Bloody hell. Not now.
He shook her gently. “Miss? Wake up.”
She didn’t stir. He took in her clothing where her coat fell open, revealing that she wore a man’s cloak and hat covering a woman’s dress―minus the yards of crinoline prevalent in the eighteen hundreds. The fabric seemed of top quality. A woman of noble birth, perhaps? He tried to recall this time period and all the rules and decorum. He shook his head, perplexed. The obvious question pricked him: what was a gentlewoman doing walking the streets at night?
His gaze rose to her face. Creamy skin glowed pink in the soft light, and her mouth parted as if in sleep. Even in these conditions her beauty was unmistakable.
“Miss.” He tried to rouse her again.
No response.
He caught a whiff of blood and inhaled deeply. Vampire. He searched her face, stopping where her lips parted, showing the tips of her teeth and the microscopic grooves in them. The female was a vampire.
He scanned the area for his mark. There was no sign of him. After a moment’s thought, he tried to dismiss the idea that the man and this woman could have been working together. There was no evidence; it was just his paranoia talking. Still, she had to be up to some sort of mischief. Her clothing and the late hour said that much.
Or perhaps she was an impostor meant to throw him off the chase. It wasn’t an outlandish notion, considering he was dealing with murderers. However, he didn’t have time to reflect on the theory. Someone was coming.
Frustrated, Dane clutched the female to his chest, stood, and eased back into the darkness. The last thing he needed was to be caught in this position. Christ, he had enough problems without this female being added to them.
He spun on his heel and fled with his unwieldy burden.
Coming to a main intersection, he hailed an approaching hack. “Twenty-six King Street,” Dane told the driver. “And hurry, my lady isn’t well.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inside the cab, time seemed to pass like an hourglass filled with wet sand. Why didn’t she wake? He watched the streetlamps tick by, thinking how he needed to return to the theatre to see if any clues were left there by his contact. Yet he doubted the police would part with much information.
“Here ye be, sir,” the driver said loudly, even before the team of horses came to a stop.
Dane paid the man, climbed out with the woman still in his arms, and climbed the stone steps to the three-story London residence that came with his earldom. He balanced the woman in one arm, resting her bottom on his raised thigh, and banged on the door loudly enough to wake the housekeeper.
While he waited to enter, the woman moaned and flung one arm about his neck. She whispered something, and he leaned closer. They were cheek to cheek long enough for him to breathe in her sweet, floral essence once more, but she still didn’t awaken.
Mrs. Stokes opened the door with her nightcap askew. “Oh my,” she said.
“She encountered an accident,” he explained.
As he crossed the threshold, the idea that she might have sustained permanent damage gnawed at him. He’d never known a vamp to stay unconscious for so long. He ground his teeth at the prospect. He should have reacted sooner.
He glanced down at her pink lips, her delicate high-curved cheekbones, and the wisps of auburn hair that framed her face, his gut tightening. She was somebody’s wife, daughter, or sister, who would surely be devastated if something happened to her. He would have been.
He had to admit he was intrigued, but he shrugged off the feelings as a simple case of classic male protectiveness.
“Will you be laying her on the sofa, my lord?”
Dane stopped, pulled from his musings as he glanced to the green damask sofa in the salon. “No, the hearth hasn’t been prepared. It’s too cold in here. I’ll bring her to my bedchamber. Please fetch some warm water and a cloth, and send Henry for the physician.”
“Henry’s not here, my lord.”
He didn’t have time to ask why, not if this woman were truly in grave danger. “Then get Jimmy to make the run.”
Mrs. Stokes bobbed a quick curtsy with the slightest flash of censure narrowing her eyes.
Dane mounted the stairs and dodged his unruly Irish wolfhound as he barreled up from behind him. He cursed himself for allowing the animal to run amuck, but he was more Henry’s pet than Dane’s given his penchant for time-travel.
Dane brought the female to the massive mahogany bed in his room. The masculine interior would have to suffice since the staff had not had time or necessity to prepare the guest quarters. He gently lowered her limp form to the mattress, and the dog traipsed over to her. With a hearty sniff, he swept his head over the red velvet counterpane.
