It was difficult to explain to her. He was determined not to take advantage of Miss Cargrave in any way or do anything to betray her trust. That would be a breach of honor, a violation of the protection that a host owed a guest—and that a man owed a woman.
But Bianca gathered lovers to feed on with as little fuss as a bee gathering nectar from a succession of flowers. She was unfettered by the code of chivalry. He was trying to find a way to clarify this difference in perspective when he saw something over her shoulder that made the discussion vanish from his mind.
Michael Cargrave was entering the room silently, slowly, as if she half hoped to go unnoticed. But she held her head high, and her eyes found Vasile at once. Shy she might be, but entirely certain.
She was wearing the ivory-and-gold gown she had rejected before, and it fit her as if every fold and seam had been placed with her in mind. The creamy skin revealed by the elbow sleeves and deep neckline was as smooth as an ivory carving, but the rise and fall of her half-bare bosom showed that she was no sculpture but a living, feeling woman.
The poise with which she carried herself brought back the first moments that he had seen her: the courage with which she conquered her uncertainty, the fragile determination in her strongly angled jaw, the total effect one of shining valor and heartbreaking loveliness.
“Michael,” he exclaimed. “How beautiful you are.”
Her sweet mouth curved in a smile of pleasure, whether at the compliment or the involuntary use of her first name he did not know. “Baron Dalca,” she said softly. “Good evening.”
Before he could reply, if he had known how to, Ana arrived with dinner. Bianca poured out wine for them to pretend to drink, and before he knew it he was seated across the table from Michael as usual, but this time with Bianca between them.
Too softly for mortal ears, he whispered to her, “Is this your doing?”
“The idea was hers,” she whispered back. “I merely laced her up.”
He could not take his eyes off Michael. Her locket brooch, the only vestige of her usual attire, caught the light as it trembled with her breathing. Her brown hair was upswept as usual, but tonight she had loosened a few strands to artfully frame her face, and he longed, as he had once before, to reach out and smooth one back, letting his fingertips graze her skin…
And thus making her recoil in horror at the coldness of his touch. He took himself in hand. She would be gone in less than twenty-four hours, and he could restrain his feelings for that much longer.
He said to her, “My cousin tells me that she gave you a fright earlier.”
Michael’s fork paused. “Cousin? I thought you said you were sister and brother, Lady Bianca.”
Bianca explained, “We are cousins who are practically as close as sister and brother.”
“I see,” said Michael, in a tone that suggested she didn’t but was too polite too inquire further.
“Our family has a complicated history,” Vasile said, feeling like a fool because it was important to him, even though he might never see her again after tonight, that Michael Cargrave did not think that he and Bianca had been or could ever be lovers.
“Oh. Well, it is true that Lady Bianca gave me a turn. But my head was already full of stories of vampires after Mr. Rich’s visit, so it was partially my own doing.” She turned the stem of her wine glass, regarding the play of the firelight on the etched surface. “As alarming as it was, I’m grateful now for the peculiar circumstances under which Lady Bianca and I met. They started me on a train of thought that proved to be truly illuminating.”
“About folklore?”
She raised her eyes to his, and they were filled with the same serene certainty that illuminated her face and every movement. “About you, Baron Dalca,” she said.
In the silence that followed, Bianca slipped out of her chair. “I must fly,” she said, “if I am to avoid falling behind schedule. Vasile, thank you as always for your hospitality.” Bending over Michael, she kissed the air next to each cheek. “Lovely to have met you, my dear,” she said, and then with a stealthy wink to Vasile she was gone.
That much could be said about Bianca: she had great tact when two people wished to be alone…or when she thought they should.
Then all thought of Bianca left his mind, for Michael Cargrave looked at him and said, “There is something I must tell you, my lord baron.”
He found that he could not speak. Into the silence of the room her voice came, soft, measured.
“When I found Lady Bianca, I thought—I was certain—she was dead. And I am ashamed to admit it, but I thought it might have been you who killed her. Please don’t think too harshly of me; I was on edge after all the talk of demons and missing girls, and I was frightened. Not, you understand, because I feared for my own safety—”
He groaned inwardly. How much safer she would be if she did.
“—but because I didn’t want such a thing to be true of a man I’ve come to…to esteem so highly.”
Esteem. The quaint courtliness of the word touched him. Perhaps that was why he heard himself say, “No matter what else may be true of me, I would never hurt you. I would put my body between yours and fire or bullets. I would do anything to keep you safe.”
“Even send me away.”
“Even that.”
She gave a little nod as if he had confirmed a suspicion. He saw her take a deep breath before she spoke, and her words were careful and deliberate, as if she had to exert great control to say what she intended to say.
“At the time I found her, I didn’t know that I could trust my instinct that I was safe with you. So when I found that she wasn’t dead at all, I was so overcome with relief, with joy, that I realized how much you have come to mean to me.” For a moment he saw that joy flare into her eyes, heard it in her voice, before she tamped it down again. “And I knew then that—that I can stay here no longer.”
“What?” he exclaimed. “Why?”
