by Lynsay Sands
And then her gaze slid to the St. Christopher’s medal and Marguerite thought that she’d been right when she’d given it to Julius. It was going to bring him back safely to her, because it convinced her more than the portrait that he’d told the truth. The medal had meant a great deal to her. She wouldn’t have given it to just anyone, and she’d never taken it off. Giving it to someone she loved and who was heading out on a journey was the only reason she would have willingly taken it off. St. Christopher was the patron saint of travelers, or at least he had been back then. He had been decanonized during the late twentieth century she knew.
But Marguerite had no problem believing she’d taken it off and placed it around the neck of the man who had made her as happy as the woman in the portrait.
Now she just had to tell him that.
Closing her hand around the necklace, she slid the painting back into its spot under the papers, then closed the drawer and stood up. Marguerite hurried for the door, slipped into the hall and was rushing back toward the stairs when she nearly crashed into Tiny and Christian coming around the corner from the opposite direction.
“Marguerite!” Tiny looked relieved to see her as he caught her arms to steady her. “We were worried when we couldn’t find you in your room. You were supposed to wait for us.”
“Yes, I know, but I—” She shook her head, unwilling to take the time explaining. Instead she glanced to Christian. “Where is your father?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “We were going to look for him if we couldn’t find you. His luggage is missing from the hall. Maybe he took it up to his room after my grandparents left.”
Nodding, Marguerite tried to move around them, but Tiny held on.
“Wait a minute. What about the tour Christian was supposed to give us? I’ve talked him into showing us the portrait.”
“I’ve seen it,” she admitted. “It’s lovely. Go take a look. I have to talk to Julius.”
Breaking free then, Marguerite hurried upstairs and along the hall to her room. She slid inside, crossed to the connecting bathroom and hurried through it to the door to his room and then paused, suddenly unsure how to proceed.
What should she say? Marguerite stood, biting her lip and simply staring at the door for a moment, then let her breath out on a small tsk of annoyance. She believed him. The painting and necklace had convinced her. Surely that was a good thing and what he wanted?
Everything will be all right, Marguerite assured herself and reached for the doorknob. She would know what to say as soon as she saw him.
Fifteen
Julius laid his suitcase on the bed, and began to unpack with a sense of relief. He was glad to be home, he was glad to have Marguerite here with him, and he was glad that he’d managed to convince his parents to leave and not interfere. It was a good day.
Smiling at his own thoughts, Julius began tossing dirty clothes into a hamper in his dressing room, and setting what still clean clothes were left on the shelves. He’d promised to keep his parents informed as to what was happening and what he learned. The problem was he didn’t really know where to go from here. His main concern was to keep Marguerite safe. Beyond that he wasn’t sure what to do. He needed to find out who was behind the attacks in London and York. His instincts told him it was that damned Jean Claude. The man had stolen his happiness more than five hundred years ago, and Julius was sure he was trying to steal it again. But his father had warned him not to focus on Jean Claude and ignore the possibility of another being behind the attack. So he had to try to find out who it was.
If the incident where Marguerite had been controlled was connected to the other two attacks, then the person behind these assaults had to be one of the three people who performed the three-on-one on her. His father thought the most likely suspects were Martine and Lucian. That was a problem. Marguerite was supposed to call one or both of them for back-up proof of his claims, but if they were involved, they weren’t likely to back him up. They’d hide it. He supposed that would be proof that they were involved, but it was also likely to make Marguerite decide he was lying and leave.
Julius wasn’t sure of the motive for the attacks either. Jean Claude hadn’t tried to kill her back then, but had taken her back like a toy he’d abandoned and then regained interest only when he saw someone else playing happily with it. What reason would the man have to want her dead? As far as Julius could tell, the other two involved wouldn’t have any motive at all…unless it had something to do with the past and the fact that she was snooping into it now. Did someone want the past to stay buried? Or did they want to keep him and Marguerite apart? Or perhaps both?
These were all things Julius had to sort out and he hadn’t a clue how to go about it. He wasn’t even sure how to find out for certain whether Jean Claude was dead or not. The only thing he could think was to have someone dig up his grave, although that wouldn’t prove anything if he was a pile of ashes.
Julius sighed with frustration and returned to his suitcase for another stack of clothes, his concerns turning to the more immediate problem of keeping Marguerite from calling Martine and Lucian.
The click of his door opening made him pause and glance about, his eyebrows flying up when he saw Marguerite standing in the door of the bathroom between his room and the one she occupied. They then lowered with concern when he saw her stark expression.
“Marguerite? Are you all right?” he asked, laying the clothes back in the suitcase and starting toward her with concern.
“I was in your study,” she announced. “I saw the painting.”
He waited, uncertain what was coming next.
“Did I tell you where I got this?”
Julius shifted his gaze to the chain she dangled from her fingers. The St. Christopher’s medal. His muscles slowly relaxed.
“Did I?” Marguerite asked, starting slowly forward.
“Your son,” he said, “it meant a great deal to you because of that. You said you never took it off, but when I left with Marcus to take Mila to court, it was our first time apart. You took it off and asked me to wear it to ensure I returned safely to you.”
