The Vampire Who Loved Me

by Teresa Medeiros

  Adrian glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly sinking sun. “If we’re going to go, we’d best go now before the twins show up on a pair of ponies, waving wooden swords.”

  Following his lead, they spurred their mounts down the hill, determined not to waste another precious minute of daylight.

  They stormed the manor as if it were a battlefield, ripping every scrap of crepe from every window and flooding its dusty rooms and deserted corridors with winter sunshine. Portia and Adrian searched the upstairs chambers and attics for any sign of secret stairwells or passages while Larkin and Wilbury combed the basement kitchens and cellars, crossbows at the ready.

  Portia started into a spacious bedchamber on the third floor, then froze in her tracks. Two empty sets of iron manacles hung from iron hooks set deep in the wall. She shuddered, remembering how Valentine had offered to let Raphael’s minions keep her occupied while she entertained Julian. Judging from the coppery tang still hanging in the air and the dark stains soaked into the wooden floor, she doubted they would be keeping anyone occupied ever again.

  “What is it?” Adrian murmured, coming up behind her.

  She shook her head. “Something I’d rather not remember.”

  He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before leading the way to the next room.

  They returned to the ballroom just as Larkin and Wilbury were emerging from the lower reaches of the house, cobwebs draping their hair. Not surprisingly, Wilbury looked rather natural in them.

  “Nothing,” Larkin confirmed, his expression grim. “No vampires. No minions. And worst of all—no Eloisa. We didn’t even find a single coffin where a vampire might be hiding.”

  Portia frowned. “Could there be a family crypt located somewhere on the grounds of the estate?”

  Larkin shook his head. “I took the liberty of paying a visit to the former owner of the property today. He swore his ancestors were all buried in the village churchyard.”

  Shadows had begun to creep down the length of the long room, bruising the fading light. Portia stole a glance at the French windows at the far end of the ballroom. “The sun is setting, Adrian. What are we going to do?”

  He swore an anguished oath. “What I’d like to do is burn this accursed place to the ground and leave nothing but a pile of ashes where it once stood.”

  “I know you would but we don’t dare,” Portia said. “Not until we’re absolutely sure they haven’t stashed Eloisa somewhere within its walls.”

  “There’s a good chance that Valentine knew this would be the first place we’d come looking for her,” Larkin said. “If she warned this Raphael chap, none of the vampires may ever darken this door again. Perhaps we should return to the town house,” he reluctantly suggested. “She might have sent some sort of note while we’ve been away.”

  “A ransom note?” Adrian snorted. “What’s she going to say? Bring me your brother’s head or you’ll never see your little girl alive again?”

  “Well, actually you couldn’t bring her Julian’s head because if you cut it off, he would crumble into dust,” Larkin pointed out.

  Adrian just glared at him. “I was speaking figuratively.”

  “It’s not his head she wants anyway,” Portia said grimly. “It’s his heart.”

  Adrian raked a hand through his hair. “Perhaps I should take one last look at the cellars myself before we go. If only to ease my own mind.”

  “I’ll stay here and keep a lookout,” Portia volunteered as Larkin and Adrian went striding toward the archway. “The cellar is the last place we want to get trapped if the vampires should return.”

  “Shall I stay with you?” Wilbury asked, casting a longing look after the men.

  Portia drew her crossbow over her shoulder and slotted a bolt before giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be just fine, Wilbury. They might need a strapping young fellow like you to pry open a door or move a heavy stone.”

  Nodding gratefully, he hurried after the men, a youthful spring in his shuffle. Portia sank down on the marble steps that led up to the second-floor gallery, secretly grateful for the moment of privacy.

  She could hardly believe that only two nights ago she had been whirling around this very ballroom in Julian’s arms. It was even more difficult to believe that she might never again taste the tender and intoxicating pleasure she had found there. She almost wished he had been able to get her with child. She would have gladly endured whatever disgrace society chose to heap upon her just to have something to remember him by. A little boy perhaps with dashing dark eyes and a devilish grin. The image sent a jolt of raw pain through her heart.

