She sucked in a raspy breath as memory slammed into her. That was it―she had been carrying the piece to someone. “How did you get that?” she asked.
“Odd, that’s the same question I was going to ask you.”
Victoria wanted to grab the watch from his hand. Grab it and run. And she would keep running until she reached home. Her eyes traveled up the length of his firm, muscular arm, across his broad chest, and up to his evocative brown eyes. She thought she saw amusement there.
“It’s mine,” she said.
“No, it isn’t.”
She swallowed. The whole idea had been not to get caught. And she had botched it miserably.
If she tried to dart past him, would he catch her? She glanced to the door.
Most definitely.
He chuckled, and she had the distinct feeling he was reading her mind.
Promptly, she made a decision. She intended to argue, cajole, or perhaps even bribe her way out of the predicament she was in. With an upward thrust of her chin, she peered over her shoulder at Earl Dane Wheatherby, challenging the renowned seducer of women.
“I found the watch on the street,” she went on. “That makes it mine. Finders keepers and all that.”
“No, no. I’m acquainted with the painting on the inside of this watch. I think you’re—” he paused seeming to search for a word “—a thief.”
Better for him to think she was a thief than to know her father was a spy. She looked him straight in the eye.
“I’m not. So give it back.” She held out her hand, palm up, with false confidence.
“No.” He smiled. “Not until you allow me to attend to your head. Then we’ll negotiate.”
“Oh,” she said in an exasperated huff, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Even the society pages use the word rake in connection with your name. I can now see why.” She tried to think of all the horrible ways she could describe him. “You’re a rogue, a scoundrel, a . . . a seducer―”
“I don’t recall ever seducing a woman who didn’t want to be seduced,” he interrupted. “However, there is a first time for everything.”
He was teasing her. Again, a warm rush of blood flooded her cheeks. She’d taken the wrong road this time.
“I’m not interested in helpless females.”
“I’m not helpless.”
He sighed. “I won’t hurt you.”
Finally, she relented and moved toward him. Perhaps once he doctored her injury, his manly pride would be satisfied and he’d let her go home. He gently dabbed at her head with the damp cloth. She winced at first, then relaxed, closing her eyes, breathing in the nice, spicy scent of him.
When he was done, he moved away, and strangely, she missed his closeness.
He walked to the door, stopped, and looked back at her. “I have some unfinished business that demands my attention. I believe you’ll be fine, but Mrs. Stokes will see that the physician attends to you as a precaution. Then I’ll escort you home when I return.”
“No. Wait.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Suddenly, a large, gray, hairy something appeared next to her. Before she could cry out, a wet tongue lapped at her hand. Victoria trembled and drew back. The dog’s large snout and huge wet muzzle followed her. The horrid animal licked her again.
“No,” Earl Wheatherby said to the dog in a deep authoritative voice. “Down,” he pointed off to the side. The dog looked at her with dark friendly eyes and reluctantly dropped to its haunches. “Don’t worry. He’s like a kitten,” he assured her.
She was unconvinced but tried to disregard her fear. “Please just give me my watch. I can make it home on my own. Really,” she said.
“Rest,” was all he said as he closed the door behind him.
Victoria dropped back onto the bed, flinging her arms over her head and closing her eyes. What a predicament!
A loud clunk sounded somewhere outside the room. Victoria pried her eyes open, but a sharp pain shot through her head with even the slightest bit of light. She immediately shut them once more.
She inhaled a deep, calming breath and let herself stay in that place between wakefulness and sleep, mulling over her options and refusing to give in to the burn of tears that stung her nose and eyes. She’d bet her entire jewelry collection that he’d kept the watch in order to make certain she stayed put.
After lying there for a short interval, she realized she didn’t want to be here when the earl returned. She didn’t want the doctor—or anyone else for that matter, especially her father—to know she was in Earl Dane Wheatherby’s bed at all, no matter how innocent the situation. She’d figure out how to get the watch back tomorrow.
Ignoring her throbbing head and with her body feeling as cumbersome as a chest full of rocks, she rolled from the mattress to her feet and froze. The huge dog had put himself in her way. A damp sweat wet her neck. There was no other way out. She’d have to get past this “kitten.”
CHAPTER THREE
Back at the theatre, Dane stood discreetly to one side, watching as the police completed their investigation. Priscilla had found him and filled him in on the events that took place while he was gone. The dead man—whose neck had been broken—was indeed Simms, Dane’s would-be contact. They didn’t have a real clue about the culprit’s identity; however, someone had reported a man hanging around outside on the entrance steps.
Dane considered the additional information. Evidently, the man he needed to find was about average height, of medium build, with wheat-colored hair. Not much to go on, but it was a start.
“Did you read the note?” Priscilla whispered, interrupting his thoughts.
“No. I haven’t had a chance.” Of course, Dane didn’t share the reason the note remained in his pocket, forgotten. Even now, he wondered about Victoria Clements and her connection to the watch that sported a miniature version of the very painting he sought. He flexed his neck until it cracked. There was more to find out about her, much more. And to his surprise, he was anxious to learn.
“There’s nothing more I can find out here. I’ll escort you home,” Dane said.
