She frowned. “What birds and bees?”
“It’s a euphemism for…eh…men and women. Being together. Intimately.”
“Sexual congress, you mean?” She nodded. “Of course I know about that.”
“You do not!” Nikola roared, pinning her back with a glare that should have ripped her hair right off her head. “You are a young and thoroughly innocent maiden!”
“Yes, of course I am, Papa, but I have eyes. I’ve seen the animals, and the people in town, and that really handsome stableboy with the very large…muscles.” Her gaze dropped demurely, but I didn’t believe for one second that Imogen was as innocent as Nikola believed.
It wasn’t any of my business, however. “The fact is that I did not try to seduce your father, or rather, I did, but I was under the compulsion of the thing he did to brainwash me into thinking I wanted him right at that very second. And I don’t. So it was all a mistake.”
She pursed her lips again. “I see. You find my father handsome.”
Oh, handsome wasn’t the word for what Nikola was. He went far beyond that and hovered over the “devastatingly gorgeous” range. “I don’t see what my opinion of Nikola’s looks matters, but as it happens, yes, I think he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”
Nikola looked pleased.
You’re also arrogant, pushy, and you have so many wrong ideas.
You want me nonetheless. You want me naked on that bed behind you, covered in some form of lemon oil that I’ve not seen before. You want to rub yourself on me.
Dammit, stop reading my smutty thoughts!
They’re about me. I would be remiss in my hostly duties if I did not offer the common courtesy of being interested in what devilish things you wish to do to my man’s body. Next time you wish to have sexual fantasies about me, however, please let me know in advance so that I might enjoy them, too.
“How old are you?”
Imogen’s question took me a bit by surprise. “Er…thirty-something.” I glanced at Nikola. “As long as we’re playing twenty questions, how old are you? Not that I care in any way, shape, or form, because we are not going to have a relationship, despite you offering yourself for seduction, but it will make me feel a lot better about the way you made me jump you if I know you’re not young enough to be emotionally scarred by the circumstances.”
“I was two score when Imogen was born, and that was a little more than a score ago,” he said, his frown growing darker. “Imogen, I have ordered you to leave this chamber. Why have you not done as I have commanded?”
“Miss Iolanthe—I’m sorry, but I don’t know your surname—is obviously in need of assistance since you managed to remove almost all of her garments before bringing her home,” Imogen said mildly. “I know my duty, and that is to ensure her safety while she is under our protection.”
“I will see to any protecting that needs to be done,” Nikola said firmly.
“You’re the one I need protecting from,” I said, throwing grammar to the wind. “I’m not afraid to be alone with anyone else, least of all Imogen.”
“There, you see?” Imogen shooed her father toward the door. To my surprise, Nikola allowed himself to be shooed, casting belligerent looks over his shoulder toward me. “I will take care of her, Papa.”
“Unhand me, daughter! I will not be treated in this manner!”
“No, of course you won’t,” Imogen said soothingly, and then more or less shoved Nikola through the door, ignoring his sputters of protest. She closed the door behind him and turned around to face me, a faint smile on her lips fading away to nothing.
“I really don’t need help, but I appreciate the offer,” I said, wondering at the odd look she was giving me. “I hate to give your father the satisfaction of being correct, but I am very tired, and wouldn’t mind a little nap.”
“I have brought you some night things,” she said, moving to the stack of linen on the bed. “And also a gown, because yours was destroyed by Papa. Although I’m not sure I understand why that is so, since he’s normally a very circumspect man. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?”
I clamped my lips closed on the truth. Although Imogen was certainly old enough to know her father had a sexuality that was normal and natural, I had no idea if eighteenth-century women were copacetic discussing such things, especially when it concerned a parent. So instead I smiled and thanked her when she held out a lacy, frilly nightgown.
“Is it true that you ran into Papa’s carriage horse?” Imogen asked as she puttered around the room, picking up Nikola’s shirt from where I tossed it in order to slip into the nightgown.
“That’s what he says. I don’t remember anything about it. Imogen—” I bit my lip, not sure how to ask her the question I wanted most to ask. “About your father—he has two brothers, doesn’t he?”
“Why do you wish to know that?” Imogen countered, a small frown pulling her brows together.
I took a deep breath and gave up trying to tie all the little ties on the front of the nightgown. “This is going to sound completely crazy, and I don’t blame you one bit if you think I’ve gone insane, but I’m from the future. Your future, that is.”
She just looked at me for a few seconds, then pulled a wide, armless chair over, and sat in it. “I don’t see what that has to do with my family.”
“You’re not going to even question the idea that I am from the future?” I asked, completely surprised by her apparent nonchalance in accepting such a bizarre idea. “If the situation was reversed, I’d totally be calling the local loony bin for you.”
Imogen’s frown increased for a few seconds. “I do not know this loony bin. As for what you claim…” She made a delicate shrug. “I do not believe or discount what you say. I merely am inquiring what that has to do with my father’s family.”
“It matters because we’ve met. Or we will meet. In my time, I met you two days ago, and one of the things you told me was that your father had been killed by his brothers. I just want to know if that’s true.”
