in London by Millais.

  Lucinda? No. It sounded too tame and it did not suit her. Lucy, he decided. Intoxicated by the wine she’d drunk. Smelling like virgin and desire that came from a dark place. He recognised the urge in his blood for what it was. Wild and predatory. Dangerous.

  He longed to explore the dark place. It was the place where he sometimes went in his dreams. Quite dark. Eclipse-like. When the sun god and the moon goddess had ruled the earth together.

  Ioan blocked all coherent thought as he decided to climb the rest of the stairs. They led to the room she was supposed to occupy. Her room. He did not think, but once again immersed himself into the feel of her in his arms. And as he climbed, he became aware of his own heartbeat. It was fast.

  Later, as he was going out of her room, he met the serving women’s questioning eyes. He realized that during all this time they’d been waiting in the hall, by the door.

  “Miss Cross is tired from her journey,” he told them. “We should let her sleep.”

  They nodded and took that as their dismissal. But Ana lingered on. He sighed. Ana was Alexandra’s nurse. She’d also been his wife’s nurse, and she wouldn’t be dismissed so lightly.

  “She’s too young for a governess,” she told him abruptly.

  He shrugged. “Is there anything else you want?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t look like a governess,” she said.

  The knowing look she was giving him was unnerving. He sighed. Ana had never liked him. But she’d loved his wife, and she adored his daughter. So he supposed he had to put up with her.

  “Perhaps not. Does it matter?” he retorted, making his tone cold and dismissive.

  “It already seems to matter to you,” she muttered under her breath, and he knew she was being insolent. Very deliberately.

  It was not the first time. Because she’d been his wife’s old nurse, she thought she could get away with it. And she did. Most of the time.

  “You can go now,” he told her sharply.

  Chapter Two

  Lucy awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. She was lying under a warm duvet in a huge feather bed. The rays of the morning sun were projecting light stripes on the pristine sheets. It took her more than a moment to recall where she was and what had happened last night.

  But what had happened last night? Her head was still throbbing, but she realized that there were other parts of her that didn’t feel quite right. She felt—no, she corrected herself, her sex felt deliciously moist, just as it usually did after particularly vivid dreams. Vivid dreams like the one that she had had last night...with Boyar Marcu impaling her with hard thrusts. Fondling her body not only with that green, green gaze of his. With warm hands on her soft body, drinking deep kisses from her own lips that tasted like wine. Rich, ruby-red wine.

  Had it been a dream? She slipped her hand down her bodice and discovered that her nipples had grown into hard, rosy pebbles. Her sex was filled with molten warmth, but with a clarity mixed with strange regret, she understood that nothing had happened last night. She was still untouched and still in the clothes she had worn. Her shoes had been removed and placed by the bed, but nobody had undressed her.

  She sighed with relief, although she still couldn’t chase the vivid images of lovemaking. Making love with a man she had just met and who was her employer. She ought to feel ashamed of herself and of her lewd thoughts. She ought to, she kept telling herself. However, she couldn’t help recalling the potent aroma she’d experienced last night. Not only the wine...the new, dangerous, yet irresistible smell that had engulfed her. Last night, there had been something very striking and different about it, but now it just seemed strangely familiar. It had been him, and she now conjured up the way his body had really felt pressed against her own. He’d held her in his arms. That was certain.

  Heat crept into her cheeks as, some hours later, a servant opened the door to Boyar Marcu’s study. Lucy had behaved abominably. She was now sure he was going to dismiss her right away and send her back to England. England, she thought dejectedly, realizing it even more clearly than before, where there was nothing and no one that waited for her, only shame and scandal.

  It took some courage to face him, but she squared her shoulders and willed herself to look into his green eyes. This morning he was clad in a riding habit. He looked, in his shiny black boots and skintight trousers, every bit the haughty lord of the manor, displeased with his lowly servant.

  He surprised her by saying, “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Miss Cross.”

  She looked at him, uncomprehending.

  “The wine,” he said. “I am used to it, but I haven’t had guests in a long time. I forgot how strong it is. I should not have encouraged you to drink it. You were tired from your journey and unfamiliar with such a...potent...drink. It was not my intention to take advantage of you in any way.”

  She relaxed slightly. So she was not going to be dismissed after all. She distinctly recalled what she had told him last night. Ravish indeed... She felt mortified.

  “There is no need for an apology,” she said as demurely as she could manage. “I am a grown woman and I should have been able to control myself better. I am the one who should apologize. I know it was an inconvenience—that is, you carried me up the stairs and I am aware... I am aware I was not such a light burden to carry,” she finished lamely.

  Oh God, what had possessed her to say such a thing? She flushed crimson and dropped her gaze. Not only had she become too plump, she was also becoming stupid. He cleared his throat, and she could have sworn she heard something that suspiciously sounded like suppressed laughter.

