He would not ask her to watch the dawn with him, to see if he could bear the light of the sun. It would be useless. Regardless of whether his wife chose to stay with him or leave him, she would never again come willingly to his bed or gaze at him with tenderness.
He would stay a creature of the night, and except for when the bloodthirst was upon him, his senses would fade into dullness, and music would be noise in his ears. Tomorrow he would begin to court Mercia, and Leonore would begin to hate him.
And that was a living death, indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
As the maid helped her dress for the masquerade three evenings after Lady Russell’s ball, Leonore wondered again that Nicholas had not woken her up at dawn to see the sun rise the day after the ball. She felt relief and disappointment. She would have liked to have seen if his illness had receded; however, if they had stayed up, the sun might have made him ill. It was just as well that they had not, she supposed.
Leonore looked in the mirror, twirling to see how her spangled dress swirled in featherlike waves around her figure. She was dressed as the Elfin Queen Mab, in green silk with thin strips of silver gauze as the overskirt. The light gauze drifted around her as she moved, making her seem as if she floated instead of walked. A white domino draped over her shoulders, and her mask was silver. She smiled at her maid. “You have done very well, Betty. Thank you.”
Betty blushed, bobbed a curtsy, and beamed at her mistress. “Thank you, my lady. I tries ter— That is, I try to do my best.”
Leonore’s smile grew wider. Her maid had, indeed, improved in the few months she had been in Leonore’s employ. She complimented Betty once more and proceeded down the stairs. Nicholas was already waiting for her in the parlor, and he looked upon her dress with approval as he kissed her hand and put it upon his arm. He wore a black mask and domino, but was otherwise dressed in elegant evening clothes.
“You look lovely, as usual,” he said and smiled.
“Thank you, Nicholas. I wish you had decided to wear a costume, too. It would have been quite amusing, I think. I wonder you did not.”
His eyebrows rose. “But I am in costume, my dear.”
“Oh, really? What is your disguise, then?” She held up her hand, then put her finger to her temple in thoughtful concentration. “Let me guess … You are dressed all in somber black, except for your gloves, which are white … ah hah! I have it. You are a lowly shipping clerk.”
Nicholas shuddered theatrically. “If so, then I cannot be all that lowly. Shipping clerks do not wear silk or impeccably tied linen neckcloths.”
“What, then?”
He seemed to hesitate, then his smile turned wry.
“But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe
Beneath avenging Monkir’s scythe;
And from its torment ’scape alone
To wander round lost Eblis’ throne;
And fire unquench’d, unquenchable,
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell …”
“That is Byron’s poem ‘The Giaour,’ ” she said, puzzled. “I do not think you look at all like a Turk.”
“Very good, Leonore. Do you remember the next few lines?” He seemed to watch her carefully, and this puzzled her further.
“Only vaguely. I think they say something about the tortures of hell, and then, oh, let’s see … ‘But first, on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent—’ The rest of it is quite distasteful. I never did care for that part of the poem.” She stared at him, then burst into laughter. “Oh, heavens, Nicholas, a vampire? A ‘livid living corse’? With ‘gnashing tooth and haggard lip’?” Her giggles burst from behind her hand, and she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes beneath her mask. “I think you will have to find a more convincing costume than that. Yes, I admit I have read some gothics, and I am afraid you look nothing like the vampires depicted there.”
Nicholas had grinned at her laughter and now smiled at her words. “And can you not conceive of a vampire who looks, well, as tidily dressed as I am?”
“Silly! Vampires are evil, ugly, ravenous creatures. That is the way they are in those stories. I am afraid you will have to resign yourself to either being an exalted sort of shipping clerk, or Nicholas St. Vire with a mask and domino.”
His expression became somber. “I am afraid I cannot be the clerk. That, upon thinking of it, would have been very amusing.”
“Then you will have to be Nicholas St. Vire with a mask, for you are certainly not evil, ugly, or ravenous.”
