by Mary Balogh
Whatever his reply, it was lost in the sounds of clapping and conversation. As they walked to the dance floor, she noticed that he was just a bit taller than she was, and that his shoulders were broad. He filled out his waistcoat rather handily. Although the buttons were not strained, the brocaded fabric hadn’t much room to expand. He was a very solid, square-shaped man. Very capable of saving the day if need be.
As they stepped into their positions and the orchestra began to play, Caroline felt her cheeks flush and her heart quicken.
This was why she’d begged her mother to allow her to come to Bath. To have escaped the boredom of the summer at their small estate and come here, where there was so much to see and do… Caroline was nearly as giddy now as she had been when Mrs. Argenot had secured her mother’s permission for her to join them on their visit.
The only thing that would make this visit even more perfect, besides confirming Mr. Thornton as a serious beau, would be if she actually uncovered some sort of Gothic plot and rescued a hapless prisoner, locked away in a dark cellar or tall, round tower…or if she espied a vampire.
Not that she wanted to see a vampire, of course. But after reading Dr. Polidori’s story, and the even more disturbing novel by Mr. Starcasset, she was certain that the undead mingled, unrecognized, within Society…just as evil husbands locked up their poor, dear wives or grandmothers or sons like they did in those horrid Gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe or Mrs. Tenet.
And Caroline was not about to be taken by surprise.
As she lifted the hem of her skirt, twirled away from Mr. Thornton and took three hop-skip steps, she saw him.
A tall, dark-haired man with fair skin…very fair skin, as if he didn’t go out in the sunlight…standing in the corner.
Watching.
Watching her.
CHAPTER 2
“WHAT A LOVELY DAY IT IS,” ISOBEL THORNTON trilled as she linked her arm through Caroline’s. She held an umbrella in her hand, and it bumped against Caroline’s own parasol as they walked.
Despite gray drizzle, the streets of Bath were filled with gaily dressed ladies, escorted by nattily dressed men or plainly garbed maids. They carried bags and boxes from shopping trips and skirted the dirt and puddles in the street.
Caroline looked at her new friend and barely contained a smile. A lovely day? The only thing that would make it worse would be if the overcast sky opened up and turned the drizzle into a full downpour. Which it had done late last night and into the morning.
“At least the rain has eased up a bit,” she said to Isobel. “I was certain we would have to cancel our walk if it didn’t stop.” She glanced down at the ground, noticing the damp edges of her hem. She wasn’t going to look at her slippers, for she knew what state they would be in.
Surprising that Isobel hadn’t commented on what must be another pair of ruined footwear.
“Mr. Merrill was such a delight,” Isobel said. “Your brother carried my umbrella for me when we walked in the rain one day. I am so happy that you and I are finally acquainted! He spoke so kindly of you, Caroline, dear Caroline. I felt like I already knew you when we at last met! And I have been wanting to meet you for so long!”
Caroline skirted a rather ominous-looking puddle. “He is a very kind man,” she replied. “Very—”
“And now we are inseparable, you and I,” Isobel continued. “We have the same interests and thoughts about everything! And what a lovely frock you are wearing today. It reminds me of the one I was wearing the very first time I met Mr. Merrill. It was yellow, splashed with tiny purple flowers and three rows of flounces at the hem. He complimented me on it, and of course, I demurred…but secretly, I was overcome that he even noticed it!”
They had walked all along Pulteney Street and were now coming to the old Roman baths. “Shall we stop in and see them?” asked Caroline when Isobel paused for breath. “I haven’t had the occasion, as we just arrived two days ago.”
“Oh, no, I don’t fancy going in there. I’ve been so many times before, and it is so warm and close, and the air simply smells like sulfur and heat. It’s very unpleasant. My hair will flatten out into long strips and will look a terrible fright!”
Despite the fact that Caroline yearned to see what had been public baths for the ancient Romans, and that Isobel herself had insisted only the night before that they would visit them, she was more loath to quit Isobel’s companionship. So, despite her interest in investigating the baths, she adjusted her umbrella so that the little drips didn’t dampen her shoulders and continued to stroll along with her new friend.
