Blood Marriage

by Regina Richards

  "Why should we?" Nicholas asked mildly, while mentally consigning the man to hell.

  "Why?" the detective echoed. He took his time stirring several teaspoons of sugar into his tea, his spoon clicking, sharp and rhythmic, against the china.

  The sound grated on Nicholas's nerves, but he kept his face fixed in a mask of polite enquiry.

  "Last night all my men, all my men, slept through the night. Even the two who'd slept most of the previous day in anticipation of being posted to night watch. Do you find that odd, your lordship?"

  "Very."

  "So do I. And do you know what we found when we woke this morning?"

  "How could I?"

  "We found a trail of blood spots leading from the stable," --Detective Fielding used his spoon to wave in the direction of the stables and then flipped it to point in the opposite direction, all the while smiling at Elizabeth-- "to your room, Lady Devlin."

  Beneath his hand, Nicholas felt Elizabeth's trembling increase. The detective had been baiting her all day, trying to upset her, perhaps hoping she'd lose control and reveal something he could use. Nicholas wanted to rip the man's head from his shoulders. He forced a calm smile.

  "It was my blood, Detective," Nicholas said. He pushed his hair back from his forehead, revealing the fast-healing wound Elizabeth's rock had caused. "I went to the stables last night. With most of the servants gone we must do more for ourselves. Clumsy of me."

  "Clumsy? No, you're never that, Lord Devlin." Anger and a hint of surprise were in Fielding's voice.

  Elizabeth pulled her hands free of Nicholas's grasp. She reached up to her hat and lowered the filmy black material she'd worn throughout the funeral over her face, veiling her expressive violet eyes. Fielding sipped his tea and studied her over the rim of his cup.

  "Lennie," Fielding said, "I want everyone in this household accounted for. And send a man to the village. Find out if anyone went missing last night."

  The detective's gaze raked Nicholas's face, his eyes hard. Nicholas kept his expression impassive. Obviously Fielding didn't believe the story of a stable accident, but at the moment that wasn't important. He was tired of the runners' constant harassment. And worried about Elizabeth.

  She'd slept fitfully last night, mumbling and startling, troubled by nightmares. She hadn't eaten all day, refusing breakfast before the funeral and eating nothing at the luncheon that followed. Throughout the death rituals she'd been quietly, mechanically gracious, even to those who'd heard the gossip and attended to gawk rather than mourn. She'd allowed him to lead her from carriage to church to burial vault to carriage, but had not spoken to him or let him comfort her. Last night's transmission had made her physically strong, but Nicholas feared emotionally she was near the end of her endurance. Detective Fielding seemed to think so as well and appeared intent on exploiting it to his advantage.

  "My wife has just said goodbye to her mother, Detective. She needs peace and rest. We can talk later. Now, I must take her to her room." Nicholas stood. Elizabeth stood with him. Detective Fielding remained seated, his eyes on his teacup.

  "Lennie will be happy to escort Lady Devlin to her room. I fear I must ask you, your lordship, to stay."

  Elizabeth sat down again. "I prefer to wait and go up with my husband."

  Nicholas sat as well, hope welling within him. It was the first indication she'd given since last night that she still might feel something for him. He squeezed her hand. She didn't respond.

  Fielding sipped his tea and the silence stretched overlong. The detective's eyes remained on Elizabeth. Beneath Nicholas's hand, her hands began to shake. Fielding added another spoonful of sugar to his tea. The spoon resumed its click, click, click.

  The desire to knock the cup from the lawman's hand and order him from the house was almost overwhelming. It took all the control Nicholas had to continue to sit quietly, a polite smile on his lips. With the duke's permission, the runners had settled into the rooms vacated by the servants who'd fled. They'd been given the run of the house and property as well. Nicholas knew his father was acquiescing to all of Fielding's demands both because of the detective's thinly veiled threats to arrest Nicholas and in deference to the authority of the royal seal on the papers Fielding carried.

  The feeling of being powerless in his own home rankled, but it was the cat and mouse game the detective was playing with Elizabeth that was driving Nicholas mad. And perhaps that is what the man intended. Perhaps the fact that the runners were shadowing his wife, upsetting and intimidating her with their constant presence, had as much to do with rattling Nicholas himself as with anything she might tell them.

