by PG Forte
The slamming of the front door broke the spell. They both startled, breathing hard, staring at each other in alarm. What was that? What just happened here? Suzanne straightened up, blinking stupidly, still feeling flattened by it…whatever it was. She was shaking. Could not stop shaking. What did he do? What did he just nearly do to me?
“Listen to me,” Armand whispered urgently. “That never happened. Do you hear me? Never. Nothing happened. And it must never happen again.”
Suzanne nodded. No, of course it hadn’t. It couldn’t have happened, could it? I don’t even know what he’s talking about. And, in the next instant, even the memory of it was gone, vanished, as though it had never been.
She picked up the string of lights and blinked at it in confusion, wondering how she’d come to drop it in the first place. How odd. It was as though she were just coming back from a very strange trip. If she hadn’t made the cookies herself she might be wondering what was in them.
“Armand?” a woman’s posh British accent called out imperiously. Rapid footsteps, loud as gunshots, pattered across the tiled floor of the foyer. “Armand, where are you?”
“Georgia?” Armand jumped to his feet to greet the woman as she appeared in the doorway. “I-I mean, Lady Lancaster, it’s so good to see you again.”
“Ah, there you are.” Tugging a wide-brimmed mink hat from her head, the woman swept into the room, her matching fur coat swirling ’round her ankles. She was tall, aristocratic, perfect in every way, Suzanne couldn’t help thinking, just like a blonde Mary Poppins, only a lot more fashionably dressed. “My dear boy,” she said as she tossed her hat on a chair. “Will you please be so good as to tell me what is going on here today? There are men outside the house stringing lights in the trees and…oh…dear…Gawd. You’ve one in the house, as well?”
“It’s a Christmas tree,” Suzanne explained, still sizing the woman up. She was very beautiful, she supposed, if you liked dishwater blondes with flawless complexions. Her hair was streaked several shades of gold, from tawny to very light to slightly darker than the palomino mink that still enveloped her. “Because, you know, it’s almost Christmas.”
“Thank you,” the woman murmured, smiling coolly. “You’ve been most helpful. I’m sure I would never have been able to make the connection on my own.”
“Is Conrad expecting you?” Armand asked, brow furrowing. “I’m sure I don’t remember his telling me you were arriving today.”
“What’s this now?” The woman’s perfect eyebrows rose. “Have we become so formal I cannot drop in on my sire unannounced?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just that we’ve all been so busy preparing for the Christmas party that I thought, perhaps—”
“A Christmas party? Conrad? Are you mad? Why on earth would he do something like that?”
“Because I asked him to,” Suzanne replied, suddenly very conscious of her bare feet, her patched jeans, her uncombed hair. Why would Conrad even bother with me, if he could have her? She shouldn’t care. She already knew what she had with Conrad was nothing permanent, didn’t she? But she really hated the idea that this woman might somehow influence him to change his mind about the party.
“Because you asked him to?” Eyes like lavender blue ice bored into hers. “Well, that explains everything, doesn’t it? And who might you be?”
“Desert Rose is a…a recent acquaintance,” Armand answered, coming to her rescue. His smile, and the tiny wink he gave her, warmed away a little of the chill Suzanne was feeling as he continued with the introductions. “Chérie, this is Lady Lancaster one of Conrad’s…ah, cousins.”
I’ll just bet she is, Suzanne thought, watching as the blonde’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“And where is dear cousin Conrad?” she asked, smiling at Armand with poisonous sweetness. “I would so love to have a word with him right now.”
Suzanne shrugged. “Oh, he’s still in bed.” She picked up one of the gingerbread women from the plate on the floor and bit off her head. “When I got up he told me to try and keep things quiet down here. He said he didn’t want to be bothered until at least midnight. Not by anyone.”
Armand winced. He frowned sharply in Suzanne’s direction, then turned back to the blonde. “You must be so tired from your trip, Lady Lancaster,” he murmured in soothing tones. “Why don’t you let me show you to your room?”
