“I love you, Papa,” she interrupted. Her father’s attempt at humor, slight though it was, spoke of his relief. Victoria stood, caught his forearm to stop him from moving away, then threw her arms around his neck in a big hug.
He squeezed her back, triggering pure and clear memories of when she was a child. Father! Father! she used to call to him, and he would scoop her up in his big, strong arms and hug her so tightly she felt like the most loved little girl in the world.
“I love you, too, Moppet,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear. “But you do know how to scare the life out of an old man. Your mother is probably going to come back from the grave to give me a swift kick. Which I probably deserve.”
Though he tried his best to hide it, she could tell her father had grown emotional. A wave of guilt crashed into her. Was her father’s business her business? She pressed her lips together to silence the multitude of questions she wanted to ask him. She knew this was all the fault of a secret order in the Freemasons’ service. Her father wouldn’t speak of it directly, but she knew. His involvement could ruin their family, of that she was certain, and it was likely going to get him killed eventually. But not if she could prevent it.
Promising herself she would find out the answers later, she pulled back, giving his burly chest a loving pat. “It’s late. Can we talk more of this tomorrow?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, you will give me a full account, and I’ll figure out what can be done about it,” he said.
They parted in the usual way. He kissed her forehead, and she kissed his cheek.
~ ~ ~
Outside on the walk, Dane watched the figures illuminated within the house where Monroe stopped. The dog tugged him toward the door. Dane pulled back on the leash without taking his gaze from the window. “Sit.”
Yes, she was the one he sought. She was lively and animated in her movements. He watched as she pushed her hair away from her face with both hands, then trailed her fingers down her neck, and finished by clasping her hands together over her breast. It was as if she was pleading with the older man. Then the two embraced.
It was a vivid hearth and home scene. The kind Dane had no experience with.
And the sight irked him.
She moved again closer to the window, and he tensed.
A thin sheen of perspiration surfaced over his temples. “Absurd. Bloody ridiculous. She’s two hundred feet away.” Yet, he craved such a hug from her. The kind of consuming embrace that can only occur when two people let each other in.
He muffled a cough and turned sharply, bringing the dog to heel. “Come on, Monroe. She’s safe. And I must be low on cobine.” There had to be a valid reason he was acting this way.
He turned and strolled briskly down the lane. Tomorrow he’d knock on her door.
He smiled to himself. How will she react to that, I wonder.
CHAPTER FOUR
Victoria awoke Saturday morning feeling the same sense of failure she’d felt the night before when she’d drifted into an exhausted sleep. She heard Mrs. Madison fussing about the room as she left warm water for Victoria’s morning rituals, and she groaned and rolled over, pulling the feather comforter over her head. How was her father going to fix what she’d done?
She waited until the maid left the room to pull the cover down and look around. Their home was one of conservative, if not meager, luxury. The family had two servants who both assumed multiple duties—Mrs. Madison, who was not only the maid but also the cook, and Carlyle, the footman and butler. For a short time after her mother’s death, Victoria had kept a personal maid, but the fragile woman had died of pneumonia two years prior and her father had never replaced her.
With a heavy heart, Victoria got out of bed and began to get ready for the day ahead. Once she was washed and dressed, she went downstairs to the kitchen where she ate a scone and drank hot tea. Her father usually joined her for the morning meal, but he was nowhere to be seen. Strange.
Warm rays of sunshine sliced through the window. The day was bright and fair, a noticeable contrast to the prior three days of rain. She plucked a second scone from the tray and added a few strawberries, then traipsed through the door and into the flower-laden courtyard where trimmed hedges bordered delicate rosebushes.
Victoria sat and ate the sweet berries, trying—unsuccessfully—not to think about the handsome earl or even her potentially endangered father. My, the walls feel confining today. She narrowed her focus on the wall in an attempt to control her thoughts. She began counting bricks in the courtyard wall. One, two, three . . . The earl still had the watch. Fourteen bricks between support towers . . . Could she find her way back to his house? The course of bricks to the left had thirteen . . . What could she offer Lord Wheatherby to persuade him to surrender the watch?
