Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 52

It was that marble that momentarily absorbed Emma as she paused to examine the detail of the polished flooring in the muted light, unheedful of the housekeeper’s continuing on without her. Onyx and ivory arranged like a giant chessboard.

Milli’s insistent little nudge at her back soon brought her back to herself and they hurried after the housekeeper, hiking their skirts up and taking the stairs two at a time.

They were taken first to Emma’s room, a comfortable enough looking chamber with fine appointments, though decidedly outdated, and a welcome fire murmuring in the grate. A tub of hot water had been placed on the hearthrug, the steam curling invitingly off the surface. The window dressings were dark crimson velvet and matched the hangings attached to the framework of the bed. The bedstead itself was made of the same handsome, black wood as the chiffonier and writing desk. Yes, she would be quite comfortable here and might even be inspired by this old castle to pen her own gothic tale of horror.

Her portmanteau, Mrs. Skinner advised her, had already been unpacked for her and her belongings were all neatly folded or hanging up. There was really nothing for Emma to do but repose in her bath by the fire. Mrs. Skinner withdrew with Milli in tow, promising to return with wine after she had shown Miss Milli to her own chamber.

As promised, Mrs. Skinner returned moments later with some mulled wine. “Will you be needing your stays loosened?”

Perhaps it was a ghastly trick of the firelight, but for just a harrowing instant Emma fancied she’d seen an odd flash of animal green amidst the tourmaline glitter of Mrs. Skinner’s flat gaze, a momentary eyeshine.

“Miss Rose, will you be needing your stays loosened?” she asked again.

“No, I shall manage alone, thank you.”

The housekeeper nodded once and quit the room, the flagstones silent beneath her boots.

Emma decided she was overtired and made short work of divesting herself of her traveling clothes. She then sank into the tub with a satisfied sigh, her muscles and bones loosening instantly as she lay her head back against the side of the tub, the plaintive howling forgotten; Mrs. Skinner’s tricksy eyes forgotten.

Outside, she could hear only the distant North Sea battering the eastern cliffs and she let the sound of the wild coastline lull her to sleep. But she woke up with a start hours later, shivering, and hurried out of the tub to wrap herself in a bath robe before scurrying into bed.

The operose groan of the great doors opening and closing below banished all thought of sleep, however. Emma hastened out of bed and into her night-rail. Thereafter, she tiptoed quietly from her room and down the corridor to peek down from the gallery. Careful not to make herself or her movements conspicuous, Emma angled her head cautiously around the corner of the wall and over the railing to cast her eyes down at the checkered floor below.

There he was, the master of Winterthurse. Winterly stood with his back to her so that she could only see the width of his broad shoulders beneath the black greatcoat he still wore. And he still had not doffed his hat, despite that he was indoors. He looked exactly as he did that first night they’d met, all shadows and mystery.

He was speaking to the housekeeper, but his words did not carry from this distance. Even if they had, she suspected the din of her pounding heart would have drowned them out. He had that effect on her, and she realized now that it had always been so. She hardly knew the man, yet she was utterly infatuated with him, especially after that kiss, chaste or not.

When he and Mrs. Skinner moved out of view into one of the corridors, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. As that silent gust of air left her lips, a strange howl floated up from the moors again, like a melancholic glissando. It couldn’t possibly be the wind, could it?

If Milli was still awake then she had likely heard it too and was no doubt terrified—the night itself was enough to terrify her sister, let alone the sounds that haunted it. Emma turned away from the balcony and returned to her room to retrieve a candle before setting off to find her sister’s room, her feet padding silently across the smooth, stone slabs.

After wandering the corridors for an interminable length of time, she chose a door at hazard, guarded by two tall suits of armor. Though they stood insentient and empty, her flesh horripilated, for she could feel the bold press of a stare against her neck. This castle, with its chessboard foyer, had something of Winterly in it—dark, mysterious, and watchful. They were well matched, she thought, reaching her hand towards the door handle.

“Are you lost, Miss Rose?”

She yelped, nearly startled from her flesh, and slammed her back against the door. The candle sputtered dangerously, it too nearly expiring of fright. Speak of the devil and he doth appear. “No, I…yes, I am.” She pulled self-consciously at the sheer fabric draped across her naked shoulders. “I was trying to find my sister’s room.”

“In the middle of the night?”

Yes, it was an odd thing to be doing at midnight, running about in her underthings. “I heard howling, you see.” She licked her dry lips as his watchful silence prevailed. “I thought it sounded like…like…”

“Like what exactly?” His voice was soft, almost conversational.

“Wolves.” Lord, she knew how ridiculous that sounded.

“Likely only the wind soughing through the battlements,” he replied.

“Yes, that was Mr. Valko’s opinion too.”

He studied her a moment. “But you think otherwise?”

She shrugged.

He lifted his hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “It must have been my dogs.”

“You have dogs?” Victoria might have mentioned the blasted dogs.

“On nights like these I fear the wretched beasts might awaken the dead.” There was a flash of white as