“When I first came here, I insisted that you think of me not as a woman but as an employee, a functionary. I meant it then. But now I feel the opposite.” Her sad little half smile twisted his heart. “That’s why I chose to wear your dress tonight. The difficulty is, if I am not here in your house as an employee, then it is improper for me to be here at all.”
Stunned, he said, “I hope I have not given you any reason to think that I would take advantage of your being here with no protector.”
“No, none at all,” she said, leaning across the table in her earnestness. “That is all the more reason for me to go, don’t you see? You are too much of a gentleman to tell me if I have become an embarrassment or inconvenience. I’ve put you in an untenable position. After all, you never bargained for my falling in love with you.” She paused, perhaps to give him the chance to speak, but he could say nothing. In a subdued voice she continued, “So I’ll pack my trunk tonight, and tomorrow Dumitru will drive me into the village as you first planned, and I—”
The words were torn from him. “Do you want to go?”
“Of course not. I’d rather stay with you. Always.” The last word was a whisper.
“Then stay,” he said.
“How can I? On what terms?”
She wished to stay. He wished it too—so much that it hurt. But if she remained, the only way to ensure her safety was to stay by her side all night, every night. And for a properly brought up young lady of her country and class, that meant only one thing.
He said, “Stay with me as my wife. Marry me.”
As soon as the words were out, he knew he shouldn’t have spoken them. What had he been thinking? He could never doom her to a life with him. For one thing, there was the question of whether he would be able to control his longing for her blood if they were in such tantalizingly close quarters. This proposal was no more than a foolish quixotic urge that would only change the source of the danger she was in, not save her from it.
His thoughts darted ahead with a rapidity that astonished even him.
What if it was just for a short time, though? Just long enough for him to track down whatever accursed monster had been feeding from her and send the thing to hell, where it belonged. After that…well, after that he would have to break her heart. Think of some way to stage his own death again, and disappear.
At least she would be safe. That was the crucial thing, the only thing.
And for that reason she must not know what he was. One mention of the word vampire and she would flee from him, thinking him mad or evil, and all of his good intentions would go for naught.
Perhaps she would make all of this moot by refusing him. With one glimpse of her face, though, he knew she would not, and his heart felt as if it were being torn apart by agony wrestling with elation.
Her eyes were wide with dawning happiness no less beautiful than the ecstasy of a saint. When she spoke, her voice was soft with wonder.
“I couldn’t tell whether I was imagining that you could care for me. All this time, you’ve never acted…you never said anything. But of course, how could you, when I asked you not to think of me that way?”
He knew it was his duty to crush the delight and wonder in her eyes. “It would have been wrong—it is wrong. Marrying you would be selfish, unforgivable.”
She smiled. “Don’t I get a say in the matter?” she asked.
“It would be asking you to make too great a sacrifice and take too much on faith.” He could no longer even look her in the face, so guilty did he feel at the sight of its radiance.
“I have faith in you.” Her voice was more confident now. “I think I understand why you’ve never touched me, not even to shake hands. It’s the same reason you’re sitting so completely still right now, restraining yourself from moving at all.” She rose from her chair and started around the table toward him, slowly as if not to startle him into fleeing, but he could not move a muscle. He sat as if frozen as she moved around the table toward him. “You know that because you are so much stronger and more imposing you could easily use your physical presence to influence me, to sway my emotions. But you’re too noble to do that. You want any decision I make about how close we become to be free and unforced.”
Was there truth to that? His only conscious motive had been to prevent her from noticing how unnaturally cold his skin was. Even so, how difficult it had been to maintain that distance. There was the time in the library when he almost gave in to his desire to touch her, when he stood for a fraction of an instant just behind her when she stood at the shelves, longing to touch her shoulder, to brush his lips against her hair. Helplessly he wished there were some deity of the undead to whom he could appeal for strength, because he knew as every step brought her closer to him that he was succumbing to the prospect of joy that she offered, even though it would be brief…and dishonestly seized.
Then the realization struck him that there was one other way this marriage could help her, a lasting way: with his pretended death, he could will her a fine inheritance. He had more than enough wealth to leave her a handsome income for the rest of her life. It pleased him to think that never again would she have to beg a stranger for work, and never would she be forced to choose between destitution and an abhorrent second marriage. Security was a gift that he could bequeath her—if she married him.
Would that make up for the pain he would cause her, though? A last prick of conscience forced him to say, “I have no right to ask this, Michael. None at all.”
She knelt by his chair, so close that he was enveloped in the warmth of her, and her eyes were luminous with love and complete trust. “I am giving you the right,” she said.
His hand was clenched on the arm of his chair as he fought to master his longing for her. She reached out tentatively, and then when he did not rebuff her, she laid her hand over his. At this first touch between them a shock of warmth flooded through him, even as she started at the chill of his skin. But already, as she raised his hand and laid it against her cheek, he was enfolded in the heat of her radiance, and his skin warmed from its contact with hers. The touch of her slender fingers and soft cheek jolted through him with a wild intoxicating happiness as she placed her other hand gently against his face and drew it down to hers.