And so it went around the entire courtyard wall.
As she was lost in thought, Carlyle appeared at the entrance. “My lady, forgive me for the interruption, but did your father happen to mention having an errand to attend to this morning?”
“No. No, he didn’t.”
“Hmm,” Carlyle said. “Did he seem upset to you when last you saw him?”
Victoria’s breath caught. “Why do you ask?” she said warily.
“Well, it’s most disturbing. I went to assist him as is customary, but his room is in shambles and he’s nowhere about.” Carlyle shrugged. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”
Victoria stared at the servant. His eyes glistened with urgency, a contrast to his calm tone and easy manner. Without a doubt he had an opinion about what had transpired. But Carlyle was holding himself in check, perhaps so as not to upset her. And after last night’s miserable escapades, she had reason to worry. She wondered how much her father confided in the servant, if at all. She shoved the strawberries away from her and stood. “Show me father’s room, please.”
Carlyle led the way up the staircase and down a long hallway to the north wing of the house. Victoria’s nerves wound tighter with every step, but somehow she managed to stroll through the house, matching Carlyle’s calm. Cautiously, because she never ventured there, she paused outside her father’s bedchamber. She stared at Carlyle’s back, and the servant turned. “Be forewarned, my lady,” he said. “It is disastrous.”
She slid her hand over the door as she entered. The wood was cold beneath her palm.
~ ~ ~
Dane climbed from the coach and paused, looking to the footman briefly. “I won’t be long,” he explained. He moved past a row of stately elms lining the walk, conscious that his was the only rig about at ten in the morning. Not that it mattered.
He’d had a restless night with images of Victoria Clements tormenting him in his dreams . . . and even when he was wide-awake. Advancing toward the dwelling where he’d found her last evening, he was determined to set things right. And to find out the connection between her and the Arnolfini Portrait.
~ ~ ~
With a sharp intake of breath, Victoria scanned the disarray. Her father’s chair was resting toppled on its side, the Persian wool rug jabbed upward where it was scuffed into a ridge, and a glass was lying broken on the floor near the hearth. The room reeked of her father’s favorite brandy.
A spidery prickle ran up her spine. Something was terribly wrong. It looked as though there had been a brawl. Straightaway, her mind flew to the watch. Was there a link between this, this . . . whatever had happened here and her botched mission last night?
She walked over to the chair to right it, and Carlyle rushed forward. “Allow me,” he said.
“Yes . . . yes, thank you,” she said, relinquishing her hold on the intricately carved chair arm. “And go ahead and straighten the rest of the room, if you would please, Carlyle. I don’t think we’ll mention this to anyone just yet.”
“Perhaps the police should be contacted?”
“No, no police. Let’s wait until we speak to father.”
His mouth opened then snapped shut. He clearly didn’t agree, but he gave a curt nod.
“As you wish.”
As Carlyle arranged the rug and picked up the shards of glass, Victoria moved to the window. She imagined the tussle that had taken place in the room and wondered if her father emerged the winner or the loser. Since he wasn’t anywhere around, she feared it was the latter. With trembling fingers, she pushed aside the curtain. Where on earth was her father?
A movement along the walk caught her attention, and she craned her head forward, pressing her nose to the glass. No, it couldn’t be. Earl Wheatherby?
From her elevated vantage point, she saw the top of his hat and shoulders as he strolled with a confident swagger, emerging every now and then between trees. When he turned up the walk toward her house, she muffled a shocked, Oh! as she realized he would soon knock on the front door. Victoria dashed from the room, throwing a lame, haphazard excuse to Carlyle about needing to speak to Lady Griffin, a longtime family friend, for advice.