“Do you like to read?” she asked as Isobel paused from her discourse on the first walk she took with Robbie…up the street and around the corner, beyond the baker’s—where Robbie bought her a little cake—and on to the milliner’s, where he was kind enough to wait while she tried on several smart little spring hats….
“Read?” Isobel said in surprise. “But of course.”
Caroline smiled in delight. Happy day! “I am so glad that we share that interest. My mother claims I’m never to be found without a book in hand, and although that isn’t strictly true—”
“Oh, indeed! My mother says exactly the same. I just love books.”
“My favorites are those horrid Gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe,” Caroline confessed. “And those by Mrs. Tenet, as well.”
“Oh, yes, indeed! I love those books, as well. I’m certain Mr. Merrill knows what a great reader you are, and that we have so much in common.”
But Caroline, having embarked on her favorite subject of all, had more to say. “I have read them all so many times, but my favorite is Udolpho. Did you see the man last night, in the corner? He looked just as I pictured Montoni would be.”
“Oh, my gracious, I couldn’t agree more!” Isobel trilled. “He was so handsome and charming.”
“I am speaking of the one with the hooked nose. He had such dark brows, and a way of looking at people… I was sure he was Montoni, that horrible man. He looks just the type to lock his wife away in a tower.”
“Oh,” Isobel said. “Oh, indeed. I couldn’t agree more. And, look! Oh, look, Caroline! There is my own brother. Why, he could not stop talking about you last night, and here he is. He has found us. I rather suspected he might. You,” she said, looking at Caroline hard enough that she felt a warm flush over her cheeks, “have acquired an admirer.”
Hardly had the words settled in and Caroline’s attention flew to the smart barouche that trundled along the street than Isobel raised her hand and waved. “James! James!”
The mud-spattered conveyance rolled up and Mr. Thornton tipped his hat. “What a pleasant surprise, Miss Merrill. It is such a dreary day, without a ray of sun in sight, but I thought perhaps you might wish a bit of a drive.”
“Indeed she does! If for no other reason than to save her hems,” Isobel said with a vivacious smile. “I shall come on as chaperone, of course, but come now, Caro! Let us go for a ride.”
Caroline could hardly believe her fortune, for it was eminently obvious that Mr. Thornton had indeed sought them out…and dare she hope that it was she in particular?
Mr. Thornton clambered down from his perch, holding the reins looped over his hand, and helped Caroline climb into the high seat. Isobel followed, and then Mr. Thornton walked over to the other side and regained his place, putting Caroline in the middle.
The light carriage started off with a bit of a jolt, sending a trickle of rain careening off the edge of the roof behind them.
“We have been walking all morning, James,” Isobel announced. “What a delight that you found us.” She adjusted her skirt again. “We walked all along Pulteney and then went to the milliner’s, but it’s a small shop and didn’t have anything worth looking at. We had no wish to go into that awful dark and close bath spa, did we, Caroline? Even though it’s so wet. But now you’ve come along, dear James, and we can see the sights without mussing our slippers.”
“Mmph,” he replied as he navigated the horse
s down the center of the street. “Had to see to some business before I came out.”
“I declare, the smell on this street is simply revolting,” exclaimed Isobel. “Whatever have they dumped in the mews? Hurry on, James, get us past this horrible place.”
“Are you fond of hounds, Miss Merrill?” Mr. Thornton asked.
Caroline jumped, for she hadn’t expected him to direct a comment at her, and her attention had been caught by a tall, darkly garbed figure. He’d been walking along briskly, the drizzle gathering at the curling edges of his hat and sparkling on the shoulders of his cloak. She recognized him straight away from the dance last night.
Not the man with the hooked nose, who brought to mind Montoni, but the one who’d been watching her and Mr. Thornton as they made their way through the steps of the quadrille. The pale-visaged one who looked just as Caroline had imagined the vampire Lord Ruthven to look.
