Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

C arly 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.

"Count, 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 pla?t!"

Carly managed to smile. "No. It was my fault, excuse me, s'il vous pla?t . 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 pla?t. I'm at Castle Vadim," she said at last.

The operator returned her words quickly spoken in French. In frustration Carly repeated the word "taxi," then the woman impatiently said, "Un moment, s'il vous pla?t!"

The line went dead. Sighing, Carly hung up. She'd have to try to find Tanya. Tanya had been involved with a Frenchman and must remember something of the language!

Carly walked idly over to the windows.

Jon was down in the courtyard, standing by Satan. He was all in black again—black jeans, high black boots—and it looked as if he had been riding.

He sure moved fast, Carly thought bitterly. And then, despite herself, she felt a warmth sweep through her, and heady palpitations seized her heart. He looked up, directly at her. With the amber eyes of the wolf he stared up into her features and offered her a dazzling smile. He waved, still grinning. His appearance, tall and unconquerable beside the prancing midnight stallion, was totally arresting. I could fall in love with him so easily, Carly thought.

She stepped back, frightened. She thought of all the times she'd gone to dinner or the theater or skating with an eligible man, the proper type for her: a stockbroker, a banker, a research assistant at the Natural History Museum. She'd always tried to laugh and enjoy herself. No matter how hard she'd wanted to, she just hadn't been able to feel anything for them other than friendship, other than a polite interest....

And now here was Jon Vadim. When she should be only politely interested, when she should protect her feelings with steel gates, she was as lost as an innocent young girl, and far too pliable.

She looked out the window again. Jon Vadim was gone.

Carly started as the phone rang. Maybe the operator had understood her, after all, and was calling to say that a taxi was on its way.

Carly started for the phone. She sat down on the marble bench and picked up the receiver. Someone had already answered the phone—Jon Vadim. He was speaking with a woman, quickly, firmly, and mentioned "taxi." The woman murmured, "D'accord," and the phone clicked off.

"Wait!" Carly cried.

"I'll be right there," Jon said to her.

"No! That's not what—"

The phone went dead. Frustrated, Carly replaced the receiver. She looked up—and nearly screamed.

He was already there, standing before her in his black outfit, looking entirely prepossessing. Carly stood to face him.

"You had no right to do that!" she told him.

His eyes narrowed. "To do what?" he asked carefully.

"You sent the taxi away, didn't you?" She was certain he had, but couldn't begin to imagine why. He'd behaved so coldly in the library that she would have thought that he'd be pleased to get rid of her.

"I, uh, yes, I sent the taxi away."

"Why?"

"Why?" he repeated.

"Why, damn you! I want to leave here and go back to the hotel. You must know that!"

"But you can't leave," he said.

"I can, and I intend to."

He shook his head. "You mustn't."

He took a step closer to her, and she was caught in the little Deco alcove against the wall and the marble bench. His after-shave drifted around her like a mesmerizing mist, and she wondered why she hadn't smelled it in the library. She didn't ponder on it long, however, for he flattened his palms against the wall, imprisoning her, and he smiled. She stiffened, trying to prepare her defenses.

"Please, don't go," he murmured.

"I can't stay here."

"I can't let you go. There's too much between us. I can give you time—all the time in the world. But I can't let you go."

"Very nice. Lovely. Two minutes ago I wasn't terribly sure that you remembered my name," she remarked dryly.

"Two minutes ago?"

"In the library."

"Oh, yes, in the library." He stared at her, waiting.

Carly pushed against his chest and slipped beneath his arms. "Damn you, stop this! I can't play this game."

Something dark and dangerous fell over his eyes. He caught her arm and dragged her back. "I'm not playing any games! I'm trying to be as adult and courteous as I can be under the circumstances."

"Under the circumstances!"

"Well, Ms. Kiernan, you do run hot and cold."

"I do!"

"I would say that I needed to call upon a certain restraint, patience, tolerance, and self-control."

"Why, you conceited!—" Carly snapped, incredulous. First he'd behaved as if nothing had happened—and now this!

"You had no right being in there! You caused the entire situation. Now, I'm trying—with a great deal of restraint, patience, courtesy and tolerance—to see that the situation does not recur! Now, if you won't let me phone a taxi, I'll walk back to the damned village!"

