The Vampire Who Loved Me (12 page)

He tweaked the tip of her nose. “Only when it comes to you, Portia Cabot.”

She wanted to believe him so badly that she didn’t even protest when his gaze drifted from
her nose to her mouth. When he gently tipped up her chin with one finger to expose the softness of her lips. When he lowered his head, his own lips parting as they brushed over hers with the fluid grace of a butterfly’s wing.

“Unca Jules! Unca Jules!”

They sprang apart and swiveled around as one to find Eloisa standing in the doorway. With her bare feet and treacle-and-jam stained nightdress, she looked like a grubby little angel. Although Portia knew she should be grateful for the timely interruption, she wanted to kick herself for leaving the door ajar.

Before either of them could react, Eloisa flew across the room, scrambling right over Portia’s knees to bound into Julian’s lap.

At first he appeared at a complete loss to find a strange toddler bouncing up and down on his lap, but then a delighted grin slowly spread across his face. “Why, you must be Eloisa! I’d know those eyes anywhere.” He glanced at Portia, plainly baffled. “But how on earth does she know who I am?”

Portia attempted a cavalier shrug, realizing it might be too late to avoid a confession of her own. “I can’t possibly hazard a guess. Although
I suppose there’s a chance that I might have shown her your miniature one or two…thousand times.”

To her keen relief, Eloisa jerked on his shirtfront at precisely that moment, demanding his attention. She was scowling up into his face with unnerving concentration, her nose wrinkled.

“Does she bite?” he asked, eyeing her nervously.

“Only buttons, cushion tassels, pearls, and the occasional kitten. But the kittens tend to bite back so that discourages her.”

Eloisa reached up to stroke his cheek with her chubby little fingers. “Pretty,” she crooned, a smile dimpling her plump cheeks.

Portia burst out laughing. “You needn’t look so horrified. It only proves that no female can resist your charms.”

“Except for you,” he retorted, slanting her a wry glance over his niece’s honey gold curls.

“Eloisa!”

This time it was a white-faced Caroline standing in the doorway with Eloisa’s nurse hovering behind her, wringing her apron. When Caroline saw her daughter in Julian’s lap, she went a shade paler.

She strode across the room, the unfastened sash of her dressing gown sailing behind her, and whisked Eloisa out of his arms. “You’re a very naughty girl, Ellie,” she scolded, burying her face in her daughter’s curls. “You gave both Nurse and Mummy a terrible fright.”

“Unca Jules!” Eloisa crowed, wriggling her arms free of her mother’s stranglehold so she could reach for Julian. “Pretty!”

“It’s all right, sweeting.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “You’d best let Nurse tuck you back into bed before your little toes freeze clean off.”

While Julian watched, his expression guarded, Caroline reluctantly surrendered Eloisa to the waiting nurse.

As the woman carried away the sniffling child, Portia said, “The music probably woke her. It was my fault, not Julian’s. I shouldn’t have left the door ajar.”

“And I should have found a quieter pastime to amuse myself. It’s just that the hours between dusk and dawn can be very long and lonely.” Julian slid off the piano bench and rose to face her sister, a mocking smile playing around his mouth. “There’s really no need for you to fret,
Caro. A wee morsel like that would hardly be enough to whet my appetite.”

After giving them both a stiff bow, he strode from the room.

Caroline stood there in the moonlight, her face stricken. “I’m sorry, Portia. When I saw her empty bed, I thought…”

“I know what you thought. And so did he.”

Without another word, Portia slipped past her sister and out of the room, already dreading the long, lonely hours she would spend in her own empty bed.

Portia stood in the entrance hall of the
mansion the following night, gazing at her reflection in the looking glass with the same horrified fascination one might give to a particularly beautiful garden spider.

She was almost glad that Adrian had taken Caroline and Eloisa and retreated to Larkin and Vivienne’s town house to spare his wife from having to watch her little sister depart on such a dangerous mission. She wasn’t sure she wanted any of her family to witness her startling transformation.

She’d smothered the natural roses in her
cheeks beneath a layer of ivory face powder. The flawless mask only made the rouged scarlet of her lips and the dark graceful arch of her brows that much more striking. She’d instructed her maid to sleek her hair up and away from her face with a pair of mother-of-pearl combs, then to allow the glossy ringlets to tumble freely down her back. The unfamiliar style revealed a hint of a widow’s peak and sculpted cheekbones that were normally hidden by a soft fringe of curls, making her look both older and more worldly.

The startling whiteness of her face and powdered bosom only made the glossy black satin of her gown seem more decadent. Its artfully ruched bodice was cut deep and off the shoulder, imbuing her neck with a swanlike grace accentuated by her black velvet choker.

Her eyes were glittering with a fevered excitement, making her look like a stranger even to herself. Oddly enough, she had never looked—or felt—more alive.

“Death becomes you, my dear.”

At that smoky masculine murmur, Portia whirled around to find Julian standing just behind her, the gleam of appreciation in his eye
unmistakable. She could not resist sneaking a look back at the mirror only to be rewarded by the unsettling vision of herself standing all alone.

