by Brooklyn Ann
Ian replied blandly, “He was honoring an alliance.”
“A mortal alliance,” the Elder practically spat at Vincent. “Why did you not refuse?”
Vincent fought the urge to grind his teeth. “As His Grace said, I was honoring an alliance. In my mortal days, Lydia’s ancestor fought beside me in battle. We swore an oath of friendship between our families. One of the conditions was to become guardian to the other’s descendants if needed. The girl’s grandmother would have had Lydia thrown into an insane asylum if I had not taken her under my care.” He fixed Edinburgh with a pointed stare. “Just because I am now a vampire does not mean I will abandon my honor. I will not break a vow.”
With no rebuttal, the Elder turned back to Ian. “Once Lord Deveril and his charge arrived in your city, did he try to find a husband for her?”
Ian nodded. “Yes, he did, and he received five offers.”
“Why did he not accept one?”
The Lord of London paused a moment, measuring his words. “I believe he decided he wanted her for himself.”
“So you believe his Changing her was deliberate?”
“No, that’s not what I am saying!” Ian retorted. “I only mean it is my belief that, had Lydia not suffered the unfortunate accident, he would have filed a petition to Change her.”
“Is this true?” he asked Vincent.
“Yes.” He heard Lydia gasp, and he squeezed her hand in reassurance. Rafael Villar was then called to testify.
Rafe concurred with Ian’s theory that Vincent had wanted Lydia for himself, and added, “However, I believe he was a fool to deliberate so long about it.”
“And why do you believe he asked her to wed him?”
“Perhaps he is in love with her?” Rafe’s tone held a tinge of sarcasm. “I do know he had intended to do so before she was attacked.”
The ancient’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”
“Her chaperone, Miss Hobson, informed me. I would have brought her to confirm my statement, but as she is a mortal, I decided that would not be wise.” He shrugged. “Of course, Deveril may have become engaged to Miss Price to avoid any more attention from the human aristocracy.”
He turned to Vincent. “Which is true?”
“Both,” Vincent answered levelly. “I also wanted to ensure that in the event of my death, Lydia would have wealth, land, and a widow’s freedom to make her own way in life without scrutiny, thus reducing the risk of mortals discovering what she is.”
Edinburgh considered this and appeared satisfied. “Now I’ll assess the youngling. I understand that Angelica Ashton, consort to the Lord of London, was appointed the youngling’s mentor, and Rafael Villar accompanied her to observe her training. Is this correct?”
Vincent and the others nodded solemnly, and Angelica stepped forward with a bow.
“Your Grace, describe your training of Lydia Price. How is she adapting to our ways?”
Angelica faced the Elder fearlessly as she narrated Lydia’s progress in hunting and all the things she had told her about a vampire’s strengths and weaknesses. “All around, I feel Lydia’s adaption to the Change has been exemplary,” she concluded.
“Has there been any sign of madness?” Edinburgh asked sharply.
“Not at all.”
Rafe was called on once more. He confirmed Angelica’s testimony, although to Vincent’s ire, he did not neglect to describe Lydia’s awkwardness and mistakes during her first few hunts.
When asked again if Lydia displayed any indication of madness, the Spaniard shook his head. “Not at all. I also add that I am impressed with Lydia’s strength and capabilities, and I believe she shall be a fine addition to our kind.” Rafe turned away before Vincent could give him a nod of gratitude.
The Elder’s gaze locked on Lydia. “Under such satisfactory testimony, I acknowledge you, Lydia Price. Have you anything to say on Deveril’s behalf?”
Lydia nodded emphatically. “Please, my lord, don’t kill him. All of this is my fault. If anyone is to be punished, it should be me.”
Shock waves reverberated through Vincent’s body at the pronouncement. He sucked in endless gusts of air until white spots obscured his vision.
He couldn’t believe it.
He had not heard correctly.
