While Vlad was the true King, there was another claimant lurking in the wings. The Pretender, Vilhelm, to whom they might one day be forced to bend their knee if Vlad proved unable to hold his people together.
The killings were making Vlad look weak, as if he could not protect his people. And if Vilhelm attacked openly, Vlad would present his neck for the blade rather than take his people into another civil war. The Wars of the Races had decimated their number so badly it was a wonder they were not extinct.
“I need the killer’s scent.” Each time a vampire died, the scent of the killer was so faint as to be indistinguishable. It was why Anton spent his nights roaming the streets, hoping to be attacked. “I can’t understand why no one has seen anything.” He hesitated to voice his growing worry, but it had to be said. “Is it possible someone is using magic?” Magical powers, once commonplace, had faded to a distant memory after the Wars caused their ban.
“Magic is forbidden,” Vlad said. “And besides, who is there left to practice the arcane arts? We wiped them all out.”
Dryden staggered over and sprawled on the steps below the King’s throne. He pointed up at the ceiling. “They didn’t like that we did that, did they? Perhaps that is why we are forsaken.”
“Shut up, Dryden,” Sergai growled. He turned to Anton. “Magic? Is that your excuse for failure? Perhaps what we need is a new King’s Blade. One who can—”
“Enough,” Vlad said, his voice icy. He clenched his fist on his knee, then looked around at the members of his Cabinet, his chosen counsellors. “What of the Weres? Could they be helping Vilhelm?”
The Weres were a wily race. They used their animals for disguise and were certainly capable of leaving a false trail.
“They might be, though they are as deeply divided as we are,” Prince David said. “There has been nothing to suggest they are in this country.” He rose to his feet. “I understand that it might be difficult to believe one individual is responsible for all of these deaths.” He paused when Anton tensed. “But I am putting my vote behind a vampire gone bad. Count Grazki will no doubt find him in time and bring to him to the King’s justice.”
Time was not on their side if Vlad was to keep his throne.
The King raised his gaze to meet that of his cousin. “Perhaps you are right. It would certainly be the best outcome, but you have to admit these deaths have the flavour of an orchestrated plan intended to throw us into confusion.” He grimaced. “If that is the case, it appears to be working.”
“I think Vilhelm is making his move,” Anton said. “I just need to catch one of them in the act.”
“Perhaps you are too busy chasing boys with blood fever,” Sergai said, curling his lip. “And letting humans see us.”
The cold inside Anton expanded. Sergai was right. He had made a mistake at a time when his King relied on him to be infallible.
“I will deal with the woman.” A cold fist clenched in gut as he recalled that diminutive figure running to help the girl on the ground. Courage in the face of Anton’s menacing presence. Bravery would have a grim reward. A bitter taste filled his mouth.
“See that you do,” the King said rising to his feet.
He did not have to utter his threat. It was always there. The promise of a sentence as yet to be carried out.
Anton bowed low and pressed his palm against his heart. “As you command, so it will be done, my King.”
While Vlad’s lack of trust did not surprise Anton, it was one of the few things that could cause him pain. A crack in the chill of black ice around his heart.
In their childhood, he and Vlad had been friends, as close as brothers. Anton had knowingly broken the bond. And while Vlad had saved his life, eventually the loss of trust between them would lead to his slow and painful death.
CHAPTER TWO
THE BRECKONRIDGE BALL was one of the highlights of the season, according to Lord Orrick. So naturally Caroline simply had to attend. And thus so did Sybil.
Sybil plied her fan with vigour. If she did not, she was sure she would pass out from the inhalation of heavy perfumes, the stink of stale sweat or from the heat in the overcrowded rooms.
“What a crush!” Caroline said, craning her neck in hopes of discovering her acquaintances.
“Dreadful,” Sybil said. So far it had been a horrible experience. First their coach had lined up for an hour before they could be let down at the front steps. Then there had been a queue of some fifty guests winding their way up the stairs to the first floor landing where the Duke of Breckonridge and his duchess waited to greet them. Finally, having been admitted to the ballroom, they discovered such vast numbers of people, movement was nigh impossible.
