There was no missing the stark warning in his voice, and an ugly color suddenly stained Lord Patten’s narrow face.
“Indeed? And who might you be?”
“Mr. Valin, and a friend to Miss Kingly.”
“Valin?” The dandy frowned as he attempted to place the name. Suddenly a rather sickly recognition rippled over the thin features. “Are you related to Mr. Ravel?”
“A cousin,” Lucien readily admitted, seeming to take pleasure in the obvious unease at the mention of his relative. Jocelyn could only presume that Mr. Ravel possessed a powerful position among society.
“Oh.” There was an awkward pause as Lord Patten sought to disguise his sudden embarrassment. At last he turned toward Jocelyn with a strained smile. “Are you staying with your parents?”
A sharp pang tore through her at the offhand words, but thankfully she managed to appear utterly indifferent.
“No.”
“Then with a friend?”
“I now possess my own establishment,” she retorted in clipped tones.
A genuine flare of shock widened the dark eyes at her abrupt announcement. Young maidens of breeding simply did not possess their own establishment. It was nearly as scandalous as being caught in a grotto, being seduced by a known rake.
“Your own establishment?”
“Yes. And I must be returning home. Please excuse us.”
“Wait. Surely I shall see you about town?”
“Highly doubtful.”
“But . . .”
“Good day, my lord.ar u Smy >”
Thankfully sensing her fierce need to be away from the man who had created such pain in her past, Lucien firmly set the horses in motion, nearly running down the dandy who was foolish enough to attempt to delay their departure.
Jocelyn did not even glance backward as they bowled down the street and turned toward the less respectable area of town. Instead, she determinedly sought to battle back the horrid memories that threatened to sweep over her.
It was the past. She had survived and even made a comfortable life for herself. There was no point in dwelling upon what could not be changed.
They traveled in silence for some time before Lucien at last slowed the pace of the horses and slanted a searching gaze over her taut profile.
“An old friend of yours, I presume?”
Friend? She smothered a bitter laugh. Lord Patten would be the last person she would ever choose as a friend.
“An acquaintance,” she retorted stiffly.
“Oh, no, there is more than that between the two of you.”
She sternly kept her gaze trained upon the shabby houses that now lined the narrow street.
“I do not wish to discuss Lord Patten.”
“He is the one who hurt you,” he said softly.
Her hands clenched upon her lap. She never wished to discuss the scandal that had ruined her life. Not with anyone. But she especially did not wish to discuss it with this gentleman.
It was all too sordid. Too demeaning. She did not wish to see the tender concern that glowed within those eyes diminish to scorn.
“He was a part of the scandal,” she grudgingly conceded.
“And he refused to stand by your side when the situation became messy?”
Her lips twisted with a remembered pain. “Everyone refused to stand by my side. Everyone but Meg.”
There was a short pause. “Not even your parents?”
Her nails bit into her palms until she drew blood. “Lucien, I said I do not wish to discuss this.”
Without warning he reached out to run his fingers over her cheek in a familiar caress, then with the understanding compassion that could undermine the staunchest of defenses, he gave a slow nod of his head.
“As you wish.”
Several hours later Lucien silently slid toward the abandoned warehouse. It had not been a simple decision to leave Jocelyn on her own. Not only did the ever-dangerous Amadeus and his deadly henchmen concern him, he also realized that she was still upset by their brief encounter with Lord Patten. Upset enough to have spent the entire evening in her room, refusing even to come down for dinner.
His features unconsciously hardened at the memory of the foppish nobleman. A desire to track the arrogant pup down and teach him an unforgettable lesson in wounding an innocent maiden was nearly unbearable. He did not doubt it would take only a few moments to make the man sorry he had ever dared to hurt Jocelyn.
Unfortunately he realized that while he might feel better after a midnight confrontation to the dandy, it would do nothing to heal Jocelyn’s wounds.
Revenge could not undo the past.
Besides which, he had forced himself to leave the maiden alone so that he could attempt to discover some means of lurin Seanwidth="1emg Amadeus back to the Veil. It was, after all, the true reason he had been sent to London. He could not waste his precious time upon a spineless worm.
Even if his hands did itch to be around the man’s scrawny neck.
Lucien gave a rueful shake of his head. Now was not the time for such thoughts. Not when he was tracking a desperate vampire. If he did not begin concentrating upon his task at hand, he might discover himself blundering into a very nasty surprise.
Sinking even deeper into the shadows, he soundlessly approached the door, coming to an abrupt halt when it swung open without warning and a tiny form stepped into the street to regard him with large eyes.
With his vision he could clearly make out the features of the small child that had so trustingly sought him out the first night he had visited the warehouse. A frown marred his brow as he moved to crouch beside her.
“What are you doing out here, my dear?” he murmured softly enough that he would not startle her.
Astonishingly she reached out to place her small hand against his cheek.
“I knew you were coming.”
Lucien regarded her in bemusement. There had always been those special humans able to sense the presence of vampires. Perhaps this child had been born with the gift. If so, it could prove to be a genuine blessing.
“Did you? What a clever minx you are.” He carefully watched the tiny countenance. “Has anyone else been near?”
