After Midnight

by Teresa Medeiros

  She glanced around the room, struggling to shake off the dream’s lingering daze. Portia’s narrow bed was empty and the dormer room was shrouded in gloom, making it impossible to tell what time of day it was. Caroline’s fitful sleep had been haunted by fragments of other dreams where she was pursued down shadowy paths by masked assailants, their mouths twisted into cruel and sensual leers.

  She rubbed at her bleary eyes. What if the entire night had been nothing more than a dream—she and Portia’s mad trek to Vauxhall Gardens; those delicious moments in the viscount’s arms; the intoxicating taste of his kiss? What if they’d all been nothing more than a feverish fantasy, born of an excess of both conscience and imagination?

  She was almost tempted to believe she was still dreaming because the midnight bells were still ringing.

  She frowned, finally recognizing the harsh jangle of the front doorbell pull. Tossing back the blankets, she climbed down from the bed and hastened to the window. An elegant chaise drawn by a pair of handsome bay steeds was parked in the street. By craning her neck just so, she managed to catch a glimpse of a lone man standing on the stoop. Although the curled brim of his beaver hat hid his features, there was no mistaking the way the shoulder-cape of his coat hugged his imposing shoulders.

  Adrian Kane had come calling. And in broad daylight no less.

  Caroline sagged against the windowsill in relief, not realizing until that moment just how firmly Portia’s fantasies had seized both her dreams and her imagination.

  Shaking her head at her own folly, she cast a rueful glance heavenward. A steady rain was falling from clouds so low and leaden it looked as if the sun might never shine again.

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied those ominous clouds. Was it daylight that was supposed to destroy vampires?

  Or sunlight?

  She rubbed her brow, suddenly wishing she had paid more heed to Portia’s ramblings. The bell rang again. Aunt Marietta was no vampire, but she rarely rose before noon or received callers before two o’clock. Even so, Caroline could hear a frantic stirring, punctuated by barked orders, coming from the floor below, as if Aunt Marietta and Vivienne were both rushing about their spacious chambers, trying to make themselves presentable.

  As she lowered her gaze to the stoop, Kane tipped back his head and looked straight up at the window where she was standing. Caroline ducked behind the curtains. There could be no denying the power of his gaze. Not even the dusty lace could shield her from its hypnotic pull.

  The bell ceased its jangling. In the deafening silence that followed, a single stray tidbit of Portia’s vampire lore rang out loud and clear in Caroline’s mind.

  A vampire could not enter his victim’s home unless invited.

  Caroline tried to shake away the ridiculous notion, but the dream was still too vivid in her memory. What if she was ignoring Portia’s cry out of habit and there really was a wolf standing right out there on her aunt’s stoop?

  Since she couldn’t very well rush downstairs in her nightdress, fling herself across the door, and pretend she’d come down with some dreadfully contagious disease like cholera or the bubonic plague, she stole another peek out the window.

  The front door had swung open. But instead of her aunt’s elderly footman, it was a beaming Portia who was ushering the viscount out of the rain and into the house.

  Caroline’s mouth fell open. “Et tu, Brute?” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Caroline went creeping down the stairs a short while later after donning a severe blue walking dress that did her slender form no favors. The starched ruff that served as a collar would have looked just as fitting on Queen Elizabeth two centuries ago. She’d ruthlessly smoothed every last wisp of her hair into a knot and plopped a matronly lace cap over the rigid structure. She was determined to vanquish all traces of the wanton creature who had clung to her sister’s suitor with such shameless abandon.

  She hesitated on the landing, her hand on the banister. The viscount’s smoky baritone might melt away a woman’s every inhibition, but its low pitch made it devilishly difficult to eavesdrop. She strained to hear, but all she could catch were tantalizing snatches of conversation. Portia’s steady stream of chatter was punctuated by the amiable clinks of teacup on saucer, Vivienne’s polite murmurs, and Aunt Marietta’s shrill titters.

  Suddenly, the parlor fell into a deferent silence. Even Portia ceased her babbling.