He smiled again, slightly. “I suppose it makes no difference.”
But something in his expression dampened Leonore’s spirits, and she gazed into his eyes for a sign of what it was. He glanced away from her. “Shall we go?”
“Of course,” Leonore replied. She looked away as well. The fear was there again in his eyes, and a terrible longing. She bit her lip. Just a little, it frightened her.
She did not understand it. She had found no clue to what it was he feared, even though she had perused the books in the attic library for something that would tell her. His books covered the whole scope between the sacred and the profane, with no emphasis on either. Even if he were superstitious enough to try any of the so-called magic in those books, she could not tell whether he practiced good or evil. It was just a comprehensive collection of ancient works. She shrugged to herself. She would question him later. Perhaps as time went by, he would trust her more and tell her.
She conversed easily with him in the coach, making Nicholas laugh a few times. His smiles reached his eyes then, and it seemed his mood lightened. It made their carriage ride short, and Leonore surprised herself by sighing in relief when they reached Lord and Lady Harlowe’s house. She glanced at Nicholas. For one moment it seemed he stared angrily at the house, and then his face became smooth and unconcerned.
The Harlowe residence was not as well lit as Leonore would have supposed from their obvious wealth. It gave the rooms an intimate cast that made her feel uncomfortable. She did not know the Harlowes well at all, but Nicholas knew them. She glanced at him, and he smiled down at her. She felt herself blush, for it seemed his smile was seductive in the extreme … but perhaps it was only the light.
As soon as she stepped into the room in which the guests gathered, Leonore wished she had not come. She knew some of the people, and those she knew had reputations that bordered upon the scandalous. She looked at Nicholas, wondering why he had brought her here, for he had always escorted her to those events that contained only the most respectable of people.
Heavy drapes hung over the balcony windows, and though some of the windows opened to the air, the rooms were hot and humid. A quartet of musicians diligently played their instruments, and some people danced the waltz in a languid manner, many of them too close for propriety. The guests were lords and ladies—barely masked—and many of them were nowhere near their spouses. She noticed a Sir Jamison whispering in Mrs. Burlingame’s ear, his hand caressing her neck as he spoke, while his wife walked out to the balcony with a man who draped his arm around her waist. She thought she saw Lord Eldon, as well, but he was far to the other side of the room and she could not be sure.
She turned to Nicholas to ask that they leave, but he was gone. Her teeth gritted in panicked anger. What could he have been thinking of? How dare he bring her to such a place! She searched the crowded room, but did not find him.
“Perhaps a dance, my Queen?” an unfamiliar voice whispered by her ear, and she turned quickly. A Harlequin leered at her from under his mask, and she took a step back.
“No, thank you, I do not wish to dance,” she said.
“A walk out upon the terrace, then?”
“No.” She turned away from the man, searching the room once more.
“You are unobliging, pretty one.”
She felt a hand slide around her waist. Fury flared within her at the man’s actions and at Nicholas’s abandonment. Her hands turned into fists, and the sticks of her fan bit
into one palm.
“I pray that you unhand me now, sir, or you will certainly regret it,” Leonore said between clenched teeth. The man only laughed and pulled her to him.
She did not think, only acted. Sheer anger propelled her fist around in a circle, and she drove the pointed end of her closed fan into his stomach.
“Oof!” The man fell with a decided thump to the floor.
Horrified at what she had done, she whirled to stare at the man who had fallen. He was gasping for breath and holding his stomach; his mask had come half off, affront writ large upon his face. Laughter broke out around her, and she raised her head with a jerk. Her face flamed hot. A crowd had gathered around her, obviously enjoying the scuffle. Their masked faces—amused Columbines, laughing cavaliers, leering pirates—seemed monstrous to her, and she ran blindly away from them, away from the heat and the suffocating humiliation.
Cool air struck her face and calmed her heated emotions a little as well. Leonore looked about her and found she had run out onto a balcony. She drew her domino close about her shoulders and leaned against the edge of the balcony, breathing deeply of the night air. She would go home as soon as she recovered herself and found Nicholas.
