Christmas At Thorncliff Towers

by Marina Myles

  The stunning noblewoman looking over at him tenderly was, Karina presumed, Lady Isabella Winthrop. With a blazing hearth framed by velvet stockings as her backdrop, she resembled some kind of Christmas Queen. Her auburn hair—piled in a high, regal chignon—glimmered in the firelight and complemented her delicate features. And her perfect posture only added to her sophistication.

  A feeling of inferiority rose in Karina like hot fire. With a mass of tangled black hair, large brown eyes, and a wide face, her physical appearance opposed Lady Winthrop’s.

  I’ll never be that graceful or beautiful.

  Tearing her gaze from the noblewoman, Karina swept it across the drawing room. She saw a little girl of five or six seated on the floor. Flushed with excitement, the child was playing with a wooden toy. Her eyes glowed a bright blue—and considering her rounded facial shape and ivory curls, the girl was no relation to Lord and Lady Winthrop.

  “Is this your favorite gift so far, Grace Ann?” a plump noblewoman seated beside the child spoke kindly. Draped in a periwinkle gown, the middle aged woman smiled and began to play along.

  “Yes, Grandmamma.”

  “Eleanor,” said a third noblewoman, from her chair by a towering Christmas tree. “You’ll spoil your granddaughter rotten. It will become especially annoying to those left to deal with the aftermath.”

  “Hold your tongue, Cousin Helena. You mustn’t speak of the departed in front of Grace Ann,” Eleanor said. “And please don’t rob me of the pleasure I get from my only grandchild. I suspect you’ll feel the same way when your son has his children.”

  Karina watched Lord Winthrop and his mother exchange dour glances. As she stood outside, the wind billowed beneath her worn dress and stung her legs, but she was too intrigued to move away from the window.

  “Lord Winthrop.” A pleasant-faced nobleman wearing a tight ascot walked the length of the room. “Do you find living in the country an idle existence?”

  “Not at all, Lord Bixby.” Winthrop paused. “I much prefer the country to living in London. Here, nobody asks me frivolous questions—or interferes with my business.”

  Lord Bixby looked ruffled. “If I lived in no man’s land, I would miss shopping in Mayfair and attending Covent Garden.”

  Winthrop sucked in a deep breath. “If I left this house, I’d miss the countryside’s unassuming people.”

  Lord Bixby stalked away from the earl with a firm “humph”.

  “Grace Ann.” Isabella Winthrop leaned over and stroked the little girl’s hair. “I’m afraid it’s time for you to change for dinner, darling.”

  The child looked up at her, imploringly. “Do I have to, Lady Winthrop? Grandmamma and I are having such fun!”

  “I know, dearest.” Isabella said. “But I’m sure your grandmother wants to see you in the new frock she purchased. And Mrs. Tidwell has prepared a fabulous feast.”

  “With goose and raisin stuffing and Christmas tarts?”

  “Yes! Now run along with your governess, dear. She’ll help you change.”

  “I don’t like Miss Brentwood,” the little girl said firmly.

  “Grace Ann,” her grandmother interjected. “It isn’t polite to say such things.”

  The little girl smoothed her pinafore while a tall, fair-haired woman stepped forward to clasp her hand. With creamy skin and full lips the color of strawberries, the young woman raised an eyebrow and smiled before she led the child away. However, it wasn’t a genuine smile.

  Karina had to agree with Grace Ann. There was something unlikeable about the governess.

  The earl, his wife, and his mother escorted the remaining aristocrats out of the room. As the group disappeared into a vast hallway, Karina turned her thoughts to Constantin. Where is the stable?

  Dodging in and out of the hedges, she reached the rear of the house and a gazebo draped with pine boughs and sparkling ribbons. While she huddled under the structure, she noticed a stable house perched on a knoll. The house’s windows were aglow with firelight.

  Is Constantin inside?

  Karina’s chest hitched at the possibility.

  She ventured closer. Hearing clanging inside the stables, she decided to peer in. There, naked from the waist up, was Constantin. While he forged a horseshoe for a black stallion tethered in place by a rope, he glistened with layers of sweat. Karina wet her lips. The sight of his defined forearms and broad, muscled chest, moving like liquefied gold, aroused her—despite the chilly weather.

