“Without a doubt.” Juliet shrugged. “Justin is currently attempting to lure the wood sprites out of hiding with it.”
Levet laughed again. “Pathetic. Do English wood sprites have no stamina? No manly vigor? Sacre bleu. They must be like fish left out of the water.” He wiggled his hand. “Flop, flop, flop—”
“Levet,” Juliet hastily interrupted.
“Ah, pardon, ma belle.” The sensitive gargoyle was instantly contrite. “I forget what a delicate flower you are.”
“Delicate flower?” Juliet snorted. “Hardly that. I am a thief and a liar, and I sell my services to keep a roof over my head. Many would claim I am no better than a common whore.”
“Non, do not say such terrible things. We all do what we must to survive.”
Juliet heaved a sigh. She was painfully acquainted with the sacrifices that survival demanded.
“Yes, I suppose that is true enough.”
Levet tilted his head to the side, regarding her with a narrowed gaze.
“There is something troubling you, ma belle.”
Juliet turned her head to glance out the window, more to hide her revealing expression than to admire the view of Hyde Park slumbering beneath the silver moonlight.
“Nothing more than ennui.”
“Ennui? But only a few days ago you were telling me how delighted you were that the Season was at last under way.”
Of course, she had been delighted. She had told herself that the restless dissatisfaction that had plagued her throughout the long winter would be cured by the return of society to the city.
It was only when Victor had strolled into Lord Treadwell’s ballroom that she accepted her discontent had nothing to do with the lack of society and everything to do with the breathtakingly handsome demon.
The knowledge was galling.
And something she did not intend to share.
“I hoped that the return of society to London would provide a distraction,” she said, her voice determinedly light. “Foolish, of course. ’Tis the same tedious balls, with the same tedious guests, with the same tedious gossip.”
“But we adore gossip, do we not?”
“Only when it is interesting.” Juliet turned back to her companion, her fingers fidgeting with a satin ribbon threaded through the bodice of her peach muslin gown. “Thus far I have heard nothing more fascinating than that Lord Maywood’s youngest daughter was quietly removed from London after she attempted to elope with a blatant fortune hunter and that there has been an odd rash of lightning that people claim is coming from clear blue skies. One burned down a warehouse near the docks.”
Levet’s tail stiffened, as if startled by her inconsequential chatter.
“Lightning, you say? At the docks?”
“And why would you be interested in strange bolts of lightning?”
A smile touched the ugly gray face. “A nest of pixies will often attract lightning. Perhaps they have settled near the Thames.”
“You have a fondness for pixies?”
The gargoyle touched his fingers to his lips in a gesture of appreciation.
“But of course. The females are très désireuses and possess a remarkable ability to please a gargoyle.”
With a sharp movement Juliet was on her feet, an odd ache clenching her heart.
“For heaven’s sake, are all males so predictable?”
Levet gave a helpless lift of his hands. “Oui.”
“Pathetic.”
“Ma belle, please tell me what has upset you. I know it cannot be the lack of amusing scandal.” Levet waddled forward, his gray eyes troubled. “Juliet?”
She sucked in a deep breath, knowing the tiny creature would not leave her in peace until she had confessed the truth.
“The Marquis DeRosa has returned to London.”
“By my father’s stone balls.” Levet’s wings snapped in agitation, the sudden breeze sending dust flying through the air. “Well, there is no need to ask why he is here. The cold- hearted sod will not be satisfied until he has made you one of his sycophants.”
That was precisely what Juliet feared.
And why she fought so hard against her acute awareness of his sensuality.
“Hell will freeze over first,” she muttered.
Levet reached up to grasp her hand, the blatant concern in his expression sending a chill down her spine.
“Be careful, ma belle. He is more dangerous than you could ever imagine.”
“What would you have me do? I requested that Justin travel away from England, but he is too occupied with his negotiations with Yiant to leave London. I suppose I could go on my own, but . . .”
“Non, Juliet.” Levet’s tone was horrified. “For all of Hawthorne’s failings, and they are varied and numerous, he does provide some protection from those creatures who would do whatever was necessary to claim you and your powers.”
She paced the cramped space that had been cleared by the gargoyle, not for the first time resenting her dependency on the mage.
If only—
Juliet abruptly crushed the worthless yearning.
Her parents were dead. Nothing could alter that grim fact.
“I am not entirely helpless,” she gritted.
“Not helpless, but you will never be ruthless enough to survive alone in the demon world, re-merciez un dieu.”
She ignored the painful truth of his words. “Perhaps Yiant will accept the Damanica as a proper token and offer Justin the herbs he needs. He will have no reason to linger in London once he has his potion.”
“I would not be so certain.”
Juliet halted her pacing to regard the gargoyle with a puzzled frown.
“What do you mean?”
“It is rumored that Hawthorne has at last convinced Madame Andreas to become his mistress.”
Juliet snorted. “If you mean to shock me, Levet, you are wide of the mark. Justin always has one mistress or another. He will easily find another in the East Indies or Egypt or the Americas.”
“Madame Andreas is not just another mistress, Juliet, she is considered the most beautiful woman in London,” Levet corrected her. “Even DeRosa has been seen attempting to court her favors.”