  “It...it was no inconvenience,” he answered.

  Then, when she finally dared to raise her eyes, she caught his green gaze fixed intently upon her. His voice held no trace of amusement now.

  “Let me assure you,” he said drily, “you are quite the right size for a woman.”

  In daylight, he looked even more handsome than he had last night. Because she did find him attractive, she had to admit. Not classically so. He had high cheekbones and skin that looked almost golden. His countenance was, however, too grim and his nose too aquiline. Yet, in spite of the sharpness of some of his features, there was such
deep energy held in those impossibly beautiful eyes. Truly, she feared she would lose herself completely in them. He was handsome, darkly so, his midnight hair in striking contrast with his green gaze.

  He was her employer, she reminded herself. She had already behaved in a manner that put her in a delicate position. If he were to dismiss her, she feared she might find herself in a desperate situation. Nobody in England would ever hire her—the scandal had made sure of that. No respectable family would provide any references for her. She supposed there would never be anything better for her than this position.

  She had to overcome the awkwardness of the first night and of this moment. She asked about Alexandra and they started discussing her duties as a governess. He wanted the best education for his daughter and had thought to broaden her horizon by also making her familiar with English culture. He was planning on sending her to a boarding school in England when she reached her twelfth year. Miss Cross was to spend two years with her charge.

  “Old families usually send their sons to France, Germany or Austria for education,” he explained. “Daughters are either educated at local boarding schools or sent to France. I did consider sending Alexandra to France, but she’s already quite fluent in the language and familiar with the culture. She spent one year with me in Paris. Since I was educated in both France and England myself, the next logical step would be to send my daughter to England for a while, if at the time she still wishes to study abroad. This is where your role starts, Miss Cross. I want her to become familiar with English life.”

  “What about Wallachian culture?” she couldn’t resist asking. “Isn’t that also essential for a good education?”

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I assure you, Miss Cross, my daughter and I are already very Romanian. She knows exactly who she is and where she comes from. I have made sure of that.”

  He abruptly changed the topic and started asking questions about Lucy’s scholarly background and teaching methods. She answered to the best of her abilities, hoping her answers pleased him. From his questions, she understood he was a well-read man who took an avid interest in education. She was looking forward to visiting his library, sensing it would be an extensive one. She was a voracious reader herself and had dreaded the idea of spending two whole years in the countryside with no books to read.

  The morning was brighter and the landscape outside no longer seemed bleak, but rather like picture-perfect winter. The howling seemed to have stopped. It had been probably amplified by her overactive imagination. Still, as she left Boyar Marcu’s office, she spent some time gazing through the windows of the long hall. It was as if she was waiting for some black beast to appear suddenly, trudging towards the manor through the white snow. A bear lumbering from the woods, a charging boar...or perhaps a wolf.

  Yes. A black wolf. She smiled to herself. She doubted after all that wild things would venture so close to the manor.

  She remembered Boyar Marcu’s reaction earlier, when she’d mentioned the wolves she’d heard last night. He had not seemed concerned in the least.

  “Are there wolves here?” she’d asked.

  “Of course,” he’d answered calmly.

  “Are they dangerous?” she’d persisted.

  She had seldom seen wild animals from a close distance. And they had been caged. She’d never hunted or even taken walks in the woods. Her father had always told her it was not proper. And besides, hunting or even walking in the woods could be dangerous, he’d warned.

  “Yes, they’re dangerous,” Boyar Marcu had answered, with an inscrutable expression on his face.

  But his tone had not seemed concerned at all. Lucy had thought he was mocking her, making fun of her silly fears. He had, after all, added, after a short pause, “The woods are close. But you’ve nothing to fear from the beasts there.”

  So it was plain the manor was perfectly safe, even if the woods were close. As she’d prepared to leave the boyar’s office, her eyes had been unwittingly drawn by what hung on the wall above his desk.

  He’d obviously followed her gaze, because he’d said with a dry smile, “An imitation, really. The engraving shows the wolf-headed serpent.”

  It was indeed a bronze engraving of a creature that looked like a dragon at first glance. But she then realized it was in fact a scaled serpent with a wolf’s head, seen from the profile.

  “Your family’s crest?” she asked.

  “More than that. The battle standard of this country, from long ago, before the Romans came.”

  It was indeed an old place, she thought now. A place with traditions she was unfamiliar with. It unsettled her. There was something that kept nagging at her mind, like a forgotten memory. But she decided to set aside the feelings of loneliness and of not belonging. She was here now. And, for some months at least, this was going to be her home.

