by Minda Webber
The younger Grimm sister was eyeing him, and it appeared she was studying his teeth, obviously finding fault with them. “The gatekeeper?” she asked suspiciously. To her elder sister, she whispered, “Sounds like an unlikely story to me. Do you see any fangs?”
Rolpe snorted, and Fen cracked a grin. “Fangs?” Fen asked. Then, turning to his friend, he laughed. “She thinks we’re vampyr!”
Rolpe acknowledged his good friend’s words with his own sharp bark of laughter. “So it would seem, and so it appears that Miss Greta Grimm is not only a liar but also has a vivid imagination. As for her younger sister, she’s just plain foolish. But I will be gentlemanly enough to admit that the Black Forest does that to people, filling their head with silly superstitions. I should also like to add that, if we were the dreaded Nosferatu, you two would no longer be visiting graves but in one.”
With lightning-quick reflexes Greta pulled out her stake, saying, “I don’t think—”
Rolpe divested her of her stake, a superior look on his face. He noted how angry she was, her deep gray eyes burning. He also noticed that her crimson riding cloak had fallen open, exposing the bodice of a gown which had slipped a bit lower. This revealed the tops of her breasts, which were very white. Rolpe grimaced as he ignored the reaction of his nether regions.
“That was very ungentlemanly of you,” Greta remarked wrathfully, rubbing her wrist.
“Extremely,” Rae agreed, stepping out from behind her sister and glaring. “Apologize to my sister at once, you big brute!” She slapped the prince’s arm, but before she could hit him again, Fen stepped up and yanked her away.
As Rae stared up at him, a chill stole through her. The look the baron gave her was truly frosty. Glancing back at her gown, she wanted to cry.
“Oh, no!” she said. “This night has been a complete disaster. You’ve stepped on my gown and torn the flounce, you oaf.” Then, turning back to the prince, she protested heatedly, “And you not only manhandled my sister, but you called her a liar. That is a vile accusation, since Greta is not the fibber of the family. That would be Taylor, our youngest sister. Greta is the bloodhound, always searching out the unexplainable. If there is a fairy or a troll or some fiendish vampire, she’ll find it, have no doubt.”
Pleased, Greta smiled at her younger sister’s defense. She hated to admit it, but Rae wasn’t the only one in the family who enjoyed compliments.
Startled, Fen let go of Rae, stepping back, and both men shook their heads in unison.
Vexed, Rolpe scolded harshly, “As I was saying, if we were the undead, you two would long be drained of life, in spite of your stakes and garlic and crosses.”
“Of course,” Fen added, “there is no such thing as the Nosferatu, so you ladies are safe from them. But not, however, from human men, the kind of ruffians who would take advantage of you, stake or no stake, garlic or no garlic.”
“If they could stand the stink,” Rolpe remarked. His sensitive nose had caught the smell of garlic long before he and his friend approached the sisters. “Besides, ladies—and I use the term loosely—in this cemetery, the rumors of un-death are greatly exaggerated.”
“How dare you mock us? Everyone tonight at the musicale was conversing about that woodcutter’s mother’s grave being disturbed. Countess DeLuise announced boldly that vampires are everywhere in Wolfach. Yet you pretend an open grave and a missing body is just foolish nonsense? Well, I am no fool!” Greta growled.
Rolpe admired her profile, composed of a high forehead and an elegantly angled jaw that hinted at her determination, but he scowled at her assessment. “That remains to be seen, if you choose to listen to a dotty old woman with bats in her belfry,” he retorted, arrogantly raising a noble brow. “But there is another explanation.”
“What?” both sisters asked at precisely the same moment.
“Grave robbers,” the prince answered.
“Death takes everything, but grave robbing is just bad manners,” Rae remarked. When both men glanced at her, incredulous looks on their faces, she added petulantly, “Well, it is extremely rude…and probably forbidden by the church as well.” She added the last comment, feeling ingenious for having chosen surer ground.
