by Brooklyn Ann
When he was certain no one was lurking in wait, Rhys climbed down the cliff face and swung into the cave through an entrance that most would never find. The first few meters were treacherous, with up-thrusting rock and stalagmites. Then it smoothed to a sandy path.
At last, Rhys reached the door to his sanctuary, a door he’d carved himself to seal the tunnel, and outfitted with a heavy lock. He unlocked the door, lit the lantern on a stone shelf and looked upon his meager furnishings with a degree of comfort. He’d worked hard over the decades, carving all these shelves, and constructing bunks for when other rogue vampires took refuge with him.
Placing the beauty’s comb on the shelf containing his cache of stolen jewelry, Rhys then moved to a crevasse in the cave wall and withdrew the sack of coins he’d been accumulating. He reached in his pocket and added the shillings he’d taken from the beauty’s coachman.
He tied the sack to his belt and left the cave. As he rushed to his next destination, several miles north and across a river, Rhys prayed he’d brought enough money.
The once prosperous farm sprawled before him. The stable roof was patched with crude wattle and daub. The hole in the barn roof had grown larger, the wind moaning through it as if mourning the slow death of the structure. An owl flew out of the hole, hooting as if reprimanding Rhys for his late arrival.
Rhys squared his shoulders and crossed the weed-choked field, where grain and barley had once turned the land gold. With no one to plow it, it had gone fallow.
He passed collapsed tenant cottages and ramshackle stables before he reached the main house. At least the roof was still intact, though the moss covering the shingles and the chipped paint on the walls gave the once noble structure a despairing appearance, like an aging courtesan.
Rhys fought off his melancholy and walked up the creaking steps, wondering how long the rotting wood would hold. He grasped the rusty knocker and rapped the solid oak door that would likely outlast the rest of the house.
A few moments later, he heard shuffling footsteps from inside the house, followed by the heavy clatter of metal as the locks were unfastened. The door opened just a crack and the hollow copper eyes of a woman in her early-thirties peered out. Suspicion and worry vanished as she recognized him.
“Rhys!” Emily opened the door and embraced him. “It has been too long since you’ve last come. I’ve been so worried.”
He held one of his only remaining relatives and stroked her hair. “You should know by now that I’ll always return.”
“Don’t lie to me, Rhys.” She drew away and eyed him solemnly. “You could get caught any time. The newspaper says that there will be more patrols on the country roads.”
“I will be all right. I know what I am doing.” Though she was partly right. Although it wasn’t the constables he had to worry about, it was others. In time, they could discover his activities and trap him.
Not wanting to think of all the potential and death looming over him, Rhys, pulled the sack of coins from his pocket and pressed it into Emily’s work-roughened hands. “Has he been by yet?”
There was no need to specify who he was. The Viscount of Thornton loomed over them like a dark specter. Due to Emily’s late husband’s foolishness with money and love of gambling, Lord Thornton held the mortgage on the family farm. The husband had fallen behind on repayment long before he died, and Thornton was constantly sniffing about, trying to oust Emily and her children from the farm. Only Rhys’s contributions staved him off.
Emily took the sack with a nod. “He says that unless I have paid the hundred and fifty pounds in full by the end of the month, my children and I have to leave.”
“That black-hearted scoundrel! The month is nearly half gone!” Despair pooled in Rhys’s belly. He’d never be able to steal that much money so quickly. “I’ll think of something,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident. “Use the money I gave you for food.”
“I’d considered buying a calf.” Emily sighed. “But it could not grow enough in a month to be worth the investment.”
More footsteps clattered on the stairs as Emily’s children raced down in their night shirts. “Cousin Rhys!” they shouted. “You’ve come back!”
Rhys embraced the boy and girl, amazed that even in little over a fortnight, they seemed to have grown. “Jacob, Alice, it is a joy to see you.”
“Stay this time,” five-year-old Alice pleaded. “You always leave.”
