Vampire, Interrupted (29 page)

Marguerite didn’t take offense at the comment. She’d borne witness to her own children’s discovery of their lifemates and knew exactly what she was talking about. She had found herself both happy for them in their joy, and at the same time, a touch envious and almost depressed that she didn’t have that. It was hard to be alone when there were happy couples around. It made you wonder what was wrong with you.

“But then,” Vita continued, “when it all fell apart, I almost found myself wishing for a return of the lovey-dovey business that came before.”

“God, he was so in love with you, and so miserable without you. The man moped endlessly.” She frowned then glanced at Marguerite and said, “I overheard Ju
lius telling Mother and Father that you don’t remember anything from that period. Is that true?”

Marguerite nodded unhappily, her gaze sliding back to the picture as she tried to recall posing for it.

“Nothing at all?” Vita pressed.

“Nothing,” Marguerite admitted unhappily.

Vita patted her shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll return in time.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, eager to believe that.

“Well, Dante and Tommaso were saying that you named all your dogs Julius.”

“Yes, I have,” Marguerite realized. In all this excitement and upset it hadn’t occurred that she’d named her dogs Julius, every one, over several centuries. It was a lot of dogs.

“And dogs are faithful and loyal and give love freely much like my brother,” she pointed out and then nodded. “I think you must have memories still in there somewhere. Perhaps they’re just locked away where you can’t reach them at present.”

Marguerite hoped that was true. Not that it would make much difference to her feelings. She had fallen in love with the man all over again and now that she had seen the portrait, she was quite sure what he’d said was true. Jean Claude had somehow wiped her memory, made her leave Julius, and tried to make her have her own child killed.

Thank God for the maid, Magda, Marguerite thought and then frowned as she recalled she had apparently murdered the poor woman for failing her.

“He was really angry about that,” Vita commented, and when Marguerite glanced at her with wide eyes,
she said, “I’m sorry. It’s rude to read you, I know, but he is my little brother and I wouldn’t want to see him hurt again. He was crushed when you returned to your husband the last time. You aren’t going to do that again, are you?”

“Jean Claude is dead,” Marguerite said, but wondered if it was true.

“Yes, well, he was supposed to be dead the last time too,” Vita pointed out.

“So I’ve been told,” she murmured, beginning to fret. Jean Claude was dead. He had to be.

“So, you wouldn’t return to him if it turned out he was still alive?” Vita pressed and then added quickly, “It is just that I know what Julius can be like in a fury and while he was heartbroken for himself, he was furious about Christian. But he isn’t naturally cruel, so if he was a bit mean to you when the two of you first met again in England—”

“He wasn’t,” Marguerite assured her quickly, but thought he would have had every right to be.

“Good.” Vita nodded and turned away. “I should go see if they’re done talking yet. We were on our way to the office to discuss a project I want the company to bid on when Father insisted on stopping here to see if Julius was back yet.”

Marguerite waited until the door had closed behind the woman and then peered down at the portrait and necklace in her hands. Her gaze slid over the woman in the image and she thought to herself that she could be that woman again…glowing with love and happiness. The possibility made her heart ache with yearning.

And then her gaze slid to the St. Christopher’s
medal and Marguerite thought that she’d been right when she’d given it to Julius. It was going to bring him back safely to her, because it convinced her more than the portrait that he’d told the truth. The medal had meant a great deal to her. She wouldn’t have given it to just anyone, and she’d never taken it off. Giving it to someone she loved and who was heading out on a journey was the only reason she would have willingly taken it off. St. Christopher was the patron saint of travelers, or at least he had been back then. He had been decanonized during the late twentieth century she knew.

But Marguerite had no problem believing she’d taken it off and placed it around the neck of the man who had made her as happy as the woman in the portrait.

Now she just had to tell him that.

Closing her hand around the necklace, she slid the painting back into its spot under the papers, then closed the drawer and stood up. Marguerite hurried for the door, slipped into the hall and was rushing back toward the stairs when she nearly crashed into Tiny and Christian coming around the corner from the opposite direction.

