Chapter Twenty-one
Portia’s bedchamber was deserted, but the window nearest the bed stood wide open, inviting in a lark’s cheery song and a balmy spring breeze. It was too easy for Caroline to imagine the distant strains of a waltz floating through that window, its soaring melody irresistible.
While Larkin hovered by the door, murmuring words of comfort to a white-faced Vivienne, she and Adrian followed the trail of bedsheets knotted around one of the bedposts to the window. The makeshift ladder disappeared over the ledge. Tucking a strand of hair that had escaped her hastily wound chignon behind her ear, Caroline leaned out of the second-story window. The end of the sheet was dangling right over a minty green patch of grass bathed in a bright pool of sunshine. Last night there would have been only shadows waiting to receive whoever was bold enough to shimmy down its length.
“I haven’t been able to find any sign of struggle or foul play,” Larkin informed them. “All I found on the ledge was this.” He held up something that looked like a broom straw.
“It’s a whisker from the cat mask Julian gave her,” Caroline said, her dismay growing. “She was so excited about wearing it for him.”
“It’s all my fault,” Vivienne said, still clinging to Larkin’s arm. “If I had come back to my room before dawn, I might have realized she was missing.”
While Caroline’s mouth fell open, Adrian swung around to level a piercing look at his old friend. “Am I going to have to call you out, Constable?”
Larkin jerked his waistcoat straight, an endearing flush staining his high cheekbones. For the first time, Caroline noticed that although Vivienne was still wearing the green dressing gown, Larkin’s cravat was tied in a French knot meticulous enough to make Brummel pale with envy. “I should say not. I can assure you that my intentions toward Miss Cabot’s sister are honorable. If I’d have had my way, we would be halfway to Gretna Green right now. But Vivienne refused to elope. She insisted it was only proper that her older sister be the first to wed.”
Watching how tenderly he gathered Vivienne in his arms, Adrian said softly, “You’d best get used to it, mate.”
“What?” Larkin asked.
“Not having your way.”
“I don’t understand,” Vivienne said as Adrian leaned out the window to study the grounds below. “If Portia simply snuck out to attend the ball against Caroline’s wishes, then why hasn’t she returned? Alastair has made discreet inquiries throughout the castle, and the servants swear there’s been no sign of her since yesterday afternoon.”
Caroline shook her head, remembering her last encounter with Portia. “She was terribly angry at me for not allowing her to go to the ball. She may still be sulking somewhere on the grounds, trying to give me a bit of a fright to punish me.”
Even as she said the words, Caroline knew how unlikely they were to be true. Portia had never been one to hold a grudge. Her temper usually cooled to a simmer just as quickly as it boiled over. Caroline had lost count of the number of times Portia had charmed her into forgiving some tantrum or cross word simply by throwing her arms around her and blurting out an apology. She would have given almost anything to feel those arms around her now.
She also couldn’t help but remember how she had deliberately scoffed at Portia’s fears and fancies. How, in a misguided attempt to protect her, she had assured her that there was no real danger. Thanks to her, Portia was the only one of them who didn’t know that vampires really did stalk the night.
She tugged at Adrian’s sleeve, no longer able to choke back her rising fears. “You don’t think it could be Duvalier, do you?”
He drew his head in the window and slowly turned to face her, his jaw set in a grim line. Before spending last night in his arms and his bed and experiencing firsthand the limitless depths of his passion, she might not have recognized the utter absence of emotion in his eyes.
She took a step back and clapped a hand over her mouth, remembering too late that Duvalier wasn’t the only monster of their acquaintance.
Caroline followed Adrian past the basement kitchens, taking two steps for every one of his long strides. When he started down the dank, sloping passage that led to the spice cellar, she had to gather up Eloisa’s gown in one fist to keep from tripping over its hem. She was beginning to despise the thing even more than before, but there had been no time to return to her chamber and change. Not with Adrian’s urgency driving them through the castle like a whip.
She didn’t even have time to shudder when a large rat went scurrying out of the path of Adrian’s boots, squeaking frantically. Before she could catch her breath, they were standing outside the door of the spice cellar.
Remembering the iron ring of keys Wilbury wore at his waist, she said, “Won’t you need a—”
Adrian lifted one powerful leg and kicked the door right off its hinges.
“—key?” she finished weakly, waving away a choking cloud of dust.
He wrested one of the crude tallow candles from the iron sconce just outside of the cellar, then strode over to the shelf on the opposite wall. Before Caroline could catch up with him, his sure fingers had sought and found the smoky glass bottle perched on the back of the shelf’s edge.
“What is it?” she asked. “Holy water?”
Instead of replying, he gave the bottle a savage twist. The entire wall of shelves swung inward, revealing a passage that was even danker—and darker—than the one they’d just traversed.
“I knew it!” Caroline exclaimed. “Why, I’ll bet Wilbury knew about this all along.”
Adrian ducked beneath the sagging door frame. “It was probably one of his ancestors who helped build it. His family has been serving mine for centuries. That’s why he was the only one I ever trusted with Julian’s secret.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes warming for an elusive instant. “Until you.”