“Monroe. In the corner,” Dane ordered. He snapped his hand to the side, pointing his index finger. The animal obeyed.
One comprehensive glance about was all it took to know his manservant had indeed deserted him. But bless Henry for leaving a fire glowing in the hearth.
Dane lit an oil lamp on a nearby table, then stepped back to get his first good look at the mystery vampire. Her long lashes curled from closed lids. She appeared peaceful, despite the nasty cut and swelling bruise at her brow. He began to move toward her, an unexplainable pull driving him forward.
“Who are you?” he whispered, giving in to the tether.
He watched her for a minute, then removed her shoes and covered her feet and delicate ankles with the comforter. He unfastened her cloak and opened the garment, noticing the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The fabric of the dress she wore stretched taut, defining her round breasts. He forced himself to look away from her perfect body.
Monroe gave a growl from the corner and Dane looked over at the hound. As his gaze met that of Monroe’s, the dog stared back, brows twitching. “It’s not what you think,” Dane muttered to the animal.
Granted, this was, no doubt, the first time he’d had a female in his bed when he wasn’t planning on― He halted that train of thought and thrummed his fingertips on his leg. He needed to focus on figuring out who this woman was and notifying her kin.
As she rested perfectly still, he began searching her coat for a clue to her identity. In a side pocket, he found a neatly folded, lady’s handkerchief, monogrammed with the blue letter V surrounded by a wreath of flowers. He set it aside. Next, he dipped his hand into an interior pocket. Something solid knocked against his fingers. A watch, maybe? He plucked the item from the pocket.
He looked at her sleeping face, a bit satisfied and a trifle disappointed at the same time because the item belonged not to a woman, but a man. A man of considerable good taste and wealth.
Gold. Custom-made, he noted. He slid his palm beneath the watch and flipped it open. He felt the muscles in his neck and back tighten at the intricate hand-painted image inside. A miniature of the painting he was after.
He looked again to her delicate face. Quite puzzled by the odd turn of events, he dropped the watch into his own pocket. He leaned over her until he could feel her warm breath on his skin. “How did you come by this?”
Mrs. Stokes entered then, her shoes pattering on the wood floor, and Dane tapped the female’s cheek lightly. “Miss. Come on, now. Open your eyes.” He thought he heard a soft moan but nothing more. “What’s keeping the physician?” he said over his shoulder to Mrs. Stokes. “And where is Henry?”
The housekeeper handed him the compress he’d asked for.
“I do not know, my lord. But Henry left before I retired, about an hour ago.”
Dane hoped he’d return soon. “Please wait by the door and send him to me as soon as he arrives. I don’t have the luxury of waiting around and I’ll need Henry.”
“Yes, Lord Wheatherby.” The woman nodded and quietly left the way she’d come.
He sat down next to his patient, placing the cool cloth on her forehead. She looked so vulnerable. So lovely. Like a fairy-tale princess.
He sighed as that strange pull
tugged on his heart again, and before he could even consider how slapdash it was, he was leaning down and lightly kissed her pink lips. “Wake up,” he whispered. He rose up to see her better and half smiled at the lovely picture she made.
If only . . .
Then, in a sharp and unexpected movement, her elbow caught him smack in his diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. “Get off me!” She shoved and kicked as all of a sudden her arms and legs came at him from every direction. “You . . . you weasel-eyed, malodorous, inconsiderate bully,” she growled. “You think to take advantage of me, my lord?”
He gasped for air and scrambled off the bed.
This woman was certainly not a princess.
CHAPTER TWO
Victoria propped herself up on her elbows, more than tired of pretending she was still out cold. Oh, she’d been unconscious at first. But when she’d come to, everything was so unclear that the only thing she could think of to do was feign sleep. Now, she glared at her abductor, aware that she had caught him off guard.
