Dawn Thompson (9 page)

Cora shook her head. It was clear that she was becoming uncomfortable. This could be dangerous ground. She looked so forlorn all of a sudden, he wished he could take her in his arms. It was a pleasant fantasy, but not a very practical one.

“You can think of no reason why this man would go to such lengths to gain access to you?” he said, amazed by his composure.

“It makes no sense,” she replied. “And you haven’t explained
what happened in my suite earlier. What I saw was impossible, sir. How do you explain it?”

Joss hesitated. “You will not believe the truth, Miss Applegate, which is why I choose to spare you from it.”

He folded his arms across his chest, arresting the hands that itched to reach out and touch her. He was near enough to smell the rosewater drifting from her hair, to see the rise and fall of her breast beneath the silver gray brocade dressing gown. Her scent would be on it when it was returned to him. He could scarcely wait to wrap himself in her essence. What dreams would sleeping naked in that garment bring? He could not remember when a woman had affected him thus.

“I would have it nonetheless, sir,” she pressed. “What happened in that room?”

“Very well,” he said with a deep nod. “Since you insist, what you saw was a vampire shape-shifting into the form of a bat while crashing through your bedchamber window—a rather strong vampire, since he is able to change clothed and unclothed, a thing that I am given to understand is common only among the very powerful undead.” Cora stared. She didn’t even blink. All color seemed to roll off her face as though some unseen hand lowered a white shade upon it. It was as if she had turned to stone, and he went on quickly, “Last night, I entered the yellow suite to inquire of your progress from Grace, and I caught Sikes bending over you in your bed while she slouched snoring in the chair. He had mesmerized her. I feared so then but I am certain of it now. If I had not come when I did, he would have taken your blood and made you his consort . . . or worse. I have no doubt in my mind.”

“A-are you telling me—”

“I am telling you that it
was
a wolf that savaged your companions. I know, because tonight the imposter shed his clothes, transformed into that very wolf and tried to savage me out on the fells. I fought him off and drove back here like a madman, but I was not in time to save poor Bates. I was in time to save you, but he will return. This entity is relentless.”

“I have heard of such,” she murmured. “Every now and then there are rumors in Town . . . but I have always thought them tales to frighten children. When Mother was alive, she used to caution me never to go down ’round the docks or enter Whitechapel unescorted for fear of being
taken
, as she put it, but I never took the warnings seriously. It never entered my mind that the threat could be real.”

“Well, you can now,” said Joss. “I believe this creature attacked your Mr. Sikes, and in wolf form attacked your companions. Then he took your coachman’s clothes and came here to finish the job. Unless I miss my guess, when the snow melts Sikes will be found dead in the fells, so do not judge him too harshly for not returning.”

“W-where have you put the . . . bodies?” she asked. “They cannot be buried until the snow melts.”

Again Joss hesitated. “I do not have the bodies,” he said at last. “When we reached the coach, they were gone.”

Cora groaned and swayed. She was in his arms before he knew what had happened. This time, though she stiffened, she did not struggle, and he folded her closer, soothing her with gentle hands. Her hair felt like spun silk sifting through his fingers. There was no way to avoid it; it was everywhere, long and thick and fragrant, falling from a middle part like a curtain to her waist. A
thrumming in his sex caused alarm bells to go off in his brain. Still he held her, stroking her hair that until now he had only been able to stroke with his eyes. Excruciating ecstasy, until her posture clenched again, so severely she’d begun to tremble.

“You have been hurt,” he murmured in her ear. “That is evident, but I am not the one who hurt you. Nor will I ever. There is a very real danger among us, Miss Applegate. I seek only to protect you from it.”

“I-if what you say is true, and he could exit so easily, can he not enter as easily, also?”

“Rumor has it that a vampire must first be invited before it can enter, except in the case of a public place. Unfortunately, I did invite him once—in ignorance, as Bates did just now as well. I do not know if that is all that is required, and I dare not take that chance; that bat could have flown back down any vacant chimney in the Abbey.”

