by Nancy Gideon
“I love you, Bella,” he said and sighed wearily, as he sank into her embrace, head nestling against her shoulder and limbs entwined about her.
And she held him wordlessly until she felt his breathing settle into a slow pattern of slumber. Then she stroked his hair and kissed his brow and whispered fiercely into the night.
“You will not have him!”
Chapter Thirteen
“LOUIS?”
Arabella knew he was gone even as she opened her eyes and stretched her hand across the cool sheets.
Daylight streamed in through the opened draperies, gleaming pristine and pure upon the marriage gown her husband had taken off her. It was neatly folded and laid across the back of one of the chamber chairs, her veil and wreath of roses set atop it. Regarding the dress, regarding her ring, Arabella lay back upon the pillows with a wistful smile. She was now a married woman in every sense of the word. But what exactly did a married woman do with her days? Surely, she didn’t lounge about in the bed while the sun crept high. Or perhaps she did. Well, she determined, this one wouldn’t, and she rose, washed, and dressed, eager to seek out her husband.
The sounds of fighting reached her from the foot of the stairs. With an anxious jump of her heart, she raced toward the commotion, never once pausing to consider her own safety. Her fertile imagination pitted her husband against the two menacing strangers from the night before. As she skidded to a halt between double glass doors opening into a cavernous ballroom, relief made her breathless. Within, she could see two circling figures, those of Louis and Takeo, and while they looked serious in their endeavor, she could not believe they meant to do each other harm.
Arabella had seen pugilists buffeting away at each other before—without her father’s knowledge or approval, of course. She’d taken a strange and giddy appreciation in that manly contest of brute strengths. But this combat was as different as a peasant dancing to ballet. The moves were all grace and power and control, a visual poetry of sleek muscle and agile balance. Both men were bared to the waist and gleaming with exertion. Arabella’s rapt gaze detailed her husband’s form, finding it a breathtaking exercise. He was beautiful: all boldly delineated swells and cords of concentrated force, each moving like shifting liquid beneath firm skin. The man who had partnered her in such exquisite lovemaking was this morning one of the most dangerous and exciting things she’d ever seen. And a well of fierce pride and female admiration rose within her. For every lethal and superbly crafted inch of this man was hers.
Unaware of their audience, Louis and Takeo continued to spar, fencing with feet, with hands, wielding balance and timing like finely made weapons. High spinning kicks packing the force to incapacitate an enemy were designed to miss with a hairsbreadth of warning. Explosive punches were pulled just shy of full impact. The boy’s superior technique and training were no match for Louis’s aggressive attack. For motivating each form, each offensive lunge, was the threat of a far greater foe lying in wait.
While recovering from a sweeping kick, Louis caught sight of Arabella standing at the door, watching him with such a look of awe and ardor, his concentration shattered. He tried to continue the challenge, but, sensing his distraction, Takeo took full advantage, taunting him with a series of clever spearing punches and concluding with playful slaps at his head that he wasn’t quick enough to dodge. Finally, with a laugh, Louis held up his hands. The boy immediately relaxed into a bow.
Nothing was quite so arousing as seeing his wife’s gaze grow all dark-centered with exhilaration when he approached her. He could hear her hurried little gasps for breath as if she, too, had been involved in some strenuous activity. She moistened her lips and allowed her eyes to travel over him hungrily.
“Good morning, my love. I did not mean to keep you waiting.”
“I didn’t mind.” How breathless she sounded.
“I’ll have Takeo fix you some breakfast while I change.”
“You won’t be joining me, my lord?”
“I’ve—already eaten. But I will sit with you. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
But she was in no hurry to let him pass. Her fingertips touched tremblingly at his midriff and charted his abdomen to hard pectorals, sliding from there to the span of his shoulders. Everything within him tightened beneath that gliding caress.
“You were quite magnificent, my lord.” Then her stare lifted and he was wildly stimulated by the blaze of desire in those usually cool gray depths.
Taking one slender hand to his lips, he murmured against it, “You are too kind.”
“No,” she replied huskily. “I am too fortunate.”
Curling his fingers beneath her chin, he bent to kiss her with a stirring brevity. “Let me make myself more presentable; then I can greet you properly.”
And it took a huge degree of will for him to walk away from the sultry invitation of her mouth.
He took the stairs in multiples, passion growling through him with a strength quite improper for the early hour. What was a man to do with a wife who sparked such greedy desperation with the mere adoration of her glance? He went straight for his washbasin, plunging his face into the refreshing chill in hopes of cooling his ardor. It wasn’t cold enough. Arabella had quickened a heated agitation in his blood not easily stilled.
Restlessly, he washed the sheen of perspiration from his body, and when he set the sponge aside, he was surprised by the application of soft toweling to his back and shoulders. Followed by a disturbing trail of kisses.
“Might I assist you, husband?”
The towel was abandoned in favor of bedsheets.
There, what began with fevered kisses quickly escalated into frenzied mating ritual, all aggression, no resistance, until Arabella’s soft cries of completion were swallowed up in his own. Then, they shared a tender aftermath, tangled together in a cozy intimacy, stroking and kissing one another with a lazy enjoyment.
