My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues)

by Alexandra Ivy

  Far from wounded by her firm words, the gentleman stroked a slender finger down the length of his jaw.

  “Surely you exaggerate, Miss Kingly? Not even remotely interested?”

  “No.”

  He heaved a teasing sigh. “A hard woman.”

  “A sensible woman who has no time for foolish games,” she corrected him firmly. “You would do well to remember my warning.”

  “Oh, I possess a most excellent memory,” he drawled, reaching beneath his jacket to remove a small leather bag that he placed upon the desk. “Indeed, I even remembered this.”

  She eyed the bag warily. “What is it?”

  “The two months’ rent in advance, just as you requested.”

  Jocelyn made no effort to reach for the money. She knew the moment her fingers touched the coins she would be irrevocably committed to allowing this gentleman into her home.

  And yet, what else could she do?

  There was nothing particularly noble in bare cupboards and empty coal bins. And besides, she had Meg to consider.

  Her old nurse was the only one to stand beside her when the scandal had broken. She was the only friend she had left in the world.

  How could she possibly allow the older woman to suffer even further hardship?

  The answer, of course, was she could not. This money would pay their most pressing creditors and put food on the table. At the moment that was all that mattered.

  Grimly thrusting aside the warning voice that whispered in the back of her mind, Jocelyn gave a nod of her head.

  “Thank you.”

  As if thoroughly aware of her inner struggle, the devil lifted his brows in a faintly mocking manner.

  “Do you not wish to count it?”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “So trusting, my dove?”

  “You will not be difficult to track down if I discover you have attempted to cheat me.”

  “There is that,” he agreed with a chuckle. “When may I take possession of the rooms?”

  Although not always meticulously devoted to truth if a small bit of subterfuge was more practical, Jocelyn discovered herself unable to form the lie that would allow her a few days’ grace from Mr. Valin’s presence.

  Not that it truly mattered.

  She would no doubt merely waste the days brooding upon what was to come. Surely this was like swallowing vile medicine. It was best to be done with quickly.

  “The rooms have been cleaned and prepared,” she forced herself to admit. “You may have them whenever you desire.”

  “Good. I will collect my belongings and be here later this afternoon.”

  This afternoon.

  She absolutely refused to shiver again.

  “What of your cousin?” she demanded. “Will he not shoot you when you return for your belongings?”

  “I have it on excellent authority that he devoted theiv> devote goodly portion of the evening to his current mistress. It will be several hours before he awakens.”

  She unconsciously grimaced. “I see.”

  An odd hint of satisfaction touched the handsome countenance. “You disapprove of such pleasurable pastimes, Miss Kingly?”

  Jocelyn was swift to smooth her features to calm indifference. “I do not possess sufficient interest to disapprove, Mr. Valin.”

  His lips twisted wryly. “No, of course not.”

  Having strained her nerves quite far enough for one morning, Jocelyn rose to her feet.

  “I believe we have covered everything, Mr. Valin.”

  Efficiently dismissed, the tawny-haired gentleman reluctantly pushed himself from his chair.

  “I shall return in a few hours,” he was swift to warn.

  Jocelyn, however, was prepared on this occasion.

  “If you have need of anything, please speak with Meg. She is quite capable and is in full control of the household.”

  The golden eyes narrowed as she easily maneuvered him firmly into the hands of her servant.

  “More capable than you, Miss Kingly?” he demanded in those husky tones.

  “Without a doubt.” With a crisp nod of her head she regained her seat and reached for her ledger book. “Good-bye, Mr. Valin.”

  He remained standing beside the desk, but as she kept her gaze upon the pages of her accounts, he at last gave a low chuckle.

  “Until later, my dear.”

  Jocelyn maintained her charade of distraction until she at last heard the sound of the door closing behind his retreating form. Only then did she lean back in her seat and close her eyes in an odd weariness.

  There would be dinner on the table tonight.

  But what was the cost?

  And was she prepared to pay it?

  The kitchen was surprisingly clean and filled with the delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread and drying herbs.

  Seated at the scrubbed table, Lucien leaned back with a deep sigh.

  His surroundings could hardly compare with Gideon’s vast town house or even the elegant hotel he had chosen upon his arrival in London. The house might be tidy with sturdy furnishings, but there was no ignoring the neighborhood was a breath from utter decay and that the air was rancid with the stench of rotting trash and sewer.

  Still, he was not overly disappointed that his trail had led him to this narrow house in the shabby cul-de-sac. His rooms might be cramped and his delicate senses offended by the derelict surroundings, but it all became meaningless the moment he had stepped into the small study.

  Even now he could feel the shock of utter bewitchment when he had beheld Miss Kingly.

  She had quite simply stolen his breath.

  Her face was a perfect oval with large eyes the impossible blue of tropical waters. Her hair, which had been ruthlessly wrenched into a knot at the base of her neck, possessed the rich luster of sable that contrasted sharply with the flawless cream of her skin. She possessed the timeless beauty of a Madonna, with lush curves that could make a man’s thoughts stray in dangerous directions.

