Mercia shrieked thin and high, and her hands flew to her hair. Leonore fell to the floor. Nicholas seized her, shoving her away from Mercia.
The little dragon curled around Mercia’s hair, dancing down her shoulder to play amongst the folds of her gown. It burned and an acrid stench filled the air. She shrieked again. Leonore pressed her face into Nicholas’s chest and shook with horror. He held her tightly, then pulled her farther away.
“We must get out of here, Leonore.”
She gazed at him, but he was not looking at her. She followed his stare; the fire had caught onto the rug by the door and climbed quickly up the doorjamb. Lady Lazlo was gone. Burning cloth the color of her gown twisted and fluttered in the air. The fire roared, and the heat nearly scorched Leonore’s skin. They would be burned alive if they stayed here.
“Move, Leonore, now!” Nicholas pushed her away from the fire. He went to the bed and stripped off the sheets.
“Where?”
“The window!” He tied the sheets together and secured one end to a bedpost.
Leonore ran and fumbled with the window catch. It opened wide, and she heard a roaring behind her.
“Nicholas!” she screamed. He was standing, looking at the fire. He turned to her. “If you do not come, you will die!”
“If I come, I will die.” He nodded toward the window and smiled wryly. “It is nearly dawn.”
“Stupid man!” she shouted. “If you do not go with me, I swear I will stay here.”
“Damn you, Leonore, go!”
“No! I am afraid of heights.”
“Now you tell me!” He ran to her and took her hand, almost dragging her to the balcony.
“You go first,” she said. “In case I should be frightened and fall.” He gave her a penetrating stare, then glanced at the fire in the room. She heard the roar of the fire, closer now.
“Very well,” he said and climbed over the balcony wall.
Leonore cast a glance at the room behind her and shivered, despite the heat that poured out the windows.
“Leonore, give me your hand!”
Nicholas stretched his hand out to her, apparently holding onto something underneath the balcony. She grasped his hand, swung her legs over the low wall, and slid down into his arms. Quickly she twined her legs around the bedsheet rope and held tight to it with her hands.
“I have it!” she said. “Go now, Nicholas!”
She heard a thump and looked down. He was on his feet, looking up at her. It was dizzyingly far down, but she closed her eyes and concentrated on descending. Finally, she felt his hands around her waist, and her feet touched the ground. He turned her around, kissed her hard upon the mouth, then cradled her in his arms.
“You little liar,” he said into her ear. “You are not at all frightened of heights.”
“True,” she said. “But you would not have come down with me if I had not said it.”
“True.” He sighed. He took her hand and led her away from the house.
Leonore gazed back at the mansion. The fire had spread quickly, and she could see flickers of flame curling around the edges of the windows. Nicholas gave another sigh, deeper this time. Leonore turned to him. He had closed his eyes and suddenly swayed on his feet.
“Nicholas!” She put her arms around him, and he leaned against her.
“I am tired, Leonore.”
The chirping of birds came to her, and she looked toward the horizon. The sky to the east had lightened. Fear seized Leonore’s heart, harder than the fear she felt when Mercia had squeezed her throat and twisted her arm.
“No. No, Nicholas, we will find some shelter.” She looked frantically around her, but no place could hide them from the coming dawn. And the house … The fire blazed high now; it had spread through more of the west wing. Perhaps if they went to the east—
Nicholas slumped heavily upon her; she stumbled, and he fell to his knees on the grass. She hugged him to her.
“No, please, Nicholas, stand up! We’ll go back, the east wing—”
He opened his eyes and gazed at her. “Too tired.” His eyes widened. “The dawn. Is that the dawn?”
“Yes, yes it is. Oh, please, Nicholas, don’t, don’t—”
A small laugh rushed from him. “I have seen the dawn at last,” he said. He swayed again and gasped. “It hurts.”
She clutched at him, but he was too heavy. He slid to the ground.
“No, oh, dear God, no! Please, Nicholas, don’t, don’t—” Leonore pulled at the lapels of his coat, but she could not lift him. “No! What have I done? I—I didn’t want you to die in the fire— Please, Nicholas, wake up!”
He opened his eyes slowly, focusing upon her. “Never mind, Leonore,” he whispered. “It is better … And I have seen the dawn again.”
