For that was surely what Nicholas had been doing. Leonore hadn’t understood why he blew hot and cold upon her, pouring gifts into her hands and lavishing his caresses upon her body in private, and then abandoning her for Lady Lazlo’s side in public. Lady Lazlo’s languishing looks upon Nicholas clearly told her the woman’s feelings. And if she were so dangerous that she killed Nicholas’s valet, then it would be nothing to her to kill Nicholas’s wife as well.
Nicholas knew Mercia and surely knew what she would do. Was it so improbable that he would send Leonore away from him so that Mercia would think him enamored of her, and leave Leonore alone? She gazed at her husband as he slept, waiting for the night to rouse him.
After what seemed an age, Nicholas stirred and turned toward her. He opened his eyes slowly, then he caught sight of her. Joy and consternation flashed across his face, then he frowned, pushing himself up from his pillows.
“Why have you returned?” he demanded.
His abruptness took her aback, for her mind had been filled with images of a joyous reunion. Foolishness, of course.
“I—I had to come back, Nicholas. I did not want to stay away from you. I don’t hate you, truly I don’t. I was angry and confused …” Her voice faded away at his despairing look.
“You cannot stay here, Leonore. You must leave.”
“Lady Lazlo—”
“Are you thinking she is my mistress? Then I wonder you are here.”
“Is she, Nicholas?” Leonore took his face between her hands and gazed at him intently. Nicholas stared at her and said nothing. She drew close to him and pressed her lips to his. “Kiss me, then see if you can tell me. I know you will not lie.”
A low groan blew against her lips, and Nicholas pulled her down upon the bed, kissing her deeply. He kissed her as if he could not have enough of her, held her close to him as if he wanted to take her into himself.
“I’m not good for you, Leonore; I have harmed you more than you know,” he murmured against her neck.
“Tell me, Nicholas.” She pushed back a lock of hair from his forehead. “Tell me.”
“I should not have married you— Oh, God. She is mad. She will kill you if she finds you here.” His eyes closed tightly as if in pain.
“Edmonds …”
His eyes opened wide with desperation. “Yes. Yes, like Edmonds.” He moved away from her and sat up, running his fingers through his hair in a tired gesture. “But she wants me to kill you—tonight.”
Leonore became still as cold ice clamped around her chest. “Does she?”
“Yes, the bit— Yes, she does.” Nicholas rose from the bed and paced restlessly in front of the fireplace. “We must leave. She cannot find us together here. I have tried to find a way to get rid of her, but it’s risky; she’s too well guarded. Perhaps at home, at Avebury, you will be safe for a time, for I have set strong wards upon it.” He groaned. “Though whether it will work against Mercia, I do not know.”
He could kill me. Then: No, no he would not. I must trust him. But she was not used to trusting anyone, and the trust she had developed for Nicholas was too new and too recently shaken. He could have killed me a long time ago if he were truly enamored of Lady Lazlo. He will not do it, he will not.
“We must leave now, tonight.” Nicholas turned to her and grasped her hands. “Pack quickly.”
“But to Avebury! It will take two days! You cannot—”
He gave a short laugh. “Only in easy stages. But not if I drive! I always have horses stabled along the road. It will be uncomfortable for you and will take all night, but we’ll arrive there before the dawn.” He shoved her gently toward her room. “Go, now!”
Leonore ran to her wardrobe and pulled out dresses at random. She scarcely knew or cared what she put in her bandboxes.
By the time she was done and ready, the strings of her bandboxes held firmly in her hand, Nicholas was at the door. He wore a heavy greatcoat and boots and held a long riding whip. He gazed at her and let out a laugh. “Only two bandboxes?”
“I hurried, as you requested.”
“Surely you cannot have many dresses in those. I will be surprised if you have any clothes to wear once we arrive.”
“I did not think you would mind that,” she snapped. She did not want to talk, for her nerves were on edge. She wanted to leave now.
He laughed again and grinned at her. “No, I suppose I would not mind at all.”
They descended the steps of the house, and Leonore glanced at the carriage, then stared.
