Wild Heir (Fated Royals Book 4) Read online

  The house itself, and the meal, were unlike anything I’d experienced in my life—such luxury and finery and good taste. As our dinner went on, I began to think that perhaps all the rumors had been just that. Rumors.

  Though I had only just met him and though I knew that things are never precisely what they seem, it was so difficult for me to believe that this man was capable of such aggression and violence.

  As I stared at the empty place setting where Vasile should have been, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this would all turn out alright. Maybe I wouldn’t need this missing brother’s help after all. I felt no attraction toward Petre, but I didn’t feel the dread and worry about marrying into this family that had plagued me for so long.

  Until Francis Greengallow turned and addressed my father.

  “So, Prince Hugo. After dinner, I was thinking I could tempt you to a game of poker.”

  I sucked in a breath and gripped my napkin in my lap so hard that I thought I might rip it apart. I turned to my father, funneling foul words and insults at him through my eyes. Such an irony, the very family being paid on an overdue gambling debt from my father invites him to a game of poker.

  My father’s eyes lit from behind. The magic word had been spoken. Poker. Like the abracadabra that opened the door 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 eyes away from his.

  He was dressed simply in a heavy coat and boots, without furs or finery. As well, he was heading down the driveway away from the main house when I bumped into him. Which meant that he had been here all along, and had simply chosen not to join us for dinner. I would have said that was rude, except I got the feeling that he had been dealing with something far more important.

  He didn’t look away.

  He didn’t even step away.

  Instead, he gripped my shoulders firmly and drew me closer to him. Close enough to feel the heat of his body spilling into mine.

  Never in my life had I felt so small or delicate.

  Never in my life had I felt this sort of wanting.

  My desire for him was instant and overpowering, causing my stomach to flutter and my heart to speed.

  When I raised my eyes to his again, they were in exactly the same place they’d been before.

  Waiting for me. Studying me. Memorizing me.

  Wanting me as much as I was wanting him, I told myself.

  “I was leaving,” he said
. “But I’m not anymore.”

  Chapter 3

  Valeria

  While the men took their places at the gambling table, joined now by several of Petre’s acquaintances who arrived shortly after dinner, I circled along the edges of the drawing room.

  I could hardly take my eyes off Vasile, as hard as I tried. And he too kept lifting his eyes to mine, stealing glances, saying things without words at all. Things about desire and passion, and though I could feel him taking in my curves, the shape of my breasts beneath the dress, the angle of my hips… it didn’t feel a bit like when his brother had done so.

  There was a sense of respect from Vasile, an appreciation of beauty that transcended the sexual undertones of his gaze and made me feel special, wanted, desired for all that I was, not just the chance of a few moments of pleasure.

  When he looked at me, it was like I was slipping into a warm pool. A hot rush of wetness dampened my inner thighs and I was grateful for the layers of crinoline and petticoats. If not for them, my desire would have been evident for all the men to see. Though I could do nothing to hide my flaming cheeks every time Vasile so much as shifted his massive, beautiful body in his chair.

  I focused on his thick, veined forearms. And I found myself daydreaming about what it would be like to have those big hands touching my…

  “Valeria. More port!” my father snapped at me, lifting his glass without taking his eyes off his cards. The game had begun.

  I hate this.

  I resisted the urge to snatch up all the cards on the table and toss them into the roaring fire, and instead politely did as he asked. The serving girl looked at me in confusion as I took the bottle from her.

  “Doesn’t like prying eyes,” I said, with a secret roll of my own.

  She gave me an understanding sigh.

  I approached the table and positioned myself so that when I poured the drink, I could exchange another glance with Vasile. But now that the game had begun in earnest, he did not acknowledge me. I suddenly felt invisible to him.

  He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and narrowed his eyes at his cards.

  My heart sank.

  The other men at the table, other men that Petre had invited, were interested in the game but not overcome by it. Vasile was. And so was my father.

  I recognized Vasile’s expression instantly—the narrow vision, the intense focus, the tight set of his jaw. He was no fair-weather card player. He was a gambler, through and through.

  I leaned in slightly closer to my father than was necessary, close enough to give Vasile the opportunity to see the swell of my cleavage.

  What did I get in return?

  Nothing. Not a glance.

  Not a clearing of his throat.

  Not even a shift of his body.

  It was as if I had disappeared behind a curtain of aces and kings.

  Suddenly, I detested him. Absolutely, positively despised the very idea of him. Gambling had ruined my life, my mother’s life, as well as my father’s. I could accept a lot of vices in a man.

  But never, ever, would I have anything to do with a true-born gambler. Bad enough was my engagement to a gangster. The lawlessness of it all made me sick.

  So many wonders of this world, so many ways to create a life, simple as it may be, on the right side of the law. Using intellect and curiosity to make it a better place instead of violence and greed to bring to it even more darkness.

  I topped my father’s port and slipped back to the edge of the room. Surprisingly soon, Petre was out of the hand, and in a huff he disappeared from the room through a back archway.

  After a moment, I took my chance and slipped out myself, and once again out to the front hallway and outside, wishing I had my cigarette case. I needed something to calm my nerves. I walked back out into the dusting of newly fallen snow, glaring at Vasile’s big footprints, intermingled with mine from earlier.

  A sudden sound of crunching snow made me spin around. I hoped to see Vasile again, but instead there stood Petre. He stomped toward me then grabbed my wrist hard enough to make me gasp.