  He was just as she remembered. Well, perhaps he looked a little wilder. His unkempt, brown hair brushed his shoulders and fell in poker-straight strands around his face. And though his twice-broken nose prevented him from being classically handsome, his eyes—still greener than a spring glen—glittered in the firelight. They spawned Karina’s infatuation with him all over again.

  While she tingled with reignited attraction, the black stallion shot her a glare. Then it began to snort and pull on its rope. Neighing emphatically, the animal threw its head her way several times.

  Constantin’s eyes flicked to the window. Heart drumming, Karina drew away. She wasn’t ready to face his penetrating stare.

  They’d had a heated argument the night she shattered a window and stole into the kitchen at Thorncliff Towers. After Viktor was captured, Karina raced back to camp to tell Constantin. He went crazy, stuffing his belongings into a satchel before chastising her.

  “How could you let my brother get caught stealing food?” He’d roared.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Karina had lied.

  “I’ll never believe that.”

  When Constantin stormed off with the intention of taking his brother’s place, he unknowingly broke Karina’s heart. Her despair grew so deep that she distanced herself from others.

  For months, she wondered if they could ever be together. Karina snuck another peek at his chiseled physique. Few men have a kind heart to match their good looks.

  She prayed that Constantin hadn’t lost his sense of compassion in his time here. She also hoped that he wouldn’t consider her a piece of rubbish—now that he’d seen the finer things in life.

  Considering what she’d done, could she ever get Constantin to fall in love with her?

  Am I a witch or am I a witch?

  Lips curling, Karina prepared to enter the stable house. She had two choices. To persuade Constantin to follow her back to camp, she could trick him into drinking the bewitching elixir hidden in her bodice, or to prompt him to fall in love with her, she could prick him with the enchanted ring she was wearing.

  Decisions. Decisions.

  2

  Karina was about to push open the stable door when she felt a finger pressing in her back. Whirling around, she looked into Grace Ann’s cherubic face.

  “Who are you?” the little girl asked.

  Karina shushed her. “I lost my way in the woods. Don’t worry; I’ll be on my way soon.”

  Grace Ann raised an eyebrow at Karina’s shabby dress and dirty hands. “You look like a Gypsy.”

  “I am a Gypsy.”

  “Do you know Constantin then? He’s my favorite servant. He lets me ride the horses—even though Grandmamma says I can’t.”

  Karina smiled. That sounded like Constantin.

  She studied the astuteness in the girl’s eyes. Grace Ann reminded her of herself at that age. And though Karina didn’t normally like children, an unexpected affinity for the girl tugged at her heart.

  “So, Constantin is kind to the horses, is he?” She knelt so she was closer to the child’s height.

  “Oh, yes,” Grace Ann said excitedly. “He was also nice enough to take his brother’s place here at Thorncliff Towers.” She paused, her skin flushed from the bitter cold. “Are you Constantin’s friend?”

  Unsure what possessed her to lie, Karina said, “We barely knew one another at camp.”

  “You should talk to him since both of you are Gypsies!” Grace Ann exclaimed.

  “No—”

  Befo
re Karina could stop her, the child cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted Constantin’s name. Karina rose to her feet again in anticipation of greeting her childhood friend.

  Breathless, he came limping out of the stables. As he pulled on a leather work cloak, he locked eyes with Karina. Just as it did when she was a girl, his stare set her heartbeat into a gallop.

  “Karina,” he said sharply.

  She eyed the cane he still relied on and her heart dropped.

  As they stood face-to-face, disdain overcame his expression. Responding to his displeasure, Karina clenched her hands into fists.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Grace Ann yanked on Karina’s skirt. “You do know Constantin!”

  “We were friends once,” she admitted to the golden-haired girl. The vial containing the magical elixir jostled inside her dress. Can he hear it?

  “Precisely. Were friends.” Constantin’s brow furrowed.

  Karina put her hand on top of Grace Ann’s head. “Would you be an angel and let us catch up with one another?”

