by Sophia North
"Are you seriously here to tell me how to live my life?"
"I don't want to see you hurt, Penny. Is that so wrong?"
The vamp was unbelievable.
"Yes, yes it is," she forced out from the permanently plastered grin on her face. "I can't do this here. I'm going to say good night to Bertie and meet you outside."
She didn't wait for a reply. She simply walked off the dance floor leaving Vlad standing there on his own. And the band played on.
On her approach, Bertie got down from his stool to greet her.
"Things are looking a bit tense out there, pet. Do want me to see you home?"
Collecting her coat and bag, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You are sweet to offer, but no. The Viking and I need a private word. But you needn't fret, he is not going to push his luck and bring the wrath of your people upon him."
"The poor bastard should be more afraid of you, pet."
Slipping on her coat, she laughed at his astute observation. He was right, the Viking wasn't going to know what hit him.
The cold air felt wonderful on her face as she stepped outside. High above, the moon peeked through the odd passing cloud. The miserable drizzle had finally ceased, and the clear sky meant the temperature was plummeting fast.
Waiting in the glow of the blue neon light above the door was Vlad, as per her request. He looked so handsome, in his long leather coat, with its collar turned up. Her heart fluttered at the sight.
"Right, let's get to it, Viking," she clipped, steeling her traitorous emotions and tapping into her anger instead. "The concept of breaking up seems a foreign one to you. But I suppose as a beast used to indiscriminate sexual encounters, I shouldn't be surprised. But as a consummate 'Leaver', allow me to lay out the ground rules for you. One: having an opinion about the other's life ceases omnino. That's Latin, by the way, for 'completely'."
Vlad stiffened at her immediate attack. "I am well-versed in the Roman language, love. Don't let my pretty face fool you into thinking otherwise."
"Really?" she challenged back. "Forgive me if your recent track record raises some doubts. Are you given to bouts of conscience with all your conquests? Or do you save that for us naive human ones?"
Pulling her to him, Vlad's grey eyes glowed menacingly. "Do you truly believe it is conscience that spurs my actions, sweet?" his low voice whispered in her ear.
Penny notched her chin in a militant posture. "You're right, I should have said misplaced ownership. But I'm not yours any longer, am I? In your world, Darius's claim now carries more weight."
The moment she'd said it, she knew the response would be fierce.
Hearing his brother's name on her lips put the razor-thin control of his anger over the edge. "You will never belong to Darius, I forbid it!"
Penny laughed in his face. "How quickly you forget, you no longer have a say, Viking. And having tasted the pleasures only a vamp can provide, I find myself wanting more."
"I'll show you more," he growled before capturing her lips in a long bruising kiss.
Penny didn't even attempt to pretend she wasn't interested in his kisses. She wanted every deep thrust of his tongue...every nip. Every crush of brutality.
In the heat of their embrace, she bit his lip, her teeth drawing blood. Vlad jerked back in surprise.
A small trickle of blood ran from his pierced lower lip. Penny came forward, intent on licking it up. "Penny, you cannot..." he tried to command but she would not be waylaid.
Running her tongue along the rich ruby path, she resumed their embrace, licking and sucking his essence into her.
Wild with desire, Vlad was powerless to stop her onslaught. He had no idea what his blood might do to her, the act was beyond being forbidden.
In fact, it was never discussed. Not even in his dubious circles, and that is saying something.
Tearing his lips from hers, he gazed hungrily down at her. "We must stop."
His mouth said one thing, but his eyes said another. And Penny knew if she wanted to, he was hers for the taking.
The sound of her mobile ringing from her purse shattered the moment. At the end of the alleyway, a car waited. Her Uber had finally arrived.
Stepping back from him, she tried to compose herself. Her body cried out to be his, to feel his touch, his tongue on her skin.
"Two," she rasped raggedly, "walk away and never look back."
