To Curse the Darkness (25 page)

Georgia gazed at him for a moment longer, debating her answer, not wanting to say too much. Surely raising his hopes too high was just as cruel as dashing them completely. “I feel good,” she said at last. In truth, she felt better than good. She felt better than she could ever recall having felt before. But who knew how long it would last? Who knew what it even meant?

“Are you experiencing any pain?” Christian pressed. “Any residual weakness? Is there anything that's causing you concern?”

Georgia hesitated again. “No, I don't think so. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Nothing but the fact that she felt, in a way,
too
good. The blood now coursing through her veins seemed so much more vibrantly alive than anything she could remember. Perhaps she'd simply been sick so long she'd forgotten what it felt like to be well. Or maybe it was something else that she was sensing, some quality unique to Julie's blood that would flare out once her own cells had assimilated it, that would disappear and leave her wanting.

If the latter were true, it could be problematic. She had an uneasy feeling that she might already have become addicted—as much to the taste of it as to the surge of power it brought. What would happen when this feeling began to fade? What would happen if her sickness returned, that screaming, mindless hunger that had never been truly sated until now? How would she find the will to resist when her body demanded she seek Julie out and finish her off?

Conrad had best be on his toes. He'd best be ready to kill her quickly if it came to that. Because Georgia was not deluded. Her willpower could not withstand this need. This time around, it wouldn't take but the smallest of pushes to send her over the edge and into madness.

“We did it,” Christian whispered in a voice thick with tears. “We did it, my love. We cured you.”

Georgia struggled to keep her voice light as she said, “Yes, well, I sincerely hope that may be the case. But it's probably best not to jump to any conclusions quite yet.” Cured? Yes, that would be nice. But she refused to even consider it at this point. Raising her own hopes too high was also cruel. “We can't be sure yet that I'm not merely in remission, as Conrad suggested.”

“Bah! Nonsense.” Christian's gaze swept over her. “What does he know about these matters? Do you think he'd studied them as I have done? Has he spent centuries searching for answers?

“Christian…”

“I see nothing to suggest that you're not completely healthy. You certainly look as though you are. You look…” He paused to exhale a deep, shuddery breath. “My God. So beautiful. I'd almost forgotten. You look just as you always used to.” Then he grabbed one of her hands and kissed it. “My beautiful lady. My brightest love. My shining queen.”

To Georgia's dismay, tears welled up in his eyes. “Don't do this, love,” she murmured as he fell to his knees by her bed. “Please, don't cry.” So much for not raising his hopes.

This desperate gambit had been their last and best chance. Their only chance—hadn't Conrad said as much? It was going to kill Christian if it failed. It was going to kill her to watch his hopes crumble to dust, to know that she was the one responsible for his disappointment.

“I'm just so happy,” Christian sobbed, still kissing her hand. “You're safe now. Thank God, you're finally safe. I've been so afraid for so very long.”

Georgia sighed, feeling very near to despair as Christian's tears splashed warm against her hand—tears of sorrow and remorse, and a relief she couldn't share. “I know.”

“But I always told you I would find a way. Didn't I? Didn't I always promise I would save you, no matter what it took?”

“Yes, my love, you did.” With her free hand, Georgia stroked his head, thrilling as always to the feel of those soft strands. She'd given up so much for this—for him—but it was worth it. It had to be worth it. Tears clogged in her throat as she continued to murmur the soothing words meant to comfort him. “My hero. My savior. My very own knight.” Who cared if the words were not quite true? “You always did.”

He was so dear to her, so brilliant at times, and at others so very naïve, so very foolish. Like right now.

Safe? It was too soon to know whether that was true for either one of them! Was it rational to assume that the crimes she'd committed, or that Christian had committed, would go unpunished? That everyone would conveniently forget what they'd done? Rules were made to be obeyed, and they had fallen afoul of so very many of them.

To be fair, she knew that Conrad was neither cruel nor vindictive. Would he really have allowed Julie to risk so much in order to save Georgia's life if he intended to kill her anyway? It was highly unlikely. But it wasn't entirely impossible either. Rupert wouldn't have scrupled to do so, either to test out Christian's theory or for the simple pleasure of dashing someone's hopes.

But Conrad isn't like that!

No, he wasn't. But he'd been playing a deeper game than she'd suspected all these years. So it was possible he might have other reasons, just the same.

