A Deep Dark Call Page 6

  She gasped. “I would never...” she started saying, then, realizing that she was being hypocritical, clamped her mouth shut.

  Still, she refused to meet his eyes. He chuckled. “I could oblige you one day, you know, when we’re more adjusted to one another. But only as a treat. And only if you are very, very good...” He trailed off softly.

  She cursed him mentally, as she was beginning to feel the flaming sensation in the nether parts that he had, only minutes ago, been able to soothe with his finger. She still felt very vexed with herself and with the way she was behaving. It was wrong. What she wanted him to do to her was wrong. And what he’d just done to her was wrong, and immoral. She was his employee and had a duty to his child.

  “You and I,” she said in a tired voice. “This is wrong and it has to stop. I think I should resign my position.”

  “What about Alexandra? She’s already grown fond of you and will be sorry to see you go,” he told her, in a serious tone this time.

  “She is a wonderful child,” Lucy said passionately. “But she will do well with any teacher. She does not need me after all—she does not need a woman of low morals as her teacher.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. If you think that what we did is immoral, we could make it moral, so that it fits your proper English sensibilities.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not my proper English sensibilities and you know it. You and I—this is wrong.”

  “No,” he corrected her. “You and I—this is right. And we can also make it proper. We’ll marry in order to set your mind at ease.”

  He was decidedly mocking her. She did not dignify this with a comment, but determinedly strode to the door.

  “I’ll send for a civil servant from city hall before Christmas comes, to make it all legal,” he called after her.

  She stopped in her tracks. No, he was not mocking her. He was simply insane.

  “And we’ll have a small ceremony here. I will not marry you in a church, though, so that you know. But I’ll have you as my lawful wife,” he added.

  She had heard enough. “You are mad!” she told him, understanding that she had to leave this place as soon as possible.

  He shrugged again. “There are few people who can call themselves really sane. Still, I’ll marry you, if you’ll have me.”

  As she was staring at him in horror, he went on, unperturbed, “I am rich, you know. And you are already fond of my child—I can see it. It might seem dreary here in winter, but spring and summer are really beautiful. And besides, we can always go to Paris or London for extended visits.”

  As she didn’t make a single gesture, he continued, “You needn’t fear this is an empty promise. I’m prepared to wait for the wedding night until we’re legally wed. That way you’ll know this is bona fide.”

  It was then that she really lost her temper. She closed the distance between them in three strides and slapped him. Hard.

  He rubbed his jaw, but, instead of rebuking her, he laughed. “That’s an interesting answer,” he told her.

  “You arrogant bastard!” she told him thickly.

  Again he shrugged in that infuriating gesture. “I can’t understand what you’re so upset about,” he told her in an innocent voice.

  “I can’t believe I’m still here listening to this...” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else in particular.

  “But of course you’re listening to this. It’s a reasonable solution.” He said it with utmost confidence, and Lucy struggled to keep the last shreds of her temper. Her hand was itching to slap him again.

  “I don’t want to marry you,” she told him flatly.

  “And I don’t particularly want to marry you either, but I want to fuck you, and you want it too. And we’re both unmarried. I hope you know that once I’ve had you, I won’t ever be able to let you go. So, marriage does seem like the best solution.”

  He was mad. There was no question about it. Why she was listening to this insane talk was beyond her comprehension.

  He was right about one thing, though. She did want him inside her so very much. So much that it drove her crazy.

  She sighed. “There’s another solution—I must go. You know this is the best course.”

  “Do you have anyplace better to go?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “That’s none of your business,” she told him.

  “No place to go then. So you see, you can marry me,” he concluded logically.

  Again she shook her head. “Let me go, please!” she told him, but in her own ears, her own voice sounded feeble.

  “But I can’t let you go. And I think you won’t be able to bring yourself to leave,” he told her soothingly, as if he were stating the obvious.

  “You’re mad!” she repeated, although his words were making strange sense to her.

  “No, draga mea,” he told her, and the words he added did sound like an endearment to her. “I am in heat. And so are you. So it’s natural that neither of us is thinking quite clearly. But marriage does seem like an acceptable solution.”

  Then he kissed her again and she did not protest. Of course, she was not thinking clearly. And she was behaving like a bitch panting for her mate. She should feel ashamed of herself. She should stop this madness. Yet she knew she could not.

  “I’ll sleep with you,” she told him, breaking the kiss but resigning herself to her fate. “But then I’ll have to leave.”

  “Not good enough,” he told her. “I can’t let you go. And I won’t. Ever.”

  The words were spoken in calm tones, yet they had an odd finality to them. She was probably deranged herself, because she took them as fact. As if she knew that he could never let her go under the circumstances and, strangely, that she herself would never want to leave after he’d bedded her.

  She could, of course, just remain here and be his mistress. She was insane enough to want nothing more than that. However, that would lead to an unfair, dishonest situation, which might harm a child she’d already grown fond of. But, truly, marriage was an insane solution in itself. She did not know him. She did not know him at all.