Rhys shook his head. “I have to leave, Poppet. There is important work to be done.” Such as coming up with a hundred and fifty pounds by month’s end. “But I can stay for an hour or so.”
Emily regarded her children with a weary look. “I’ll make tea.”
Once settled with his family at the polished maple dining table, the cloth long since sold, Emily told him about the farm. She and the children had managed to grow some herbs and vegetables and sell them at the market along with several bushels of apples from the orchard. They’d found a cache of coins her husband had hidden behind the barn after the cat had another litter of kittens. It had been enough to buy salted beef and fish to tide them over for winter and more importantly, an ox to pull the plow in the north field and seed to plant corn next Spring.
This news should have filled him with joy, but Lord Thornton had taken it away. Just as Emily, a young woman alone with small children, was bringing the farm back to life, the blackguard was going to foreclose it anyway.
Rhys did his best to conceal his grim disposition and focus on the children’s smiles as he gave them sweets, and the comfort of the house, warmed by the fire he started. After tea, he rose from the table.
“I’m afraid I must go.” Regret imbued his words.
“Must you?” Emily circled the table to meet him while the children echoed similar protests. “Surely it is safer for you if you stay here.”
Rhys shook his head. “I cannot be traced to you.” He took her arms and met her gaze. “I will find a way to either produce that money, or to persuade Thornton to give you more time.”
“Be careful, Rhys,” Emily whispered.
“Always.”
Once outside, Rhys gathered firewood. From the look of the diminishing pile, he would have to return to the farm soon to chop more.
Then again, if Lord Thornton was going to take the farm, perhaps he shouldn’t bother. The thought filled him with impotent fury. That nabob had plenty of land and money of his own. He didn’t need any more.
Instead of heading straight back to his cave, Rhys dashed to the outskirts of Thornton’s property. Making certain he stayed downwind, Rhys glared balefully at the stately manor house, with its elegant columns, covered veranda, and French doors. How could one have so much and others so few?
He didn’t know what drew him here, putting himself in danger like this. If Thornton’s guards caught wind of him, he’d be taken in an instant.
Then he heard the clatter of hooves and the roll of carriage wheels off in the distance. Who was this? Thornton wasn’t one to have visitors.
When the conveyance drew closer, Rhys’s jaw dropped as he recognized it. The beauty he’d robbed earlier in the evening was inside.
The front door of Thornton Manor opened, and his lordship stepped out to meet the carriage.
After the driver opened the door, Thornton handed the girl down.
Her voice was barely audible, but Rhys still heard one word as she addressed the viscount. “Uncle.”
Rhys covered his gaping mouth to hide his gasp. The viscount had a niece? On the heels of his shock came a plan. He’d have leverage.
The fencing master disguised as a lady’s companion exited the carriage next. From the abrupt stiffening of the viscount’s shoulders, it appeared that Thornton couldn’t tell what to make of the odd person either.
The mystery captivated Rhys like nothing else. What kind of woman travelled with a fencing master? And did her father know about the companion’s identity? The disguise was very well done, as if the man had been pla
ying the part for decades. But Rhys and Viscount Thornton had their own ways of seeing through such subterfuge, no matter how clever.
“Vivian,” Thornton’s voice carried in the wind. “Come with me to my study. There is something we must discuss in private.”
Oh, how Rhys wished he could be privy to that discussion. But now the beauty had a name. Vivian.
Before he risked being seen, Rhys melted back into the shadows and quickly made his way back to his haven. His mind spun with all he learned. His plan would be the most dangerous endeavor of his long life, but worth it if all went right. But the danger could not be ignored. Not only was Aldric Cadell the Viscount of Thornton, he was also the Lord Vampire of Blackpool.
Rhys licked his fangs and shivered. And he’d come so close to feeding on Blackpool’s niece. If he’d succumbed to temptation, the Lord Vampire would have had Rhys’s scent, and all would be lost.
