“I see,” he said, swallowing the hope that had risen in him. “I see.” The energy his confession had given him fell away, and he felt tired once again. He turned from her, not wanting to look at her. “I suppose it is best that you leave, or I.”
He heard only a whisper of her yes before the door shut behind her.
Leonore did not know what she felt as she ran up the stairs to her room. Confusion, certainly; rage, repugnance, grief, horror, betrayal, and loss. And that persistent thing she should not feel: desire. She had told him she hated him, and indeed, she hated how she had been used and manipulated. But it was more a hatred and disgust for herself.
Her desire for him sickened her. She still wanted him even now—he, a creature that preyed upon others for their blood, a monster. When he had taken her in his arms, had kissed her and pressed his lips against her cheek and throat, she had kissed him in return and experienced the beginnings of the melting heat she always felt when he made love to her.
It was not just physical desire. She had looked into Nicholas’s eyes, then offered her blood to him. She was a fool, and that sickened her, too. Still she had trusted him, believing he would not take what she offered.
And he had not. He had touched her neck with his tongue and his teeth, had kissed her gently, but that was all. Almost she could make herself believe that it was not true, that he was not a vampire and that magic did not exist. But there was that queer fiery creature he had held in his hand, and the poker he had bent in half. She also remembered the rosebud he had summoned from behind her ear and pinned to her gown. She had taken off the rosebud and put it in water … and it had bloomed and stayed fresh for three weeks. She had thought it was a special variety of rose, for no cut rose she had ever seen lasted that long.
Then there was Edmonds. She shuddered at the image that rose before her eyes and shook her head to dispel it. Nicholas blamed himself, but he could not have killed the servant, for Edmonds had been killed tonight—no, last night, for a glance at the clock in her room told her it was long past midnight. Nicholas had been at the ball the whole time; she had seen him except for a few short minutes. It took half an hour by carriage to reach their home. No one could have done the deed so swiftly whatever they might be.
Leonore pressed her hand to her head, wanting to press down her confusion. Nicholas had said Mercia had killed the servant. How could that be? It was true the woman had left before they had, for Leonore had seen Lord Eldon escort her out. But Lady Lazlo was a slight, petite woman, and she could not see how it was possible for her to kill a tall, strapping young man like Edmonds. Perhaps she had hired some ruffians to do the deed, but why she should want to kill a servant, Leonore could not tell. Perhaps the woman was mad. Or a vampire.
She shuddered. It was late. Nothing made sense to her. Surely, she would understand better in the morning.
Leonore did not ring for her maid, for she did not want to disturb the servants more than they had been already. They would be near useless with fatigue tomorrow, for they would not be able to sleep well after Edmonds’s death. She removed her costume herself, slowly, for it was heavy. But when she touched the white lawn nightgown that lay upon her bed, she dropped her hand from it.
She would not be able to sleep either, for she was sure the image of Edmonds’s dead body would rise before her closed eyes and give her nightmares. She gazed at the connecting door to Nicholas’s room and wished she did not know what he was so that she could feel comforted if he came to her bed. He would not come to her tonight, not after what she had told him, that she hated him. She shuddered. She did not know how she would react if he did and did not want to find out.
Indeed, she did not know what she would do. Nicholas had said she should leave. He would not want her, not now. A bursting grief rose in her, and Leonore let out a sobbing breath. It was grief for the illusions she had held of him, of course. She reached for her nightgown again. It caught on her elbow as she pulled the sleeve over her arm, for her hand still shook.
She had lost all control and could not stop herself from shaking. At last she had on her gown, and she climbed into her bed. The bedclothes had a slight, residual warmth from the warming pan that Betty had slid between the sheets, but still Leonore shivered. Her feet were freezing, and she shifted them to try and warm them.
She shuddered and shuddered again. Her eyes squeezed tight, and she put her arms around herself, pretending that Nicholas’s arms were around her and that he was not a vampire. She craved him still, wanted the comfort of his body, the soothing way he stroked her hair and kissed her. She felt ill. She needed to leave this house, for she did not know what else to do.
