“Sleep well, Miss Cabot,” Larkin called after her as she turned to flee.
Although she flashed him a reassuring smile, Caroline wasn’t sure she would ever sleep again.
Caroline paced the moonlit tower, her circular path perfectly matching the whirling of her thoughts. The beautifully appointed chamber no longer felt like a refuge, but a cage. If she didn’t escape its gilded bars soon, she was afraid she never would. Even if she packed her things and fled tonight, taking her sisters with her, she was afraid her heart would remain here, held prisoner by a man who, for all of his power, was helpless to hide his desire for her.
But what exactly could a man like Kane want from her? Was it the sight of her blood that had kindled the hunger in his eyes? Or something even more unthinkable?
She had seen that look before. On the face of the medieval warrior in the portrait gallery. The warrior Kane had claimed was only a distant ancestor, though they were nearly identical, even sharing the same diabolically kissable little mole above their left eyebrows.
If that man had wanted her, he would have taken her, and no power on earth or in heaven would have stopped him.
Caroline hugged herself through her thin nightdress, fighting back a shiver of mingled fear and longing. She felt as if her flesh was being consumed by a terrible fever—one minute burning, the next chilled to the bone. Her usual calm logic seemed to have betrayed her. What if Kane was lying about the portraits? What if Portia had been right all along and he really was some sort of immortal creature who had existed since the dawn of time?
She didn’t want to believe that monsters walked the earth. But how could a mere man exert such a ruthless grip on both her heart and her imagination? If he were only a man, how could he tempt her to betray her sister’s trust with nothing more than a longing look?
From the corner of her eye she caught a flicker of movement, as if some sort of winged shadow had darted across the moon. Her startled gaze shot to the French doors.
From now on, you might want to lock those doors. You can’t always depend on an element as capricious as the wind to exercise its best judgment.
As Kane’s words echoed through her mind, Caroline remembered how unutterably lonely he had looked in that moment with his hands braced on the parapet and his face turned to the night.
She strode over to the doors, determined to heed his warning. But when she reached them, she hesitated, her fingers poised over the bolt.
He was out there.
She knew it with a certainty beyond mere female intuition. She could sense him, feel him, like an inescapable shadow cast over her soul. What if she wasn’t afraid Kane would break down those doors? What if she was afraid she would throw them open herself? Perhaps it wasn’t his will that she feared, but her own. After all, she was the one who’d spent six long, lonely years trapped in a prison of duty and obligation—stifling her needs, her wants, her desires. Growing old before her time and thinking only of what would be best for Portia and Vivienne. Was it any wonder she yearned to cast those doors wide open and invite the night into her waiting arms?
Pressing her brow to the cool glass, she closed her eyes against a helpless wave of yearning. Whether Kane was a vampire or simply a man, she was afraid that if she looked into his eyes at that moment, she would be lost forever.
Caroline slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes.
The balcony was empty, adrift in a silver wash of moonlight.
She slammed the bolt home with trembling fingers, then strode to her bedchamber door and made certain it was locked as well. Climbing into the bed, she jerked the bed curtains closed around her, shutting out the night and all of its dark temptations.
Adrian slowly backed into the shadows of the balcony. He no longer craved the light of the moon. He had once trusted her to keep his secrets, but now her unforgiving rays only illuminated the darkness in his soul.
It was the moon that had witnessed him standing there with only a fragile pane of glass separating him from the alabaster arc of Caroline’s cheek, the plump swell of her lips, the enticing curve of her long, slender throat. The moon that had seen him lift his fingertips to the glass, stroking the cool pane as he ached to stroke the softness of her skin.
He knew that if she opened her eyes in that moment, the moon would no longer be his only mistress. So he had melted into the shadows and waited for the sound of the bolt being rammed into its moorings.
If she hadn’t heeded his warning and bolted the door, would he have been content to slip into the room and watch her sleep as he had done the night before? Or would some darker force have driven him to lean over that bed and taste her, to cover her with his mouth and drink deeply until the burning hunger of his body was sated?
