by Brooklyn Ann
Rhys’s acceptance of Madame Renarde’s chosen way of life was nothing short of a miracle. Not even Uncle Aldric was as tolerant.
He was accepting of her too, Vivian remembered. He’d expressed genuine admiration for her love of fencing, with not even a hint of judgement. She hid a frown with a sip of wine. It was very difficult to hate such a man.
And him being so unbearably handsome did not help matters in the slightest.
Madame Renarde interrupted Vivian’s dangerous path of thought. “I thank you for your courtesy. It is a pity that we hadn’t met under friendly circumstances.” Her stress on the word reminded Vivian that no matter how charming this rakish highwayman was, he was not their friend at all.
“I quite agree,” Rhys said and drank the rest of the wine straight from the bottle. “But I do hope we can at least be civil.” He rose and took their glasses back to the dark part of the cave, then did the same with their plates. “Now, as it is past dawn, I hope you do not object to my suggestion that we retire. Kidnapping is exhausting business.”
Madame Renarde covered her mouth and yawned. “That does sound agreeable. However, I cannot approve of Miss Stratford sleeping so close to you. I think we should switch.”
“I am sorry you feel that way,” Rhys said mildly, though there was a thread of steel in his voice. “Miss Stratford is my primary hostage and I intend to keep her close.” Then his lips curved in a smile of pure wickedness. “I could have her closer, if I wanted. The cots on the bottom can move, unlike yours, which is suspended from the wall.”
“You wouldn’t!” Madame Renarde hissed with outrage.
Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “Keep trying to dictate my arrangements and you will find out.”
Vivian sucked in a breath as her heart hammered against her ribs. The thought of sleeping across from him was alarming enough, but for him to slide her cot against his? It would be sharing a bed with him! “What about my privacy?”
Rhys gave her a look of consideration. “If you look above, there are curtains that pull down. There are also chamber pots beneath the bunks.”
“Splendid,” Madame Renarde said and reached up to untie the roll suspended from the ceiling.
When the curtains came down, Vivian saw that they were made of thin slats of bamboo and had beautiful paintings of tigers on their tawny surfaces. She’d seen them in homes where the Chinoise trend had been embraced. Utterly beautiful, and more importantly, their captor would be unable to see through them. “These are lovely,” she said. “Did they come from China?”
“India.” Rhys’s voice penetrated the thin barrier. “Before you undress, I do have a trunk of various clothing that may be more comfortable.”
A travelling trunk slid beneath the curtain. Vivian found a dress that may fit her for tomorrow, as well as a man’s night shirt that would be comfortable for sleeping. At first, she wondered how he’d come by the clothing, then realized that he probably stole the trunk from one of the carriages he robbed.
Madame Renarde found a second night shirt with a nod of satisfaction. As she helped Vivian out of her ball gown and unlaced her stays, Vivian couldn’t stop glancing at the bamboo curtain. Even though Rhys couldn’t see her, she could feel his presence behind the barrier as she undressed. A most unnerving sensation.
Even worse, she could see his boots hit the stone floor and hear a rustle of fabric indicating that he too was undressing. Some imp within speculated as to what Rhys would look like without his trousers. Then heat crept to her cheeks as she wondered if he was thinking the same about her lacking skirts. This was far too intimate.
Her discomfort eased as the lanterns were doused and she was tucked under the covers of her narrow cot. Madame Renarde was snoring almost immediately, drowsy from the stress of the night’s events and three glasses of wine. Sleep took longer for Vivian.
It seemed she’d barely slept when Vivian opened her eyes to see Rhys leaning over the top bunk, where Madame Renarde was snoring away. She sat up with a gasp. What was he doing to her friend?
Suddenly, Rhys bent down and met Vivian’s gaze. His eyes glowed amber flame and a trickle of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth. “Go back to sleep, Miss Stratford,” he commanded.
Vivian sank back down on her thin pallet and didn’t awaken until Madame Renarde shook her shoulder, telling her that tea had been made.