Susan … She would talk with Susan. She had grown into a sensible young lady. Of course, Leonore could not tell her that Nicholas was a vampire. But her sister loved her, and she could take comfort in that.
Tomorrow morning she would leave to stay in her parents’ house. She didn’t know how long … perhaps a week, or more. No doubt Nicholas would let it about that her nerves had suffered a severe shock from finding Edmonds murdered upon their doorstep, and that she felt too frightened to sleep at home. Nonsense, of course, and she despised such stratagems. But she supposed one must resort to them to keep up appearances.
Appearances. The curtain was rising once more, and now she must act yet another part. There was no escaping it, was there? She let out a breath and let her muscles ease into the soft mattress.
All the world’s a stage, she remembered. But she wished the play would end so that she need not put on another mask.
Chapter Seventeen
“I do not believe you.”
“Why not?” Nicholas murmured against Mercia’s ear. He trailed his finger along her jaw to her lips. She half closed her eyes and bit his finger, drawing blood. He felt a slight, sharp pain and almost frowned. His senses had not dulled, but stayed the same, though Leonore had been away a week. “My little pet Leonore has run from me and will not return. She told me she hates me and no doubt you, too. How could she not? She is jealous of you, for her own looks cannot compare to yours.”
“Almost you convince me, Nicholas.” Mercia said his name lingeringly, drawing out the last syllable in her lilting foreign voice. She pulled at the lapels of his coat so that he sat next to her on the chaise longue in her drawing room. “But how do I know you do not go to her when I am not watching?”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “You don’t. You must trust me, of course.” He gave her a wide smile.
Mercia pouted. “But I cannot trust you at all! You killed Louis, after all, and you took a wife not long ago.”
“That again! But you must know it was because of sheer jealousy on my part that I disposed of Louis, for you would not leave him. Would you not have done the same?” He ran his hand along her neck, rubbing his thumb just at the base of her throat.
I could kill her now. But that would be a foolish, for her servants knew he was there. Mercia guarded herself well.
“Yes, of course.” She nodded, then frowned. “But then there is your wife.”
“Really, Mercia, I have told you she has left me,” Nicholas said, making his voice sound bored. “What would you have me do? I will not cause more scandal. Be content with what you have.”
“And what do I have?” Lady Lazlo rose from the chaise longue and waved her hand at him in an impatient gesture. “You have not even come to my bed! What am I to think of that?”
St. Vire gave her an ironic smile. “You do not appreciate me, my dear, or my desires. You well know the deliciousness of anticipation. Isn’t that how you use your … lovers? Slowly, you entice them until they are in your spell, and you draw out the killing to a fine edge until the end. Now why am I not allowed this in something less … final?”
“Is that what you are doing now, Nicholas? Drawing me out?”
“Why, yes.” He pushed up her chin and kissed her, sliding his hand under her breasts. Her lips were cold as death. He wondered how Leo
nore could have borne his embrace if she felt the same repugnance for him that he now felt for Mercia.
“Mmm.” Mercia gave him a sly smile. “Perhaps I will let you draw it out and let you seduce me. That might be amusing.”
“Amusing … and tantalizing.” He smiled at her and felt a rising nausea in the pit of his stomach. The devil only knew how long he would be able to stand pandering to Mercia’s wishes. Long ago he could act out of expediency and occasional lust. But he had changed, and it took all his will to act as he had before.
“But I only said ‘perhaps.’ ” Mercia twisted one curl of her black hair around her finger, her brow furrowed in apparent thought. “The thought of your wife is most distracting to me. The idea of trust—a difficult concept. I need a little security, you see. A show of loyalty. Perhaps if you shared your little pet, or eliminated her entirely, I would be content.” She looked at him with cold eyes and smiled softly. “In three days. That would be a good amount of time, yes?”
Fear for Leonore almost choked him. Nicholas let out a long breath and hoped the sigh sounded bored. That was it, then. Mercia would wait no longer.
