A Dance in Blood Velvet

by Freda Warrington

  The hostess, an attractive woman in her forties, shrouded in layers of cream lace and camellias, stared hard at Charlotte. “But my dear, I swear - you look exactly like the niece of a friend of mine... Charlotte -”

  “What a coincidence,” Charlotte said sweetly, affecting a vaguely Germanic accent.

  The woman’s scarlet lips hardened into a smile. “But - well, forgive me, of course you couldn’t be Miss Neville.”

  As Stefan spun a confection of lies about his “family”, loving every moment, Emerald Tremayne went on staring suspiciously at Charlotte. But “Eva” found she couldn’t care less what she thought. Yes, wonder about me. Tie yourself in knots, because you’ll never know the truth.

  And then they were moving into the ballroom, swimmers in a foaming tide. More chandeliers, a polished hardwood floor, curtains of creamy damask. A dance band played jaunty popular tunes and the dance floor was full, the air thick with laughter and smoke. Among the film extras she saw other costumes; the inevitable harlequin, some comical, ungainly chess pieces, even a couple dressed as a snowflake and a piece of coal. On the far side of the room, rows of windows reflected the scene in bright squares.

  Thank heavens, she could see no one she knew. Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d met her Aunt Elizabeth, since she was the only one who’d even partially understood Charlotte’s decision. But to see her sister Maddy again... she couldn’t conceive of it. There were a few half-familiar faces, but shyness and anxiety had stopped her making friends. She doubted anyone would remember her.

  Charlotte felt light-headed. The scene was too sharp, like glass; she felt as if she’d been thrown back in time, into her girlhood, when such maelstroms terrified her. And yet she wasn’t afraid, just vibrantly aware of the crowd’s blood-heat. She felt like two people at once - both outsiders.

  I shouldn’t have agreed to this, she thought. I wish I’d gone straight to Karl instead. She pressed her tongue to the tips of her fangs. God, why am I so thirsty?

  Already Stefan had infiltrated a group of young men and women who were braying with laughter at each other’s jokes. Charlotte stood silently apart, observing the guests like zoo exhibits. There was something pleasing in the way people would turn and stare at her. But how empty, that tiny sense of triumph...

  The black chess piece was shouting drunkenly into her ear, “Miss Neville! How perfectly wonderful to see you! Care for a dance?”

  She turned and looked coldly at a square puffy face inside a frame of chicken wire and paper. He was some friend of her sister’s she barely knew.

  “You’ve made a mistake. My name is not...”

  “Oh no, I haven’t. You’re Charlotte. Not got any friendlier, have you?”

  She turned to him and smiled. She felt like tearing the wire from his sweating neck. “Would you like to come into the garden and see how friendly I can be?”

  The young man looked astonished. And she would have done it, taken him outside and sucked his blood, if Stefan had not touched her arm. He must be clairvoyant, the way he always guessed what was in her mind.

  “Eva, dear,” he said, pulling her away.

  Then Charlotte felt the black-diamond presence of vampires, out in the entrance hall. She froze, staring at Stefan, everything else forgotten.

  “Who is it?” she said.

  He only smiled. “Come along.” They moved through the crowd, Niklas following serenely.

  Through the wide doorway, she saw Karl and Katerina, with an unknown dark-haired male vampire, being greeted by Emerald Tremayne. Her heart leapt violently and she turned on Stefan, accusing. “You knew he was coming!”

  “Of course,” the angel replied serenely. “I invited him.”

  In luscious contrast to the white chosen by most guests, the three were in black velvet costumes of the eighteenth century. How gorgeous, how striking they looked! So artlessly true to their nature, there seemed no point in trying to disguise what they were. Her Ladyship, clearly taken with them, was chatting animatedly.

  “Did Karl know I’d be here?” Charlotte whispered.

  “Yes. That’s why he came. Andreas is with them.”

  He knew, she thought, and yet he brought Katerina with him...