  Fielding had found Nicholas's Achilles heel. It was Elizabeth.

  The click of the detective's spoon hitting the china cup was the only sound in the room. Fielding leaned back in his chair. The stirring stopped and for a moment it looked as if he might speak. Then, as if he'd thought better of it, he resumed stirring. Click, click, click.

  Nicholas knew the tactic, as did any boy who'd run afoul of his teachers at school. That didn't make it any less effective. A glance at Elizabeth eased his mind. Beneath her veil, her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even. Had it not been for her straight-backed posture, he might have thought she slept. Perhaps she too had had a childhood instructor who'd used silence to set nerves a-jangle and loosen tongues.

  Long seconds passed. Finally, the detective spoke again.

  "How long has it been since your marriage, Lady Devlin? Six days? How long an engagement? Three weeks? Ah, but you only saw Lord Devlin once during that time, didn't you? In fact, the only time you spoke to his lordship before your wedding was the night you met. True?"

  "Yes," Elizabeth answered softly.

  "How well can you really know a man in such a short time?"

  "Well enough," she said.

  "I do not mean to be indelicate, your ladyship..."

  "Then don't be," Nicholas warned.

  "But," Detective Fielding continued, "innocent young women sometimes confuse knowing a man's character with the knowing of him in a more, well, romantic sense."

  "That is enough!" Nicholas started to rise, intending to throw Fielding bodily from the room.

  Lennie stepped forward, hands fisted.

  Elizabeth caught Nicholas's arm. Something in her touch, protective, unexpected, caused him to sink back into his seat. Lennie returned to his post in front of the door.

  "I assure you, Detective Fielding," Elizabeth's voice was low, her eyes beneath misty veil lowered, "that my regard for my husband is deeper than you imply."

  "You feel you know this man you've wed, Lady Devlin. It's natural for a young wife to want to believe so, but let me enlighten you to what I know about Lord Devlin."

  Even through the rage simmering inside him, Nicholas could see the wisdom of remaining quiet. It would be to his advantage to know what the detective knew. Or thought he knew. So he controlled his temper, hoping that whatever the detective would say would not damn him further in Elizabeth eyes.

  "Four months ago I began tracking a killer," Fielding said. "I've tracked many in my career. As has Lennie. But never one like this. This killer, Lady Devlin, believes himself to be a vampire. This belief is so deeply rooted in his unbalanced mind that he wounds his victims in the throat and drains them of blood until they are dead."

  "How?" Elizabeth asked softly.

  "What?"

  "How, Detective Fielding?" she said, her tone quiet, but firm. "If this killer you speak of is in truth a madman who believes himself a vampire, how does he drain the bodies of blood? Surely the victims don't cooperate in their own deaths, remaining quiet while they're slowly killed."

  Fielding looked at Lennie. Lennie shrugged.

  "We aren't yet certain of the how, Lady Devlin, but the important point is that there are no vampires. They are imaginary monsters suitable for frightening the young and naive. They are no more than tales meant to keep children safely in bed at night where they belong, rather
than wandering about getting into mischief in the hours of darkness."

  Behind the veil, violet eyes flashed. Nicholas sat back a little. Detective Fielding was making a grave error in talking down to Elizabeth. She was an intelligent woman. To treat her as less was a mistake.

  "Very well, Detective," she said. "If there are no such things as vampires, how is your madman getting his victims to remain still while he drains their bodies. And in my mother's case at least, how did he do so without leaving more than a few drops of blood behind?"

  "We don't know. Yet. We suspect the victims are drugged somehow." The detective's eyes grew hard. "Perhaps in much the same manner that I and my men were drugged last night."

  "And the blood?" Elizabeth challenged.

  "That we also don't know yet," Fielding said. "But we'll find out. For now, how is not as important as who. We must end the killing. And for that to happen we must arrest the murderer and put him in jail. You would not want your mother's killer to go free, would you, Lady Devlin?"

  Elizabeth's sigh was one of profound weariness. "My mother was within days, if not hours, of death already."