  As a collector of beautiful objects, he had been stirred by her loveliness

  As a vampire with his passions unleashed for the first time in two centuries, other parts of his anatomy had been stirred.

  Just for a moment he had briefly considered how swiftly he could woo her into his bed. How magnificent she would be stretched upon snowy white sheets, her hair a river of silk, he had thought with a decided yearning. In the candlelight her skin would glow with the pale luster of fine porcelain. Her lush curves would fit his hands to perfection. Ah, to possess such a woman would surely bring untold pleasure.

  But even as his blood had tingled with anticipation, he had gazed into those well-guarded eyes and sensed the bleak loneliness deep within.

  His calculated passion had died with a regretful sigh.

  This woman was not in need of a lover.

  She was in need of a savior.

  The knowledge had been as unwelcome as the stench of the nearby slaughterhouse, and just as inescapable.

  He was here to protect this maiden.

  He could only hope his rusty sense of chivalry could be persuaded to overcome the lust that even now swirled through his blood.

  Pushing back his plate, he cast a roguish smile toward the undoubted general of the household. The servant was a large woman with iron-gray hair and features cast in granite. He could only hope her heart was not similarly unyielding.

  “Exquisite, my dear Meg,” he complimented her. “As savory as any I have ever tasted. A true masterpiece.”

  The charm he had once presumed irresistible appeared woefully ineffective. As woefully ineffective upon the servant as it had been upon her mistress.

  “’Tis shepherd’s pie, hardly a masterpiece.”

  “Ah, but in the hands of an artist even shepherd’s pie can be a masterpiece. And you are, indeed, an artist.”

  If anything, the woman regarded him with even sharper suspicion. “Miss Jocelyn warned me you possessed the silver tongue of the
devil. I now understand why.”

  Lucien was not remotely surprised.

  He had known from the moment he had entered this house that the young maiden had felt uneasy in his presence.

  Unfortunately the Medallion she wore about her neck made any attempt to use a Compulsion spell impossible. The ancient artifact was powerful enough to protect her from even the most devious skills a vampire possessed. He would have to win her trust by more difficult and time-consuming means.

  Not one of his more notable talents.

  “Did she?” he murmured. “A most intriguing and unique young woman.”

  “And far too wise for the likes of you,” the woman retorted.

  “Ah, Meg, you wound me.”

  “Not yet I haven’t, but I certainly will if you take it in mind to toy with Miss Jocelyn.”

  Lucien gave a startled laugh, discovering he quite enjoyed bantering with this gruff old tartar. For all her crusty manners, it was evident that she was utterly devoted to Jocelyn.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The servant planted her hands upon her ample hips. “Miss Kingly is a fine, decent maiden who has endured far more heartache and disappointment than any lady should. I would willingly thump my frying pan upon the head of anyone foolish enough to bring her pain again.”

  Lucien he span>Luwas instantly intrigued. Heartache and disappointment?

  Knowledge was always power, and he very much desired to know as much of Jocelyn as possible.

  “How very distressful. She is far too young to have endured the pains of this world. Tell me, what was the source of this heartache?”

  “It is her story to tell if she so chooses. Just remember that I shall be keeping a close eye upon you.”

  He met the warning gaze squarely. He could, of course, force her to speak of Miss Kingly’s past, and anything else he might desire, but he resisted temptation. Other than himself, this woman was the only person in London willing to stake all to protect the vulnerable maiden. He might very well need her with her wits clear.

  “I have no intention of harming Miss Kingly,” he retorted. “I would never harm any young maiden. But neither will I ignore her. She has an obvious need for my company.”

  “Need for your company? And what can you mean by that?”

  “There is a deep sadness in her eyes.”

  “Fah. That I already know. As does all of London. As I said, she has endured betrayal in her past.”

  “And she does not allow the wounds to heal,” he said softly, keeping Meg’s reluctant gaze trapped with his own. “A fatal mistake. Bitterness is like an infection that will destroy her soul if it is not cleansed.”

  As obviously aware as Lucien of Jocelyn’s brittle wounds, the woman grudgingly lowered her guard.

  “Perhaps. How do you propose to cleanse this bitterness?”

  “First by revealing that there is still joy to be found in this world.”

  The pale eyes narrowed. “How much joy?”

  His lips twitched at her blunt suspicion that he intended to seduce her young mistress.

  A suspicion that was well founded.

  “As much as she desires, and no more,” he reassured the older woman. “Do you not believe she has earned a share of happiness?”

  “Yes. No one is more deserving.”

  “So if I chose to prod Miss Kingly out of her icy shell of composure, then I need not fear being greeted by a frying pan?”

  “That depends,” she warned, her gaze straying meaningfully toward the frying pan upon the counter.

  “Upon what?”

  “On whether this prodding endangers Miss Jocelyn’s heart. She is not nearly as invulnerable as she would have others believe. Especially when it comes to a devil with a silver tongue.”

  It was no doubt a genuine concern, but Lucien swiftly shrugged it aside.

  He needed to be close to Jocelyn if he were to protect her.

  Any unfortunate complications would have to be dealt with once the traitors were returned to the Veil.

  “I wish only to see her laugh,” he at last murmured.

