The Vampire Viscount

by Karen Harbaugh

  St. Vire shook his head as well. “Alas, it’s true. She called me a rogue and double rogue and slapped my hand with her fan time after time.”

  “No doubt you deserved it … and I suspect, my lord, that you are a hopeless flirt.”

  “Never hopeless, Leonore,” he said. He took her hand and smiled into her eyes.

  It was an intimate smile, and Leonore could feel her face grow warm. But she could not look away, for his gaze held hers as firmly as his grasp on her hand. The lights dimmed, St. Vire turned to glance at the stage, and Leonore was able to look away. She tried to move her hand from his, but he held it firm.

  “Don’t pull away, Leonore,” he whispered as the music started. “No one will see. I would like to hold your hand. It … pleases me to do so.”

  She gazed at him again, at his face that showed nothing but kind friendliness. Surely it was not such a terrible thing to allow him to hold her hand for a while. He was her betrothed, after all, and he had been kind to her and Susan. What he asked for was little compared to what he had given. She relaxed, nodding slightly.

  “Thank you,” he said and gently pressed her hand.

  Leonore gave him a hesitant smile, then leaned back in her chair, letting the opera’s music flow over her. But this time, she could not immerse herself in the story of Don Giovanni. She was too conscious of St. Vire’s hand upon hers. He pulled her hand toward him, lacing his long fingers through hers, and settling it upon his knee. She could feel the firm muscles of his leg upon the back of her hand, glad the theatre was dim enough to hide her blushes.

  She did not know how such a simple, innocent thing could seem so intimate to her. He released his fingers slightly from hers, and though she could not see it in the shadows of the theatre box, she could feel his thumb rubbing gently the palm of her hand. It was at once distracting, soothing, and oddly comforting.

  His thumb stopped for a moment, and then she felt her glove slipping off. His hand came down upon hers again, flesh upon flesh, for he was gloveless also. His skin was dry and cool, growing warm as his thumb again caressed the hollow of her hand; but this time a fine tingling shimmered across her palm, radiating through her fingers and up her arm.

  She trained her gazed upon the stage, but it was as if she saw nothing. All her attention was upon his bare hand entwined with hers, alternately still and caressing, the sensation of knitted silk breeches over muscle pressing upon the back of her hand.

  “Don’t,” she said at last and was annoyed at the breathlessness in her voice.

  St. Vire turned to look at her, his brows raised in question.

  “What you are doing,” she explained, beginning to feel foolish. He took his hand from hers and she felt strangely bereft.

  “You do not like me to hold your hand?”

  Leonore glanced at Susan, but the girl was oblivious, totally absorbed by the music and the singers on the stage.

  “Your sister has noticed nothing,” he said, smiling.

  “It is just … you were not just holding my hand,” she said, feeling even more foolish for protesting what now seemed a trivial thing.

  His smile turned apologetic. “I am sorry. You seemed to find it soothing, perhaps comforting in a way. It was at least to me.

  A strange sensation, a soft tenderness, unfurled within Leonore, and she drew in her breath, half afraid of the feeling. It had been comforting, and therefore seductive, for there had been little tenderness in her life, except for Susan’s sisterly affection. He had said it was comforting to him, too. Suddenly, she remembered why he wanted to marry her, and sadness came over her. He probably had not long to live and took comfort in what signs of affection he could find. She smiled at him and took his hand again. “You need not be sorry. It was foolishness on my part. I am not used to signs of … affection.”

  St. Vire cocked his head a little to the side in a considering manner. “Could you become used to it, in time?”

  Leonore could feel her face grow warm, but nodded. “I think I could learn. It is not … unpleasant.”

  He smiled widely at her. “I am glad,” he said, and brought her hand to his lips.

  It was almost dawn by the time St. Vire readied himself for sleep. It had been a good evening. Apparently Leonore had decided to allow him a first step toward intimacy, and it seemed likely he could, indeed, persuade her to come willingly to him on their marriage night. He thought of it, the coming marriage, with a mix of anticipation and dread. He would know then, that night, if he could be cured eventually of his condition. And even if he found he could, there was still no telling whether it would all end in regaining full use of his senses or if he would die at the end of a year. How ironic it would be if all his efforts resulted in achieving all he held dear in life, only to be snatched away.