As he disappeared into the shadows, Caroline hastened after him. A narrow set of stone stairs hugged the circular wall, spiraling down into the darkness. As they descended with only the wavering flame of the candle to light their way, Caroline edged closer to Adrian, clutching a fistful of his shirt in her trembling hand. He reached behind him, twining his warm fingers through hers.
They seemed to be descending into a realm of eternal night, some shadowy kingdom banished forever from the sunlight they’d left behind. Caroline could hear water trickling through some subterranean crack and the faint squeaking of something that she fervently hoped was another rat.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Adrian touched the wick of the candle to a pitch-soaked torch mounted on the wall. The torch flared to life with a sinister hiss, its hellish glow transforming their shadows into hulking monsters.
“Welcome to my dungeon,” Adrian said softly, plucking the torch from its sconce and holding it aloft.
Her fingers slipping from his, Caroline went gliding forward, her fear momentarily supplanted by astonishment. Despite the absence of the village virgins, the dank stone chamber was just as she’d imagined it. Chains and manacles dangled from hooks set at regular intervals in the walls, their iron links rusty from disuse.
Caroline scooped up one of the manacles in her hand, studying it with ill-disguised fascination.
“Perhaps we can try those another time if you’re so inclined,” Adrian said.
She returned his teasing smirk with one of her own. “Only if you agree to wear them.”
He arched one eyebrow, the husky note in his voice playing havoc with both her body and her heart. “For you, my love? Gladly.”
The manacle slipped from her hand, striking the wall with a musical clank. As she surveyed the gloomy cavern of a chamber, a helpless laugh escaped her.
“What is it?” Adrian asked, his rugged features softened by concern.
“I was just thinking how much Portia would be enjoying all of this. A mysterious disappearance. Secret passages. A genuine dungeon. It’s like a scene from one of Dr. Polidori’s ridiculous stories.” Without warn
ing, hot tears flooded her eyes.
Adrian crossed to her and drew her into a fierce one-armed embrace. “I’ll find her,” he vowed, pressing his lips to her hair. “I swear it on my life.”
Blinking away her tears, Caroline tipped back her head to give him a shaky smile. “We’ll make sure this story has a happy ending, won’t we?”
Since Adrian was kind enough to nod, she pretended not to see the shadow of doubt in his eyes. He turned, sweeping the torch in front of them. For the first time, Caroline noticed the wooden door set deep into the corner, an iron grate its only window to the world.
Although she half expected Adrian to lift his leg and kick the door down, he simply gave it a gentle push. Caroline gasped, astonished anew.
Instead of a rat-infested cell, the door swung open to reveal a spacious chamber that could have been located anywhere in the castle.
From the cashmere blanket tossed over the scrolled arm of the chaise longue to the walls hung in rich Chinese silk to the marble chess set resting on the Chippendale table with a game still half in play, it was evident that the room was inhabited by a creature who prized his every comfort. It might have been the opulent bedchamber of a young Indian rajah if not for one thing.
There was no bed on the raised dais in the center of the room, only a wooden coffin.
Caroline swallowed, the sight bringing a primal knot of dread to her throat. She stole a glance at Adrian to find his eyes hooded and his jaw clenched. Realizing just how difficult this must be for him, she slipped her arm through his.
He glanced down at her. “I should warn you that my brother’s not going to be very happy with me for disturbing him. Even as a boy, he was always a cranky napper.”
She edged even closer to him. “If he insists upon sulking, we’ll ring for Wilbury to fetch him some biscuits and milk.”
His reluctance growing ever more palpable, Adrian slowly moved toward the coffin. Caroline matched him step for step, fighting her own dread.
She held her breath as Adrian reached down and slid aside the heavy lid. As the flickering torchlight played over its interior, she realized that there was something even more terrible than seeing an actual vampire slumbering in his coffin.
Because the coffin was empty. Julian was gone.
Julian lay huddled on the cold stone floor, his body wracked with spasms of agony. It had been over fifteen hours since he’d had any sustenance. The hunger was devouring him from the inside out, the thirst leaching every last drop of moisture from his veins, leaving them as parched as an endless desert beneath the scorching heat of the sun. Although his skin was icy cold, he burned with fever. If its flames were allowed to rage unchecked, he knew they would sear away the last of his humanity, leaving behind a ravening beast that would devour even those he loved for a chance at survival.
With a growl that was more animal than human, he gave the chains binding his manacled wrists to the wall a savage yank. Only a few hours ago he could have ripped them from the mortar with one hand. But the crucifix Duvalier had left around his neck throughout the long night had doubled the drain on his waning strength. Although Duvalier had come to remove it at dawn, its imprint was still seared into the flesh of his chest. Duvalier’s utter depravity had turned a symbol of hope into a weapon of destruction.
A fresh shudder coursed through him, so violent he could almost hear his bones rattle together. He collapsed against the stones, the chains slipping from his fingers.
He was dying. Soon he would no longer be among the unhallowed ranks of the living dead, just the dead. Without his soul, there would be no promise of redemption, no hope of heaven. He would simply dry up and crumble to dust, leaving the gritty ashes of his bones to be scattered on the wind.