  She surged to her feet, disgusted with herself for being so selfish as to dream of holding her own child when little Eloisa was still at the mercy of those fiends. She prowled restlessly around the ballroom, watching the last of the sunlight bleed from the air. Unable to bear the oppressiveness of the encroaching shadows, she drew a tinder box from the skirt of her riding habit and lit several of the candles scattered throughout the room.

  As she retrieved her crossbow and surveyed her handiwork from the foot of the stairs, she once again saw Julian’s eyes sparkling down at her in the candlelight, felt his powerful hand against the small of her back, urging her closer with each graceful shift of his hips, each dizzying revolution around the ballroom floor. The dead leaves had swirled beneath their feet with each step, a crisp counterpart to the soaring strains of the waltz.

  As Portia closed her eyes, she would have almost sworn she heard those strains again, drifting to her ears in a ghostly echo. She cocked her head to the side, so beside herself with yearning that it took her a minute to realize that she wasn’t hearing a waltz, but a lullaby. A lullaby crooned in a lilting soprano with just a trace of a French accent.

  She slowly opened her eyes and turned, her hackles rising.

  Valentine stood at the top of the stairs just as she had on that night. Portia instinctively lifted the crossbow, then lowered it just as quickly. Because cradled tenderly in Valentine’s arms was a sleeping Eloisa.

  Nineteen

  Portia frantically searched her niece’s face beneath its tumbled cap of honey-colored curls, torn between horror and relief. Eloisa’s little mouth was pursed into a perfect rosebud, her cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. Her throat was unmarked and her chest rose and fell evenly beneath the ruffled bodice of her nightdress. She appeared to be both alive and unharmed.

  Portia wanted to kick herself when she realized that Valentine must have come from the one room neither she nor Adrian had searched. The room with the nasty stains on the floor and the empty chains on the wall—chains that could be tugged or twisted to reveal a secret chamber or passageway.

  Her finger caressed the trigger of the crossbow. She knew she had no hope of getting a clean shot at Valentine’s heart—not as long as she was using Eloisa as a human shield.

  Ellie was as sturdy as a little pony, but the vampire’s pale, slender arms showed no sign of strain. Her supernatural strength would probably allow her to bear the child for hours without suffering so much as a pesky muscle twitch.

  “I had a child of my own once, you know,” Valentine said softly, gazing down into Eloisa’s face with chilling fondness. “A little girl much like this one.”

  “What happened to her? Did you eat her?”

  Valentine shot her a chiding glance. “Of course not. After I was attacked when I was strolling along the banks of the Seine and turned into a vampire, I never laid eyes on her again. I’ve often wondered what became of her.” She sighed, her striking emerald eyes touched with a hint of sadness. “I suppose she would be long dead of old age by now.”

  Portia steeled herself against a pang of pity, knowing she could ill afford it. “If you were a mother once, then you must remember what it’s like to suffer in fear for your child. My sister is suffering right now, her every moment a waking nightmare.” She planted a foot on the bottom stair, bringing herself one step closer to Eloisa. “If there’s
even a scrap of humanity left in you, an ounce of mercy, please give me the baby and let me return her to her mother’s arms.”

  “I really wish I could,” Valentine said with a sigh of regret. “Especially since you asked so prettily. But I’m afraid your sister will just have to continue to suffer until Julian is back in my arms.”

  “That’s the one thing I can’t give you! I don’t even know where he is.”

  “Surely he hasn’t tired of you so quickly? Have you forgotten that I know exactly how insatiable his sexual appetites can be? Why, the first time we were together, it was an entire glorious week before he even let me out of his bed.”

  Portia’s stomach clenched into an agonized knot as she desperately tried not to picture Julian doing to Valentine all of the same wild and tender things he’d done to her.

  “Why would he abandon you when you can give him the one thing I never could—your love?”

  On Valentine’s lips, the word sounded like an epithet. Eloisa stirred restlessly in her arms, her brow puckering in a frown.