A sharp, savage pain jabbed through her heart at the mere thought of Victor being beguiled by the golden-haired, blue-eyed, voluptuous beauty. Which was utterly absurd. From the moment she had arrived in London she had heard whispers of the Marquis DeRosa’s numerous mistresses, and had seen with her own eyes how the women flocked to be at his side.
Besides, it was common knowledge among the demon world that vampires were sexually insatiable. Until they mated it was not at all unusual for them to insist on a dozen or more lovers.
Damn Victor to the fiery pits of hell.
“Has he? Well, I hope . . .”
“Oui?”
“I hope he chokes on her,” Juliet snapped.
Levet’s lumpy brow furrowed as he regarded her in sudden dismay. “Did I make a middle of it?”
“Middle?” It took her a moment to realize what the gargoyle was saying. “Muddle. A muddle of it.”
He gave a dismissive shrug. “Middle, muddle. Did I say something wrong?”
“Not at all.” Juliet felt her brittle composure begin to falter. “If you will excuse me, I believe I will retire for the night.”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“I seem to have developed a pain in my neck.”
Without giving Levet time to halt her retreat, Juliet left the attics, taking a direct route through the candlelit corridors to her private chambers.
Normally she found a sense of pleasure when she entered the sitting room decorated in shades of blue and ivory, with solid English furniture that had been designed for comfort rather than fashion. And most charming of all, the tall, arched windows that overlooked the cobblestone road. She adored spending her mornings sipping chocolate while seated on the cushioned window seat and watching the neighbors go about their business.
Tonig
ht, however, she headed straight for the connected room, preparing for bed with stiff, angry movements.
She could call for a maid, of course. Justin had a full staff of servants, all of them of mixed demon blood so that Juliet had no need to pretend to be human. But she was in no mood to endure the curious gaze and inane chatter of her maid.
She only wished to crawl beneath her covers and pretend she was far away from London and the Marquis DeRosa.
* * *
Much to her surprise, Juliet managed to slip into a deep sleep, although it was marred with nightmares of being trapped in a small cellar while something—or someone—crept toward the door.
If she were a practicing witch, she might have attempted to discover the deeper meaning of her vivid dream and the choking fear that had seemed far too real. But with no genuine power beyond her ability to sense magic, she was willing to dismiss the vague premonition when Levet’s voice echoed through her head.
“Juliet,” the gargoyle called. “Sacre bleu, wake up.”
“Levet?” Sitting up, Juliet glanced around the empty room, her father’s demon blood giving her the ability to see no matter how dark it might be. “Levet, where are you?”
“I am speaking to you through your mind.”
She frowned, lifting a hand to her temple. “I wish you would not. It is making me dizzy.”
“Non, do not sever our bond. I need you, ma belle.”
“Now?”
“Oui. I am in trouble.”
Juliet’s heart missed a beat at the unmistakable edge of panic in the gargoyle’s voice.
“Dear God, are you hurt?”
“For now only my pride is injured, but I sense the future of my health is not at all certain. In truth, ma belle, it appears to be particularly dire.”
Barely realizing she was moving, Juliet crawled from the bed and headed for the smaller of the two armoires. Her fey blood demanded that she occasionally escape the confines of the city and surround herself with nature. She always kept several sets of loose smocks and pants that were more fitting for a stable boy than a young lady of society. Perfect for her long afternoons in the woods.
“Where are you?”
“I am not entirely certain.”
“Levet, you are not being excessively helpful,” she said, swiftly exchanging her night shift for the pants and smock, as well as a pair of boys’ boots. “I need to know where to begin my search if you desire to be rescued.”
“And you think that has not occurred to me?” Levet barked. “Had I known I was to be attacked and held hostage I would have been clever enough to leave a trail of bread crumbs for you to follow.”
Juliet moved to the dresser and began pinning her thick curls on top of her head.
“Do you wish my assistance or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“After you left me alone to entertain myself I decided to visit the docks.”
“Why in heaven’s name would you . . . ?” Juliet bit off her words as realization struck her. “The pixies. Really, Levet.”
“I am a gargoyle, not a saint. And you were the one to tempt me with the promise of pixies.”
Juliet stiffened at the ludicrous accusation. “I did no such thing.”
“Juliet, something is coming,” Levet hissed, his fear potent enough to spill through her. “Please, ma petite, I need you.”
There was a painful wrench, and abruptly her connection to the gargoyle was severed.
“Damn.”
Pausing only long enough to shove a knit hat over her curls, she clambered out her window and jumped the short distance to the nearby tree.
She might not possess Justin’s terrifying magic or Victor’s icy power, but she was willing to do whatever was necessary to rescue her one true friend.
No matter what the danger.
* * *
The estate of the Marquis DeRosa was less than a half-hour ride from London, but it provided all the space and privacy a vampire craved.
Built of white stone, it was designed along pure, classical lines with massive marble columns and tall windows that overlooked the manicured lawn and distant lake.
It was not the first manor house built on that precise spot. Victor had, after all, owned the property for several hundred years. But like all the others before, it was constructed as much for security as for luxury.
