by Alicia Ryan
“Maybe the weather will cooperate this week. If so, I’d love to show you the city.”
Roxanna hesitated, not wanting to insult him. “Do you think Phillip or Jack would go with me on some other days? It would be nice to see the sun.”
Darren stood for a moment without reacting, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask. But I can show you the way to Regent’s Park. It’s less than half a mile from here.”
“Is it safe?”
“You’d be safe enough in this neighborhood.” He hesitated. “But you would attract attention as an unaccompanied woman.”
Roxanna rolled her eyes. “This is a great time you live in.”
Darren looked a bit sheepish. “I don’t disagree with you.”
“So I do need Phillip or Jack.”
He stared hard at her for a long moment. “I suppose so, yes.”
“Do you care which one?”
“Do you care that I might care?”
“I do.”
“Because you need me to get home.”
Roxanna thought for a moment. “That’s not the only reason. I’m indifferent to the choice, but it seems you might not be, so why would I cause you worry?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m most certainly not indifferent. I don’t like the idea at all, but I’m not so selfish as to keep you a prisoner here unless you’re in my company.” He looked at her. “Almost, but not quite.” He gave a deep sigh. “Do as you wish. I suppose Branham would be my choice, but you may not find him agreeable.”
Roxanna bit her lip. “Because he wouldn’t want to be seen with me?”
Darren tilted his head. “There’s no accounting for some people. My impression of Branham is he’s one of those who believe the rules of society represent the good and the right.”
“Don’t most people?”
He laughed. “I’m not sure about that. Not most of my acquaintances, but not very many of them even dare to go too far. Social pressure keeps them in check. If they step too far over the lines, they’ll be ostracized, even by those who, in private, find no fault with them.”
“That doesn’t apply to you?”
“Oh, it applies to me to some extent. I do enjoy the company of the living. But I have no family to consider, and no need to court the approval of mothers looking to advantageously dispose of their daughters. Quite the opposite. Being seen in public with a scandalous singer is of no consequence to me.”
“I suppose that’s a relief.”
Darren’s countenance grew more serious. “There is no consequence that would keep me from you. Believe that.”
“I’m not sure why you feel that way, but I believe you do.”
“I hope that means something to you.”
Roxanna sighed. “Give me time, Darren. You can only pile so much on a girl at once.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I suppose your point is a fair one.” Then his smile faltered. “But you are coming tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“I’ll send a carriage for you tomorrow at nine. Be ready.”
Chapter Seven
Afternoon came soon enough for Roxanna, who decided, despite being used to club hours, the exhaustion of her adventures had caught up with her. After taking an abbreviated bath and washing her hair in the communal staff washroom, she donned her gray day dress and black slippers and went upstairs.
Phillip sat at the piano playing something cultured and classical sounding. She watched the movement of his arms and shoulders as he played. He loved music; his body language made that clear. She indulged in the sight a little longer before approaching, hating to interrupt.
He turned when she stepped up onto the stage behind him. “You’ve got a package,” he informed her, pointing to a stack of brown paper-wrapped parcels bundled together with a thin blue ribbon. A tag indicated they’d come from Madame Graham’s establishment.
She opened the first one and drew in a delighted breath as a pearlescent yellow creation dropped down from her fingers. It was cut low, as she’d requested, but had little off-the-shoulder sleeves trimmed with silver ribbon.
“Wow,” she exclaimed. “Madame Graham really knows her stuff.”
She looked back at Phillip and saw he was frowning.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you’d want to make such a spectacle of yourself. Your voice and your songs are quite spectacle enough.”
She remembered his speech from last night, her memory focusing on the part about how she’d never make a suitable wife. She wondered what he must think of her that he was too polite to say, if he was willing to say that.
“I’ll just take these down to my room,” she said. “I’ll be right back, and then we can get started.”
“As you wish.”
She almost choked. There was nothing at the moment that was as she wished. She didn’t even open the rest of the packages. Phillip had taken the fun out of it. Laying them on her bed, she went back to work.
This time, she flayed Phillip’s sense of propriety with the most seductive, explicit songs she could think of. She wasn’t sure why she was angry with him. She was the one out of place and out of time. He was trying to be a gentleman. Only she had no time for gentlemen. Her singing gig had to last until she could get back home. Padworth was giving her room and board and a little more besides, and her tip jar she hoped would grow once more people realized what it was there for.
Mid-modern pop song, Phillip stopped playing. “My God, Roxanna, you can’t mean to sing that to a crowd of men.”
“Don’t be tiresome,” she chided. “You know very well I intend to—and I will whether you play along with me or not. So you can do your job or just sit there and look foolish.”
“There’s no reason to get angry.”
“Well stop trying to look out for my virtue,” she demanded. “It, quite frankly, is none of your business.”
His face went hard. “Yes. I believe Lord Highmore said something similar last night, but apparently he’s made it his business, and you haven’t objected. I think you’re being reckless.”