“A curricle! You must be mad!”
“Perhaps. But it is light and fast, and easier to get two horses changed instead of four. I think it will get us home in good time. You need not worry. I do know how to drive one, though I do not get much of an opportunity since it is a thing one tends to drive during the day.”
“But how will you see? There is no lantern.”
Nicholas gave her a crooked smile. “I am a vampire. I can see very well in the dark.”
Leonore merely nodded and put her foot on the step of the carriage. He helped her into it and jumped up beside her.
“My only concern is that you will become frozen as we drive,” he said, wrapping a fur rug around her.
“I shall be quite well, I assure you.” She held up a large, heavy cloth bag. “Hot bricks. They heated in the fire while I packed.”
Nicholas smiled and brought her gloved hand to his lips. “Admirable. Although I am afraid they won’t last the whole journey.”
“I will manage.” Leonore waved toward the horses. “Let us go.”
He gathered up the reins, and with a light flick of the whip the horses went forward.
All the snow of last week had disappeared, and an unseasonably warm sun had dried the streets yesterday. Leonore was thankful for that. Snow would have made their journey more hazardous. They wove their way through the streets and the traffic. The ton was out in force, seeking the night’s entertainment. She could hear Nicholas muttering impatiently under his breath at the delays. His greatcoat’s collar was up around his face, and his hat low upon his head. Only his eyes showed and flashed green when some errant light caught them.
Then they were through, and the road opened. Nicholas flicked his whip, and the horses picked up the pace. Leonore clutched the side of the carriage. She could hardly see in front of them, for though a gibbous moon shone in the sky, thin wisps of clouds obscured it from time to time and dimmed its light. But the whip flicked out again, and the horses began to gallop.
Nicholas let out a breathless, exhilarated laugh. “I have not done this in a long while,” he said.
“That does not inspire me with confidence, I assure you,” Leonore retorted. The wind whipped her hat, and she pushed it firmly upon her head. They were traveling, doing something to get away from Lady Lazlo’s threats. At least they were taking action, and this lifted Leonore’s spirits.
“Try to sleep. It will make the journey seem to go faster.” She could hear the smile in Nicholas’s voice.
“Sleep? I will be jolted to pieces by the time we arrive in Avebury.”
But the curricle was well-sprung and bowled smoothly over the road. Leonore snuggled down into the furs. She did not sleep, but she did drowse, only to awake when they went over a rut in the road or when they stopped to change horses.
One last jolt brought her fully awake. The bricks had gone cold many stops ago as Nicholas had warned her, and her feet felt frozen in her boots. She looked at him, his face relentless in concentration. He stared into the night almost unblinkingly, his lips pressed together in a hard line.
There was no light on the horizon, but Leonore could hear early morning birds chirping above the sound of the carriage wheels. Fear rose in her. If they did not reach his house in time, Nicholas would surely die.
A large, dark shape loomed before them, and she heard him breathe a sigh of relief. “We are home,” he said. He drove the carriage around to the back of the house to the stables, where a
stable boy stumbled out and stared at them, wide-eyed.
“I am St. Vire. Take the horses and rub them down,” Nicholas said to the boy.
“Y-yes, yes, yer lordship!” The boy scurried over to the horses’ heads.
Nicholas leaped from the carriage and helped her down. Leonore was glad of his aid; she groaned when she stood up, for her back was sore sitting so long and her legs tingled with cold. She stumbled as she descended, but Nicholas caught her.
“Clumsy of me,” she said. “I did not think I would be so tired. I am sorry.”
He smiled. “I am sorry, too. Come, let us get some rest.” He lifted her easily into his arms.
“Nicholas! Put me down!”
He laughed, and for the first time she thought she heard joy in it. “No. I wish to carry my bride over the threshold of my home. I wish it could be the front door, but I am afraid the door from the stables will have to do.” Leonore could feel her face grow warm with blushes. She was glad it was too dark for him to see—and then she blushed even more, for she realized he could see in the dark.
“But you must be tired, too,” she said.