Nearby, packed into an alcove that she imagined usually held some sort of statue, a quartet were adding to the hubbub of noise.
“They can’t possibly expect people to dance in here,” Sybil said.
“They do,” Lord Orrick said, his pale blue eyes twinkling. He leaned closer. “There is a ballroom set aside for it. This is the antechamber.”
Sybil’s jaw dropped. She had realized the house set in its own grounds on the road to Richmond was magnificent, but she hadn’t realized it was quite so vast.
Caroline bounced on her toes. “But how is one to find a partner? There are just too many people.”
“They’ll find you soon enough,” her father said. “But it might help if we made our way in that general direction, if it is dancing you have your heart set on, child.”
Caroline nodded her agreement
Sybil’s heart sank. Acting as chaperon to Caroline normally taxed Sybil to the limits of her ingenuity. In this press of people, it would be positively nightmarish. Look at the way she had disappeared at Vauxhall. An image of dangerously dark eyes set in a stern handsome face filled her mind. A series of prickles ran across her shoulders. She kept seeing his face. Waking and sleeping. Accompanied by surges of warmth and flutters low in her abdomen. And yet she also kept wondering whether he had intended that girl, Millie, some sort of harm, and had only been prevented in his nefarious deed by Sybil’s arrival.
His shock upon her arrival at the scene had her worried. A man dealing with a fainting female would normally be only too pleased at the sight of rescue. And then there had been the hint of male appreciation in his expression as his gaze travelled over her. Not something she was used to. Members of the ton usually ignored modestly gowned chaperons. She preferred it that way.
Lord Orrick carved them a path through the tightly packed room to the next room where the dancing was to take place. Here the French windows were flung open and the air was both fresher and cooler.
Orrick smiled down at his daughter. “Now, missy, I trust you to do just as Miss Sybil tells you. No more, no less. Promise me?”
“Of course, Papa.” The guileless expression on Caro’s face belied the twinkle in her eyes.
“Dearest,” Sybil said. “You will not find me a tartar in this regard, but I care for your reputation. If you slip away from me tonight, I shall be forced to give up my position of chaperon in favour of your aunt.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “You would not.”
“I fear I must.”
Orrick’s face became grave. “I might be forced to agree that it would be for the best.”
Sybil and Orrick had discuss the issue the morning after Vauxhall. Caroline hated her spinster aunt. The woman was a dragon indeed. But Caroline would not dare disobey her. No one dared. Not even Orrick, since she was the elder of the two.
Caroline huffed out a breath. “I promise I will be good, Papa.”
“That is all I ask,” the Earl said. He bowed to Sybil. “Send for me in the card room, if you should have need of my presence. I will return to take you to supper.” He plunged into the throng and disappeared from sight.
Her charge looked around eagerly. “I still don’t see anyone—Oh look, there’s Miss Davenport and her mother. Shall we join them?”
Miss Lizzie Davenport
was an unexceptional young woman. It was also her first season and the two girls had become friends. Sybil nodded her assent. They eased their way past a group of chattering matrons and greeted the Davenport ladies. The two girls quickly put their heads together, complimenting each other in their appearance and trading confidences. Mrs Davenport was a sensible woman and she gave Sybil an understanding smile.
The debutantes were soon surrounded by young gentlemen keen to serve as dancing partners. All of them were known to Sybil and all of them would have been approved by the earl. She let go a sigh of relief.
“It is lovely to see them enjoying themselves,” Mrs Davenport said with an indulgent smile. “Soon enough they will have to bear the responsibility for home and children.”
Sybil nodded. “Not too soon, I hope. I am not sure Lord Orrick is anxious to see his daughter out of his house.”
“Poor Orrick. Tragic about his wife. He should probably be thinking about marrying again, though, if he is to have an heir. There is Mrs Farradin. She lost her husband to the war, you know. She would suit Orrick admirably.”