The night sky was black and dotted with the light of stars. Leonore looked up at the moon shining serenely as if nothing had happened only a few minutes before. Some calmness returned to her. She could hear the musicians inside the room still playing relentlessly, and the muted noise of the guests. Relative silence surrounded her, and she was glad of it. The murmur of voices, closer, came to her.
“Nicholas …”
Leonore froze, but did not turn around. She was sure the voices came from just below her where the door opened out to the terrace.
“Well, Mercia, you see I have arrived as I promised.” Leonore closed her eyes. She knew Nicholas’s voice very well.
“You wed her, my dear. I don’t know if I can forgive that.”
“Oh, come, my dear!” Nicholas said ironically. “Surely you don’t think it is any different from your own … marriage to your poor Constantin.”
“She is well-born, however. I am sure she could not be living with you without your wedding her in a church. How did you manage it?” Leonore could hear suspicion in Lady Lazlo’s voice.
“It was short, believe me. I have lasted longer than any of the others. Why shouldn’t I be able to bear this, as well?”
“Then I was right to return here.” Lady Lazlo’s voice grew eager. “Look you, Nicholas, we shall be a powerful pair should we join together. We could rule here, take what we wish.”
“I remember the last time you said that, Mercia. How will I know your indiscretions will not force you to hide once again?”
“I was never indiscreet!”
“So you say. Your depredations amongst society’s best were always obvious to me.”
“You—” Lady Lazlo’s voice had risen, but she stopped herself. “Oh, come now, you know what I am. You are another one of my kind. Of course you’d notice my actions.” Her voice was soft and seductive.
Leonore’s hands closed into tight fists. Please, Nicholas, please don’t go to her. She wanted to leave, but moved only to turn and look over the balcony. There she saw Nicholas, not quite facing the balcony; Lady Lazlo was turned toward him.
“Of course I would notice your actions, Mercia,” Nicholas replied. “But so did the Parisians.”
Lady Lazlo shrugged. “I merely convinced them I was helping their cause. They became very sympathetic after that.”
A slow smile came to Nicholas’s lips. “How very clever of you, my dear.” Lady Lazlo stepped close enough for her to lay her head upon his chest.
“Dear Nicholas, will you join me?” Leonore could see Lady Lazlo’s fingers trace a trail from Nicholas’s coat lapel to his cheek. He did not move from her, but smiled.
A hot, sharp pain struck Leonore’s chest, pushing a short groaning sigh from her. She covered her lips immediately and shrank behind a pillar. For a moment she thought Nicholas’s eyes had shot to where she stood, but she could not be sure.
Nicholas was looking at Lady Lazlo now, however. He brought his hand to her shoulder and caressed her neck. “I have yet to hear anything to make it worth my while.”
A low, husky laugh floated up from Lady Lazlo. “Kiss me, and perhaps that will convince you.”
Don’t, don’t! cried Leonore inwardly and pressed her hands to her mouth. She watched, numb, while her husband slowly bent and pressed his lips to Lady Lazlo’s. Leonore turned then, closing her eyes tightly, and bit her lip to keep herself from crying out. The pain and the taste of blood brought her to a semblance of control, and she swallowed the tears she felt rising within her.
“You will have to convince me more than that, Mercia.” Nicholas’s voice was smooth, almost emotionless.
This time Lady Lazlo laughed complacently. “Come to me tomorrow. I will do my best to persuade you then.”
Leonore’s feet unfroze in that instant, and she stumbled from the balcony into the room again. She had to leave—now. She could not stand the idea that Nicholas would go to that woman when only a few days ago he had told Leonore he liked her. Liked. That was not much, was it? Obviously, he felt more than liking for Lady Lazlo.
Her feet sped her past the guests. Tears started to drop from her eyes. She dashed her hand against her mask, dislodging it so that it obscured her sight, and stumbled hard into a firm, male body. Her arms were grasped, and she struggled wildly.