Adrian sagged against the wall and closed his eyes, growing dizzy with longing. He knew a taste of her would never satisfy him. It would only make him thirst for more. He had denied himself for too long. If he allowed himself even a single sip of her sweetness, he would never be satisfied, not until his hunger had consumed them both.
“Caroline! Caro, you have to open the door! I need you!”
As Portia’s cry penetrated her groggy brain, Caroline rolled over and pried open her eyes, her limbs weighted by exhaustion. It had been nearly dawn before she’d finally drifted into a dreamless sleep, and the cozy patter of the rain against the tower windows only made her want to sleep the rest of the day away. After last night, she wasn’t sure she could bear to face either Kane or Vivienne.
Ducking beneath her pillow, she snuggled deeper into the feather mattress.
“Caroline!” Her sister pounded on the door with both fists. “Open the door and let me in!”
Caroline sighed. It wasn’t as if Portia in a state of near hysteria was cause for alarm. “Go away!” she shouted, pressing the pillow over her ears. “Unless we’re being invaded by the French or the castle is afire, I wish to be left alone!”
“Please, Caro! I need you right now!” That plaintive plea was accompanied by a bout of renewed pounding.
“That does it,” Caroline muttered.
Flinging away both pillow and blankets, she jumped out of the bed and stormed across the tower. Unlocking the door, she whipped it open to find her little sister standing there, her small fist poised just above Caroline’s nose.
“What is it this time, Portia?” Caroline demanded through clenched teeth. “Mermaids in the moat? Leprechauns doing a merry jig on the castle lawn? Zombies stumbling out of the Kane family crypt? A white lady floating down the corridor with Wilbury’s head tucked beneath her arm?” She leaned down until her nose was nearly touching Portia’s. “If you must know, I don’t really care if you’ve spotted an entire flock of vampires winging their way up to the tower to sink their fangs into our throats and make us their eternal brides. As a matter of fact, if you don’t leave me in peace, I’m going to start biting people out of sheer spite. Beginning with you!”
She was preparing to slam the door in her sister’s face when Portia said in a near whisper, “It’s Vivienne.”
Caroline blinked, taking in Portia’s tumbled curls, ashen complexion, and trembling lips for the first time. “What is it?” she asked, her heart already beginning to tighten with dread.
“She won’t wake up.”
Chapter Thirteen
“When did you first realize there was something wrong?” Caroline demanded as she hurried down the stairs, jerking a clumsy knot in the sash of the velvet dressing gown the viscount had so thoughtfully provided. She glanced at the long-case clock on the landing as she passed to discover the morning was half gone.
“At first I thought she was just sleepy,” Portia confessed, following Caroline down a long corridor paneled in mahogany wainscoting, forced to take two steps for every one of her sister’s purposeful strides. “After all, Julian had kept us both up until nearly three playing faro for hairpins. But when I tried to wake her up for breakfast, she wouldn’t budge. I coughed in her ear, tickled her toes w
ith a feather, even dribbled cold water on her forehead. I rang for the maids, but they couldn’t rouse her, either. That’s when I got scared and came for you.”
Caroline tossed a comforting smile over her shoulder, struggling to hide her own fear. “You did well, pet. She’s probably just being a lazyboots. I’m sure we’ll have her back on her dainty little feet in no time at all.”
As she marched through the cozy sitting room that connected her sisters’ bedchambers, Caroline could only pray that she was right. She entered Vivienne’s chamber to find three maids huddled near the door, whispering and wringing their hands.
As Caroline approached the elegant tent bed, her dread mounted. With all the roses washed from her cheeks and her golden curls spread across the pillow, Vivienne looked as if she was auditioning for the role of Sleeping Beauty in one of the amateur theatricals the girls used to put on for their parents.