“You are totally shameless, wife, and I love you madly.”
“If you do not wish to encourage my attention, my lord, then be more discreet in how you are displayed before me.”
“Should I go about in monk’s robes, then?”
She glanced up, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. “I fear that would not help, now that I know what lies beneath them.”
Smiling contentedly, he kissed her brow and released a sigh of sheer satisfaction. But that mellowed mood could not survive the seeping worries preying upon his mind.
“Louis?”
“Yes, little one?”
“Promise me I shall have you forever and always.”
When she was met with silence, Arabella looked up to him, the somber set of her features demanding a reply. “Promise me.”
He cupped her face with a gentle touch, his gaze delving into hers with a soul-snatching intensity. “I promise I will never leave you unless it’s best for you that I be gone.”
She didn’t like that riddle, nor the quiet torment in which it was said. “It will never be best for me to be without you, Louis. Never. You must trust in that if you trust in me.”
“You are my life and my hope, Bella. Never doubt that I love you.” And he kissed her with an infinite tenderness before giving her a push away. “Now, get up, wife, before you tax me beyond mortal limits.”
“What other limits are there?” she teased, coming up over him so that her breasts grazed his bare chest with an impudent provocation. “Might we reach for them as well?”
“No.” His sharp tone was followed by a soothing drawl, and her momentary alarm was quieted. “What we have is all I want. It is more than any man deserves.”
She smiled at that, and kissed his chin, the tip of his nose, and either corner of his mouth before settling upon that luxuriant source of delight. And her anticipation grew apace with his arousal. And more minutes passed in disregard as passion had
its way with them.
THIS TIME, LOUIS made sure he was decently clad before addressing her. The barrier of clothing was little help when he observed his wife sprawled in naked hedonistic abandon upon his tangled sheets. She looked up at him through eyes languid and supremely sated.
“My lord, what does the wife of a marquis do when not partaking of marital pleasures?”
“Why do I feel as though you would like to make that a full-time occupation?”
“You’ve yourself to blame for that, husband. You bring out the wanton in me.”
Cautiously, he turned from that avenue of converse. “I believe, madame, that the sole purpose of a titled wife is to see how quickly she can flit through her husband’s fortune.”
“Am I to spend my time buying clothes I do not need? Or do you think my wardrobe inadequate?” She frowned. “Now that I am the wife of a marquis, not the daughter of a physician, perhaps I should pay closer heed to my appearance, lest I embarrass you.”
“My love, I am content to have you garbed thusly, but ’twould cause a stir in company, don’t you think?” He brought her a dressing gown. “In fact, it is causing a stir now, so please put this on or I shall never escape your charms.”
“I don’t want you to escape,” she purred, as she accepted the silky robe. It was the rich burgundy one he’d worn the day she’d come to visit him, the day he’d proposed.
“Alas, I must, at least for a time. I have business to attend this morning that cannot wait.”
Arabella hurried into the concealing folds of silk and went to him, fearing the sober direction of his plans. “Louis, does this concern them?” She didn’t need to clarify that.
“You’ve no cause for worry, Bella.”
But she was worried and she was trembling as she put her arms around him. “Louis, please be careful.”
“I will, my love. I know exactly what I’m facing. Now, come down with me and see me off. I fear you’ve put me to a late start.”
He didn’t seem to mind the fact that she was adhered to his side like a cocklebur. In fact, the tight wrap of his arm encouraged it. She was too upset to care what Takeo thought of her, clinging to her husband in obvious distress, bundled in his dressing gown with her hair a wild tangle above it. If she appeared a madwoman, the illusion wasn’t so far astray. For upset and overactive imagination had her quite crazed.
Louis halted in the foyer and eased her away. After looking long into her troubled gaze, he shifted his attention to his silent servant.
“Takeo, my wife is my most treasured possession. See to her care as you would my own. Guard her well in my absence, and let no harm befall her. It is a sacred trust I give you. Do not fail me.”
The lad bowed deeply, compelled by honor and love. And Louis had no doubt that he would see to Arabella’s safety at the risk of his own. Now, to make Arabella understand.
He turned to her, cradling her impetuous face in the spread of his hand. “Bella, listen to me. If you go out, take Takeo with you. No errand is too slight to deserve his protection. If you love me, you will bow to my wishes in this one thing.”
“I love you, Louis, and I will.” And, bravely, she held her tears until after he was gone. Sniffing them back, she turned to the Asian servant and supplied a wry smile. “Well, Takeo, what are your feelings on shopping?”
He regarded her impassively.
“My feelings exactly. We shall get on famously, you and I.”
He ventured a small smile.
“Let us think of something we can do to please Louis. Have you any ideas?”
The boy’s brow crowded in thought, then cleared with the bestowal of a surprisingly sweet and youthful smile. Nodding, he caught her hand and towed her into Louis’s study. She took the volume he hunted up and studied it curiously.