Her companion looked calm and unharmed as she helped Vivian dress. When she emerged behind the curtain, Rhys gave her a polite nod as he fried eggs in a pan heated on his clever grate above the fire.
The scene was so amicable, albeit awkward, that Vivian blinked at the memory of what she’d seen from her bed.
It had to have been a dream.
Chapter Nine
This was the worst night of Aldric’s life. The Gathering had dragged on until midnight because one of his vampires had argued Aldric’s decision to accept a petition allowing a new vampire into Blackpool simply because he thought there were too many females. The current female vampires of Blackpool loudly voiced their opinion on that sentiment until Aldric ordered the meeting adjourned.
He’d rushed to Galveston Hall, his apologies and excuses memorized as he anticipated Vivian’s hurt at his tardiness. He’d hoped the dancing was still going on, so he could at least fulfill that promise.
But when he’d arrived, the hostess, Lady Galveston had blinked at him with owlish eyes and informed him that Miss Stratford had not attended the ball at all.
Before Lady Galveston could begin poking into the situation, doubtless to feed the village’s dearth of gossip, Aldric bade her farewell and returned to his home, wondering what had possessed his niece to order the carriage turned around and return home. It smacked of disobedience, even though he hadn’t precisely commanded her to attend.
Aldric was angered at her defection as well as the ill manners to not make an appearance after the invitation had been accepted. Yet he also wondered if perhaps he should have had a talk with her and gotten to the bottom of her obvious lack of enthusiasm for the event. What if someone had gossiped about her scandal in London and she’d been afraid of being shunned? Or what if there had been a deeper reason?
Self-recrimination weighted his shoulders as he’d plodded up the drive to his manor. Perhaps he should not have been in such a hurry to find a husband for Vivian. She’d only been here for less than a fortnight. Yes, his secret had to be secured at all costs, but the poor girl was surely distraught over being uprooted from her life in London to live with a relation who had been all but a stranger to her. And he had agreed to shelter her. Only then did Aldric realize that should mean more than his roof.
With scoldings and apologies swirling through his head, Aldric strode into the house, only to discover that Vivian and Madame Renarde had not returned home.
That was when real fear crawled over his flesh. A fear that penetrated him with stinging tendrils and curled around his heart when he retraced her route and found the empty carriage. The horses were gone, the driver as well, and there was no sight of his niece or her companion.
For a moment Aldric wondered if his own footman had done something sinister, but he immediately dismissed the notion. Jeffries was the sort to smuggle wounded birds into his quarters to heal them and he was always kind and courteous to every female he encountered.
“Not Jeffries,” Aldric whispered as he inspected the carriage. “Yet something sinister is indeed afoot.”
To his everlasting relief, there was no scent of blood. Hopefully that meant the women and his servant were unharmed.
Then he saw a folded piece of parchment resting on the velvet seat cushion. Aldric opened it easily, for it wasn’t even sealed with a blob of wax, much less a crest.
With a deepening frown, he read the missive.
Lord Thornton,
I apologize for the loss of your horses and the inconvenience I’ve caused, but sadly, it is necessary.
I have taken Miss Stratford and Madame Renarde under my hospitalit
y. The former is a tempting morsel, but the latter is with me to testify that I behaved as a gentleman so long as my instructions are followed.
If you want to see your niece alive again, bring two hundred pounds in coin to the Saint Nicholas parish cemetery in Wrea Green, and place it atop the granite stone with the name of ‘Gerald Burlingame’ tomorrow one hour before midnight.
I will then send you a letter giving you a time and location to collect Miss Stratford and Madame Renarde.
The letter was expectedly unsigned. Aldric had just shoved it into his pocket when he heard a rustle from the brush lining the rutted country road.
“My lord!” Jeffries shouted. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve been searching all over for Miss Stratford and Madam Renarde. I could not find them, and I don’t know what else to do!”
Aldric resisted the urge to seize the footman by the shoulders and demand Jeffries to tell him everything that happened. For one thing, the ransom letter already painted the picture, for another, the poor old man looked like death warmed over. His hands shook as if he suffered from palsy and he swayed on his feet.
