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It was the second day of Vicky’s visit, and the air was throat-cuttingly icy. Day and night had ceased to exist, and the world was a constant twilight of looming snow. Light faded to dank nothingness and the moon forgot to hide her face from daytime. Glistening, blue-tinged fog hung so low that the trees had no tops. The wind slapped our faces and bit the tips of our fingers and toes. We had bravely—or perhaps foolishly—escaped the confines of the house while the weather still allowed.
Porter informed me, in accents of deep gloom, that a snow moon was on the wax. When I asked what that meant, he had sighed heavily. “Cut off from the world, miss. That’s what we’ll be. One year it was nigh on three months before the drifts cleared.”
“At school, we were so close and alike that some of the teachers thought we were sisters,” Eleanor informed me as the three of us strolled along the cliff top toward the village path. They linked my arms one on each side, with a natural, easy assumption that reminded me poignantly that I had never known the camaraderie of female friendship.
“You do look quite similar,” I agreed. It was true in the sense that they were both small, fair and slender. But Eleanor was strikingly pretty while Vicky was, I thought, quite plain, with a long narrow nose and teeth that were too prominent for her thin lips.
“You never told me how very good-looking your brothers are,” Vicky said with a titter.
“Are engaged ladies supposed to notice such things?” Eleanor asked.
“Oh, marriage has nothing whatsoever to do with fun!” Vicky declared, in the tones of a would-be sophisticate. “The most fashionable ladies all take lovers, you know. I do pity you, Eleanor dear, because single girls do not have the same freedom. We all know how fatal it would be to ruin your reputation before you have found yourself a husband.” I saw the deep flush that tinged Eleanor’s cheeks, but Vicky continued unabashed. “Of course, your older brother has already been claimed by Miss Varga here.” She nipped my arm playfully. “So perhaps I should turn my attentions to your other brother. I must say, Mr Cad Jago does have the most devilish air about him! I have always wondered what it would be like to be seduced by a rake.” She gave a theatrical shudder. “And then there is Baron Karol, who seems most gentlemanly and charming, for a foreigner. Really, Eleanor, I had no idea that this visit would prove to be so interesting!”
Deciding I preferred my own company to any further speculation about Cad’s sexual prowess, I left them to continue their walk into the village and took the perpendicular path toward the inland clearing known as Lucia’s Glade. The bare woods rang out the death knell of the year and freezing rain started to patter against the hood of my cloak. A biting wind tugged at my skirts and stung my face. My hands were numb inside my kid leather gloves, and I wriggled my toes within the snug depths of my boots. An icy blast, harsh enough to make me stagger, threw me off balance, and my feet skittered wildly on the frosty leaves that lined the path. My arms windmilled, and I tottered wildly for a moment until a pair of strong hands caught me about the waist from behind and held me upright. With a flutter of alarm, I thought of Amy Winton, Nellie Smith and those nameless girls in Paris. Why had I been so stupid as to wander off alone?
The hood of my cloak fell back and a familiar scent—that of expensive cologne and a warm masculine body—made my nostrils twitch appreciatively. But just because I knew who my assailant was, I reasoned, did not mean he wasn’t dangerous. Cad was a suspect, perhaps the prime suspect, in the murders. Under the circumstances, surely I should demonstrate a little natural wariness? Instead, I succumbed to a very different instinct. Leaning back against him, I luxuriated in his strong warmth and the way his arms immediately folded tightly about me.
“What are you doing here, bouche?” he asked. “Don’t you know what has been going on lately? It is too dangerous for you to be out alone.”
“Am I in danger now?” I asked, a little breathlessly.
“From me?” His lips just brushed my ear and his hands moved up from my waist to rest just below my breasts. A quiver of pleasure and anticipation ran up my spine. “Always, bouche, always.”