One look at the duke’s pale face answered his dreaded question. The possibility of living without her was a sentence worse than death. And the torture they would put her through…
As the realization hit him, he released the breath he was holding in an earsplitting shout. “No!” Vincent grasped her shoulder and pulled her against him. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Silence!” the Elder snapped and once more faced Lydia. “Why do you feel Lord Deveril’s actions are your fault, youngling?”
Lydia lifted her chin and faced the ancient vampire, refusing to tremble as she made her statement. “Because I’m the one who put myself in the position of mortal danger by storming out of the safety of his home and into the path of a cutthroat. If it weren’t for his obligation to protect me, he never would have broken your laws.”
“I see.” The vampire stroked his chin. “Well, killing you would certainly teach Lord Deveril a lesson…”
“Please,” Vincent whispered to her in heartbreaking agony. “Do not do this!”
“However, it would be quite a waste, and I cannot ignore the fact that Deveril is still the one who violated the law, so he is the one responsible, regardless of your touching and reasonable defense.” Edinburgh’s lips compressed in a grim line. “And execution is the traditional penalty for Changing a mortal without our approval.”
Lydia clung to Vincent and moaned brokenly, “No, please!”
“Yet in this case I find myself reluctant to dispense with a Lord Vampire who has been so obedient and peaceful in the past. Never before have we been called upon to settle any conflicts with you.” The Elder paused, watching as everyone held their breath, blatantly enjoying the agonizing tension. “There may be an alternative.”
“What?” Anything.
“As you well know, governing such a large people across the expanse of the world can be quite costly.” Edinburgh smiled tightly. “Therefore, if you pay a fine of say, one hundred thousand pounds, we would feel satisfied leaving you alive.”
Ian gasped and sputtered. “One hundred thousand pounds?”
“Shut it!” Vincent snapped, not giving a damn that he was speaking to the Lord of London. He met the Elder’s gaze. “I agree to the fine.” He’d give up his castle and his land if the Elder asked. Though at this sum, he’d have to mortgage them anyway.
“I’ll require a down payment of ten thousand, as collateral for your honor.”
“Of course.” Vincent reached inside his greatcoat for his bank drafts. I’ll bet the other ninety thousand that this will go straight into your pocket.
The ancient vampire grinned and withdrew a document from his satchel. He dipped the quill and handed it to Vincent. “If you sign here, I can be on my way. And be certain to have the funds deposited at our bank by the end of the month, or else we will have to kill you.”
Once the contract was signed, the Elder took another sip of brandy and rose to depart.
“My lord?” Lydia approached the Lord of Edinburgh. “I have one more question.”
The ancient paused at the door. “Yes, youngling?”
“Am I a vampire of London or Cornwall?”
He gave her an impatient glare. “As you were Changed in the Lord of London’s territory, he could legally lay claim to you, though that is his choice.” He strode out the door before she could say more.
“I release you to the Lord of Cornwall,” Ian told her. “I have enough mischievous younglings in my territory.”
Lydia released her breath in an audible sigh. Angelica leaped up fro
m her seat and spun in a joyful circle. The men remained frozen in disbelief at the miraculous reprieve.
“You’re not going to be killed, thank God!” Lydia cried.
When he was at last able to breathe again, Vincent uttered a dry laugh. “I am alive because of a need for government funding. Good Lord.” He shook his head. “I have the utmost sympathy for those who do not have that option.”
“As do I,” Rafe added quietly.
“One hundred thousand pounds?” Ian repeated dazedly. “Do you have that much?”
“Most of it. However, I will still have to mortgage my castle and ask for loans.” Vincent sighed and met Lydia’s gaze. “I’ll be a pauper for quite some time, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t care!” she said firmly. “You will be alive.”
Warmth suffused his heart at her declaration.
Ian stroked his chin. “I can give you a loan. I won’t even charge interest.”
Vincent held out his hand. “Ian, Angelica, Rafael, you have my eternal gratitude for all you’ve done for me and Lydia. I am in your debt.”