She tried to jerk free from his grasp; he held her still. Her knees felt weak, and a wave of trembling and panic washed over her. Was he all that he seemed? He had appeared in the darkness on his black horse. A wolf had run from his simple, quiet words. With his arms encircling her, she knew that he had the strength to do whatever he would—hold her there indefinitely; wind his fingers around her neck and strangle her. She should be afraid.

But she wasn't. Not that he would harm her, anyway. She still couldn't begin to understand why, but she wasn't afraid that he would hurt her.

What she was afraid of was that she would forget the fight, forget how foolish he had already made her feel. And she was most afraid that he would touch her again in such a way that all she would want was more of him, more of his touch.

"Jon..." she whispered in protest. He eased his hold on her. He clenched his teeth and let her go.

"I will walk," she stated.

"It's fifteen miles, and you aren't walking anywhere."

"Really?" Arching a brow, she spun around and hurried toward her room. All she needed was her purse. She would send for her gown and have Tanya's dress cleaned before she returned it.

When she reached her room, she heard him call her name. She opened the door, and he was suddenly behind her, pulling her into the room. Then he was holding her arms and staring down at her, and his eyes were full of heat and tension and sincerity.

"I don't want you to leave here." He paused, then added softly, "Not unless you're going home."

"Oh, no. I'm not going home. Before I leave this place, I want to know where my sister is!"

"Then you must stay here."

"I don't have to—"

"Please."

"Why is it that you are able to manipulate people so! Damn it! You order me about, then you suddenly sound so courteous, and I feel like a churlish brat!"

She noticed that a smile tugged at his lips. He cupped her chin, stroking her cheek with his thumb, and said, "Because I really don't want you to leave."

"You are sending me insane!" Carly protested, pulling away from his touch. He could make her give in too easily, she knew, if his hands were upon her. As she stared at him she realized that he seemed younger again. It was the smile, the laughter, she decided. They swept away years.

"Carly, come here." He beckoned her gently.

She shook her head but walked back toward him, anyway. He embraced her, and despite herself, she curled her own arms around his neck.

"I swear to you," he told her, "to the very best of my knowledge Jasmine is in Paris. She is alive and well—and being Jasmine. And I swear to you, too...that I just can't let you go. If you're going to stay, stay here."

"If I mean so much to you, Jon, why are you so anxious for me to go home?"

He shrugged, then threaded his fingers through her hair, watching as the soft strands fell back to her shoulders. "The coachman was killed," he stated.

"Someone is killed somewhere every day. Even in the most remote and crime-free places. New York has its fair share of criminals," Carly said, searching his face.

But his amber eyes gave away nothing. He shrugged again, and his rueful smile deepened. "Maybe I am worried. Maybe it is true—the villagers aren't murdered every day around here."

"Then you suspect—"

"I don't suspect anything. I'll just make a deal with you. You stay here, or you go home."

"What?"

"Please, Carly."

"I wish I understood."

"I wish that you would believe in me."

"I..." she began.

"What?"

"I do believe in you," she breathed.

She'd done it again, she realized. Her fears were all well-founded, for she had earnestly meant to leave, and here she was, surrendering to his command. It was a command, she knew. No matter how endearingly phrased it was.

He pulled her close and just held her. She heard the beating of his heart and her own. Feeling the strength and the warmth of his caress, she buried her head against his chest, glad to be held. She wanted to imagine that there was no future and no past and no secrets or confusions between them. Just for a matter of moments she would like to feel loved again, loved and cherished. And she would like to give way to the rich and heady excitement that filled her and sizzled and seared, deep inside....

He drew away. She was dazzled by his dark good looks and rueful smile. "I have your things."

"Pardon me?"

"I have your things. I went to the hotel and brought back your things."

"But—" she started to say.

"I'll send someone up with them right away." He kissed her forehead, caressing the nape of her neck with his thumb and forefinger. Then he pulled away. "Slowly," he told her. "I'll have to learn to keep my hands off you. It isn't easy, you know. It's worse...now. I can dream in living color."

