by Claudy Conn
A moment later he was setting her on her feet and putting an arm between them. She pouted at him. “What, my lord, are you doing …?” She moved his hand away from her shoulder with a shrug and pressed up against him again.
“No … no…minx! This won’t do.”
“You started it…” she teased.
“Indeed…which gives me the right to put a stop to it as well!”
“Very well, so be it. Then instead, you may tell me just where you have been. I have been waiting hours and hours for you. I think myself very ill-used, my lord.” Her green eyes flashed playfully.
“Ah, if I have kept my love waiting I must be no more than a lowly cad.” He hung his head, but his eyes twinkled as he brought his glance to her reproving glare.
“Fie! Fie on you! You mock me, my buck, and I shall have none of it.” She giggled and then said, “Why, why have I been waiting all day when your letter said you would be here by noon?”
“Business, pet. The estates were in need of updating with my man…it took longer than I expected.” He glanced over at the Quarterly Review and noted that it contained a scathing review of Lord Byron. His brow went up before he looked away and added, “There are things that need to be done and put in order if we are to take that extended honeymoon of ours.” He pinched her chin. “In fact, after these last few days, you should dole out some pity on me, for I am being grossly taxed…”
She released a full-throttled giggle. “Oh, poor, dear love. Dull work, I know, and there are other more enjoyable things you could be doing…” She gave him a saucy look, and he pinched her cheek.
“Duty, beloved, and…” he whispered, his blue eyes were lit with dark sparks. He held her captive in his embrace, and his voice was husky with desire. “I must ensure the riches you are accustomed to enjoying.”
She gave him a hearty slap to his upper arm. “Rapper! As though I give a fig for such things!” She frowned then. “Duty, however, is quite another thing, isn’t it? I mean, so many people depend on you to manage their land so they can make their living. All your farmers and—”
“And kiss me again, minx…” What the hell was he doing, he asked himself. He had to get control, and yet, here he was taking her into his arms to kiss her once more.
However, this second kiss eluded him as Maxine’s mother entered the room noisily at that moment and fondly cleared her throat. “Engaged you two may be, but not, my dears, yet married.”
His lordship laughed and took Maxie’s arm as he moved forward and bent over his future mother-in-law’s hand. “Well met, ma’am, and may I say you are looking as lovely as ever.”
“Scamp!” Mrs. Reigate smiled as she moved to the yellow winged ladies’ chair and took her position. “Now, sit and tell us your news. I will ring for coffee.”
“Dare I refuse, when I need to ask you a favor?” His lordship eyed her hopefully, and his charm filled the room.
“Ah.” Mrs. Reigate silently thought his winning smile irresistible. “What then, my lord?”
“While we still have some day left, I thought I would steal your daughter for a short while so we might enjoy a little riding jaunt through the fields.”
Mrs. Reigate knew her daughter had been itching to ride all day but had refrained from doing so while she waited for his lordship’s arrival. She smiled to herself as she looked from one to the other. They were perfect for one another. She was also cognizant of the undeniable fact that when Lord Julian Talbot had asked for Maxine’s hand in marriage a month ago, her daughter had not only made the match of the season, but of the decade! In any event, she was a doting and indulgent parent and didn’t see the harm in his request.
She smiled ruefully as she said, “Very well—a quick jaunt…home before dark.”
Maxine laughed and dropped a kiss on her mother’s cheek. She was in high spirits and ran with childlike happiness for the door, blowing a kiss to Julian and exclaiming with glee, “I’ll throw on my riding habit in less than ten minutes, see if I don’t! Time me…I shall be true to my word.”
His lordship laughed out loud. He had never known a woman who could change her clothes in ten minutes. He called after her, “The wonder of it is you are a speedy little monkey. Go on then, girl, for I do mean to time you.”
Mrs. Reigate smiled and watch her daughter bounce off before she turned to ask his lordship, “What news have you of Wellington? Everyone is still crying over our terrible casualties at Waterloo. ’Tis heart-wrenching.”