And, in any case, they weren't out of the woods even then. There were still so many hurdles ahead of them. Christian still carried the wretched disease, after all—and everyone knew it. Even if Conrad chose to overlook everything else, that alone warranted a death sentence. Their only hope right now was that Julie could be convinced—or allowed—to save him too.

Would she? Could she? What if it turned out she was not as immune as everyone believed? What if she became ill as well? Or what if this gamble hadn't worked? What if, after all of this, it turned out Georgia had
not
been healed?

She shuddered at the thought, but there was no use in denying it. It could very well be the case. And now that she'd started, she could not stop herself imagining it. Deep within her body, hidden within the marrow of her bones perhaps, did isolated fragments of the curse yet remain? Might they not be, even now, busily reproducing, burgeoning unseen, feeding off her healthy new blood and turning it foul.

Christian heaved a sigh heavy with relief. “I'm just so glad it all worked out.”

“Yes, my love.” Georgia smiled weakly back at him, committing to memory this moment, his face alight with joy, his eyes burning with love and passion and hope.

“God, I love you. So very much.”

“As I do you.”

It would not be the first time her hopes had been cruelly disappointed, or that her dreams had died and turned to dust. She'd quite lost track of how many times the happiness that had seemed assured had been snatched out of her hands even as she reached out confidently to claim it. She should be used to it by now.

Chapter Nineteen

Repubblica di Firenze

Seventeenth Century

“There you are!” The relief was evident in Christian's voice. Georgia had barely set foot inside her front door when he rushed forward to greet her. Before she could stop him, and heedless of any of the servants who might be around to see him do so, he grasped her by the shoulders and scanned her face with an earnest, worried expression.

Her heart beat faster in alarm. “Christian, what is it? What's wrong? Has something happened?”

“No, nothing—aside from the fact that you were gone forever!”

Georgia looked at him in surprise. She had not thought tonight's council meeting had been an especially long one. Eventful, yes. But overly long? No, not in the least. “I'm sorry. Had you expected me back sooner? I can't imagine why. The items under discussion were controversial; the council members were fractious; I would not have been at all surprised to have found myself stuck there for days.”

“Days? Well, thank the heavens you were not delayed as long as that! I'd have gone quite mad. I was concerned enough as it was.”

“Concerned? About what?”

“You, of course. I was worried about
you
.”

Georgia brushed his concerns away. “Don't be silly, darling. What reason could you possibly have had to be worried about me?”

“I'm always worried when you attend these meetings.”

“Are you? Why?”

Christian raised a single eyebrow. “Because the discussions at such meetings are
usually
controversial and the council members are
always
fractious.”

“Ah, well. There is that, I suppose.” Georgia smiled in acknowledgment as she gently shrugged off his hold and headed into her drawing room, where a wholly unnecessary fire was burning brightly in the little grate. There didn't seem any way to dissuade the servants from lighting one each night. It gave them something to do, she supposed, and preserved the pretence that humans lived here. All the same, she could have done without it tonight. An image of Brockwell's body bursting into flame returned to haunt her, and she shuddered in response.

Christian followed her into the room. He filled a glass with blood from a decanter he'd obviously been keeping ready for her and then handed it to her. “Perhaps I should be the one asking you what happened. You look upset.”

“It's nothing, really,” Georgia replied, smiling as she took the glass from his hand. “Everything was much as usual. So there was no reason for you to be particularly alarmed this evening.”

“Which is why I was not ‘particularly alarmed'. I
always
have these concerns—especially on those occasions when I am not allowed to accompany you. Your well-being is my first priority.”

“And I thank you for that.” Georgia could not help but sigh as she thought of the tedious and sometimes terrifying evening that had just passed, as she wondered how much to confide. “But you know why you were not allowed. Even if you had been, you would not have wanted to be there.”

“Of course I wanted to be there! Did I not just say so? I wanted to be there for
you
.”

The room was really far too warm. Georgia put her glass down on a small side table and undid the fastening at the neck of her cloak. “Ah, much better,” she said as she removed the garment. She draped it over the back of the couch, then turned to him and smiled. “I assure you, you were much better off staying here. I wish I could have skipped the meeting myself. You'd have been bored to tears most of the time.”
And stiff with fright for the rest of it.

