It was a pity she hadn’t snagged a book from the library so she could light a lamp and read.
At least she could light a lamp, or three. Grace made the rounds of the room doing this, then stood in the center of the floor, ankle deep in a thick Turkey carpet, and looked around at the luxurious surroundings. The large bed was of ornately carved dark wood, the bed clothes and hangings were in shades of deep red. Grace sighed. It was not a good color for her to be naked on.
Black would be perfect.
The thought made Grace blush.
Best not to think about what she must do, but this would be difficult. She hefted her pail. She might as well clean out the ashes in the grate and tidy up everything else while she awaited her—fate. She started to kneel before the fireplace.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Don’t.”
A thumb caressed the side of her throat. The fiery pleasure this touch sent through her almost caused Grace to continue sinking to the floor. Lord Julien’s hands clasped her elbows, kept her from falling, drew her to her feet. He stood close to her; the warmth of his body against her back permeated her.
“Oh, my….” she breathed, and was filled with utter panic when he drew her even closer. His breath brushed against her ear. It smelled of cinnamon. His scent was bay rum. And male.
“You could make a girl faint,” she heard herself say.
“That wouldn’t do either of us much good, now would it, copper girl?”
His voice was deep. It was velvet and night. Had she heard it before? It sounded familiar, but she didn’t think—
In her head. She’d heard him in her head.
The realization filled her with outrage, which she knew was ridiculous, even as she demanded, “Did you make me come here?”
“I waited for you, hoping you would come,” he said. “I wanted you to come to me, but I didn’t call. Not consciously. I did hide in the shadows to surprise you.”
“I was surprised all right.”
In his arms was where she was supposed to be, needed to be. Planned to be. Coercion was hardly an issue.
But his touch was so—much more than she expected. Her fear of losing herself—her soul as well as her body—to him was sudden. It was a temptation as well as a terror. She wanted to run. She didn’t want to—
“You have nothing to fear from me.”
“You know that’s not true. My lord,” she added, since, after all, this was a masquerade about a noble and a housemaid. She had to keep that in mind.
* * *
Julien enjoyed the sound of her voice. It was rich and deep for a woman’s, with the hint of the Scottish Highlands in it. He wanted to hear more.
“What’s your name, sweet copper girl? Shall I call you Penny?”
“Grace,” she said. She didn’t offer more than her given name. Perhaps she thought he needed to earn the rest, if he wanted to.
He chuckled. “You are grace itself.” He kissed the back of her neck, felt the delicious shiver go through her. The heat from her body warmed him. Her scent swirled around him. Her presence seduced him. Oh, yes, he wanted to learn more.
She gave a sarcastic snicker. “All right, perhaps that wasn’t the cleverest thing I’ve ever said,” he agreed. “What if I said I want to kiss all your freckles until you are mad with passion?”
Her head went up proudly, and banged him slightly in the chin.
“I would say that you are taking this a bit fast, my lord,” she said. Her thought was, Not that I would much mind.
“So I am,” he said. He turned Grace to face him, and looked her in the eye. He was aware of her mental shields automatically coming up to block any deep intrusion from him. “Why did you ask if I’d called you to me?”
She blinked, then continued to hold his gaze. “You have the gift,” she said. “You know how to use it. Most who have it can charm, twist people to do their bidding, think themselves in control of every situation. Few know what it is they’re really doing. Which is just as well,” she added. “The gift should be a secret thing shared only with those of us burdened with it.”
So, she knew he was psychic and was aware of her own abilities, but she could have no inkling he was a vampire.
“You see it as a burden rather than a strength, pretty Grace?”
“There are more of the ungifted than there are of us, as you well know,” she said. “It is best to be cautious about who we tell and careful in how we use it.”
“So very true, my dear.”
“We hide in shadows and keep secrets. But we always recognize each other, don’t we, my lord?”
He nodded. “Your secrets are safe with me, Grace.”
Her enigmatic smile rivaled the Mona Lisa’s.
He could do nothing but lean forward to kiss those charming lips, but she backed out of his grasp.
Not very far. But she now held her bucket of cleaning supplies in front of her like a shield.
“If it’s a wicked girl you’re looking for, my lord, there’s a selection of them up at the dower house.” She eyed him in a stern way, although her head was tilted charmingly to one side. “Or, I’m certain the lady who was with you last night—”
“Ah, ha!” He pointed at her. “You were watching!”
She blushed, from her hairline all the way down to where a stiff white collar covered her throat. Oh, how he wanted to see her naked throat, and all the rest of her. He pictured unbuttoning the front of her simple dress, kissing his way down her throat and breasts as he went.
“I didn’t watch for long!” She shook her head while he grinned at her. “I mean—”
He put his hands on her shoulders and whirled them both around as he laughed. “You’re jealous. I love that you’re jealous.” He stopped them, but kept his hands on her. “You have no reason to be jealous of Lady Emmaline, or anyone else, my copper girl.”
“Of course I don’t. Nor any right to jealousy, my lord.” There was a strong sarcastic emphasis on his title. “You are above my station.”
“We both have the gift,” Julien reminded her. “We are equals in many ways.”