  Meg heaved a faint sigh. “As do I.”

  “Then we shall have to work together.”

  “We shall see.” The woman was not about to give any more than absolutely necessary.

  “You intend to keep that frying pan quite handy, do you not?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  With a laugh Lucien rose to his feet. “We are

  going to get along just fine, Meg.”

  Chapter 2

  Amadeus stalked the woman with a cool precision.

  Remaining in the shadows of the derelict shops and lodging houses, he kept a steady pace as she searched for the prostitute known on the streets as Molly.

  A prostitute whom he had murdered less than an hour earlier.

  For nearly a fortnight he had studied this woman’s every movement.

  He knew precisely when she would leave her home each evening. When she would bring food to the various street children. When she would seek out the pathetic whores and urge them to abandon their tortured lives and travel to the small cottage she had purchased outside of town. He even knew that on this night she would seek out the young, hapless Molly as she did on every Wednesday evening. In vain she would plead with the prostitute to leave the brutal husband who forced her onto the streets to pay for his gin.

  Which was precisely why he had disposed of the whore and laid his minions into hiding just around the corner.

  Miss Kingly’s very predictability would be her undoing.

  Giving a sharp whistle, Amadeus watched for the three slovenly servants to stagger around the corner and surround the unaware maiden.

  Just as he had commanded, the men quickly grasped Miss Kingly and covered her mouth to prevent her from crying out in alarm. Amadeus waited a moment to ensure that she was properly frightened by the sudden attack before he stepped forward to complete his well-plotted scheme. Only to halt in surprise.

  With a detached appreciation he watched her fierce struggle to free herself from her determined attackers.

  There were no tears, no fainting, no traces of panic.

  Instead, she grittily kicked at the men, using her hands and even her elbows to attempt to win her freedom.

  This woman was different.

  A sharp, unexpected curiosity flared into existence deep within Amadeus’s icy soul.

  As a true scholar, he was always intrigued by the unexpected. Especially when it came to mortals. It was not the heat of their passions, nor their tedious loves and hatreds. It was their simple mortality that lured his interest. Perhaps once he had retrieved the Medallion that she now wore about her neck he would allow Miss Kingly to become a part of his ongoing research.

  She would certainly enhance the rather disappointing selection of humans he was currently examining.

  Of course, first he must ensure that the Medallion was given to his grasp.

  With a calculated motion he continued his path toward the struggling maiden. As he neared the first of his henchmen, he lifted the ebony cane he carried and hit him across the shoulders. The man cringed, although he felt no pain through the spell of Inscrollment that Amadeus had cast upon him.

  “Begone, you fiends,” he dramatically commanded, sharply smacking the other two servants. “The Watch is on its way, and you shall soon be lodged in Newgate.”

  At the word “Newgate,” all three abruptly halted their assault and turned to stumble down the darkened street.

  Perhaps a careful eye would have noted the manner they had so easily capitulated at his threat, or even the fumbling shuffle of their gait as they hurried away, but thankfully the maiden was far more concerned with pullen ing her shawl about her to conceal the large rip in the bodice of her gown.

  “My dear, are you harmed?” he asked in soft tones that befitted the image of a modest, well-intentioned vicar. He had chosen the voice with the same care that he had altered his shape to a slender elderly gent
leman who had lost most of his gray hair and possessed the features of a man dedicated to good works. Precisely the sort of gentleman a woman Miss Kingly would turn to in times of trouble.

  And she was soon to have ample trouble.

  “No.” She smoothed the dark hair that had been tumbled from the tidy knot. “I am unhurt.”

  Amadeus made a mental note of her steady tone and cool composure. Oh, yes, she was worthy of experimentation, indeed.

  Already he itched to bundle her back to his hidden lair and begin, but as she turned, the muted light from a nearby gin house shimmered against the golden amulet around her neck.

  His breath caught.

  Although only a portion of the original Medallion, he had no doubt that it contained a power more potent than any he had ever tasted before. And once made whole again, he and his fellow traitors would command the vampires. They would at last bend to his will.

  Unfortunately he had already discovered that the Medallion was protected by a powerful spell. It had been bonded to the mortal’s soul, making her impervious to Inscrollment and any other spell he might be able to conjure. Not even death could part the Medallion from the maiden.

  The only hope of gaining control of the ancient artifact was to have it given to him of Miss Kingly’s free will.

  Which was precisely why he had been forced to conceive this ludicrous scheme. He had to win the trust of Miss Kingly and somehow convince her that she must offer him the amulet.

  “Thank the good Lord,” he said as he offered her an encouraging smile. “I feared I might have been too late.”

  Despite his humble manner, she seemed to instinctively sense danger in the air, and she took a step backward even as she attempted to appear suitably grateful for his display of courage.

  “You were very brave.”

  He pressed his hands to his chest in a modest fashion. “Very kind of you, but I merely did what any other gentleman in my position would do.”

  She glanced toward the shuffling figures disappearing into a nearby alley. “Not every gentleman, I fear.”

  “No, perhaps not,” he regretfully agreed. “The streets can be dangerous for a young maiden on her own. May I escort you home?”