“Indeed, and in such a contrast to the wild frivolity that commanded Brussels only days before the battle.” His lordship had spent two weeks in Brussels. He had only just become engaged to Maxine when the Home Office had entrusted him with a secret errand. That accomplished, he had returned to London only days before Wellington met Napoleon at Waterloo. Now, it was all so cuttingly fresh in his mind.
Mrs. Reigate reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I am sorry for your loss…I know that you and Colonel Reynolds were dear friends…”
“Thank you, yes…” It was all he could say. He and Tom had been at Eton and then at Cambridge together. Tom would have been his best man at his upcoming wedding.
It seemed only a moment or so had passed when Maxine entered the room with a gleeful, “Ta da! Less than ten minutes!”
Fiancé and mother looked at her and broke out laughing. She certainly had changed into a stunning royal blue velvet riding habit, but the matching top hat was on askew, and her jacket was not buttoned correctly. She stole his lordship’s heart all over again. She was everything he had ever wanted.
Her mother went about the business of tidying her up before his lordship took her light kid-gloved fingers to his lips and whispered, “Are you mine? Are you really mine?”
She looked up at him provocatively and replied, “Not yet, my lord…not quite yet…”
“Why you naughty minx!” He chuckled and wanted to crush her in his arms but restrained himself, as he was fully aware that her mother’s eyebrow was already up.
“Go on then…and remember I would like you back, my darlings, before dark…I don’t know what it is, but…something has had me on edge. I suppose it is just that I would like you home when the squire returns.”
* * *
She went to the large panoramic window they had installed just the year before and watched them mount their horses. She was being foolish, of course, but she couldn’t shake the notion that something felt off. It was as though something watched them from afar; the atmosphere around her daughter didn’t feel right. She felt a threat in the air, and although she swept it away, telling herself she was foolish, her better sense knew better. She had reason to trust her instincts…
However, she had nothing concrete to go on. She shook her head; she was just being fanciful. Maxie was with his lordship. A voice in her head, however, whispered that, even so, Maxie was in danger. A dark cloud hovered over her lovely child, and it was sparked by venom. Such a thought shocked her, and she hastily brushed it aside. It was all nonsense. Her mind was just playing tricks on her heart. That was all.
What else could it possibly be? Something cackled in her brain, and that awful whisper lingered in the air, telling her to take her Maxie and run…
~ Three ~
HIS NAME WAS Shamon. It was all the name he had. He was diminutive. His face and his light eyes held an elfish quality. His smile was warm and welcoming. There seemed about him an amiable willingness to please—to serve. And that was true about Shamon: he was gratified to serve. However, something else lay behind his light, amber-lit eyes, something else…
No matter. He rarely met anyone’s direct gaze. How could he? He was afraid he would betray himself. An innate honesty in his soul cried for release but was forever checked. Such was Shamon, always in conflict with himself.
His mistress, the Lady Lamia DuLaine, had found him on the streets of Liverpool. He had been less than twelve years old at the time and nearly dead. He had been no more than a bit of starvi
ng humanity, alone, so alone. Indeed, he would have died that very day had she not lifted him up in her arms and taken him along with her.
Lamia and her elderly manservant Seth had nursed him back to health. It had taken some time and some special effort on Lamia’s part. She had been more than willing, though, and when she was done, his eyes were no longer lit with gray but with amber, and Shamon had made a full recovery.
A short while after that Seth began the explicit process of grooming him for the position he would have all the rest of his life.
And when Seth was done, he had quietly retired…and Shamon never saw him again.
All that was in the past—years and years ago—and no longer mattered because by the time Seth was gone, Shamon already worshipped Lamia DuLaine. She was the only being on the earth that had cared for him, and he adored her.
In fact, by the time Seth was gone, Shamon was thrilled to be her only manservant, in charge of their residences and their day servants. Most of all, he was thrilled to be at her beck and call!
