Dawn Thompson (20 page)

There was no sound coming from the dressing room now. Had he fallen asleep? If he had, she would wake him. He had proven his stamp. She would go to him, embrace him, find comfort in those warm, strong arms. She would quench the fire surging through her loins—the fire he had kindled despite her fears, which he had assuaged.

Cora scrambled to her feet, slipped the silvery brocade dressing gown back about her shoulders, and took up the candle branch on the nightstand. Padding to the dressing room door, she pushed it open with a finger and peered inside. His togs were lying on the boot chair in the corner, his turned-down boots on the water-soaked floor beside. But for a sheet draped over his waist, he was lying naked on his back on the cot, his face turned to the wall, his breast heaving with the peaceful rhythm of sleep. Cora tiptoed closer. How handsome he was, and how vulnerable. Should she wake him?

Yes.

Reaching her hand toward his broad, moist shoulder glossed with sweat, she froze in place as there came a hitch in his deep, tremulous breathing. Her own breath caught as he snorted and turned his head toward her. His eyes were still closed, his long, dark lashes sweeping against his skin. She was just about to gentle him awake, when he drew a deeper breath. His lips parted, and she
stifled a cry, her teeth biting into her lower lip until they drew blood. Her hand flew to her open mouth to hold in the cry. There, beneath the candle branch, two long, sharp fangs gleamed in the firelight, protruding below that sensuous upper lip.

Cora’s body clenched. It was as if a fist had gripped her heart, or a dagger had pierced it. Cold chills crashed over her, body and soul. She blinked to clear her vision. No, she hadn’t been mistaken. Fangs! He was a vampire. No wonder he knew so much about them.

Horrified, her head reeling, she backed away from the cot and fled.

One thing and one thing only moved Cora then; she must leave Whitebriar Abbey. She had nearly succumbed to the lure of a vampire’s kiss. As improbable as it was, she was falling in love with Joss Hyde-White. She would have given herself to him if she hadn’t seen those fangs. Was this attraction a result of his hypnotic charm? She had heard of such amongst vampires. Or was this feeling genuine—was it inevitable that she would melt in the arms of the right man after what she had been through in the clutches of the wrong one? She could not stay long enough to find out. Either way, the outcome would be the same if she stayed: sooner or later, he would break down her resistance.

No, there was nothing for it but to go. She gave no thought to where, only that she must put as much distance between herself and Joss Hyde-White as was humanly possible. It would be light soon. They would take the coffin below to the kirk, and she would be on that sledge, even if she had to climb into the coffin with the dead butler to do so.

Cora dressed as warmly as her wardrobe would allow, in a gunmetal-gray wool frock, her sturdiest pair of ankle boots and her chinchilla-lined and hooded mantle that the servants had set to rights below stairs. That would have to do. She would have to leave the rest of her things behind. She shrugged. What did it matter? What use were her pretty frocks if she were doomed to pass the rest of her days among the undead? It all seemed like a terrible nightmare. It couldn’t be real—any of it! Her ruination, this trip, these monsters . . . She would wake soon, and laugh at such a stupid dream. But she did not wake. The nightmare was real, and tears stung her eyes as she slipped out of the master bedchamber and crept through the shadows that clung stubbornly to the old halls as dawn approached.

She had no trouble finding the salon; Grace’s mournful wails echoing along the empty corridors led her straight to it. Cora had never met the woman, yet sorrow welled in her as she came nearer. Other voices ringing from the rafters joined the din, driving her deeper into the shadows. She backed into a recessed alcove where a small, rounded door was almost obscured by a tapestry. Without giving it a second thought, she turned the knob and entered a small vacant chamber.

Dawn hadn’t yet broken. There were no draperies on the room’s only window, and she backed toward it as the voices outside grew louder. Glancing through the frost-painted glass, she searched the frozen breast of the tor for some sign of life. It wouldn’t do to be discovered leaving. There was no sign of anyone, though a sledge waited directly below. Cora held her breath. From the scuffling outside and the wails and sobs and hushed whispers, she could tell that they were carrying the coffin below. Three men. She distinctly heard the difference
in the pitch of their voices. Rodgers was one of them. She knew his voice well, and Parker’s. The third voice was that of an older man—the stabler? It must be. She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Joss. The minute he woke to find her missing, pandemonium would surely break loose. She had to be away before that.

