Staring down at the stubby finger in sharp contact with his waistcoat, Vasile longed to give him a real fright. But his self-control was strong after so many years of this existence.
“And what reason would I have for abducting young women?”
Rich winked. “Come now, baron, what reason does any man have for seizing a pretty young woman? You don’t have a wife, and that serving woman of yours is about as fetching as a mud wall. It’s perfectly understandable that you’d want a bit of sport, and I wouldn’t blame you at all, not a-tall. And one simply doesn’t try that sort of thing on with a good English girl like Miss Cargrave.”
For the first time in decades, Vasile remembered what nausea felt like.
“But you can’t just keep them, you know,” Rich continued, finally dropping his accusing finger so that he could stride about as he lectured. “Tends to cause a commotion, don’t you see? Now, I suggest that you tell ’em to dry their tears, give them some pretty gifts, and have your servant take them back to the village. Grease their fathers’ palms enough and—”
Vasile advanced on him so swiftly that the man abruptly fell silent and backed away, raising his hands before him placatingly.
“No offense meant, old man,” he stammered.
Vasile gave him a tight smile. Plucking the cigar from Rich’s fingers, he tossed it into the fireplace.
“I believe you have completed your errand here,” he said. “It is time for you to leave my house, Mr. Rich, and please do not return.”
Chapter VIII
The intrusion of her irritating companion from the journey had unsettled Michael. In her room, as she took her hair down and began to brush it, she thought about the missing girls, the gossip about vampires. The evening had been a reminder that she was a stranger in a foreign land whose ways were not her own, and she realized that as the baron’s guest she had probably been insulated from much that would have startled or shocked her.
Not that life in his castle was always peaceful or comfortable. She glanced at the window, thinking of her dreams. Thinking, too, of the baron himself.
No other man had ever exerted such fascination for her. The magnetism of his presence might have been enough to summon her from halfway across the globe. She couldn’t understand it, this unreasoning sense that there was a connection between them, but it was there all the same, defying all logic.
Use your intellect, Michael. But perhaps this was a territory where instinct reigned, not reason.
Just this evening, for example, before Mr. Rich had barged in, before she had begun to read to the baron. She had remembered something she wanted to check in a volume of Johnson at the other end of the room, and as she stood there, flipping the pages, she had had the strongest conviction that the baron had walked up to stand close behind her. The quality of the room’s silence changed, as if his body was blocking the ambient noise, and she felt the height of his presence behind her, not intimidating, but…exciting.
She kept perfectly still, even holding her breath, wondering what he would do. He had not yet touched her. In this suspended moment she could imagine him slipping his arms around her waist to hold her close against him. Or reaching for her chin, gently turning her toward him, bending his head to kiss her lips. It was so vivid in her mind that she began to turn her head.
Then the illusion vanished. She was looking across the length of the room at the baron, who stood behind the desk tidying a stack of papers. She had imagined it all. But it had felt so real…
That he had confided in her about his past moved her in its demonstration of trust. But some of what he said had disturbed her. Combined with all this talk of vampires and the mayor’s dark warning, his peculiar story made her wonder if he was hiding something from her. Not that she was ready to believe he was a vampire or even that such things existed, but perhaps he was guilty of wishing to be one.
Michael was not a fool, nor was she ignorant of the folklore. She knew that many of the details of the baron’s curious life—his avoidance of the sun, his refusal to take food in her presence, perhaps even the absence of mirrors in the castle—were consistent with the legend of the vampire. The story he had told her of his being resuscitated after nearly dying, of being unable afterward to live as a human: this too, if one assumed some elisions and obfuscations, aligned with the folklore.
But she also knew that these things could be coincidences, or even the eccentric affectations of a man who needed to convince himself he was a vampire—to justify to himself having left his wife, perhaps, or to reconcile himself to the pain of losing her.
Or perhaps it was a way of cultivating an air of mystery and danger so that he would hold the power of fear over those around him. Yet Ana and Dumitru seemed contented in his service, not frightened.
A knock on the door came, and without thinking she called, “Come in.” When the door opened to reveal the baron himself on the threshold, she went still with shock and embarrassment. She had assumed it would be Ana with a warming pan to take the chill from her bedsheets, and now she felt as if her disloyal thoughts had summoned the baron to upbraid her.
The sight of him, impeccable as always in his well-tailored suit, made her conscious that he had surprised her with her hair down. She felt a blush gathering in her cheeks at the impropriety of appearing before him in such a way, and in so intimate a setting. Adding to her feelings of discomposure was the slight widening of his dark eyes when he saw her. It was futile to hope that he hadn’t observed her hair’s disarray.
Immediately, though, he recovered his manners. “I do apologize for disturbing you at such an hour, Miss Cargrave.”
“Not at all,” she said, trading politeness for politeness, but feeling unsettled nonetheless when she stood aside to permit him to enter. She had never had a man in her bedroom before.