“Marguerite!” Tiny looked relieved to see her as he caught her arms to steady her. “We were worried when we couldn’t find you in your room. You were supposed to wait for us.”

“Yes, I know, but I—” She shook her head, unwilling to take the time explaining. Instead she glanced to Christian. “Where is your father?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “We were going to look for him if we couldn’t find you. His luggage is
missing from the hall. Maybe he took it up to his room after my grandparents left.”

Nodding, Marguerite tried to move around them, but Tiny held on.

“Wait a minute. What about the tour Christian was supposed to give us? I’ve talked him into showing us the portrait.”

“I’ve seen it,” she admitted. “It’s lovely. Go take a look. I have to talk to Julius.”

Breaking free then, Marguerite hurried upstairs and along the hall to her room. She slid inside, crossed to the connecting bathroom and hurried through it to the door to his room and then paused, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

What should she say? Marguerite stood, biting her lip and simply staring at the door for a moment, then let her breath out on a small tsk of annoyance. She believed him. The painting and necklace had convinced her. Surely that was a good thing and what he wanted?

Everything will be all right, Marguerite assured herself and reached for the doorknob. She would know what to say as soon as she saw him.

Fifteen

Julius laid his suitcase on the bed, and began to
unpack with a sense of relief. He was glad to be home, he was glad to have Marguerite here with him, and he was glad that he’d managed to convince his parents to leave and not interfere. It was a good day.

Smiling at his own thoughts, Julius began tossing dirty clothes into a hamper in his dressing room, and setting what still clean clothes were left on the shelves. He’d promised to keep his parents informed as to what was happening and what he learned. The problem was he didn’t really know where to go from here. His main concern was to keep Marguerite safe. Beyond that he wasn’t sure what to do. He needed to find out who was behind the attacks in London and York. His instincts told him it was that damned Jean
Claude. The man had stolen his happiness more than five hundred years ago, and Julius was sure he was trying to steal it again. But his father had warned him not to focus on Jean Claude and ignore the possibility of another being behind the attack. So he had to try to find out who it was.

If the incident where Marguerite had been controlled was connected to the other two attacks, then the person behind these assaults had to be one of the three people who performed the three-on-one on her. His father thought the most likely suspects were Martine and Lucian. That was a problem. Marguerite was supposed to call one or both of them for back-up proof of his claims, but if they were involved, they weren’t likely to back him up. They’d hide it. He supposed that would be proof that they were involved, but it was also likely to make Marguerite decide he was lying and leave.

Julius wasn’t sure of the motive for the attacks either. Jean Claude hadn’t tried to kill her back then, but had taken her back like a toy he’d abandoned and then regained interest only when he saw someone else playing happily with it. What reason would the man have to want her dead? As far as Julius could tell, the other two involved wouldn’t have any motive at all…unless it had something to do with the past and the fact that she was snooping into it now. Did someone want the past to stay buried? Or did they want to keep him and Marguerite apart? Or perhaps both?

These were all things Julius had to sort out and he hadn’t a clue how to go about it. He wasn’t even sure how to find out for certain whether Jean Claude
was dead or not. The only thing he could think was to have someone dig up his grave, although that wouldn’t prove anything if he was a pile of ashes.

Julius sighed with frustration and returned to his suitcase for another stack of clothes, his concerns turning to the more immediate problem of keeping Marguerite from calling Martine and Lucian.

The click of his door opening made him pause and glance about, his eyebrows flying up when he saw Marguerite standing in the door of the bathroom between his room and the one she occupied. They then lowered with concern when he saw her stark expression.

“Marguerite? Are you all right?” he asked, laying the clothes back in the suitcase and starting toward her with concern.

“I was in your study,” she announced. “I saw the painting.”

He waited, uncertain what was coming next.

“Did I tell you where I got this?”