“Later perhaps.” The ice blonde’s eyes gleamed with a hard, metallic sheen as she sloughed out of her coat, revealing a lavender tweed Chanel suit and a long string of pearls as white as her teeth. She threw the coat on the chair with her hat, and pushed Armand aside. “First, I simply must have something to eat,” she said as she advanced on Suzanne.
Vaguely surprised, Suzanne picked up the plate of gingerbread and extended it toward her. “Did you want a cookie?”
“Georgia, no,” Armand said, almost tripping over the tangled lights in his haste to get between the two women. “Stop, please. You can’t!”
“I can’t?” A very unladylike snarl lifted the lady’s lips as she turned on him. Cold fire raged in her eyes. “Why, Armand, are you saying you don’t wish to share your snack with me? How very ungallant.”
Armand shook his head. His voice coming out half strangled, he answered, “Conrad’s snack, Georgia, not mine. And, no, he’s…he’s not been in a very sharing mood of late.”
“What?” Georgia’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Oui. Very much so.”
Puzzled, Suzanne glanced at them both. “I really don’t think Conrad will care if she has a cookie, Armand. It’s not like he’s going to eat them. You were there when he said he doesn’t care for gingerbread. Remember?” She looked sadly at the plate, at all the happy sugar faces smiling back at her. And, if he’d only said something earlier, I’d have been glad to make some other kind of cookie.
“Cookies?” Georgia sounded confused. Suzanne looked up again to find the other woman regarding her curiously. “How sweet. Tell me, did you make those yourself?”
Suzanne nodded. “Well, mostly. Armand helped.”
“Did he?” Georgia arched one eyebrow at him. “You bake, Armand? I’m astonished.”
“Oui. I astonish myself, at times.”
“Try one,” Suzanne insisted. “They’re good.”
Georgia shook her head. “No. Thank you, just the same. I’m afraid I share my…cousin’s tastes. For many things.”
“Georgia, please,” Armand begged softly. “Please let me find you something else to eat.”
“Oh, no.” Georgia waved the suggestion off and started back toward the door. “No worries, darling. Don’t be so silly. I wouldn’t dream of disarranging any of Conrad’s little schemes. I know better than that, I hope. Anyway, I can see you must have your hands quite full already. I’m sure I can locate everything I need on my own.” She picked up her coat and hat and then turned back to add, “That is…I trust there are no other surprises awaiting me?”
Armand shook his head. He watched her leave then collapsed onto the floor, looking so very tired Suzanne was worried for him.
“Are you all right?” she asked as he heaved a deep sigh. “Do you want a cookie?”
“No, I’m fine,” he murmured, staring absently at the lights. “I just…have a lot of things on my mind right now, that’s all.”
Yeah, and I bet they’re all wearing fur. “So, have you known her long?”
“Georgia? Just a few years. Of course, she and Conrad have known each other for much longer.”
Longer, or better? “What was that thing she called Conrad—her sire? Isn’t that like what you call a king, or something? Why would she call him that?”
“Why?” Armand frowned. “Well, um…because she’s British,” he answered, finally seeming to shake off his strange mood. He reached for the string of bulbs. “And, you know what they say about British humor, chérie, don’t you? You really can’t appreciate it unless you’re British yourself.”
“I guess
.” Suzanne bit off a gingerbread leg and thought about it some more. “And is she really a lady?”
“Yes.” Armand nodded, still testing bulbs to no avail. “The title was her husband’s, I believe.”
Suzanne felt her sprits rise. “Oh, yeah? So, she’s married?”
“Was. She’s widowed now.”
“Oh.” Suzanne ate another piece of gingerbread, and part of a candied cherry, and sighed again. “That’s too bad.”
Armand glanced up at that, grinning at her. “Jealous?”
“No,” Suzanne insisted, cheeks flaming hotly. “Of course not. I was just saying it’s a shame her husband died.”
Armand said nothing, but his smile said he didn’t believe her.
“Why did she have to come here now?” Suzanne finally demanded. “I wanted this Christmas to be so perfect and now… Armand, what if she makes him change his mind?”
