My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues)

by Alexandra Ivy

  Lucien took an instinctive step backward, shaking his head in denial. “She will never understand. How could she?”

  The smile returned to the old woman’s lips. “You will find a way.”

  So easy for her to say, Lucien acknowledged wryly. This great and powerful vampire had dedicated her life to the ancient lore of the past. She had created the Veil that brought peace and wisdom to her brothers. She had sacrificed herself to bear the burden of the Medallion until the traitors had attempted to steal it from her. She was beloved among all.

  While he had devoted his life to pleasure and revelry. He had never had another depend upon him or seek his protection.

  It was terrifying to suddenly be thrust into the role of hero. And even more terrifying to hold Jocelyn’s safety in his hands.

  “I wish I could share your confidence,” he said in husky tones.

  “Have faith in yourself, Lucien,” Nefri retorted. “I do.”

  He studied the thin countenance, not for the first time wondering how he had ever been chosen for such a dire task.

  “Why?” he demanded simply.

  Her expression softened as her hand reached up to lightly pat his cheek.

  “Because like Jocelyn, you possess a pure heart and a spirit that brings joy to all those about you.”

  Hardly the stuff of heroes, he thought with a pang. Surely he should be responsible and brave? Able to slay dragons?

  His lips twisted as his gaze returned to Jocelyn. “Will it be enough?”

  “That is for fate to decide,” Nefri said softly. “We can do only what is in our power. Be at peace, Lucien.”

  With a last smile Nefri stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.

  For many moments Lucien pondered the appearance of Nefri.

  We can do only what is in our power. . . .

  Wise words, no doubt. He was perhaps not a perfect hero. Or even the most suitable vampire to protect Jocelyn. But there was no one else who would be more concerned for her welfare, he acknowledged with a renewed sense of hope. Or more determined that she was kept out of danger.

  He would devote his heart, his soul, and his very life to her.

  He could offer no more.

  Needing to be close to the maiden, he slowly moved to the bed, then, careful not to disturb her slumber, he lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms.

  The sweet scent of her wrapped about him, and with a smile Lucien allowed his taut muscles to relax.

  At least for the moment she was safe.

  Jocelyn knew she was being a coward.

  For three days she had virtually hidden herself in the small, stuffy study. She had avoided Meg and Lucien with determined care and even neglected those upon the streets who so depended upon her.

  A part of her was embarrassed by her sudden bout of brooding self-pity. It had been years since she had allowed the pain of her scandal to darken her heart. It was the past. Wishing that she had not been such a foolish, headstrong maiden could alter nothing.

  But the encounter with Lord Patten had ripped open the wounds that had never fully healed.

  She might easily tell herself to forget the gentleman who had been her downfall and concentrate upon the life she had made for herself, but the heavy mood would not lift.

  She was standing before the window, gazing blindly at the narrow street, when she was suddenly aware that Lucien had entered the room.

  There had been no sound, no indication of his arrival, but Jocelyn knew beyond a doubt he was standing in the doorway.

  It was, in truth, rather frightening to realize just how sensitive she had become to his presence. She knew when he was in the house, and where. She knew when he drew near. Absurdly, it even seemed that she could sense what he was feeling and even at times what thoughts were within him.

  At the moment she sensed a tightly bound frustration within him that seemed almost to reach out and stroke over her skin.

  With an effort she smoothed her expression and slowly turned to encounter the smoldering golden gaze.

  As always she caught her breath at the sight of him. Although plainly attired in a smoke-gray coat and black breeches, there was nothing unassuming about him. Instead, there was a compelling beauty in the lean features and golden eyes that commanded attention.

  “Lucien,” she breathed softly.

  Easily holding her gaze captive, he crossed to stand before her. “This cannot go on, my dove.”

  Jocelyn shivered as those tingles of awareness washed through her. “Pardon me?”

  “I have allowed you to hide from me for days. My patience is wearing thin.”

  A hint of color touched her cheeks. It was one thing to know she was cowering from the world. It was quite another to be confronted with her cowardice.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” she attempted to bluff. “I am not hiding.”

  He arched a dark golden brow. “No?”

  “I have been very busy.” Her hand absently waved toward the desk that was littered with papers. “It is not a simple matter to run two separate households.”

  His expression remained stern. “Perhaps not simple, but you are far too competent to be forced to devote every hour of the day to accounts.”

  It was impossible to deny the truth in his words. No one would believe that she must spend such long hours adding up columns of numbers.

  With a frown she wrapped her arms about her waist. “Is there something you need?”

  Surprisingly his lips twisted in a rather rueful fashion. “Your company would be a pleasant change.”

  Her heart gave a sudden leap at his tempting words. There was no denying that the presence of Lucien always managed to lighten her day. E [en Although pven when she was determined to remain aloof and indifferent to his persuasive charm he lured her into forgetting herself. How could any maiden resist such a potent charm?

  But while she was forced to acknowledge that he could provide her with a much-needed comfort, she discovered herself reluctant to press her poor spirits upon him.