Cora shuddered again, and Joss swept her up in his arms and carried her through the sitting room door into the adjoining bedchamber. He set her down on the mahogany four-poster bed. Parting from her was physically painful. His sex was on fire—a throbbing, aching threat to his reason. It challenged the seam in his breeches for the second time since he’d returned, despite the stress that would render another impotent, and the teeth-chattering chills his wet togs brought to bear. Overexertion and exhaustion always heightened his libido, but
this
. . . this was beyond bearing. Nonetheless, he tucked the counterpane around her and stepped back, his spine arrow straight. A pity his cutaway frock coat did not cover the obvious; her eyes were drawn there, and there was genuine fright in them.

“If all the servants are occupied elsewhere, perhaps I can be of help also. I could—”

“Ohhh, no,” he interrupted. “I want you where I know you are safe. The others have no inkling of what I have just told you, what I fear we are facing. If they were to discover the truth there would be pandemonium here, so I must ask you to keep my confidence.”

“But I would be safe with the others, would I not? Otherwise, who is there to stay with me? Wouldn’t it be better if . . .”

“
I
will stay with you,” Joss said. “I will not let you out of my sight. The others have no inkling that a vampire moves among us. Even if Amy were not needed below, how could I trust you to her care in such a situation? I am the only one who knows the seriousness of what we are dealing with, the only one equipped to deal with it. Now, given that, do you finally see the uselessness of social proprieties?”

Whether she did or she didn’t, she made no reply, and he went on quickly, fearful that she might. “What matters here now is hardly the dictates of society,” he said, “but rather that we view the impossible as possible for the sake of survival. Given that, we may just have an edge. The power of such creatures lies in our disbelief; it makes us vulnerable. If we could begin with that—regardless if you believe or not—we may just get through what it is we’re facing here.”

Joss sat, with his head in his hands, upon Parker’s cot in the dressing room adjoining his bedchamber. He had told Cora the truth, but not the truth entire. She had taken it well—almost too well. Did she believe? And how well would she take the reality that he himself might well be a vampire, too? He dearly hoped he would never have to find out.

Was she just patronizing him, or had her previous ordeal been so terrible that even the threat of the undead paled before it? Joss might never know. He didn’t like the way she had trembled in his arms, as if she were enduring a terrible hardship just to allow him to touch her. Now she was sound asleep on the other side of the tall, gilded dressing room door he’d left ajar between them, exciting his sex even at that distance.

He’d locked her in that dressing room while he went below to check on Grace and instruct Parker, who was now residing in the yellow suite. She’d made no objection. He’d toyed with the idea of confiding in Parker, but decided against it; the valet didn’t have a superstitious
bone in his body and would surely have thought him mad. As it was, in the valet’s eyes his actions were likely suspect, though Joss was certain Parker viewed them as having carnal motivations and chose not to question them. All in all, the situation had come to a satisfactory pass for the present. He had even managed to change his wet togs for a clean shirt, buckskins and hose, with a dry pair of top boots at the ready just in case.

He was exhausted. One last glance through the gap in the door showed him that Cora was sleeping peacefully. No candles or lamps were lit. The only light issued from the blazing hearths in all the master suite rooms, which he had given instructions be kept burning day and night.
No bat is going to fly down these chimneys, by god!

Finally giving in, he stretched out full length on the valet’s cot, and groaned. How did the man sleep on such an inhospitable piece of furniture? Making a mental note to see that the valet had a more comfortable bed to rest his brittle old bones upon in the future, at last Joss fell asleep.

Cora tossed in bed. It was happening again, the dream that wouldn’t cease haunting her. She was running through the maze at Clement Hall in Manchester. That wasn’t where or how it had really happened, but that was the way of dreams. Some things were just too terrible to remember exactly as they occurred, but her situation was the same and the fear was palpable. She was fleeing from someone in stark terror.