The vast grounds were guarded during the evening by his clan brothers, while the daylight hours were protected by poisonous Bguli demons who could defeat all but the most powerful enemies. The house itself was wrapped in hexes to keep out unwelcome intruders, including any overly forward humans.
Not that the elaborate defenses were actually necessary.
Only a demon or mortal anxious to seek his grave would be stupid enough to invade Victor’s lair.
Not without invitation.
Sprawled in a massive wooden chair that had once belonged to a Roman general who had the misfortune to kill a human under clan protection, Victor surveyed the various guests who filled his elegant salon.
There was a combination of demons. Vampires, imps, several lovely nymphs, and a handful of human chattel, all of whom were extraordinarily beautiful, and all eager to capture Victor’s brooding attention.
A pity he had no interest in the half-naked bodies that were deliberately poised on the chaise longues and large pillows tossed across the carpet. The tasty feast might be perfectly calculated to sate a hungry vampire, but Victor felt nothing more than cold apathy.
Waving away the silver-haired nymph attired in a thin gauze gown who knelt at his feet with her head tilted in silent invitation, he ruefully accepted that his once varied and exotic taste had now been reduced to one particular female.
A female whom he was still no closer to having in his bed.
His slender fingers were tapping a restless tattoo on the scrolled arm of the chair, his body aching for Miss Juliet Lawrence, when the far doors were thrust open to reveal a tall vampire with a halo of brown curls and large brown eyes.
Most people were deceived by the air of youth and innocence that clung to Uriel even after two centuries, but not Victor. Although the vampire would never possess Victor’s own power, Uriel was a brutal killer when necessary and loyal beyond reason.
Which was precisely why Victor had demanded the demon maintain a constant guard on Juliet since she’d first captured his fancy.
With a lift of his brow, he gestured for the vampire to join him, knowing that Uriel would never have abandoned his post without a compelling reason.
Moving through the guests with fluid speed, Uriel fell to his knees before Victor and bent his head.
“Master.”
“Tell me.”
“The female left her home.”
“An odd hour.” He frowned. It was because Juliet’s maid had sent a note to say her mistress would be staying in for the evening that he had reluctantly agreed to this small gathering. His clan deserved a few entertainments even if their chief was preoccupied with a stubborn, unmanageable female. “She was with Hawthorne?”
“No, master, she was alone.”
“Alone?”
“Alone and on foot.”
“Damn.” Victor’s hands clenched the arms of his chair, the wood creaking as it threatened to shatter beneath the pressure. “I trust Johan is following her?”
“Of course.”
He glanced toward the dark windows, judging the hours before sunrise.
“Juliet is impulsive, but she is not a fool. Why would she be traveling the London streets alone?” He returned his attention to his servant. “Did a messenger arrive?”
“No, master. No one approached the house.”
Something perilously close to fury flared through Victor’s cold heart as he flowed to his feet.
Where the devil would Juliet be headed to at such an hour? Although London was no doubt ablaze with parties, she would never attend one without a proper cha
peron and certainly not on foot.
So that meant she was either conducting nefarious business or she was meeting a secret lover.
It was the latter thought that triggered his blast of icy power, sending the humans and lesser demons fleeing the room in fear and his brothers falling onto their knees.
“Where is Hawthorne?”
“He is in the Hampton Court gardens, still attempting to lure Yiant out of hiding.”
Uriel’s explanation reminded Victor of yet another mystery nagging at him.
“Have you discovered what has disturbed the sprites?”
“I fear not, master.”
Victor flicked his finger, commanding Uriel to his feet.
“Perhaps my absence from London has allowed my clan to forget that my commands are not mere suggestions,” he said, the frigid force of his voice wrapping around his servant and causing him to flinch in pain. “I do expect to be obeyed.”
“Forgive us, master,” the vampire pleaded, his voice tight with the knowledge that Victor could kill him with one blow. “We have sought to discover the truth, but the sprites refuse to speak.”
“Refuse? How very bold of them,” Victor drawled, his gaze skimming over his cringing clansmen. “And how very disappointing that my fine warriors have been bested by a handful of fey.”
“We will discover the truth,” Uriel pledged.
“Yes, you will.” Victor narrowed his gaze, dismissing the trifling annoyance from his mind. He had far more important matters to command his attention. Not the least of which was putting an end to his delicate dance with Miss Juliet Lawrence. He had struggled to be patient, but he would not tolerate having her in danger. And he most certainly would not tolerate her taking a lover. He would kill any man who dared to touch her. “Tonight, however, you will prepare chambers for Miss Lawrence and rid the lair of any undesirable guests before I return.”
There was a brief flicker of surprise before Uriel managed to smooth his expression.
“Yes, master.”
Victor headed across the room, pausing at the doorway. “Ah, and I will need the services of a chef.”
“I . . .” Uriel blinked, then gave a hasty nod of his head. “Certainly.”
Stepping into the antechamber, Victor pulled a satin cloak over his formal evening attire and glanced toward Madame Andreas, a lushly curved female who hovered with the rest of the humans.
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