Julius saw a tear slip out from under her lashes and frowned. Moving forward, he placed a finger beneath her chin and urged her face up. When she opened her eyes, he told her, “I took it off when I brought Christian back to Italy, and I threw it out the window in a fury.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the claim and he admitted, “Which was foolish, because it took me two nights of crawling around in the grass with a candle to find it again.” Her lips began to spread in a smile and he shrugged. “I couldn’t throw it away. I felt like it was throwing us away and I guess I hoped it would bring us safely back together again someday as you promised.”
“And it has,” Marguerite whispered and leaned up to kiss him.
She believed him, Julius realized with relief. The necklace and portrait had been proof enough for her and Marguerite trusted him. He let his breath out on a silent prayer of thanks to God and slid his arms around this precious woman. He had gamboled through life until he’d met her the first time, enjoying all it had to offer, but never really fully experiencing any of it until meeting her. With Marguerite the nights had sparkled, and life had seemed filled with endless possibilities. And when he’d lost her, all that light and sparkle and possibility had seeped away, leaving life a sepia silent film. But he had her back now, and he’d never let her go, Julius thought…and then they both stilled as a knock sounded at the door.
“Ignore it,” he murmured, drawing her toward the bed and pushing the suitcase off.
“Marguerite? It’s the phone for you,” Tiny said through the door.
“I didn’t hear the phone,” Marguerite said with surprise.
“I don’t keep one in my room. Too many telemarketing calls during the day disturbing my sleep,” Julius explained.
“It’s Martine,” Tiny added.
Julius felt the blood in his veins freeze. Marguerite believed him no
w, but if she talked to Martine and the other woman said it was all nonsense as he feared she would…
“Oh!” Marguerite pulled away with an apologetic smile. “I’d better get that. I called and left a message for her to call back.”
She’d slipped out of his arms before he could stop her. By the time his brain started to work again and he reached for her, she was out of reach.
Julius stared after her with growing horror, sure that his world was about to collapse again. By the time he was able to shake himself out of the stupor that had claimed him she was slipping through the door.
“Wait, Marguerite.” He hurried forward, but she was hurrying now too and when he burst out into the hall he was just in time to see her disappearing down the stairs. Tiny, moving at a much slower pace was only halfway up the hall.
“Is something wrong?” the detective asked with concern when Julius cursed. “I thought talking to Martine was a good thing?”
“Not if she was one of the three,” Julius said grimly as he hurried up the hall. “She might tell her it was all nonsense.”
“Martine?” Tiny asked, running to keep up with him. “You think she—?”
“The other two had to be old, strong, and people Jean Claude trusted,” he explained.
“So your father verified that three-on-ones on immortals are possible?” Tiny asked jogging down the stairs next to him.
Julius nodded, then burst ahead, breaking into a dead run as he reached the main floor. He skidded to a halt at the door to his study just in time to see Marguerite pick up the phone.
“Hi, Martine,” she sang happily into the phone, offering him a smile when she turned to lean against the desk and spotted him in the door.
Julius sagged against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on her expression. He sensed when Tiny arrived and joined him in the door, worried and out of breath, but ignored him as he waited for the betrayal to appear on Marguerite’s face.
“Yes, I did,” Marguerite said. “Actually, I called Friday night as well, but you had left for London to spend time with the girls. Did you have a good time?”
Julius felt his teeth grind together at her chatty tone. Dear God, the fates were going to drag this out.
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Marguerite laughed. “Yes, I quite liked the Dorchester too. Did the girls have a good time?”
“Jesus,” Tiny breathed next to him, apparently as impatient as he.
“Really?” Marguerite laughed again. “I shall have to try that the next time…Yes…What? Oh, well it’s not really important anymore, and I was calling to ask a question that might seem silly.”
Julius held his breath.
“Yes, well…I was wondering…I didn’t happen to stay at your home back in the fifteenth century? Say around 1490 to 1491?” Marguerite paused, listening, and then said, “Martine?”
Julius felt his hands clench.
“Yes, I know it is and I’ll explain when next we meet, but the answer is important to me and—” She paused and listened, her expression going solemn. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not and wished he could hear the woman’s answer.
“Really?” she asked quietly and then shook her head slightly and said, “No.”
Marguerite listened again and Julius was beginning to experience pain in his chest. He wasn’t sure of the cause until he realized that he was still holding his breath. He let it out slowly and started across the room.
“I—I’ll come see you soon and explain, I can’t…No, everything is…” Marguerite paused, her eyes widening on Julius. He supposed his expression was probably expressive of his feelings at that point and he wasn’t feeling very happy. It sounded to him from this end as if Martine had lied and told her no.
“I have to go, Martine,” Marguerite said quickly and hung up. She then reached for his arm with concern. “Are you all right?”
“What did she say?” Tiny asked abruptly from the door before Julius could answer.
“Oh.” Marguerite glanced at the mortal and smiled. “Yes, I did stay in her home in York.”