Armand shook his head. “No one makes Conrad do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
“It could still happen though, couldn’t it? If he…if he likes her better.”
“Listen to me for a minute, chérie.” Armand reached forward and squeezed her hand. “What Conrad has with you is something he will never have with Georgia. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand that, because he does. So there’s nothing for you to worry about. Do you hear me?”
Suzanne nodded. But there was still a lot to worry about all the same, wasn’t there? Things like fur coats and pearl necklaces and tweed suits that cost the Earth. How could she ever hope to compete with anything like that?
“You do realize it can’t last, don’t you?” Georgia said as she came to stand beside Conrad, who was once again standing on the second-floor landing, watching Desert Rose depart after a weekend that was over too soon.
Conrad’s hand clenched in the fabric of the drape. Damn it, he’d expected to be alone. He’d wanted to be alone. “What are you doing up at this time of day?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. He continued to gaze out the window, squinting into what was entirely too much daylight, even with the colored glass and the providential shade cast by the trees that surrounded the house. Anything was better than turning to look at the woman beside him. “You should still be sleeping.”
“I could say the same to you,” she answered, and he did turn then, to shoot a warning glance in her direction. Georgia smiled and bowed her head. “But, of course, I wouldn’t dream of doing so, my liege.”
“I should hope not.” He and Georgia had a very long, very complicated history, but in spite of that, or maybe because of it, there were only so many liberties he could allow her to take. Questioning his actions or his motives in so personal a matter as this definitely came close to crossing the line and they both knew it. “And, yes, Georgia, I am fully aware that this…indulgence, shall we say, cannot last indefinitely. But that’s my business.”
“Unless you turn her. Then it could last centuries and affect us all.”
“Not an issue,” Conrad answered flatly. “That’s one mistake I’ll not be repeating.” Georgia said nothing, but her silence screamed of skepticism. Conrad found himself snarling at her. “If you’re planning to tell me you’ve heard me say that before…”
“Never,” she promised, forestalling him. “I quite realize that it’s not my place to say any such thing.”
“Glad you realize it,” he muttered, letting the curtain fall back into place. Ignoring the words they both knew she’d left unspoken: even if it’s true.
There was a marble bench against the wall opposite the landing. Conrad went over and sat on it. He knew Georgia would follow him wherever he went and he did not wish to continue this conversation in his room. He could count on her to be reasonably discreet in public. In private—he’d never get her to shut up.
Just as he knew she would, Georgia came and sat beside him. She rested her head companionably on his shoulder. After a moment, she slipped her hand into his. “I do think you’d be wise to tell her the truth about us.”
Conrad sighed. Tell her the truth and lose the chance to play at being an ordinary man? No, not yet. “Ah, Georgia, she’s so very young. Do you remember what that was like? Can you remember being that young, that innocent, that…free? It’s so long ago. I think I’ve forgotten most of it.”
“Forgotten what it’s like to be young? You?”
“To be young, to be human, to be alive; sometimes I don’t think I remember any of it anymore. Being with her…helps.”
Georgia shook her head. “When I was that young…yes, I do still remember, Conrad. And, I have to tell you, I envy you your forgetfulness. There’s really no such thing as the good old days, not to my way of thinking. I think that’s true for a lot of us.”
“Perhaps,” Conrad admitted. “You could be right about that.”
They sat together quietly for a while longer until Georgia again broke the silence. “I understand Armand has been spending quite a lot of time with your little friend as well.”
Conrad nodded. “Yes, he has. He’s been a great help in keeping things under control.”
“Has he?” Georgia gazed at him curiously. “What is his interest in this, do you suppose? How does he feel about the girl, or do you even know?”
“I’m sure he feels just as you do.” A smile curved Conrad’s lips as he thought about it. “I’m sure you both think I’m letting her influence me far too much.” He shook his head. “I like to indulge the people I care about, Georgia, you know that. It makes me happy to be able to do so. And I do not intend to stop it now just because you think I should.” Is it that she finds it unseemly because I am extending this courtesy to someone who’s human? Or to someone who’s not of my nest? Or is it simply because the recipient, this time, is someone other than she herself? He didn’t know the answer. He wasn’t sure he cared. It could be any of them—or something altogether different. Whatever it was, it was not important. “Besides,” he added in a warning voice. “I’m still the one making the decisions here, am I not? This is something I want. I have made up my mind and I will not have my decisions second-guessed. Not by anyone.”