Sinking down on the edge of the bed, Caroline touched the back of her hand to Vivienne’s brow. Her sister’s skin wasn’t flushed with fever, but as cool as death. Chilled by the thought, Caroline stole a glance at Vivienne’s chest. The even rise and fall of her nightdress’s ruffled bodice betrayed no distress. She simply looked as if she had succumbed to some dark enchantment.
Capturing her sister by the shoulders, Caroline dragged her to a sitting position and gave her a gentle shake. “Wake up, Miss Lazybones! The morning’s half over. No more lollygagging in bed for you!”
Vivienne’s lashes didn’t even flutter. She hung limp in Caroline’s arms, her head lolling to one side.
Caroline tossed the maids a pleading look over her shoulder. “Have you any hartshorn on hand?”
After a brief consultation, two of the women hurried from the room. One of them returned a few minutes later with a small glass bottle.
Supporting her sister’s weight with one arm, Caroline drew the stopper from the vial and waved the bottle beneath Vivienne’s nose. Although the pungent aroma of the ammonia made Caroline recoil, Vivienne’s nostrils didn’t even twitch.
Trading a despairing look with Portia, Caroline gently laid Vivienne back against the pillows. She squeezed her sister’s icy hand, wishing desperately that she’d paid more heed to Vivienne’s fading color outside of the portrait gallery yesterday, the poor appetite Larkin had commented upon at supper. She should have known Vivienne would never complain about a physical ailment. But she’d been too busy mooning over Kane to give her sister the attention she needed. Now it might be too late.
Struck by a wayward thought, she felt the chill in Vivienne’s fingers spread to her own heart. Reluctantly surrendering her sister’s hand, she rose and strode over to the casement window tucked into the north wall. Just as she had feared, the window was unlocked and unlatched. A simple push sent it swinging outward. She leaned out the window, blinking against the rain. There was no balcony here, only a narrow ledge.
“Did you hear anything last night after you went to bed?” she turned to ask Portia. “Someone stirring in Vivienne’s room? A frightened cry perhaps?”
Portia shook her head helplessly. “I heard nothing.”
Caroline had no reason to doubt her little sister’s words. Portia had always slept like the proverbial log.
She returned to the bed. Keenly aware of the maids’ scrutiny, she sank back down beside Vivienne. She was gingerly reaching for the ribbon at the throat of her sister’s high-necked gown when she heard the staccato click of booted heels behind her.
She turned to find Kane standing in the doorway in shirtsleeves and trousers, his leonine mane tousled. Larkin, Julian, and a white-faced young maid hovered behind him. She might have been surprised to see him up so soon after sunrise were it not for the steady patter of the rain against the windowpanes.
“What is it, Caroline?” he asked urgently, using her Christian name for the first time. “The maid told me something was wrong with Vivienne.” His face a study in concern, he started for the bed.
Fighting a treacherous urge to run into his arms, Caroline rose to place herself between him and her sister. “Your presence is not required here, my lord,” she said stiffly. “What is required is a physician.”
Kane froze, as did everyone else in the room, including the slack-jawed maids. Although he towered over her, Caroline stood her ground, her hands clenched into fists. Kane met her gaze without flinching, but his jaw tightened as if she had struck him an unexpected blow. She had never dreamed she would have the power to wound a man like him. Or that the price for wielding that power would be so high.
“Mattie?” he finally said, still looking at Caroline.
The young maid darted forward, lifting her starched apron to bob a nervous curtsy. “Aye, m’lord?”
“Send one of the footmen to Salisbury to summon Kidwell. Have him tell the doctor that one of my guests has fallen ill and he needs to come right away.”
“As ye wish, m’lord.” The maid bobbed another curtsy and went scurrying from the room.
Larkin brushed past Kane and stood facing Caroline. Unable to resist the unspoken plea in his eyes, Caroline stepped aside and let him pass. As he went to his knees beside the bed, tenderly gathering Vivienne’s limp hand in his own, Caroline had to avert her eyes for fear the tears swimming in them would spill over.