Angelica beamed and gave him a firm handshake. “I am happy that your harrowing experience has a happy conclusion. It has definitely provided inspiration for my writing.”
The duchess then gave Lydia a hug. “You were so very brave. I am happy to have you as a friend.”
Ian shook Vincent’s hand. “You have always been among my strongest allies. It would have been devastating to lose you.”
The duke then bowed to Lydia. “My wife is right. You are the most courageous youngling that I have ever beheld. A most fitting bride for the Lord of Cornwall.”
Rafe scowled before shaking Vincent’s hand. “It was nothing.”
Lydia chuckled at his gruffness. The Spaniard met her gaze, and his narrow lips curved in a slight but genuine smile as he shook her hand.
“Well”—Angelica set aside her brandy glass—“that was quite exciting. But now I’d like to go home and finish Vincent’s surprise for tomorrow evening.” She curled her fingers around Ian’s arm. “Shall we be off?”
Lydia shook her head. “I need to feed, and I would like for Vincent to walk me home, if it’s all right.”
“You’re not supposed to be alone with him without a chaperone,” Rafe reminded her, though there was a teasing glint in his amber eyes.
Angelica put her hands on her hips and glared at the Spaniard. “Oh, Rafe, they deserve to be alone after all they’ve been through.” She turned to Lydia. “Though do try to be home soon, or Miss Hobson will be livid.”
Although he longed to take Lydia upstairs into his bedchamber, Vincent reluctantly took her hand and led her outside to hunt. They found their prey and fed quickly, getting it done so they could then savor their time together.
Vincent watched Lydia as she walked beside him, amazed at how well she had taken to her new existence. She embraced the night, at harmony with the shadows, and she hunted at his side as if she’d always been there with him. She belongs with me, his heart pulsed with conviction.
“Tell me of this surprise you have planned.”
A hint of uneasiness flashed in her eyes before she regained her teasing tone. “I am sorry, my lord. You will have to wait.” She squeezed his hand. “May we run now?”
Together, they took off in a flash, the spring breeze whipping across their cheeks with the scent of newly bloomed flowers. Vincent felt her joy of the run echo his own. She belongs with me, his soul repeated.
When they arrived at Burnrath House, he couldn’t stop from hauling her into his arms and kissing her good night. Her lips tasted like honeysuckle.
“Stay with me tonight?” she whispered against his mouth.
His hardness ached with temptation. “I cannot. As we are not yet wed, people will talk.” He cursed them all to the lowest circles of hell.
She nodded and bit her lip, looking suddenly vulnerable. “Do you still want me?”
Vincent couldn’t hold back his laughter. “More than a drunkard wants wine, Lydia. Now I must go before someone sees us.” Pulling her into his arms for a last embrace, he inhaled the scent of her hair. “Until tomorrow.”
Before he lost his resolve and carried her off to ravage her, he escorted her back to the house and left, reminding himself that he had a surprise of his own planned.
Thirty-five
The next evening, Lydia awoke quivering with anticipation. Tonight she would present her own phantasmagoria.
“How do you think he’ll react?” she asked Angelica worriedly when they met downstairs.
The duchess remained silent and considering for the longest time. Finally, she replied, “He may very well walk out of the room after the part where—”
Lydia cut her short, fighting back worry. “Could your husband make him stay?”
“I could ask him to try,” Angelica replied dubiously.
It was likely the best she could hope for. “And if Vincent remains, what do you suppose he’ll think?”
At last, the duchess smiled. “If he stays until the end, I feel it is likely you’ll achieve your desired outcome from this endeavor.”
Quickly, she and Angelica sought out their first meal and returned to Burnrath House for the preparations. Lady Rosslyn arrived soon afterward with her magic lantern.
When Vincent strode into the drawing room, Lydia had to clasp her hands behind her back to resist running into his arms. As Ian and Rafe took him off to occupy him with a game of chess, part of her wondered if he’d ever hold her again after this.