“Stupid man! How can you say it is better?” She leaned over him, trying to shade him. It was useless. She looked over her shoulder at the thin sliver of sun barely painting the clouds above a faint orange. A touch drifted over her cheek.
“I love you, Leonore,” Nicholas whispered. He closed his eyes. “I am sorry.”
Grief, hard and hot, seized her throat. “No. No. Please, Nicholas. Don’t, please don’t die.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him frantically. No breath came from his lips. “Don’t! Don’t leave me!” She put her hand upon his chest. Only a faint pulse, and it grew more faint as she tried to feel it.
Leonore stared at him, at the sunlight drifting slowly over his pale, beautiful face, burnishing his hair. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered. She hadn’t even told Nicholas she loved him. She had meant to, but she hadn’t been able to, or found the right time. Now he was dying.
“Please, Nicholas, listen to me. I don’t want you to die.” Her voice was hoarse, plaintive and pleading all at once. “See, you must not die. Not now. I love you, don’t you see? You can’t. Please don’t—please don’t.” She lay next to him, her head upon his chest. She closed her eyes. “I love you.”
A fire burst in her chest, sending scalding tears coursing over her cheeks. Leonore clutched Nicholas’s coat, weeping into the front of it with hard, wracking sobs. She wept all her loneliness, all her love and grief into him, all the terror and agony of fear she had just experienced. But no arms came up around her, and no kisses comforted her.
She did not know now long she lay there, weeping—minutes, hours. The colors of the dawn had disappeared; the morning sky showed gray. It was raining, but she did not know when it began. It soaked her dress, and she shivered with cold—or grief—she knew not which. The rain gradually slackened and ceased, and she could feel the sun’s warmth upon her back. She cursed the sun for what it had done to Nicholas and wept again.
“You are ruining my neckcloth.”
Leonore jerked up her head. It was barely a whisper. His chest moved beneath her hand.
“Nicholas …” She let out a breathless laugh.
“I think you have wept all over my shirt, too.”
“You beast!” she cried angrily and thumped his chest with her fist. “How can you speak of shirts and neckcloths when I thought you were—when I have been—you stupid, vain, impossible man!” She hit his chest again.
His hand grasped her wrist in a weak grip, then tightened. “Ah, ah! None of that, my love.” Leonore stared into Nicholas’s green, smiling eyes, then gazed at Nicholas’s smiling mouth. “How beautiful you are! Perhaps it is the sun—that is the sun, is it not?—upon your hair. I think you should kiss me, sweet one, and stop staring at me like an idiot.”
“No!”
“Yes!” Nicholas rolled over and pinned her to the ground. He gazed at her avidly, as if drinking in the sight of her eyes and lips and hair. “Ah, how beautiful! I never knew, never saw—ahh, Leonore …” He bent his head and kissed her gently, then with more heat. “Your lips, I can feel them … soft, sweet, warm,” he said against her mouth. “Beautiful, so beautiful … I love you, Leonore. God, how I love you.”
Leonore breathed a
long, sobbing sigh and put her hands behind his head, pulling him down into a fierce kiss. His lips moved upon hers sensuously. A cold drop of water splashed upon her cheek. She pushed him away.
“You are wet,” she said, breathing hard. He sat up, gazing at her, an odd, wondering look in his eyes, as if he had just discovered something miraculous and new.
She closed her eyes briefly. “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered, the words a prayer. Nicholas was alive—he was alive! A hard trembling shook her, and she felt tears roll down her cheeks. His arms came around her, warm and comforting, despite the dampness of his coat.
“It is no wonder I am wet, with all the weeping you have done over me,” Nicholas said, kissing the tears from her cheeks.
“It was the rain.”
“Of course it was,” he murmured. “Hush, now, my love. You need not cry any longer.”
She rested her forehead on his shoulder. “I thought you had died.” She raised her head again and looked at him. His eyes became distant, and a frown creased his brow.
“I … I think I almost did. I thought I saw … heard …” He shook his head and returned his gaze to her. “It does not matter now.” He looked around him and squinted at the sun that peeked from behind the clouds. “This shouldn’t have happened. It has not yet been a year since we married.” He shook his head again. “I do not understand it.”
“Does it matter?” Leonore said and smiled tremulously at him. “You are alive … and I love you.”