Chapter Twenty
"YOU'VE MADE MY CLIENT a very happy man, Penelope," Lionel Smitherman declared, unzipping a large leather satchel he'd placed on a nearby table. "He's been wanting the portrait for months. I meant to ask you the other night, what made you change your mind and decide to sell?"
Penny turned away from admiring the portrait she'd unveiled for his inspection to answer him. "As the first gallery owner to display my work once explained to me: an artist cannot survive on vanity alone."
Lionel laughed, nodding in agreement. It was sound advice, especially for new artists. "Self-portraits are notoriously difficult for artists to part with, unless one is Rembrandt. He may have been a Master, but vain? My goodness, he did rather like his own face."
Penny joined him in a good chuckle. She'd always enjoyed Lionel's company. They'd known one another for years and sold many paintings between them. In his early fifties, Lionel had been an art dealer since the roaring nineteen eighties, when the stock market was unleashed and massive consumption went to a whole different level. He'd made a fortune on the London art scene, then promptly lost it when the nineties recession came. This lesson was what Lionel called 'his wake-up call'. He'd slowly rebuilt his business and learned not to take undue risks. The art market was known to be rather volatile.
"It truly is an amazing piece," Lionel admired in a hushed voice.
Penny had painted the portrait last summer after a ferocious storm dubbed, Boudicca, rolled through the capital, leaving a path of destruction in its wake.
The storm held special significance for Penny. It happened around the same time she'd met Vlad. For reasons she had yet to explain, their meeting, along with the storm, had inspired her to paint a portrait of herself as the warrior queen of old Albion.
The painting centred on her driving a chariot drawn by two horses, in a pose eerily similar to the Chariot tarot card. Penny had never been a fan of the tarot and it wasn't until the painting was on display in public that the comparison had come to her attention. And after studying different versions of the Chariot card online, she had to agree that the comparison was spot-on.
With her thick red hair swirling around her, she'd painted London ablaze in the background. The flames destroying the capital, at times, melding with her fiery tresses.
The portrait was both the most true-to-life portrait she'd ever produced, as well as the largest canvas she'd ever worked on. It was monumental, standing eight feet high and six feet across.
How she came to have such a large canvas was quite the tale. It had been a donation of sorts. Some toff friend of Simone's, back in the day, had inherited what he liked to refer to as his family's ‘country pile’. The prat.
But as it turned out, his new wife had an aversion for hunting scenes and wanted to be rid of them. Believing he was sitting on a fortune, he'd been bragging about his 'Masterpieces' at a party Penny was also attending and upon hearing she'd graduated from the Royal Society for the Arts, insisted she come and offer her expert opinion. The pat on her ass when his milksop of a bride had wandered off followed on from this initial invitation.
She'd almost caused a scene when she'd been tempted to pour her drink over his pompous prat head, but when he offered to pay for her services, she'd held back. Times were tough...again and she needed the money. So she swallowed her pride, and with Simone in tow, drove out to assess the paintings.
And she was glad she went. What the prick thought would bring him a fortune were nothing more than some very poorly forged knock-offs. One of the family's degenerate ancestor’s had already beat him to the punch.
He was so pissed off about it, he decided to give away the lot on the spot. And so, for once, being in the right place at the right time, worked out in Penny's favour.
It took her weeks to cover the large hunting scene with white paint to create a blank canvas again. But the effort had been worth it.
Penny continued staring at the painting, her thoughts a million miles away until Lionel cleared his throat.
"My client's usual form of payment is in the bag on the table. It's rather a large amount. I hope that won't be a problem," the older man stated.
Penny walked up to the table and peered inside the leather tote. Numerous stacks of the Queen's face stared up at her. "In all honesty, Lionel, I'm shocked your client agreed to pay my asking price. Fifty thousand pounds was a shot in the dark."
"If I was a bolder man, I would have advised you to double it. But why be greedy?"
Stunned to think someone would have paid a hundred thousand pounds for one of her paintings, she blurted out. "He truly wanted it that much? I’m still amazed he even knew of its existence. It showed for one week last autumn and ever since has leaned against my studio wall covered by a sheet."