“Oh, very well!” he said, making his voice petulant. “But I don’t see your doing the same thing. In fact, I am sure you will find yourself another lover in time.”
Mercia’s smile widened in delight. “You are jealous!”
He took her hand and bit one fingertip. “Yes, of course.”
“How wonderful! Will you do it straightaway?”
“Tomorrow,” St. Vire replied and took his leave.
“I do not think I have heard you play that sonata before, Susan,” said Jeremy Fordham to his betrothed.
“It is new,” Susan said, smiling at him as she played. A maid lit a brace of candles against the coming dusk, and it shed a soft light upon Susan, making her hair a golden halo. Leonore could hear Mr. Fordham’s sigh clearly from across the room.
Leonore glanced at the couple before her and set another stitch in her embroidery. Mr. Fordham—Jeremy—leaned upon the pianoforte, his eyes going from Susan’s hair to her lips and eyes. He had followed her to the instrument, his hand reaching out, but stopping short before he touched her. He was clearly in love with her sister.
Leonore sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. She missed Nicholas.
After a week had gone by, that was the only sure conclusion to which Leonore could come. She’d gained some objectivity away from him, and so was glad she had come to her father’s house for a while. Besides, she needed to help with Susan’s wedding arrangements since her mother seldom felt energetic enough to attend to them.
Then, too, she was able to stay away from most of the ton’s inquiring eyes. The report of Edmonds’s death had spread, and the curious came to call. She played the part of the vaporish wife; Nicholas had let it out that his wife had suffered a tremendous shock from the discovery of the body. Of course she could not think of entering the St. Vire house for some time to come.
But Nicholas had not come once to her during the week she was gone. She was sure the gossips had noticed this, and she was glad for once that her situation gave her the excuse not to venture forth into society.
A week in her father’s house reminded her why she had so eagerly left. Jeremy would take care of Susan now that they were betrothed, so she need not worry about her. But her mother still took to her bed with the megrims, and her father still came home intoxicated. She had felt her old stiff wariness return, and the wish that she were back with Nicholas cried clear in her heart.
How could she care for a creature like Nicholas? He was a vampire, impossible and horrifying. He had even taken her blood, though she didn’t clearly remember it. Everything had fallen into place when he told her his true nature, and she understood the things she had glimpsed of him since the day she met him.
Laughter came from the couple at the pianoforte, and Leonore watched them, smiling slightly. Jeremy leaned forward and whispered in Susan’s ear, and she giggled. He had a confident and elegant air—except when he was around Susan. Leonore almost laughed. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man, but his usual grace of manner often fell from him and his speech stumbled a little when he spoke to Susan. It was as if he were so eager to please her that he couldn’t decide quite what to do with himself.
It was a charming attribute, actually, Leonore thought. That and his obvious protectiveness over Susan made him an endearing young man. She had seen this protectiveness when her father had passed by them in the park the day after his rage. Jeremy had taken Susan’s hand in a reassuring grip. Leonore knew she had little to fear for her sister once Susan was wed.
A familiar chord rang in her, one she had felt before when she had witnessed Jeremy propose to Susan. She thought of what it would mean for Susan to wed him, and how different it was from her own marriage.
But was it? Leonore gazed at her sister and Jeremy, thought of the young man’s kindness, of how he had a protective air whenever he was near Susan. Her sister’s words about Nicholas suddenly came to her. She had spoken of Nicholas’s undeniable generosity and kindness. Leonore had thanked him once for a little toy sheep he had put upon her pillow for her to find. He had said it was a trifle, but he’d looked away from her briefly, as if embarrassed, and his hand’s dismissing gesture had seemed awkward. Another laugh from the pianoforte made Leonore look up.
“Oh, Jeremy, how you tease! You know I cannot sing as well as I play. Even you sing better than I do.”
“Even I? I thank you—I think.” Mr. Fordham grinned.
A mischievous smile crossed Susan’s lips. “You are welcome. It is the reason I consented to marry you, you see. We shall make a fine duet.”
