For Sybil it would be nothing but a lot of work getting her charge ready.
But the thought of seeing Anton again—
Another stab of pain.
Moonlight picnics. It appeared the King’s event had been such a success, it had started a fashion. Now every member of the ton had decided to emulate the novel form of entertainment, laying themselves out like a banquet. What on earth had he been thinking when he proposed it as a way to flush out a suspected rogue vampire? It was all right to tempt their target to Vlad’s gardens where Anton had guards aplenty to help him capture an out of control addict. Quite another to defend the Beau Monde in their own homes from an overdosed vampire on a rampage. Or their vampire guests from an unknown assassin.
A bad mistake, as Sergai had been quick to point out.
Slowly, because of his inability to catch the killer, he was losing the trust of the Court. Even Vlad, his old friend, grew colder day by day under the influence of Sergai and others. Feared by most, hated by some, he was a man the King had to stand apart from. Centuries of distance were eroding the friendship he’d once thought inviolable.
Hopefully tonight would be the end to it. The attacker would attempt a strike at this party. Anton was ready. He would dispense the necessary justice and life for all would return to normal.
A bell rang deep in the Citadel announcing dusk. Time to prepare.
He dressed with care. Pinned the Star of Valour on his chest. A symbol of his birth. A sign of his worth. Awarded long ago. Before—
He pushed the regret from his mind. It was what it was.
Sybil might be at this event.
He froze.
If so, she wouldn’t remember their kiss. The hollowness inside him pushed painfully at his breastbone. A deep sense of loss he had not felt since his family undertook the ceremony of disowning. It could have been worse. Without Vlad’s support, he would have been cast into the pit. He owed everything to Vlad and he could not let a pretty face interfere with his duty.
He drew in a long deep breath and left his spartan quarters for the streets of London. He travelled the five miles to the Davenport Thameside villa in Vlad’s carriage.
Irritating to travel that way, when he could have got there in a quarter of the time had he travelled on foot, but such wasn’t the way of a King’s representative. He had to arrive with all due pomp and ceremony. He must be seen to be just like his hosts and play the courtier, while his senses sought the presence of an assassin on a different level of consciousness.
His hostess greeted him as if he was the King himself. In the receiving line, he smiled at the daughter and spoke a few words with the parents. Mrs Davenport simpered and batted her eyelashes. “You will find most of our guests in the garden, Count.”
He bowed and moved on.
A footman announced his entry to the ballroom. The windows to the garden were thrown wide, thank the gods. Lanterns glittered among the trees and around an ornamental lake. A band played on the veranda so the music could be heard indoors and out. He stepped into the warm evening air and breathed deep.
Night air. Roses. And the unique scent of Sybil.
She was here. Somewhere among the shifting crowds wandering the gardens or dancing on the lawn.
The darkness inside him swirled and shifted. His canines tingled, the thirst for her blood a compulsion.
At all costs, he must avoid her.
He scanned the guests, looking only for those who should not be here, or so he told himself. But it was not a rogue vampire or an assassin his gaze honed in on. It was a delicate creature of light and grace standing at the edge of the lawn.
Their gazes met. Mine.
His blood heated. His fangs lengthened. His cock hardened.
He wanted.
The danger was clear. He must cut the connection.
He turned away. A human woman nearby deliberately caught his eye. Not young, but not old. An attractive woman with a roving eye. A woman who had more than once tried to seduce him into her bed. He smiled and bowed. “Would you care to dance, my lady.”
Her smile was triumphant, her eyes greedy as they took him in. Many human females found something about vampires irresistible, though they didn’t realize that the object they desired was not of their race. This was one of them. He could smell her arousal.
Cold distaste filled him.
He hadn’t had a woman in long long years, not even for the casual release he was permitted, and he certainly wanted nothing from this one, other than to use her as a distraction. To make it clear to himself and others, he had no interest whatsoever in Miss Lofstrom. Since he was required to eliminate her, he wanted nothing to link their names. The band struck the opening chords of a waltz and he led the woman, Lady Anstruther he now recalled, onto the dance floor.
They spun amid the other dancers, his gaze fixed on hers, her lids drooping, her body flushed and ready, when all he could sense was the ethereal presence of the woman who had looked at him, felt pain and looked away.
Mine. He hissed out a breath of frustration.
Mistaking it for desire, his partner licked her lips. “I know a place...” she murmured.
The idea filled him with revulsion.
The dance came to an end. He smiled, held her gaze and with surgical precision, excised the memory of their dance, and added the suggestion she longed for a glass of champagne.
She drifted away.
Anton realized Miss Lofstrom had left the lawn. Her scent wafted towards him from the depth of the formal gardens.
As did the unmistakable odour of a vampire.
The hairs at the back of his neck prickled. Danger.
CHAPTER FOUR
SYBIL DIDN’T KNOW why the sight of the Count dancing with Lady Anstruther had caused her pain. Her headache had lessened during the course of the last few days. Until now.
Surely she wasn’t pining after such a man. She walked deeper into the garden, away from the sight of him dancing.
