Winterspell by Claire Legrand Read Free Book Online

their secret—he had found them:
    Dr. Victor.

4
    H e stood at the shop’s entrance, a tall, pale-haired whip of a man—leanly muscled, sharp eyed, with a smile of ice and eyes to match. In the sudden silence one of Godfather’s crows ruffled its feathers and cawed.
    â€œGood afternoon, Dr. Victor. We were . . .” But Clara’s terror overwhelmed her, choking away any hope of excuses or lies. Dr. Victor was here , and she was dressed like . . .
    â€œI can see that.” Dr. Victor’s gaze crawled over her body, lingering on the skin she was normally so careful to conceal.
    Clara flinched, the sudden onslaught of shame a physical blow. She wished she were not breathing so hard, that she were not sweating and had not stripped off her clothes, come to Godfather for answers, or even broken into Rivington Hall. She should have gone home right after the ceremony, contented herself with reading or listening to Felicity natter on about a new gown freshly arrived from Paris. Mere seconds ago Clara had made Godfather bleed; now she was merely a girl, stupid, half-naked, and trembling, and she could not tell Dr. Victor to stop looking at her so greedily. The thought of what he could do in retaliation if Clara were to tell him what she truly thought of him, what he could make Concordia do to her family, kept her silent.
    And besides, it was her fault, wasn’t it, that he gazed at her so? She could have gone home; she could have stayed dressed. Instead here shestood, obscene, indecent, and as she stared at the floor, flushing miserably, she knew whatever Dr. Victor might do was what she deserved. A tiny spark of outrage cried out in protest, deep inside her, but she did not listen to it.
    â€œCivilized people,” Godfather began, tugging on his rumpled shirt, “knock on locked doors instead of kicking them in.”
    â€œA lunatic who has shut himself up with a young girl and proceeded to attack her,” Dr. Victor said smoothly, “is in no place to make such statements. I’d watch yourself, old man. It would distress Clara so, were anything to happen to you. Come, Clara.” He beckoned for her, a handsome devil in his immaculate vest and coat, pressed trousers, and gleaming boots. “I’ll escort you home.”
    Clara ducked her head and began to dress. The shop around her had never been more silent, despite the chorus of ticking clocks and tinkling toy carousel chimes, the soft whir of machinery from the back room. As she reassembled her petticoats, Clara began to cry. She did not let the tears fall, for she guessed that would delight Dr. Victor, but her throat burned with them. A hard knot lodged itself in her chest, eclipsing all other sensation, leaving her feeling . . . shriveled. Raked open.
    â€œPlease, Dr. Victor,” Clara said, hating the tremor in her voice but unable to steady it, “it was only a bit of fun. There’s no need for alarm.”
    â€œI will decide what there is need for, Clara.” The softer Dr. Victor’s voice became, the greater stormed the fury underneath. Since her father’s rise to the mayorship, Clara had heard this ominous softening many times. She shuddered from the lash of what he left unsaid, and from the horrible fear of when that buried malicious intent might erupt.
    Godfather retrieved his cane from the floor. “The shop is closed, if you hadn’t noticed. You are not welcome here.”
    â€œHow long have you been doing this?” Dr. Victor whispered to Clara, ignoring him.
    Clara couldn’t meet his eyes. “I—I don’t know.”
    â€œYour father has tolerated your coming here for too long, I see. I thought you’d have better judgment than this. Fighting like a heathen.” He shifted where he stood. “Dressed like a whore.”
    Godfather was fuming. “You will not speak to my Clara like that, you—”
    â€œ Your Clara?”