  As the viscount began to speak, Caroline eased down another step. But all she could make out was, “…come here today…presume upon your affections…a very important question…”

  Her hand tightened on the banister, her knuckles going white. Kane was going to propose. He was going to offer to make Vivienne his wife, and once he did, nothing would ever be the same again. She felt a curious pressure in the vicinity of her heart, as if some heretofore unrecognized vein had sprung a mortal leak.

  Without giving herself time to examine the sensation, she went hastening down the last few steps. “Absolutely not!” she proclaimed as she swept into the parlor. “I forbid it!”

  Chapter Eight

  Everyone in the parlor turned to gawk at her as if she’d lost her wits. Although the damp was making Portia’s ringlets curl merrily around her face, and a cloud of fresh face powder still enveloped Aunt Marietta, Vivienne looked as cool as a spring morning with her hair upswept in the viscount’s preferred style. Her shapely form was garbed in a satin-sprigged gown of willow green crepe that would have perfectly complemented Caroline’s gray eyes had she ever had the opportunity to wear it.

  Resting his teacup on its saucer with deliberate care, Kane rose to face her. Towering over the cluttered chaos of her aunt’s parlor, he appeared larger than life and twice as robust. If he had been a vampire, he could have probably drained them all dry of their lifeblood and still had room left over for tea and scones.

  “I do hope you’ll forgive my impudence, Miss Cabot,” he said, amusement warring with wariness in his gaze. “I had no idea you would have such a passionate objection to my inviting your sister to visit my ancestral estate.”

  She blinked up at him. “Your estate?”

  He blinked back at her. “Of course. Just what did you think I was proposing?” His innocent demeanor didn’t fool her. He knew exactly what she had thought.

  Her knees going weak with relief, she collapsed into a wing chair upholstered in a hideous floral brocade, nearly missing its edge. “I thought perhaps you were suggesting…an outing in this dreadful weather. Vivienne has always had a rather delicate constitution and I feared for her health.”

  Vivienne rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to forgive my sister, Lord Trevelyan. You’d think she was a mother hen and Portia and I were her chicks.”

  Following Caroline’s lead, Kane sat and reclaimed the teacup, his powerful hands dwarfing the fine bone china. “I can assure you, Miss Cabot, that I would never knowingly put your sister’s health at risk.” She might have imagined the mocking slant of his gaze. “As you may have heard, I’ll be hosting a masquerade ball at Trevelyan Castle next week, and with all of the preparations to be made, I thought it would be best to retire to the country a few days early. I came here to invite your sister to join me.” He nodded at Aunt Marietta, evoking a fresh simper. “With your aunt serving as chaperone, of course.”

  Naturally he would have a castle. A castle where Vivienne would someday be mistress. The pressure in Caroline’s breast deepened to a dull ache.

  “And just where is this castle, my lord?” she asked. “Romania?”

  Portia choked on her tea, earning a hearty slap on the back from Aunt Marietta. Everyone knew that the eastern European country was rife with Gypsy stories of vampires, werewolves, and other dastardly creatures of the night. It even boasted its share of real monsters, including Vlad Dracula the Impaler, the infamous ruler whose reign of terror had become the stuff of both legend and nightmare.

  Kane acknowledged her jibe with the flicker of a smile. “Somewher
e far more pedestrian, I fear. Trevelyan Castle is located in Wiltshire, west of Salisbury.”

  Caroline wondered if his sudden desire to flee London had anything to do with what had transpired between them last night. Was he seeking to remove Vivienne from her influence? Or himself? Whatever his intentions, she could not afford to let him succeed. She needed more time to ensure that he was no threat to her sister.

  She accepted a brimming teacup from the maid, amazed at the sudden steadiness of her hand. “It’s very dear of you to include Aunt Marietta in your invitation, my lord, but it won’t be necessary to inconvenience her any more than we already have. I’m quite capable of acting as my sister’s chaperone.”

  It was Aunt Marietta’s turn to choke on her tea. With a spark of glee in her eye, Portia whacked her between the shoulder blades with more force than was strictly necessary.