"Can't say I've spoken to the man directly. He emails his requests and sends the cash via a security team so I can make the purchase," Lionel ruminated.
"He sounds most mysterious," Penny whispered in awe, imagining the logistics required to transact such large amounts of cash.
Lionel laughed. "Not as mysterious as you think. Serious art lovers are a peculiar bunch. I have another client who will only transact in Swiss bearer bonds."
"Madness," she replied. Toying with a strand of her hair, she couldn't resist asking one more cheeky question. "Why do you think he would have paid more for the portrait."
Lionel pondered her question. "His promptness, I suppose. The moment I sent him the email about it being available, he responded immediately with instructions to purchase it at any price...within reason, of course."
"And you think 'reasonable' may have been twice what I asked?" Penny asked, slightly perplexed.
"On the contrary. My price recommendation, if asked, would have been thirty thousand pounds. No offence intended, Penny. I am overjoyed you got fifty. But we both know the market is softening at the moment."
"No offence taken, Lionel. I value your honesty, it's helped me immensely. But to be fair, if you suspected his promptness worked in my favour, why not tell me?"
"Because he promptly came back and agreed to pay the fifty before I could. There wasn't an opportunity to haggle. And besides, I was preparing to haggle you down, not him up."
"Well, no matter. Everything is as it should be. As you said, it is best not to be greedy." Zipping the leather bag full of cash closed, Penny asked, "When will the delivery service come to collect it? I’m leaving for Scotland on Thursday for my grandmother's ninety-ninth birthday."
"Goodness, those are some good genes you have," Lionel exclaimed.
Penny shrugged. "Not really. My mother died at forty-four." What she failed to add was it was by her own hand and not due to defective DNA. But it was information she didn't like to share.
Nor was she particularly pleased about heading north of the border. Too many bad memories. But duty called and she needed to speak to her grandmother. Badly.
If what she'd come to suspect was happening to her turned out to be real, then the clock was ticking.
"I will schedule them for tomorrow, if that suits," Lionel suggested, changing the subject.
Penny held out her hand. "Tomorrow is ideal. I'll be in all day packing to leave. Thank you ever so much for doing this so quickly."
Lionel grasped her outstretched hand and shook it firmly. "As always, it's a pleasure doing business with you, Madame. Until next time."
"I look forward to it. And please pass on my thanks to your client. I hope he enjoys the piece," she said, escorting Lionel to the door to see him out.
Returning to the table where the leather bag sat, Penny slid open the zipper to stare at the wads of notes again. There was enough money to return Reginald Reilly's advance and then some.
She loved it when a plan came together. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of her studio, she saw it was nearly seven. Time to get ready for her dinner with Darius.
And tonight, she'd be paying.
Chapter Twenty-One
"HAVE I ALREADY MENTIONED how incredible you look tonight?" Darius asked, helping her into the back of his chauffeured 1913 Rolls Royce Silver Phantom. The car was a masterpiece in engineering for its time and, with only three left in existence, a real treat to ride in one.
"Once or twice," Penny teased back. "But it's nice to be appreciated."
She'd taken her time getting ready tonight. Feeling triumphant, she wanted to express her success. Wearing a floor-length black dress, she'd let her curly red hair run riot. The effect was rather dramatic and had gained her many appreciative stares from the male population at the restaurant.
Darius had proven to be excellent company to celebrate her success. He'd made her laugh all night with his witty conversation and behaved as any friend would, an utter gentleman. But as pleasant as the night was, deep down she wished it was Vlad who'd taken her out, not him.
Bloody Viking. The mere thought of what happened between them in the alleyway outside the jazz club made her blood boil. Problem was, the heat she felt was not directed at what had been said, but rather, what they had done together. She could still recall the taste of him on her tongue and it made her ache for more.
"We can go for a nightcap at Mitchell's, if you like? I'd love to see you dance in that dress," Darius offered.