He had thought that after losing Ioana his heart had turned to stone. But when Michael raised her lips to his and kissed him, the soft touch sent swift currents of living heat running through him, melting all that he had thought was cold and dead. Compared to this, feeling another creature’s blood course through his veins was arid and stale. Michael’s touch, Michael’s love, was true life—just as vital as blood.
Chapter XI
What followed passed in a kind of dream.
After Dumitru harnessed the horses and readied the coach, there was a swift, strange journey to the village, with the coach swaying and jouncing through darkness. Dumitru and the horses knew this route so well that even in near-total darkness they hurtled along at high speed, following the curving road with complete certainty. Michael might have been frightened if she had noticed the speed with which they skirted the chasm that yawned to one side, but she seemed unaware of anything but Vasile. His arm was tight around her, and she held his hand and smiled every time their eyes met.
“Would you mind terribly if we have just a civil service?” she had asked before they embarked. “I don’t want a church ceremony.”
He had hidden his relief. He had not dared to enter a church since his transformation. For all he knew, it might make him burst into flame.
“Of course,” he had said. “That will be much easier to arrange.”
Once they arrived at the village, Vasile sent Dumitru to rouse the registry clerk. Dumitru was intimidating enough to move all but the most stubborn, and though Vasile was prepared to lend his authority or exert control over the man’s mind, it did not prove necessary. A quick civil ceremony took place with the manservant as their witness, and Vasile and his bride were back at Castle Dalca before two hours had elapsed.
His bride. He savored those words just as he savored the sight of the woman herself, laughing in sheer happiness as they disembarked from the coach and climbed the stairs hand in hand.
This, he recalled, was the peculiar sweetness of mortal happiness, because it could not last. His joy was laced with a pain that he could not reveal to his new wife. That pain would come all too soon for her, when she found herself widowed by the man she had trusted. But for tonight, and for all the nights he could give her, he would let her know complete happiness. The trust she was placing in him filled him with astonished humility, and he resolved to be worthy of it. He wanted to give her the joy she was giving him—for as long as he could.
In their absence, Ana had prepared his room as the wedding chamber. Showing a romantic tendency he had never suspected, she had strewn aromatic herbs and dried flowers about and lighted sweet-smelling beeswax candles. As Vasile undressed behind a screen and Ana helped Michael ready herself, he heard the serving woman singing an old lay he recalled being sung at his first marriage, a traditional song meant to bring good fortune and children to the bridal couple.
Of course, this marriage would bring no children. The reality laid a cold hand on his mood, and when he heard the door close behind Ana and emerged from the screen to find Michael waiting for him in only a dressing gown, looking so sweetly trusting with her hair unpinned and streaming down around her shoulders, he was stricken with belated uncertainty. Would it be entirely selfish and cruel to consummate the marriage when he knew he would leave her?
Perhaps it would spare her future pain to leave her untouched. And he was nearly certain an English lady’s sensibilities would be delicate enough to welcome the suggestion.
Then another glance at her glowing face suggested that his logic might be flawed. Nevertheless he ventured, “If you would rather wait…”
“Wait?” she repeated, perplexed. “We are married, Vasile.” Then she smiled, distracted. “Vasile…I must get accustomed to using your name. Am I saying it right?”
> “Yes, dragă. You say it perfectly.” Indeed, the shy pride with which she said his name and the loveliness of her mouth in shaping it made his breast swell with a piercing sweetness, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her, all thought of postponement fleeing for ever.
Presently she asked, “What does dragă mean?”
“It means ‘darling.’”
“I like that.”
He drew his fingers through her hair and tucked a strand behind her ear as he had longed to do. “Would you prefer the room dark?”
Her cheeks were already pink, but her blush deepened as she shook her head. “I want to see you,” she whispered. “I want to be able to look into your eyes.”
“Then we shall leave the candles lit,” he said, smiling, and led her to their marriage bed.
At first he could not help but be reminded of Ioana. The shared warmth, the intimacy of the embrace was so beautifully familiar from his life with her so long ago. But his enchanting Michael was unique unto herself, with her own shape and feel, her own way of touching him, her own sounds of urgency and rapture. He was so overwhelmed with this return to long-unknown bliss and so caught up in the heady pleasure of pleasing her that he almost forgot to cast a glamour. It was necessary, though, to throw just enough of a veil over her mind to mask his body’s most inhuman traits, the ones she was likely to notice in such intimate contact.
In the face of such ravishing distraction it was difficult to stay in control. Especially when he ached to taste her blood. The scent of her was enough to awaken a thirst a hundred times fiercer than any he had known before. That made him all the more careful to restrain his full strength, to touch and embrace her with only gentleness. Though his love for her made the thirst more powerful, it also gave him the will to contain it.
Still, he was unable to prevent his fangs from unsheathing themselves, and he kissed her with utmost care to keep from nipping her. For that reason he was horrified by what he saw hours later when she got out of bed to pour them some of the wine Ana had left them.
As Vital as Blood (Victorian Vampires Book 1) Page 10