She was relieved, or told herself so, when he remained close to the door and did not venture far into what she had come to think of as her private space. In everything, the baron seemed mindful of what she had requested of him on that second evening: that he treat her as an employee, not a woman.
But that didn’t mean that she had stopped being a woman.
Foolish mental meanderings. She was relieved when the baron spoke again and brought her wittering thoughts to a halt.
“I came with two errands,” he said, holding out a book to her. “The first is to return this.”
She had already reached out to take it from him, careful as always to avoid touching his hand, before she recognized it.
“But this is the copy of Earle’s Essays I brought for you,” she said.
“It was your father’s own. It belongs with you.”
His voice held a depth of sympathy that made her throat constrict, and the book blurred before her eyes.
“That’s most kind of you,” she whispered. In truth, it would be a comfort to her to have it, to be able to turn the pages and see her father’s fastidious notations in the margins. The sight of his handwriting brought him back so vividly that she found herself smiling.
The baron’s next words, however, made that smile vanish.
“The other reason I am here is not a happy one,” he said. “After the events Mr. Rich spoke of, as well as other news he imparted to me, I am concerned for your safety.”
“Not because of the stories of vampires, surely?”
“No matter who or what abducted the two young women from the village, there seems to be a pattern taking shape, and I refuse to see you endangered. Not just by whoever took the two women, but by any overzealous rescuers who take it into their heads that I might be connected with their disappearance.”
“Like the mayor.”
“He or any of the villagers might make up their minds that I am to blame, and if they should decide to take matters into their own hands, you as my guest might come into the path of their rough justice.”
Aghast, she exclaimed, “You don’t mean that they might actually attack?”
“Such things have
happened before.” When she stared at him in horrified silence, he clarified. “I say this not to alarm you, Miss Cargrave, but to explain why I am now making plans for your return journey to England.”
She felt as if the baron had reached down and yanked the bearskin rug from under her feet, leaving her scrambling for footing. “But—but I thought you were satisfied with me. My work, I mean.”
A faint smile touched his handsomely modeled mouth. “More than satisfied, Miss Cargrave, but that is no longer my priority. Your safety is.” His voice softened. “So even though I shall mourn your departure from my home, that is far better than mourning for something far worse that might befall you should you remain.”
She saw a wisp of hope and grasped at it. “Do you mean that you are sending me ahead to ready the library in your new home? Naturally I must be there when the books arrive to put them in order—”
But he was shaking his head. “I fear not. In England we shall both be under closer scrutiny than we are now. For a young, unmarried lady to maintain a prominent position in the home of a relatively young widower, and a foreigner on top of that…the gossip would be merciless.”
“It isn’t as if I’d be living in the same house.”
“Miss Cargrave, your loyalty is very touching, and I thank you for it.” His voice, with its captivating accent, had never sounded more grave. “But even I know how much harm can be done by the slightest hint of impropriety in your world. For your sake and your sister’s, you must find a more suitable position.”
He had logic on his side, and kindness as well, in thinking of her and Rosamond’s standing in society. A woman’s reputation had to be spotless, or she could quickly find herself with no home, friends, or honorable means of earning her keep. Shall we not see each other at all in England? she wanted to ask. But she suspected she knew what his answer would be.
Deflated, she went to lay the book and her hairbrush on her dressing table. She was too confused to find reasons to argue against her dismissal…too tired to know if she was even in the right to argue. The disturbed nights must be catching up with her, muddling her thinking. Absently she rubbed at her neck where the two swellings had been for the last few mornings. She felt nothing, however, and even with the aid of her hand mirror—the only looking glass in the room—she had been unable to see the place.
“Is something the matter with your throat?” The baron’s voice came sharp and swift.
“I don’t know,” she replied, startled by his tone. “I haven’t been able to get a look at it in my mirror.” Then she realized that this was a chance to learn more about him. She watched him closely as she said, “This morning before I got out of bed I thought I felt two little places like insect bites, but more painful. But by the time I had dressed they seemed to have gone away.”
“I see.” There was a strange, grim urgency to his voice, and one hand fastened onto the edge of the bureau, his long fingers clamping it tightly. “Would you permit me to look?”
“I…I suppose so.”
“I have some knowledge of the treatment of wounds,” he explained, noting how taken aback she was. “One has to when one lives so far away from doctors.”
That made perfect sense, and she shouldn’t throw away the opportunity to observe the baron in circumstances so suggestive of a vampire’s attack. She wasn’t certain of the cause of her reluctance. Was she afraid of confirming the worst of her theories about the baron, or was it merely for modesty’s sake that she hesitated?
“Very well,” she said.
There was nothing the least bit seductive about his examining a hurt place on her neck, she told herself, but unfastening the top of her dress to bare her skin for him seemed shockingly intimate, especially here in her bedroom. Ridiculous, she scolded herself silently. I’m not even unbuttoning enough for him to see the top of my chemise. Nonetheless she was aware of a feeling of breathlessness as she held the collar back and tilted her head to one side to fully expose the area.