“Only a little.” He pushed open the door with his foot. “I am afraid there are few servants here, only for the stables and for maintaining the house. I don’t even think I have a cook here.” He set her down again on the other side of the threshold. “Welcome to Avebury.” He kissed her.
She smiled at him. “Thank you. Shall you want some tea?”
Nicholas laughed. “Ever practical. No, though if you wish some, feel free to have some yourself. The kitchen is to the right; if you are lucky, you might find a scullery maid to brew you a cup. Please excuse me, however. I need to see to the horses; I hope the hard driving has not harmed them.”
“I can manage, I am sure,” replied Leonore.
“Of course.” He moved toward the stables, then turned. “And ask to have the blue room prepared for you. It’s next to mine in the west wing. You’ll have to walk a bit; it’s on the other side of the house. The servants stay on this side.”
The stable boy was rubbing down one of the horses when Nicholas entered the stable. He nodded at the boy and checked the horses. Both were breathing easily now, and both were munching their feed contentedly. He patted one on the back, and the horse flinched and moved away. Nicholas sighed. He liked horses, but they did not like him, for he was sure they sensed his predatory nature.
But St. Vire’s heart was light. Leonore had come back to him, and she did not hate him—or so she said. That was something good, even though it was a complication—Mercia would follow them once she understood he had not killed Leonore. There was hope, too. He had returned home, his birthplace, his own territory. Here his strength was greater, his magic more potent. The environs of Avebury was a place of much power, more ancient than his own vampiric nature—older than Mercia, who had lived for more than a hundred years. The closer he was to his home, the stronger he felt, though a fast, hard journey would have tired him greatly, and would have exhausted a human. If it came to a contest of strength, surely he could kill Mercia as easily as she could kill a human. She would be foolish to come here, for she must know he would be the stronger if they fought.
He smiled, his heart lightening even more. He would not mind staying in Avebury with Leonore. He could pursue his studies in magic and have his books brought here from town. The evenings he could spend with Leonore would be comfortable, with no pretence between them. She knew what he was and had come back to him. Perhaps, despite her week’s absence, the spell could continue and he could become human once again.
If, of course, Mercia did not come. He would have to study the ways to keep vampires away from his lands, so that if he became human again, she would not come back to overpower him and hurt Leonore. St. Vire sighed. Or kill Mercia.
He gave the stable boy one last approving nod and left the stables. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to see Leonore again. Perhaps she would be in bed already, but he wanted to be sure she was comfortable. Then he would begin his studies.
A brace of candles lit her room, and though a fire flickered in the hearth, he shivered when he strode into the room toward the curtained bed. It was almost as if a cold draft had blown through it, for the back of his neck prickled …
“Nichola-as …”
His breath left him, and he froze as fear caught his throat, almost choking him. The voice—low, lilting, and foreign—
“Mercia.” Her name came from him in a low, feral hiss. He turned and heard her soft laughter.
“I thought I might come to welcome you … and your little pet … to this most gracious home.”
Oh, God, no.
Mercia had one slim hand around Leonore’s neck so that her head arched back. Her thumb moved back and forth above the quick pulse at his wife’s throat. It would be so easy for Mercia to kill Leonore—one quick movement …
Nicholas made himself smile slightly. “A trifle … vulgar … don’t you think, Mercia—inviting yourself to my little party like this?” He glanced at Leonore. Her arm was twisted behind her, and she was on her knees before Mercia. Leonore’s eyes were wide, but she breathed evenly and did not struggle. Brava, my love. Don’t show your fear. Mercia delights in it.
Mercia looked thoughtfully at him. “But how ungenerous of you to keep me from my entertainment. I thought I would at least come to see how you eliminated your little pet wife.”
“You sadden me, my dear. I see you do not trust me at all.”
“Of course not,” Mercia said conversationally. “I have seen how you fawn upon her. Now you bring her to your ancestral home. Can I truly be sure you haven’t more than some fondness for her?”
Nicholas sighed. “Haven’t I told you I despise indiscretion? Of course I brought her here! If I killed her in London, do you not think there would be speculation and gossip? Here, there would be fewer eyes and fewer questions.”
