Vampire, Interrupted (16 page)

Marguerite shrugged. “Two in each double bed, two in the bunk beds…and probably the sofas in the living room pull out into beds.”

“Thank God Vita called this morning and asked me to send the boys back to Italy to help her,” he muttered with a shake of the head. “As it is, Marcus won’t be happy stuck in here with Christian and Tiny.”

She grinned. “Going to stick him with the boys, are you?”

“Well, I can hardly make you share a room with them, and I’m paying for it so I’ll be damned if I bunk with them,” Julius said with a shrug, but he was grinning too. “Which room do you want?”

Laughing softly, she turned and rolled her suitcase to the first bedroom they’d looked at. “I’ll take this one.”

Marguerite slipped into the room and closed the door as the others started up the stairs. She set her suitcase on the bed and began to unpack, chuckling when she heard the exclamations of horror as the men discovered they would be bunking together. They had been spoiled by the suites in the hotel. But then so had she, she admitted.

Once again, being the lone female was a benefit, she thought with amusement. Her room was small, but it was all hers.

Once she’d finished unpacking, Marguerite made
her way back downstairs. The living room was empty, so she followed the murmur of voices to the kitchen, smiling faintly when she entered to find Tiny chopping up vegetables and cursing Julius for eating them as quickly as he could clean and cut them. She wasn’t at all surprised to find Tiny cooking again. The man loved to cook and had done a lot of it in California. She knew these last three weeks of hotel and restaurant fare had probably been a trial for him.

“Marguerite,” he said with relief when she walked into the room, “get the guys out of here so I can cook in peace.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Christian protested at once. “Neither is Marcus. It’s all father.”

“I am trying to be helpful,” Julius said calmly, pinching another mushroom as soon as Tiny finished cleaning it. He then turned to Marguerite to explain, “The refrigerator is jam packed with food and there’s no room for blood. We need to make room. The more I eat, the less has to go back in and the more room there is for blood.”

Marguerite laughed at his perfectly logical explanation as she joined him to peer down at the vegetables available.

“What are you making?” she asked Tiny.

“Spaghetti Bolognaise,” he muttered, scowling when she pinched the next mushroom he finished and popped it in her own mouth. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he said, “Marguerite.”

“Sorry,” she apologized and then taking pity on him glanced around at the three immortals and said, “I wouldn’t mind taking a walk to see a little bit of the city.”

Julius nodded at once and straightened away from the table, asking Tiny, “How long until it’s ready?”

“Take your time,” the detective said with obvious relief. “The longer it simmers the better. A couple of hours would be good. I won’t start the noodles until you return.”

Julius’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded and took Marguerite’s arm to lead her out of the kitchen.

“Wait!” Marguerite said, glancing over her shoulder with alarm when neither Christian nor Marcus made any move to join them. “Aren’t you two coming?”

“They have to see if they can get their hands on something to keep the bagged blood in,” Julius answered for them as he led her out of the townhouse. Once the door was closed behind them, he explained, “There really isn’t room in the mini-fridge.”

Marguerite glanced back to the townhouse unhappily, but merely sighed and said, “It could be difficult. We’ve found during our three weeks here in England that most stores seem to close early, around five or six o’clock.”

“You say it as if that’s unusual. What time do stores and offices close in Canada?” Julius asked curiously.

Marguerite shrugged. “Usually until nine, sometimes even ten o’clock. And a few grocery stores remain open twenty-four hours. It’s much more convenient for our kind.”

“It would be,” Julius agreed.

They continued to talk about the differences between England and both their homes, Julius sharing some details about life in Italy while she spoke of Canada, neatly avoiding any discussion about what was really on both their minds, the fact that they were
lifemates. However, it was like a big pink elephant walking behind them, impossible to forget or ignore.

They turned down a perfectly preserved medieval street, the cobbled lane narrow and curving. It was lined with half-timbered buildings, their second stories hanging out quite a distance over the ground floor. Marguerite found it hard to believe they still existed and in such good order, but was delighted that they had survived.

Julius noted her expression and smiled, then suddenly caught her arm and tugged her quickly off the road and into a narrow snickleway between buildings.