  St. Vire took off his robe and caught sight of the cheval mirror, hidden under the curtain he had specially made for it. Turning, he stretched out his hand toward it, hesitated, then jerked the curtain aside.

  Pale, pale as death. The familiar urge to smash the mirror rose in him, but he thrust the feeling down. He forced himself to look upon his reflection: feet, legs, sex, stomach, arms, and chest—all normally formed, all that was necessary to a living, breathing man. Yet the sight of his body mocked him, for other than the fact that he breathed and was standing, there was no other sign of life upon him, no fleshly color to his skin.

  And then his face. St. Vine made himself stare into his reflected eyes, and his hand rose up involuntarily, as if to strike the reflection. He lowered his clenched hand and made it relax. It was an alien face, the only alive thing in it his eyes—an old man’s eyes set in a face obscenely young.

  Why did no one see it? Was it that everyone else was stupid, blind, or was it himself? He could see his pale, translucent skin, his teeth just as white, the canines sharp and longer than in humankind. Sometimes he thought he had gone mad, for no one had ever commented on his looks, and indeed some seemed to gaze upon him with favor.

  Yet every time he hunted, and every time he came upon his prey, he would be shocked into sanity again, for certainly he’d glimpsed the horror in the eyes of his victims—the horror that should be there in anyone else who looked upon him. But it was not.

  Perhaps he was mad. St. Vire shuddered and thrust the thought away. God, no. Not yet, not before he could feel, hear, smell, and taste of life again. Even an hour of it would be enough for him, after sixty years of being one step removed from life. Sixty years of touching but scarcely feeling, of eating but not tasting. Music, with its sublime sweetness and agony, could not pierce through the confusion of noise his ears heard; the glory he had heard so long ago was only a memory. Not even sexual desire could stand against the wash of thirst that overcame him, the thirst for blood.

  “A vampire,” he whispered. “I am a vampire.”

  There, he had said it. Anger and despair muddied his emotions, but he pushed the feelings aside. There was no use bemoaning his fate. He smiled slightly. Besides, it was of more practical use to enjoy what he had at the moment. There were certain advantages to being a vampire: preternatural strength and swiftness, the ability to cast a glamour over those he wished to influence. Indeed, he had enjoyed these talents when he had first discovered them, and a heady sense of power had filled him when he had first exercised these gifts.

  But it had soon palled, and it was not enough for him. He never was one to exult in an advantage unless it was intellectual. Now, even that advantage he was beginning to question. Never had he thought that the enjoyment of one’s physical senses fed the intellect, but now he was certain it did. He wondered how far into madness one could slip without the daily sensory sustenance the mind needed. If the woman who had made him a vampire had known or had cared to know, certainly she had had no wish to tell him. He grimaced, not wanting to know the answer. She had disappeared long ago, and he would not find out from her.

  St. Vire sighed and pulled the cloth over the mirror again. He did not know why he bother
ed to ponder these things, why it made him want to smash the mirror and anything else inanimate—

  Ah, but who was he trying to fool? Of course he knew why. He was not at all sure he would ever be fully alive again, regardless of his plans, not sure that he could escape the madness he was sure would overcome him at some time. One tended to wonder and fear, hate and deny when one’s plans had small hope of success. But there was hope, at least.

  St. Vire went to the window and noted the first faint lightening of the sky. The dawn was but a few minutes away. He had stayed up too late; he could feel the sharp tingling on his skin that promised pain if he did not protect himself from the sunlight. Almost, almost, he was tempted to keep the curtains open just a little longer. The pain would be real, and there was no blandness about it. He did this from time to time, just to prove to himself he was truly alive.

  The tingling sharpened even more, and he pulled the heavy curtains across the window, making sure there was no place for light to come through. He did the same for the equally heavy curtains around his bed once he climbed into it. He lay down upon the cool sheets, pulled the covers over him, and sighed once more. Perhaps he would not dream this time, he thought, as he closed his eyes. He never knew what to make of his dreams, for sometimes they were full of portent, and sometimes only shifting images.