She returned her attention to Julian, trying not to notice how dashing
he
looked with the crisp white of his ruffled shirt peeking out from the elegant lines of his black silk waistcoat and cutaway tailcoat. A pair of ivory trousers hugged his lean hips, tapering down over black leather Wellingtons polished to a dazzling sheen.

She tweaked his flawlessly tied cravat in what she hoped was a sisterly manner. “I don’t suppose you’ve been giving Wilbury pointers on how to creep up on people and frighten them half out of their wits?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The shameless old sneak taught me everything I know.”

“I heard that!” The quavery voice drifted to their ears from a nearby room.

Shaking her head, Portia turned back to the mirror. “I rather think this look suits me. Perhaps I have a natural affinity for evil.”

“Something I’ve long suspected,” he said, an unmistakable ripple of amusement in his voice.

She twined a curl around her finger. “You’re
just jealous because you can’t admire your own reflection. With a face that pretty, I’m sure you used to spend hours in front of the mirror before you became a vampire.”

“Once I met you, I never needed a mirror. Every time I looked in your eyes, I saw everything about myself that I needed to know.”

Portia’s startled gaze shot to where his reflection should have been. By the time she had gathered enough of her scattered wits to turn around, he was already reaching into the pocket of his coat and withdrawing a glass scent bottle.

“I’m guessing that’s not holy water,” she ventured as he withdrew the delicate stopper. The musky floral scent of wild orchids assailed her nose, the fragrance so rich and sensual it made her feel slightly drunk just to inhale it.

“This should help to mask your scent.” He tilted the bottle to wet the tip of his forefinger. “If there’s anything a vampire can smell, it’s fresh human.”

“What do I smell like to you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He dabbed some of the cologne in the delicate hollow of her throat, his lashes sweeping down to veil his eyes. “You smell like blackberry scones
fresh from the oven, so sweet and crumbly you can’t wait to sink your teeth into them.” His touch still brisk and impersonal, he dabbed another drop behind each of her ears. “You smell like sunlight warming the petals of a rose at the very peak of its bloom.” He used one finger to boldly anoint the cleft between her breasts, his nostrils flaring as if not even the overpowering scent of the cologne could completely mask her scent. “You smell like a woman…” he lifted his gaze to hers “…who needs a man.”

What Portia needed at that moment was a way to draw breath into her suddenly starved lungs. But before she could find it, he had moved away to accept her mink-lined mantle from a waiting footman. She supposed it was fortunate that the servants in Adrian’s household were well compensated for both their service and their discretion.

Julian swept the sleeveless cape around her shoulders, his deft hands fastening the frog beneath her chin as if she were no older than Eloisa. “If we’re going to be convincing tonight, you’ll have to gaze adoringly at me.” His mocking gaze flicked to her face. “As I recall, you used to be quite adept at it.”

“I suppose I can pretend you’re a particularly succulent syllabub.” She sighed wistfully. “I do so love a nice creamy custard.”

“Does that mean you might try to take a nip out of me before the night is done?”

She bared her pearly white teeth at him.

He studied them with a critical eye. “I know it doesn’t come naturally but do try to keep your mouth shut tonight.”

She bared her teeth again, adding a hiss.

“Now
that
was more convincing.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go, my lady? The first thing a vampire must learn is to never squander a moment of the night.”

Portia tucked her hands deeper into her muff and stole a furtive look at Julian. His good humor had vanished. He seemed to be growing more distant with each revolution of the carriage’s wheels. Although their knees brushed every time the vehicle jolted through a fresh rut, he could just as easily have been half a world away instead of sharing the plush squabs of the carriage seat with her. He gazed out the window at the frost-draped fields sparkling in the moonlight, his forbidding profile reminding her that
the night was his domain and she was entering it at her own peril.

By the time the carriage rolled to a halt, the tension between them had grown so thick Portia was almost grateful when one of the grooms appeared to swing open the carriage door.

“Leave us,” Julian commanded, jerking the door shut in the man’s startled face.

He turned to her, the carriage lamp casting an ominous shadow over his features. “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“Surely you jest!” she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her breast in mock horror. Beneath her palm, she could feel her heart double its rhythm.

He ignored her sarcasm. “There’s something you should know before we go in. Despite their love of inflicting chaos on mortals, vampires delight in adhering to a very rigid hierarchy when among their own kind.” He captured her hand in his, the broad pad of his thumb caressing her sensitive palm as if to soften the impact of his words. “If we’re to make them believe that you surrendered your soul to me willingly, I won’t just be your lover tonight. I’ll be your master.”

His primal words sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. She was besieged by a provocative vision of herself on her knees at his feet, breathlessly eager to surrender her will and obey his every command because she knew instinctively that pleasing him would only result in unspeakable delights for herself.

Appalled by her rioting imagination, she said, “Does this mean I should address you as ‘His Majesty’ or as the ‘Great Most Munificent Ruler of My Universe?’”

His lips twitched against their will. “‘My lord’ should suffice. But I’m afraid the vampires will require more visible evidence of your…submission.” Freeing her hand, he reached into his coat and withdrew a broad gold circlet attached to a length of dangling chain.

She frowned. “I do believe that’s a bit large for my finger.”