She relied solely upon him for nearly everything. His loyalty to her knew no bounds, and his will he had gladly surrendered to her. He wanted no independence from the Lady Lamia DuLaine.
However, he knew even as a lad that if he desired some small freedom, some free thinking, it would never be allowed. Shamon understood that he would always have no choices. His was to obey the DuLaine, and he bore her mark, as had Seth before him and countless others before Seth.
Shamon watched her descend the circular staircase of their new residence. It wasn’t a home. There was only one place she would consider her home, and this wasn’t it. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Her beauty was mesmerizing. Her golden locks were piled on top of her well-shaped head and allowed to bounce in alluring tendrils.
She adjusted a bronze velvet riding hat low over her forehead. Her voluptuous figure moved gracefully in the matching riding habit, which was hiked at one hip, neatly displaying the high black riding boots he had polished for her earlier in the day.
She glanced at herself in the long, gilt-framed mirror, but she did not smile. Instead she snapped her riding crop against her gloved palm in a nervous gesture.
Shamon bit and then licked his bottom lip. He could see she was agitated. Rarely did he see her exhibit any sign of nervousness; when she did, Shamon worried. Things had not been right for the last few weeks. She had been strangely irritable and restless. He had given the situation a great deal of thought and traced it all back to Brussels. He was sure it had started then. Waterloo should have left her…satisfied, but she was not. She was not at all.
Shamon hurried for the front door, opening it wide. He lowered his head and quietly said, “Your horse awaits, m’lady.”
She smiled briefly but warmly at him. She touched his chin with her crop, and he felt that he was in heaven as she answered softly, “Such a good young man, my Shamon.”
So saying, the Lady DuLaine stepped outdoors to see the dark clouds hovering over the sun. She smiled to herself. Soon it would be dusk, and she would have her ride. The thought moved over as a blast of memory shattered her peace. The balls, the soirees, the waltzing she had so enjoyed in Brussels. She could see him clearly in her mind—Julian Talbot—and her body reacted to the memory of his hard, strong arms as they swayed her to the music…
Shamon watched her still. She was thinking of him—she was thinking of Lord Julian Talbot—and the sure knowledge made Shamon’s body tremble.
No good would come of this. He felt it, knew it, but what could he do? Aye then, he told himself, he was jealous of his lordship, of the way she looked at him. Aye, jealous. It was a source of hurt each time she took on a new lover, but this one was different. The others had never mattered to her at all. They came and went, but Lord Talbot was quite another matter.
Shamon watched as the elderly groom he had hired stood nervously holding her dark gelding. Shamon had been generous with the old man, giving him the opportunity to earn a living in his waning years after the old man’s farm had failed. The man was loyal, but Shamon knew he was afraid of his mistress. The old groom handed the reins to her ladyship while keeping his eyes averted.
The Lady DuLaine scarcely acknowledged the elderly groom as she took the reins and mounted her spirited gelding. She rarely noticed any of her servants. They were simply necessary things to her, and she left them to Shamon.
As she draped her riding skirt about herself, fanning it around her sidesaddle, she scanned the sky and smiled. Night was approaching, and it called to her. She loved the mysterious lure of the night, of the dark…
Shamon stood in the open doorway, quietly watching her. He called as she started off; “I will have your tea ready for you in the study, my lady, upon your return.”
“Yes, my dear.” She smiled warmly at him, heedless of what the old groom would think of her obvious affection for her manservant. She stopped her prancing horse for a short moment and added, “My special brew, Shamon.” With that she spurred the gelding into an immediate canter, easily taking a line fence to cross directly into the neighboring field.
She knew just where she wanted to go. She always knew.
Shamon watched her until she was out of sight. It was just like her to rush off and over a fence without even bothering to warm up her poor horse. She hadn’t any patience. It was always so, but more so lately. He turned away with a sigh and went within. Things needed to be in readiness for her return.