An hour later, Lydia paced anxiously through the music room. Everything was in readiness. Chairs for Vincent, Ian, Rafe, and Miss Hobson were arranged before the black curtain. The screen was poised halfway between, prepared to be lowered the moment the audience was distracted. Lady Rosslyn took her place in the shadows with her magic lantern and Lydia’s carefully painted slides. Angelica stood by her glass harmonica, resplendent in one of the black velvet cloaks she’d ordered for the occasion and insisted they all wear.
Yes, everything was in readiness, except for Lydia. A thousand questions and doubts raced through her already-taxed mind. In mere minutes, Vincent would hear the story and see the paintings she’d painstakingly worked on. Would he charge out of the room in outrage, as Angelica had predicted? Her heart clenched in terror at the very real possibility.
Or what if Vincent remained and was repulsed by her story? What if it made him further regret the ever-increasing burden she’d been since she came into his life? Crippling guilt threatened to drown her. If it weren’t for her, Vincent wouldn’t have faced a death sentence and become beggared.
Despite her remorse, Lydia could not bring herself to regret meeting him. Every smile he’d bestowed on her, every time she’d made him laugh, every kiss he’d stolen, every moment in his arms, all were memories she would cherish for the remainder of her existence. And she could never regret his Changing her into a vampire, giving her powers and experiences she’d never thought possible.
Her chin lifted. She would not be a burden to Vincent any longer. She would undo all the trouble she’d caused him. And she would do everything in her power to teach him to find joy in his existence.
***
Vincent and Ian looked up from their chess game as Rafe entered the room. “It is time for Her Grace and Miss Price’s presentation. It shall be held in the music room.”
“Splendid.” Ian rose from his seat. “I was growing quite weary of being trounced.”
As they followed Rafe down the stairs, Vincent grew increasingly maddened with curiosity. Ian seemed to share his sentiment.
“Come now, Rafe,” the duke prodded. “You’ve held your tongue for the entire time. What is this presentation that Miss Price and my wife have been cooking up?”
The Spaniard sighed. “It’s only another phantasmagoria.”
“A what?” Vincent blinked at the strange word.
Ian laughed. “Ah, brilliant! I can imagine Miss Price was delighted to participate in creating such a production. Why didn’t you say so before?”
Rafe scowled, seeming to be in a fouler mood than usual. “Because I only recently learned what the blasted things are called.”
“What are they?” Vincent demanded, irritated with his ignorance.
The duke clapped him on the shoulder. “They are the most astounding art form ever to be invented. Words cannot describe it. You, my friend, are in for a treat.”
Ian opened the music-room door, gesturing for Rafe and Vincent to precede him. The duchess awaited them, dramatically garbed in a black cloak. Lydia and Lady Rosslyn stood behind her in matching costumes, solemn expressions on their faces.
“If you gentlemen would please be seated.” Angelica gestured to a group of chairs placed in front the fireplace, which had been blocked off by a thick black curtain.
Vincent, Ian, and a reluctant Rafe joined her. Suddenly, the lights went out and an ethereal melody trilled. Vincent glanced over his shoulder to see the duchess playing an odd instrument that resembled a crystal caterpillar spitted over a desk. The cylindrical object spun slowly on a shaft through a wheel, which Angelica operated with her foot.
Lydia’s rich voice rose above the music. “Once upon a time, there lived a young woman who loved to paint. Her parents nurtured her gift.”
Ian nudged him, and he turned back to the curtain, though he would have preferred to keep his eyes on Lydia.
Vincent gaped as an image of a black-haired woman smiling up at a happy couple appeared to float before his eyes. He recognized it as one of Lydia’s paintings. Before he could wonder how it had manifested, the image seemed to retreat into a dark tunnel until it disappeared. He blinked, realizing that a transparent screen had been lowered in front of the curtain.
Lydia continued the tale: “Then, tragedy fell. Her mother and father both perished from the fever.”