by Dean James
After a moment, my lack of responsiveness communicated itself to Tris’s overheated libido. He released me.
“You can be excessively tedious sometimes, Simon,” Tris complained. He turned and went into what I called the living room, though locals might have referred to it as the parlor or sitting room.
Tris made himself comfortable in the largest chair in the room and reached into his inner jacket pocket for his pipe and tobacco pouch. As I stood there glaring at him, he calmly filled his pipe with tobacco, then proceeded to light it. Aromatic smoke began curling around his head, and he sat and smiled at me while he puffed away.
“You’re quite welcome to smoke in my house,” I said acidly. I sat down on the sofa across from him. Once again I marveled at his ability to produce smoke in such prodigious quantities. Vampires don’t breathe, naturally, but can appear to do so when necessary. Tris had been a dedicated smoker for decades before he became a vampire, and he had kept up the habit in death. As he no longer had to worry about lung cancer, he reasoned, he might as well indulge himself.
“I should think so,” Tris said, teeth clenched around the stem of his straight briar, “especially since this used to be my house, and I gave it to you.”
“I’m well aware of that,” I said. “I greatly appreciate your generosity, Tris, and I have come to love this place and my existence in this village. If you’re having second thoughts about your gift, you need to let me know.”
“No, Simon, you’re quite welcome to Laurel Cottage,” Tris said, waving a hand through the smoke swirling around him. “It’s not the cottage I want back.”
I almost laughed, but with one look at his face, I could tell he was completely serious. For the moment, I forgot about the problem of explaining all this to Giles and tried to focus instead on what Tris was telling me.
“After what? Nearly three years, you suddenly decide that you want me back?”
“I made a mistake, Simon,” Tris said, the very picture of earnestness. “The worst thing I ever did was to let you go.”
He seemed sincere, but I had learned not to trust my ability to read him. Vampires can read strong emotion from the living, but with other vampires we simply have to go on instinct and experience. Tris was an Olympic-standard liar when it suited him.
“Pardon my skepticism, Tris,” I said, “but this is uncomfortably like a scenario enacted about five years ago. Or have you forgotten?”
“You have every right to be mistrustful, dear boy,” he acknowledged, “but even someone as old as I am may learn from his mistakes, particularly deeply regretted ones.”
“One would hope,” I said, still not convinced.
“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to make a decision this very moment,” Tris said, waving his pipe about with one hand, “but I did think it fair to let you know that I intend to win you back.”
“Since when did I become such a prize?”
Tris smiled at that. “Don’t underestimate yourself, my dear Simon. You’re well worth having, and I intend to have you. Make no mistake about that.”
“Really, Tris,” I protested, “you sound like the hero from one of my historical romance novels.”
“If the role suits,” Tris said, half-bowing from his chair.
“Honestly,” I said. I couldn’t help laughing at that point, and Tris grinned at me.
Damn the man, but he was just as attractive to me as he had always been. The leonine mane of dark hair streaked with a bit of white at strategic points, the sapphire blue eyes with their roguish twinkle, the handsome weathered face—he could give Sean Connery a run for his money as the sexiest man alive. Or in Tris’s case, dead.
“I rather suspect,” Tris continued, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement, “that I have some competition that I had not considered before. I don’t believe you ever mentioned to me, Simon, that young Blitherington is so enamored of you. Had you a boy-toy all this time and not told me?”
His patronizing tone set my teeth on edge, and he well knew it. “Giles and I have a professional relationship, Tris,” I said.
“But young Blitherington is hoping for rather more than that, I would say,” Tris said, before I could continue my explanation.
“Yes,” I said, as evenly as I could. “Giles wants a more personal relationship, but I have thus far refused.”
“You’re attracted to him, of course,” Tris said, a bit too smugly. “And I must say he’s a handsome young devil. What’s the matter, Simon? Surely you haven’t turned celibate?”