“Let me go! Please let me go!”
“I say, Lady St. Vire, what are you doing here?” came Lord Eldon’s voice from above her head. She pushed up her mask and gazed into his concerned eyes. “Not quite the thing, you know.”
“Oh, Lord Eldon, please take me home! I— It was a terrible mistake. I … I have the headache, too.” She pressed her hand to her temple, for indeed a headache was beginning to form there.
“Where is St. Vire? Surely he did not bring you here?” He took her hand and patted it comfortingly.
“No, no, he did not,” she lied. “I came with some friends … I thought they were friends, but of course they are not.” She let out a near-sobbing breath. “Please take me home.”
“Of course, of course,” said Lord Eldon. His voice was kind, and Leonore nearly burst into tears at the sound of it.
He hailed a hackney and made sure Leonore was comfortable in it before he entered it. Lord Eldon’s light, inconsequential chatter calmed her so that by the time they reached the house, she was able to thank him for his assistance in a friendly way.
“Are you sure you do not wish me to see you to the door?” Lord Eldon said.
She smiled at him. “No, I assure you I will be better presently. I am much better now that I am gone from that place.”
He nodded and tipped his hat to her. “Very well, then. But I shall wait until you have gone into the house.”
Leonore waved to him when the footman opened the door, and she watched the carriage start off. Then she turned and entered the house.
Her nod to the footman was automatic, without her customary smile, and her steps to her room mechanical. She thought of the kindly Lord Eldon and wished she had married someone like him. She would not be so confused now, so filled with turbulent emotions that it made her feel ill. From the start Nicholas had confused her, had made her feel things she did not want to feel, and made her want more from this marriage than a marriage of convenience had to offer.
Her maid had stayed up to attend her. The girl smiled uncertainly, and Leonore made herself smile reassuringly.
“You are doing well, Betty. I am tired and have the headache. I only wish to sleep.”
A relieved expression lightened Betty’s features, and she bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lady. I’ll be quick, then.”
Betty was as good as her word, and Leonore was soon in bed. She gave a last smile at her maid as the door closed.
Then the wracking agony came.
“I will not cry. I will not cry,” moaned Leonore into her pillow. It was a chant, a dirge that echoed in her dark, quiet room. She had held off the tears so long they would not come now, and she moaned as if she were gravely ill and in a fever. All her love, her loneliness, and her hopes she whispered into the pillow, all her rage and feelings of abandonment. It did not comfort her.
Above all, the thought that hurt her, that made a rising nausea lie heavy in her belly, was that Nicholas had lied to her. He had said he had not liked Lady Lazlo for years now. It could not be true, not from the way he’d kissed the woman. Leonore had trusted him as she had no one else, for he had never lied to her and had always kept his promises. She had even come to love him.
The thought made her groan aloud, a short, sharp sound. Anger fired her mind, and she was abruptly, fiercely glad she had never told Nicholas of her love. She had told him she cared for him. But she had not, at last, told him she loved him. She held close that thought, as if it were a buoy above her churning emotions. He would never know. She would never let him know.
“I will never let him know,” she murmured into the night’s silence. She said the words over and over again, and slowly her breath evened out. She was tired, very tired.
“I will never let Nicholas know,” she whispered again, and the phrase became a mournful lullaby. At last she breathed a long sigh and fell asleep, her husband’s name on her lips.
Nicholas glanced again at the balcony. Leonore had left at last. He gazed at Mercia and smiled at her.
How I hate you. He wished he could rid the world of her, for she was nothing but a monster … like himself. He almost grimaced at his newly born sense of ethics. Could he condemn her for the bloodthirst he, himself, had? But then, he never killed his victims unless they were in the process of killing others. Perhaps he could put some ward or spell upon her to render her harmless to those he held dear. He could not be sure he would find one, however. It would take time.
The Vampire Viscount Page 16