She smacked her hand down on top of the piano, making him jump. “It doesn’t matter what you think. Now just play the damn song.”
She turned around and took a breath to begin again, but at the first note switched to something else—something she’d probably never sing for the crowd at Padworth’s. It was a song about sorrow, about being broken. It swirled deep inside of her and out through the melody into the space between them. She wasn’t sure why she did it; she hadn’t been feeling melancholy. But she wanted him to know more of her than he was learning from her repertoire for Padworth’s clientele—that she wasn’t just some scandalous trollop. Phillip followed her with haunting tones, but when it was over she didn’t look at him, knowing it would hurt if he hadn’t gotten the message—if he still looked at her with scorn.
“I think I’ve had enough for today,” she said. “Since I’m not performing tonight, we can pick it up again tomorrow before the next show.”
She heard him stand and slide the piano stool back into its place.
“I–”
She cut him off. “I was planning to ask you to show me some of the city today. I don’t suppose you would have agreed, would you?”
There was a long pause, and then he came around to stand in front of her, but he stepped down off the stage, putting distance between them.
“I’m sorry, Roxanna, but today I have a previous engagement. Perhaps...some other time.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said, not bothering to point out that his expressive face made him a terrible liar. No wonder he hadn’t been able to make his fortune back at cards.
“Enjoy your night with the Earl.” He turned on his heel and made for the exit, leaving Roxanna to wonder how the angel-faced Phillip managed to bedevil her more than the very devilish Lord Highmore.
And why, if she was dreaming, would her psyche s
tick her with a piano player who couldn’t stand her? She groaned in frustration and headed for the stairs.
***
After her vexing session with Phillip, she rested for a bit and then went to grab a plate of steak with potatoes and gravy from the kitchen. Myrtle was gone for the day, and she had the opportunity to meet Sherman, the night cook. He served her willingly enough and pointed out that it was his nephew, John, who was working as ‘undercook’. John looked about fourteen, and Roxanna couldn’t help noticing Sherman didn’t introduce them. But he kept any opinions he might have about her to himself.
She went back to her room, not in the best of moods. She wondered what ‘ladies’ in this day did with themselves. She’d have to ask Darren. If it was all drawing, gossiping, and embroidery, she’d feel better about her lot here.
Upon opening the rest of the packages from Madame Graham, she knew only one dress would do for tonight. It was black with long sleeves, and the neckline was wide across the shoulders but plunged in a narrow gap almost to her navel. It was trimmed in silver thread and had silver hook and eye stays that stretched across the exposed skin down her abdomen. It also had almost no back, with the fabric draping just above the curve of her behind. She examined her reflection in the mirror Padworth had been only too happy to supply for her—and was satisfied with what she saw. She still wished for some makeup. She’d have felt more comfortable with at least some lipstick to put on.
On a sudden inspiration, she dashed down to the kitchen and asked for a slice of beet and some oil. Sherman provided it warily, but she didn’t bother to give him an explanation.
Borrowing a small corner of the immense wooden countertop, she sliced the beet fine, scraped it into a saucer, and then added a dab of cooking oil.
Back in her room, she smeared it onto her lips with the back of a spoon and adjusted it with her finger, being careful to wash her hands right away. Ruby lips, plus, she thought. Ruby fingers, not so much.
After a few moments, she wiped off the beet mixture and was pleasantly surprised with the results. Ruby lips, indeed.
***
Andrew laughed as Darren checked his reflection for the fourth time. “Want me to do a love spell for you?” he asked.
“Shut up, Andrew. I don’t need a love spell. I just want this to go well.”
“I still can’t see why you’d invite other people.”
“I thought it would help break the ice. I didn’t want to just bring her here and then beg her to let me bite her.”
“Think it’ll come to that, do you? Begging?”
Darren turned around from the mirror. Andrew was recognizable but transparent. As Darren hadn’t yet fed, he’d only allowed Andrew enough as to have no impact on his faculties. A deep feeding often resulted in a period of lethargy—whether when Darren fed from a human or when his spirit-self fed from him. All the more reason he’d had to learn to control his appetites.
He fervently hoped his control wouldn’t fail him tonight. Roxanna was too precious. But he’d never craved any human the way he craved her.
“I wonder why she’s so different—so attractive to you,” Andrew said.
“I don’t know. I just know that she is.”
“And she believed you? That you’re a vampire and you brought her here?”
Darren hesitated. “I’m not sure. She seemed to, yes.”
“I wonder what kind of place she’s from. Did you tell her about me?”
“You didn’t come up.”
Andrew pouted. “So when do I get to meet the girl in the flesh? Not until you tire of her and decide to send her back?”
“Don’t say that.”
Andrew raised his phantom brows. “Just how long are you thinking of keeping her?”
“Well, I don’t know yet, do I? But I expect I’ll have to start fielding questions from her about that tonight.”
“So this will probably be a short term thing. You won’t keep her here against her will, not if she wants to go back, will you? For heaven’s sake, she could have a husband and a family to go back to.”