  A brief picture of Leonore flitted through his mind as he drowsed. He wondered if she would hate him when she found out. But the thought faded into sleep.

  Chapter Five

  It must be, reflected Leonore cynically, the glamour of near-nobility that made her acquaintance so desirable now. She sat in the drawing room of her father’s house, hoping she could maintain her smile for one more guest, glad her father had left for his club, and wishing her mother had not retired with yet another headache.

  Once her betrothal had been announced in the Gazette, she achieved instant popularity. Five invitations to balls and routs had come to her within the week, and the callers she had received today had given her more. She was no fool, however; it was St. Vire they were curious about, and then secondarily herself as someone who had snared a most intriguing and eccentric, if not mysterious, man.

  She smiled politely at Lady Brunsmire, a widow still young enough to look pretty in the frivolous dress she wore. The lady looked around the Farleighs’ shabby drawing room with curiosity. No doubt she is wondering what it was that attracted St. Vire to someone like me, Leonore thought.

  “Lord St. Vire is such an intriguing man, I vow, and so handsome!” Lady Brunsmire was saying. She looked toward the door expectantly and then glanced at the mirror near it, tucking a lock of her red hair back beneath her headband. The lady brought her gaze back to Leonore. “I have tried to invite him to my alfresco luncheon, but he says he cannot come.” Clearly, the woman was hoping St. Vire would appear, and that Leonore would persuade him to go to the luncheon.

  “I am sorry, my lady. But Lord St. Vire does not go out during the day. Not even with me.”

  The lady’s eyebrows rose. “Surely he … You are his betrothed! Certainly you could persuade him.”

  “No, I doubt Lord St. Vire will change his ways. It quite amuses him to live as he does.”

  “Perhaps you have not been … persuasive enough. Few men are proof against a lady’s charm.” Lady Brunsmire looked at her pityingly as if to say that Leonore had no charm at all.

  Leonore smiled slightly. “Oh, but you must admit he is quite out of the ordinary, certainly an original. And an original, especially such a charming one as St. Vire, should be allowed his little fancies, should he not? Why should he attend the usual common activities that everyone else does?”

  Lady Brunsmire shot her a sharp glance, but Leonore kept her face politely bland. The lady’s glance took in the worn furniture and rugs in the room, and she smiled, apparently deciding that Leonore was too gauche to have meant anything by her words.

  “So true, Miss Farleigh. St. Vire is a clever man, is he not? He kept me so very amused a few evenings ago.” A complacent smile came over the woman’s face.

  A sharp pang shot through Leonore’s heart. Was infidelity the thing she must bear when she married him, just as her mother bore Father’s rages? At least it would not be drunkenness … but somehow this did not comfort her. She made herself smile.

  “Yes, he is a terrible flirt, is he not?” Leonore laughed lightly. “You must beware he does not break your heart, my lady! No one can take his compliments literally. You must know what a rogue he can be. Why, I have had all of four ladies admit to me this afternoon that he has quite stolen their hearts!”

  The look of chagrin that flitted over Lady Brunsmire’s face almost made Leonore laugh aloud. But enough was enough. This would be the last caller, she promised herself. She smiled politely and attempted to bring the call to a close, but Lady Brunsmire leaned forward in a confidential manner toward Leonore.

  “But tell me, Miss Farleigh, how did you meet—”

  Fortunately, Simpson, the butler, entered the parlor once again, interrupting Lady Brunsmire’s question. Leonore sighed, resigned to more company.

  “ ’Tis Lady Jersey to see you, Miss Leonore,” Simpson announced, clearly impressed, and opened the door wide.

  Leonore rose hurriedly, as did Lady Brunsmire. She had not expected Lady Jersey to call upon her! St. Vire had surely been teasing that night at the opera. He could not have persuaded a patroness of Almack’s to condescend to visit a relatively unknown young woman. It wasn’t done!