“Er,” she said, turning to gaze at the man as their carriage passed by. “Hounds? I cannot say that I know much about them.” Other than the fact that they jumped all over one’s gowns and employed their tongues in quite a sloppy manner.
The man on the street glanced up for a moment and their eyes met, his dark and steady beneath the brim of his hat. Even from a distance, she recognized disdain in his expression. She shivered and pulled her eyes away, her heart beating as shock buzzed through her.
If he were indeed a vampire, she must take care not to look directly at him. According to what she’d learned, the undead were known for being able to enthrall a mortal being with their eyes alone. But it was also well-known—to anyone who’d read Dr. Polidori’s or Mr. Starcasset’s stories, at any rate—that vampires were only able to come out at night. Exposure to the sun was…
Caroline blinked. But of course. There was no sun today; or at least, what little light shone was buffered, filtered through heavy clouds and rain. Perhaps with a hat to protect one from the direct sun, and gloves, of course, even the undead could walk the streets of Bath during the day.
“—do you not, Miss Merrill?”
With a start, Caroline realized that Mr. Thornton had been discoursing on some subject… What was it? Her mind scrambled to recall, and quickly settled on hounds. However, she hadn’t any idea what he had just asked her.
So Caroline responded, “Mmm…indeed, Mr. Thornton, what do you think?” hoping that he hadn’t just spent the last few moments telling her just that.
But even if he had, she’d learned from watching her mother manage conversations with her father, uncles and brothers that men never seemed to tire giving their opinions about anything. Even if they had just given them. This propensity thus enabled a woman to retreat to her own thoughts whilst they sermonized.
She sighed as Mr. Thornton launched into a treatise on the proper color of a hound. Not that Caroline had ever heard of a white-spotted beagle being a better hunter than a brown-spotted one, but, apparently, it made a difference to Mr. Thornton.
If her own family, and her limited experience with young men—and now Mr. Thornton—were to be any indication, it appeared that Caroline was doomed to a life of listening.
The rest of the carriage ride included Mr. Thornton’s opinions on new boots and Isobel’s classification of each dress shop that they passed as worthy of being patronized or not.
Despite her lack of participation in the conversation, Caroline enjoyed the opportunity to ride with her new friend and her potential beau, and realized that it was her own fault that she had been left out of the discussions because her mind had continued to drift to that gentleman she’d seen on the street.
She shivered just as the barouche stopped in front of the house that the Argenots had let.
“Oh, dear, I do hope you aren’t getting a chill, my dearest Caro,” Isobel said. “I would hate for anything to disrupt our going to the theater tomorrow night. You will join us, won’t you?”
“Oh,” Caroline replied in specious delight. “I should so love to, but of course, I must acquire permission from Mr. and Mrs. Argenot before I accept your invitation.”
“But they must join us,” said Mr. Thornton immediately. “Of course, there is room enough in our box.”
Thus, Caroline could not have been happier when she entered the little bungalow and told Mrs. Argenot about the invitation.
“But of course we shall attend! How kind of them. Mr. Argenot will make his excuses, but you and I will of course accept. I shall send word around right away.”
And so it was arranged that the next night, Caroline and Mrs. Argenot would be called for by the Thorntons in their carriage.
Mrs. Argenot, however, had a bit of the headache that night, which kept Caroline home from the Upper Assembly Rooms, which was another place to go, dance and be seen. “But I am certain I shall be right as rain in the morning,” her older cousin told her. “And we shall go to visit the bath spa before luncheon, as it is a shame you did not get there today.”
Caroline didn’t mind missing the evening at the Upper Rooms anyway, for Mr. Thornton had already indicated that he was otherwise engaged. Instead, she stayed up much too late and read the entirety of one of her favorite novels by Mrs. Radcliffe.
And that night, she dreamt of the man with the hooked nose laughing as he locked her into a room with barred windows…and the dark-haired man from the street slipping through the bars like tendrils of smoke and bending over her bare neck in the night. Fangs gleamed and his eyes burned red and he still wore the same curly-brimmed hat as he laughed and laughed.
