The Vampire Viscount

by Karen Harbaugh

  His smile faded. He had taken blood from her and put a glamour upon her so that she would not remember it. He shivered. Going to the fireplace, he placed some wood in it. His hands shook a little as he used the tinderbox and failed to make a spark. He let out an impatient sigh, and gesturing with his hand, he murmured a few words. A little salamander of flame lit within his palm, and he emptied it into the kindling. He shifted the wood with the poker until the fire burned steadily. He twisted his lips ruefully. He did not know why he persisted in lighting fires the old way when he could do it with a few words.

  Perhaps it was because it tied him to humanity still. All the vampires he had met feared fire and could not have it around them. Perhaps the warding spell he had put upon himself before he became a vampire had given a little twist to his condition and left him this last human attribute.

  Finally, a vigorous fire burned in the hearth. The work of building a fire brought him some composure, and he smiled again. He’d been too eager to see the transformative spell succeed, and he knew it would take a year from midsummer before he was totally changed. Apparently the transformation would be gradual. He sat in a nearby chair. Really, he had no reason to regret that he had put the glamour upon Leonore. It was for her own protection, after all.

  Staring into the flames that licked at the wood, he grimaced. No, it was not for Leonore’s protection, it was for his own. He had not known whether he had to take her blood or merely her maidenhood and so had done both to ensure he would not descend into madness. It was beginning to work, too. Did he not see a bit of the sunset this evening? And, he realized, he had felt the night’s cold, enough to start a fire in the fireplace, a thing he had not needed to do for a long while.

  He’d done what he had to, that was all. He had needed her willing in bed, and what woman would want to lay willingly with one such as himself—one who might drink of her blood from time to time? None, he was sure, unless he offered money.

  You are a coward, Nicholas, admit it. He pressed his hands upon his closed eyes, rubbing them wearily, and sighed. He did not want her to know what he was. The thought of her cringing from him brought the tightness of the night before to his chest. It felt as if something were expanding from the inside, and it hurt him. He did not like it, for it was foreign to him, and he preferred the familiar when it came to the emotions. Such things were uncomfortable when he encountered them in himself or in others, for that matter.

  And such musings were useless. There was nothing he could do about it, after all. Much more to the point was getting proof of his perceptions from Leonore. Perhaps if he pleased her in some way, she would do this for him. What would she like? A trinket of some sort? She had not spoken of any interest in jewelry to him; indeed, she did not wear much jewelry at all, even though he had given her some very fine necklaces as a wedding present. St. Vire frowned. She had asked nothing of him, really; nothing for herself, only for her family or for her sister. He put his hand on the small table beside him, tapping his fingers upon it impatiently. Was there nothing she wished for? His fingers touched the rag he had left on the table some days ago, and the scent he had encountered when entering the room came to him again.

  Blood. Blood was near, recently shed. Someone had come into this room within the last day and had cut himself, perhaps on the shards of glass that were still scattered on the floor. He clenched his teeth in anger. No one should be here but himself, for he had told his servants that he did not want anyone to disturb anything in the attic. Whatever servant had disobeyed him would be out on the streets this night.

  The books he had were valuable, and he’d had a devil of a time finding them; he trusted no one with them. And the implements he’d collected when he’d experimented with the more elaborate spells—many of them were of strange and foreign construction. While he cultivated his eccentric reputation, he could not let anyone come close to realizing his vampiric nature. It was hard enough to attend to daily business matters during the night without that.

  He drew in his breath and found that the scent came from the rag. Smoothing it out, he found a large, dark spot upon it. Apparently whoever had come into this room had stanched the wound with the rag. Well, the culprit would be easy to find, then. Anyone who showed a cut would be suspect. St. Vire rose from his chair. He would find out as soon as he dressed.

  Chapter Ten

  It was past twilight. Leonore cast another glance at the parlor clock as she turned the page of her book. Nicholas must appear soon. She brought her attention back to her book, then realized she did not remember what she had read for the last half hour. Sighing impatiently, she closed it with a snap. This was useless! Surely Nicholas would not think her forward if she went up to his chambers to see if he was up and about yet. Perhaps he had forgotten that they were to go to the theatre tonight, or overslept. She rose from her chair.

  You are being quite silly, Leonore told herself as she ascended the stairs to his room. Nicholas would come to see her in good time, and he had promised they would go to the theatre. Had he not kept all his promises to her so far? There was no reason why he shouldn’t keep this one. Her footsteps slowed, then halted. She smoothed her hand over the deep blue silk of her evening gown; she had dressed in one of the gowns Nicholas had bought for her. It was beautiful, but she felt awkward wearing it, for it was not in a style she had thought would suit her. She shook her head. Perhaps Nicholas thought fine clothes would make her look pretty; but peacock feathers on a sparrow did not make the sparrow a peacock.

  But he had bought it to please her, as he did with other things he had given her and her family, and she didn’t want to slight his generosity. He had asked nothing of her except that she marry him, and she supposed by implication, that she bear him an heir. The least she could do was show her appreciation for his gifts. She stepped quickly up the remaining stairs to his room and knocked at the door.