  But Lady Jersey it was. She smiled kindly at Leonore as she entered the drawing room, then turned to Lady Brunsmire. “I am so sorry to have broken into your farewells!” she said brightly. “Please do not let my presence keep you from any appointments you might have, Lady Brunsmire.” She smiled and inclined her head regally.

  Chagrin was writ clear now on Lady Brunsmire’s face. “Of course, Lady Jersey! I was just taking my leave.” She threw a slightly angry look at Leonore. “I hope to see you at some time in the near future, Miss Farleigh.”

  Leonore nodded politely. The door shut behind the widow, and she turned to find that Lady Jersey was looking at her with approval.

  “Nasty woman!” she said. “I cannot abide her. You dealt well with her, and with good address, too.”

  Lady Jersey must have been eavesdropping at the door. Leonore suppressed a smile at the thought. It was not something she would have thought someone of supposed strict propriety would do.

  “I think Lady Brunsmire was merely curious about Lord St. Vire.”

  Lady Jersey laughed and waved her hand dismissively. She took a seat near the fireplace. “Oh, you must be prepared for the curious, Miss Farleigh. Your betrothed is a singularly handsome man and eminently eligible, and he affects an intriguing mysteriousness as well. But it is just as well he does; if he wishes to be known, he must have a few affectations.”

  “Very true, my lady. St. Vire does like to amuse and be amused.” Leonore silently congratulated him on making his need to avoid the sunlight into an asset. How clever he was! She wondered how long it would be before it was revealed as a symptom of his illness, rather than a fashionable whim. But clearly the mysteriousness with which St. Vire had surrounded himself made Lady Jersey curious enough to call upon Leonore. She relaxed at the thought.

  “You do not have affectations, do you?” Lady Jersey asked.

  “No, I hope I do not.” Leonore smiled wryly. “I do not aspire to compete with St. Vire. I merely follow in his wake.”

  “The silent and devoted bride, Miss Farleigh?” Lady Jersey cast her an assessing glance.

  “Oh, most certainly, my lady,” replied Leonore, and her smile turned mischievous.

  Lady Jersey laughed again and rose from her chair. “Oh, now I see why it was St. Vire settled upon you for his betrothed! I should have known he would not choose an insipid miss.” Her own smile turned wry. “Well, I have promised St. Vire I would call upon you, however irregular it is, and so I have.”


  A shock went through Leonore, though she inclined her head gravely as she rose also. “And I am very honored that you have condescended to do so.”

  The older lady turned to the door, then hesitated. “Why is it that St. Vire refuses to attend functions during the day?” she asked.

  “I am afraid I cannot say, Lady Jersey.”

  The lady’s gaze turned sharp. “Then you know.”

  Though Leonore gave her an apologetic look, she said nothing.

  An expression of discontent crossed Lady Jersey’s face, then she chuckled. “Oh, that odious man! I vow he has half the ton wondering about him. Very well then! I know he wished me to send you vouchers for Almack’s, but I could not do so until I called upon you—those are the rules, after all! Well, I have seen you, and just as he wished, I have approved. There now! You can expect the vouchers within the week.”

  Leonore felt a little dizzy. “I? Vouchers?”

  This time Lady Jersey’s smile was kind. “Yes, Miss Farleigh. You did not expect them, did you?”

  “No … of course not.”

  “Good.” The patroness’s smile grew wider. “I never send vouchers to people who expect them.” She nodded and extended her hand to Leonore in farewell. “And do make sure St. Vire attends with you. I have given him vouchers as well, but he has not come. It is to keep us all in suspense, I am sure!” With a last smile, she left the room.

  Leonore sat down abruptly, then absently rang for Simpson to refuse any further callers. She thought St. Vire had been teasing when he had mentioned getting vouchers for Almack’s. However, he had not only procured some for himself, but had persuaded Lady Jersey to call upon her so that she could have them as well.

  She had not expected this when she had agreed to marry him. He had said he would help her family, but she did not think it would extend to launching her into society. Once she received the vouchers, she, herself, could approach one of the patronesses to call upon her again and perhaps offer some for Susan. Then she could see to Susan’s welfare and see her well established in a good marriage.