When he returned to the seaside cliffs concealing his cave, Rhys paused and scented the air once more for signs of vampires from either Preston or Southport. Yes, his hiding place was a no-man’s land, but legitimized vampires often did not care about such scruples. To them, rogue vampires had no rights even for a moment’s safety.
But if Rhys pursued the madcap plan forming in his mind, he’d forsake all rights to safety of any kind. He would be committing the worst of crimes under vampire law. All chances of eventually becoming a legitimate citizen would turn to ash.
The tired eyes of his cousin Emily—in truth she was his great-great-great grandniece—and the wan faces of her children flashed in his mind. If Rhys succeeded with his plan, his family would be saved. And that was all that mattered.
Once the safety of his kin was assured, Rhys no longer had a reason to live anymore.
Chapter Three
Aldric Cadell, Viscount of Thornton, and Lord Vampire of Blackpool, surveyed his great-great-great grand-niece with annoyance. When he’d been asked to take her in for a year to quell some inane scandal, he’d expected an awkward young miss who’d likely been launched too soon and didn’t have a grasp on the rules yet. Or perhaps a vulnerable maid who’d fallen prey to a rake.
He’d not expected a steely-eyed vixen accompanied by a Molly for a companion. Did her father know that this Madame Renarde he’d written of was not what “she” seemed? Somehow, Aldric doubted it. Humans were easily fooled and had a poor sense of smell. Besides, the more significant question was whether Vivian was aware of her companion’s secret.
After asking Vivian to see him about the matter in his study, Aldric looked to Vivian’s father’s carriage driver and the companion. Aldric addressed the driver first. “I will have my stable boy rub down the horses and Jeffries, my footman, can provide you with victuals, a bath, and a room for the night before you depart.” He then turned to Madame Renarde. “As for you, Madame, my butler, Ames, will escort you to the drawing room and provide refreshment while you await my niece.”
Renarde bobbed a curtsy, unable to see discern any suspicion. “Yes, my lord.”
Aldric blinked. Though the companion’s voice was indeed on the deep side, it still managed to sound womanly. Like the voice of a sweet grandmother. He also noted the protective glint in the companion’s eyes as Aldric took Vivian’s arm and led her away. Whatever this person’s purpose, Renarde at least definitely cared for his niece’s well-being.
Once Vivian was seated in front of the desk in his study, Aldric poured them some wine from his cabinet.
Placing a glass before his niece, he sat and took a drink of his own. “How was your journey?”
She took a ladylike sip and set her glass on the desk. “Quite dull, until we were stopped by a highwayman.”
Aldric choked on his wine. “I beg your pardon?” he managed between coughs.
“We were stopped by a highwayman. He stole my comb and all the driver’s money, but otherwise left us unharmed.” A blush crept up her cheeks and down her slim neck. A neck that was still adorned with a gold chain and a locket. Something a thief would have had off her throat in a thrice.
She wasn’t telling him everything about the encounter. Aldric studied her closer and saw that indeed, without the comb, her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders. But it was in such disarray, like she’d been out in the wind. And she smelled of dry sweat. On a cool autumn evening such as this, the carriage could not have been that warm.
“I will want to know more of your encounter with this blackguard. Where you were, and what happened to make him depart so suddenly before report the incident to the constable.” Aldric eyed her sternly. “But for now, there are other things I am curious about. Your father tells me you had a bit of a scandal in London, yes?”
Vivian nodded. “I challenged Lord Summerly to a duel.”
Aldric was thankful that he hadn’t taken another sip of wine, else he would have spewed it across his desk. “You did what? Why in the name of heaven would you think to engage a man in pistols at dawn?”
His niece calmly sipped her wine. “Not pistols. Rapiers. And I had perfectly good reason for doing so. Summerly propositioned that I should be his mistress and put his hands upon my person. That impugned my honor, so I thought I was well in my rights to defend myself.”
She had a point. Reluctant admiration welled in his chest. However... “While I agree that this cad did indeed besmirch you with his proposal, it is not proper for a woman to duel, much less defend herself. That is a gentleman’s duty.”