* * *
Lamia DuLaine had leased this little estate for one main reason. Its rolling acres paralleled Reigate lands. Thus, it had a wonderful vantage point, one that would serve many of her needs. And though she had taken it for the remainder of the year, it wouldn’t take that long to accomplish her goals. It couldn’t—she just could not wait that long!
His sparkling blue eyes controlled her thoughts and her fancy. The man exhibited a boldness that she had no wish to suppress and was in fact taken with to an extreme.
She could suppress it if she needed to, though; she could manage him, and then he would be hers completely.
No. Having him compelled, in a trance, was not what she wanted. That was not how she needed him. She craved his heart, his soul, and his love. She wanted those things freely given to her.
She was sure he had felt something when they danced. She couldn’t have imagined that he felt drawn to her when she looked into his eyes. She was sure of it. She had so wanted him to caress her, but he had not. She had flirted outrageously, openly offering herself to him, but he had easily resisted. For a time she had even doubted herself and worried that he had actually felt nothing…nothing at all.
Brussels was wildly frivolous with Wellington and Napoleon looming in the background. Everyone around them was feverish for a life that could be so quickly snatched away. The setting had been perfect for a lusty romance, and yet Julian Talbot would not be seduced! What sort of male human was this?
She had tried so many different ways to entice him. She had tried being mysterious; she had attempted to tantalize him with her knowledge of the world and her sophistication. Instead of being intrigued, he seemed almost to dislike her.
Thus, she had turned into a coquette, attempting to delight him with subtle promises of the pleasures she could give him. He appeared to want to rush off.
She resorted to open and brazen wantonness. His response was loathsome! He proceeded to tell her he could not enjoy her beautiful charms because his heart belonged to his waiting bride to be. How dare he? What kind of horrible dribble was that?
He shamelessly spoke of his fiancée, of her sweet loveliness, of her wondrous soul and heart—and Lamia’s first hatred sparked for Maxine Reigate.
She was not going to be defeated. She had been challenged by his love for this Maxine Reigate chit, but she would win him by any means. Lamia had asked him to look into her eyes and say he did not want her. She used her charms, pressing closely to him as she spoke.
Talbot had laughed, sweetl
y kissed her fingers, and replied, “Ah, my lovely lady, m’thinks I am no more than a challenge to you.”
Her brow went up. What sort of man was this? He was actually giving her a way in which to save face. He was rejecting her but being kind about it. She seethed with fury, but she graciously accepted the offer, inclined her lovely head, and then watched him back away.
Desire threatened to overset her. Irritation nearly sent her into uncontrolled frenzy. She wanted him, and if she willed it, he would be hers, but this man she wanted must stay the man he was. She wanted him to come to her of his own free will.
She needed time…
Waterloo! All at once it was upon them. Waterloo with all its attractions had arrived. Bodies of young, beautiful men, dying…everywhere…blood!
Blood flowed in all directions. Intoxicating and, for Lamia, irresistible. She did what she had to do: she fed on the blood of dying soldiers.
She was not a vampire, but she needed blood to stay young and alive. She had not died and awakened. Her heart had never stopped beating, and she wasn’t sure what to call herself.
The Ancients of the Realm had called her a beast.
She sighed to herself as she recalled all those young boys … dying. She had taken what she needed—perhaps a bit more…
Laughter crashed through these memories of Waterloo.
She could hear his laughter, and it was his laughter—his beautiful laughter. Then, Maxine’s giggling filtered through, and Lamia tensed until her fingers clawed at her gloved palms.
How dare this chit laugh here and now with what was rightly hers. This chit enjoyed his company while she did not. Intolerable!
What should she do? Should she let them see her? Yes, she could walk her horse gracefully towards them—she could start a doubt in the little chit’s brain … After all, she was the Reigates’ new neighbor, wasn’t she? It would be perfectly natural for her to bump into them while out for a ride.