Her feet thudded on the steps and echoed off the picture-lined walls as she bounded along the stairs. When she reached the entrance, she clutched the knob, pasted a smile on her face, and swung the door open.
Dane stopped short, his hand raised in midair, as his eyes snapped to where she stood, obviously surprised that the door was flung wide before he’d had a chance to knock. His gaze met hers as a warm flush caressed her―a new and alarming tickle of the senses. She resisted shutting the door just to keep him at a distance.
He was going to give her the watch, period.
“Earl Wheatherby,” she said with an unsteady chuckle, trying to hide the fact that she was out of breath. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you today. I was just going for a walk to take in this lovely weather.” She stepped through the threshold, closing the door behind her.
“Lady Clements,” he said as his heel sharply slipped from the brick step in his forced retreat.
“Perhaps you should join me, for we have a disagreement to settle.” She flitted past him, and Dane turned to match her brisk tempo, coming up beside her.
“Precisely the reason I’m here.”
She directed their steps, going back in the direction from which he’d come. “Then you have it?”
“The watch?”
“Yes,” she said. The notion of getting the item back, of righting her wrong, lifted her drooping spirits.
He hesitated.
She stopped walking.
After two more nonchalant steps, he also halted, pivoted slowly―way too slowly and her heart skipped―and looked back at her, smiling.
Their eyes met, held. Victoria felt a startled tremor rumble inside her chest, like a team of eight horses passing by on a road. Oh, he played a spirited game. Much like her father. Only Dane played a far riskier game.
He patted his coat pocket and then raised an eyebrow at her. The earl clearly wanted something in return, and she tamped down the urge to pommel him. Of course, he couldn’t simply hand the watch over. That would be too noble.
With that roguish mahogany gaze, he studied her face while he casually withdrew the item she needed. The sun sparked a flash of gold from his hand.
“I knew you’d see reason,” she said, though she doubted he would, not without getting something first, but she mustn’t let him know that. She opened her palm to him.
The corners of Dane’s lips pulled first to one side, then gradually up at the other. “You may have it if you agree to accompany me when I speak with your father.”
A little stunned by his ultimatum, she thrust her hand closer to him. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you want to―”
“I have issues to discuss with the man.” Dane shrugged one shoulder as his dashing grin faded.
No. The answer screamed in her head immediately. First, and most importantly, she didn’t know where her father was. Second, based on the way her father reacted last night when she’d told him of what had happened, she didn’t know what he’d do when he came face-to-face with Earl Dane Wheatherby, the man who’d practically held her captive for two hours. And third . . . third . . . Oh, she couldn’t think when he was standing so near.
This was getting too complicated, haggling over a silly watch. Her gaze roamed the breadth of Dane’s solid shoulders, past his square, manly jaw, and narrowed at his amused stare. He was playing his trump card. Damnable man.
Finally, she inhaled a deep shuddering breath. “All right. I agree. I’ll even make the introduction. But it can’t be today. Father is away on business.”
Dane’s brows pinched. He didn’t believe her.
“Honest. You’re welcome to check if you’d like.” She motioned toward the house.
He grabbed her wrist and stilled her. She resisted the automatic need to pull away, to put distance between them. Not so much out of fear, but because . . . because?
Her mind went blank. His touch made her feel a little weak and caused a swirl of heat to bloom deep inside her.
Clasping her delicate hand between his two larger ones, he set the watch in her palm and closed her fingers around it. The metal radiated warmth―his warmth, she thought. When he released her, she curled her arm inward and rested the object possessively to her chest, somewhat amazed that he’d relented so easily.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. She fought the first wells behind her eyes as her throat constricted.
“This isn’t finished, though,” he said.
“Of course not. You may call on my father another day.”
Their eyes locked, regarding each other with nearly equal wariness.
“Yes . . .” he said slowly. “Another day it shall be.”