  Charlotte, her arm linked through Stefan’s, could not take her eyes off Karl. He wore breeches and a waistcoat, a tailored frock coat flaring elegantly from the waist; white stockings, black buckled shoes, white lace at his throat and cuffs. Almost exactly as he’d appeared at Madeleine’s birthday party, the first time she had truly seen him.

  She recalled the cat-grey gloom of a garden, Chinese lanterns in the trees; seeing her brother, earthly and familiar, talking to a stranger who was plainly not of this world; infinitely beautiful, infinitely terrifying. Promising to take her world apart... and proceeding to do exactly that.

  And the effect Karl had on Charlotte now was just the same. No, more intense, because now she knew everything. All the terrors and wonders promised by the first glimpse had come true, and far more... and the thought that she might have lost him was agony.

  My God, is he doing this to me on purpose?

  Stefan was drawing her and Niklas forward, mischief in his eyes. Lady Tremayne turned and waved imperiously at them. “Ah, do come and let me introduce you. I never knew they bred such a handsome race on the continent. These are the Kessler brothers, Jan and Johann; forgive me, I can’t remember which is which.”

  “Neither can we,” said Stefan, winking at Katerina.

  “And their sister Eva. Miss Kessler, may I introduce Karl von Aschbach...”

  Karl, his face betraying nothing, kissed Charlotte’s hand as if they had never met before. His fingers felt glacial, and he barely touched her before he let go.

  “I am charmed,” he said. “And these are my friends...” he reeled off more false names.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, barely glancing at Katerina or Andreas. Karl looked into her eyes for the briefest moment; he gave nothing away, but neither did she.

  “How charming you look, Miss Kessler,” said Katerina, shaking her hand. Her expression was warm, but condescending. As always. How confident and regal she was, firmly in possession of both Karl and Andreas.

  “More than charming,” said Andreas, sombre and sincere. Charlotte smiled guardedly. So this was Andreas! A long face with a rose-pearl translucency to his skin, dark curly hair, sensuous lips. She sensed a self-absorbed moodiness about him, but thought she might like him regardless. How frustrating that they couldn’t initiate a truthful, open conversation.

  “Do come and join the party,” said Lady Tremayne. “It’s almost time for supper; only a buffet, but we can gain a head-start on the vultures.”

  “Thank you, I’m afraid we’ve already eaten,” said Katerina.

  If only she knew, Charlotte thought, what manner of vulture she is actually entertaining.

  Karl turned away as Lady Tremayne led her favoured guests -like a flock of glossy ravens - into the ballroom. Charlotte followed, looking at Karl’s straight, ebony-clad back, the mahogany sheen of his hair. Oh, so painful, having to hold back and play this human charade! Was he cool to her because they were in company - or because he’d regarded their last parting as final? She could hardly blame him - but not knowing was anguish.

  “Enjoy the evening,” Stefan whispered very softly. “One of you will have to swallow your pride, eventually. And you do look heavenly, though I say so myself.”

  “It’s all right for you. You love this! Teasing humans, telling lies, seducing them.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Don’t you?”

  Lady Tremayne organised them into a circle, and the vampires stood with champagne glasses in their hands, pretending to sip. Other men and women joined them, but Emerald and Katerina flanked Karl. The conversation was the social trivia Charlotte had always detested, although she could mimic it with ease. Stefan was right; in other circumstances this would have been amusing. She resented bitterly the way Katerina
stood at Karl’s side as if she belonged there - Karl making no move to dispel the impression.

  Through everything, there was the tormenting thrill of being so close to Karl, unable to reach him. This feeling never died. She thought, How could he bring Katerina? It’s a cruel way to tell me, if that’s what it is. I never dreamed it would be so difficult to see them together; I thought I could bear it but I can’t. But I won’t let him see I care; I won’t even look at them.

  Instead she watched Andreas. He had the seductive glow of their kind even though he looked bored, as if was too much effort to smile. That sullen beauty was enough to draw people to him. Emerald was clearly fascinated. Charlotte distracted herself by guessing what was in her mind. She was very like Charlotte’s Aunt Elizabeth: supreme in her confidence to conquer any man she wanted. And although Andreas and Stefan (Niklas too - imagine the novelty of seducing blond twins!) were equally enticing, the prize would have to be Karl - simply to prove she could steal him from Katerina.