Forcing a gentle tone, Aldric patted Jeffries’s shoulder. “For now, let us return home and get you a nice hot meal and a fortifying glass of port. Then you can tell me everything that transpired tonight.”
“What about the carriage?” Jeffries cast a worried glance at the abandoned conveyance.
“I’ll send Fitz and the stable boy with horses to collect it.”
They walked to the nearest house, owned by the Waverlys, who were more than pleased to take them to Thornton Manor. Aldric lied and told them that his niece was well and only missed the ball due to a headache. If it got out that Vivian had been abducted by a man, her reputation would be blackened beyond redemption.
After Jeffries had changed out of his filthy livery and eaten a hearty meal, Aldric poured them each a glass of port and tried to keep his voice level. “Now, I know you must be tired, Jeffries, but I need you to tell me everything about the man or men who abducted Miss Stratford and Madame Renarde.”
“I can’t remember anything!” The footman’s lower lip trembled. “Somehow I... fell asleep. When I awoke, the women and the horses were gone.”
Aldric stroked his chin and voiced his worst speculation. “Do you think someone struck you and knocked you unconscious?”
Jeffries shook his head. “I don’t have any lumps on my noggin.”
“Then you must have been drugged,” Aldric said with a frown. That would mean that the abductor could have gained access to his kitchen. He’d have to ask the others if they too had fallen asleep. Then again, at this late hour, such a thing would be natural. As much as he tried to keep his servants on a nocturnal schedule, human nature had them often turning in after midnight. Besides, his original thought may have been premature. “Did you go anywhere today before it was time for you to drive the women to the ball?”
Jeffries nodded. “I popped into the pub for a spell.” He held up his hands as if to ward off any forthcoming recriminations. “But I only had one pint. I swear I wasn’t foxed.”
“I did not say you were,” Aldric said, though perhaps Jeffries had indeed imbibed more than he confessed. “I was merely speculating when you could have been drugged. Unless... there haven’t been any strange visitors to the house, have there?”
“No, my lord,” the footman answered quickly. “It must have happened at the pub, as you suspected.” He shuddered. “That means the villain must have been right beside me. Poisoned my drink. I could have died!”
“I am glad you did not,” Aldric said, hoping Jeffries would calm down enough to be useful. “Do you remember who was at the pub?”
“Just our cook, the butcher, Olson, the vicar, and a few farmers.” Jeffries took a deep drink of his port. “I thought I recognized everyone.”
Aldric hid his disappointment. Whoever had done this had been clever. And for all he knew, it could have been any of those people who’d taken his niece. After all, Jeffries may know them, but Aldric did not. And he’d granted more than one farmer a loan after a bad harvest. Three were in arrears, including the Berwyn widow.
“What can you tell me about when you woke up to find the women gone?”
Jeffries sipped his port and told of how he’d jolted awake in the driver’s perch to find the horses gone and his pistol vanished from his pocket. He’d found the gun discarded in the grass. It had been fired.
Aldric flinched at that news. What if the kidnapper had lied and Madame Renarde or Vivian had been harmed after all?
He relaxed slightly when Jeffries then clarified that he hadn’t seen any blood in the grass.
With nothing else to be learned, Aldric dismissed Jeffries with a sigh. “Thank you for all that you’ve told me. You may retire for the rest of the evening.”
Jeffries bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
The moment the footman left, Aldric reread the ransom letter. Some despicable criminal had dared abduct his niece to bilk money out of him? He clearly had no notion of what sort of man Aldric was.
He crumpled the letter in his fist and poured a second tot of brandy. He should have postponed the damned Gathering and escorted his niece to the ball.
For but a second, he considered leaving the money in the demanded location just to see his niece home safely. After all, it would be easy for him to part with two hundred pounds. He had accumulated several thousand over his long life. May as well give the whoreson a sum that had become pithy to Aldric and have his niece home safe.