  She met Alexandra at breakfast. Her hair was strikingly dark, just like her father’s, and, as Boyar Marcu had already informed Lucy, she spoke perfect French. She seemed wise beyond her years. After they started their lesson for the day, Lucy understood she had been fortunate to find a bright, inquisitive pupil. She felt more than relieved. Alexandra was her very first pupil, and Lucy had been very anxious and uncertain about her teaching abilities. But teaching Alexandra would be a genuine pleasure.

  What started to worry her, as the day progressed, was that the child was indeed far too serious for her age. Lucy hoped she was just shy and would learn to relax in her presence in time. But somehow, she sensed there was worry behind those green eyes, which were an identical mirror of her father’s.

  She had been given to understand by Boyar Marcu that Alexandra’s nurse also spoke French, so she attempted to initiate a conversation, but was met only by blank stares. It gave Lucy a feeling of uneasiness. However, she dismissed it quickly. She was a foreigner and it was normal that the servants should be a little uneasy in her presence.

  After the nurse had tucked Alexandra in bed, Lucy bent over her to say good night. “I heard that Father gave you bread and salt last night,” the child suddenly said.

  And wine. Too much of it, Lucy thought wryly, then answered cautiously, “Yes, he did. Is that a Wallachian custom?”

  “I suppose,” Alexandra answered. “Once you’ve tasted bread and salt, it means that you’ve become our friend, that you can do nothing to hurt us. You will do nothing to hurt us, will you?” she asked, her voice almost pleading.

  She seemed genuinely distressed, and Lucy hurried to reassure her. “Believe me, Alexandra, I want to be your friend. My last intention would be to hurt you. But tell me, why do you think anybody would try to do such a thing?”

  “It’s nothing,” Alexandra answered, but Lucy could see that the look of worry hadn’t disappeared from her eyes.

  After she returned to her own room, Lucy resolved to talk to Boyar Marcu at the earliest convenience. The child seemed frightened and she had to know why. She should be able to protect Alexandra, if it ever became necessary. The manor seemed a safe haven. Yet, this was a foreign country, remote and potentially hostile.

  She was, however, surprised to find her employer gone when she went to speak to him the next day. Urgent business in Bucharest, Alexandra told her, and Lucy did not press her to say more. She asked her only how long the boyar would be gone, but the child did not seem to know. Lucy felt oddly disappointed by his sudden absence, but decided it was for the best. Time was sure to cool the silly and ill-advised attraction she felt toward him.

  Chapter Three

  Ioan Marcu drained his glass in one gulp. The fiery liquid that slid down his throat should have made him drunk—drunk enough to forget everything and just have one or two of the girls in the tavern where his friends had dragged him.

  One of them, the one whose dark eyes shone like black gemstones against her swarthy complexion, had lifted her ample colored skirts. With her broad bottom on on
e of the empty tables, she had opened her legs widely and was looking at him invitingly, licking her lips. From where he sat, he had a full view of her ready sex. He could have just gone to her and put his cock inside her. He was hard and ready. He’d been hard and ready for the last couple of weeks. However, not for this woman. Oh, he’d used her often enough in the past and paid her well for it, but tonight he just felt he didn’t want her. Not her, nor any of the women in the room.

  He brushed his finger over the rim of the empty glass. He supposed he had to be grateful there had been things to keep him busy. His aunt had asked him a while before to help her settle loose ends concerning her late husband’s estate. She didn’t trust men of law and had proclaimed, with her characteristic hauteur, that she would have only her nephew’s assistance. Now he gladly buried himself into the dusty pile of paperwork, although, for months, he’d kept postponing this tedious task. It had turned out to be the perfect excuse to come to Bucharest. Because that’s what this trip really was—an excuse to get away.

  “Hey, Ioan, stop looking so corpse-like. You could at least dance, if there’s nothing else you’re able to do. Or just sing...do something, for God’s sake!” his friend Mihai shouted drunkenly from across the room.

  “I’m touched by your concern!” Ioan called back, shaking his head.

  Ten years ago, he would have probably taken Mihai’s advice and sung at the top of his lungs, just to better blend in with the whole drunken revel. And he supposed he and his friends had partaken of many such revels. But this didn’t happen as often nowadays, since his town visits were increasingly rare. This drinking party his friends had foisted upon him, allegedly to lift his spirits and alleviate the boredom of his task, this too had been just a welcome excuse for everyone to plunge into blissful oblivion. They all had things they’d rather forget.

  The cymbal and the violin were ringing loud in his ears. The players, lautarii, were playing a sad, heart-wrenching tune. They were so good that they could play blindfolded. They had been, in fact, blindfolded so that they couldn’t see what was happening around them. As if they couldn’t picture it. Ioan laughed bitterly. Just men and their paid women—a handful of rich young boyars, eager for some release after an evening of heavy drinking. And the night was still young.