She gave a firm shake of her head. “No, the bad man went away.”
“The vicar?”
“Yes.”
He let out a slow breath. She did indeed have the gift.
“I want you to listen carefully to me. If the bad man returns, I want you to slip out of the warehouse and hide. Can you do that?” Lucien waited until she gave a nod of agreement. “Good girl. And I want you to warn the other children. The bad man is very dangerous.”
The eyes that appeared far too old and wise for such a young child regarded him steadily.
“Will you come back?”
“Yes, I will be back,” he promised with a smile.
“I am glad. You are a nice man.”
Lucien could not prevent a small chuckle. “And you are a minx.” He leaned down to brush a kiss over the tip of her nose. “Now go back inside.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, my dear.”
Lucien waited until the girl had scurried back inside the warehouse before he rose to his feet. He could only hope the child recalled his warning if Amadeus did return. Although the traitor had no reason to harm the poor children, there was no use in taking any chances.
Once assured she was safely inside, Lucien continued past the warehouse and toward the narrow, broken streets beyond. It was destined to be a long night, he acknowledged ruefully. Although he suspected that Amadeus must have his lair somewhere in the labyrinth of destitute buildings, there was only one means of locating him. He would have to explore the entire rookery block by miserable block. Not a pleasant prospect considering the foul odors and filth that was already ruining his glossy boots.
Eventually he would draw close enough to s
ense the presence of the vampire, he thought in an attempt to ease his smolde
ring impatience.
And then . . .
Well, he had to admit he was not entirely certain what he would do beyond attempting to frighten some sense into the traitor.
He would simply have to face that difficulty when it arrived. First he had to find Amadeus.
Chapter 7
Jocelyn was floating in that peculiar world between wake and sleep when the shadowy form appeared beside her bed. Oddly she felt no fear as she sat upright to regard the apparition. Not even when a soft glow of illumination suddenly flared about the intruder.
Instead, her eyes widened in bemused wonder.
“Molly,” she whispered softly, easily recognizing the freckled countenance and reddish curls.
“Thank goodness I have found you, Miss Kingly,” the young maiden said, her expression filled with fear.
A cautious voice in the back of Jocelyn’s mind warned her that something was wrong. It whispered that there was something that she should remember about Molly.
But cloudy confusion seemed to fill her thoughts, and it was impossible to think clearly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.
The girl pressed her hands to her bosom as she leaned over the bed. “I need you.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Terrible trouble. I am so afraid. Will you help me?”
“Of course.” Jocelyn frowned, shaking her head as she attempted to clear the fog of sleep from her mind. “What can I do?”
“Come with me.”
“Come? Come where?” Jocelyn watched the apparition float toward the door, that voice of warning still sounding deep within her. “Molly?”
The woman stood at the door, waving an impatient hand toward the reluctant Jocelyn.
“Come.”
With sluggish reluctance Jocelyn forced herself to climb out of the bed. This was all wrong. Why would Molly be in her home at this time of night? And yet, she could not fail Molly. The maiden had come to her for help, and it was her duty to do whatever she could to provide assistance.
“Where are we going?” she demanded as she hurried across the uneven floorboards. Molly did not answer as she slipped into the dark hall and headed for the stairs. “Molly, wait.”
The maiden did not halt as she continued over the landing and down the steps. Jocelyn moved to follow the shimmering form, but without warning a hand reached out to grasp her arm in a firm grip.
“No, Jocelyn, you must stop.”
Decidedly confused, Jocelyn turned her head to discover an old gypsy woman standing at her side. She gave a vague blink, not certain how her home came to be cluttered with so many unexpected guests.
“Please, I must go,” she said in thick tones, realizing that Molly had disappeared from sight. “Molly needs me.”
The thin, wrinkled face hardened at her words. “No, it is not Molly.”
“Of course it is. I just saw her.”
“No, do you not remember? Molly is dead.”
A sharp pang abruptly stabbed Jocelyn’s heart even through the cloud of confusion.
“Dead? But she was here.”
“No, that was not M Vdivcloolly.”
“But . . .”
“Jocelyn, there is someone trying to deceive you. You must not follow. Molly is dead.”
With a wrenching effort Jocelyn forced herself to battle through the fog. “Yes,” she murmured with a furrowed brow, recalling the odd vicar who had told her of Molly’s death and then the arrival of Mr. Ryan. “I do not understand.”
“Let us go back to bed.”
Barely aware she was moving, Jocelyn allowed the strange gypsy to lead her back into her chamber and toward the bed. She regarded her companion with a puzzled expression.
“You are the gypsy who gave me the necklace.”
A sudden smile touched the weathered countenance. “Yes, my dear. Do you remember my warning of the necklace?”
Jocelyn reached up to touch the amulet about her neck, rather startled to discover that it was warm beneath her fingers.
“You said that I am never to take it off or to give it to another.”
Gently helping Jocelyn climb into bed, the gypsy covered her with the thin blanket.
“That is right, dearest. Never take it off for any reason. Not even if you believe it might help to protect someone you care about.”
Jocelyn snuggled into the feather mattress, already slipping back into sleep.
“Why?”