CHAPTER 3
THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT AND SUNNY. Of course, Caroline did not actually see that event, for she was long abed after her late-night reading and the ensuing dreams. But when she actually awoke and dressed and joined Mrs. Argenot in the dining room for a late breakfast, the yellow sun gave such a cheer to the room that Caroline nearly laughed with joy.
Only three days in Bath, and she had already made a friend and had met a handsome, well-appointed young man who seemed more than passingly interested in her. And she had an invitation to the theater this very night. As well, Caroline was certain that there was an adventure to be had, or a mystery to be solved, with the hook-nosed man (whose wife was locked in the tower) or the man from the street and his obvious vampiric tendencies.
All in all, even if it were the cloudiest of days, Caroline would have been in high spirits.
Less than an hour after breaking their fast, Caroline and Mrs. Argenot strolled along the street toward the ruins of the Roman bath spa. Feeling quite the thing in a pale blue lawn with a single white flounce and the most cunning little butterflies embroidered on her sleeves, Caro had a matching spring in her step.
Inside the spa, which was underground, she found it crowded with visitors, dark and close, and endlessly fascinating. The brick walls had long been colored rust from the iron in the water, and the steam did indeed make the air muggy and smell of sulfur—as Isobel had claimed—but Caroline didn’t find it as unappealing as her friend.
“I do think I must get a bit of air,” Mrs. Argenot said, fanning her face, which looked alarmingly pink. Of necessity, she leaned closer than normal, for the low rumble of constant conversation, along with the tumbling water, was picked up by the cavernous space, making the sounds expand and echo.
“May I stay for a bit longer?” Caroline asked. “I wanted to look at the Sacred Temple again.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t want to spoil your fun,” the older woman told her with a smile. “Stay as long as you like. I shall sit in the garden under the rose pergola and enjoy the butterflies.”
Thus Caroline was sitting on one of the stone benches along the edge of the bath, quite out of the way and in shadow, watching the parades of visitors streaming by, when she saw him.
Him. The man from the street, the man with the curly-brimmed hat and the pale skin.
A strange prickle went over her shoulders and Caroline found herself pressing more deeply into the alcove in which she sat. H
e couldn’t see her from his position, but she had an excellent view of him as he strode through with great purpose. He was very tall, and today a dark coat covered his broad shoulders, but he was without a hat or gloves.
Rather than taking his time to admire the work of the ancient Romans, he seemed to be intent on something else, for he walked through quickly, glancing only cursorily at the other tourists as he wove between and around them.
Was he stalking his prey? Was there a young woman who had become separated from her party that he had homed in on, with his superior undead powers? Was he now hurrying to lure her into a dark corner before her companions missed her?
Caroline felt a shiver cast over her shoulders, quite ignoring the fact that she herself met that basic description. Instead, she dug into her impossibly large reticule, feeling around for the wooden stake…but then she recalled that she’d removed it before embarking on her walk with Isobel the day before. Out in daylight, she hadn’t expected to need such a weapon. And she’d forgotten to return it to its place. Fiddlesticks.
It was sunny today, but the spa was dark. How long had he been lurking here, under cover of the shadows, waiting for his opportunity? Perhaps he even slept here, hiding when the doors were locked for the evening. This would be a most convenient place for a vampire to live if he did not have his coffin nearby.
She was ready to close her reticule in disgust when her fingers brushed the silver cross. Yanking it from the bag, Caroline stood and, heart pounding, she slinked from the dark alcove and began to follow in the footsteps of the man.
Skirting around clusters of people, she gripped the cross and hurried as quickly as she dared. But a new influx of tourists had arrived, and of course they had all settled in a deep crowd in the very spot through which she must pass in order to follow her quarry.
Caroline found it nearly impossible to be polite as she edged her way into the mass of people. No sooner had she inserted herself halfway into the group than the crowd, in its entirety, seemed to move like a large lumbering cow along the very pathway through which she had just walked, and Caroline was jostled along with them in the opposite direction to which she desired to go.