Ugh. Things just got uncomfortable. Pity.
"Thank you but no. I have a busy day tomorrow," Penny replied.
"Ah yes. How could I have forgotten Operation Creepy Rodent Extermination is a go," Darius remarked. "It seems a far too elaborate plan, if you want my opinion. I'd be more than happy to pay a visit to Reginald Reilly and sort it out."
Penny caught on to his insinuation immediately. "I appreciate the thought, but eliminating art dealers, however creepy, is not exactly best business practice. Besides, I’m confident once I return his money, Mr. Reilly will be reasonable about my not selling him the paintings."
Darius snorted. "I have my doubts. I don't like the way you've described your interactions with the man. It would be wise to have me around when you meet."
"I'm afraid that is not possible. Our exchange is scheduled for Thursday afternoon."
"Change it," Darius remarked. "I don't trust the man. Call it instinct."
Penny sighed. He was testing the boundaries of their friendship and unfortunately, had gone too far. "You and Simone are like broken records. She's threatening to send Alfred. I’m tired of the subject. Let's change it."
The creak of leather as their driver shifted in his seat drew Darius's attention.
"Watcher, do you have a problem?" Darius snapped, smarting from Penny's slight rebuke.
The driver remained silent and still.
"Better," he barked. "You heard the lady, she is ready to go home. Drive."
The car shifted into gear and eased its way into the light night traffic. Penny settled back into the plush leather interior. She felt a bit tipsy from the two bottles of champagne they'd consumed.
"Did you enjoy Scalini's? I understand they brought the chef over from Italy especially," Darius asked after a few minutes of tense silence.
"How did you manage to get a table?"
Darius grinned. "Glamouring has its uses."
"Too true. Vlad once made the guards at the Tate Britain let us in so I could see an exhibition of Francis Bacon's I had been going on and on about," Penny reminisced warmly. "Vlad's not a fan, you see. Kept mentioning how the Bacon family were a bunch of charlatans and thieves. I told him it was centuries ago and a different Francis. His reply was to inform me that the sins of the fathers are not to be taken lightly."
"Yes,
he is rather sensitive about fathers. I can relate," Darius replied, his voice trailing off.
Penny studied his profile as he stared out the window. "How? If you don't mind me asking," she asked quietly. She'd always wanted to know more about Vlad's past but he refused to talk about it. The only thing he'd ever been consistent about sharing was that he never wanted children. Perhaps, Darius's experience might provide some insight.
"We are both bastards."
The answer surprised Penny. Illegitimacy hadn't been a stain on a child's background since the middle of the last century. Why would something neither of them had any control over be an issue?
Darius sighed. "I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to speak about his past. The information was not mine to share. It is one thing to speak of my own past, but I should have not mentioned his. And I definitely should have never shared it with you."
It felt wrong to Penny too but for different reasons. Vlad shouldn't have kept this from her if it bothered him so much. She thought there was more to their relationship. She thought he trusted her. Obviously not.
The car swerved abruptly to overtake a slow taxi cab on Tower Bridge.
"Fuck, that's it. Two infractions in one night. Consider yourself off my security detail, Fledgling," Darius informed his driver. "My apologies, Penny. This latest crop of Watchers have been disappointing."
"It's nothing, I assure you. I've experienced far more harrowing drivers," she joked, thinking of Vlad's heavy foot.
As they drove along Penny's street, Darius turned to her. "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if I could see your work? The portrait in particular intrigues me."
Flattered, she replied, "Yes, of course. Please come up."
When the car came to a halt outside her studio, Darius was at her door before she'd even had a chance to open it. After helping her out of the car, Penny lost her balance on the uneven cobbles. Feeling his firm grip on her arm as he steadied her, made her cringe slightly.
She worried about leading Darius to believe anything would happen between them. Nothing had been said about his proposal to Court her, and she wished they had broached the subject at dinner. If only to allow her the opportunity the set the record straight.
