Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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Reluctantly we broke apart, dazed with lust and breathing heavily. I was one kiss away from slinging Tabitha over my shoulder, bolting to my room to toss her onto my bed. But she had a wedding reception to get back to and I seriously needed to crash for the night.
My bruised, kiss-swollen lips brushed hers as I spoke. "Tomorrow morning under the oak tree."
"Tomorrow," she whispered back.
Tabitha couldn't stop smiling as she smoothed her hair and readjusted her evening gown, and we left together, pushing through the doorway that led back into the mansion. While I turned into its inner depth, she moved in the opposite direction to go down a staircase that would take her back to the Banquet Hall. I watched her retreating figure, the sway of her hips as she descended the steps, and my mind couldn't stop imagining what it would be like if she wore a dress of white with a delicate veil that concealed her face but allowed the broad smile to shine through as we stood in front of one another exchanging vows.
A fierce desire took hold. I'd find a way to transfer her to my ancestral home. I'd twist my father into allowing me to choose my own path as heir. Mamãe would give me her blessing, and I'd have a real life with Tabitha.
We'd have girls, lots and lots of girls with blond hair and violet eyes, and cute dimples.
Ambling back to Chateaux Crappo, I grinned, feeling lighter than I had all day.
It was quiet in this part of the mansion. This particular floor, with its old guest rooms where furnishing came to die, was a graveyard. The servants came around only once a week to open up the windows to air the unused bedrooms and to dust. So it was with great curiosity that I discovered Volkov at my bedroom door, closing it quietly behind him.
What the hells is this fucker up to?
"Volkov?" I practically snarled his name with disdain. I still wasn't done with his pompous ass.
The Head Housekeeper, professional as always but still simmering with the displeasure at having to deal with me personally—feeling the same way, Volkov—swiveled around to face me. "Ah, Mr. Crowther," he greeted with a polite tight-lipped smile. "I've escorted your guest to your quarters."
I stopped before him, widening my stance. "My guest?" Who the hells was visiting me this late?
"Yes, sir." He swept a pale, freckled hand, gesturing toward the stately wooden door. "They've chosen to await your arrival inside your room rather than the grand parlour."
My gaze sliced over his shoulder to the door as foreboding knocked against my bones.
Irritation curled through my blood and slit my eyes. Irma. I'd expected Laurena to have gotten to her by now. Obviously, my ex-girlfriend had immediately charged her way to the Deniauds to demand to know who I'd been kissing last night as if she had a right to me.