  “I want to stay!” the child protested.

  Constantin crouched down and pinched Grace Ann’s cheek playfully. “Once more, you don’t have a coat, my dear. And I expect your governess is looking for you.”

  “Miss Brentwood.” Grace Ann paused. “I don’t like her. But you do. Don’t you, Constantin?”

  Karina’s pulse stuttered. Miss Brentwood was beautiful and refined. No doubt Constantin had noticed her charms. He was all man.

  “I think Miss Brentwood is very kind,” he replied.

  “Kind?” Grace Ann retorted. “She makes me eat every vegetable on my plate and she hollers at me when I make a mistake on the pianoforte.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t holler—”

  At that moment, Grace Ann’s governess flew out of Thorncliff Towers, screeching the little girl’s name. She picked up her skirts and scurried toward the trio.

  “How dare you sneak away, young lady! There will be consequences!”

  Constantin and Karina avoided eye contact.

  As she met the governess’s scowl, Grace Ann’s china-blue eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Miss Brentwood.”

  “She’s just a curious child, Lydia,” said Constantin.

  Miss Brentwood looked at him and her stern expression vanished. “Perhaps you’re right, Constantin. Maybe I was too harsh.”

  They’re acquainted well enough to use each other’s first name? Karina might be a Gypsy but she knew this was a breach in manners—at least for Constantin. Just how well did they know one another?

  Constantin smiled broadly at Lydia Brentwood and Karina’s eyes widened. She remembered the brilliant, reassuring smile he’d given her the day she jumped from the tree. Jealousy flushed through her—and she forged an instant hatred for the pretty governess.

  Miss Brentwood turned an eye to Karina. “What is this?”

  “I’m a person, not a thing,” Karina seethed.

  “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  Before she could spew a nasty reply, the stallion that had been tethered in front of the fire came crashing through the stable gate—a piece of severed rope around its neck.

  “Grace Ann!” Miss Brentwood snatched the girl out of the way. Meanwhile, Constantin flung his cane aside and dove for Karina. But he was too late. The spooked black horse plowed her down and trampled her leg.

  She cried out. Constantin reached her quickly, hobbling and limping. As she met the concern in his eyes, pain registered.

  “My God, Karina. Are you all right?”

  “I . . . I can’t move.” And she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure if her leg was broken, but she was in agony.

  “Let’s get you inside the house.” He scooped her off the ground, accepted his cane from Lydia, and limped down the knoll with her cradled in one arm.

  Miss Brentwood moved alongside them, Grace Ann in hand. She shot Karina a disapproving look, but Karina ignored her and tucked her head into the curve of Constantin’s chest. His masculine smell and strength helped ease her pain. And as he looked down at her, she put on a brave face. Years of being alone after her parents died had taught her to keep her feelings to herself. After all, it was easier to shut emotions away than to let them surface.

  Constantin transported Karina into a spacious kitchen. She remembered it well. Lined with copper pots, the room emitted a delicious aroma that made her empty stomach rumble all over again.

  Next to the tin-layered hearth sat an enormous table designated for the household staff. A chambermaid and the kitchen cook, who were seated around it, jumped out of their seats when Constantin barreled over.

  “What happened?” The maid pushed aside a strand of cottony hair.

  “My friend got trampled by Lord Winthrop’s horse.”

  The buxom cook threw her hands in the air. “The poor dear is bleeding!”

  Constantin placed Karina in a chair. “Mrs. Tidwell, will you fetch some antiseptic and liniment?”

  “Right away.”

  As Karina watched Constantin prop her leg up on an adjacent chair, she realized she hadn’t wanted him to let go of her. He was dashing enough to make her swoon—and honorable enough to make her feel inferior. But that’s what she loved about him. He made her want to be a better person.

  “You sliced your leg clean open.” He knelt and studied Karina’s injury.

  She breathed heavily, despite her best efforts not to.

  “It’s the same leg you hurt when you were twelve.”

  He remembered! “Do I need stitches?” she asked, her heart lurching.

  “No. I can mend it with a tight bandage. But I need to get the blood cleaned off first.”