  “How could I expect you to understand the love of a mother for a child or the love of a woman for a man?” Portia demanded, inching up another step. “All you understand is greed and hunger and lust and violence. Love requires patience and tenderness and the willingness to sacrifice yourself for a greater good.”

  “Love does nothing but make you weak! It turns you into an object of pity and derision—a mewling pathetic creature no more fit to live than a worm squirming on the pavement after a hard summer rain.”

  Portia shook her head. “That’s not love. That’s obsession. True love doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong. It gives you the courage you need to get through even the loneliest night.” Eloisa’s lashes were beginning to flutter. Portia dared another step. “I used to think that falling in love meant being swept off your feet by a handsome prince who would never leave you. But now I know that prince can love you so much that he feels he has no choice but to let you go.”

  A man’s droll voice came from behind her, accompanied by a round of dry applause. “Bravo! I haven’t heard such a touching performance since they coaxed Sarah Siddons out of retirement to trod the boards at the Drury Lane Theatre one final time.”

  Before Portia could even turn around, Eloisa opened her eyes, stretched out her chubby little arms toward the French doors and crowed, “Unca Jules! Unca Jules!”

  Twenty

  Portia slowly turned to find Julian standing just inside the French doors at the far end of the ballroom. He was garbed all in black. He wore a black shirt with an elegant fall of midnight lace at the collar and cuffs and black breeches tucked into a pair of tall leather boots. He had never looked more like a prince of the night.

  “Had I known Miss Cabot was going to deliver one of her impassioned speeches on the sentimental nature of true love, I would have tucked an extra handkerchief in my pocket,” he said, his cool, contemptuous gaze raking over her like a particularly beautiful but lethal blade.

  Before Portia could assess just how much damage it had done to her heart, Valentine unleashed a bitter laugh. “I knew if she was here, you couldn’t be far behind. It’s quite tiresome the way you trot at her heels like a stag in rut.”

  “Don’t flatter the chit, angel. You know I trot at every pretty girl’s heels like a stag in rut…especially yours.”

  Eloisa was beginning to squirm in earnest now, her big gray eyes filling with frustrated tears. Whining and fretting, she arched her back, obviously wanting to be set down so she could run to her handsome uncle.

  Valentine hissed at her, the tips of her fangs just beginning to show. “I knew I should have given you a few more drops of laudanum.”

  “Give her your necklace,” Portia blurted out, terrified Valentine’s legendary patience was about to run out.

  Valentine shifted her glare to her. “What?”

  “She likes to play with shiny baubles. If you give her your necklace, it may distract her for a little while.”

  Valentine lifted one haughty eyebrow. “The sultan of Brunei gave me these sapphires. Do you have any idea how much they cost?”

  “No,” Portia replied, “but I’m sure you earned every penny of their price.”

  Valentine’s eyes narrowed, but she drew the necklace over her neck and reluctantly surrendered it to Eloisa. Just as Portia had predicted, her niece was enchanted by the string of sparkling gems. Within seconds she was cocked back in the crook of Valentine’s arm, happily sucking on the largest stone. Her eyelids began to droop again, obviously still beneath the spell of the laudanum.

  Shuddering in disgust, Valentine returned her attention to Julian. “So have you come to plead for your niece’s life? Because at the moment I would like nothing more than to see you on your knees before me.”

  Julian shrugged. “The brat’s life is of little import to me. But I have brought you something I think you’ll find much more filling.”

  He stepped outside the doors. He reappeared a brief moment later, driving a man ahead of him. Portia gasped as she recognized his friend from both the duel and the alley. Cuthbert’s hands were bound behind him and a grubby cloth had been stuffed between his lips. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut and ringed with an ugly bruise. Blood was still oozing from his split bottom lip. Valentine’s patrician nostrils flared as if she’d scented a particularly juicy cut of meat.