“Promiscuity is your game, not mine,” I responded with as much acid as I could muster. Tris actually blinked.
“My dear Simon, I see I hurt you rather more than I had guessed,” he said, emitting another cloud of smoke, “and that I do deeply regret. The more distant one becomes from the finer human emotions, the more one tends to forget that others might not see things in quite the same way.”
“One doesn’t have to be human.,” I said, mocking his tone, “to find loyalty a desirable quality in one’s lover.”
“Touche, Simon, touche,” Tris said. “The question remains, however just how serious are you about young Blitherington?”
Trust Tris to find a sensitive spot and stick a pin in it. I debated briefly whether to lie to Tris, but he reads me far better than I can read him. Lying wouldn’t do much good. “I’m very, very fond of him,” I said.
Tris laughed. “Ah, Simon, I know you too well, dear boy. That means you’re in love with him, but you don’t want him to know it. Why? Are you afraid he’ll run away screaming if you tell him the truth about yourself?”
“If you must know, yes,” I said, wishing that I had never opened my door to him this morning. Then I sat, stunned, because for the first time, I had admitted, aloud no less, to my feelings for Giles. Bloody hell!
“One might as well know what the competition is,” Tris said, seemingly unruffled by my admission. He was taking it rather better than I was. “Don’t think, Simon, that I’m going to stand aside. I know you still have feelings for me. I’ll simply have to work harder to win you back.” That vulpine grin appeared once more. “Frankly, I don’t fancy young Blitherington’s chances of staying the course.”
If my blood could have run cold, it would have at that moment. Something about the way Tris spoke that last sentence chilled me to the core.
“You wouldn’t dare harm him, Tris,” I said, watching him closely.
“Now, Simon,” Tris said, “you don’t think I would actually resort to physical harm to remove a rival, do you?” He laughed, as if to make nonsense of the notion. “Especially not a human one?”
The trouble was, I did believe it. Tris was completely ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted.
Tris knocked out his pipe in an ashtray on the table beside his chair, stuck the pipe in his pocket, and then stood up. “Now, Simon,” he said, “is the guest room habitable? I won’t presume to share your bed just yet.”
“You’ll have to make the bed,” I said, glaring up at him. “I’m sure you know where to find the linens. Do make yourself at home, Tris.”
He smiled down at me. “Thank you, Simon, I shall. This will be much more comfortable than a hotel, and I can easily pop up to London or drive to Oxford or Cambridge when I need to do research. Being near you, however, is the real attraction.”
Whistling jauntily, he left the room and headed upstairs. He could bloody well bring in his own bags, though no doubt he expected me to retrieve them from his car and carry them up to him.
I sat there on the sofa and fumed. I should have told him to get the hell out of my house, that I wanted nothing more to do with him. So why hadn’t I? I asked myself.
Because, you idiot, I told myself sternly and truthfully, you’ve never gotten over the bastard. Not completely.
The memories came flooding back. Happy memories of times spent with Tris, when I was deeply in love and had no idea how treacherous he could be, how deceiving. I wallowed in the memorie
s for a few moments, then took myself sternly to task. I dredged up the unpleasant ones, forcing myself to acknowledge why I had ended the relationship. The pain was still there, the pain of betrayal and deceit.
Had Tris truly changed? Was he serious about wanting me back? Or was it simply some game he was playing? Why would he want to do that to me?
Then there was Giles. What was I going to tell him? “Oh, by the way, Giles, my former lover is going to be staying with me for a few weeks. Hope you don’t mind.”
That would go over well. I groaned. Giles had a volatile temper, and I couldn’t predict how he would react to the news that Tris intended to stick around for a while. Not to mention the fact that Tris was going to be involved in some way with the medieval faire going on in Giles’s backyard, so to speak.
Would he cede the field to Tris and walk away? Or would he stay and fight?
And why did I suddenly feel like the exceptionally dim-witted and totally incapable heroine of the worst kind of romance novel?