  "Grubner was not," Fielding countered. "Margaret was not. Seven others in the last four months were not dying. Not until they became victims of this madman." Fielding set his empty cup on the table and leaned forward, peering at Elizabeth as if trying to make eye contact through the veil. "Let me tell you what we know. The night you became engaged to Lord Devlin a hackney dropped him outside Mrs. Huntington's home. His lordship was seen giving the driver of that hackney one gold crown, and offering him another to meet him in the park later."

  "Finding two gold crowns on a body does not prove my husband is a killer," Elizabeth said. "London is full of coins."

  Fielding reeled back in surprise. His brow knit and his eyes traveled from Elizabeth to Nicholas and then slowly over to Lennie.

  "I told her." Lennie shrugged. "The night after the trouble at Maidenstone. Was trying to bring her to her senses." The burly runner didn't meet Fielding's eyes.

  "Did you give the jarvie that second crown, Lord Devlin?" Detective Fielding pressed on, despite being obviously rattled by his subordinate's indiscretion.

  Nicholas didn't need Fielding's barely suppressed vehemence to know he was in dangerous waters. If he admitted he'd given the jarvie the second crown, they might arrest him. If he denied it, and they had a witness, he'd have put the noose around his own neck.

  "I walked home that night." Nicholas said. "I'd gone to Mrs. Huntington's party engaged to Amanda Blakely, found out my good friend was in love with her, and left engaged to Elizabeth. I needed a chance to think so I decided to walk."

  Lennie made a slight adjustment in his stance. Nicholas knew instantly. Someone had seen him. They had a witness. The look in Fielding's eyes confirmed it.

  "But," Nicholas said, "I'd promised the jarvie a second crown. I walked through the park on my way home and left it with him. The last time I saw the man he was alive."

  Elizabeth's breath released. Lennie changed body position almost imperceptibly, as if he too had relaxed a little. Detective Fielding scowled.

  "So do you wish us to believe, Lord Devlin, that it is just a coincidence you were at the scene of the jarvie killing in London?" Fielding demanded.

  "I didn't kill that man," Nicholas said.

  "Is it also coincidence that you were in the vicinity of five of the seven other killings in London? We have witnesses who can testify to it. And what of the night Margaret was attacked? You came into the house practically on her heels and knew precisely where to find the other maid, Katie, afterward. Near the very spot where Margaret was attacked! Was it mere chance you were in the stables the night Grubner was killed and were also discovered locked in Amelia Smith’s room the night she died? Such a series of coincidences strains credulity, your lordship."

  "If Nicholas had attacked Margaret," Elizabeth challenged, "why would he find Katie, the only witness to the attack, and bring her home alive?"

  "Remember, Lady Devlin, at that time he didn't know we were on his trail. Perhaps he believed Katie could identify him and by saving Margaret he might win some leniency. Or perhaps it's even simpler than that. Live servants can be bribed to lie. Dead ones land a man on the gallows."

  "I didn't attack Margaret," Nicholas said.

  "He wasn't the only one who left the house the night Margaret was attacked," Elizabeth insisted. "And on the night Gru-- oh!" Elizabeth startled as Nicholas had pinched her thigh lightly.

  "Who else left the house the night Margaret was attacked, Lady Devlin?" Fielding's voice was fist-tight.

  Elizabeth bowed her head, showing Fielding the top of her funeral hat.

  "What do you know concerning the whereabouts of your husband on the night Grubner was murdered?" Fielding demanded.

  Nicholas held his breath. If Elizabeth told even a small part of what she'd seen over the last few days, he'd be arrested today and hang before summer passed. Neither wealth, title, nor power would save him from crimes like these.

  For a vampire, a trip to the gallows would be an unpleasant experience, though not a fatal one. But Nicholas was only half vampire. Though Lucretia had certainly given him the ability to heal more quickly than an ordinary man -- the wound he'd shown Fielding was already half its original size -- would it be enough to survive the noose? He'd never been killed before. Would he, like a full blood, retain a small spark of life, heal quickly and cheat death? Even if he did, his life as Nicholas Devlin, Marquis of Devlin, heir to a dukedom, would be over. To the world that man would no longer exist. And what of Elizabeth? Without the final transmission her illness would eventually return. He could not afford to be arrested.