  Julian marched his captive across the ballroom. Without sparing Portia so much as a glance, he shoved Cuthbert roughly to the floor at the foot of the stairs. Resting one booted foot on the small of his back, he sketched Valentine a graceful bow. “For my lady’s pleasure.”

  Valentine tilted her head to the side and studied his offering for several seconds. “He’s a bit plump for my tastes, but I suppose it’s the sentiment that counts.”

  “Ellie!” They all turned as Adrian’s cry of mingled joy and anguish reverberated through the ballroom.

  He came running into the room with Larkin and Wilbury just behind him, their weapons at the ready. While Julian looked mildly amused by their sudden appearance, Valentine didn’t betray so much as a flinch of alarm. She didn’t have to. Not as long as she was holding all of the cards—and Eloisa.

  Adrian stumbled to a halt several feet from the stairs, his desperate gaze flicking from Eloisa to Portia and finally to Julian before returning to Valentine.

  “Give me my daughter,” he demanded, raising the crossbow in his hands and pointing it straight at her beautiful face. “Now.”

  “Or you’ll what? Shoot me? If I were you, I wouldn’t so much as startle me. You wouldn’t want me to drop the child, would you? A tumble down these marble stairs would probably snap her fragile little neck right in two.”

  While Portia inched up one more step, Adrian made an inarticulate sound through teeth clenched with rage. He slowly lowered the crossbow. “What do you want from us?”

  His foot still resting on Cuthbert’s back, Julian spread his arms wide. “Isn’t that obvious? She wants what every woman with an empty bed and a lonely heart wants. Me.”

  Adrian stared at his brother as if he’d never seen him before. “Have you lost your wits?”

  “No, brother dear, I’ve finally come to them. Duvalier was right all along. Why should I spend a miserable eternity fighting my destiny when I could be embracing it? Which is why I brought Valentine this tasty little offering as proof of my sincerity.” Cuthbert grunted as Julian stepped off of him and onto the first stair. “And my undying devotion.”

  Valentine looked even more skeptical than Adrian. “Why should I believe a word you say? You and your precious little Penelope have already tried to trick me twice.”

  He shook his head. “I was the one who was deceived by my ridiculous infatuation with the chit. After only one night in her arms, I realized she isn’t half the woman you are. She could never please me the way you can.”

  Although he was now abreast with Portia, he was gazing up at Valentine, his dark e
yes softened with a melting tenderness Portia recognized only too well. She turned her face away and bit her lip, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

  “Was she truly so tiresome?” Valentine asked, sounding intrigued in spite of herself.

  Julian continued to climb. “I can assure you that you would have found her pathetic attempts to please me just as amusing as I did.” When Valentine continued to eye him with open suspicion, he added, “I had her once before, you know. When she was just a girl. I had hoped she would take a few lovers between then and now to improve her skills, but I’m afraid she wasted the whole time I was gone mooning over me like some besotted child. If you must know, I found her to be as clumsy and inept as ever.”

  Portia sucked in a breath, her lungs burning as if she’d inhaled ground glass.

  “You son of a bitch,” Adrian whispered, his worst fears about the crypt finally realized. His face going stark white, then red, he raised the crossbow again, pointing it not at Valentine but at his brother’s back.

  Although Portia wanted nothing more at the moment than to snatch the weapon from Adrian’s hands and shoot Julian herself, she shouted, “No!” and lunged for Adrian.

  Before she could even reach the foot of the stairs, he adjusted his aim and fired, sending the lethal bolt whizzing just past Julian’s ear. It embedded itself in the gallery rail with a resounding thud.

  Julian slowly pivoted. As he gazed down at his brother, an insolent smile touched his lips. “It’s a bit late to be defending her honor, don’t you think?”

  Adrian’s face was a mask of anguish and fury. “She saved your life in that crypt! And that’s how you thanked her—by robbing her of her innocence? My God, you are a monster, aren’t you?”

  “So they tell me.” Dismissing his brother with a snort of contempt, Julian climbed the last few steps to join Valentine at the top of the stairs. She was beginning to eye him with new appreciation.