Wild Heir

to hell itself.
“Certainly!” my father said, all sloppy now with red wine and good food. “Would be a pleasure!”
I gripped my clutch in my hand hard enough to make the clasp dig into my flesh.
“Would you excuse me?” I said, rising. “I just need to powder my nose.”
Petre stood as I did, the model of politeness, and one of the servants rushed to pull my chair back. Fuming with anger at all of them, I slapped a smile on my face and turned away.
As soon as my back was turned, I let my veneer drop and ground my teeth until my jaw ached. Gambling was the worst of the vices for this very reason—it never stopped. Ever.
There was always another game, another round, another polite after-dinner hand that ended in personal catastrophe. And I knew full well that it could get worse for my family.
Though I’d already been put up as collateral with no more care than my father had gambled off all of our art collection, our family still needed what little money it had in order to provide care for my mother.
My mother, who I loved with my whole heart, was entirely dependent on my father for everything. Brain fever had turned her from a vibrant, wonderful, lively jewel of a woman into a shadow of herself. Wheelchair bound and frail. And in need of constant nursing, which didn’t come cheap.
There was a common thread between Petre and myself which gave me a glimmer of hope that this may not be as much a catastrophe after all. Both our mothers were alive, but unwell, and I hoped he would see that as something to draw us together.
Even with that thought, powdering my nose was not calming me in the least. I’d have preferred to go find a quiet corner of the house to sit down for a moment alone, but I didn’t know my way around at all.
There were rumors about this house—about dungeons and dark secrets. And though I was starting to believe less and less of what I heard, it still made me nervous. So I traced my way back to the front entrance.
“Your Grace?” said the guard at the front door.
I slipped my cigarette case from my purse.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t tell.”
He smiled. “Certainly not. But don’t go too far. The wolves of the valley always go hunting in the newly fallen snow. But my lady, allow me to fetch your cloak…”
I shook my head. The truth was, I was burning up in the house, with its well-heated rooms and abundance of candles. I was used to a much colder home and I was hungry for the cold to help clear my mind.
“I’ll be fine. I won’t be a moment. But thank you,” I said, as I stepped outside into the frigid air. I lit my cigarette and paced down the driveway, then back. Back and forth, back and forth, trying to calm my nerves.
It wasn’t working. Not even close.
I lit one clove cigarette off of another and paced further down the drive, past the semi-circle of light cast by the gas lights that flanked the front door.
As I pivoted on my toe to return to the house, I slipped in the wet snow, flailing until I collided with an oncoming massive man’s frame, sending my cigarette case flying in a high arc. The moonlight flickered off the sterling as it disappeared down a steep bank on the other side of the driveway.
“No!” I whisper hissed clenching my teeth in anger.
I couldn’t see the details of the man, it was too dark and I was too far from the light, but I knew instantly whoever he was, he was huge. Solid like stone. And he smelled delicious. Like some exotic spiced coffee and oiled leather.
“Holy shit,” he boomed as he grabbed me to keep me from falling. “Are you alright?”
“My cigarette case.” I huffed. “It was a gift.”
I moved through the deeper snow to the edge, looking over, and to my surprise, so did he.
“It’s lost.” I was almost in tears at the thought. “This isn’t fair,” I said, aware that I was whining like a child, but in that moment, I felt like a child.
“We’ll find it.” His voice was deep and reassuring. “But it’s too cold for you to be out here like this with no coat. I’ll have our men search this spot with torches, and if they can’t find it, I’ll search again at first light. You have my word; it will be returned to you.”
“I don’t… I can’t leave without it…”
“You have my word. Now, come inside.”
The deep timbre of his voice somehow got through to me, reassuring me that yes, he would do as he said, and that I could be sure that when this man promised something he would move heaven and earth to make it happen. I let him take me by the arm and move me into the light, where he clasped my hands in his own enormous ones to help warm them.
That was when I saw his face for the first time. And he was beautiful. A rugged jawline, a careless sexy beard of stubble, intense, strange eyes set under a hard brow which matched the cut angles of the rest of his face.
My thoughts immediately flashed to the fairy-tale princes from stories of my youth that I was too sensible to believe existed.
I knew at once it was Vasile—he had his father’s eyes: dark, burnished gold with flecks of red, framed by dark lashes and sharp cheekbones. But that was where the comparisons ended. This man was heart-stoppingly beautiful. And, apparently, my brother-in-law to be.
“Are you Vasile?”
“I am,” he said, gazing down at me, seemingly as mesmerized with me as I was with him. “You are to be my new sister-in-law?”
“Yes,” I said, barely a whisper.
“Jesus.” He released a disappointed sounding growl.
I swallowed hard and blinked up at him.
“Are you… are you leaving?” I asked, finally yanking my