The women did not follow; their voices still echoed along the corridor from a distance. Cora could scarcely hear them over the pounding of her heart. Below, the men were sliding the coffin into the sledge. She watched them toss a tarpaulin over it, but they did not tie the tarpaulin down. There was no need. The wind had died, and seemed unlikely to rise again. They evidently planned to be away soon. Joss would not be going with them by the look of things.

Cracking the door open, Cora poked her head into the hall and looked both ways. She was just about to chance flight when voices drove her back inside. The men were coming back. What luck! She waited until they passed and their voices faded before slipping out into the corridor and racing silently in the opposite direction. Now, if she could only find the way out and climb beneath that tarpaulin before whoever was going to drive the sledge returned, she would be away with no one the wiser.

A cold draft funneling up the stairwell whipped along the hallway, ruffling the hem of her wool frock. Could they have left the door open? Yes, it was ajar, and she slipped through to find herself before the sledge, its horses prancing in place, their nervous cries riding a gentle wind that had suddenly risen, as though the dawn were sighing awake. But neither the animals’ complaints
nor restless pawing and prancing were due to her sudden appearance. The snow, like sugary frost, was pockmarked with wolf prints, and she pulled up short at the sight.

Nothing met her eyes as she first approached the sledge. What had spooked the horses? She dared not take the time to sort it out; the racket they were making would surely bring the driver. Scrambling up beside the coffin, she pulled the tarpaulin over her.

No sooner had she done so when a mournful howl pierced the predawn silence, and she peeked from beneath the canvas to see a magnificent wolf, as white as the driven snow, a few yards from the door through which she’d exited. Her breath caught in a gasp, for the animal seemed to be watching her, its silver-gray eyes rimmed with red. They had an iridescent glow about them that shot her through with gooseflesh; they almost looked human, and they definitely were trained upon her. What if the beast were to attack? It started toward her.

It couldn’t attack her inside the coffin, and so she lifted the lid and climbed inside atop the butler’s corpse—not a moment too soon. The wolf had jumped up in the sledge atop the tarpaulin, upon the coffin beneath. Its heavy footpads tramping back and forth served to tamp the lid of the coffin down. There was precious little room left for her atop the butler’s rigid corpse.

Cora bit into her lower lip until it bled to keep from screaming. The cadaverous bulk beneath her had an otherworldly feel that made her blood run cold. She had never seen a corpse, much less touched one. Now she was forced to lie atop one, its cold, corrupted flesh
giving off a sickening-sweet stench of death and decay. Overhead, the lid of the coffin groaned with the wolf’s weight, and the beast had begun to claw at the wood and gnaw with its long, curved fangs. Where was the driver? In one way, she wished he would come. In another, she wished he wouldn’t, for fear he would find her if he did. Suppose it was Joss! Suppose that was why the men had gone back—to wake Joss. Perhaps he was to drive the sledge after all.

Bloodcurdling snarls and high-pitched whines began filtering through the coffin lid. The wolf had scratched the tarpaulin off and was running back and forth overhead. It was
vampir;
there were no wolves in England, so it had to be. Which one was it that was trying to get at her through the seasoned ash? Was it her father, or the coachman that had stalked her—or the strange passenger they had taken on just before the coach bogged down? Was it the real coachman . . . or Albert Clement, or was it Clive Clement, his lascivious father, who had begun all her woes? Or was it
Joss?
Her mind was reeling with the possibilities, and she was alone against any or all of them. There was no way to tell, but whichever the monster was, it was digging and scratching so fiercely at the coffin lid that she feared it would work it free.

All at once a shout broke the stillness, and the coffin groaned as the weight of the wolf lifted. Cora heard its four feet touch the ground, felt the vibration as it bounded off into the predawn darkness. The horses reared, and Cora’s heart leapt as the sledge jumped forward. There was no one at the reins! The stabler’s voice pierced her like the edge of a sword. His heavy footfalls crunching in the snow, following, nearly stopped her heart. She was trapped in a coffin in a runaway sledge that was plunging down the steep incline of the tor
toward the valley below. Soon traveling at breakneck speed, the swoosh and scrape of the sledge runners drowned out all but the distant cry of a wolf.