“It can hardly be true if my father is alive, which he is.” Imogen’s voice may have been light—and slightly tinged with a mocking tone that I could have done without—but her expression was grave.
“I meant, does he have two brothers?”
“No,” she answered.
I sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what the present-day Imogen had been up to, since she had obviously been lying to me.
“He has two half brothers, younger sons of my grandmother when she married a second time.”
A chill swept over me despite the warmth from the big fire. I shivered and clutched a puffy eiderdown around me. “Half brothers. That’s right, you said half brothers. Those are the dudes.”
She shook her head. “They are not here. They live in a small town to the north. They’ve never gotten along with Papa, so he gave them a small property he owned, where they could be their own masters and not be beholden to him.”
I racked my brain, trying to remember what Imogen had told me about her father’s death. Was there something about the brothers being jealous of him? “Whereabouts do they live, exactly?”
She named a town that I didn’t recognize, adding, “We see them twice a year, once on Papa’s birthday, and the second at the anniversary of my grandmother’s death, but neither event is for some time. Why would my uncles want Papa dead?”
I just looked at her, unsure how to answer. I didn’t want to cause her more pain by admitting her uncles were jealous of Nikola’s luck in being born first, and thereby being the heir to a castle and title, but on the other hand, she deserved to know the truth. Assuming it was the truth. “I’m afraid I don’t know all the details, because when we met—in 2012—you didn’t say much other than the anniversary of your father’s death was coming up, and that he’d been killed in some woods by his two half brothers. I think you said something about them being jealous, but I can’t really remember for sure. So much has happened since then.”
“You s
aid he was killed in a woods? What woods?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. You just said woods, and from what I could tell in the dark coming back here from the town, this whole region is covered in woods. Then there’s the weird woods that held the swirly thing that brought me back in time—Gretl said it was haunted, and that people in the area had avoided it for a long time. But that reputation is understandable given what happened to me there. I don’t know where that is, either, since my memory seems to be incomplete, but I plan on searching for it as soon as I’ve had a little nap. Does your father have a favorite spot in the woods he likes to visit?”
“Not that I know of. He likes to go hunting, but he does that in a number of places.” Pain flickered across her face as she clasped her hands together. “I can’t thank you enough for coming back through the centuries to make sure this tragedy will not happen. Truly, it is a miracle that you are here with us now. Fate has indeed been kind to us in that you have been sent to save Papa.”
“I don’t really believe in fate that way,” I said slowly, more than a little uncomfortable by the fervent light in her eyes. “I believe people make their own futures, rather than being a bit of flotsam that gets picked up by some random happenstance. But back to the subject at hand—I guess if your uncles aren’t around, then this wasn’t the year your father was killed, which frankly makes me very happy because I don’t want to see anyone killed, let alone someone as lickable as Nikola. Likable! I meant likable! Not lickable at all.”
She shrugged again. “I do not mind that you find my father sexually attractive. He is attractive, and my mother has been dead for many years. He is lonely. He desires women, but does not take them when they are offered to him. It is most perplexing. My brother says—but you are not interested in that. I must consider how best to approach the subject of my uncles with my father. Needless to say, I am grateful that you have traveled so far to save him.”
“About that…” I said with obvious hesitation. “See, the thing is, I didn’t come back in time to save Nikola. That is, I would if it was feasible, although your dad is kind of bossy and has some seriously antiquated ideas. He seems very nice once you get past those points, even if he is a vampire, but there’s more to saving him than showing up and warning him that at some point in the future his brothers are going to off him. For one, we don’t know when that is going to happen…. Wait a sec.” A faint memory returned to me. “Your dad said he was more than three score, right? A score is twenty years, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So he’s over sixty?” I shook my head. “He doesn’t look older than maybe thirty or thirty-two at a stretch.”
“He is a Dark One. They do not appear to age unless they desire to do so.”
“Gotcha.” I let go the idea that I was turned on by a sixty-plus-year-old vampire, and focused on what was important. According to Nikola, Imogen was just twenty, and the faint memory I had of her saying she was twenty-two when her dad died told me exactly when the event was going to happen: two years in the future.
I closed my mouth on that knowledge, though. If saving Nikola had the potential to mess up the future, the thought of how things might change if either Imogen or he was in possession of the date of his death was even worse. “If only we could get around this stupid paradox,” I murmured more to myself than to Imogen.
“Paradox?” She was back to frowning again. “What paradox?”
“The one that happens if you change the past. OK, it’s been a moot point up to now, but there’s been a lot of speculation about what would happen if you changed something minor in the past. The most popular conclusion is that even something so simple as stepping on a bug could have major ramifications down the line. So imagine how something as big as stopping a man being murdered could affect the future.”
Imogen crossed her arms. “Are you saying that you will allow Papa to be killed?”
“No, not at all. At least…” I bit my lip. “At least not until I can figure out a way to do that without upsetting the future.”
“Is your future life so important that you would allow my father’s life to be taken from him?” Imogen demanded, suddenly reminding me of Nikola at his most outraged.