Only the moon lit her way. The twinkling lights surrounding the lawn glittered like stars in the distance. The sound of the music carried on the breeze. The scent of roses swirled around her. And lavender. She inhaled deeply.
It was nonsense to feel hurt. She had seen the man three times, and one of those in positively unsavoury circumstances. Though he had danced with her, it was but once, and clearly she had made little impression. The thought that others might put her in the same basket as the woman whom he now held in his arms sent a shudder of distaste rippling through her body.
Paid companions had been turned out of their positions for far less than a single dance.
Yet, unaccountably, her heart hurt worse than her head.
A movement ahead. She halted. The flagstone path gleamed as white as bone. Shrubs and bushes crouched on either side like threatening beasts. A shadow detached itself. Obviously male. He stalked towards her, his footsteps strangely making no sound.
The closer he came, his black cape falling from his shoulders and swirling around his legs, the more blurred his outline became.
One of the Others.
The anger she’d been suppressing at Count Grazki’s obvious dismissal when his gaze had moved right past her, rose up in a hot tide. “What do you want?”
The creature stilled, clearly startled by her challenge.
Should she turn and run? But from what she’d seen of these beings, she could not outrun him. They moved faster than the wind. “Leave me alone.”
The man gave a swift shake of his head as if trying to clear his vision. He drew his cloak tighter, causing more of that shimmering blur and stepped closer. “Who are you, pretty lady?” His voice was soft and heavily accented. “What are you?”
One stride brought him three feet closer.
She glanced around wildly. Run. No point. Her heart pounded in her chest. “If you do not leave, I shall call for a footman.” she was proud of how calm her voice sounded despite her inner trembles.
“You smell so go
od,” the man said whispered. He licked his lips, looking at her throat.
“It is the roses,” she said, backing away a step. And another.
Another long stride. He moved impossibly fast. His breath grazed her cheek. He grabbed her arm in fingers that dug into her flesh.
She lashed out at his face. “How is it possible?” He lunged for her neck.
As she struggled, the outer layer of his cloak tore free. She opened her mouth to scream. Took a deep breath.
A blur of movement. Another man landed on the back of the first. Moonlight glinted on a flash of white pointed teeth. The pair went down in a tangle. A terrifying growl turned her limbs to water. Run.
She gathered her skirts, but could not seem to move, as if her feet were glued to the stone on which she stood.
A groan. A sharp sickening snap.
One figure rolled clear. The other remained slumped on the ground.
Oh, why hadn’t she run? It had all happened so fast. She backed up a step.
The winner of the fight reached out. She swallowed, her throat drier than dust.
“Miss Lofstrom,” the familiar voice said. “Are you well?”
“Count Grazki?” To her shame, her voice shook. She stared at his glowing red pupils. A pain stabbed her behind the eyes. She looked away, fingers at her temple to ease the ache.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, the fury in his voice scalding.
“I-No.” She took a deep steadying breath and looked down at the dark form on the ground. “Is he—? Is he dead?”
“He’ll trouble you no more.” His voice was flat. Unemotional. He glanced down at the body and took a deep breath.
She risked a look at his face, felt the pain, but this time did not look away. Instead, she straightened her shoulders. “Who was he?”
“He is one of my countrymen,” he said coldly. “A killer I have been seeking for quite some time.”
“Oh.” She frowned, lifted her chin in challenge. “Is that what you do for the King?”
“Yes.”
There was no pride in the word, only a despairing acceptance, which seemed strange. Her fingers tingled with the urge to reach out and offer him comfort. Which didn’t make any sense either. The man was in no need of anything from her, yet she had the feeling he wanted to explain. “Thank you for your help.”
He nodded. “I would have preferred to have taken him alive.”
“Should we call the authorities?”
He hesitated. “I prefer we not do so. It is a matter of diplomacy. The King resides in Britain on sufferance. It would put him in a impossible position if it were known that a member of his... retinue had committed such crimes.”
She raised her gaze to his face. “It must be difficult being cast out from your own country.”
“Your empathy does you credit. The King suffers much in exile. But he is a just King and this,” he pushed at the body at his feet with the toe of his shoe, “this man received a fair trial in absentia. My worry is that he may have an accomplice.”
She shivered and looked around her.
Anton proffered his elbow. “Come, let me return you to the other guests.”
She took it, glad to feel his large presence at her side and longed to lean into him, to let him fold her within his embrace so strong was her attraction to him as a man.
He paused looking down at her. “I would ask you to keep this occurrence in confidence. To cause a panic will not be wise. Trust me to deal with this matter, if you will.”
What was to gain by bruiting the events of this evening abroad? Apart from embarrassing the King. And perhaps herself. Lord Orrick would not be pleased if she was at the centre of a storm of controversy. It would reflect badly on his daughter. Unwillingly she nodded. “I will keep your confidence.” After all, what was one more secret.
“You are a woman of admirable understanding,” the Count said with a note of warmth in his voice.
