“Then we should find him. He must still be here. Somewhere.”
Miles gestured widely at the thickening mist. “Two people do not stand a chance against him, especially since I am fairly sure he knows we’ll be looking for him.”
“Why? How could he know we are here?”
“Above and beyond the fact that he could be listening in the shadows right now, I think he knew we were behind him the entire time.” Clio opened her mouth to ask him another question but Miles went on without seeming to notice. “I think our best bet would be to find a member of the Watch and have him call out constables to patrol this area. While they are doing that, I will go to the Curious Cat and find out who LaForge was speaking to and if he left with anyone.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sir Edwin, whose head had been rotating from one to the other as they spoke, volunteered happily. “Tell you the truth, I’ve got a fancy for another tankard of that ale afore I go home.” He hesitated for a moment, as if on the brink of speaking, then blurted, “You won’t tell Mother will you?”
They accompanied Sir Edwin back to the Curious Cat, alerting a watchman to the presence of a prowler in the neighborhood along the way. Giving Clio stiff instructions to wait for him outside, Miles entered the tavern accompanied by Sir Edwin. As soon as their backs had disappeared through the door, Clio followed him through. She was not in the mood to take orders from anyone.
She stepped across the threshold and found herself in a long, skinny, but otherwise perfectly ordinary tavern. There was nothing about it to explain its strange fascination for the vampire, or its dangerous effect on Miles. She was just about to stop one of the hostesses and ask if perhaps there wasn’t another area devoted to something more exciting than drinking, when she felt Miles’s eyes on her.
She was stunned by his reaction. She had just raised her hand to wave at him when he crossed the tavern in three great strides, took her wrist in his hand, and dragged her out.
In the street she could see that he was breathing quickly, and that his lips were pressed into a single tight line, but even when she tried she could not get him to stop walking.
“Where are we going?” Clio asked after they had careened down the street for a minute.
“Dearbourn Hall.” His mouth barely moved as he formed the words, and he increased his pace, dragging Clio behind him faster.
“Don’t you think we should stay here and assist in the search for Doctor LaForge,” Clio ventured.
“No,” came the reply.
“I do,” Clio told him, almost running to catch up. “And you still have not told me why you are so certain that whomever led us to the Curious Cat is the vampire.”
“I will tell you when we get to Dearbourn Hall,” Miles muttered. They stalked the rest of the way home in silence, Clio acutely aware that something was wrong. Despite their speed, the house was almost entirely dark by the time they reached it. They entered through the stable yard, and instead of taking the servant’s stairs up to his wing, Miles stopped in the large, stone kitchen, in front of the smoldering cooking fire. All the servants had gone to bed and they had the cavernous chamber to themselves.
“Sit down and stay there. I will be right back,” he said to Clio, pointing her toward a stool at the wide wooden table alongside the fire, and there was something in his tone that made her comply. He disappeared for about five minutes, and when he returned he stood studying the remains of the fire, so that as he spoke she saw only his back. “You asked how I knew it was the vampire who took us to the Curious Cat tonight,” he began without prompting. “I knew, because that is where he found Beatrice three years ago.”
“Wh—?” Clio began to ask, but Miles cut her off.
“After I found Bea dead, I retraced her steps. She had gone to the Curious Cat. I learned that after she left there a man asked questions about her, and seemed ready to follow her. That man was the vampire.”
Miles’s tone was horribly devoid of emotion, and Clio tried to keep hers equally colorless. “I see. That is why you think he knew we were following him, because he led us there. Do you think he intended it as another sign, another challenge, like the one he left in the Compendium?”
Miles did not reply, merely shrugged and continued to study the fire. A clock nearby clicked monotonously, once, twice, three times, until the silence stretched to five minutes. Unable to stand the palpable distance between them, Clio rose and reached out to touch Miles’s arm.
He reacted as if he had been stung. He brushed her fingers away, and rounded on her. “Don’t do that,” he said in a low, almost menacing voice.
“Do not push me away, Miles,” Clio urged. “I can tell that you are still upset about what happened to Beatrice, but maybe I can help you.”
“No one can help. No one can change what happened. Only I could have. But I didn’t.”
Clio struggled with a pang of pure jealousy. What would it be like to have been loved as much as Miles loved Beatrice, to be missed as much as he obviously missed her, she asked herself. “Beatrice’s death was not your fault, Miles.”
“Wasn’t it?” Miles demanded fiercely, facing towards her.
“How could it have been? She went to the Curious Cat on her own. How were you to know the vampire would see her there and follow her?”
“If it wasn’t for me, she would never have gone to the Curious Cat.”
“You sent her there?” Clio asked, confused. “You sent your mistress to a tavern?”
Miles pined her with his eyes. “Beatrice was not my mistress, Clio. She was my sister. My illegitimate sister. I learned about her only after my parents’ deaths, when I saw provisions for her support in my father’s will.”