Rolpe gave Fen a look, then stated with authority, “Let us go. This is not my idea of pleasure, to stand around in the freezing snow with two lack-witted ladies who lie through their pretty teeth.”
Greta stared at the handsome prince. He thought her teeth were pretty? For some strange reason, this made her heart beat faster. Of course, he also thought her a liar with a shallow sister. And that she was lack-witted. Still, pretty teeth were a nice thing to have. And this man would know, as he really was too pleasing to look upon for his own good—just like Rae.
“You cretin! We are not lack-witted! Why, back in England, men were lined up for miles to court our favors. At every dinner party, they fought to have the honor of being seated next to us because of our clever conversation,” Rae announced, seething.
Fen managed to look less than impressed, and again Rolpe ignored Rae’s comments. He took Greta’s hand, pulling her along. “We need to pick up our horses at the cemetery gate.”
Rae watched the arrogant prince drag her sister away, then waited for Baron Schortz to lend her his arm. He did not. He simply followed the others, and Rae was left to trudge after him, her anger growing. After a few feet of following in his footsteps, she stopped.
“I am not stepping another foot without some form of escort,” she announced. “My flounce is torn, thanks to you, and my feet are frozen. My skirts feel like they weigh a ton, and a gentleman would not leave a lady to flounder in the snow.”
Fen stopped, hesitated a moment, then turned back to Rae. She really was a little shrew. He was fortunate to have found out before he did something stupid like falling in love with her. Reluctantly, he held up his arm, saying, “Come along, then. My feet are cold, too. You aren’t the only uncomfortable one.”
“Really!” Rae huffed as she walked forward and placed her hand upon his arm. “I can’t believe a Prussian baron is so lacking in common courtesy.”
“What would you know of common courtesy?” Fen snapped back.
Abstractly he observed her expressions. The first was of shock, followed quickly by pique and then outrage. This told him quite plainly that the lady was unaccustomed to set-downs. His own expression remained grim, which seemed in keeping with the general flavor of events. If she expected him to grovel at her feet like some young pup, she was sadly mistaken. He was a grown man, forged in and hardened by the fires of lost love and responsibility, burdened at a young age with the gambling debts of his deceased father. It had taken Fen a good seven years to restore the estates, and another nine to make them prosperous.
For a moment anger crackled in the air between them, and Rae realized she had underestimated her adversary. “I don’t follow what you mean. I have been brought up to respect decorum and society’s rules,” she said, her thoughts tumbling over and over. The baron was so hostile; it surprised her. She raised both brows, her mouth forming a perfect moue of distaste.
He snorted loudly and glanced around the graveyard. “Yes, I can see how well brought up you are.”
“I see nothing irregular about my appearance,” Rae lied through her teeth, cursing that the past hour had been such a sobering experience. Still, she wouldn’t let the baron know that her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She doubted he had the sensitivity to notice, and she certainly wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of pointing it out. “I can’t believe that you are so rude and so shallow.”
“Me, shallow? If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.” Fen wanted nothing more than to turn her over his knee and give her bottom a swat. She was more than a shrewish witch; she was a completely vainglorious monster. He was not a vain man, and he knew he wasn’t considered classically handsome, but women did find him attractive. Before he wed, he’d never lacked for lovers. Yet Miss Rae Grimm’s comments had s
everely damaged his self-esteem, and he resented her greatly for it.
“Don’t look so stunned. If the big boot fits then wear it—if you can wrench it out of your mouth.” She stabbed a finger in his direction, her lovely blue eyes flashing. “Just because your friend warned you away from me by saying unkind and untrue things, well, I would have thought you man enough to think your own thoughts and feel your own feelings.”
Almost stumbling, Fen caught himself, amazed at her pithy chastisement. His expression turned dark with anger. “What are you blathering about?”
“Greta overheard you two talking. Prince von Hanzen thinks I’m shallow and warned you away from me. You sent me no flowers, nor did you come to call at my aunt’s fine home. You also ignored me tonight at the musicale.”