Portia instinctively moved closer to Julian, who remained slumped against the wall by the door, his expression dazed.
Turning on his heel, Kane stalked over to his brother and grimly said, “A word, sir, if you please.”
Pushing himself away from the wall, Julian followed his brother from the room with all the enthusiasm of a man marching to the gallows.
Adrian strode into the library, still haunted by the image of Caroline gazing up at him, her clear gray eyes shadowed by suspicion.
Although he could have easily swiped her aside with one hand, she had defied him with the ferocious courage of a mother lioness protecting her cubs, her chin held high and her shoulders thrown back. He had never felt more like a monster.
He went to the towering walnut secretaire in the corner and brushed aside books and papers until he located a dusty decanter of brandy. Eschewing a glass, he poured a swallow straight down his throat, welcoming its raw burn. Only after the liquor hit his belly and began to sear the edges off his temper did he turn to face his brother.
Julian had slumped into a leather wing chair in front of the cold hearth. His appearance was nearly as alarming as Vivienne’s. There was no sign of the elegant dandy who had entertained them at supper with a witty anecdote about his latest visit to a Bond Street haberdashery. His mane of mahogany hair was uncombed, his white shirt rumpled and stained with drops of red wine. His cravat hung limp around his throat. The deep hollows beneath his eyes stretched the skin taut over his sculpted cheekbones and made him look a decade older than he was.
Adrian didn’t say a word. He simply gazed at his brother without blinking.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Julian finally snapped, his dark eyes burning with defiance. “I know what you’re thinking, but I had absolutely nothing to do with this.”
“I suppose it’s pure coincidence that Vivienne collapsed after spending the evening with you.”
“Spending the evening playing faro with me,” Julian corrected. “I swear to you that I took only a few worthless hairpins from the girl. When the clock struck three, she went upstairs with her sister and I didn’t see either one of them again until I heard that maidservant crying and followed you into their room.”
“If you stopped playing cards at three, that still leaves the three hours before dawn unaccounted for. Where were you during those hours?”
Julian dropped his head into his hands, his defiance crumbling into defeat. “If you must know, I don’t remember.”
Adrian shook his head, too angry to try and hide the disgust in his voice. “You were drinking again, weren’t you?”
His brother’s silence was answer enough.
“Has it ev
er occurred to you that drinking yourself into such a state that you can’t remember where you were or what you were doing just might be a wee bit dangerous?”
Julian surged to his feet. “And has it ever occurred to you that I might be even more dangerous if I didn’t drink?”
The two brothers stood toe-to-toe for a tense moment, but it was Julian who looked away first, his eyes bleak. “Why would I trouble Vivienne? It’s the little one who keeps following me around like some sort of lovesick puppy just begging for a morsel of my attention. She’s the one who gazes up at me with those lovely blue eyes of hers as if I were the answer to her every prayer. If I were going to slip, don’t you think it would be with her?”
Adrian’s control snapped. Grabbing Julian by the front of his shirt, he snarled, “If you lay so much as one finger on that child…”
He didn’t finish the threat. He didn’t have to.
He released his trembling brother, only to discover his own hands were none too steady. Julian fought to reclaim his dignity by smoothing back his hair and jerking a flawless knot in his cravat. Refusing to meet Adrian’s eyes, he went stalking toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Adrian called after him.
“To hell, most likely,” Julian replied curtly without turning around.
“If the rain stops and the sun comes out before you can get back here, you’re going to wish you were in hell.”
Julian stopped in the doorway and slowly turned. “It would be easier for you and your precious Miss Cabot if I didn’t come back at all, wouldn’t it?”
Bewildered by his brother’s words, Adrian shook his head. “If you had nothing to do with Vivienne’s collapse, then why would you say such a thing?”
Julian’s smile was a bittersweet ghost of the grin Adrian had always loved so well. “I wasn’t talking about Vivienne.”
After Midnight Page 13