  “Enter!”

  Leonore opened the door and peered in. The room had no mirror in it now; she could see the imprint of the mirror’s base upon the thick rug. Only the fire in the hearth and one brace of candles lit the room. Nicholas was looking into a small hand mirror that Edmonds was holding up for him. Leonore said nothing while he carefully tied his cravat and pressed his chin gently down upon its folds. She smiled to herself. How vain he was! But it was his only fault, and one which she found quite amusing. She wondered, too, if it was just one more piece of playacting that he performed, for she often had the distinct feeling he thought his own vanity amusing as well.

  Finally, with a last glance at the mirror, Nicholas dismissed Edmonds and turned to her, smiling as the door shut behind the valet. His gaze went slowly from her face to her dress, as if he measured the gown upon her body with his eyes.

  Leonore’s face grew warm, and she turned away, blurting the first thing that came to her: “My, Nicholas, but you keep your room quite dim, even though it is night. I know candlelight doesn’t hurt you, so there is no reason for so little of it.” It was a stupid thing to say, she thought, but she felt she couldn’t look at him without remembering last night and what they had done in her bed.

  It was useless trying to avoid the thought, for Nicholas’s arm went around her waist, and he cupped her chin with his hand so that she could not help looking at him. He was still smiling at her, but there was an assessing look in his eyes.

  “And a good evening to you, too, Leonore,” he replied.

  A chuckle bubbled out of her, and she felt more at ease. “Good evening,” she said. “There, have I retrieved myself?” His measuring expression disappeared and he grinned.

  “No. Lack of courtesy is anathema to me, and I exact a stiff penalty for it.” He pulled her closer to him, and a fine anticipatory tingling came over her skin.

  “Oh? And what is this penalty?” she managed to say.

  “A kiss,” he replied and moved his lips upon hers. “Or perhaps two … or three …” He kissed her eyes, then her mouth again. “No, four is better.” His lips mov
ed down to her neck.

  “Five is much better, actually. Or, no, six,” he whispered at the edge of her décolletage. She gave a gasping laugh.

  “Heavens, Nicholas, do stop!” He moved a little away from her; she was blushing furiously, she was certain, and her breath came quickly now. “I … I thought we were to go to the symphony tonight, you had said …”

  He grinned at her. “I suppose I did say that. But I can be persuaded otherwise if you wish for some other … activity.”

  “Yes, no, that is— Oh, for goodness sake, Nicholas, how you tease!” She felt her face grow hotter and put her hand to her cheek. She had forgotten another fault of his: He somehow always managed to get the last word. She pressed her lips together, trying to gather her thoughts together for a stinging reply.

  “I? Tease?” He put a wounded expression on his face. “I live only to serve you, my dear,” he said and bowed low.

  “Nonsense!” Leonore said and tried to look stern. “How odious you are, to be sure! For that, we shall go to the theatre, where you will have to behave yourself.”

  “I suppose I will …” he said, but the look he gave her was totally unrepentant.

  “Besides, you are dressed for the theatre, so you cannot tell me you had forgotten it.”

  He looked down at his clothes in mock dismay. “Alas! Betrayed by my own vanity.”

  Leonore burst into laughter, for his grin made him look like a naughty boy.

  A knock at the door interrupted her. “The servants are assembled, my lord,” came Edmond’s voice.

  Nicholas’s expression cooled to ice as he glanced at the door. “Very good. I shall be down directly,” he said. An odd, uncertain feeling came over Leonore at that look. She had mostly seen him in a pleasant mood, but now her watchfulness came to the fore again.

  “I hope you are not gathering them so as to introduce me. I have met them already; I needed occupation this afternoon and thought I might meet them myself.” She watched him. He still smiled, but his body seemed tense.

  He turned to her, and his smile grew a little warmer. “You did well. I am seeing them about a matter of discipline. One of the servants has gone into a private room of mine, a thing I have forbidden.” He turned toward the door.

  A chill went through Leonore. “I … Is it one of the attic rooms?”

  His foot seemed to catch upon the rug, and he steadied himself with his hand upon the closed door. “Yes,” he said, though he did not turn around.

  “I … I am sorry if you don’t like it, Nicholas, but I took the housekeeper’s keys and toured the house. I thought I might find something useful in the attic, and I found some furniture I could use for the sitting room.” She was babbling, and she hated how her voice sounded nervous even to herself, but the words kept tumbling from her lips. “There was a key—you didn’t say you had a room up there—I thought perhaps I would find more furniture. I never knew you had … had …” Her words trailed off, for he had turned and stared at her, his eyes remote.

  “Had what?” His voice was sharp and wary.

  “So many books!” Leonore blurted. “You never told me you were a scholar.”

  He let out a sigh and smiled, though his eyes were still cool. “Yes, I am, and have been for a long time.”

  “And a collector, too. Although I never would have thought you would have collected religious works.”

  Nicholas laughed, and his eyes lost their remoteness. “No, I suppose not, considering …” His gaze lingered at her lips, and she was sure he was not thinking of religion.