“But everyone said she was your mistress. Everyone thought—”
Miles waved her words away with an impatient hand. “People believe what they see. Everybody just assumed she was my mistress because we spent all our time together, and neither of us thought it was important to dispel that. It meant people left us alone. And we had so much catching up to do. There was so much—” Miles broke off, and his eyes got a faraway look in them. “My father had not treated Beatrice and her mother well. He had not told her mother that he was married when he seduced her. When she became pregnant, he promised to leave my mother, promised to get a divorce, promised to marry, promised a host of things he never did. Never had any intention of doing, apparently. He left Bea a modest income but nothing else—no family, no name. Her mother’s family, an old Devonshire clan, threw them out when Bea was born because of the shame they brought. Bea always felt like her mother blamed her for wrecking her life.”
When her confusion at the information that Beatrice was not Miles’s mistress cleared, Clio saw that her being his sister made everything far worse. “I am so sorry, Miles. You must have loved her very much.”
Miles’s eyes refocused on Clio and he nodded. “You should have seen her, Clio. You would have liked her. She was lovely. And sweet. And she had the nicest voice. But she also had a terrible temper. Her governess, who raised her after her mother died, warned me about Bea’s temper. Said she thought deep down there was anger inside of Beatrice, anger at her father and her mother, anger at everyone for abandoning her, and that sometimes a little of it leaked out. But I saw no sign of it, at least not for the first six months we were together. Then, one night, I came home and found our apartments destroyed. She had pulled down the window hangings and cut open the couches and shredded her dresses. And she sat in the middle of this mess she had made, sobbing. I tried to hold her, comfort her, but she flinched away. When I asked her what was wrong, she said she was miserable. She said that she no longer knew who she was. She couldn’t be a simple country girl anymore, not with all I had shown her and given her, but she also felt she could never really fit into aristocratic society because everyone would know about her, about her being illegitimate. She said that by giving her all these things, showing her another way to live, I had destroyed any chance she had at happiness.
She said I ruined her, ruined her life, the same way that my father had ruined her mother. She said I was just like our father.”
Miles stopped and looked down at his hands. His fingers were clenched into tight fists, and he willed himself to open them. “She said that I had promised to make her happy but that I had lied, that she was unhappy, desperately unhappy. Just like my father had made her mother. She said she wished I had never found her, that I would just leave, just leave her alone. So I did. I left. Even though I knew I should stay.”
“Miles, there was—” Clio broke in, but he silenced her.
“She followed me, Clio. When her rage cooled she went to all the taverns she could find, went into each of them, looking for me. Only, she did not find me. But the vampire found her. And then, the next day, so did I—dead. Do you know what else I found?”
Clio shook her head mutely.
“I found notes. In every one of the taverns she visited. Notes she left. Apologizing to me for what she had said and begging me to come back.” Miles stood very still, his face a shadowy mask. “If I had not failed, Clio, if I had not failed to make her happy, to protect her, she would still be alive.”
“That is not true, Miles.”
“You would not understand,” Miles told her coldly.
“I do understand. I understand that you did not fail to make her happy, that she was happy, or she never would have followed you to apologize. And I understand that you are blaming yourself for something that you had no control over. The vampire killed Beatrice. Not you, Miles.”
“He would not have gotten near her if—”
“If what? If she had not gotten angry? Or if your father had not abandoned her and her mother all those years earlier?”
Miles stared at Clio and she felt as if she were watching her words seep into his mind, into his thoughts, watching them wend themselves into his consciousness. Then she saw his eyes go blank. “You are right. I cannot erase my father’s mistakes. But I can avoid them.” He looked at her with those blank eyes. “I think it is time for us to end our involvement.”
“What?” Clio whispered in a voice that faltered. “Are you—” She stopped, as if the words repulsed her. “Are you saying that I am a mistake?”
“No. But it would be a mistake to allow this to go any farther.”
Clio lowered herself onto the tabletop, her knees suddenly unreliable. “What do you mean? How much farther could it go?” Her mind cleared and understanding hit her like a bolt of searing pain. “I see. You could start to feel something for me. You might start to care about me. And then if something happened to me, you would feel bad. By all means, we should end it before you have to feel anything. End it right now.”
“I am glad you agree.”
Clio stared at him incredulously, his words seeming to come to her from a great distance. “What is this? Some sort of torture? You make me tell you a hundred times that I love you, make me humiliate myself by saying it, admitting it, over and over again, and then you turn away from me?” Her voice shook.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You knew this could not go on forever.”
“Not forever. But for three more days. It does not have to end yet. And not like this.”
Miles looked confused. “What difference does that make? Why not now? Why not like this?”
“My God, I never dreamed you could be so cruel.”
“It is good that you are learning it now.”
“No, it is not. I am not learning it. I refuse to learn it. I will not learn it. And I will tell you something else, Miles Fraser Loredan. It is too late. You already care about me. I know you do. Because I love you and I would never have fallen in love with the man you are now pretending to be.” Her voice took on a cool sheen. “Isn’t it ironic that the more afraid you are of acting like your father the more like him you become? The more selfish? The more hurtful?”
“Stop it, Clio. Can’t you see that I am only trying to protect you?”
Clio laughed mirthlessly. “Do not lie to yourself, Miles. I do not need a guard dog. It is yourself you are trying to protect. It is yourself you are afraid of hurting.”