  You poor fool, Charlotte thought. All you’ll get from him is a sweet smile and a graceful refusal. Then, with a shiver, she wondered if Stefan, Andreas or Katerina might feed on Lady Tremayne before the evening was out.

  While she ignored Karl, she felt him watching her. The temptation to glance at him was overwhelming. She resisted, but still his eyes scorched darkly into her. Turning hot, she edged away to the satellite group forming around Stefan and Niklas.

  Shielded by others, she glanced back and saw a Roman emperor leading Emerald Tremayne onto the dance floor. The band was beginning a slow waltz. She could just see Karl; he was excusing himself from the group, moving away. Where was he going?

  To Charlotte’s surprise, he was coming towards her. The group parted to let him through. She saw the dismissive coolness of Katerina’s expression as he said, “Miss Kessler, may I have this dance?”

  Charlotte felt like refusing, but could not. He led her onto the floor, slid one hand around her waist and twined his fingers with hers. They looked at each other; no word was spoken. They were both holding back. His eyes and face were a distracting veil over his thoughts; she dared not let their beauty slide through her guard. She was thinking, Has he dismissed me forever, because of Violette and Katerina? Is this a polite goodbye? Or is he saying nothing because he’s not sure of me, either?

  After a time, he said, “Can we stop pretending now, Charlotte?”

  “Meeting at this party was not a good idea,” she said flatly.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Stefan didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “He meant well.” His tone was off-hand. Her fears welled up and she felt dangerously close to crying. More than ever she tried to make her eyes blank and cold.

  Yet as they danced, something happened. She avoided his gaze, looking over his shoulder at other couples. But how lovely Karl’s hands felt. Nothing more deliciously sensual. And he was holding her closer with every step.

  “Charlotte, look at me,” he said. “You really are not aware of it, are you?”

  “Aware of what?”

  “The effect you have, all in white, with your hair loose.” Now Karl was gazing at her as he always had, his irises deep amber lamps. His intensity left her defenceless... because he was bewitched by her, too. Useless, pretending to be reserved or cold to each other.

  Then she understood, if she hadn’t known all along. Their passion for each other could never be divided among others.

  “I think I have some idea,” she said, and he smiled.

  Artifice fell away. Charlotte found herself smiling back at him. Ah, the contour of his shoulders under the black velvet; the touch of his fingers on hers. The soft near-black chestnut of his hair, light sheening the strands with blood-red... His eyelids swept down, his long lashes dark against his cheeks as he looked at her throat. Desire. She turned hot and cold like the human she’d once been; a girl too nervous even to dance with him.

  Charlotte sensed people watching them; Stefan with approval, Katerina and Lady Tremayne with mild disgust. She didn’t care. Let their jealousy eat them; they can never know how we really feel!

  As the music ended, Karl kissed her on the mouth, long and passionately, as if they were alone. Charlotte heard Emerald - a few feet away - gasp with shock. For all she knew, they’d only met an hour before!

  Karl and Charlotte looked at each other, sharing the joke. “And your conduct in public is usually impeccable,” she said.

  “We should go somewhere more private, don’t you agree?”

  They moved through the crowd and slipped discreetly through some French doors. Outside, they found a lovely, intimate garden, divided by hedges and trellis into separate arbours. It was a town garden, not large, but curtains of foliage made it seem dense and endless. Karl and Charlotte walked slowly through the maze, hand in hand, letting the clear air and the subtle colours of night wrap round them. Each arbour had its own ambience; some were spacious, with a statue or fountain as a focus; others were tiny, swathed in clematis, climbing roses, wisteria. Plenty of places for lovers to hide. Guests must love this garden, Charlotte thought, although the air was too cold for more than a few courting couples to be outside. None turned to look as Karl and Charlotte passed.

  In the furthest corner, they found a small bower, hidden by ivy and climbing roses. There was a wall-fountain, a stone bench, a bank of moss sloping into a tiny pocket of wild garden. They sat on the bench, but it seemed the cool breeze blew distance between them, and Charlotte became nervous.