“My life is no great shakes, no, but that’s just my situation. There are millions of people out there who probably have perfectly wonderful lives, and saving Nikola might change that.”
“I don’t see why,” Imogen said scornfully, getting to her feet. “He is but one man. I shall consider best how to deal with this situation. Until then, you must get some sleep, or you will not be recovered enough to feed my father.”
I glanced at her in surprise. “How did you know that Nikola had knocked back a pint or two of my blood?”
She shrugged a third time. “There is something about you that tells me you have allowed him to feed from you. That is good. I believe it will do much for him to have someone he admires be the source of his nourishment. Now, if you will excuse me, I must think upon all that you have told me. I must warn him, Miss Iolanthe.”
“Io, please. Iolanthe is such a mouthful.”
“You must call me Imogen, then. Io, hear me—I cannot let my father be harmed, even if we have no proof that my uncles would do anything so heinous.”
“I know, I know, but there’s the whole messing-up-time thing to consider….” I gnawed on my lip again. “We don’t have to act rashly by rushing the situation. It’s not like your dad is in danger right now.” And wouldn’t be for another two years.
“Perhaps not, but I will not risk his life for anything.”
“Think, but don’t act. At least not yet,” I warned her. “I really don’t want to go back to a future where lizards are ruling the world because we warned Nikola about his future trip out into the woods with his brothers.”
“While I, on the other hand, would prefer anything to seeing my father destroyed.” She gave me a look that said I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself, which I admitted I was. The door closed softly behind her, leaving me in a warm, silent room.
“Now what am I going to do?” I asked the room.
No one answered.
“Thanks a lot, life!” I climbed into bed, and gave in to the exhaustion that had been pulling at me with leaden fingers.
Nine hours and a handful of minutes later, I sat at a table and stared down at the plate before me. “You’re kidding, right?” I leaned forward and sniffed. My nose wrinkled in response. “Would you mind if I asked if this meat is fresh? Because it’s seriously green on that edge, and brown on the rest, and I don’t think meat is supposed to smell like that.”
The thin young woman who had gravely informed me her name was Elizabet adjusted her ruffled headwear—some sort of cap with a bit of dirty ribbon tied around it—while holding an obviously stunted arm against her midsection. She said with a sniff, “Master loves pheasant like this. Cook made it especially for him a week ago Sunday.”
I flinched and pushed the plate away from me. “You know, I think I’ll just save this for Nikola, then. I’d hate to deprive him of his rancid pheasant. You wouldn’t happen to have some fruit, would you? Apples? Peaches? Something like that? Maybe with a piece of bread? Fresh bread,” I added hastily, not wanting to appear like a demanding guest, but at the same time not willing to risk my intestinal happiness.
“Aye, if you like, although Master says no one does pheasant like Cook.”
I said nothing more, just smiled as she took the plate and a tankard of murky-looking water back to the kitchen.
I wandered out of the small sunny breakfast room a short time later in possession of two apples, and a cup of goat’s milk. I drank the latter, and was munching on one of the former while considering what I needed to do.
Obviously, locating the woods and returning to my own time was the top priority. Second to that, but much less important, was the opportunity to examine what life was like in the eighteenth century. If only I had my camera, I could document my amazing experi
ences. “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea, actually. Hey, you, footman…”
The flaming servant with the salmon-colored wig sashayed into the room, pausing to admire himself in the surface of a highly polished silver urn that sat on a small table in the main hall, his lip curling at me in an “I smell dog poop” sort of expression. “My name is Robert, not footman.”
“Sorry, Robert. Do you happen to know if there is some paper and something to write with that I could use?”
The footman, with another expressive curl of his lip, allowed that there was writing paper in the ladies’ sitting room. I toddled off to a small room at the back of the house, pausing at the entrance when Imogen looked up from where she sat at a beautiful oak writing desk.
“Oh, my apologies. I didn’t know anyone was here. Robert said there was some paper here. I thought I might just make a few quick notes about what I’ve seen and done for historical purposes. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I can come back another time.”
“No, do not leave.” Imogen rose from the desk, folding a piece of paper and tucking it up her sleeve. “There are many household tasks for me to perform now that Papa is home. You are welcome to use my desk and stationery to make your notes.” She smiled, and paused at the door. “Papa loves to take notes about things. Benedikt—that is my brother—Benedikt is forever teasing Papa that he should be an alchemist, but Papa says he’s already discovered the secret of perpetual life, and does not wish to discover anymore.”
“Huh? Oh, because he’s a—” I made bitey motions with my fingers.
Imogen nodded.
“This is really personal, but do you drink blood like your father? You never said anything about that when I met you in my time, not that I suppose you would announce to a total stranger that you were a vampire and all, but still, you don’t look at all how I imagine vamps look.”
“I am a Moravian, not a vampire,” she said primly, then gave a negligent one-shouldered shrug. “I can drink blood if I desire, but I much prefer wine. I will leave you to your notes. If you have need of more paper or quills, ring the bell.”
A Tale of Two Vampires Page 11
