Into the Spotlight (14 page)

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, still laughing. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re so easy to tease.”

“Hmmph.” She sniffed and nipped his finger when he offered up a strawberry as an apology.

Malcolm grinned and teased her lips with the strawberry. “I was born a vampire, darling. Born and raised.”

“Really?” Her pique forgotten, she shifted on the bed to give him her full attention. She hadn’t known that was possible.

“Yes, really. I was born in 1592 in the Highlands of Scotland…” When he paused, Jeannie glared.

“That’s another movie, isn’t it?”

He sighed, barely managing to smother the laughter. “Yes, it is, and I was born in 1492, in Provence, France. My parents were summering there, exploring the vineyards for a possible investment.”

“But I thought vampires were dead.”

Malcolm shrugged. “That’s a theory based on a novel by a drunkard, but it’s not so far from the truth. Humans can become vampires, but most of them become ravening lunatics, mad with blood lust, so it’s not really advisable. For those of us who are born, our need for blood matures with us. We desire it when we’re young, feeding from our mothers. As we get older, human nurses and caretakers are employed. We feed from them sparingly, controlling the need for blood so as to never harm those we feed from. Fortunately, by the time we reach our majority, somewhere around seventy-five, that need is manageable. Modern families don’t even need a wet nurse anymore with the availability of bagged blood.”

“Sunlight?”

“Painful.”

“Garlic?”

“Used judicially on hot bread, wonderful.”

“Holy relics?”

“That varies.”

“Really?” Jeannie was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the sheet wrapped around her waist. She ignored Malcolm’s blatant perusal of her breasts and slapped his hand lightly when he stroked a finger around a nipple. “No distractions.”

“Hardly fair. Considering.”

“Okay, I’ll get dressed.” But he stopped her lunge off the bed with an arm.

“No, let me look. I promise to behave.”

“For how long?”

“As long as I’m able.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear it.”

“So explain about holy relics.”

“You eat, I’ll explain.”

“I’m going to gain five pounds from this meal alone.”

“I’ll help you burn it off, I promise.” His eyes twinkled, but then sobered. “I have drunk from you too many times in four days. You need to eat to keep your blood built up. I will not risk your health.”

“Ahh.” Jeannie melted on the inside. He was worried about her. She opened her mouth obediently for the next piece of meat and chewed it carefully, hiding her smile at his nod of approval.

“Now, holy relics vary because it depends on what they’re blessed with and why they’re used. Many fae relics can injure us because they were imbued with sunlight. Christian holy symbols have power only among the families that venerate and respect them, and then in so much as we seek not to desecrate their holy places or step beyond the boundaries of propriety.”

He dabbed an apple slice in crumbles of cheddar cheese and fed it to her. The flavors burst inside her mouth, sharp and biting on the tongue. Jeannie’s next words were muffled as she covered the chewing with one hand. “But how did vampires come to be in the first place?”

“How did man?”

“We were created in the Garden of Eden, made in God’s likeness.”

“There are similar stories among the vampire lore. Some say we were born in Eden, some say Atlantis or Lemuria, while others claim the vampires were the children of Lilith, and still others say they are the children of Abel, given the gift of life by God after he was slain by Cain. But the need for blood, that is the only thing we are certain of.”

“So you don’t know.”

“Alas, I was not there.” Malcolm shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“I don’t know when you’re being serious.” Jeannie wiped her mouth and shook her head when he offered her another bite. “I’m so full I think I would be sick if I tried to stuff another thing in my mouth.”

“Oh, really?” Malcolm’s grin turned wicked and Jeannie’s laughter pealed out.

“Have you always been an attorney?” They sprawled in the office, and Jeannie curled up on his lap. Malcolm had phone calls to make, but he didn’t want to leave her. She’d listened to him chat in three different languages for an hour. It was wonderful.

“I am ever what my family needs me to be. I was the eldest son of my father and mother’s family. It came with great responsibility. My great-uncle bequeathed me his title and position when he went into the sun. He was caretaker for nearly a millennium, and when he passed, that task came to me.”

“Went into the sun?” She rubbed his shirt, toying with the buttons.

“Vampires live a long time, Jeannie. We are not truly immortal, but we are very hard to kill. Sometimes, the passing of years gets to us and the very old often choose seclusion or sun rather than trying to continue to keep up with the changes in society.”

“That’s sad.”

Malcolm shrugged. “It is what it is. My father chose the sun when I was in my second century.”

“Was he truly so old?”

“No. But he never recovered from the loss of my mother. She was traveling from the New World with my aunt when their ship was taken by a storm. They made landfall in the Canary Islands, but her maid and valet both perished. My aunt’s livery was gravely injured. He found shelter for my aunt and carried her to it, but before he could reach my mother, the sun rose. He swore to us she never woke before she burned.”

Jeannie pressed a hand to her lips. Sadness lingered in Malcolm’s words, a deep sadness that not even three hundred years could erase. “Malcolm, I am so sorry.”

“Thank you, darling, but as I said, it was as it was. My father grieved for nearly a year, setting his affairs in order, seeing to the transfer of titles and deeds. I should have suspected, but I did not. His last night, we dined for hours at an inn in Provence. It was very near to the place I had been born. Just before the sun rose, he kissed me on both cheeks and told me that one day, I would find the woman who would be keeper of my heart and my soul and I would understand. I think a part of me understood what he was telling me, but I didn’t want to believe he would do it.”

“But he did.”

“Yes. His valet brought me the ashes the next day. I interred them with my mother’s, there in Provence, in the vineyard they purchased. There is a small stone temple there. I had it built because my mother favored the Greek and Roman styles.”

“Your suite.”