In answer the woman reached out her gnarled hand and brushed it over Jocelyn’s forehead.
“Sleep, my dear. Sleep in peace.”
On cue the darkness rose up and Jocelyn was tumbling into a deep, dreamless sleep. She was unaware of the danger that lurked just out of sight, or of the powerful vampire who guarded her slumber.
For the first time in years she was at peace.
Brooding frustration smoldered within Lucien as he made his way back to Jocelyn’s small home. Despite his meticulous search, he had been unable to discover any hint of Amadeus. There was no scent of the vampire among the endless clutter of buildings or the numerous prostitutes who plied their wares upon every corner. Not even his henchmen had been upon the streets.
At last he had been forced to concede defeat.
He was not destined to discover Amadeus on this night, he had concluded in disgust.
Or so he had believed.
As he neared Jocelyn’s cramped neighborhood, he felt a familiar tingle brush over his skin. Pausing, he allowed himself to consider the sudden sensation. It was the undeniable presence of a vampire.
With a chill in his heart he hurried closer, abruptly realizing that it was the sense of Amadeus that he felt.
Amadeus . . . here.
It was no wonder he had been unable to discover the traitor among the whores and pickpockets, he thought with grim fear. The vampire had used his absence to approach Jocelyn.
Flowing through the darkness with blinding speed, he entered the house and moved up the stairs. In the beat of a heart he was in Jocelyn’s chamber. He stepped toward the bed, only to halt when a shadowy form abruptly appeared before him.
His hand instinctively reached for the dagger before realizing that the old gypsy woman was not Amadeus in disguise, but Nefri, the most powerful of all vampires.
His eyes widened as he offered a bow of respect. Nefri was a legend among vampires and regarded as the most powerful, most blessed of all Immortals.
“Nefri,” he murmured.
A smile touched the wrinkled countenance. “Lucien.”
His gaze shifted toward the form upon the bed. At any other time he would have been overwhelmed to at last encounter the Great Nefri. It was considered a blessing to merely be in her presence. At the moment, however, he could think of nothing beyond Jocelyn.
He had sensed Amadeus close. He had not been mistaken.
“Miss Kingly?”
“She sleeps peacefully,” the older vampire said in soft tones.
“She is well? She had not been harmed?”
“All is well.”
The tight knot in his stomach eased, but he remained on rigid guard. He had already failed once this night. He would not fail again.
“Amadeus was here,” he said in dark tones.
Nefri gave a nod of her head. “Yes, he assumed the shape of poor Molly and attempted to lure Jocelyn from the house.”
“Bloody hell.” Lucien closed his eyes in disgust. He had known it was a risk to leave Jocelyn. And yet, he had allowed his eagerness to end the battle with Amadeus to cloud his wits. He had once again been overly impulsive and far too eager to act rather than remain patient. Only, on this occasion it was not himself he had harmed with his unsteady nature. “I should never have left her alone.”
As if sensing his bitter self-recriminations, the older vampire stepped close enough to lay her gnarled hand upon his arm.
“Lucien, you could not have known his plans.”
“I allowed Jocelyn to be in dang
er.”
The pale eyes that glittered like jewels in the darkness hardened at his harsh tone.
“You must not be so hard upon yourself,” she commanded in tones that brooked no argument. “You have done an admirable job in protecting the Medallion.”
Lucien was not so easily reassured. Not while his body still trembled with the lingering fear at the realization that Amadeus had boldly entered this house and attempted to harm Jocelyn.
“I thought to track Amadeus to his lair, and instead I left Jocelyn to his mercy.”
The fingers upon his arm tightened. “Listen to me, Lucien. If you wish someone to blame for placing Jocelyn in danger, you can look to me. It was my choice to bind her with the Medallion. But I did so because I sensed she possessed a pure heart and the necessary strength to bear the trials she must endure. We can only do our best to protect her. In the end it will be Jocelyn who will determine who is to win this battle.”
He gazed into the wise countenance, battling a renegade stab of anger that Nefri had ever discovered Jocelyn. The poor maiden had endured far more than she ever should have been forced to bear. Surely it was unfair to place her at the mercy of renegade vampires. A danger that had been so willingly thrust upon her.
“How can she fight a battle she does not even realize she has entered?” he charged.
“Is she prepared to learn the truth?” Nefri swiftly countered. “And are you prepared to tell her of yourself?”
Lucien stiffened at the mere thought. Confess to Jocelyn that he was a vampire? To watch her face fill with horror? To know that every time he [vern stiffcame near her she would be filled with terror?
“No,” he retorted in abrupt tones.
“Then we must wait. We cannot allow her to be frightened into fleeing. She would then certainly be at the mercy of Amadeus.”
Lucien glanced toward the slumbering woman upon the bed. His heart twitched in pain. He might wish that Jocelyn had not been involved in the battle between vampires, but now that she was, he had to make certain she was kept safe.
“Yes,” he agreed in low tones.
Nefri regarded him with a knowing gaze, easily able to sense his growing bond to the young maiden. “But, Lucien, do not allow your feelings for Jocelyn to conceal the truth too long. There must be honesty between you,” she warned.
My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues) Page 9