“And you think Rolpe’s warning is why?” Fen asked, shaking his head. “Nein wahrheit. This is not truth. I’ve ignored you because of your manners.”
“My manners? Why, I have been perfectly amiable! If you will recall the night of the DeLuises’ ball, I listened to your flattery with grace and admiration.” Rae was incensed at the bull-headed lout. “I particularly liked your compliments about Helen of Troy.”
Fen just shook his head at her self-involvement. “I, too, overheard a conversation I should not have heard. You were speaking to your sister. I am not rich enough for you nor noble enough, nor handsome enough for your fickle tastes. So, it seems we are in complete agreement and disinterest of each other.”
“I…” She opened her mouth to say more, but for the first time in her life was at a loss for words. Just then, she stumbled in the snow quite badly. To her utter mortification, the baron grabbed her around the waist and helped keep her from falling face-first into the snow. She thanked him quietly, all the time feeling very small. She was ashamed of herself for hurting the big lout’s feelings, and for once Rae understood the bitterness of regret for her vanity.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Baron’s Grudge
As they approached the cemetery gate, Rae saw the prince mount up behind her sister and turn his horse toward their aunt’s palatial home. She could see the manor lights in the distance. Beside her, Baron Schortz was quiet. As he turned to lift her upon a gigantic white horse, she blurted, “I’m so very sorry you heard my silly comments. My words were not well thought out. They were really meaningless, meant little to me. Of course, to you they meant more, even though they were never meant to be mean, merely meaningless. If I incensed your sensibilities, I have regrets. Know this.”
The baron’s silence stretched into an eternity, but Rae decided to be magnanimous and ignore his ill humor. She cheerily took off her garlic clove necklaces and flung them into the snow. “I don’t know what I’ll tell the cook about her missing supplies,” she remarked.
The baron’s lips twitched. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said. And with those words, he literally picked her up and threw her upon his horse, his manner briskly efficient. It was as if he didn’t want to touch her any more than he had to, which hurt both her pride and her feelings…and her bottom, because her landing on the stallion was not gentle. For that reason, she changed her opinion on whether to remain silent.
“I am rather rusty on apologies, since it’s rare I need give them. I’m afraid my apology didn’t come out the way I meant. Of course my words about you meant something. I am just so used to being admired and cosseted that I find such treatment is rather irritating at times. You were so smitten that I’m afraid I took out my little vexation on you. But really, if you only knew how tiring it can be to always have men tripping about your feet like adoring puppies.”
“Your life sounds a sad trial.” Fen managed to speak without the harsh sarcasm he was feeling as he recalled her earlier words about men and hounds. The fool woman was obsessed with dogs.
“Yes, beauty can be a curse when a gentleman sets his cap for me, especially when I don’t want his cap…or even his handkerchief!” Realizing that she had just insulted him again, she shook her head and added, “Not that I didn’t want your cap. Although I notice you don’t wear a cap, not even when it’s cold like this. How strange.”
Scowling, the baron mounted behind her and said nothing once again. Instead, he urged his horse forward. Its big hooves splattered snow everywhere as they galloped toward her aunt’s house.
He knew he should accept Rae’s apology gracefully. It was the polite thing to do, but he didn’t feel polite. This young, vain woman had wounded him deeply, hurting not only his pride but also his suddenly reclaimed vivacity. It was difficult to believe that such a breathtaking angel was in reality a little devil.
Rae sat on the massive horse, stewing. The baron was not much like her other beaus. Schortz’s callous attitude toward her apology infuriated her. She would have protested vigorously if guilt weren’t nipping at her heels. Instead, she sat up straight in the saddle and tried not to lean against him in any manner. It was rather hard, as the gait of the horse kept throwing her back against his very broad chest. Glancing down, she noticed how far away the ground was.
“This is a very big horse,” she noted.
“It fits my big, loutish body,” he replied. She had stolen something special that night from him by her cruel words, and he didn’t know when he would gain it back again. Glancing ahead, he kept his mind off the subtle scent of fresh violets that always seemed to surround the woman seated before him on the horse. As he urged the steed onward, he noted with great relief that Rolpe was slowing down.