  It was hardly fair to ruin his day as well.

  “You would do better to seek companionship elsewhere,” she warned him with a sigh. “I am not in the humor for entertainments.”

  The golden eyes shimmered wryly at her sad tones. “No, you would rather brood over your encounter with Lord Patten.”

  Her lips thinned at his taunting. “It is not amusing.”

  “No.” His expression became somber. “Nor is it wise. Brooding upon the past will not change it, Jocelyn. There is no magic that will accomplish such a feat.”

  It was what she had told herself a hundred times over the past few days. That did not, however, make it any easier.

  She abruptly turned about to gaze out the window. “Do you have no regrets?” she demanded in unconsciously bitter tones. “Nothing you would alter if you were able?”

  There was a pause before Jocelyn felt warm hands lightly touch her shoulders, offering her an unspoken strength.

  “None of us is without regrets,” he murmured. “We have all taken paths that were less than smooth, but they quite often teach us lessons that must be learned.”

  Jocelyn battled the urge to lean back into the warm comfort of his chest. She was not so lost to reason that she did not sense that every day, every moment, she became more and more entangled with this gentleman.

  Not just in the desire that was undeniable between them. But in a far more dangerous manner.

  One that might very well break her heart.

  “Some lessons are more painful than others,” she muttered.

  “True enough.” The disturbing fingers gently squeezed her shoulders. “Tell me of Lord Patten.”

  She tensed at the soft question, but for once she did not cringe from the painful memories. Instead, she allowed her thoughts to reluctantly return to those days that seemed to be a lifetime ago.

  “I met him during my first Season in London,” she slowly confessed. “He was handsome, charming, and I w
as incredibly naive.”

  “You fell in love with him?” Lucien demanded in oddly thick tones.

  Jocelyn shuddered. Love? Oh, no, there had been nothing pure or beautiful about her feelings for Lord Patten. Instead, they had been too sordid to admit without a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  “No,” she whispered with a grimace. “I do not even have that excuse. You see, in Surrey I was considered the most beautiful and sought-after debutante in the county. There was no gentleman who did not vie for my attention.”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Hardly surprising.”

  Her own expression remained dark. “I was spoiled, willful, and vain. A dangerous combination.”

  “You are far too hard upon yourself, Jocelyn.”

  She gave a shake of her head. “No, it is the simple truth. I came to London expecting to dazzle the ton with my charms and, of course, to discover a husband who would offer me wealth and position.”

  His fingers abruptly tightened upon her shoulders. “Of course.”

  “It did not seem a difficult task.” She paused for a moment, shamed by her memories. “I was swiftly toasted as an Incomparable, and within a fortnight I had received a dozen offers of marriage. It was all far too easy . . . even dull.”

  “Yes,” he murmured.

  “I began to long for excitement.”

  “You desired a challenge.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you found it in Lord Patten?”

  She recalled the giddy excitement she felt when he walked into the room and the petulant annoyance when he seemed indifferent to her charm. He swiftly consumed her every thought.

  Now she could only wonder at her vast stupidity.

  “He was very clever. Of all the gentlemen who fought to gain my favor, he alone remained aloof. No matter how I flirted, he refused to be captivated.”

  “Which only made you more determined to capture his elusive attention,” he swiftly concluded.

  “Of course.” She gave a short, humorless laugh.

  “It was all a game to him. A game which he had mastered, while I was a bumbling idiot.”

  Lucien shifted closer, his breath brushing the bare skin of her neck with delicious warmth.

  “What happened?”

  Her hands unconsciously clenched in tight fists, the nails biting into her palms. It was only in her nightmares that she ever allowed the haunting memories to return.

  “I was attending Lady Glendale’s ball. It was absurdly stuffy, and I stepped onto the terrace. Lord Patten joined me there. As usual, he was quite flippant, and I grew annoyed at his mocking disdain.” She was forced to pause and take a steadying breath. “I informed him that I was not quite the innocent fool that he thought me to be.”

  “I presume that he was eager to discover the truth of your words?” he demanded in scathing tones.

  “He dared me to join him in a nearby grotto. I quite willingly agreed.”

  Without warning Lucien was gently but quite firmly turning her to meet his probing gaze. She was startled to discover the grim expression that had hardened his elegant features.

  “He attempted to seduce you?”

  Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks at his blunt question. “Yes.”

  The golden eyes shimmered with a formidable danger. “Did he harm you?”

  Jocelyn gave a slow shake of her head. In truth it would be easier to admit if Lord Patten had forced himself upon her. At least then she could lay the blame upon him. But she could not in all honesty deny that she was quite eager to explore the heat of his kisses.

  “No. It was all terribly exciting for a brief time. This was the danger I had desired. Then . . . my father came in search of me.”

  He grimaced. “That was no doubt unpleasant.”

  A sharp, ruthless pain flared through her as the bitter words of her father echoed through her mind.

  “He was furious, of course. He demanded that Lord Patten wed me by special license.”