He approached so close that his sleeve brushed her shoulder as he raised his hand. “May I—? I cannot quite see…”
“Of course.” She hardly recognized her own voice.
Without ever touching her skin with his fingers, he gently lifted a tress of her hair away. It was a startlingly personal gesture, and she realized she was having difficulty breathing. Then, when he peeled her collar back to reveal more of her throat, her eyes closed as she was overwhelmed at the intimacy of it.
Such a small area of skin, really, and not in an especially private place. Evening gowns bared far more skin than was now exposed for the baron’s gaze. But she felt practically naked at the touch of air on her skin, knowing that he was looking at her. Wondering if he would do more than look. If he bent his head just a little he could put his lips against her throat.
Just the thought of it made all the breath leave her body. At that moment she didn’t care whether he bit her or kissed her. She just wanted to feel his lips against her skin.
Perhaps he, too, was affected by their closeness. She thought his voice shook just a little when he said, “I see nothing, I’m afraid. Can you think of anything that might be connected to the wounds? Have your nights been disturbed?”
“Only by dreams,” she said, opening her eyes to find his gaze resting on her with magnetic intensity. He was so close that she could see the flecks of honeyed gold in the amber irises. If only I dreamt of you, Baron Dalca.
She realized that she was close to losing all sense of decorum and made a desperate attempt to regain her aplomb. Forcing herself to look away from him, she took a deep breath to chase the languorous faintness away.
“Go on, Miss Cargrave,” he said, as if he had not observed her discomposure. He released her collar and stepped away, and she began fastening up the buttons once more, uncertain whether she was more relieved or disappointed. He averted his eyes as if to give her privacy as she righted her clothing. “Tell me about the dreams,” he said.
“Well, there isn’t a great deal to tell. There is a mist that comes into my room and frightens me, and then I feel a pain on my throat. Perhaps I’ve been scratching myself in my sleep without knowing it.” Even as she said so, she knew it was untrue. Scratches would still be visible. So would insect or spider bites, unless Romania was home to kinds of vermin that were unknown to her…which was entirely possible, in fact. But she could not stop thinking about vampires biting their victims on the neck.
“Has this dream visited you often?”
“Three or four times. Four.” She hesitated. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it has become distressing. I must admit I sometimes postpone going to bed.”
“Ah. And in my vanity I had hoped that you were reading more chapters to me in the evenings because you enjoyed my presence.”
She knew he was only poking fun at himself, but she hastened to assure him, “I do, Baron Dalca. That is one reason the prospect of leaving now is so distressing.” She realized at once that that was too personal a remark and hastened to add, “It distresses me even more to leave my first position without having completed the work I was engaged to perform.” And returning to England without any guarantee that she would even have a place to live. She knew her landlady would not permit her to stay on at the boarding house once her money ran out.
He stood at the door now, but his eyes were still fixed on her intently. “It distresses me as well,” he said. “But what you have told me may make it all the more urgent for you to depart. Perhaps I should prepare your wages and tell Dumitru to drive you to the village in the morning.”
The idea of leaving so soon was as shocking as a jet of icy water. “Not so soon, please! Just one more day? To…to put the library in order as best I can?”
His eyes closed, and she sensed that he was undergoing some inner struggle. “Very well,” he said at last. “I shall take the day to consider what is best for your welfare. Since you are under my protection, Miss Cargrave, and so unfamiliar with this region, it is my re
sponsibility to determine how best to ensure your safety. I could not bear it if I permitted you to come to further harm while a guest in my home. For tonight, I will personally see that your room is well guarded.”
The words further harm made her look at him in surprise. And guarding her room? “Does that mean you think I was bitten by a vampire?”
The astonishment in her voice seemed to make him choose his words with care. “The bite of a vampire is said to heal quickly and to vanish entirely when sunlight falls upon it,” he said.
As reluctant as she was to entertain the idea, she had to acknowledge that she had dressed that morning with the drapes open to admit the morning sun. But that was preposterous. No true Englishwoman, especially not a modern, educated one, could believe in such things.
The baron knew this land better than she, though.
“Are you saying,” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, “that you believe in vampires?”
She was afraid he might take offense, but he merely regarded his boots thoughtfully for a moment before looking at her once more. “In Romania, there is a proverb,” he said. “Roughly translated, it says, ‘In the land of the werewolf, wise men fear the full moon.’”
“Meaning that even if one doesn’t believe, it’s a good precaution to act as if one does?”
His eyes were suddenly sad. “Romania is a land of folklore, but also of realists,” he said. “Good night, Miss Cargrave. Never fear, you shall sleep sound tonight.”
Chapter IX
She woke before dawn, as if even her sleeping mind knew that this might be her last day at Castle Dalca. She did her best to fight back her dismay as she washed and dressed. So much for this new start to her life. But at least if she was able to put things to rights as much as possible today, the baron might give her a good reference, and that might be invaluable when she sought another position.
As Vital as Blood (Victorian Vampires Book 1) Page 8