He gazed at her, his eyes bright. “Do you, Leonore? I had hoped—I was not sure—”
“Yes, and yes, and yes!” Leonore kissed him, fully and deeply. “I have loved you for so long, but I was afraid to say it,” she said when they parted. “Will you forgive me for being so foolish?”
“No,” Nicholas said, grinning. “You must make it up to me first by telling me you love me—every day will do, I think. And giving me perhaps not less than, oh, five kisses per day. No, six is better, I think. Then I will consider forgiving you.”
“It will only puff up your vanity if I do!” Leonore stood up, shaking out her dress. It was damp and clung to her legs. She saw Nicholas staring at her, a seductive smile upon his lips. She blushed. “I suppose I can allow it … from time to time.”
“Starting today,” Nicholas said, then sighed and looked toward the house. No fire burned the west wing now, for it seemed the rain had doused it. A few trails of smoke rose from the broken roof. “But not in the west wing. Our rooms are ruined, and I shall be very lucky if I can retrieve a few books from the library above them. We’ll have to stay in the east wing and perhaps share a room.”
“I will not mind,” said Leonore. “If you do not.”
Nicholas smiled at her and kissed her once more. “No. I shall share my life with you. What is one little room added to that, after all?”
Epilogue
The early autumn sun streamed into Nicholas’s study. He shook his head, sighed, and shut the ancient grimoire he had brought from London. Shoving the notes he had been writing into a drawer of the escritoire, he stood up. He looked out the window at Leonore walking out toward a copse of trees, carrying a bundle under her arm and lazily swinging her hat to and fro in her hand. He really did not want to be indoors any longer today.
He caught up with her in good time, for he ran all the way, enjoying the breeze that sifted through his hair. He marveled again at the blue of the sky, so bright that it hurt his eyes to look at it. Leonore turned to look at him when he touched her shoulder and smiled before she kissed him fully on the mouth. He took her hand when they parted and walked with her to the trees ahead of them.
“I have been foolish, Leonore,” he said. “Perhaps even stupid.”
“Yes, my love,” she replied dutifully.
“What an obedient wife!”
“I do try,” she said and grinned at him.
He sighed. “I’ve been impatient and arrogant, also. I discovered it was never necessary to wait a year to regain my humanity.”
“Oh?” They came to the trees, which shaded them from the hot sun. Leonore unrolled her bundle—a large blanket—sat down upon it, and took out a book from inside her hat. Nicholas sat beside her.
“The solstices and equinoxes were the important times. It was not just that I had to wed a willing virgin … but she had to love me, knowing what I was.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “I almost destroyed you—destroyed both of us. I shouldn’t have been so sure of my knowledge; it was wrong—prideful and arrogant. If you hadn’t come back to me at the right time—if you had not forced me to climb down from the balcony …” He opened his eyes and saw her watching him. “Can you forgive me?”
“No,” she said. “You must make it up to me first by telling me you love me—every day will do, I think. And giving me not less than, oh, six kisses per day. Then I will consider forgiving you.”
He laughed huskily. “Is that all?”
“No.” Leonore took his hand and placed it on her slightly swelling belly and put aside her book. “I want you to make love to me whenever I ask it.”
“Now?”
“Yes,” she said and kissed him. Nicholas moved his hands to her breasts, more full than they had been five months ago, pushing away her bodice. She sighed and ran her hands down his thighs.
He loved her then, gently, careful of the new life he had begun in her. He almost forgot himself at the end, gasping and pressing himself deeply into her as Leonore gave a last moan of pleasure.
“I think I will begin forgiving you,” she said breathlessly.
“Thank you,” Nicholas replied. “Very, very, very much.” He felt a slight fluttering pressure where his belly met hers, and he moved reluctantly away. “He—or she—is probably not thanking us at all.”
Leonore laughed, then grew silent. “Nicholas … do you mind not having your vampire powers?”
“No,” he said, smiling at her. He reached over and caressed her cheek. “Some magic is learned, after all.” A puff of air burst beside Leonore’s cheek, and she started. He opened his hand and a white rosebud lay in his palm. She stared at him, wide-eyed, while he tucked it into her hair.
“Besides, loving you is magic enough,” Nicholas said and kissed her once again.
The Vampire Viscount
© 1985 Karen Eriksen Harbaugh
ISBN: 0451183193
SIGNET
Ed♥n
The Vampire Viscount Page 23