“But not in all ways.” She ran a hand over her plain black dress. “You could have a housemaid at a word.” She gave him that enigmatic smile once more. “I’d prefer a bit of courtship before you used that word, my lord.”
* * *
What is the matter with me?
Grace’s brain did not understand the reasoning behind the words coming out of her mouth. The point of her being here, in this room, with this male, was to have sexual congress with him in order to bear a child for her Traveler witch clan. It was like a part of herself was standing back and watching this strange woman demanding honesty and courtship from a man she was deeply attracted to.
Perhaps the truth was that the appalled part of herself was the stranger. The need for a personal connection with a lover came from her true self. She’d been declared the best person for this important assignment. She had no time, and certainly no business, wanting anything more.
He was so very handsome, tall, dark haired, with a beautiful mouth and sparkling eyes. He exuded sincerity, assurance, and humor. She found all these qualities very attractive in a man.
He is also a vampire, fool! He can grow fangs and claws, rip you to shreds, drain the blood from your body, or scramble your thoughts and memories so you’ll never remember a thing he’s said and done.
Vampire.
But…he was so….
Lord Julien passed his hand in front of her face. “Copper girl? Grace? Are you there?”
She blinked, focused. “Was I staring, my lord.”
“Yes. Do you often turn into a statue?”
“Never. That I recall.”
He laughed. She liked making him laugh.
He took the cleaning bucket from her hands and placed it on the floor. “Come to me, copper girl.”
This time she went into his embrace, without a thought about her mission, or the dangers Julien Weaver posed.
His lips touched hers. Gentle at first, tender, filling her with wonder. This was her first kiss.
He pulled her closer. She melted against his broad chest. Her lips opened beneath his. His tongue moved inside her mouth, a slow, sensual exploration.
It was the most—
Wonderful. Delicious fire.
She needed more.
Grace’s fingers twined in his silky hair, She pressed Julien’s head closer, needing more of him. She deepened the kiss, hungrily thrusting her tongue into his mouth. She reveled in his taste, boldly explored.
Her boldness drew a growl from deep in his throat. His hands ran over her back, cupped her bottom. She couldn’t keep from grinding her hips against his.
Her own wantonness shocked her.
Her delving tongue ran across a sharp protrusion. There was a moment of sharp pain, the taste of her own blood in Julien’s mouth. A moment of terror blended with intense pleasure. She shivered with both as he gathered her up in his arms.
* * *
Julien turned to carry Grace to his bed.
“My lord, you are wanted in the game room,” Beverly said behind him. His voice was loud and stern, and he continued despite Julien’s angry snarl. “You have a meeting scheduled with Lord and Lady Dowd. You said I was to make sure you saw them.”
Julien might have ignored the spy master disguised as a valet, but the decision was taken from him.
* * *
Chapter Six
Grace stiffened in his embrace. Wild eyed, cheeks flaming, she pulled guiltily away from the kiss, and him. All those mental as well as physical barriers that had been melting away slammed shut. The gaze that briefly met his was that of a frightened stranger.
Julien set her on her feet, and she ran for the door.
Beverly firmly shut it behind her.
“You are not here to play games with housemaids,” Beverly said, bravely taking a step toward Julien.
For a moment Julien was only aware of the pulsing vein in the mortal’s throat and the burning longing to rip it out, to taste victory as he watched hot blood spill onto the carpet.
“The worst insult to an enemy,” he managed to say, sounding quite calm. “Is not to taste his death blood. May your blood be wasted on the ground.”
Beverly crossed his arms, remaining stubbornly unimpressed. “That is all very well and fine, Lord Julien, but tasting victory—and tumbling pretty little servant chits—is not your reason for being here. Your country needs you more than you need to play.”
At least Beverly thought Grace was pretty. And the spymaster’s unflinching demeanor helped to calm Julien’s temper. That he should react so strongly to the mortal’s interruption of a dalliance shook him.
It was the girl’s psychic gift, he knew, like calling to like, which drew him so strongly to her. Her innocence called to him, and her honesty. He could still taste the one drop of blood he’d drawn from her tongue. Better than the best French wine. He must master the longing it stirred in him for now. He knew he would drink deeply of that copper vintage as soon as he could.
But for now duty called. For Queen, country, and the Matri of Vampire Family Weaver.
“Very well. Fetch me my coat, Mr. Beverly, and I will have a talk with the Dowds.”
* * *
He’s a vampire. A vampire! I know he’s a vampire. But—he’s a vampire!
She hugged herself and tried to calm her racing, roaring thoughts. The sensations still roiling inside Grace were delicious, delightful. The tiny spot on her tongue pierced by his fang still tingled with pleasure.
Fangs. He had fangs.
She’d talked to a charming man. She’d flirted. She’d forgotten.
She ran from the house into a gray rainy day. Grace raced away from the manor house.
She found Uncle Mungo in the stables. He was spearing hay into horse stalls. She grabbed him, knocking his pitchfork from his hands.
“We have to go,” she said. She dug her fingers into his thick wool vest and shook. He didn’t move a bit. “I can’t do this. I can’t. Uncle Mungo, we have to—”
“Hush.” He looked around.