  “You’ve been staring at my brother.”

  It was as if he had punched me in the stomach. “Excuse me?”

  “You fucking heard me,” he snarled, now all dark eyes and cruelty. In that moment, I knew at once that the rumors were true and I was in for a lifetime of misery.

  I felt sick to my stomach. Hot bile rushed up into my throat.

  “I didn’t…” I stammered, trying to pull my arm away, “I’m not… please, I would never.”

  He got right in my face, nearly shoving me backwards the warm, sourness of his breath nearly wrenching my dinner from my stomach onto the snow.

  “Let’s get one thing straight. You step out of line, princess, and I’ll feed you to the wolves. You will do as I say, or you will suffer.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he turned and headed back toward the front entry, leaving me standing there in the snowy darkness, speechless. And utterly terrified.

  Minutes later, I was back next to the poker table. It was no act to convince my father that I was feeling unwell and needed to leave. My hands shook. I could barely breathe. I waited until he had folded his hand before squeezing his shoulder to get his attention.

  All I wanted was one last night in my own room at boarding school, the one place I felt like myself. One more night before this nightmare became my life.

  “Father, I need to leave,” I said softly into his ear.

  When he looked up at me, I saw that old familiar gleam of maniacal gambling optimism in his eye.

  “Not yet,” he said cheerfully. “Things are starting to go my way.”

  I swallowed hard and gave him a pleading stare.

  “I don’t feel well.” I blinked back a sudden rush of tears, focusing hard on the sting in my nose to prevent them from spilling down my cheeks.

  By some miracle, the look on my face or the desperation in my voice broke though the blur of his addiction.

  He furrowed his salt-and-pepper brows. “What’s happened?”

  I could feel Petre’s eyes on me then, leering at me. Threatening me.

  “I just need to lie down. It’s been a long day. Please, father. Dad...”

  The word dad was not one I said very often, but in this moment when I so desperately needed a lifeline, it worked. My father nodded and rose, taking me by the arm.

  Though he and I fought like animals half the time, I did love him. And I hoped deep down that he felt as bad about all of this as I did.

  I was still numb and fearful from my encounter with Petre, that my father’s making our excuses sounded far away, underwater almost.

  Old Mr. Greengallow said he was calling it a night as well and showed us out, chatting with my father as we walked. I didn’t hear any of it. The whooshing in my ears was like a blizzard gale.

  All that mattered to me was that before I knew it, I had my cloak wrapped around me and was getting back in our carriage. Once the door swung shut and the carriage started rolling away, I pressed my forehead gently against the ice-cold glass and covered my mouth to stifle a sob.

  My father had said that if I got in trouble in my marriage, Vasile may be the one to help me. But that was nonsense, and I knew it. He was as bad as my father.

  I was on my own in this. And I wanted nothing to do with either of the Greengallow brothers.

  Chapter 4

  Vasile

  I felt her absence like a fucking knife wound.

  It had taken everything I had, everything, to pretend to be focused on the game while she was still in the room.

  I kept catching sight of those brilliant emerald eyes watching me, kept getting a hint of her scent on the air like the bouquets of roses my mother always kept in her quarters. When she walked by to go to her father, her golden-brown honey-drizzle hair shimmered and streaked under the gas lamps, and when she crouched next to him, pushing those fucking magnificent tits together...

  Fuck, her
peach shaped face and petite stature gave her a childlike innocence, but her curves and those tits…

  It was all I could do to not star at them. Because if I had, I wouldn’t have been responsible for what came next. I would have forced her pretty, pink-tinged cheeks onto the baize of the card table and rutted into her until she came in fits and screams that would have torn the whole fucking house apart.

  The cards didn’t interest me in the least. The game was nothing compared to the rush, the desire, the fucking urge I had to get my hands on her. And to think, my psychopathic shit of a brother was going to marry her.

  That undeserving son of a bitch.

  Once I realized Petre caught on to the glances passing between us, I had to ignore her. Not for my sake but for hers.

  A lifetime of competition between my brother and myself could make any interest I showed in his future bride dangerous for her. I hadn’t wanted her in his line of fire.

  But judging by the way she feigned sickness just after she returned to the room after Petre had, I knew I hadn’t kept her safe enough. Pissed me right the hell off—both at myself and at him.

  Petre had inherited the worst traits of the Greengallow family and being left here to run the business while I chose something else had only made him worse. He now thought of himself as some shit-hot gangster, untouchable in his own way and completely devoid of any morals.

  My time away, with an uncle who had long since left the life we led, had taught me one thing: legitimate doesn’t have to mean less lucrative. I turned his mining and precious metals businesses around, used my brain to find angles he hadn’t already, and made us both more money than most see in several lifetimes.

  It had been a learning experience, and I was grateful for it, but nevertheless I wanted to be back here. There was no way I’d ever rejoin the family business, with its shady deals, back-alley beatings and occasional body disposal. But I did want to return home.

  This was where I was from, and like it or not it was where my heart longed to be. So, unbeknownst to any of my family members, I’d started sending men of my own back here over the last year or so to gather information on potential business interests to acquire if my urge to return came to fruition..I had contacts of my own here as well, one in particular, a young man with sharp ears and eyes who was loyal to a fault and one I’d come to trust more than family.