She flushed, aware that he was referring to the moments they had spent together on the bed. His eyes and words reminded her that he knew her now, from head to toe, and she grew warm again with that knowledge.

"I don't have color," she quipped lightly.

"We can rectify that."

"Now? Aren't—" She paused a little breathlessly. "We must be late for dinner by now."

He laughed. "Any excuse, hmm? But yes. Dinner is on the terrace at eight o'clock." He glanced at his watch. "One hour. I'll come for you."

"I can find my way—"

"I'll come for you." With the white flash of a smile, he left her. Carly sank onto her bed and tried to go over everything that had happened. She'd been furious; she should have been gone by now.

But in an hour he was going to come back to take her down to dinner.

There was a knock on her door.

"Come in!" Carly called.

It was one of the grooms, a handsome boy of about eighteen. He was carrying Carly's luggage. He set it down and she thanked him, and he nodded to her with pleasure.

When the door closed, Carly reflected that everyone who worked for the count seemed happy here. Maybe they made good money here, she thought dryly. But people could make good money and still hate their jobs, she mused.

She should have been gone—back to the hotel.

But she was here, and he was going to come for her in an hour.

Despite herself, Carly leaped to her feet and set her suitcase on the bed. She was anxious to look her best.

* * *

At five of eight he was back.

It seemed that dinner at the castle was always a dress affair. Jon Vadim was in a tux, which he wore with a noble flair. The black of his outfit complemented the darkness of his hair and contrasted with the extraordinary amber of his eyes. He looked at her with a twinkle of humor in his eyes, and Carly knew from the time he bowed and politely took her arm to escort her that he was well aware of his effect upon her.

"You're beautiful," he told her.

"Thank you."

She had chosen an off-the-shoulder gown with a bouffant skirt in Chinese silk.

"Your own design?"

"Yes."

"I'm heartbroken. You dressed for Geoffrey and not for me."

Carly was glad her eyes were lowered. She'd forgotten all about Geoffrey—and the fact that she had expressed a desire to work with the man. Jon Vadim had that kind of power; he made her forget everything else.

"I didn't dress for anyone," she lied, meeting his eyes. She lowered her gaze again; he knew.

He led her toward the stairs and held her hand as they walked down.

"You really are conceited," she told him as they reached the landing. "And ridiculously arrogant."

"I am not. I'm anxious and frightened and terrified."

"Of what?"

"That I'll lose you."

"You don't have me, so you can't lose me. And I don't appreciate your making light of this."

"I'm not making light of anything. I'm trying very hard to keep my distance, that's all," he said.

They'd reached the terrace. Carly couldn't reply. Tanya was there, looking beautiful in a long, slinky gown with a thigh-high slash. Geoffrey was by her side, head lowered. He appeared very different without his mummy wrappings, Carly mused. He was an attractive man, tall and lean, with a craggy, endearing face. She didn't realize she was staring until he laughed.

"So you prefer the costume, huh?" he said, eyebrow raised.

"No! Oh, no, I'm so sorry. You just gave me a start!"

He laughed, and Tanya came over and told her that her dress was stunning. "You should be making a mint, doll."

"Don't turn her head," Geoffrey said. "Not until she's done my show."

"You really want me to?" Carly asked.

"Of course."

"See, Carly? Something good has come of being here," Jon said. He stared at her and smiled, and she wondered if he was being cynical or if he was really pointing out the benefits of her stay.

"Where's Alexi?" she asked.

"Here I am." Alexi stepped onto the terrace with a drink. "I was in the bar. Can I go fix something for you two?"

Jon waved a hand. "I'll get our drinks. Carly, what would you like?"

She started to say that she didn't want anything, then decided that she very much wanted a drink, and she asked him for a Rusty Nail. He smiled—another mocking smile, she thought—and left them. She commented how pretty the set table looked.

Alexi nodded vaguely. "Yes, the count does live elegantly."

"I'm sure your home is every bit as elegant," Carly suggested.

Alexi laughed. "No, no, chérie , it is not. But—" he shuddered dramatically "—though my home is not so elegant, it is warm and nice. And I'd rather enjoy my genteel poverty without the Vadim curse than all the Vadim riches in the world."