Julius shifted his gaze to the chain she dangled from her fingers. The St. Christopher’s medal. His muscles slowly relaxed.

“Did I?” Marguerite asked, starting slowly forward.

“Your son,” he said, “it meant a great deal to you because of that. You said you never took it off, but when I left with Marcus to take Mila to court, it was our first time apart. You took it off and asked me to wear it to ensure I returned safely to you.”

Julius saw a tear slip out from under her lashes and frowned. Moving forward, he placed a finger beneath her chin and urged her face up. When she opened her eyes, he told her, “I took it off when I brought
Christian back to Italy, and I threw it out the window in a fury.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the claim and he admitted, “Which was foolish, because it took me two nights of crawling around in the grass with a candle to find it again.” Her lips began to spread in a smile and he shrugged. “I couldn’t throw it away. I felt like it was throwing us away and I guess I hoped it would bring us safely back together again someday as you promised.”

“And it has,” Marguerite whispered and leaned up to kiss him.

She believed him, Julius realized with relief. The necklace and portrait had been proof enough for her and Marguerite trusted him. He let his breath out on a silent prayer of thanks to God and slid his arms around this precious woman. He had gamboled through life until he’d met her the first time, enjoying all it had to offer, but never really fully experiencing any of it until meeting her. With Marguerite the nights had sparkled, and life had seemed filled with endless possibilities. And when he’d lost her, all that light and sparkle and possibility had seeped away, leaving life a sepia silent film. But he had her back now, and he’d never let her go, Julius thought…and then they both stilled as a knock sounded at the door.

“Ignore it,” he murmured, drawing her toward the bed and pushing the suitcase off.

“Marguerite? It’s the phone for you,” Tiny said through the door.

“I didn’t hear the phone,” Marguerite said with surprise.

“I don’t keep one in my room. Too many telemarketing calls during the day disturbing my sleep,” Julius explained.

“It’s Martine,” Tiny added.

Julius felt the blood in his veins freeze. Marguerite believed him now, but if she talked to Martine and the other woman said it was all nonsense as he feared she would…

“Oh!” Marguerite pulled away with an apologetic smile. “I’d better get that. I called and left a message for her to call back.”

She’d slipped out of his arms before he could stop her. By the time his brain started to work again and he reached for her, she was out of reach.

Julius stared after her with growing horror, sure that his world was about to collapse again. By the time he was able to shake himself out of the stupor that had claimed him she was slipping through the door.

“Wait, Marguerite.” He hurried forward, but she was hurrying now too and when he burst out into the hall he was just in time to see her disappearing down the stairs. Tiny, moving at a much slower pace was only halfway up the hall.

“Is something wrong?” the detective asked with concern when Julius cursed. “I thought talking to Martine was a good thing?”

“Not if she was one of the three,” Julius said grimly as he hurried up the hall. “She might tell her it was all nonsense.”

“Martine?” Tiny asked, running to keep up with him. “You think she—?”

“The other two had to be old, strong, and people Jean Claude trusted,” he explained.

“So your father verified that three-on-ones on immortals are possible?” Tiny asked jogging down the stairs next to him.

Julius nodded, then burst ahead, breaking into a dead run as he reached the main floor. He skidded to a halt at the door to his study just in time to see Marguerite pick up the phone.

“Hi, Martine,” she sang happily into the phone, offering him a smile when she turned to lean against the desk and spotted him in the door.

Julius sagged against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on her expression. He sensed when Tiny arrived and joined him in the door, worried and out of breath, but ignored him as he waited for the betrayal to appear on Marguerite’s face.

“Yes, I did,” Marguerite said. “Actually, I called Friday night as well, but you had left for London to spend time with the girls. Did you have a good time?”

Julius felt his teeth grind together at her chatty tone. Dear God, the fates were going to drag this out.

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Marguerite laughed. “Yes, I quite liked the Dorchester too. Did the girls have a good time?”

“Jesus,” Tiny breathed next to him, apparently as impatient as he.