“And that is the only reason?” Jeremy reached over and ran his finger across Susan’s cheek and over her lips. Susan blushed brightly, and he laughed.
Leonore bent her head over her needlework to hide her smile. Nicholas had teased her also and seemed to like to touch her face as Jeremy did to Susan. She glanced again at the couple at the pianoforte. She saw Susan’s blush turn fiery and Jeremy’s too innocent gaze at the ceiling. They must have exchanged a quick kiss when she was not looking. She bit her lip to keep from laughing and bent to her stitching with more diligence. The signs were obvious. He was deeply in love with Susan; Leonore was sure he would be a good, kind husband, like Nicholas.
A quick trembling shot through her, and her needle stabbed the ball of her thumb. She gasped. Susan and Jeremy looked up at the sound.
“It is nothing, really,” Leonore said, smiling wryly, and took a handkerchief from her pocket. “I was clumsy and stuck my finger with my needle.”
“Shall I get some sticking plaster, Leonore?” Susan asked.
“No, no, it has stopped bleeding already. Please, do play something on the pianoforte, Susan, and never mind me.”
Susan raised her eyebrows, but Leonore smiled and shook her head. Susan turned to the instrument again, drawing forth a light, tinkling melody.
Leonore wound her handkerchief around her thumb and closed her fingers over it tightly. Nicholas had been a kind husband. He had said he cared for her. She had not thought it, had not dared think that perhaps he loved her. Was it even possible that a creature like himself could do so? He had lavished gifts upon her, and she remembered seeing a disappointed look in his eyes whenever he thought one of his gifts had not pleased her. He had touched her the way Jeremy touched Susan, tenderly, as if she were precious to him, and more.
Nicholas comforted her a week ago, just after they had found Edmonds upon their doorstep. He had cradled her in his lap and stroked her hair, kissing her gently until her trembling had passed. He had done this before when she had been distressed.
A laugh came from Jeremy this time, making Leonore look up again. She watched Susan shake her head at his teasing. There was no reason why she could not have this with Nicholas, surely.
But he is a vampire, a monster, Leonore, have you forgotten that? said a small
voice within her. No, she had not forgotten. But were his kindness and gentleness different because of it? Did she love him any differently now from before she knew, what he was? She wet her lips, suddenly dry. No. No, she did not.
But Nicholas admitted that he had sought to marry her—to use her—because he no longer wished to be a vampire. If Lady Lazlo had not come to London, would Nicholas have told her what he was?
Ah, that was the crux of it, was it not? Lady Lazlo, whom Nicholas had said he disliked, but whom he had kissed and paid attention to as if she were his mistress—they had even talked of a liaison between them. What was she to Nicholas?
Somehow, Lady Lazlo had killed Edmonds. She was dangerous. Why did Nicholas pay such attention to her and neglect his own wife for all of London society to see? And yet, he still touched her, Leonore, as if he loved her when they were private at home.
Oh, dear heaven. Abruptly, Leonore rose from her chair, almost upsetting it.
“What is it, Leo?” Susan’s voice sounded worried. Leonore focused on her sister’s anxious face and Jeremy’s concerned one.
“Oh … nothing, truly. I … I have been thinking it is time I returned to Nicholas … I have recovered from my nervousness about the … the incident at our house, and believe I should be with my husband now, instead of here. I … I should go back.”
“If you wish it, Leo,” Susan replied, looking at her curiously. “I know I can manage the wedding preparations myself now, for you have arranged it perfectly.”
“Yes, yes, of course. If you will excuse me?” Leonore left the drawing room, hurriedly going up the stairs to gather her belongings for her return home—to Nicholas.
It was not quite dusk when she entered Nicholas’s room, her lamp held high to guide her to his bed. She drew away the curtains, watching him sleep. She would tell him she understood, that she would not leave him again. Perhaps he would tell her he loved her, for she remembered how he called her his love. What else was he doing but protecting her from Lady Lazlo?
The Vampire Viscount Page 21