“Yes.” Malcolm’s chuckle held a self-conscious note. “My aunt decorated it for me. We have a home in Verona that looks much like this. It was my mother’s favorite villa.”

“Do you still have the villa?”

“No, I gave it to my Aunt Ruth. She and my mother were closer than most sisters.”

“You are a wonderful man.” Jeannie cupped his face, kissing him tenderly. She loved his mouth, how it curved when he smiled or softened when he kissed.

“I’m not really.” The low-voiced confession surprised her. He stroked his finger down her cheek. “I’m a very selfish man and I have been for a long time. I didn’t want the villa because I didn’t want to be reminded. I didn’t really care about anyone or their needs, they were just nuisances I had to deal with. I wouldn’t even have come here except for Aunt Ruth. She would plague me for centuries if I didn’t take action. I’ve spent my time focusing on our business interests, accumulating wealth and power and keeping everything else at bay. I never understood my father’s choice—never—until now.”
 

“I understand it too. Malcolm, no matter what else happens, no matter what the ruling is, I wouldn’t trade anything for these last few days with you.”

Chapter Twelve

Malcolm reclined on his side, fist propping up his head. Jeannie lay still and unmoving, having slipped gracefully into her daytime state. He forced himself to watch her fade away every dawn, not wanting to leave her side. He would be the last thing she saw when the grayness took her, and the first thing waiting for her when the light rushed back.

Since she’d been released to his custody, he’d left her only briefly, just today for three hours to oversee Frederick as Malcolm and the nurse woke him from his coma. The event unfolded with blessedly little to remark upon. For once his cousin did exactly as Malcolm ordered him to. He woke, higher reasoning intact, and promptly rolled over into true sleep, a state that would likely hold him for another day or two. The nurse would contact Malcolm when Frederick awoke.

His cell phone rang, and Malcolm rolled off the bed, flipping it open to still the noise as though it might disturb her sleep. “Reynolds,” he said into the phone.

“Lord Markham. You have an audience at three p.m.”

Malcolm exhaled. “Please extend my gratitude.”

“Your lordship.” The phone disconnected, and Malcolm looked at the dream waiting for him on the bed. She would slumber while her fate was decided. He’d argued that the Overseers should hear from her directly, but they’d refused. Lord Markham’s audience was all they required.

His phone rang again. Aunt Ruth’s number flashed on the caller ID. Malcolm cast one last lingering look at Jeannie before turning away from the bed and walking to his office. “Aunt Ruth, how are you?”

“Worried. Has there been any word on Frederick?”

Malcolm chose his words carefully. He’d informed his uncle of Frederick’s condition, and they’d agreed that unless absolutely necessary, Ruth would not know about it. “I’ve spoken to the authorities and offered restitution for his debt. But Frederick’s debt is not the only issue before the Overseers.”

“It’s not?” The concern in Ruth’s voice deepened, elongating across the miles separating them.

“No, it would seem that Frederick also cheated.” He could wish better news for his aunt. But he’d heard the confession from Frederick, a confession he confirmed once again when he roused from his coma—thankfully alive and in full control of his mental faculties. So much in control that he’d actually seemed contrite about his action.

“He would never.”

“Aunt Ruth, he would and he did.” He heard the subtle catch in her throat. The news about Frederick’s cheating took him off guard as well, but he suspected that Frederick’s father was well aware of the situation. It was why his uncle didn’t side with Ruth on retrieving Frederick from this scrape.

“I’m sorry.” He was. He truly was. “Frederick has displayed a glaring lack of judgment. We could resolve the debt were it only the funds due the casino. But the Overseers are taking the cheating as a personal affront.”

“Malcolm, surely there is something you can do.” His aunt’s faith would typically have filled him with pride, but today it left him exhausted.

“I have not abandoned hope, Aunt Ruth. But we, as a family, may have to accept that sweeping away Frederick’s mistakes may not have done him any favors.” This was the conversation his uncle avoided by declaring he would not deal with Frederick or his debts any longer.

“Malcolm, he’s just a boy.”

“He’s hardly a child, Ruth.” Malcolm stood at his desk, hand flattened against the wood finish. “He’s well past his majority.”

“But three hundred years, Malcolm? Three hundred years in that den of iniquity?”

“The Royale is hardly the pits of hell.” Not for someone of Frederick’s breeding and bloodlines. He’d find himself a host, working with the whales and other big spenders, entertaining them on behalf of the Royale.

An image of Jeannie’s frozen features flashed across Malcolm’s mind. In some ways, the Royale was very much the pits of hell. But his cousin was not a victim and hadn’t been lured here like a lamb to the slaughter. Frederick got into trouble because he had the utmost confidence that Malcolm would haul him out of it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned his gaze to the filigreed gold edging the ceiling’s buttresses. The lavish Greek and Roman love affair mingled with Italian renaissance in an almost obscene display of wealth.

Perhaps it was time for a change.

“Malcolm?”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth, I was distracted. You’re right, three hundred years may be extreme, but Frederick is a man, and it’s long past the time he learns there are consequences for his actions. Curing the debt will not remove his violations of the Royale’s governing principles…” He ran over the top of her words as she drew in a breath to protest. “Principles that we as the Reynolds family agreed to in the chartering of the first
Souverain Magique
in Paris.”

“That was before Frederick was born.”

“So he should not be held to the standards of the name he bears?” Malcolm adopted his great-uncle’s too calm tone. A tone that jerked Malcolm’s attention when arguing matters of honor with him. He hoped the same extended to his aunt, because adore her as he did, Frederick’s cheating could not be tolerated staining the family honor.

“Of course, he should be.” His aunt’s tone was far from mollified, but the shrewish tears evaporated. “You will do your best for him, will you not?”