Georgia shook her head. “I’m not trying to second-guess you, Conrad. But, please do remember you were my friend long before you were my sire. I would hate to see you made unhappy again. There are many who would say you go too far by indulging the girl to the extent that you do.”
“Are there? And shall I concern myself with their opinions of me? I think not.”
“There are some whose opinions might still concern you, I think. Or that should concern you, at any rate. This little dalliance…it could lead you into grief.”
Turning to face her, Conrad smiled coldly. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid I’m going to do something foolish? Or are you hoping for it?”
Georgia hesitated, eyeing him narrowly, cautiously weighing her options. “I think you already are being foolish,” she said at last. “And, if I may be so bold, I think you’re engaged in a very dangerous pastime. She’s human, Conrad. She’s delicate, easily damaged and, ultimately, nothing more than a temporary source of nourishment. You claim to care about her and yet you encourage her to run loose in this house full of hunters, refusing to even arm her with the knowledge of what she’s up against. You flaunt her at us, trusting us all to ignore the prey in our midst, to control our natures—”
“Enough.” Conrad tightened his grip on Georgia’s hand and let the power rise within him.
Georgia shuddered and tried to pull away, but it was too late for that. “Conrad, please…”
“You’re wrong. I don’t trust you, Georgia, or the others, either. I haven’t for a very long time.”
When he was turned, all those centuries ago, his sire made certain that the man in him was thoroughly broken. A beast had been formed from the shattered pieces. One who only looked human. Georgia knew this as well as anyone could. But, sometimes, he supposed, a little reminder was in order. He kept his voice soft. He kept his touch light a
s he stroked her face, her hair, her neck. And he felt grimly pleased by the fear that rose in her eyes, at the trembling of her lips as she begged, “Please don’t.”
“It’s myself I trust. I trust in my own authority as master of this House. I trust in my ability to control each and every one of you. The girl is safe here, Georgia, because I will it. And so she shall remain for however long I wish her to. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered with a shaky nod. “I understand.”
“Good.”
He let her go then, though he kept hold of her hand. She slumped a little against the bench, breathing hard, refusing to meet his eyes. “As I said,” she murmured at last. “A very dangerous pastime.”
“Perhaps. But the danger is not to me.”
Swallowing hard, she glanced nervously down to where their hands were still joined. When she continued speaking, it was with obvious reluctance. “That remains to be seen, I think. You didn’t answer my question earlier. What do you imagine Armand’s feelings are—toward the girl, I mean. Or have you never even stopped to ask yourself that?”
“Stop testing my patience in this fashion.” Scowling now, Conrad pulled his hand free of hers. “Are you seeking to make me lose my temper with you? I will, if you keep this up. Armand does not have any feelings for the girl.”
Honesty, and the look of disbelief she gave him, forced him to add, “Not any that matter. Armand is more devoted to me than I think you realize. He would never go against my wishes.” Of that last part, at least, Conrad was certain. It would take someone very foolish, very arrogant or altogether reckless to dare cross him in any but the very smallest of matters. Armand, he was sure, was too smart, too reasonable, too even-tempered to ever take such a risk. He was safe this time. They all were.
“He seems very fond of her.”
Conrad nodded. “I’m sure he is. I’m sure she’s fond of him, as well. Why should they not be? They’re both young. They’re both attractive. What of it? I assure you, that’s as far as it will ever go.”
“Oh, dear,” Georgia mused. “I wonder, now…where have I heard that exact sentiment expressed before?” Conrad couldn’t help but be amused by the puzzled expression her face assumed as she pretended to think about it. She’d been a very fine actress, in her time. “Oh, yes, now I’ve got it. There was a young king, with whom I was once very well acquainted. I believe his name was…Arthur.”