Prince von Hanzen was finishing his lecture on the evils of hunting monsters in the dead of night. It hadn’t been an easy lecture, since the foolish female in front of him kept interrupting with her own opinions, which he found disturbing. She also refused to take off her garlic necklace. Thus, the ride had lasted forever.
The woman also felt too fine pressed against him, with his arm clasped tightly around her waist. He wanted to clasp her tighter, knowing that beneath the folds of her cloak were her firm white breasts. Instead he leaned back, glancing down at the chill gray mist upon the ground. He ought to tell her aunt what the maddening minx was doing, but he had given his word as a gentleman that he wouldn’t. Of course, this only held if she promised she wouldn’t go around haunting cemeteries anymore. It was quite a compromise for a man who didn’t like to compromise.
“Stop here,” Greta warned, and Rolpe pulled up his horse a little ways from the house. She’d thought the ride way too short. The feeling of his arms around her had made her heart go pitter-patter, and he smelled so nice: sort of woodsy and of bay leaves. She was sorry her aunt lived so near the cemetery; she could have ridden through the night with Rolpe, although she could have done without the lecture.
“You will give me your word.”
“What word?”
“Don’t be a pea-goose like your sister,” the prince said, glowering at her. “No more hunting for legends and volksmärchen—folktales. No more listening to Countess DeLuise and her mad ravings.”
Greta borrowed one of her sister’s smiles for the occasion: one that said, aren’t you just marvelous and so very clever, but I’ll still do what I want and you won’t care because of how pretty I look. “A word is a fine thing, and very important. Why, the world would be in utter turmoil without giving one’s word and taking another’s word and so forth.”
“I’ll have yours,” the prince pronounced, leaning over her shoulder and glaring down at her.
“My, you glower so well,” she replied. He grimaced even more, which had her wisely hiding her smile. “Yes, I can see that my word is important to you, although I can’t imagine why. But a word is a word, and a word given is a word given.”
His glower disappeared, replaced by a wary admiration. “I see you dance around with the best of them.”
“Oh, we’re speaking of dancing now? I thought it was words of honor,” Greta teased. Then, putting a finger to her chin, she added, “I do believe that anyone seeking something important wo
uld climb mountains and ford every stream until he or she found what he or she was seeking. Thus, a man or woman of determination would find it difficult to give a promise that compromised their goal. Don’t you agree?”
“Nein.”
“Short and sweet—and contrary, but then I already pegged you for a man of few words. Actually, the less you speak the better, for I do believe that you have a tendency toward ill manners,” she mentioned, remembering how he’d hurt her feelings.
To say Rolpe was taken back was an understatement. Women didn’t criticize him; they adored him. “What in kingdom come are you prattling about?”
“The walls have ears, as do velvet curtains.”
The prince’s horse began sidling and sidestepping, disliking immobility in the bitter cold. Von Hanzen dismounted swiftly, clearly peeved at the elder Grimm. Then, with the barest of courtesy, he helped Greta dismount.
Baron Schortz followed suit, touching Rae as little as possible, lifting her from the back of his massive Clydesdale and placing her none too gently upon the thick blanket of snow.
With her feet planted firmly on the ground—and sinking up to her ankles—Rae glanced up at the baron, still feeling a twinge of guilt. She had foolishly hurt this proud man’s feelings with her unkind words. “You simply must pay us a call tomorrow and let me make up for my silliness.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve got a full schedule.”
“Then the next day,” she tried, smiling, her blue eyes sparkling. It was a smile that had netted her thirteen marriage proposals in her past. As thirteen was an unlucky number, she had quickly garnered one more with a different smile, just to be on the safe side—although she didn’t hold much faith in the superstitious nonsense that fascinated her siblings. Still, it never hurt a lovely lady to be absolutely careful.
“I’m busy then, too,” the baron said. Turning back to his horse, he curtly bade her good night.