"The Vadim curse?" Carly asked with a laugh.

"Of course!" Geoffrey broke in.

"Madness!" Tanya said teasingly.

"Oh, come now!" Carly scoffed.

Geoffrey laughed. "There's only a skeleton or two in the closets here."

"Right. The majority of them are in the basement," Tanya said.

"Laugh if you will," Alexi said. "They've been known to howl at the moon."

"Telling tales again, Alexi?"

Jon returned, and Carly started guiltily. He walked back onto the terrace, smiling at Alexi, and handed Carly her drink.

"We're trying to infuse some mood here," Tanya said lightly.

"Of course." Smiling at Carly, Jon took her arm and led her around the table. "We're as rampantly mad as can be, as frightening as a cave of vampire bats. Born that way, of course."

He was joking—of course, Carly thought. But she sensed a certain bitterness behind the words and wondered what was true about the Vadim family and what was not.

She believed in Jon, she reminded herself. She was here because she believed in him. But she couldn't help the strange thoughts that plagued her mind. She found it difficult to understand Jon's behavior.

She was seated between Jon and Geoffrey as the meal was served by the butler and Marie and another maid. It was all very elegant, and Carly wondered idly what it was like to live this way all the time. Jasmine was probably accustomed to such service, since she moved among a moneyed crowd. Carly wasn't sure she herself would really like it. The castle seemed to lack a certain intimacy.

When she caught Jon watching her with a speculative smile, she wondered if he was reading her mind. She flushed, sipped her wine and looked away.

Geoffrey monopolized her attention for the rest of the meal. They ate delicious lamb, some of the best Carly had ever had. And the wine was wonderful. As she listened to Geoffrey's enthusiastic plans for his next production, she ate and drank too much, and when the meal was over, she felt warm and languid and very comfortable. Jon came in on the conversation, comparing the theater in London with that in New York. He talked about a particular production at the Drury Lane that was similar to the one Geoffrey had in mind. Carly didn't have much to contribute, so she leaned back to listen. It was nice to feel relaxed and at ease—and normal!—here, she mused.

She closed her eyes and realized that Alexi and Tanya were deeply engrossed in conversation, in French. Alexi seemed angry, and Tanya sounded bored. Carly wished she could understand what they were saying. She glanced at Jon and at Geoffrey, but neither was paying any attention. Geoffrey was creating a stage out of his knife and dessert fork, and Jon was quick to show the angle of the sets with an arrangement of after-dinner mints.

But then Tanya yawned, long and expressively, and they were all forced to notice her. She made a display of studying her slim gold watch. "It's after midnight. Do you believe that?"

"Easily," Geoffrey said. "We didn't go to bed until this morning."

Carly found herself yawning, too.

Geoffrey laughed. "Yawning is contagious, you know."

"I suppose," Carly agreed, and stood. Geoffrey, Alexi and Jon were instantly on their feet, too. There was something nice about the old-world atmosphere here, she realized. It was the wine. She'd had a great deal of it, and bed would definitely be the best place for her.

"I agree with Tanya," she murmured a little apologetically. "I'm sorry. I think I'm exhausted."

"Geoffrey, you bored her to exhaustion!" Alexi said.

"Geoffrey, you did no such thing," Carly insisted.

"I'll walk you up," Jon offered.

"No!" She was aware that she'd spoken too quickly, and bit her inner lip as everyone looked at her with discreet half smiles. "Please, Jon, Geoffrey, Alexi—all of you, stay here. Tanya and I can go up together."

"Perfect." Tanya too, rose. She took Alexi's hands and let him kiss both her cheeks. "Good night. And Geoff..." On tiptoe, she kissed his lips lightly, then did the same with Jon.

Carly stepped back before she could become embroiled in it all. "Good night, Alexi, it was wonderful seeing you again."

"You'll not get rid of me," he promised. "You see, I made it back for dinner this evening. And I think I'll stay the night."

"You're welcome, of course," Jon told him. Carly wondered whether or not he meant it. Then she didn't care. She was really exhausted and wanted only to escape Jon, though she didn't have the strength or the will to fight him at the moment.