  “But the nobleman refused?”

  “Yes. He claimed that I had followed him to the grotto and tossed myself upon him.”

  Disdain ripp [>Dis quiled over Lucien’s countenance. “A coward as well as a rake.”

  “And a liar,” she added for good measure. “In truth I was relieved I was not to be forced to wed him. I realized at that moment that such a marriage would be a misery.”

  His hand lifted to cup her cheek. “I am relieved as well. You deserve much better than the likes of Lord Patten. Still, it could not have been easy for you.”

  “It was horrid,” she retorted, her stomach rolling with a queasy regret. “The word of my scandal spread through London by the next morning. My parents . . .”

  “What, Jocelyn?” he demanded as her words trailed to silence. “What did they do?”

  She struggled to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Never before had

  she confessed to anyone the bitter confrontation she had endured with her parents. She was uncertain that she could even speak the words.

  “I . . . they informed me that the shame I had brought upon them was insufferable,” she at last managed to get out in bleak tones. “As far as they were concerned, I was now dead and would be sent to live with a distant cousin. I would be given a quarterly allowance, but I was never to enter their house or attempt to contact them again. Not ever.”

  Chapter 8

  Lucien smothered the instinctive flare of fury that raced through him. Obviously the Kinglys were pathetic, unworthy fools who cared more for their reputation than their own child. They should be publicly disdained along with the wretched Lord Patten.

  Still, his concern was for Jocelyn and the bitterness that lingered within her. A bitterness that would eventually destroy her if she did not discover a means to heal her past.

  Once again his vengeance must be held.

  Allowing his fingers to gently stroke the skin of her pale cheek, he gazed deep into her troubled eyes.

  “Oh, my dove,” he murmured softly. “It is no wonder that you carry such wounds.”

  She shuddered at his words, but she grimly attempted to keep her expression calm.

  “I have accepted their decision.”

  Lucien gave a slow shake of his head. He was too closely bound to this woman not to sense the pain just below the surface. He could feel it as if it were his own.

  A rather frightening realization.

  “No, we all seek the love and approval of those we hold dearest. Even if they are undeserving of our need.”

  “My parents’ love and approval was based solely upon my ability to wed a gentleman of prominence.” She grimaced. “Once I had destroyed that hope, I was worthless to them.”

  “Then they are fools,” he growled, regarding the delicate features with a glittering gaze. How could anyone hurt this sweet, gentle maiden? It was inconceivable. “You have done great deeds without regard to the sacrifice to yourself. They should take pride in what you do.”

  “Pride?” She gave a short laugh. “Good heavens. They would be horrified if they knew what I do.”

  “Because their souls are empty. Do not judge yourself by their worthless values.”

  She frowned at his soft words. “What?”

  His fingers slipped beneath her chin, keeping her puzzled gaze locked with his own.

  She ^s qui a mYou blame yourself for being a disappointment to them.”

  Her eyes darkened, but she did not glance away. He would not allow her to turn from the truth of his words.

  “Perhaps,” she at last admitted in low tones.

  “And you allow yourself to doubt your own worth because of them.”

  “No—”

  “Jocelyn.” He firmly interrupted her instinctive refusal to confront her pain. “Do you truly believe you could have been fulfilled following the path they desired for you? There is much more to you than a shallow desire for wealth and position. You would have been imprisoned in such an existence.”

  For
a moment he feared that she would refuse to even consider his words. Then slowly her features softened. Lucien knew that she was considering the image of herself in one of the numerous elegant homes with nothing more to do with her time than darting from one mindless entertainment to another. She would have soon been miserable in such a dull routine.

  She was too intelligent, too driven to achieve a meaning in her life to be content playing the role of social matron.

  Still, he could sense that she was not yet prepared to dismiss the scandal that had so altered her life.

  “That does not excuse the shame that I brought to my family,” she said slowly.

  He gave an impatient click of his tongue. “I believe you have been more than adequately punished for any mistakes you made as a very young maiden.”

  “I fear that my parents would never be so forgiving.”

  Lucien allowed his disdain to harden his features. Someday soon he would indulge himself in confronting the Kinglys. It would be a great pleasure to reveal just how contemptible he found them to be.

  “Their forgiveness is meaningless,” he said sternly, his fingers grasping her chin. “It is your own forgiveness that you must seek. Allow the past to heal, Jocelyn. Only then will you find peace.”

  “I . . . I wish it were that simple.”

  “It is,” he assured her, his expression softening as he stepped closer and smiled into her wide gaze. “The past is done. It no longer determines who you are. It is the future that you must concentrate upon.”

  A silence fell as Jocelyn allowed herself to consider his persuasive arguments. Lucien forced himself to remain quiet, knowing that this maiden must discover for herself that she no longer need punish herself for mistakes that were long gone. She had created the wounds and she must heal them.

  At last a rueful smile curved her lips as she allowed her gaze to roam over his dark countenance.

  “Who are you?” she demanded without warning.

  Lucien stilled, his expression suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”