“Is something wrong?” she asked with surprise, glancing out to the road in an effort to see what had made him draw her here out of the way. Perhaps a delivery vehicle was trying to negotiate the small amount of space afforded by the narrow lane. Certainly, they had to make their deliveries at some point in the day and doing so in the evening when the shops were closed and the streets less busy seemed reasonable, but there was no vehicle. The road was dark and quiet, with just a few people hurrying along, making their way home or to wherever they were going.

“It’s like stepping back in time,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Julius agreed, a strange tautness to his voice. “I can imagine you in a long dress and cape, a silly bonnet on your head, smiling at something I said and that smile moving me to draw you here, to the privacy of the shadows to kiss you for the first time.”

When she glanced at him in surprise for the moment of whimsy, he did kiss her, his lips soft and sweet as they brushed across hers.

Marguerite opened her eyes when he ended the gentle caress to find him peering at her almost expectantly. Raising her eyebrows, she pointed out, “But this wouldn’t be our first kiss. That was on the train.”

His breath slid out with what almost seemed disappointment, and he nodded. “Yes, of course.”

She peered at him quizzically, but he managed a smile and urged her back onto the street. After several moments passed in silence, Marguerite tried to start up the conversation again by saying, “I have always wanted to come here.”

Julius glanced at her sharply. “Surely, you’ve been here before.”

She shook her head, “Jean Claude refused to come.”

“And you never came by yourself?”

“I’ve never been by myself…well, until he died. I was fifteen when we met and he tended to prefer to make all the decisions,” she said grimly, then changed the subject by asking, “Have you been here before?”

Julius nodded solemnly. “It is where I met Christian’s mother.”

Marguerite’s eyes widened at this admission, her mind immediately shifting to the case as he took her arm to urge her to turn right. Coming here to speak to Martine had obviously been the perfect move. Her sister-in-law had always loved the city and maintained a home here even when she could not live here herself but was forced to move elsewhere for several decades to prevent her lack of aging from raising questions. Other family members often stayed in the home while she was away, enjoying the city for a number of years before they were forced to move on themselves.

“You met Christian’s mother here,” Marguerite said thoughtfully, quite sure that Martine would be able to help them after all. Christian had been born in 1491. She couldn’t recall if Martine had been in York during that time, she herself and Jean Claude had been on a European tour. She would have to call Martine the moment they returned to the townhouse and arrange a visit. Marguerite was suddenly quite sure they were very close to finding Christian his answers.

“I can see your mind working on that one,” Julius said with wry amusement.

Marguerite glanced at him, her eyebrows drawing together. “I understand that you’re trying to protect Christian by keeping his mother’s identity from him, but surely he now knows the worst of it? Surely there is no longer a reason to keep her identity a secret?”

“It is complicated,” Julius said evasively.

“And dangerous if that attack on me truly was an attempt to end the investigation,” she pointed out. “Once he knows the truth the danger may be at an end.”

Julius frowned, but shook his head helplessly. “I
can’t
tell.”

“Why?”

“It is difficult to explain,” he said, sounding frustrated and then muttered, “she was not who I thought she was.”

Marguerite frowned trying to understand. “You mean she gave you a false name?”

“Something like that,” Julius muttered and suddenly turned her toward the door of a café. “I am hungry.”

Despite his claim of hunger, Julius only purchased
a cookie to go with the cappuccino he ordered. Marguerite followed suit and, finding all the tables occupied on the main floor, they took their trays with them to look for seating on the upper floor.

The café was obviously a popular spot, serving both caffeinate drinks and alcoholic beverages. A corner building, it had two walls that looked out onto the streets on the upper floor. They were made up of long rows of glass offering a view of the city lights sparkling in the darkness. The seating was comfortable, split between wooden tables and chairs and groupings of overstuffed chairs and couches.

Marguerite and Julius settled themselves in one of the corner groupings, Julius settling in a plump leather chair while she curled up in the corner of the sofa beside him and began to sip at the frothy drink she’d chosen. It had been a long time since she’d partaken of food as she was now doing and Marguerite didn’t recall anything like this from that period in her life, but it was surprisingly good, she decided, especially with loads of sugar added.