Despair made Leonore close her eyes, and hope slowly seeped from her. Please, he does not mean it. He cannot mean it. She felt Mercia’s hand close a little tighter on her throat. Leonore’s neck ached with the way it was bent, and her back ached with fatigue. She wanted to cry out, but did not. A wave of defiance, the defenses she had built all of her life against her father’s drunken rages, rose up in her, and she angrily decided she would not give Lady Lazlo the satisfaction of a response—even if it meant her death.
And yet: I am going to die. Lady Lazlo had come upon her in her chamber, quietly, swiftly, with the strength of a she-wolf. The tea cup in Leonore’s hand had fallen and shattered on the floor, and hot tea had scalded her hand. Even now the broken shards of porcelain jabbed her knees through her carriage dress, and the tea, now cold, soaked through the cloth.
“Indiscretion! Always you speak of indiscretion! I am not indiscreet!” said Lady Lazlo sharply.
Leonore opened her eyes again. Her sight seemed sharpened, and everything stood out in clear relief: the bed, the fire, the table with the candles on it. She watched Nicholas, his still, pale, beautiful face, his expression cold as ice. He glanced at her. It was a quick, hooded flicker. She almost thought she saw fear there. Almost. Hope flared again, and she quickly tamped it down. She must wait and watch. Patience, patience.
“If you say so, Mercia.” Nicholas shrugged. “I wonder what happened to Sir Adrian? He seemed such a promising young man.”
Lady Lazlo made a sound of distaste. “He bored me. I am afraid he did not last long. Some wasting disease, the doctor said.” Leonore swallowed and felt the woman’s fingers tight against her throat. “Were you jealous?” Lady Lazlo said brightly. “Oh, I hope you were jealous!”
“Of course I was, my dear.” Nicholas gave her a slow, seductive smile.
“How marvelous! Perhaps I will release your little pet wife, and we can have a bit of fun with her before you kill her. I would like to see that, you know, see you kill her.”
Nicholas kept the smile on his face and shrugged. “If that i
s what you wish,” he said carelessly. He could not let down his guard one moment. How quickly could he move and keep Mercia from killing Leonore? He shifted his feet and saw Mercia’s hand tighten on Leonore’s neck. Not quickly enough for him to run to her and snatch his wife away. Hope sank in him.
He gazed at Leonore for a moment. She was still, staring at him. It was as if she was trying to tell him something without words. She smiled at him slightly, and he understood clearly, suddenly, that she loved him. Why else had she acted as she had when she knew he had kissed Mercia? Why else had she returned to him? He felt dizzy, and he took a step back, putting his hand upon the mantelpiece to steady himself. Hope, foolish hope, warmed him just as the heat from the fireplace warmed his back.
Hope. Fire. He remembered the old Taoist priest and his gift. He had forgotten the thing that made him different from other vampires. He clasped his hands behind him and breathed a few words within a deep sigh. Heat flared in the palm of his hand. Nicholas gazed at Mercia and smiled sweetly at her.
“You gave me such joy when I saw that the stupid boy was no longer at your side at the masquerade,” he said and let his eyes linger upon Mercia’s face and breasts. He saw her hand loosen from Leonore’s neck, and Mercia’s smile turned seductive.
“Did I?” she murmured.
“Oh, yes. You were sublimely beautiful, regal, the Queen of the Night. Remember how I teased you? I admit my words sounded spiteful when I spoke of how the Queen had expired in flames, but the fires of jealousy had consumed my heart.”
Mercia’s face softened. “Oh, Nicholas! I had not thought … your wife …”
He took a step closer to her; her hand was lax upon Leonore’s neck. “I wanted to make you jealous. Tell me I succeeded, lovely, sweet Mercia.”
“Oh, let us kill her now, Nicholas. We do not need her at all.” Mercia’s eyes glowed with incipient bloodlust, and Nicholas’s hatred for her flared high.
He grinned fiercely and laughed. “Too late, Mercia.” His hand swept from behind him and flung the fire-salamander at her.
The Vampire Viscount Page 22