  The back door flew open. A dark entity stalked in out of the mist. It was Lord Winthrop. With fire in his eyes, he surveyed the scene before him. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he zeroed his rock-hard gaze onto Karina’s gushing cut. In response, his nostrils flared and his hands began to tremble.

  A werewolf can smell blood from miles away, Karina thought. Her pulse raced.

  “What in holy hell happened here?” Winthrop boomed.

  Constantin stood and turned to face his master, without fear. The men were equal in stature and seemed to rival one another in strength and muscularity. The only difference was one had been born into extreme privilege while the other had been born into tremendous poverty.

  “Your lordship, this is Karina Petri,” said Constantin. “She’s a friend of mine who lost her way in the woods. When she happened upon the stable house, your horse escaped it. Lucifer charged and knocked her to the ground.”

  “Have you secured my horse?”

  “I will.”

  Karina stared at the intimidating earl. It had to have been his horse. Her nerves prickled. Thank God he never saw me steal into his kitchen.

  “She’s a Gypsy,” Winthrop growled, his face shadowed with disgust.

  Everyone stood still.

  “Tend to her wound, Stoica,” the earl commanded. “Then send her away, quickly.”

  Isabella Winthrop swept into the room. “You can’t send this poor girl into the cold, my lord!”

  Lord Winthrop glowered at his wife for a moment. All eyes locked on him, anticipating his reaction.

  Lady Winthrop raised her chin. “I think it only fair that she have supper here before she departs.”

  The gigantic nobleman hesitated. Finally, he nodded. As he marched out of the kitchen, he bumped into Mrs. Tidwell and tipped her off-balance. Shaking her head, the cook laid the things Constantin had asked for on the table.

  After Miss Brentwood whisked Grace Ann out of sight, Lady Winthrop smiled at Karina. “I suspect you’ll want to rest awhile, Miss . . .”

  “Petri.”

  Lady Winthrop nodded.

  “Yes, my lady,” Karina replied. “I’d like to rest. You’re very kind.” She snuck a glimpse at Isabella’s long, slim fingers as they grasped the back of a chai
r. By contrast, she scowled at her own dirty hands, which lay twisted in her lap.

  Isabella Winthrop made for the door. “Shall we have dinner in an hour, Mrs. Tidwell?”

  “Yes, your ladyship.”

  “Very good. And Constantin?” Isabella said, spinning around.

  Constantin dipped his chin.

  “Have Gwyneth give your friend a bath. Then she may change into the gown I will lay out for her. Afterward, she can take her meal with you, here in the kitchen.”

  A small smile curled Constantin’s lips. “Thank you, your ladyship.”

  “Friend?” Mrs. Tidwell crowed after Lady Winthrop exited the kitchen.

  “Never mind that,” Constantin said firmly. “Will you ladies give us some room?”

  “No chance of that. I’ve a meal to prepare,” the hefty cook crowed with importance.

  Constantin took in a long breath. “Very well. I’ll take you to my chambers, Karina.”

  3

  Karina’s heart fluttered as Constantin lifted her again and carried her up two flights of stairs. He lumbered without his cane, but he managed to carry her to a tiny room that contained bare furnishings and a cold draft.

  Once he set Karina on the bed, he went about tending her wound silently.

  She said nothing as his deft fingers touched her leg. The cut above her right knee pulsated with pain, but still, she wished he would play his fingers higher along her thigh . . .

  Snapping herself back to reality, she asked, “Lady Winthrop is very thoughtful, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.” Constantin avoided her stare. When a lock of brown hair tumbled forward, he thrust it back in a gruff gesture. Then he frowned. “Your scar—”

  “What scar?”

  “The one on your leg. From the day you jumped out of the tree.” He paused. “It’s gone.”

  “Faded,” she corrected hurriedly. “Let’s talk about Winthrop. I wished I could use my witchery on him, but he’s under a rauna curse.”

  He eyed her hesitantly before resuming his treatment. “Lady Winthrop may be kind, but her husband is another story.”

  “Constantin.” Karina tilted his chin so that he was looking directly at her. “People say he’s a werewolf.”