Too many questions; not enough answers. The next few weeks couldn’t pass by quickly enough for me.
CHAPTER THREE
Giles, when he finally consented to speak to me that evening, took the news of Tris’s lodging himself at Laurel Cottage better than I had hoped. He didn’t yell at me or slam the phone down in my ear. He accepted my explanation for the embrace he had walked in on yesterday, then calmly announced that he would return to work as usual the following morning.
Annoyed with myself for doing so, and even more annoyed with Tris for my feeling compelled to, I haltingly explained that Tris was sleeping in the guest room.
Giles greeted that particular tidbit with silence. I decided not to tell him about Tris’s involvement with the documentary on the medieval faire about to take place in his back garden just yet He had enough to stew over for now.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” I said, ringing off.
In the meantime, Tris had kept his distance, not trying to force any further physical contact on me.
Instead, he concentrated on being the witty charmer he was capable of being, when he so chose. I decided that the simplest thing to do would be to relax and enjoy his company while holding myself aloof from any hint that I wanted anything more than friendship from him. I needed time to sort out my feelings for him and to come to a decision about Giles. If the two of them cooperated, perhaps I could bring the situation to a conclusion without significant trauma, mental or physical, to anyone involved.
I chose to be optimistic, though it was perhaps the more foolish option.
The next morning, I awaited Giles’s arrival with some trepidation. Tris was rambling about upstairs, and I was sitting at my desk, fiddling with the computer, when I heard Giles’s key in the lock of the front door.
Fixing a bright smile upon my face, I waited.
“Good morning, Simon,” Giles said as he walked into my office.
He smiled at my reaction. Perhaps my mouth was hanging open. I don’t know. I simply stared.
Well aware of his physical attributes, Giles has always worked hard to maintain them. He spends at least an hour each day exercising and working out. The jeans and casual shirt he wore this morning seemed almost painted on his muscular, hard body. He exuded sex appeal, and I was surprised he had managed to get to Laurel Cottage this morning without being mauled.
While I gaped at him, Giles came around behind my desk and leaned over me. Taking my face in his hands, he proceeded to kiss me. When he finally released me, I didn’t dare get up from behind the desk.
Giles sat down in the chair across from me and leaned back, flexing his impressive chest ever so slightly. “What’s on the agenda for this morning, Simon? Correspondence? Or do you have some research for me to do?”
Trying desperately to regain some sense of equilibrium, I focused on giving an intelligible answer to his question instead of babbling like an idiot. “I think we had better catch up with the correspondence, Giles.”
The words came out a bit rushed, but on the whole, I congratulated myself; I sounded completely professional.
“Certainly, Simon,” Giles said. He stretched out his left arm to retrieve a folder from my desk, and a bit of the dragon tattoo that covers much of his chest, upper arm, and back peeked out at me from beneath the sleeve of his shirt. As the arm muscles tensed, it seemed as if the tip of the dragon’s wing waved at me.
I brought my eyes back to Giles’s face to see him waiting patiently, the hint of a smile hovering around his lips.
Giles had obviously decided to use his most potent weapons in his campaign for my affections. He had youth and beauty on his side, to be matched against Tris’s sophistication and experience.
Oy.
From that point I did my best to concentrate on the work at hand and not let myself be distracted by Giles’s considerable physical appeal. The few times I glanced directly at Giles’s face, I could see that he was making no effort to force the issue. With more patience than I had thought he possessed, he seemed willing to wait to see what developed.
Around noon, as Giles and I were finishing the last bit of correspondence that demanded more immediate attention, Tris knocked firmly on the open door of my office.
I glanced up, startled. Tris was dressed for driving, with hat, gloves, and sunglasses in hand. Good. Having him out of the cottage, even for a short while, would be a relief.
“Off somewhere, Tris?” I said.
“Yes, Simon, I’m off to meet with the man who hired me to consult on this documentary,” Tris said. “Afternoon, young Blitherington.”