  Leonore blushed again. Her shoulders relaxed; she had not been aware that she had tensed them. She returned his smile, but the disturbance within her did not leave. She had felt, for a moment, threatened. Perhaps she was so used to her father’s rages that her fear had come over her. but Nicholas had promised he’d never raise his hand to her. He had kept all his promises to her, and more, since the time they were betrothed.

  “Yes, especially considering,” she replied and felt her composure returning. She held out her hand to Nicholas. “No more nonsense, now! Shall we go to the theatre before the concert ends?”

  Nicholas brought her hand to his lips. “As you wish, my dear,” he said, and this time his smile was warm.

  And yet, thought Leonore as they left the room and descended the stairs to the carriage, she felt uneasy. It was not his nearness that gave her discomfort—that had disappeared after she had admitted her love for him last night at the wedding party. It was something else quite familiar that she had experienced before she had come to know him.

  Nicholas smiled at her as he helped her into the carriage, and she returned it. While they rode to the theatre, she was glad the carriage’s interior was dim. For though he took her into his arms again and kissed her until they arrived at their destination, she was conscious that a wall had arisen tonight. She knew Nicholas never told her everything of himself; she had believed it didn’t matter. But there was something of import he did not want anyone to know, more than his illness, she was sure.

  For when she had told him she had entered the attic library, there had been an emotion she hadn’t thought to see in his eyes: fear. She’d seen it before, but had ascribed it to his fear of his illness. This time it had nothing to do with the illness, she was sure, but something about the attic room. Why else would his eyes reveal his feelings thus when she talked about it?

  Though his kisses were intoxicating, a small part of her mind was still clear, holding the puzzle secure to examine later. When they parted at last, Leonore looked into her husband’s eyes as if it were possible to see into him. But though they were penetrating and smilingly seductive, she found only desire there.

  The carriage stopped in front of the theatre, and the groom opened the door to let them out. An ache grew in her chest, and Leonore sighed as she descended the carriage steps. Once more she felt her defenses rise. It hurt to put them up, for she had become accustomed to openness with him. Now, it seemed, there was to be none of that, or perhaps there never had been. No doubt she had been indulging in a fantasy the whole time.

  As the concert began, she looked at Nicholas once more. A frown crossed his brow, then it cleared as he caught her gaze, and turned into concern instead.

  “Is anything the matter, Leonore?” he asked.

  She was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “No, Nicholas. Let’s listen to the music. It is a very fine rendition of Mozart’s last symphony.”

  Nicholas nodded and turned his attention to the orchestra. Leonore looked at him one last time, then transferred her gaze to the pit as well. No, something was, indeed, the matter, but she would discover what it was in time. She had taken down the walls around her heart, and though her defenses had risen once again, she knew they were useless, for she knew they made her weak. She would find out what made that flicker of fear appear in her husband’s eyes. At least she could do that for him and help him with whatever he feared, and never again would he look at her so remotely as he had this evening. She would make sure of it.

  Nicholas hadn’t precisely forbidden her to enter the attic library, and Leonore believed the best approach was to go boldly into it and proceed to tidy it. Though she wanted to find what it was that disturbed her husband so, she also found a simple comfort in the activity.

  She was dusting a table when Nicholas entered. When he caught sight of her, he stopped in the threshold. He said nothing, but merely stared. She could not discern anything from his expression; he seemed indecisive, for he hesitated before he stepped farther into the room.

  She said lightly, “Since you won’t allow the servants in to clean this room, I thought I should do so. I cannot see how you can go about your studies in such a dusty, dirty place. You are such a tidy person yourself, I was astonished to see this room in such a state.”

  A reluctant smile touched his lips, and a twinkle entered his eyes. He went to the fireplace and held up his hands toward the fire. He glanced about the room. “It
does look better than it did before,” he said.

  “Thank you. I have not got to the books, however. Many of them are sadly dirty and in disrepair.”

  “You needn’t attend to them, I assure you.”

  She looked at him carefully, for his voice seemed to have cooled. He still smiled at her, but though his face was half in shadow, she saw his hand tense briefly. The books, then. The books held a clue to his fear. If so, there would be little good in denying she had looked at them; he was too perceptive to be fooled. She made herself smile and laugh lightly.

  “Are you afraid that I shall damage them further? I assure you, I am good at restoring books. The ones in my father’s library would have been in worse condition than yours if I hadn’t taken the time to mend and clean them. I have examined a few of your books and can repair them with little trouble.”

  Nicholas walked over to her and put his hand under her chin so that she looked him in the eyes. “Is that all you are interested in, Leonore?” he said softly. “Being the consummate housekeeper? Or is it that there is something you wish to know about me that you think to find in here?”

  So, he was going to be direct about it. Very well, then. Leonore made herself stare into his eyes. “Yes. I do wish to find out more about you. You may call me nosy if you like, but I … I care for you, Nicholas, and there is something you fear. I wish you would tell me.”

  He released her chin. “I? Fear?” He chuckled. “I think not.” He kissed her gently, then more with more passion. “There is little you could do that would make me afraid, Leonore.”