Grooms were looking at her. Even one of the horses was staring at her. Uncle Mungo drew her into an empty stall. The space exuded the comfortable aromas of hay and grain and horse.
“What is the matter with you?” Uncle Mungo demanded.
“He kissed me.”
“Well, that’s a good start, then.”
“You don’t understand, he—”
“I understand fine. You’ve got too much air and not enough earth in you to take easily to this working.”
He meant that she thought too much rather than tapping into her sensuality. Not this time. That was the point. That was why fear rampaged through her. She wanted the vampire. She wanted Julien. Her true fear was that she would never stop wanting him.
“He tasted my blood.”
“Was it repulsive to you?”
“No! It was—”
“Wonderful? Were you Pleasured?”
She nodded, embarrassed at the sensual memory exposed to her uncle. Apparently she was more of a good girl than she’d thought.
“What’s frightening you, then?”
“What if he does more? What if he makes me taste his blood?”
“You’ll want that,” Uncle Mungo said. “It will be good for the baby.”
She might have run away if her uncle didn’t have a hard grasp on her arms. “How do you know that? You don’t know that!”
“I know everything a mortal can know about vampires. That’s one of the reasons I’m here to help you.”
“What if I taste his blood and it turns me into a night creature?”
“You know it can’t. That’s a foolish story put out by the mortals who hunt vampires. They’re afraid and repulsed and envious of them, and believe the lies they’ve made up to justify killing. It’s the same thing witch hunters did to justify burning our kind. A vampire is born, not made. The child will be mortal. Special, but a mortal like us.”
She knew what she’d been told. Uncle Mungo was a bluff and honest man. He must believe what he told her to be true. She hoped it was.
“But I am afraid,” she said. “So very afraid.”
“Why, lass? Julien Weaver is from one of the Families. The Clan and Family vampires do no harm to mortals, unlike their Tribe cousins. You have nothing to fear from him.”
Oh, yes she did. Grace fought back tears. “I fear losing my heart to a being I can never have.”
“Well, don’t,” was Uncle Mungo’s advice.
Easily said, not so easy to do. She nodded, trying to make the gesture firm and decisive. “I’ll try.”
Uncle Mungo nudged her toward the stable door. “Go on with you, now. Find your Prime and get yourself with child. We can’t stay here much longer.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. Duty called.
The moment she was out in the stable yard Jimmy the footman came up to her. He grinned at the sight of her. “There you are. Come along, we’re wanted at the dower house again.”
So much for finding her Prime. Lord Julien wasn’t likely to brave the daylight no matter how gray the day, to visit a den of loose women.
* * *
Chapter Seven
Julien’s eyes burned behind the dark-tinted glasses. Gravel crunched beneath his feet, but he could barely make out the path before him. He made sure to stay close beside his mortal companion, let Dowd lead the way. He followed the mental stench of the mortal’s lust as much as his physical presence.
Julien wore a wide-brimmed hat, and a heavy coat and gloves, yet his skin burned beneath all the layers. If it had not been a dark, rainy day he would not have ventured out of doors. He loved the darkness; daylight was pure hell. To keep his mind off the pain that roared through him with every step, he kept his thoughts on pleasanter things—such as wondering what Grace’s shining hair would look like unbound and flowing around her naked shoulders�
��while counting every step between the mansion and the dower house. He knew it would have been stupid to take a carriage such a short distance, even with the excuse of the rain, but he wished they had.
Dowd walked beside him, chattering inanely, totally unaware of Julien’s discomfort.
Of course, Dowd might be revealing the Tsar’s plans to invade Her Majesty’s possessions in India through the Khyber Pass and the mortal’s words would sound like gibberish while Julien concentrated on controlling the pain.
How could mortals stand so much exposure to sunlight? It was unnatural. Mortals seemed frail against a vampire’s strength, quick ability to heal, longevity, and mental powers, but they could stand in the midday sun. They could consume foods such as garlic, which poisoned vampires. They could touch silver which his kind could not—and people wondered why he always wore gloves at dinner! Certain woods didn’t cause mortal skin to bruise at the merest touch.
Do stop whining, he ordered himself. A few minutes of discomfort isn’t worth complaining about.
Once he was inside the dower house he would make sure he got Dowd alone and interrogate the mortal properly. Lady Dowd had been easy to read, and innocent herself, but she had worries about foreign trips her husband had taken. Lord Dowd was not easy to read. In fact, he was quite resistant to Julien’s psychic intrusion. Julien decided that the man needed a distraction. It was Lord Dowd who had suggested a visit to the women in the dower house when his wife excused herself to gossip with friends. Julien had agreed, knowing very well how powerful sex was as a distraction. Dowd could spend a pleasant hour with one of the girls while Julien sat alone in a nearby room and concentrated on breaking into the mortal’s deeper thoughts.
After an eternity of a few minutes Julien and Dowd reached the front door of the house. Lord Dowd gave Julien a nudge in the ribs and chuckled wickedly. “This will be a pleasant diversion,” he said, and rapped with the door knocker.
Stealing Magic (Vampire Primes) Page 3