The old stabler would never catch up afoot. And by the time he ran back to the stable for a horse, the sledge would be halfway to the village. It was rocking from side to side, skimming the frosty ground. Her angle was such that Cora felt as if she were standing on her head as it picked up speed and raced crazily down the grade. The unsavory event that there was a dead body beneath her scarcely mattered now in this new press, despite its flaccid bulk and the foul smell as the jostling forced gasses from the cadaver. Not being able to see was the worst, and she pounded upon the coffin lid in a desperate attempt to raise it, but the huge wolf’s heavy feet had tamped it down too securely for her to budge.

Cora screamed, even though she knew there was no one to hear. Shouts echoed in the distance—more than one raised voice—and unless she was mistaken there was more than one wolf howling, too. She screamed again, but it was cut short. It was so close inside the coffin that she could barely breathe. Light-headed for lack of air, she had nearly lost consciousness when the horses’ shrieking and jingling tack struck terror in her heart. The sledge gave a violent lurch, rolled over and over, finally striking some immovable object that ejected the coffin, sprung the lid and sent her tumbling down the last of the grade in a cloud of displaced snow.

Dazed, the last thing she saw was the staved-in sledge on its side against the rowan tree that had stopped it, and the horses running off dragging broken bits of wood and iron. The last thing she heard was one wolf answering another wolf’s call before blackness swallowed first light.

Joss woke to a jostling. Parker was shaking his shoulder none too gently. “Wake up, sir!” he was saying. His voice seemed to be coming from an echo chamber. “Sir, you must wake! There is a grave press. Sir,
please
.”

Joss groaned. His eyes slowly opened to the valet’s frowning face hovering over him. His mouth was dry. Running his tongue over his teeth, he found to his dismay that his fangs were still extended, and he groaned again.

“What is it, Parker?” he grumbled, trying to grit his teeth and force the fangs back to no avail.

“The young miss is not in her room, sir,” said Parker. “We have searched everywhere.”

Joss bolted upright on the cot. “What do you mean, she is not here?” he demanded. “Of course she’s here. I just left her next door.”

“That was hours ago, sir,” the valet said. “Dawn has broken, and she is gone, I tell you. Her mantle is missing.”

“Fetch my clothes!” Joss said, slinging his feet to the floor. His head was reeling. The fangs were finally beginning to recede. Could she have seen them?
My God, she must have done! What else would have made her leave the Abbey with so many dangers lurking outside?

Joss surged to his feet as Parker shuffled back laden with his clothes, and he let the valet hurriedly dress him.

“That’s not the whole of it,” Parker said, helping him shrug his waistcoat on.

Joss stopped midshrug. “What else?” he snapped. “Come, come—out with it, man!”

“Bates’s body, sir,” the valet stammered. “A wolf spooked the horses and they ran off with the sledge, coffin and all. Otis is out looking for it now, but it’s started snowing again.”

Joss’s scalp drew back, tingling with chills. “A . . . a wolf, you say?” he murmured.

“Aye, ’twas a great white wolf in that sledge when Otis got there,” the valet said. “It had torn the tarpaulin off the sledge, and it was tramping back and forth on the lid of Bates’s coffin till it saw Otis, then it ran off howling loud enough to wake the dead. There was more than one animal, come to that. Others answered its call, and—”

“Where is Milosh?” Joss interrupted.

“Why, in his rooms, I expect, sir. I haven’t seen him.”

“Enough!” Joss seethed, rejecting the frock coat the valet was attempting to help him into. He grabbed his greatcoat instead. “Do the others know?” he asked.

“Just Otis and Rodgers . . . and me, sir.”

“For God’s sake don’t tell Grace,” said Joss, “or we’ll have another coffin to fetch. Bloody hell! How could Otis be so careless?”

“We came back in for the key to your father’s vault in the kirkyard, so Otis and Rodgers could put the coffin in there till the thaw, like you said, and that wolf must have spooked the horses while we were about it. The others think it was a wild dog, but I know it wasn’t, sir. It was a wolf all right. I’ve never seen the like.”