Darren shook his head.
“She told you she was unattached?”
“Not in so many words, but I don’t think she’s left so much behind.”
“You could be imagining that. She may want to go home.”
“Then I just have to change her mind.”
***
Roxanna alighted from Darren’s carriage at a quarter past nine. The carriage had included a wool blanket and warmed bricks on which to rest her feet, but thankfully Madame Graham had seen fit to include a cloak in her package. Made of deep green velvet, it was enough to keep her from freezing to death in her scant gown, and, she supposed if she ever made it out during the day, it would suit for that as well. She wanted to credit Madame Graham with thinking of everything for her benefit, but she suspected it was more an attempt to line her pockets with Padworth’s largesse.
At the address she’d been given, a white stone façade rose four stories above the street. She climbed the stairs to double front doors and banged the brass knocker. A butler opened the door almost before she’d released it.
“Ah, Miss Collins, I presume. His Lordship awaits you in the study. Please, follow me.”
She nodded to his upright back and slicked-down gray hair and followed him down the hall a short way to another double set of mahogany doors.
The butler pushed one open. “Miss Collins has arrived, Your Lordship.”
“Thank you, Harris. That will be all. Please show the other guests to the dining room as they arrive.”
Harris bowed and left without a word, and Darren moved to take her arm and lead her into the room, shutting the door behind them.
She felt his eyes on her as she took in the room. She’d already examined Darren. His tall frame looked smashing in black formal attire with a deep green waistcoat. Black pants—she refused to call them breeches—clung to muscular thighs, and black boots gleamed in the low lamplight. He was sin on a stick, she thought, holding back a laugh she didn’t think he’d appreciate.
Now she wanted to see the place the vampire called home. An expensive-looking Persian carpet covered the floor. Against one wall sat a large desk strewn with books and papers. Four green, cloth-covered chairs sat scattered about in front of walls covered with bookshelves, except for one painting of a strange, cloudy landscape with twisted trees and, on the wall opposite her, a pair of crossed swords. She wasn’t close enough to make out any of the titles of the books, but they clearly had them, and she was sure she’d never read that many books in her life. Could her sleeping mind have come up with this room?
“You look...heavenly,” he said, leaving her with the distinct impression he’d wanted to say ‘delicious’.
“So do you.”
He smiled.
“Do all vampires?” she asked. “I was wondering about that.”
His brow furrowed. “Do all vampires what?”
“Are they all dead sexy?” She laughed. “No pun intended.”
“I don’t know that many others,” he replied, “but yes, I suspect, as a group, we’re more attractive than average.”
“The better to lure in your victims?”
He shook his head. “Nothing so sinister. Vampires usually only turn people they’re infatuated with, and you have to like the looks of a person to want to have them around for eternity.”
“Do you really never die?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“And how did you become...what you are?” She looked him up and down again. Apparently, he was just born gorgeous.
A wry smile settled on his face. “I won at a hand of cards.”
She felt her mouth drop open. “You’re kidding.”
“Eternal youth for my immortal soul. I had no idea the bastard was serious.”
“You became a vampire because you won a bet?”
“Or lost, depending on how you look at it. Outside the club, much to my surprise, Pietro sh
owed up to bestow my winnings. Only the winnings went hand in hand with the soul part. He killed me; I became a vampire. It was surprisingly simple, really.”
“So you’re dead? You’ve got no soul, no pulse—no nothing?”
He grimaced. “That’s about the size of it, yes.” The grimace rose into a mere frown. “Only not quite. My soul is still around. It’s not attached to me, but he floats around wherever I am—mostly making an annoyance of himself these days, though he was a help in the beginning.”
“So you do have a soul?”
“His name is Andrew.”
She laughed. “Why not Rex or Fido?”
He furrowed his brow at her again. “I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. How’d you come up with Andrew?”
“It’s my middle name.”
“And he just floats around like a ghost?”
“Some times. Other times he’s more solid. If he gets blood from me, he can solidify himself. He can also use my blood energy to do magic. That’s how we brought you here.”
Her eyes widened. “So he could send me back.”
Darren nodded. “I believe so, yes.”
A long silence stretched between them.
“Just don’t ask me for that tonight,” he said, finally. And while his tone was firm, his eyes were pleading.
Roxanna shook her head, wondering at her own actions. “I won’t,” she promised.
***
Darren’s dining room was like nothing she’d ever seen. First, it was huge. A long table matched the rectangular shape of the room and would have provided comfortable seating for at least fourteen. The bottom third of the walls were painted white, but the upper portion was covered in a rose-colored wallpaper with deep, textured patterns that made it look three-dimensional. On either side of the dining table were narrower tables, also covered in white cloths. Were those called sideboards? For some reason, that rang a bell, though she was sure she’d never been in any dining room that had them. One of them was covered in gleaming crystal liquor bottles. She’d never seen any of those so nice either, but she knew liquor when she saw it and made a mental note to down a little liquid courage if at all possible.