  While she was still sputtering, the viscount’s eyes narrowed ever so faintly. “Forgive me, Miss Cabot. I was under the impression that you and Portia would be returning to Edgeleaf in a few days.”

  Caroline took a genteel sip of her tea. “There’s really no rush, is there? Cousin Cecil will hardly miss us, and I’ve heard that the air in Wiltshire can be quite invigorating at this time of year.”

  “I can’t imagine what put such an outlandish notion in your head, child,” Aunt Marietta snapped, dabbing droplets of tea off her bodice with her handkerchief. “Talk about the blind leading the blind!”

  “I fear your aunt is right. I shouldn’t have to remind you that you, too, are a young, unmarried woman.” The teasing note in Kane’s voice somehow mocked them both. “It would hardly do for you to throw yourself upon the suspect mercies of a jaded bachelor such as myself.”

  Waving away his objections, Caroline laughed. “I can assure you that you’ve nothing to fear on that account. I’m far past the age where I believe every man I meet is intent upon seducing or ravishing me.”

  “Caro!” Vivienne exclaimed, blushing to the roots of her fair hair.

  “Yes, I was wondering how you were going to gum those biscuits now that you’ve entered your dotage,” Kane said dryly as Caroline helped herself to a sugary treat from the tea tray.

  She took a dainty nip of the cookie. “I refuse to wear the title of ‘ape leader’ without claiming any of its advantages. As a woman who will most likely never come under the protection of a husband, I should be able to move about society as I choose, just as Aunt Marietta does.” She cast him a look from beneath her lashes, unable to resist a mocking flutter. “I’m also confident that I can rely upon your good character. According to Vivienne’s letter, you’re a veritable saint among men—a self-appointed champion of the downtrodden and lost kittens in every alley.”

  “And of foolish young women who insist upon wandering where they’re not welcome.”

  As he met her challenging gaze with one of his own, the two of them might have been right back in that moonlit garden at Vauxhall, just a kiss away from falling into each other’s arms. Although Kane’s gracious smile never wavered, the frosty glint in his eye warned her that he wasn’t accustomed to having his will thwarted. Nor did he care for it.

  Aunt Marietta’s protests were drowned out by the sound of Portia clapping her hands. “Oh, a masquerade ball! What a thrilling development! I can hardly wait to pack! Tell me, my lord, will your brother be joining us right away?”

  “Once Julian learns that I’m to be accompanied by a bevy of lovely young Cabots, I’m sure I won’t be able to beat him off with my walking stick.” Taking up that implement, Kane stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I do believe I’ve imposed upon your hospitality long enough. I must go and make arrangements for our journey.”

  While Aunt Marietta beckoned for the maid to fetch his damp coat and hat, Vivienne rose. “I’m so glad you called on us, my lord. It’s been an unexpected pleasure.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he murmured, bringing the back of Vivienne’s hand to his lips.

  The same lips that had so tenderly caressed hers. The same lips that had stroked and glided and cajoled until she had opened to the possessive heat of his tongue. The same lips that had claimed her as if she had always belonged to him and always would.

  “An unexpected pleasure indeed,” Caroline said stiffly, her tone implying the opposite. “I was under the impression that you rarely venture out during daylight hours.”

  As Kane lowered Vivienne’s hand and turned to her, even Caroline had to admire his aplomb. “I rarely do unless there’s a very strong enticement, such as indulging in the company of four charming young ladies.” The sweep of his hand included Aunt Marietta. She tittered like a schoolgirl, making Caroline cringe.

  He was accepting his hat and coat from the maid when Caroline innocently said, “I hope that coat isn’t too warm for you, my lord. While I was dressing, I would have sworn I saw the sun peeping out from behind a cloud.”

  For a long moment Kane stood stock-still, nothing moving but a muscle in his cheek. Then, without waiting for the maid, he strode to the door and threw it wide open. The rain was still falling in a silvery torrent from the bruised canopy of the sky.