Christian inhaled sharply. “Somehow, I doubt that
very
much.” The hint of fear in his voice had her turning to stare at him in surprise. “There's blood. It's spattered all over your gown.”

“Oh. That. Yes, I've already been informed of it.” Georgia cast a rueful glance over the garment, assessing the damage. “It's a shame, really. I was quite fond of this dress. It's a pity it will have to be destroyed.”

“Destroyed? Why is that? Is laundering it not an option?”

“No, it is not. And please be careful that you do not inadvertently come into contact with it.”

“Georgia…what's going on? Are you all right? Whose blood is it?”

“It belongs…or belonged, I suppose I should say, to Brockwell. A most unpleasant man—I never liked him. He was a prince at one time, you know—as a human, I mean. And ruler of his own House until tonight. I forget where he hailed from. Some small kingdom somewhere. It hardly matters. Did you never meet him?”

“I neither know nor care. What happened? Were you hurt?”

“Darling, really. Do I look injured?”

“You wouldn't, would you? You could have been half dead an hour ago and still have had time to regenerate. But I see blood, so clearly someone was.”

“Someone, yes—as I've told you—but it was not I. We were all
Invitus
at the meeting tonight, not counting the handful of subordinates who came along, which you would have known had you been listening to me earlier. So it's likely I
would
look injured if I had been. Thankfully, however, my gown was the only casualty.”

“Other than this Brockwell person, apparently.”

“Well, yes, other than he. However, I can't say he didn't deserve it. Damn fool should have known better. It's not like Conrad hadn't warned him. But, then again, I suppose he wasn't long for this world in any event.”

Christian snorted. “No, I wouldn't imagine he was. Not if he attacked Conrad. I assume he's dead then?”

“Oh, he's dead all right, well and truly. But it wasn't Conrad that he attacked. It was me. It was my right to be there that he challenged, even after Conrad had warned him against it. That's when Conrad took issue with him. As I said, Brockwell was really quite stupid. He'll be no loss at all. A very cruel and tedious man, I understand. I'm sure his people are delighted to be out from under his thumb. On the other hand, it appears it might be too late to save more than a handful of them either.”

“Why do you say that?”

Georgia hesitated. She knew Conrad had wished to keep this a secret from the others, but surely she could trust Christian. It was true that knowledge was oftentimes dangerous, but ignorance was usually worse.

“You're not to repeat what I'm about to tell you. Not to anyone. Is that understood?”

“What?” Christian stared at her, alarmed. “I-I mean, yes. Of course. What is it?”

“Apparently Brockwell was afflicted with the plague.”

“Are you certain?”

“Conrad is.”

“And you say he attacked you? Darling…are you all right?”

“Of course. I said he
attempted
to attack me. Really, Christian, do try and keep up. I've already told you I'm fine.”

“Bah. What does that mean? Fine? You'll probably still be saying that when you're standing on Death's doorstep.” He shook his head in disgust. “How'd he come by it, anyway? I thought that bloody, pestilential plague had been eradicated by now?”

“Yes, well, that's the question, isn't it? Identifying the point of infection has always been difficult. That's doubly so now, when all the original carriers are surely dead. How has it survived all this time? Is Brockwell a fluke? Or has something been passed down through the bloodlines of the original carriers? I devoutly hope that's not what's happening, for if the order is given to kill all their descendants… I really don't know what Conrad will do if that's the case.”

Her stomach roiled uneasily as grim thoughts filled her mind. Resolutely, she pushed away the unwelcome images and continued speaking. “As I said, we can only hope it's nothing so dire.”

“What other choices are there?”

“I don't really know. It's possible that someone has found a way to resurrect the disease, to duplicate the original work, but I really think it highly unlikely. We were too scrupulous in our efforts to eradicate it. And, if that were the case, I suspect there would have been more widespread evidence of it. No, what Conrad suspects, and I agree with him that it's the most likely answer, is that Brockwell has been infected for years.”

“How could it be kept secret for so long?”

“Again, I must caution you never to reveal what I'm about to say.”

“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. Get on with it, woman.”