His position, wealth, and name had its advantages. He paid the doorman to retrieve his belongings from the check counter, then he and Priscilla rode together in silence the few blocks it took to reach her home. If she had questions, for once she didn’t ask them. He was grateful for that. Perhaps she was as baffled as he was. Thoughts swirled in his head, each one nudging another aside. A few times he touched the watch tucked in his inside pocket, either to make sure it was there or to forge a connection to a beautiful thief. He wasn’t sure which.
Dane walked Priscilla to the door of her cottage. She paused with a hand on her generous hip. “I’m not moving another step until you read the note.”
“Good evening, Pris,” he said, smiling, knowing full well she hated the nickname.
She made as if to snatch the note from his pocket, and he stepped back. “Wanting to undress me right here at the door, are you?”
“I’ve wanted to undress you since three months after Arthur died and you know it. But that’s beside the point.” She crossed her arms. “Dane, you’re not telling me something. Are you going to read it or not?”
There was only one acceptable way to get her to relent. He drew the missive from his pocket and read: You’re out of your league. Stop snooping around, or the woman dies.
Dane’s first thought was, Which woman? Pris or his thief? Either way, it meant he was being watched.
He handed the note to Priscilla, who inhaled an alarmed breath as she read. “What are you going to do?”
Dane shrugged, refolded the note, and tucked it away. “I’ll wait. I don’t have the information I need . . . Yet.”
She moved to the door. “Won’t you come in? Maybe we could discuss the situation further, and perhaps I can help figure it out. You know how I love a puzzle,” she said, her tone serious, acknowledging the importance of the missive.
“No. Not th
is time. I’ve much to consider.”
While it was true, he had another, more pressing reason for leaving Lady Priscilla Château at her doorstep. He had to get back to Victoria. He remembered once more the delicious curves of her body, that she wasn’t wearing the usual profuse layers of petticoats―she was dressed more in tune with a modern-day woman—and she was waiting for him in his bedchamber. She was an effortless problem to deal with compared his assignment, and he directed the cabbie to take him home at once.
~ ~ ~
Victoria pushed herself away from the beast and across the bed until her back hit the headboard. The dog raised his snout again. He wasn’t quite baring his teeth, but she rubbed the scar on her arm she’d gotten as a child anyway. She could still feel the sting of the bite.
Maybe having Wheatherby in the room wasn’t such a bad thing after all. At least he could control the animal. Dane was tall, strong, dynamic . . . and sexy.
When the dog didn’t move, Victoria forced her muscles to relax as she took in the elegant surroundings. A scroll-carved armoire, a side table, a large high-backed chair, and the huge bed—all spoke of high society. And then she saw it: the window.
There was her means for escape all along!
She hoped . . .
Glancing back to where the dog lay, she moved to the far side of the bed and quietly set her feet on the cold floor. Not daring to breathe, she tiptoed to the window. Outside was a slant of roof where a large arbor met the eave.
Splendid.
With trembling fingers, she grabbed the lock and unlatched the window, then she lifted. The sash stuck a bit, but she managed a hefty shove. As she climbed through the opening, she spied the dog out of the corner of her eye as he stood. Amazingly, he didn’t bark, just stood there with curious eyes and a wagging tail and watched her leave.
As she set her feet on the roof she noticed her grave mistake. In her concern over the dog, she had forgotten her shoes and coat!
But it was too late now. Going back in would only make it harder to leave again.
Victoria scooted down the slate roof on her bottom, not at all comfortable with how far she was from the ground. She tried to focus on the horizon, where muted lights from distant homes peeked through the trees. Everything was dark and gray.
When she came to the arbor, she flung her leg over the rail and prayed it would hold her weight. By the time she climbed to the bottom, her feet and hands were sore from pricks and scratches. Thank God the vines had been jasmine and not roses. She paused to catch her breath, brushed her hands on her clothes, and then traced across the lawn.
Since she didn’t have the ability to trace long distances, she ran and then traced, ran and traced.
A thicker fog moved in, enveloping the houses in an eerie mist that hid the rooftops and swallowed the occasional sounds of the city. It was a sad proclamation that drowned all signs of happiness, and as she traveled through the gloom, with her bare feet slapping wet pavement, her mind flitted to cold and hungry street urchins. She sped up to a run, careful not to trip on her skirts.
Victoria crossed the square and reached her favorite line of bowfront houses. She sighed and looked up at the pristine homes. She may have made it to safety, but she had let her father down, Her mind spun around the problem as she slowed to a walk. Earl Wheatherby had the watch. Her father was involved in some sneaky activity and if something happened to him, she would be all alone. She wouldn’t suffer the dismal fate of street waifs without him, she knew, but her life would drastically change, nonetheless.
In all her life, Victoria had never had to deal with anything completely on her own.
She imagined going back to Wheatherby’s and demanding the watch. The daydream curled around her with outrageous and wicked temptation. Suddenly, it occurred to her that if her fiancé discovered her wild activities, he might abandon her, as well. With each thought, she feared she was losing more and more control of her life.