Putting aside the folder of letters, Giles stood up from his chair and turned to face Tris. I had to suppress a smile as Tris got a good look at Giles. I could only imagine the expression on Giles’s face.
“Have a safe journey, Professor,” Giles said, his voice languid and cool. “Do drive carefully.”
Tris began slapping the gloves in one hand against the palm of the other. He appeared unable to stop his eyes from roaming up and down Giles’s physique. As I watched, Giles turned his back to Tris, then bent down as if to brush something off his shoe. Tris’s eyes widened. Giles stood up, smiling briefly at me, then resumed his seat.
“Well,” Tris said, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual. “I must be off.”
“Don’t let us keep you, Professor,” Giles said without turning around. “Shall we expect you back in time for dinner?”
“Yes, most definitely,” Tris said. “Simon and I still have much to discuss, dear boy. A pity you can’t join us.” With that, he whirled and left. Moments later, the front door slammed behind him.
Giles cocked his head to one side and looked at me. “Oh, can’t I?” he murmured. “What’s this about a documentary, Simon? Something to do with elder care in Britain these days?”
I smothered a laugh. “Er, no, Giles, nothing like that.” I assumed a bland expression. “No, it has something to do with this medieval faire. Someone is producing a documentary about it, and he’s hired Tris as a consultant.”
Giles regarded me in stony silence. When at last he spoke his voice was devoid of inflection. “So, in addition to having these medieval loonies capering about, there will be a crew filming it all as well?”
“Evidently so, at some point,” I said. “I’m not certain what it is that Tris will be advising them on, but he has a very distinguished reputation as a medievalist, you know.”
“I’m well aware of Professor Lovelace’s reputation, Simon,” Giles said. “No doubt he will advise these people well. I shall hope he is so busy with the loonies that he has little time for other mischief.” He grasped the folder of letters and stood up. “I shall get started on these, Simon, though I might take a short break for a spot of lunch. Fancy a stroll down to the pub with me?”
“Uh, no,” I said—though stammered was more like it. “You go ahead. I’m going to work right through lunch. I’m a few pages behind my usual daily quota.”
/> The old Giles would have pouted a bit with me for turning down his invitation, but this new, even sexier, and quite determined Giles merely nodded and offered me a quick smile before he left my office for his own in the next room.
***
And so was set the pattern of my existence for the next three days. During the day Tris was out on his consulting job, while Giles worked assiduously at any task I might set him to. He even offered to work well into the evening, but I gently refused. Since he had continued to appear daily in attire that left little to the imagination, I needed at least some time free from distraction. My writing was suffering from the tension that I, at least, was feeling.
Neither Giles nor Tris appeared all that affected by their dueling, each perhaps counting on his particular assets to see him through. There was at least one politely bitchy exchange between them each day, but for the most part they remained civil enough to each other.
Though at one level I found the whole situation rather farcically amusing, and more than a bit flattering, on the whole I was annoyed with them both for engaging in such behavior. I had to acknowledge, however, that I bore the greatest share of the blame for not putting an end to it one way or another. The trouble was, I simply found myself in a state of inaction, unable to take decisive action. This was totally unlike me, and therefore a bit disturbing.
As the day approached for the folk of the Gesta AngLiae Antiquae to descend upon the village, I welcomed the distraction. Once the faire began, Tris would have to spend quite a lot of time away from Laurel Cottage, and Giles would be worried about what was going on in the meadow behind the Hall. Having their attention diverted from their wooing of me would be a relief.
Many of the group began arriving early on Friday afternoon to set up their tents in the meadow. The influx continued on Saturday morning as Tris and I drove the Jag through the village toward Blitherington Hall. There were numerous Land Rovers and other large vehicles with caravans in tow, and it took Tris and me more than twice as long as it should have to reach the forecourt of the manor. We left the Jag and, donning our protective gear, we sauntered across the lawns in the direction of the meadow back of the Hall.