“If I had told any gentleman that Summerland had absconded with me and held me alone in the Cavendish’s conservatory, I would have been blamed and still been ruined. At least this way, I was able to assure everyone that I was the virtuous party.” Vivian lifted her chin, daring him to challenge her.
Once more, her logic was sound. She would have been saddled with blame and scandal no matter which way the dice fell. Still, what kind of woman would even think of fighting a gentleman with a rapier. “Do you even know how to fence?”
“I do.” Pride rang in his niece’s voice.
“Who taught you?” he asked, though he already suspected.
He watched the multitude of thoughts skitter across her face. First the temptation to lie, then resignation for the truth. “Madame Renarde.”
Oh yes, her companion. Yet another topic that must be addressed immediately. “Are you aware that Madame Renarde is really a Monsieur?”
Her eyes widened, not in surprise at the fact, but at his knowledge. “How did you know?”
“I have a good eye for seeing through deceptions.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Does your father know what your companion is hiding under those skirts?”
Vivian shook her head so violently that locks of her hair slapped her cheeks. “Please don’t tell him. I do not wish to lose my only friend.”
“If you can assure me that Renarde’s intentions are honorable, I may consider keeping your secret.” Aldric said grudgingly. Her talk of having no other friends also concerned him. “Though I must say, I do not countenance deception. Is this person truly from France?”
Vivian finished her wine with an unladylike gulp and took a deep breath to gather her courage. “Madame Renarde escaped during the revolution. There is no home for her in France any longer, so she is loyal to England and only wants to live out the rest of her days doing honest work.”
“Honest work?” Aldric snorted and refilled her glass. Though this... person was not an enemy of his country, he was still suspicious. The situation was so queer that he had trouble wrapping his head around it. “A man pretending to be a lady’s companion? Why do you insist on calling him ‘she?’”
“Because she has the heart and spirit of a woman,” Vivian said fiercely. “All her life, she felt that there was a mistake in her birth. When she first put on ladies’ clothing, she felt right.”
“And you believe... her?” He had trouble with the pronoun.
“Yes.” Vivian took another sip of her wine and leaned forward, her teeth bared
in a sneer. “Women have no rights under the law. We are chattel, doomed to be imprisoned and manipulated by male whims. We have no recourse if a man wrongs us, as you are observing this moment with my presence here. We are subject to the most suffocating rules of how we are to behave. I cannot imagine a man willingly choosing such a life. So Madame Renarde must indeed be female in spirit to thrive in a woman’s lot in life.”
From her impassioned speech, it was clear that Vivian told the truth. Whether or not this Renarde was honest remained to be seen. Aldric sighed. “Very well, I shall keep quiet about the matter for now.”
Gratitude welled in her large grey eyes. “Thank you, Uncle.”
“We’ll talk more later. Let us see you and your companion settled in your rooms.” Aldric rose from his seat and escorted his niece back downstairs to the drawing room, where Renarde was sipping a cup of tea and warming herself by the nearby fire.
Immediately, the companion rose and curtsied. “My lord, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” If Renarde was aware of Aldric’s suspicions, ‘she’ did not let on.
“Madame Renarde,” Aldric said with a slight bow. The companion’s voice and body language were feminine indeed. If not for his preternatural senses, he may have been fooled as well. At least Renarde had been honest with Vivian... as far as he could discern.
Now he addressed both his niece and her companion. “Welcome to Thornton Manor. Although the house is isolated, I do hope you’ll find it to be cozy. I’m afraid my illness prevents me from being about much during the day, but the servants should see to your every need.”
Just like his previous descendants who’d visited him over the centuries, Vivian blinked at his declaration. However, he also detected a glimmer or relief in her eyes. From her talk of male tyranny, he wondered if her father was a cruel man.
Once settled beside his niece, Aldric poured her a cup of tea. “How was London? I haven’t been there in over a year, and I am eager for news.”