  “I don’t think I even like you,” she told him in earnest.

  He laughed. “For that which we both have in mind, it does not matter very much. And besides, there have been marriages that have started with less.”

  She did not like where this was leading. It was as if she were already agreeing to this. “People will say I’m a scheming little nobody who’s married you for your money.”

  Yet again, he shrugged, unperturbed.

  “What if we’re both going to regret this? We do not know each other at all,” she said pleadingly, as if she was debating within herself.

  He pulled her in his arms, roughly, not leaving room for argument or for sanity.

  “You know, woman,” he told her, and in her ears his voice sounded as if it were somewhere between a low menacing growl and a seductive purr. “I think you do protest too much. And I don’t really care, because I can always shut you up with a kiss.”

  He did. Although, to her regret, he didn’t do more than that, but left her burning and unsatisfied, wickedly reminding her that he wanted to do the moral thing and bed her after he’d wedded her. He was arrogant and insufferable and, obviously, in far better control of the situation than she was. She resented him as much as she resented herself. For all of it.

  It seemed absurd, but within herself she strangely knew she simply had no other choice. Running away was simply not an option.

  * * *

  If he’d had doubts before, they had melted away when he’d kissed her. The kiss had been just as deep as in his dreams, but even more than that. There had been a true taste to it that had sung to his blood. A taste seeping with energy. Very much like the tree of life.

  He’d have to marry her quickly so she wouldn’t change
her mind and run away from him. It was the Englishness in her, he thought in vexation. It was that veneer of propriety and the stiff education she’d received. It was that veneer that prevented her from fully acknowledging things that to him were now obvious.

  “I know it’s sudden,” he told his daughter while they were gazing together at the snowflakes twirling outside. “But, you see, this has to happen. And it’d better happen now.”

  “I know,” Alexandra answered in her calm voice.

  Guilt started gnawing at him. This was a hasty decision, and he should have prepared his child better. For all of it. However, some things could not be helped. They were what they were and he knew he would not ever be able to change them. Not even for the sake of his child.

  “I like Lucy,” he heard her say.

  She was reassuring him because it was in her nature to do so. She was always protective of those she loved, even if she was only ten. Sometimes he got the distinct impression that she was much more frightened of it all than she allowed him to see.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I know you do. I would not have asked her to marry me, if I’d thought you did not.”

  “I know,” Alexandra told him. “She’s very English, isn’t she?” she added, however, echoing his own thoughts.

  He laughed. “Yes, in a way. But you see, sometimes it’s hard to see people for what they really are, when they come from a different place. I guess we seem very Wallachian to her, don’t we?”

  Alexandra shrugged. “I suppose. But still...” She wanted to add something more, but paused.

  “What’s troubling you, Andra?” he asked immediately, using her pet name. Sometimes he had the feeling that she did not share things with him simply because she did not want him to worry.

  “It’s just...well, it’s just that she doesn’t act as if she really knew,” his daughter finally told him.

  He sighed. She was stating the obvious. And it was a thing that had been troubling him as well. But he hadn’t been able yet to find a satisfactory way of solving this. As usual, he was hoping that things would eventually find their own way of settling.

  “I know what you mean,” he told Alexandra. “It’s complicated. You see—I guess a part of her already knows. But then...well, there’s obviously the other part that doesn’t.”

  “But shouldn’t we tell her, Papa?”

  He’d thought about it. He’d thought about a serious conversation with Lucy. But he was afraid that what he had to say would scare her off. And, it might be selfish of him, but it was not a risk that he was willing to take.

  “I don’t know,” he said earnestly.

  But one thing was plain, he thought later, after he’d told his daughter good night. This was what mattered most. He’d felt it when he’d kissed Lucy, the hot thread that ran through his blood and made him what he truly was. For those brief moments, the restlessness and pain he had so long been accustomed to had simply disappeared. They’d been drowned by her nearness.

  And he sensed that she felt the same way about him. The same intensity which eclipsed the world around them. The rest...well, maybe it was for the best to let her figure things out for herself. She needed to understand things on her own terms.

  Release. This was what his marriage to her was going to bring. But not only that. It would also bring forever. And, although he’d spoken it to her, it was a word that he was somewhat scared of. Forever was a treacherous word. He knew too well. He had been married before.

  Chapter Six

  Lucy did not have much time to ponder on the wisdom of her decision. A few days later, a sour-faced little man from city hall made his appearance, rather upset that he’d been summoned to the manor so close to Christmastime, but not daring to voice any complaint. They signed their names in a bulky book that he’d brought with him in front of several witnesses. And it seemed that this was all there was to it.

  It was, however, with a feeling of unease that she watched the little man go. Right before leaving, he’d taken advantage of a small moment when they were together to tell her in French, “Savez-vous ce que les gens disent sur votre nouveau mari?”

  Do you know what people are saying about your new husband?