Her rapid heartbeat rose in her throat until she feared her heart would burst from her breast. She was running as fast as she could, but her knees were trembling and he was gaining on her. His breath was fouled with liquor. He’d been drinking, but he was not in his
cups. If only he were, she might have escaped him. But there was no escape from the hands that used her cruelly now, from the body that weighted her down . . . from the pain like firebrands searing into her, from the cruel mouth that forced hers open beneath. Again the screams rose in her throat, cut short by the sharp blows to her cheek and temple. Dazed, she gasped then found her voice and screamed again and again—

All at once, strong hands lifted her into stronger arms, pulling her to the edge of consciousness. This wasn’t a dream; the nightmare was real! Only, this time her hands were free. She balled them into fists and used them, pummeling her attacker about the head and face and shoulders.

He shook her awake. Through her tears an image took shape. It wasn’t the assailant of her nightmare she was attacking, it was Joss Hyde-White. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, attempting to comfort her. She had dropped her guard—let down her defenses, albeit unconsciously—and let him glimpse her vulnerable side, something she’d sworn never to show another man ever.

She slapped his arms away. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped at him. “Take you hands off me, you clod!”

“You were having a nightmare,” Joss defended. “I was trying to wake you without frightening you before you roused the whole house. Everyone’s nerves are on edge under this roof now.”

She slapped his arms again. “Well, I am awake now, and the nightmare was far less irksome than waking to find you pawing at me, sir. This will not do!”

His hands fell away, and Cora shuddered; a cold fugitive draft rushed at her in their absence. That only
made her angrier. There was no denying that his touch comforted her, that it caused strange, frightening sensations both wonderful and terrible, that flagged danger at her very core. This was more terrifying than anything else, and she fought against it with all her strength, both physical and mental. All that had been spoiled for her.

She kicked her feet beneath the counterpane, striking his behind a heavy blow, and he rose with a heaved sigh and tossed several fresh logs into the hearth. Stalking to the window, he parted the portieres. From her vantage, Cora could see that the wind had died off somewhat, though snow still hissed against the panes. The sky had begun to lighten, gray and cheerless. Another sigh escaped him as he turned back to face her, his dilated pupils catching red glints from the fire.

“I must go below,” he said. “When I pass through that door, you must bolt it after me, and let none in except those who are familiar to you. Stay here. Do not go prowling about unescorted. That bat could well have come back in through any cold chimney, and we are too few and far away to come to your aid if needs must. Can I trust you not to scream the house down, telling all and sundry that which I confided in you last night?”

“Who would believe it?”

“The women in this household are a superstitious lot. They are distraught already. The last thing needed here now is panic over vampire tales. Can I trust you? Will you at least give me that? I could have left you in that carriage with the rest. I brought you here to save your life, but you don’t know a whit about gratitude. If I had meant you harm, it would have happened already. I do not know what demons plague you, miss. I would gladly try to exorcise them if you would let me. Barring that,
will you at the least recognize me as your friend, and cease the battery?”

Cora suppressed a giggle of hysteria. What a sight this man was, standing before her in his stocking feet, head bruised and bloodied, fists on his hips, moving stiffly for the “battery,” indeed. She was almost ready to melt—until her eyes slid lower, picking out the conspicuous bulge his togs couldn’t hide straining the seam of his buckskins.
All men are alike,
she thought dourly. That he made no move to act upon his urges meant nothing. Cora wasn’t ready to wrestle with her emotions in that regard, despite that he had aroused her also; she doubted she ever would be.

“Just go,” she snapped.

Joss sketched a stiff bow. “I shall get my boots,” he said, rubbing his back as he disappeared through the dressing room door.

Tears misted Cora’s eyes. She had never felt so alone. She longed for the comfort of those very arms that she had driven away. He had been naught but kind. It was she who had aggressed him, and he had borne it gallantly. Had she happened upon a true gentleman? It didn’t matter. Her wounds were still too fresh.

Striding out and toward the bedchamber door, his buckskins tucked inside his boots, Joss turned to her. “Lock this after me,” he said.

Cora hesitated. The silvery brocade dressing gown was draped over the arm of the chaise lounge across the way, out of her reach. She wasn’t about to get out of bed in that nightgown, inviting his eyes to feast upon her through the thin voile gauze again. Instead, she hugged the counterpane closer, alarmed at the rapid rhythm of her racing heart.