He pressed his eyes shut, the light from the single torch too bright for him to bear. The singsong words of a prayer he and Adrian used to repeat at bedtime when they were boys echoed through his mind in a taunting refrain. No prayer could protect him from the bloodlust that was ravaging his sanity and his will. The drive to feed was supplanting every other instinct, every shred of human decency Adrian had fought so hard to preserve.
Groaning, Julian turned his face to the floor. Even if Adrian came for him in time, he didn’t know if he could bear for his brother to see him like this again. He almost wished Duvalier had left him chained in some grassy glade where the ruthless rays of the sun could have ended his miserable existence before anyone even realized he was missing.
Portia Cabot’s face suddenly rose up before him in the darkness, all impish charm and dewy innocence. He wondered if she would mourn him when he was gone. Would she weep into her pillow and dream of what might have been? He tried to summon up an image of her sitting next to him on the piano bench, but all he could see was the candlelight playing over the graceful curve of her neck, the tantalizing flutter of the pulse at the side of her throat as she tipped back her head to smile at him. He could see himself leaning over her, brushing his lips over the creamy satin of her skin…before sinking his fangs deep into her succulent flesh, taking her innocence and her blood with equal ruthlessness.
Howling with denial, Julian lunged to his knees, flinging himself against the weight of his chains again and again until he finally collapsed in an exhausted heap.
He never heard the door creak open. Didn’t know he was no longer alone until Duvalier’s melodious voice poured over him like honeyed venom. “You disappoint me, Jules. I had expected so much more from you.”
Chapter Twenty-two
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 was the answer to her every prayer. If I was going to slip, don’t you think it would be with her?
Adrian checked the charge on his pistol with brisk efficiency before slipping it into the waistband of his trousers, his brother’s words haunting him just as much as Caroline’s steady gaze.
While she watched from the doorway of his bedchamber, he reached back into the battered chest that had crossed oceans and traveled halfway around the world with him and Julian and drew out a black cloak. He whipped it around his shoulders, securing its voluminous folds with a copper brooch.
Delving back into the chest, he filled the cloak’s various inside pockets with half a dozen wooden stakes carved from aspen and wild hawthorn, all honed to a lethal point, several knives of varying shapes and sizes, three bottles of holy water, and a miniature crossbow.
He was sliding a small but deadly silver blade into the inner sheath of his boot when Caroline sidled up next to him, peering into the chest.
“Are you going to find my sister or fight a war?”
Slamming down the lid, Adrian turned to face her. He was keenly aware of the bed behind her. The sheets were still rumpled from their loving, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was somehow profaning this sacred place with his instruments of destruction. Seeing the rusty stains on the sheets—all that was left of Caroline’s innocence—almost made him feel like one of the monsters he was preparing to hunt.
“If Duvalier is somehow involved,” he said, “then I’m going to do both.”
He turned toward the door, but she grabbed his arm before he could escape. “And if it’s not Duvalier? What will you do then?”
He tugged his arm out of her grasp, meeting her steely gaze with one of his own. “My job.”
He was halfway across the tower when he realized she was right behind him. He wheeled around to face her. “Where in the bloody hell do you think you’re going?”
“With you.”
“You most certainly are not!”
“I most certainly am. She’s my sister.”
“And he’s my brother!”
They glared at each other, the echo of his roar hanging between them. Caroline finally lifted her chin and said, “You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my husband.”
Adrian’s eyes
widened with disbelief. “And I suppose when I am your husband, you’re going to obey my every command?”
Caroline opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again.
He snorted. “I didn’t think so.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, then grabbed her by the hand and dragged her back over to the chest. Still muttering imprecations beneath his breath, he dug out another, slightly shorter, cloak and whisked it around her shoulders. She stood patiently while he crammed weapons of every variety into every conceivable pocket.
As he equipped her with two bottles of holy water, he said, “You must always remember that it’s not the blessed items themselves that a vampire fears. It’s your faith in those items. Faith is the one enemy they can never fully defeat.”
As Caroline nodded obediently, he turned and strode back to the door. It wasn’t until she took her first clanking step to follow him that he realized she was so weighted down with weapons she could barely walk.
Sighing, he marched back over to her and began to divest her of the heaviest of them. Avoiding her eyes, he gruffly said, “When I first found Eloisa that day at the gambling hell, I tried to kiss her. I suppose I thought that I could warm her with my flesh, that I could somehow breathe life back into her. But her lips were cold and blue and unyielding.” No longer able to resist the temptation, he lifted his fingertips to Caroline’s lips, tenderly tracing their velvety contours. “If such a thing should happen to your beautiful mouth…”
She caught his hand in hers, pressing it to her cheek. “I may be wearing her dress, Adrian, but I’m not Eloisa. If you had known she was in danger before it was too late, I’m convinced you would have saved her. The same way you’re going to save my sister. And your brother.” She gazed up at him, her lips curving in a tremulous smile. “I believe that with all my heart because I have faith in you.”
As Duvalier’s shadow fell over him, Julian lunged at it, his teeth bared in a growl.
After Midnight Page 23