“That’s because it was designed to fit your throat.”

She blinked at him in disbelief. “You expect me to wear a collar? Like one of the king’s pugs?”

“Try not to think of it as a collar. Think of it as a—a—”

She arched one eyebrow. “—ball and chain?”

His patience plainly waning, he snapped, “If so, it’s hardly any different from the one that binds most mortal couples.”

“It’s gratifying to know you have such a sentimental view of matrimony.”

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why don’t you think of it as sort of a vampire chastity belt? As long as you’re wearing it and I have the only key, no other vampire can nibble on your neck.”

“I’m sure that will be a tremendous comfort to me.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Weren’t you the one who so glibly informed me that there were other places that a vampire might drink from? What about that juicy little artery on a woman’s thigh, just below—”

Julian stilled her lips with two of his fingers, his narrowed gaze encouraging her to proceed only at her own risk. She glared at him for a moment, then reached up and tugged off her velvet choker. Flouncing around on the seat, she lifted her hair to expose her neck.

Julian’s stillness was so absolute she briefly entertained the notion that he had slipped out of the carriage while her back was turned. She
glanced over her shoulder to find him eyeing the naked curve of her throat, his face hard but his eyes softened by an inexpressible longing. She realized in that moment that as challenging as this was for her, it must be doubly difficult for him.

As she averted her face, drawing in a shaky breath, she half expected to feel the warm velvet of his lips brush her skin…right before his fangs sank deep into her tender flesh. But he simply slipped the circlet of gold around her throat and secured it.

When she lowered her hair and turned, he was dropping the tiny gold key into his waistcoat pocket. “Do you always keep one of those on hand,” she asked, “just in case you run across a woman you’d like to enslave?”

He gave her a dark look. “I procured it this evening as soon as the sun went down. You’d be amazed at what you can purchase from the Chinese vendors down at the docks.”

She touched a hand to her new piece of jewelry. Although the gold had been beaten until it was as thin and delicate as a piece of parchment, it felt as heavy as iron to her. Especially when
Julian took up the end of the chain and looped it around his wrist.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently.

“Yes, master,” she replied, shooting him a sullen glance.

He peered into her face. “You don’t look the least bit adoring at the moment.”

She fluttered her lashes and made calf’s eyes at him.

“Now you look as if you’re going to be sick.”

“I think I am,” she muttered as he swept open the carriage door and offered her his hand.

She slipped her hand into his, knowing she couldn’t very well confess that the collar and chain felt like visible evidence of the invisible chain that had bound her heart to his from the first moment she had laid eyes on him quoting Byron in his brother’s drawing room. As all-consuming as a young girl’s fancies were, she was quickly discovering that a woman’s desires could be twice as dangerous.

The aptly named Chillingsworth Manor loomed up out of the night, a crumbling heap of slate and stone. Judging from the air of
decay hanging over the formerly imposing estate, its family’s fortunes had been collapsing long before some reckless second cousin had gambled the house away in a drunken wager with a vampire.

A tattered veil of clouds dashed across the moon, parting just long enough to reveal a row of chimneys silhouetted against the night sky like an old man’s crooked teeth. Every window in the house, even the cracked ones, had been draped in black crepe, making it look as if the house itself was mourning its lost grandeur and reproaching those who had been foolish enough to squander it. It seemed only fitting that it had been abandoned by the living and claimed by the undead.

As Julian escorted Portia up the walk, the hem of her mantle snagged on the frost-encrusted weeds that had been allowed to grow up through the paving stones.

“I should warn you,” he said, “that vampires don’t always communicate in the same manner as humans. Growling, hissing and nipping are perfectly acceptable ways of expressing affection for one’s mate.”

“How sweet,” she murmured, clutching his
arm even tighter. “Just like a litter of baby badgers.”

They were nearly to the door when he tugged her to a halt. “From this point on,” he suggested, “it would probably be best if you walked a few paces behind me.”

She gazed at him flatly for a few seconds before sweetly intoning, “As you wish, my lord.”

A devilish grin crooked the corner of his mouth. “I could get used to that.”

“Don’t,” she warned.

He took a few steps, but she remained frozen in place until he gave the chain a gentle tug. Sighing, she fell into step behind him.

The front door of the house creaked open beneath the urging of his hand. As its murky interior swallowed him whole, she hastened to follow, keenly missing his imposing presence beside her. Matching him step for step, she peered through the shadows, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

She nearly screamed aloud when a hollow-eyed chap popped out of nowhere to take her mantle and muff.

“I didn’t know vampires had footmen,” she whispered as he carried the garments away, his
pale hands stroking her mink muff as if it were a cherished cat.

“They don’t,” Julian whispered back.

Portia opened her mouth to protest but the fellow had already whisked her mantle around his bony shoulders, darted out the door and disappeared into the night.

As Julian led her through an archway and into a long, deep hall that must have once served as the manor’s ballroom, she hugged herself, praying the dim light would hide the only too human gooseflesh prickling her arms.

She inched closer to Julian, whispering, “For creatures who can be destroyed by fire, vampires seem to be extraordinarily fond of candles.”