"Bonne nuit," Jon said softly.

Smiling weakly, she turned from his gaze and hurried after Tanya.

"He definitely has his eye on you," Tanya remarked as they walked up the stairs. "Ouch." She paused to slip her high-heel sandals off. She grimaced at Carly. "One just doesn't wear sneakers to dinner here."

Carly laughed. "No, I suppose not."

"I wouldn't have minded being mistress of this place," Tanya said with a sigh.

"But—"

"There is nothing between us," Tanya assured her with a laugh. "For a while I thought that Jas—" She broke off.

"Jasmine," Carly said.

Tanya shook her head. "No, no—"

"Then what were you saying?"

"Honest, I don't remember what I was about to say." She leaped up the remaining steps in her stocking feet. "I'm so tired! We should have a day tomorrow to do something with. Some sight-seeing. It's a beautiful country, the best of western Europe and the best of eastern Europe. Good night!" She disappeared through the door to her room.

Carly entered her own room. Her suitcases had been emptied. She hurried over to the armoire and saw that it had been filled with her things.

Marie had probably come in to unpack for her, she decided. But still, it bothered her. She reflected again on the letter from Jasmine that had disappeared. Someone, she was certain, had gone through her purse.

She was too tired to deal with it at that moment, though. She had meant to leave today but hadn't, putting her faith instead in an arrogant, mysterious and confusing man. She was here for another night, at least.

Carly shed her gown, kicked off her evening slippers and rolled down her stockings. In the armoire she found her own flannel nightgown, which was nowhere near as sexy or as elegant as the one she had worn the night before. Evidence of a life-style, she thought wryly. Tanya's was definitely more exciting—and attractive—than hers.

She was considering changing that, she thought as she lay down. Just hours before, she had lain here with Jon, and they had almost...

She thumped her pillow and wiggled down into it. It had been so long, but she knew he would make things easy. All the same, her emotions would run deep, and she would need more than just expertise from him; she would need to believe that the magic was real.

She was too nervous and excited to sleep. But she was exhausted, too. She closed her eyes, which felt so very heavy....

She dreamed she was not alone. Someone was with her, watching over her. Someone who tenderly touched her cheek, then bent down and very gently kissed her lips. The touch was just a whisper of breath, barely a touch at all. Sweet and provocative. She wanted to reach for more....

Carly awoke with a start, certain someone really was in the room with her. It was the dream, she told herself. But it wasn't. She was tense and frightened because the danger was real.

She didn't move.

No one could be in the room, she assured herself. She had made sure to lock the door that night, and from the moonlight filtering into the room she could see that the door was still closed.

But she could feel someone...or something!

She turned her head carefully, looking toward the balcony and toward the rear of the room. There was very little light, and she couldn't tell what she was seeing. Shadow and substance converged. First there was a form in the room, and then there was nothing at all.

She closed her eyes and opened them again. Nothing was there.

Shaking, she sat up, turned on the bedside lamp and wrapped her arms about herself.

She was alone.

For several seconds she just sat there. Then she jumped up and checked the door. It was bolted.

She walked over to the French doors. They too were locked. She opened them, and the night breeze rushed in upon her. Up in the sky was a gibbous moon, which was still nearly full.

Carly heard the sudden, startling howl of a wolf.

She peered across the courtyard. The wolf was there, looking toward her window. It was a big wolf. She thought she could see the creature's eyes. They were golden in the darkness, golden beneath the moon.

It howled again, seeming to watch her, then it turned and raced off, a wraith in the night.

Carly shivered. "There was no wolf in this room!" she whispered. Then she added in confusion, "There was nothing in this room. Nothing at all!"

She came back in and locked the French doors. She checked the door to the hall again. It was still firmly bolted.

Leaving the light on, Carly crawled back into bed and pulled the covers to her neck.

Eventually she closed her eyes again and dozed. She had vivid, though sketchy, dreams. A wolf was running after her, a wolf with golden eyes. He would run on all fours....

And then he would run on two legs. He was no longer a wolf, but a man. A man with golden, amberglowing eyes. A man in a flowing black cape.

A man who bent down to seal her lips with a kiss and steal her breath and her very soul.