This Rough Magic Read online

  They were the same golden glowing amber as those of the wolf. Striking eyes. So powerful that it was several seconds before she realized that they belonged to a ruggedly handsome face.

  Carly tried to open her mouth to speak. The man smiled, then looked past her to the wolf. He stared at it hard, then spoke softly to the creature.

  “Go, Vixen!”

  The wolf whined, tucked its tail between its legs and hurried into the forest.

  The man dismounted. His cape swept about him as he did so. When he stood before Carly, she realized that he was wearing a soft cotton shirt with fine lace sleeves, black velvet breeches, white hose and black buckled shoes. He was several inches over six feet, she guessed. His shoulders were broad, and he moved with the lithe grace of an athlete.

  “Ms. Kiernan?” he said sharply.

  Carly swallowed, finding it difficult to speak. He was dark and fascinating, and the mist swirling about their feet made her wonder if the man could be real.

  “Yes,” she managed to reply.

  He smiled slowly. She thought it was the most sensual smile that she had ever seen. His smile was youthful, but his eyes were all knowing. They were hazel, she assured herself. A nice, normal hazel.

  “You’re hurt.” His voice was husky and warm and deep. It entered her bloodstream and warmed her. There was a very slight accent to it, as if he spoke English without hesitation, as if he knew her. As if he had known that she would be here, alone and vulnerable in the misted woods.

  He towered over her, and on this night in particular he left her in no little awe. She stared up into his eyes as if she were compelled to do so, and then realized what she was doing. Quickly she lowered her lashes.

  “You’re hurt,” he repeated.

  “No, no, not really—”

  She broke off as he reached into her hair and removed a strand of dry grass. Self-consciously Carly moved her fingers through her hair. Her French braid had come loose. Half her tawny hair remained entwined; half of it spilled upon her shoulders. He stared deep into her eyes and gave her a crooked, rueful smile. Carly felt herself returning that stare, unable to turn away. She trembled slightly, feeling as if he touched her.

  He was a stranger, a man who had appeared in the woods out of nowhere, she reminded herself. A silent wraith in the night. She felt warm and safe, though she was alone in the fog-drenched woods with him. She didn’t know who he was, or where he had come from, only that he wore a cape and rode a black horse and had the power to make a wolf slink away from its prey.

  At least he spoke English, she thought. Her French was sufficient when she was ordering food and wine; it would not carry her far in a political debate.

  She could not tear her eyes from his, nor could she fight the feeling that she was warm and safe now, because he was here.

  He broke the eye contact, looking beyond her to the ruins of the carriage. He stared at the wreckage, then back at her.

  “My God! What happened?” he exclaimed huskily.

  “I, uh, I’m not sure. Suddenly we were speeding, and then I realized that there was no driver, and then the carriage...crashed.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  There was a harsh sound to his voice; it had a deep timbre, and the concern in it seemed to touch her all over again.

  “I’m all right,” she told him.

  “Where the hell is the driver?” he demanded.

  “I—I don’t know. I hope he isn’t hurt.”

  “If he isn’t hurt, then he should be horsewhipped.” He stared at the wreckage again, still scowling. “My God,” he murmured once more. His eyes, darkened by emotion, sought and held hers.

  “I’m all right,” she insisted. “Really. Thanks to you. I admit that I was quite frightened by the wolf.”

  “Ah...the wolf,” he said softly, arching a brow. “Yes, well, the wolf is gone now.”

  Then the moon slipped behind a cloud again and darkness descended upon them. Carly couldn’t see his face or his features; she was barely aware that he still stood before her in front of the sleek black horse. Just then a streak of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the night. Now she saw the stranger before her clearly. He seemed to tower over her. He was very dark, compelling with his striking good looks. There was something about him that was so starkly masculine that it added an aura of tension and sensuality to him. If he did touch her, Carly knew, she would tremble.

  The lightning flashed again. Furiously, the black horse pawed the earth.

  “Satan!” the man said sharply.

  Satan, Carly thought fleetingly. How appropriate.

  Would the horse listen to his command just as easily as the wolf had?

  The black horse reared suddenly, then slammed down upon the earth. The stranger caught hold of Carly’s bare shoulders and dragged her away from the horse’s hooves.

  She cried out as her weight was placed on her sore ankle.

  “You’re hurt!” the man observed.

  “No, I—”

  “You’ve been injured. Don’t act like a fool. You screamed in pain.”

  “I’m—”

  “It’s going to pour. All Hallows’ Eve—a good rainstorm is right in order. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Wait! If you’ll just listen to me! I was heading for the castle—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take you there,” he promised her softly. His eyes held hers again. For the life of her, Carly couldn’t look away.

  Nor for the life of her could she remember when she had met such a man. He infuriated her with his dictatorial manner, but he also fascinated her. He was both elegant in his costume and so crudely male that he made her shiver. Made her think of illicit things in a peripheral, forbidden section of her mind. Staring at him, she felt a blush cover her cheeks. No man had ever made her feel this way.