They stayed to talk for quite a while at the café, but were on their way back and nearly home when Julius’s phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he flipped it open and listened briefly before closing it and slipping it back in his pocket.

“Tiny just wanted to be sure we were on our way back. Dinner is ready,” he announced.

They returned to the townhouse to find Tiny’s sauce bubbling on the stove. Water was boiling in a second pot, but the men were nowhere in sight. Spotting a letter beside the stove, she moved to pick it up, eyes widening as she read it. The other three had al
ready eaten and gone out to look around York. They planned to tour the pubs and see what the nightlife here was like, as well as find the aforementioned storage for blood. Tiny had left instructions on boiling time for the spaghetti noodles. All they had to do was dump in the noodles then wait eight or ten minutes, drain them and serve with the sauce over it, he’d instructed.

Marguerite lowered the note and peered toward the table. It was already set for two, including candles and a bottle of wine corked and left to breathe. It all looked terribly romantic. Her gaze slid to Julius, then away. “I’ll start the noodles.”

“I’ll pour the wine,” Julius offered.

Picking up the box of noodles, Marguerite ripped it open, and then poured the contents into the pot, wondering as she did if there would be enough for the two of them. It didn’t seem like much. Shrugging inwardly, she stood stirring them as she waited for the suggested time to pass. Marguerite wasn’t sure if she needed to stir them, Tiny hadn’t said so, but she was suddenly terribly uncomfortable with Julius and was glad of the excuse to keep herself busy.

It turned out there was more than enough spaghetti. Marguerite feared a good deal of it would go to waste when she drained the pot and saw how much the noodles had swollen in the water. There was little she could do about it at that point, however, so she left half of them in the pot, splitting the rest between the two plates and spooning the sauce over it, her mouth watering as the chunks of meat, mushrooms, and other ingredients in the spicy tomato sauce spilled over the noodles.

“Let me get those,” Julius offered, taking the plates when she picked them up. Marguerite followed him to the table, took the seat he indicated, and closed her eyes as she inhaled the smells wafting off the plate. Tiny was obviously a good cook. She hadn’t appreciated that in California, but now that she was eating again, the smells wafting off the food he’d made were almost making her dizzy with delight. It tasted just as delicious as it smelled. Marguerite ate several bites before trying her wine. She’d barely lifted the glass to her lips and taken a sip when Julius spoke.

“We are lifemates.”

Marguerite choked, spitting wine out in every direction as she coughed and sputtered.

“I’m sorry,” Julius muttered, jumping up to grab a dish towel to wipe up the mess she’d made. He began mopping up the table with one hand, while thumping her back with the other.

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

Marguerite nodded, but her continued hacking rather negated the action. When the fit finally ended, she sagged back in her seat and eyed him with disbelief. He’d just brought the pink elephant into the room and dropped it on her lap. For heaven’s sake!

“I’m sorry,” Julius muttered, dropping back in his own seat with a sigh. “Not the most delicate approach was it?”

A small laugh burst from her lips, and Marguerite pressed them tightly closed, aware the sound had verged on hysteria. They stared at each other, his expression assessing, hers wary.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asked finally.

Marguerite swallowed, her eyes dropping to her
glass of wine. She ran one finger nervously over the round base of the glass as she sought a response, but finally asked, “Do we have to do anything about it for now? I mean,” she added quickly when his eyes narrowed. “There is no need to really do anything at all. We are immortals and appear to be lifemates.”

“We
are
lifemates, Marguerite. There is no
appear
about it,” he growled.

“Okay,” she acknowledged on a sigh. “But I am here on business. I have to concentrate on Christian’s case. Once that is done, perhaps we could take the time to get to know each other and…” Her voice trailed away as she saw the expression on his face. She’d been trying to be calm and logical, gain herself a little breathing space to deal with it. He wasn’t looking terribly calm or logical. Julius’s eyes were blazing, the silver flaring and consuming the black of his eyes. They had looked the same way in the bathroom on the train she recalled.