Julius blinked in surprise. He’d been positive she was echoing Martine’s no when she’d said the word.
“Martine said I sent her a message about being with child and planning to marry ‘some Italian’ as she put it,” Marguerite said wryly. “But then shortly afterward she got a letter from Jean Claude telling her that he wasn’t dead as everyone had presumed, that I’d lost the child, and you had left me and he and I were sorting things out. He told her it was a delicate subject and never to bring it up to me as it upset me greatly.”
“The bastard,” Tiny muttered.
Julius simply sank to sit on the edge of the desk, his legs suddenly weak from the scare he’d had. Martine hadn’t lied to her. She’d backed up his story.
“I guess the good news is that this means that Martine wasn’t one of the three,” Tiny commented thoughtfully.
“Martine?” Marguerite asked with surprise. “No. She never would have been involved in something like that. We are friends.”
When Tiny glanced his way with raised eyebrows, Julius turned to Marguerite. “My father suggested that the other two who had performed the three-on-one with Jean Claude would have to be old, strong, and people he trusted,” he explained. “He suggested Martine and Lucian.”
Marguerite shook her head slowly. “No. They both have too much honor.”
“But he was their brother,” Julius pointed out.
“Yes, but…” She grimaced and then said, “Marcus is like a brother to you. Would you do it for him?”
Julius snorted at the very suggestion. “Marcus would never ask it of me.”
“Yes, but—Never mind, the point is, they would not have supported him in this. Besides, Martine said he informed her in that letter that he wasn’t dead as everyone presumed, and you said Lucian thought I was widowed too?”
When he nodded, Marguerite shrugged. “Then Jean Claude didn’t trust them with that information did he? If he didn’t trust them to accept that behavior as all right, he’d hardly trust them with something like a three-on-one. And rightfully so, I should think. Lucian would overlook a certain amount of bad behavior from Jean Claude, biting drunks and so on even after blood banks were instituted, but only so long as he didn’t really see it. He knew Jean Claude was doing it, or suspected, but avoided really seeing it, because then he would have had to do something about it. He told me that himself,” she admitted. “But something like this?” Marguerite shook her head. “He couldn’t be involved with it and still overlook. Lucian and Martine were not involved,” she said with certainty.
Julius peered at her silently, not at all convinced and thinking she was a bit naïve. Twins were different. He had seen it in Dante and Tommaso. They might not always like what the other twin did, but they were as close as could be and would defend each other to the death.
That was a concern for another day, however. Right now, Marguerite had seen the painting and the necklace and talked to Martine and was convinced of the truth. All would be well. So long as she was here with him and safe, everything else would fall into place eventually. Julius really believed that.
Smiling, he straightened from the desk and scooped her into his arms.
Marguerite merely smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck as he started across the room.
“I gather we aren’t going to talk about this anymore?” Tiny asked dryly as he stepped out of their way.
“No,” Julius agreed as he started up the hall. “Later.”
“Right,” Tiny said wryly. “I guess I’ll go find Christian and finish the tour.”
“Good thinking,” Julius called as he started up the stairs.
Marguerite peered up at Julius as he carried her along the hall. She started out smiling, but then it slipped away and she said solemnly, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked with surprise.
“For making you prove what you said was the truth,” she explained.
“For not believing you without evidence.”
Julius snorted at the words. “I can hardly complain since if I’d believed in you back then and hunted you down for answers I would have realized there was something wrong and we would have been together these last five hundred years.”
“But that’s exactly it,” Marguerite said quietly. “You told me about your ‘dream,’ which was really our past wasn’t it?” When he nodded, she continued, “You said that someone had come to you with a tale that was false and you didn’t have faith in me and let me slip away. And I said then we must never let it happen in real life and then I did.”
“Marguerite, trust is—”
“Important,” she insisted, reaching out to open the door to his room when he paused before it.
“Yes,” Julius agreed, stepping through and kicking it closed. “But it is also something that takes time to develop. You knew we were lifemates, or believed we might be, and you gave yourself willingly to me, but we still only knew each other a matter of days this time as far as you were concerned. Back then, I had known you for almost a year, surely long enough to develop some sense of who you were, and yet apparently not long enough. At the first test of my love and faith, I failed. Mine is the greater sin, and we have both paid for it.”
“But—” Marguerite began, but he silenced her with a kiss.
“But nothing,” Julius said when he lifted his mouth. He released her legs and she clutched at his arms as she came upright before him. “I have found you again. Hopefully, we are both wiser for the experience. Now I want to enjoy us.”
Marguerite peered up at him silently, tilting her face into his palm when he cupped her cheek. Suddenly recalling Vita’s question earlier, she asked, “Why were you not mean to me in London when we first met? You should have hated me for leaving you for Jean Claude and ordering Christian dead.”
“I could never hate you,” Julius assured her and then grinned. “Well, for the first hundred years afterward I hated you, but when Marcus came to me with the news that your memory seemed tampered with, it was like an answer to a prayer. I decided at once you hadn’t done those things we’d thought and I wanted you back in my life.