After which neither Caroline nor Orrick would have any further need for her services. Uneasy at the turn of conversation, Sybil smiled politely, but did not venture a comment. Orrick would marry again. He must if he wanted an heir. And Sybil would depart. Despite her title, without great beauty to commend her, or fortune to tempt a man, the chances of her finding a husband from among the gentlemen of the ton were negligible. Nor did she want to be married. It was hard enough hiding her secret when she was single.
“Oh, there is my dear friend Mrs Phillips,” Mrs Davenport said. “I have been wanting to ask about her milliner for days. Will you watch the girls while I speak with her?”
“Of course.”
The matron moved away. Sybil kept her gaze firmly fixed on her charge. A movement outside one of the French doors leading to a balcony caught the corner of her eye. The flicker of a shadow. A man, standing just outside, watching... her?
She gasped and took a half step back. It was him. The man from Vauxhall. King Vlad’s equerry. The instant he realized she had seen him, he stepped over the threshold into the ballroom. A breeze tugged at this coat, and his outline blurred for a second.
She frowned. What was he doing outside, alone. Getting some air? She should have expected he might be in attendance tonight. A man of such exalted position would be invited to all the best parties. And having seen her, it seemed he planned to renew their acquaintance.
Her heart fluttered wildly, the urge to run tugging at her feet. She planted them firmly in place. They were in a ballroom full of people, what on earth did she have to fear? And besides, he could not be one of those Others. It wasn’t possible. She only ever saw them lurking around in shadows.
When he reached her side, he bowed. “Mademoiselle. Forgive me. We have not been introduced, but since we have met,” amusement coloured those deep dark tones with their delicious accent, “I decided that without a common acquaintance, I must introduce myself. Count Anton Grazki, at your service. I must thank you for your aid the other evening.” He held out a hand.
Blushing and tongue-tied, Sybil allowed him to wrap her gloved hand in his and raised it to his lips in courtly fashion. His eyes were not black as she had thought, but very dark brown with a burst of gold around the pupil. The intensity of his gaze seemed to draw her in and open to him her every thought, her every hope. With difficulty she broke their spell. “Sybil Lofstrom, Count.” She never used her courtesy title. It seemed ridiculous when her cousin was now the Earl in her father’s place. She dipped a respectful curtsey. “It was little enough that I did for the poor girl. She recovered even as the watchman arrived. He seemed to know her.”
His eyes darkened. He seemed about to say something and then thought better of it. “By the time I returned, you had departed. I discovered Millie’s direction from the Watch the next day. You will be pleased to hear she is none the worse for her encounter.”
“Encounter?”
“An over-enthusiastic young gentleman, I gather.” His eyes widened, his gaze locked with hers. “You do not think I caused the girl to faint,” he murmured softly.
Doubts faded like mist. She felt strangely dizzy and struggled to focus. “The watchman thought she had imbibed strong spirits.” She frowned. “But there was something odd.”
His gaze sharpened. “Odd?”
She frowned, trying to recall exactly what had caught her attention. “Blood. On the shoulder of her gown. A few spots. Yet there was no wound to be seen.”
He raised a brow. “I did not notice. An old stain, perhaps? She was not, I think, a girl of Quality.”
His tact surprised her. “No, not one of the Beau Monde certainly. But the blood was fresh. Perhaps there was an assailant. Perhaps she wounded him?”
He smiled thinly. “It is quite possible. Those unlit walks are ripe for crime. Not a place any young lady should wander?”
She bristled. “Why, sir, do you question my presence?”
“How can you think it, when I was so very grateful for your timely arrival?”
“But you do wonder. I can see it in your expression.” She smiled ruefully. “And while no one would question a gentleman’s presence in such a dark place, I find I have to justify mine.”
He dipped his head. “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle. I intend no insult.”
A quick breath calmed her irritation, particularly in the face of his obviously sincere apology. “Truth be told, I was seeking Lady Caroline. My charge.” She nodded at the little group of girls. “The young lady in white with the blue sash. I am her chaperon.”