  She was feeling things that she barely understood. She’d never known such a sexual attraction. It was the night, she assured herself. It was the mist and it was the wind, and it was the primal howling and prowling of the wolves in the darkness. It was something instinctive inside her that brought her to him, for she was alone in this world of danger and fantasy, alone with him and in his keeping.

  It was like a spell, she told herself. When they reached the castle, when they were surrounded by people and lights, the spell would be broken.

  “If you’ll take my hand,” she managed to whisper, “I’m sure I’ll be able to walk.”

  He didn’t take her hand. Instead, he stepped forward and swept her into his arms. She clung to him, her arms locked around his neck. And yet when his gaze fell upon her then, she blushed again. It was such an intimate hold. She could feel the warmth of his blood as it coursed through his body. She could feel his heartbeat.

  And she knew he could feel and see her pulse. Her gown left bare her shoulders and soft cleavage. She was sure he saw the quick rise and fall of her breasts, and when his eyes met hers again, there were both enigma and truth there.

  “This isn’t necessary,” she told him.

  He grinned down at her, and she thought he knew all her weaknesses.

  “I think that it is.”

  “And what you think always matters?” she parried.

  “At the moment, yes, it does. Do you care to debate the subject with me?”

  Finding no words, she chose to stare at him, hoping that a pretense of cool condemnation would duly chastise him.

  It didn’t seem to affect him in the least.

  “You’re cold,” he said softly. “We will quickly warm you.”

  And he did warm her, with the mere tone and cadence of his words. The blood rushed through her. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

  Lightning flashed across the sky once more. He started walking toward Satan. Another bolt rent the night air.

  The black stallion reared again. Reared and bolted.

  “Satan, you devil, you!” the stranger roared in anger. Carly felt the constriction of his arm
s, felt the power of him. He was all warmth and vitality. Her heart began to thunder. He was holding her so tightly. She reminded herself that she was on foreign soil, lost in the mist, more alone with this man than ever as the black stallion’s hoofbeats faded.

  He looked down at her. His eyes glimmered gold, and he smiled slowly. “It may take us time to get back.”

  “You could put me down.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  It was preposterous, she thought. He wasn’t going to release her. She could only hope that he was really—decently—trying to help her.

  “Do you know where we are?” she asked. It was so odd to talk to a total stranger when that man was holding her in his arms. They were so intimate, and yet their conversation had to be so casual.

  “Yes, I know where we are.” He grinned wickedly, and for an uncanny moment he resembled the legendary Count of Darkness. “I know my way well. It will just take us a little longer to reach our objective. I’m afraid that I’m not as fleet as that monster of a stallion.”

  Carly swallowed, wondering why she felt as if he could have compelled the animal to return, had he truly desired to do so.

  “Well, my lady,” he murmured gallantly, falling into the role that her fine silk and velvet costume suggested. He started walking. He moved easily, as if her weight meant very little to him.

  For a while they walked in silence. Carly keenly felt the mist. A wolf howled somewhere, and she tensed. The stranger tightened his arms around her, and she discovered his hypnotic eyes staring into hers again, his lips curled into a fascinating and wicked smile.

  “You are safe, you know,” he said.

  Carly wasn’t sure of what to say. Where he held her, she seemed to burn. Where he didn’t touch her, she felt cold. She was struck with the intimacy of his hold and was amazed anew at her reaction to him. She had never easily fallen for a man.

  But then, she had never met such a man. When she had loved, it had been slowly and deeply. She had never known this feeling of...excitement until love had found its roots within her.

  Perhaps she had never been touched by someone like this. Someone who towered against the darkness of the night, vibrant, sure and strong. Someone who swept her into his arms without thought of asking permission. Someone who compelled her, frightened her, who fascinated her to no end....

  Was this safety?

  She had to get down. She could not let him hold her so intimately any longer.

  “Please, really, you can’t carry me all that way,” she said.

  He looked down at her and arched a deadly dark brow. He smiled again, slowly. They both knew he could carry her all night with little effort, if he so chose.

  “I promise you, you’re safe,” he told her.

  Perhaps, but safe from what? Certainly not from him...

  Lightning came now in a sudden flash; thunder cracked ferociously. And suddenly rain fell. It was a soft patter at first but turned to a blinding flood.

  He held her more closely against him. Water streamed down his strong features and clung to his lashes. He caught the corner of his cloak and swept that around her, using the breadth of his shoulders to protect her the best he could.

  “I don’t think we can make the castle in this!” he shouted over the rain. “I’m heading for the hunting lodge. All right?”

  She sincerely doubted that she had a choice.

  He turned off into the woods. When the moon fell behind the clouds, she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t protest; she could barely move as he hurried along. The rain was hard and stinging. She opened her mouth once to speak, and it was instantly filled with water. Having little choice, Carly closed her mouth and her eyes and clung to him. Branches and twigs snapped and the foliage crackled beneath his feet as they hurried on.

  In another flash of lightning, Carly saw that they had come to something at last. It was the hunter’s cottage, made of hewn logs. She had hoped they would come upon people, but they didn’t. The place was dark, and the absence of wires indicated there was no electricity.