  "A wife," Nicholas said, "cannot be forced to give evidence against her husband."

  "A wife," Detective Fielding countered, "should not protect a murderer so that he can kill again and again. Should she, Lady Devlin?"

  "No, she should not." Elizabeth lifted her head.

  Nicholas felt a sharp jolt of despair. Had she finally lost faith in him?

  "But," she added, "that has nothing to do with me, Detective Fielding. Since I am not married to a murderer."

  Elizabeth pushed the veil back from her face and stood. The men stood as well. Dark circles beneath her eyes made her look weary and frightened, but the tilt of her chin and thrust of her jaw made it clear she'd reached the end of her patience.

  "Now, if we are quite finished here, and even if we are not..." Elizabeth raised a challenging eyebrow at the men. "I am going to my room."

  Detective Fielding bowed at the waist, though his eyes were angry. Elizabeth swept from the room like the future duchess she was. Nicholas grabbed a plate of sandwiches from the tea tray and followed in her wake. Lennie stepped aside and let him go.

  Last night's transmission had worked almost too well. She was moving without pain, fast in her anger. He caught up to her at the top of the stairs and got in front of her, forcing her to stop. Down the hall, a runner sat in a chair outside their bedroom door. Nicholas suspected Alice waited inside with instructions never to leave them alone. If he wanted to speak with Elizabeth, it would have to be now. He didn't know where to begin.

  Elizabeth tried to brush past him. He used the plate of sandwiches, presented like a peace offering, to block her way. She shook her head and pushed them aside. He set the plate on the stair rail, but he held his ground, not allowing her to pass.

  "What?" she asked.

  "Thank you." It seemed a safe place to begin. It wasn't.

  "For what? For shielding a man I barely know from trouble he's brought on himself and may deserve? Or perhaps it's thank you for helping you continue to dodge and distract and deceive? You don't explain yourself to anyone, do you, Nicholas Devlin?"

  "Not usually." He was trying for humor, unsure how to respond to this angry tirade. Another mistake. Her finger stabbed into his chest. Her voice rose.

  "I don't know what's going on, but I find it im
possible to believe you a murderer. Though why that crime would be beyond you when lying, cheating, grave-robbing, and, and..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Why, Nicholas? Why?"

  He knew she was referring to what had happened on the soft moss beneath the oak tree last night, but he didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Not for a few more days.

  "I haven't lied. Not to you. Not directly anyway. And I certainly haven't cheated."

  Elizabeth's face grew redder, her expression more indignant.

  "Please Elizabeth, trust me. Just a few more days. Then I'll tell you all there is to know."

  "Trust you?! How can I, when you won't trust me?"

  The runner at the end of the hall was becoming interested in their conversation. Nicholas was certain the man could hear little at this distance, but he'd risen from his chair and it was only a matter of seconds before he came their way.

  "Keep your voice down, please, Elizabeth."

  "Of course. Let's keep our secrets. It would help if you'd tell me what secrets I'm supposed to be keeping. Would that make things too easy, darling? Would it take the mystery, intrigue, and fun out of whatever it is you do when you sneak out of our bed each night?" She was hysterical, almost shouting now. He should slap her, bring her back to her senses before she went too far, revealed too much.

  Doors creaked open up and down the hall. Footsteps were coming up the stairs. The runner was moving toward them. Nicholas grabbed Elizabeth by the arm. He needed to quiet her before she said something that caused them both more trouble.

  "I didn't tell Fielding about you, Nicholas, but I--"

  He yanked her hard against his chest. The whoosh of her breath caressed his lips as they descended on hers. He pivoted, taking her with him, so that he could see the runner from one half-open eye. The man stopped, hesitated, then backed away down the hall, slowly settling into the chair again, watching them.

  Elizabeth struggled in his arms. Then quieted. Her body molded to his. Her hands grasped his upper arms. Passion ignited in him. Her heel stomped down on his boot and her hand smacked hard across his cheek.