She scanned the man’s unfamiliar but surprisingly handsome face. The maid had called him Lord Wheatherby. So that meant he was Earl Dane Wheatherby, a powerful vampire, she realized. She took comfort in the fact that she knew who he was―well, she was pretty sure she knew. That meant she wasn’t completely addled . . . right?
He coughed and took another step back. Then with a scowl, he said, “Dammit, girl. Trust me. You stumbled and fell on a street corner. You hit your head.”
“Fell?” she asked, confused.
She took in her surroundings as she waited for his response. My God, I am in his bed.
Victoria inhaled a sharp breath and immediately regretted the action as pain stabbed through her temple. Fear gripped her almost as tightly. Fear because she couldn’t remember the past few hours, because she was in a notable rake’s bed, and because she sensed something had gone dreadfully wrong.
Yet, for some reason, she wanted to laugh at the earl’s rebuttal to her previous accusation. And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this was definitely one of those laugh-or-cry situations. In the bed of a vampire of his reputation . . . She had to get free.
She sat forward in the middle of a massive bed―his bed, she thought again with a rise of panic―and cradled her aching head in her hands. “I . . . I believe a vampire is supposed to sense these things, like when someone is running toward them. You know, the way an animal does.” She bit down on her lower lip, wanting to take the words back. After all, her purpose had been to blend in, not make her vampire blood known, hadn’t it?
“An animal? You’re not making sense. Lie back and rest. A doctor will be here soon.”
She didn’t move, just looked at him, studying him. His golden-brown eyes flickered with indignation. What an infuriating man. He was worried about frivolous wordplay while she anguished over what had happened to her?
“I don’t need a doctor,” Victoria said.
“Do you feel ill?”
She sat up straighter, biting back the dizziness. “I am fine.”
He gestured with the hand that held a washcloth, circling it in toward his chest. “Come to the side of the bed so I can tend that nasty cut at your hairline.”
She raised her chin and looked away from him. He expected her to follow his arrogant commands?
She instinctively rebelled against his suggestions, but her thoughts were as slippery as lard. She couldn’t grasp the notion of falling down at the street corner—worse, at night—but now she was here with him. She touched a trembling hand to her temple and came away with blood-dotted fingertips.
Why would she be at a street corner? She blinked, her mind slowly becoming clearer. A rendezvous? What was it? There was a man. A task for her father? The memories were accumulating like drips into a bucket. She wanted to shake her head to clear the fog, but that would be far too painful. Regardless, it seemed she had missed the man she’d been supposed to meet. After all the persuasive words to convince her father she would succeed, she’d failed. And now she was here.
Her gaze returned to the imposing figure of the earl, a vampire with lust in his eyes. He was her savior; he was also her problem. If only he would leave so she could collect her thoughts.
She wiggled a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. “I’m not at all impressed,” she mumbled softly, not realizing she spoke aloud until he responded.
“Excuse me? No one has ever said that to me before,” he said, amused.
Victoria snapped up her head. She winced. “Oh. I don’t mean you, your lordship. I was referring to the thrill of adventure. My friends speak of how exciting it would be―” She clamped her mouth shut as she realized she was about to admit what the young vampires of the peerage speculated about the earl.
He stared at her. A look that said, Come closer, let me help you. As if he were a compassionate male. Yes, she sensed that in him, but not overly so. Part of her wanted to accept whatever comfort he offered, and part of her warned her to flee. Rumor had it that he was an acclaimed rake of the highest order. On the other hand, she was probably safe from his attentions for she’d heard he chose only well-seasoned vampires and widows.
Even so, she needed get away from his enigmatic presence. She placed her cool palm to her brow.
“Does your head still hurt?”
“Like it’s in a vise,” she said, flicking a glance at him. “And my memory isn’t very clear. I recall only bits and pieces.”
“You’ll remember soon. Give it time. Now, come here.”
“No,” she snapped. The bed creaked as Victoria tucked her cold, bare feet beneath her bottom. She suppressed a sigh at the warmth of the rich, velvet counterpane against her toes.
Wait, why could she feel the fabric against her skin? She looked over the edge of the bed, finding her shoes on the floor just as she’d feared. Her coat lay beside them in a heap.