  He turned, his imposing figure silhouetted against the curtain of rain, and offered Caroline a tender smile. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Cabot, but it appears the rain is here to stay.”

  Adrian came storming into the town house, banging the door shut behind him. There was no footman to welcome him, no maid to rush forward and whisk away his dripping hat and coat. The servants weren’t accustomed to anyone stirring during daylight hours. Most of them had probably taken to their own beds or slipped out for an afternoon in Town. Every drape and shutter in the house had been drawn tight in accordance with their master’s instructions. Even the lowliest footman and scullery maid knew that a single infraction of that particular rule would lead to immediate dismissal.

  For one treacherous moment Adrian allowed himself to wonder what it might be like to have a wife waiting for him. Some lovely creature who would come bustling out of the shadows to help him out of his dripping things and offer him a hot cup of tea and a tender kiss, all the while scolding him for venturing out on such a wretched day. But when that creature materialized as a slender, gray-eyed girl with a sleek waterfall of pale blond hair tumbling down her back, he ruthlessly vanquished her back to his imagination.

  Accustomed to navigating the gloom, he shrugged off his wet coat and tossed it and his hat on the hall tree. He was running a hand through his damp hair when Julian came stumbling down the stairs, his dusky curls standing on end just as they had when the two of them were boys and Adrian would awaken to find a terrified Julian standing at the foot of his bed. Although he would grumble and scold, Adrian would always end up crawling out of his own warm bed so he could slay the imaginary monster lurking beneath Julian’s.

  “Good Lord, man!” Julian exclaimed, jerking a knot in the sash of his black velvet dressing gown. “Why all the ruckus? You’re loud enough to wake the dead.”

  Adrian shot him a dark look before striding over to the marble-topped sideboard and pouring himself a healthy splash of brandy. He frowned at the nearly empty bottle as he replaced it on the blotter. He would have sworn the butler had refilled it only yesterday.

  His brother sank down on one of the lower steps, yawning and rubbing his eyes. They widened as he noticed the rain puddling around the foot of the hall tree. He gave the window a disbelieving look. An unmistakable ribbon of daylight was peeping through the crack in the heavy drapes. “Have you been out?”

  Adrian turned to lean against the sideboard. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about how many hours it had been since he slept. “I have.”

  “And what would possess you to leave the house at this ungodly hour? Did you have a bad night? Was your hunt unsuccessful?”

  “Oh, on the contrary, my hunt was quite successful.” Adrian tossed back a swallow of the brandy, remembering the lush feel of Caroline in his
arms. “I just caught something I hadn’t expected.”

  Julian surveyed him wryly. “Knowing your devotion to duty, I’m sure it wasn’t the French pox. Although popping into one of those brothels in the alleys you frequent for a few hours just might improve your temper.”

  For some reason the thought of a fleeting release at the hands of some overblown doxy held little charm for Adrian. Not with the irresistible sweetness of Caroline’s mouth still so fresh in his memory.

  He polished off the remainder of the brandy in a single swallow, but not even its heat could completely sear the taste of her from his lips. “The only thing that would improve my temper at the moment is the rapid return of one Miss Caroline Cabot to her home in Surrey.”

  “I gather from your dour countenance that Miss Cabot’s departure for more pastoral climes is not imminent.”

  “On the contrary. It seems that she and her lovely sisters are going to be accompanying us to Wiltshire later this week.”

  Julian sat up straight, blinking his dark-lashed eyes. “This week? Are you sure it’s not too soon? I thought we weren’t going until next week. What about Duvalier? How can you be sure he’ll follow us?”

  “Oh, I’d say that we’ve managed to successfully pique his interest.” Adrian met his brother’s eyes squarely, refusing to shy away from the blow he was about to deliver. “He was there tonight. At Vauxhall.”

  Julian went so still his lips barely moved when he whispered, “Did you see him?”

  Remembering the near panic he had felt stalking Duvalier through the night as Duvalier stalked an oblivious Caroline, Adrian shook his head. “I didn’t have to. I could feel him. I could sense him. But the minute I got too close to the bastard, he melted back into the shadows.”