~ ~ ~
Dane inhaled her scent as his highly developed senses reached out to her, finding a confused mess of relief, suspicion, worry, and attraction. God, he wanted to drag her into his arms and hold her, comfort her. He blew out a harsh exhale. That was not the reason he was here.
“Come, I’ll walk you to the door,” he offered.
They strolled up the walk, back toward her house. When they reached the door, he asked, “What do you know of the picture inside the watch?”
Her eyes shifted away from his. “Nothing.” Her voice wavered slightly.
Footsteps sounded from behind the door, but they seemed far away somehow. Perhaps from upstairs. Was it her father? He reached for the doorknob and opened it for her. As she stepped inside, he moved along behind her, advancing into the parlor before she could protest. Prescribing to the opinion that the end justified the means, he wasn’t about to adhere to antiquated conventional manners. The door clicked shut as he heard more footsteps. This time on the stairs.
“Lady Clements, I found something of interest in your father’s suite.” The butler bounded into the room and stopped short, snapping his head up in surprise when he caught sight of Dane. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize we had a guest.”
“I’m looking for the viscount,” Dane said. Both Victoria and the butler peered at him as if he’d sprouted horns. But really, he didn’t have time for all the customs of Victorian London. “You were saying?”
The butler cleared his throat as he glanced at Victoria. He extended a note toward her. “I found this, my lady.”
Dane moved closer to her and peered over her shoulder. Off to the side, the butler’s lips formed a thin line in disapproval. Too bad. Again, he didn’t have time to deal with proper etiquette of the time. Dane couldn’t give a shit. She clearly didn’t, either, as she didn’t even pull it away. He read the note as she did:
If you want to see your father alive, bring the watch to Abby bridge. Nine sharp.
She grabbed on to his arm, and he tensed at the feel of her delicate grip. “Oh God.” Her shoulders hunched for a second, then she straightened. He fought the wild urge to gather her into his arms.
He cleared his throat. “So someone else requires the watch in order to free your father.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glazed with tears. “Will you help me?”
“Yes, of course.” And he left them.
“Victoria.” He placed his hand over hers. “Given the unusual nature of the watch, I believe we are after the same thing. There is a real painting that matches the one inside the watch. It is what I am searching for.”
She looked at him, her eyes beautiful round orbs as she bit her lip. “I overheard father mention the painting to someone.”
He nodded, anticipating that one would lead him to the other. With renewed enthusiasm, he took out his iPhone from his inner jacket pocket. Not that he expected it to work, but he could review and take pictures, at least until the battery died.
She pulled away from him. “What’s that?”
“It’s a special tool. I can capture and view pictures with it. See?” He pulled up the picture he’d taken of the Arnolfini Portrait before he’d left. She leaned into his shoulder as she examined the phone. His body reacted immediately to her soft weight against him, making him hard with desire.
Ignore it.
He flipped open the watch, snapped a photo, then showed it to Victoria.
“It’s like magic,” she said amazed.
Then he took a picture of her while she was still smiling. As he admired the results, a lump lodged in his throat. She was absolutely gorgeous and the picture captured her perfectly, with her eyes shining and her moist lips parted.
He gazed into her eyes. “You’re beautiful.” And in that moment, he forgot everything else―her father, his mission, the customs of the day, everything―as he leaned in and kissed her with all the longing that had been building inside of him since he’d crashed into her on the street.
She growled low in her throat, which made him do the same, a deep moan reverberating in his chest. When he pulled away, she was panting for air. “I . . . It’s so hot in here.”
He flew off the sofa and traced over to the fireplace. Did she realize what was happening? That a blood-mating thrall had begun between them? It was an ancient ritual, one they had no control over, that only destiny could command. He’d known there was something special about her from that first moment, but he hadn’t expected her to be his fate. They didn’t even live in the same century! He fisted his hands and his entire body tensed as he fought to resist her overwhelming appeal.
Forever At Midnight: The Blood Keepers Series (The Blood Keepers Series, Vampire Novella Book 2) Page 4