Georgia scowled. She met his gaze and purposely paused until she was certain her message had been received. She would not be dictated to, nor moved by such discourteous behavior. “What Conrad has posited is that for some
Invitus
it might take longer for the effects to show up—years, decades, even longer perhaps—especially in cases such as this one, where the victim in question is old and strong to start with, someone with a large nest upon which to feed, or from which to draw strength. There have been rumors about Brockwell for some time—stories about his temper and an increase in violence within his House. And he did look quite haggard, now that I think of it. I can't imagine how I missed seeing it before.”

“This is exactly why I should have been there!” Christian growled as he spun her back into his arms. “It makes me frantic to think of you there all on your own. I should have been there to protect you.”

“Protect me? From a room full of
Invitus
? Oh, darling, please. Don't be ridiculous.”

Christian's jaw tightened. “I take it you think me incapable of it?”

Of course she did! For so he was. Georgia sighed. She should not have said that. It was obvious she'd hurt his feelings. “I'm sorry, my love, but please do be reasonable. Conrad did not even allow Damian to attend! And you know how much Damian loves to show off his position. So what does that tell you about it?”

“If you think it makes me feel one bit better to be lumped in with that…with that swaggering peacock, you're very much mistaken.”

Georgia winced at the bitterness in Christian's voice. “My love…”

“Do you wish to know how I feel right now?” Christian glared at her, eyes flashing angrily. “I feel emasculated. As usual. And I wish to God you'd made me
Invitus
when you'd turned me. Then, perhaps, I might at least have been of some little use to you, every now and again.”

A wave of nausea washed through Georgia, bringing the bitter taste of bile. “You don't mean that.”

“Don't I? How did the vote on that go, by the by? I assume Conrad carried the day—which would also be ‘as usual'.”

Georgia nodded. “He did, indeed. I doubted, at first, that he'd be able to accomplish anything. And after Brockwell's death, it seemed even more unlikely. But I've rarely seen Conrad so determined. And once he'd proved himself willing to draw blood in defense of his proposal…well, I can assure you no one was of a mood to challenge him at that point.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Christian replied sullenly. “Though I suppose I'm not surprised, really. Great bunch of cowards—that's what your council is.”

“Don't be foolish. And, whatever you do, do not dare say such things outside this room. If any of that were to get back to Conrad…”

“As if I care about that. I tell you, I'm thoroughly sick of it. He gets his way in
everything
. It would have done him good if for once the vote had gone against him.”

“Now you're being even more ridiculous than before,” Georgia grumbled. “And that's saying something. I hadn't even realized it was possible. I must thank you for enlightening me.” Christian's loyalty to her was flattering—she could have loved him for that alone. But the truth was that after all this time, his refusal to accept the reality of their situation had begun to wear on her nerves. It was dangerous to exhibit so much blatant disrespect toward anyone as powerful as Conrad.

Forbearing he might be, and as good a friend as any she could ever hope to find, but Conrad was also ruthless—completely and utterly so. But, then again, so was she.

Christian had turned away from her, pouting slightly. “I am glad you find this amusing.”

“I don't, really,” Georgia assured him. Laying a hand on his arm, she turned him back to face her. “But, please, do try and guard your tongue. It is indeed a
good
thing that tonight's vote was in Conrad's favor. It's good for him, it's good for our people as a whole, and it's good for us in particular. You don't know what's involved with becoming
Invitus
, all the suffering one must endure. But, trust me, Conrad is right in this: the fewer of us there are, the better.”

He eyed her steadily, his gaze saying more than words ever could. “You are right. I do
not
know what you've been through. But I'd like to. Won't you tell me?”

“No.” Georgia shook her head. “I cannot. That's part of Conrad's plan. We're all forbidden to speak of it.” It was true, as far as it went, but it was not the only reason—nor even the most important one. “But even if that were not the case, even if you'd asked me yesterday, I'd have been reluctant to tell you. You need know only that, had I been the type of person who could do that to you…I would not be someone with whom you could have fallen in love.”

Christian's gaze softened and he tugged her close. “I don't believe that's possible—not for an instant. I could not have helped falling in love with you no matter what. I only hope that someday I might find a way to prove my love to you—to be your champion, the hero you deserve.”

Georgia smiled sadly. It was their love for each other that was at the heart of so much of what had happened to them. That unreasoning urge that had driven him to cross the channel and travel halfway across the continent in search of her, that had caused her to plot against her own sire and to enlist Conrad's aid in killing Rupert—how many mistakes had they made because of it? How much bitter disappointment had they suffered?