“What is this? I don’t understand. It’s Italian.”
Takeo nodded enthusiastically. Then he put his hand to his mouth and lifted it upward, stretching his fingers open in a wide release. He repeated the gesture until she gave a gasp of comprehension.
“Oh! Yes, of course. What a wonderful idea. Thank you.”
Then Takeo’s animation ebbed and he regarded Arabella warily. Knowing what she did about him, she could sympathize with his reluctance to accept her. She made her words gentle, yet firm in conviction and authority.
“Takeo, you’ve been with Louis for a long time and you’ve been both family and friend to him. It’s not my intention to intrude upon that. I love Louis and you must believe I would never do anything to hurt him. I think it would please him for us to be friends, or if not that, at least not enemies. What do you think?”
He considered her through those black inscrutable eyes, then slowly bowed. And Arabella smiled as her first foothold in Louis Radman’s life was secured.
FOR THREE HUNDRED years, Louis had been the hunted. He knew how to lose himself in a city, how to become virtually invisible within the teeming mass of society. He’d learned how to protect himself when most vulnerable, during those daylight hours when he’d been powerless. He was skilled at avoiding suspicions and curiosities, and in how to surround himself in secrets. He’d relied on a shrewd cunning and intelligence to keep himself safe from those who would destroy him and upon his supernatural talents to evade detection.
Now, as a mortal, he could see what an impossible task it was to track down those who haunted the night. Those who were as he had been. He felt stupid and slow of perception, suffering from what Gerardo mockingly called the human condition of mental lassitude. How was he to best two unnatural beings with the faculties at his command? He had none of their power, their strength, or their speed. But he had something they did not. He had the ability to walk in the sunlight. If he could catch them when they were at rest, they would die as easily as a mortal. He had an advantage over the age-old vampire stalkers. He knew his prey. He knew how they thought, where they fed, what they’d look for in a hiding place.
And they knew him.
It would be only a matter of time before they caught and killed him, if that was their intention. Death was not the worst they could do. How well he knew that.
He spent a fruitless day in some very unsavory places. He uncovered the resting spots of two masters and five fledglings. A mortal man would have reacted in righteous horror and put an end to them while they were at their unholy slumber. Louis was a bit more philosophical. They’d done nothing to him. Who was he to spoil their wretched existence? Perhaps in time, he could even return and offer them a way to escape their undead state, if that was their choice. If Howland’s cure withstood the test of time.
If he lived long enough.
He returned home, no closer to finding Bianca and Gerardo than when he’d left. And his temperament was as foul as the weather.
Arabella was waiting for him in the hall. He stood for a perplexed moment, staring at her in all her best finery. “Am I missing something?”
“I’ve planned a surprise for you, Louis. Go upstairs and change, and we can—”
“I’m not in the mood for surprises, Bella. In the future, you would do well to check with me before you schedule my time.” With that curt reprisal, he stalked around her and into his study. He didn’t want to acknowledge the way her quiet gasp of hurt speared to the heart of him. He was feeling low enough because his failure could well cost him his happiness and her her very life. He poured himself a glass of spirits, thinking the alcohol might calm him, but one taste only frustrated him further and he pitched the glass, contents and all, into the fire grate, where it made a satisfactory crash and flare. Then he dropped into a chair, chewing on his anxiety. It would be dark soon. How was he going to protect his own?
He gave a slight start when Arabella’s hand slid across his knees. She’d knelt beside his chair in a pool of sarcenet to rest her head upon his lap. When his sur
prise faded, a remarkable sense of peace crept in. He let his knuckles rub along her soft cheek, and her sigh was a sweet curative.
“I’m sorry, Bella. I’ve ruined your evening.”
“No such thing,” she chided gently. She caught his hand, pressed a quick kiss to it, then continued to hold it tucked beneath her chin. He could feel her pulse throb a lulling rhythm. “It was presumptuous of me. If you are weary and would rather stay in tonight—”
Stay in. Was that what he wanted? Like bait in a trap? Waiting for them to come?
“No,” he announced abruptly. Arabella lifted to look up at him in askance. “And spoil the surprise? What have you in mind, little one? I could use the distraction.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. I didn’t mean to be such an ogre. Forgive me.”
“Forgiven.” And she was up in a trice, tugging on his hands. “You must hurry then. Put on your evening attire. We must leave posthaste.”
Smiling at her enthusiasm, he allowed his humor to be coaxed as she all but dragged him to the stairs. Then she turned to him, planting a firm, will-rattling kiss upon his lips.
“I love you, Louis. Hurry.”
THE MOMENT THE first aria began, Arabella said a private word of thanks to Takeo. Louis relaxed back into his opera box seat and let the beauty of his home language rush over him. His poignant expression was worth every bit of trouble it had taken to secure the coveted spot at the last moment. Catalani’s appearances at the King’s Theatre always packed the house from the pit to the fifth tier. It was a place the fashionable came to be seen, and as a new countess, Arabella should have basked in the attention. Yet she was grateful for the dimming of the lights so she could share a private moment with the man at her side.