Was that why she had agreed to keep silent. To earn his approval? No. It was a matter of practicality. The threat in the man’s eyes when he had stalked towards her had been horrifyingly real. The only reason she was safe was the Count’s timely intervention.
They walked back towards the party and the lights.
Anton wanted to hit something. The fury inside him wasn’t the cold of steel he used to carry out his duty to the King, it was a thing of flame and hot embers. He seethed with the knowledge she had been in danger. And that she had seen him for the monster he was. A cold blooded killer. The change in her expression had robbed him of breath like a blow to the gut. He’d half expected her to run from him in fear. She still might report what she had seen to the authorities.
The walk they travelled was dark, the party a distant sound carried on the air. No humans insight.
His duty was clear.
His inclinations, his bloody desires, his rage at seeing her in danger, had turned his mind to sludge. So much so, that he had killed instead of capturing.
An unforgivable mistake. The King would not be pleased. Thank the gods, he had managed to think up an excuse she would accept for his action. He placed his tongue behind his teeth and whistled at a pitch naught but a vampire or a bat could hear. An answering note said his message was received and understood. Moving faster than most human eyes could see, and keeping cloaked, the two men he’d left watching by the wall would secretly remove the body.
The tension in the woman beside him increased. She touched a hand to her temple.
“Are you ill?” It was a surprise she had not fainted in shock at what she’d seen.
She shook her head and winced. “It is nothing.”
He stopped and turned her around to face him, lifting her chin with his gloved knuckle, bringing her face up to force her to look at him. “Tell me.” He projected his will into his voice.
She stiffened, resisting, then sighed. “A headache.”
He reached out tentatively with his mind and was shocked, where there should have been smooth quiet edges from the memory he’d expunged there were lashing jagged edges. Fearing to do more harm, he withdrew. He felt ill. Sickened. “How long have you had this headache,” he asked in as quiet a tone as he could manage.
“Really, it is nothing. I am sure—”
“How long?” he asked, more firmly, amazed at her strength of will.
“Since the night of the Breckonridge ball,” she admitted, turning her face away, beginning to walk again.
Guilt weighed heavily on his chest as he matched his steps to hers, missing the contact of her hand on his arm. ‘Have you tried taking a powder?”
“I have tried everything, but I think it must take its course. I have had a similar headache before. When I was a child. It went away eventually.”
Could a mind recover from what he had done? One thing was clear, he could not rid her of any more memories without doing terrible damage and if he consulted with the King, he had no doubt of Vlad’s answer. For the safety of all.
“I know of a healer,” he said, surprising himself. “I would take you to see her. She has great skill.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice low and soft. “I couldn’t possibly—”
Consumed by anger that needed an outlet, he cut her off. “You do not trust me, is that it, Miss Lofstrom? You think I will do you harm?”
Had he not already done her terrible harm? Would she not let him try to help undo the damage? How to persuade her? Giving rein to his anger certainly wasn’t the right way. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured. “I only wish to help.”
“It is very kind of you,” she said softly. There was a loneliness in her voice, a note of longing. As if no one had ever cared enough to offer help before. They had almost reached the edge of the lawn where lights glittered among the trees, figures flitted in and out of the shadows.
“Not kind,” he said sounding shockingly gruff. “Common sense. This woman has been known to cure the worst of headaches.”
“Miss Lofstrom. Where have you
been?” A petulant female voice off to their right. Lady Caroline. “I have been looking for you everywhere. Again.”
Miss Lofstrom turned to meet her charge’s stormy gaze. “Is something wrong?” She hurried to the girl’s side.
“That horrid Mr D-Davenport,” Lady Caroline said. “He’s dancing with Millicent Redvane.”
Miss Lofstrom put an arm around the girl’s waist. “He is the son of our hostess, it is his duty to dance with all of the unattached females. You know it is. What are you doing walking in the dark alone?”
“Well you are out here alone.”
Anton started. Dear mother of the gods, he had not removed the shadowing. The girl couldn’t see him.
Miss Lofstrom stared at him startled. “I—“ She put a hand to her head and turned the girl back towards the party. “Come, let us see if we can find you another partner. Then you can prove to Mr Davenport you do not care with whomsoever he dances.”
She walked away.
Mine. The thought reverberated through his mind. He pushed it aside. She was not his. But he had just made the ultimate mistake. He had let his emotion for this woman overcome his good sense. She now knew that while she could see him, others could not.
More troubling was that she had pretended not to notice.
In the name of the gods of the abyss, what the hell was he to do?
He moved carefully into the dark, removed the shadowing, then strolled across the lawn, watching Miss Lofstrom introduce her young companion to a blushing youth. When she was alone again, he approached her cautiously.
When she saw him, she started and looked around as if wondering who else could see him. Her face was pale, her expression strained.
He bowed. “Good evening, Miss Lofstrom?”
She tensed, her gaze that of a terrified fawn.
He bowed at a passing gentleman, a man with whom Anton had played cards at one of the many hells throughout London. The gentleman bowed back. “Grazki. Good to see you, old chap.”
A frown formed on her face.
He smiled at her and raised a brow.
A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors Page 89