However, his pride rankled at the notion. Aldric was a four-hundred-year old vampire. An immortal. Furthermore, he was the Lord Vampire of Blackpool. This village was his domain, under his command. To allow a mere human outlaw to best him was anathema to him.
No, he wouldn’t quietly pay the ransom. Instead, Aldric would track down the cad and demonstrate what happened to those who dared toy with the Lord of Blackpool. And Vivian and Madame Renarde would still be returned home safe.
A surge of momentary guilt wriggled in his belly at the thought of leaving his niece with her captor longer than it would take to deliver a sack of coins. Aldric suppressed it with the justification that the man had written that he’d also taken Madame Renarde to vouch that Miss Stratford would remain untouched. Since Vivian was a hostage, her value was in remaining in good health. That meant that she should be fed, sheltered, and treated gently.
At any rate, it shouldn’t take Aldric long to track her down. The first places he would try would be the farmers who owed him money. Between his preternatural abilities and his knowledge of everything that went on in his territory, he should have his niece back under his roof the following evening, before the sun rose.
Thinking of the sun, Aldric frowned as he realized that was his largest disadvantage in this entire affair. He wouldn’t be able to search for Vivian until dusk tomorrow.
However, that was only a minor inconvenience, he assured himself and pulled a sheet of vellum out of his desk drawer. It irked him to waste such valuable writing material on a bloody outlaw, but he had to make an impression.
Aldric dipped his quill in the ink blotter and wrote a letter of his own.
Chapter Ten
Rhys crouched behind the trunk of an ancient oak that spread its wide branches over the eastern corner of the ancient parish graveyard. He reached in his pocket and carefully opened his pocket watch at an angle that would not reflect the moonlight.
A quarter past eleven. Blackpool was late. Or rather, that was what the Lord Vampire likely wanted him to think when in fact, Blackpool was likely circling the area, searching for him.
Just then, a tall, stately figure strode into the graveyard. Authority and power radiated from the man. The Lord Vampire of Blackpool had arrived.
Rhys’s breath tightened in his lungs as Blackpool approached a moldy headstone with the name “Burlingame” carved into its rectangular stone face. The Lord vampire looked around the cemetery one more time be
fore reaching in his pocket and placing a leather pouch atop the grave.
This was the most dangerous part. If the wind changed direction or if Rhys moved at the wrong moment, Blackpool would sense his presence. And the longer it took for the second half of his plan to commence, the greater the risk of discovery.
Speaking of the second part, Blackpool wasn’t the only party who was tardy.
That sodden fool had better follow through with his task, or Rhys would give him a thrashing. Just as his knees began to cramp, Rhys heard the distant sound of whistling approaching the graves.
Blackpool stiffened. As expected, he heard it too.
The whistling grew louder as both vampires tensed. The moment Rhys’s hired decoy strolled into sight, the Lord Vampire of Blackpool was upon him. He seized the drunken sailor, lifting him by his shoulders until his feet dangled in the air.
“Where is she?” Blackpool snarled, baring his fangs.
Rhys blinked at the brazen reveal. That was a foolish error of judgement right there. He would have expected better of a Lord Vampire.
Sam, a man Rhys had bribed in a pub just this evening, squirmed in terror. “I don’t know who you’re talking about! I only came to visit my grandmother’s grave. She raised me since I was a boy.”
Very good, Sam, Rhys thought. Play the innocent bystander. There was a chance that Blackpool would feed on the man and learn the truth, but even if he did, Rhys had been disguised with a false bushy red beard when he’d paid the man a dear sum simply to pretend to visit a grave at this late hour.
Rhys didn’t wait to see if the ruse would be uncovered. While Blackpool continued to interrogate Sam, Rhys dashed to the gravestone with preternatural swiftness and seized the leather bag. He ran on past the other headstones and out of the cemetery, not daring to look over his shoulder.
Only when he was miles away did Rhys stop and enter a pub in a village halfway to the No Man’s Land. Technically, he was still in danger as this was under the Lord of Lytham’s domain, but Rhys had learned that His Lordship turned a blind eye to rogue vampires passing through so long as they did not cause trouble.