When she arrived at the servants’ entrance of her father’s home, she opened the door, wincing at the cuts on her bare fingers. Thankfully, they’d be gone by morning.
She moved through darkness, grasped the crystal knob of the anteroom door, and rotated it. How could she tell her father she had failed?
She gasped as the door opened quickly from the other side.
Her father stood rigid before her. “Tori. Where in heaven’s name have you been?”
~ ~ ~
Dane took the stairs two at a time, listening for a telltale sound of someone upstairs and trying to prepare himself to see Victoria again. What was her story? Did she feel the same innate attraction to him as he felt to her? He expelled a heavy sigh. Sadly, under the circumstances, neither of their emotions mattered right now. He still had that niggling feeling she had some connection to the vampire he was chasing and the painting he was tracking, and that needed to be his focus.
Disgruntled, Dane entered the hallway and was immediately greeted by a flustered Mrs. Stokes.
“She’s gone, my lord,” she said.
“Bloody hell.”
He stopped short at the bedroom door and blinked. A biting disappointment sliced through him. His gaze skipped from the opened window, to her coat and shoes. Even as he scanned under the side table and into the dim recessed corners, he knew the room was empty.
He entered the room and slammed the door shut. Monroe romped over to greet him. “How could you let her go?” Dane muttered. The subdued gray wolfhound nudged his muzzle beneath Dane’s hand.
“Some guard dog you are.” He pushed the dog aside and turned to sit in the chair. “Damn. Now how am I going to find her?”
If he’d only tasted her blood then he would have had no problem. But he’d have to find someone who knew where the viscount lived. Dane removed the pocket watch from his waistcoat, flipped it open, and stared at the second hand ticking away. He knew so little about her. “You make a beautiful thief.”
And apparently she was strong and determined, too. He looked again at her coat and shoes. Why would she leave without them?
His breath caught in his throat. What if someone associated with tonight’s theatre events had tracked them and taken her? The notion didn’t seem probable, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He pictured the man in the gray suit—Mr. Simms—dead. A chill ran through him, right alongside an enormous sense of responsibility.
He shot to his feet and began pacing, feeling suddenly wild and possessive. The idea that anyone would even lay a hand on her infuriated him. He imagined her desperate and in need of his protection. He thought of the warning in the note. No. They couldn’t have her. She was his.
Christ. He had to find her. Had to know one way or the other.
He tucked the watch back into his inside jacket pocket before picking up her coat and draping it over his arm. “Come, Monroe,” he commanded as he swept through the room, out the door, and downstairs.
He grabbed a leash hanging by the back door and fastened it to the dog’s collar, refusing to dwell on the disturbing instant when he’d thought she was his. He didn’t even know her, yet a deep ache pulsed within his chest. How ridiculous was that?
“Get her scent,” he ordered the dog, holding her coat to his snout.
Lilacs. Even he could make out the delicate fragrance.
Dane chuckled to himself, recalling how she’d looked earlier huddled up on his bed, trying to get away from him. Then he allowed the animal the freedom to lead. The dog jerked forward, excited by the hunt.
“Find her, boy.”
~ ~ ~
“I’ll kill him,” Foster Clements declared.
“There isn’t need for violence, Father. I’m fine.” She didn’t want him to go after her abductor. The old vampire might get hurt. Or worse, call for a duel.
It was the middle of the night, and Tori fidgeted on the damask chair in front of the fireplace in her father’s study. He paced three steps, paused to stare at her, then paced back the other direction. He was everything b
ut happy.
“The problem now is that he has the watch,” she said. She’d already recounted what little information she had. Or at least recounted a version of the truth. No, she didn’t know or even see who had captured her. And she wasn’t about to tell him she was in the bedroom of the notorious rake, Earl Dane Wheatherby. Or that she left the watch to save herself. She wasn’t very proud of the last, but there was little choice at the time. “We can get it back. I know we can.”
The scowl that crossed her father’s face said this wasn’t what he’d intended at all. “You need not concern yourself with my affairs,” he said sternly. “Look at you. You could have been killed. I should have never allowed your involvement.” Then he marched over to her, placed his fingers beneath her chin, and tilted her face up so he could have a better look. “I’m sure the vampire didn’t even realize you’re of noble blood.”
“I maintained the finest deportment,” she mumbled the best she could with her jaw bound by his hand.
“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to tell if it had been me.”
“Now, Papa.” She stared at him as lines of concern creased his forehead.
“Hmph. I see you’re still capable of arguing, so obviously the scoundrel hasn’t done permanent damage.” He gave a half smile at what he considered their running joke. According to her father, she’d claim it was the sun shining instead of the moon if she had a point to get across.
“Does your head hurt much?”
“No,” she said, trying not to grimace.
“You’re lucky nothing is broken. And that the blow landed on your hard head instead of lower on the cheek or you’d be sporting a black eye tomorrow. Or worse, you could have broken your nosey-nose.” He let go of her chin, seemingly satisfied the injury wasn’t too severe. “The fault is mine. I should have never allowed you―”
Forever At Midnight: The Blood Keepers Series (The Blood Keepers Series, Vampire Novella Book 2) Page 3