An expression of surprise crossed his face. “She is lovely. To give you the responsibility of such a spirited young lady close to your own age, seems unwise. I beg your pardon. I let my tongue speak when it should be silent.”
His old fashioned courtesy was charming and likely to be the ruin of her if she was not careful. “While I appreciate the compliment, Count, I can assure you I am more than old enough for the task.”
A brief twinkle of gold in his eyes, though his expression remained severe. “I have been instructed to never argue with a lady.”
Drat the man, he still thought she was too young. Lord Orrick had been similarly concerned when she had first applied for the position of companion to Lady Caroline. If this man expressed similar doubts to her employer, she might be looking for a new position sooner than she expected.
“You are right about the dangers of Vauxhall. Hence my concern for Lady Caroline’s welfare. I was surprised to find a gentleman such as yourself leaning over the body of a young woman in the darkest of the walks?” Two could play at the game of innuendo.
A dark eyebrow winged up. He inclined his head. “It is likely a matter that should be forgotten.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “It seems we have come to an understanding.”
She waved her fan briskly to cool the heat in her cheeks. “This is such a squeeze, isn’t it? Have you been with King Vlad in London from the first?”
He hesitated. “You know I am a member of King Vlad’s staff?”
Clearly he had not noticed her at the Regent’s banquet, though she had been unable to look away from him. More heat rushed to her face. Only by clenching her fan did she prevent herself from pressing a palm to her heated cheeks. “You were at Carlton House. Standing behind him.”
His eyes widened. He looked appalled. “You saw me there?”
“I was a guest.” Did he think it the sort of thing a mere chaperon should not attend? “I assumed you were his equerry or some such.”
“Some such, indeed.” He sounded wryly amused and his gaze turned inward for a moment, as if trying to remember something. “You were sitting at the far end of the table, were you not.” He nodded. “Beside your charge. I am sorry, I did not at first recall.”
Her pulse fluttered at the idea that he had seen her and remembered, or was prepared to pretend he did rather tha
n offer a snub. “Yes. I was.”
The band struck up a lively tune. He bowed. “May I have this dance?”
Longing filled her. She hadn’t danced for years. It was something she had missed.
Caroline was already moving onto the dance floor with her chosen partner. Gentlemen of the ton did not ask chaperons to dance. As a foreigner, likely he did not understand that as a paid companion, she was not a suitable partner. “I do not dance.”
His dark brows drew together. “Because you cannot? Or by choice?”
Oh dear, he sounded almost insulted. How did one explain? “I must watch Lady Caroline.”
“You can watch her from the dance floor, surely?” A slow smile curved his lips, his eyes with their beautiful sunburst centre so intent, she felt as if she alone in the room held his attention. No man had ever looked at her quite in that way. A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine.
And he was right. She could watch Caroline as easily while dancing as she could from the outskirts.
She took a deep breath, met his gaze full on and dipped a curtsey. “You are most persuasive, Count Grazki.”
“You are tres gentil, mademoiselle,” he said, using the old fashioned form ma demoiselle, my lady, his voice so velvety it felt like a brush over her skin. He tucked her hand under his arm and walked her to a set forming on the other side of the dance floor.
What did he mean, she was kind?
He must have seen her puzzlement, because he looked down at her with amusement in his face. “You take pity on a stranger to London. It is a kindness, yes?”
Her stomach fluttered. It seemed it was much more than kindness guiding her actions. She hoped she wasn’t making a dreadful mistake. Any hint of scandal or wrongdoing and she could lose her position.
Next time she would refuse him.
If there was a next time.
Anton’s suspicions about this young woman had been thoroughly and unpleasantly confirmed. For days he’d hunted for her, hampered by not knowing her name. He’d been glad to find her here, yet disappointed to have his suspicions confirmed. He’d intended only to watch her from the balcony. Safely cloaked from human eyes, no one in that room should have had the least notion of his presence outside the French windows. She’d seen him within moments of his arrival. Caught in a glance of her lustrous eyes, he’d almost forgotten to let the shadows go as he stepped inside the ballroom. A child’s mistake.
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