“Then I have no choice than to come to you.”
Victoria tensed, ready to roll off the other side of the bed if he advanced.
“I must have been on some sort of mission,” Victoria muttered, trying to distract him.
“Must have?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. But, yes, I think so.”
He lifted one brow. “Perhaps you were meeting your lover.”
Lover? Did she have a lover? A surge of blood rushed up her neck to her face. She had recollection of a fiancé, an honorable, proper man, but never a lover.
The earl gave a throaty half laugh. “No. I think not. I don’t believe you would forget such a sensual, all-consuming experience.” The timbre of his voice suggested he was well acquainted with the desire and passion of which he spoke.
Heat rushed through her, and her blistering gaze fell on him. She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. Leave it to the earl to create sexual overtones. The society pages claimed he was a player of hearts. And she was in his bed.
But she was not conquest material.
She directed the conversation back to the explanation he had given when she awoke. “I . . . I don’t understand. You say we collided on a street corner. How, then, did I come to be in your bedchamber?” She wasn’t so addled that she didn’t see how unusual that was. What she wanted to hear were specifics, something to enhance her shaky memory. Did he see her with someone else? Where exactly had she been?
The handsome, meticulously dressed vampire standing beside the four-poster bed flashed a dashing smile and a lethal set of fangs. Earl Wheatherby crossed his arms over his chest, still holding the damp cloth in his palm. The male reeked of charm―smooth, confident, controlled, and a bit cheeky.
Victoria had a feeling he did not normally explain, justify, or account for his actions.
“It’s not at all complicated, really.” He shrugged. “I was pursuing a man in a black cloak and hat. He ran into you. I came to your rescue. That’s all,” he stated crisply. “When you tumbled to the ground, you struck your head on the curb and were knocked unconscious. Of course, if I’d known you w
ere going to be so uncooperative, perhaps I would have left you on the street . . .” He paused, one eyebrow raised at her.
She glared at him.
“But, instead, I brought you to my home.”
Victoria nodded. She pressed her lips together and tried to concentrate. It was an unnerving task with him standing three feet away, looking at her with those smoldering eyes. Again, her thoughts stumbled over the details, and she encountered that same alarming certainty once more: her father had been depending on her.
She looked directly at him. “Earl Wheatherby―”
“Ah, you know who I am?”
“I would imagine the entire world knows who you are.”
His brow pinched. “And the world exaggerates. I’m at a disadvantage, though, because we haven’t been introduced. Forgive me. I was more concerned with your well-being―”
“And my attire,” she added, gesturing at her discarded coat.
“Yes, that, too.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m Victoria Clements.” They moved in different circles, but with her connections, she’d seen him at Almack’s social club. She cleared her throat. “My father is Foster Clements, Viscount of Watertown.”
With a slight bow of his head, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Victoria.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she half moaned. It was quite ridiculous that such an introduction should take place with her sitting in his bed. But she had to admit she adored the way he said her name, the way it rolled across his tongue. “Please hand me my shoes. I should be going.”
“Not so quickly, my lady.” He crossed his arms.
Her brows shot up, and she pursed her lips before reasserting her intention. “Earl, my coat and shoes.”
“Ah, well, first you must satisfy my curiosity.”
“Curiosity?” she parroted. “No. No. We are done here.” She glanced at the footboard, which blocked her escape in that direction. She could scoot to the opposite edge of the bed, at least. Anything to maintain her distance.
He unfolded his arms and stepped closer to the bed. His thigh met the wine-red counterpane and he set down the washcloth. The velvet will be ruined, she thought absently, her eyes fixed on his hands. Every muscle along her spine tensed as he reached into his pocket and withdrew something. He extended his right hand and slowly opened it. In his large palm, he held a custom-made, gold watch. As he examined the intricately detailed picture painted on the inside lid, his eyes widened, then narrowed.
Forever At Midnight: The Blood Keepers Series (The Blood Keepers Series, Vampire Novella Book 2) Page 2