  He burst through the doorway. Carly was blinded by the darkness, but apparently he could see. Without faltering, he set her down upon something soft and dry and warm. She lay still, shivering. She heard his footsteps as he moved about. A second later, a candle gleamed from a bare wooden table in the center of the room. His face was eerie above that glow as he smiled at her.

  “I’ll build a fire,” he promised. He came back over to her. She trembled as he touched her lower lip with his forefinger. “You’re shivering. It will warm you and dry us, I hope.”

  Carly didn’t speak as he moved away. She watched the easy way he hunkered down, his weight on the balls of his feet as he built a fire. Taking a long match from the narrow stone mantel above him, he touched the flame against several places.

  At last, he seemed satisfied that the fire was catching. Though Carly could already feel the warmth that radiated from it, she shivered.

  He rose, then swung around, sweeping the cape around him. She noticed again the jet black of his hair, the glowing gold of his eyes, the full sensuality of his mouth and the lean but powerful grace of his stance.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  Carly nodded, still huddled upon the bed.

  “I think I can make it even better than that,” he assured her. He left the mantel and walked to the other side of the room. There was an old well pump there, a sink and a number of cabinets above a counter. He reached into the cabinets and produced glasses and a bottle of brandy.

  “Do you—know the owner?” Carly asked. She should be nervous, she told herself. She shouldn’t feel so comfortable and so easy with this strange man in this strange place. He was dressed as Dracula, and he might as well have been that elusive demon, for it seemed his power over her was as great as that of the legendary Count over the young women he seduced.

  He paused, smiling slowly as he looked at her a moment. He set the glasses down and poured brandy into each. “Yes, I know the owner,” he told her.

  He walked over to her, offering the brandy. She took the glass. He raised his. “A toast, mademoiselle. You are a demoiselle this evening, no? A lady of Napoleon’s court?”

  Carly smiled. “I was.”

  He stood over her. His wet shirt and breeches hugged his body. She looked up into his eyes and raised her glass to touch it to his. “Cheers, monsieur. You’ve done all this and we’re not even properly introduced. Well, you knew my name. I’m here with my sister, Jasmine, for the Vadim’s ball. Well, I’m not with Jasmine. I’m looking for her. She should be at the ball.”

  “Ah, I see.” He offered her no more information. He stood there, and she was keenly aware of him as a man again, disturbingly aware of the body the wet clothing clung to—the lean, masculine hips, the long well-muscled legs.

  She looked back into his eyes, his compelling amber eyes. He moved away from her, walking toward the fire, which was growing steadily to a sure blaze.

  Carly swallowed her brandy. It burned her throat, then warmed her belly and limbs. He tilted back his head and swallowed his brandy and set the glass on the mantel. He turned around to face her. He was purely arresting there, tall and powerful and supremely confident, supremely male.

  He smiled, a smile that was both wicked and amused.

  She was no easily frightened child, Carly knew. She was a mature woman who knew how to deal with life and death and men. Even this one, she assured herself.

  But still the tremors raced through her.

  Seated upon a quilt-covered bunk with her toes curled beneath her, Carly straightened her shoulders. She returned his smile with a slightly arrogant one of her own, her brow arched. “Who are you?” she asked bluntly.

  He moved away from the mantel, picking up the brandy bottle from the counter. He came back over to her and poured a second measure into her glass. She had to will herself to hold it steady. When he was finished, his eyes met hers.

  “I am the count,” h
e said.

  She smiled. “Vlad Dracul, yes, I can see that. Your costume is wonderful. I meant who are you really?”

  His smile deepened. “The count, mademoiselle.”

  Carly frowned. “The count—”

  “Count Vadim, Ms. Kiernan. I am Count Jon Vadim.”

  He kept his eyes locked upon her. The fire rose and crackled, and the room seemed to be ablaze. Carly wanted to tear her gaze from his but could not.

  He touched her chin, caressing it lightly with his palm and callused fingers. “Welcome to Westphalen, Carly Kiernan.”

  Carly felt his touch, and her flesh caught fire. She wondered vaguely if she hadn’t already lost her sanity, her soul.

  So this was Count Vadim.

  She had been warned about him.

  Jasmine had warned her....

  His smile suddenly seemed cold. “All right. Fantasy time is over, Ms. Kiernan. So now tell me. Just who are you really, and what the hell do you want here?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Carly wrenched herself away from his touch. His eyes could be very hard, she thought. Cold, glittering amber, like the wolf’s.

  “I’m exactly who I say I am,” she told him flatly. “And if you’re the count, you damn well know it.”

  “Well, I damned well do not,” he snapped back. “Jasmine isn’t here. She hasn’t been here. If you were her sister, you would know that.”

  “But Jasmine is here! And I am her sister! I just received a letter from her.”

  He shook his head, staring at her. “No. You’re mistaken. Jasmine decided that she didn’t want to stay for the ball. She’s gone. You’re here, so you might as well come for the evening. But then you’ve got to go home.”

  “Without Jasmine? You’re crazy!”

  He could be a lot worse than crazy, she thought. She had to keep in mind where she was: in the mists of mysterious forests and mountains where creatures roamed, where wolves lurked....

  No, no, no. The evening was making her into a lunatic!