  “I sometimes wondered if we’d ever see each other again,” she said.

  “I knew we would. I only wondered if you wanted to.”

  “Well, now you know,” she said. “I always did.”

  Karl stroked her cheek, gazing seriously at her; she was trembling, couldn’t stop herself.

  He said, “I went to Swan Lake.”

  She was startled. “You didn’t tell me! Why didn’t you come and sit with me?”

  “I didn’t say which performance I saw.”

  “But I’ve been at every one! I never knew you were there.”

  Slight sadness touched his mouth. “And that’s why I didn’t come to you.”

  “But I wish you had! Karl...” And Charlotte knew that she could not mention Violette. If he thought she only wanted to see him to discuss Violette -!

  “I still can’t entirely forgive you for not coming with Katti and me.” He spoke with a touch of humour, but meant it, she knew.

  “Have you anything to tell me?” she asked softly.

  “A great deal.” Karl began to tell her about Benedict, vampires rescued from the Weisskalt, the fire at Lancelyn’s house and the confrontation... And although Charlotte listened with interest, and it was bliss simply to be with him, none of it answered her question.

  “But,” she said, hardly able to force out the name, “Katerina...”

  “What about her?”

  “Karl, for heaven’s sake! Must I share you with her? Or are you about to tell me that you’ve abandoned me for her?”

  Karl’s reaction, as usual, was infuriatingly minimal. “If that were the case, I would not be here now.”

  “Well, why ever did you bring her? If a man comes to a rendezvous arm-in-arm with another woman, he can only be saying one thing. And pardon me, I’m not yet old or wise enough to rise above jealousy. I can’t bear to think of you making love to her while I wasn’t there...” Feeling tears in her eyes, she turned her head away.

  Karl let out a soft breath. All the time he spoke, he stroked the long skeins of her hair. “We were playing games, you and I, when we met this evening. Both pretending not to mind what the other did. But it’s pointless, and only hurts us, because neither of us are game-players at heart. I have not made love to Katti. She’s offended that I refused, even though she has Andreas now. I brought her tonight, not to parade her as my lover, but to convince her that I still love you. No one else, ever. And I agree, these things shouldn’t matter
to us, who are immortal and supernatural; but they do. They still do.”

  “Oh, God.” Charlotte sighed. Her tears became those of relief. She could say nothing articulate; I love you to distraction and I hate myself and I’ve missed you, forgive me, forgive me, please... Only, “God.”

  “Beloved, when will we know each other well enough to have absolute trust?” Karl sank his fingers through her hair and kissed her; and they both knew. Katerina didn’t matter, Violette was forgotten. There was only this.

  Charlotte tipped back her head as Karl rested his lips on her neck; the gentlest, most loving of gestures, because he could have bitten her, and chose not to. She put one hand in his hair and held him lightly, feeling the moment whip through her, like a breath held too long.

  Then, without another word, Karl took her hand and led her down into the wild garden. Under the foliage of birches and weeping cherries, she took off her dress and spread it on the moss-cushions, and they lay down together on its soft white folds. The night-chill, too cold for humans, was no more than a prickle on their flesh.

  “How have we let so much time pass?” Charlotte whispered. Karl was removing his velvet coat, but she pulled him to her, still half-dressed. “Never mind that.”

  Smiling, he did not protest.

  An imperative fever took possession of them, humanly urgent, weirdly heightened by the dark sweetness of the garden. Like falling, like flying. Karl’s heat swept Charlotte into a pleasure so searing and convulsive that afterwards she was left shaking and almost too weak to move. Too drained to slide her canines into Karl’s neck, as she would usually have done... And she realised that Karl had not bitten her throat, either. For some hazy reason, she was glad.

  They had no wish to go back into the house. They dressed, not speaking but kissing often; began to tidy each others’ dishevelled clothes and hair, then stopped and clutched each other - her head on his shoulder, his head resting on hers - under the dappled trees.