“No,” Miles said, shaking his head. “No. It is you. I don’t want to hurt you, Clio. But I will—it is inevitable. I will never be able to give you what you deserve.”
“Why not?” she demanded and a sliver of despair cut through her cool mockery.
“Because I am as good as married to your cousin,” Miles said with a flash of anger.
“But I am not asking you to marry me, Miles. I just want to be with you. Now.” Despair took over entirely. “Why can’t we be together now? For the time that remains? How can you hurt me when I know it will all have to end? I have never asked you for anything you could not give me.”
It was true, Miles knew, but still he shook his head. “It would not work.”
“Why?” Clio demanded and implored at once.
Miles was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice barely steady, he said, “I could not love you for three days, Clio. I could only love you forever. And forever is not mine to give.”
Clio stared at him, stunned. “What are you saying, Miles?”
“That it would be better if you went. Now. Better for both of us.”
Clio nodded to herself quietly and rose from the table on unsteady legs. She started moving toward the door that led to the stables but stopped, her heart leaping up, when Miles spoke behind her. He was going to stop her, he was going to say this had all been a terrible mistake, he was going to tell her, in his warm, husky voice, that he did not want her to go.
But what he said was: “Why don’t you stay here until the coach is ready? You will be warmer.”
I will never be warmer, Clio thought to herself, her heart thudding back down. She shook her head. “I would rather walk home, anyway.” She reached the door and, with her fingers trembling on the latch, turned around to face him one final time. He might lie to himself, but she was not going to, not going to lie to either of them. “I want you to know that my memories of the time we stole together are the most precious thing I have. The days I spent with you, Miles, were the very best days of my life.” She swallowed hard and added, “I guess you were right. Nothing perfect can endure. Good-bye.”
Miles was surprised at how easily it happened. The control mechanism he had spent so many years refining within himself shifted out of balance and he let it go. He knew it was going to cost him too much, that it was going to cause him unimaginable pain, and knew it was worth it. Only a madman would refuse such a gift. He crossed the room, wrapped Clio in his arms, and said, “They were the best days of my life, too, amore. I have been a fool. Please don’t leave. I never want you to leave me.”
Chapter Twenty
Clio later wondered if they would have behaved differently had they known that one of them had only fifty-eight hours to live, and she decided that they would not have changed anything.
Miles brought his mouth down over hers and kissed her with a force that seared through her, illuminating every sinew in her body until she felt like she must be glowing. They stood in the middle of the kitchen like that, lost in one another’s embrace, in one another’s need.
The clock behind them struck three, and Miles pulled away from her lips. Pain flickered across his face for an instant, then disappeared, doused by her smile. They stood quietly apart, holding hands, as they listened to the chimes. Time was too precious now to waste in anything besides pleasure.
Clio reached up, brushed the lock of hair off Miles’s forehead, and said, “I read in a book once that, after the strain of battle, the soldiers of the Roman Empire could consume twice their weight in food.”
Miles smiled despite himself. “Plutarch only wrote that as propaganda to get more money for the troops from the penny-pinching Roman senators,” he said, distractedly rubbing his chin against the crown of her head.
“Perhaps,” Clio conceded. “But he gave a very persuasive example in which the soldiers grew fa
int from lack of sustenance and were taken as captives by the very people they had just captured.”
“Ah,” Miles commented with complete unconcern. “I don’t quite remember that part. Did he, in this example, give any idea of what these soldiers liked to eat?”
“Their favorite thing was hazelnut cake,” Clio explained. “But they would be happy eating anything. After battle.”
“And do you feel as though you just fought a battle, amore?”
“No. I feel as though I just single-handedly waged an entire war.”
“Against whom?”
“Your past. Time. Fate. The universe.” She waved a hand at the forces arrayed against her.
Miles pulled away slightly and let his glorious golden eyes rest on hers. No one had ever struggled for him before. He was always the one doing the fighting, doing the protecting. It was an odd feeling. And, he found, he did not mind. “Thank you, Clio.”
The power of his gaze was melting her. “For what?”
“For fighting. For winning.”
You do not know what you are the voice in Clio’s head reminded her, but with Miles’s eyes on her, she did. She was a conquering hero. She had never felt as strong or as happy as she did in that moment. “You are welcome.”
Miles smiled and his tone lightened. “We had better prepare a feast for the victor before she perishes.”
Clio nodded, then stopped. “Do you think we should check to see if Doctor LaForge came back here first?”
“That is what I did when we first got home,” Miles assured her as he moved around the kitchen, peering into cupboards. “I also stationed a guard in his room should he decide to sneak in for anything. I gave the orders as soon as we returned.” He studied the items he had laid out on the table. “No hazelnut cake. Ah, but this should do well.”
“What is it?” Clio asked, straining to see.
“Surprise,” Miles replied, touching the bellows near the flames a few times. Then he took a small copper pot from its hook on the wall, dropped into it a handful of deep red dried cherries, filled it with sweet wine from a ceramic pitcher, and hung the entire thing over the newly awakened fire.
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