  She shook her head, not understanding why he had asked her the question. The little man sighed and shook his head, clutching the book in his hands. “Dieu vous protège, petite dame anglaise!”

  Why was he asking God to watch over her? She wanted to ask something more, but she caught her new husband watching the exchange from a distance, with a sardonic expression on his face. Seeing that his intervention had been noticed, the little man took his hasty departure.

  Her thoughts were soon otherwise engaged, however, because Alexandra came toward her shyly. “I wish you only happiness, Miss Cross,” the child told her.

  “I think that from now on you should call me Lucy,” she said, feeling rather nervous and realizing that she was also acquiring a new daughter. “I know this is sudden. I hope that you are not too upset.”

  Alexandra shook her head. Then she said in that very grown-up way that was hers, “No. Papa has explained it to me. I think that he will no longer feel so lonely. And besides... I’m glad it’s you.”

  Lucy hoped that she would not betray the child’s trust. She vowed she would never disappoint her. At this moment she was feeling stupid and selfish. She’d married out of sheer lust, blind to everything else around her.

  He must claim her soon. The waiting was driving her insane. All her thoughts were filled with him, with wanton images of his naked body. She remembered how good he had tasted and how she had licked a drop of his blood. She lived only with his lingering scent in her nostrils. It was as if his male scent was imprinted in everything that was in this house.

  It was maddening. Excruciating. She felt it burn between her legs, making her mind numb to almost everything else. He ought to make her his and put her out of her misery.

  As if Ioan had guessed her thoughts, he approached her some moments later, and whispered in her ear, “Tonight...”

  His soft words sent delicious tingles down her cheek and down the sensitive area of her neck. “Oh, so it is tonight?” she asked innocently, trying to still her thumping heart.

  She was trying to tease him. Of course, she was very excited, but also slightly frightened by what was going to take place.

  He gave her a half smile. “Yes. And you do know what’s going to happen tonight?” he asked in a very low voice.

  He did not seem to be teasing her. He seemed intense and very serious.

  She felt uncomfortable, suddenly afraid of his intensity.

  “I’m not that ignorant, you know,” she whispered to him in a frosty voice, which was meant to hide her anxiety.

  “I wonder...” he whispered back.

  She could not decide if he was mocking her. Or teasing her. Or warning her. And she felt frustrated for not being able to tell. She did not push this further, though. They were not alone, and all the servants’ eyes seemed fixed on them.

  She decided she would not give him the satisfaction of showing how uncertain she really was. She turned to face him fully and told him in a steady voice, suddenly not caring that everyone was staring at them, “Tonight.”

  There was to be a small celebration. Just themselves and the servants. Ioan had asked her politely if she would consider wearing traditional Romanian dress for this wedding. She’d acquiesced to this, understanding that it would be meaningful to the people in the household. Now, as she studied her reflection in the mirror, she could not recognise the exotic stranger that was staring at her. She was wearing a luminous white gown with delicate red and blue flower motifs. It was so soft that the skirts were almost transparent, but luckily she’d had to wear some sort of elaborate heavy skirt over this garment. Her feet were clad in soft black slippers made of leather. Her hair was unbound, but ad
orned with an elaborate headdress, which was made of red colorful beads and tiny white pearls.

  It was Florica and Ana who had helped her dress and, while the younger woman was exuding cheer and warmth, the older one seemed to be seething with resentment. Lucy felt thankful for Florica’s presence—she was reassuring and seemed her cheerful old self, which made Lucy think with relief that her family’s punishment couldn’t have been too harsh. She had still harbored some apprehensions that Florica might have been harmed by Mitru’s discipline. However, as she had tried to talk to Florica about her fiancé, she had realized that Ioan had told her the truth. Florica had laughingly told her that she felt lucky to be engaged to such a kind man. And besides, she had added in her broken French, with a saucy wink, recently she had thankfully found out that he could also be feisty. A woman needed a man whose blood ran hot.

  Lucy hoped Florica was right, because she surely knew that, for all his self-control, her new husband’s blood ran hot. And she herself felt wild for him, she thought, critically studying her reflection in the mirror.

  She was surprised when she saw Florica slip a curious-looking dried herb in the bodice of her bridal costume.

  “What are you doing?” The potent scent was already making itself known. It was pleasant, slightly tangy. “Is it basil?” she asked, recognizing what it was.

  “Amour,” the young woman told her smilingly.

  It was for love. Local lore? Some strange love charm? Lucy wondered.

  Ana muttered something under her breath that, to Lucy, sounded like a curse. She crossed herself, which made Florica laugh impudently.

  “Pagan filth,” the old woman mumbled, in French this time, obviously for Lucy’s benefit. “They say basil binds your man to you forever.” She studied Lucy through narrowed eyes. “As if anyone would want to be bound to that man forever.”

  Lucy felt distinctly uncomfortable, remembering too well the civil servant’s strange words. Do you know what people are saying about your husband?