Beloved Forever (15 page)

He nodded. “You love me, but sometimes I wonder how much. Why can you not leave this place and be with me? Vallsade Manor is elegant and private. When you look upon the grounds, you will never want to return to Virginia.”

“I have no doubt it is beautiful, and we will visit it many times during our life together, but my home is here.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Then let me make Tremont an offer for your contract. If I purchase your freedom, you are free to marry.”

Elspeth shook her head, unsurprised by his familiar suggestion. She responded as she always did. “You know he will not sell me, Nicholas.”

His brow furrowed. “I could make him.”

“Nay, my love. It would be dishonest.” She slid from the bed and walked to the smaller chiffarobe, where a pitcher and basin rested. Elspeth poured water into the basin and took a rough cloth from the drawer. “The sun will rise soon, and you will be on your way. Do not let our parting words be acrimonious.”

Nicholas sighed as he slid from the bed and slipped on his knee breaches and shirt. “I must return to my room and prepare for departure.” He sounded anguished when he added, “Why must you be so bound by your honor, Elspeth? You are not a man.”

“Honor is not exclusive to the realm of men,” she said tartly. “I am who I am. You would not love me were I different.”

His eyes narrowed. “You never used to be this stubborn. As Emma—”

She shivered. “Please do not mention that. You know how disconcerting I find the memories.”

He nodded abruptly. “I know you prefer to avoid all thoughts of who you were.”

She knew he wouldn’t admit though she harbored the soul of the women of his past, she was her own person. Elspeth ignored his comment and finished washing. Once she had wound her hair into a bun and secured the mobcap, she retrieved her chemise and petticoat from the pile. Under his watchful eyes, she put them on, wishing she could take them off and return to the bed with him. She slipped on another black dress and tied a modesty cloth across her torso before adding a pocket and the apron. Then she walked to Nicholas and put her arms around his waist. “You know I love you.”

He caressed her cheek. “You have always loved me.”

She shrugged. “I love you as you are now because of who we are today. Not because of who I was in the past.”

Nicholas groaned. “How can I leave you?”

“You must.” She forced a smile and swallowed down tears. “Next year, I will be free. We will build a house—”

“We will return to England, where we shall not starve.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Or rusticate.”

She frowned up at him with a look of annoyance, but continued spinning dreams. “We will have children and be together every day. Let those thoughts sustain you.”

He sighed before lowering his lips to hers. When he raised his head, he said, “I suppose they will have to.”

She hugged him once more before stepping away. “You must go now. I have to report to the kitchen, and you will be leaving after breakfast.”

“I have no appetite, so I will leave now.”

Elspeth kissed him again, tracing her tongue with his. She pressed against him, but reined in her passion. There was no time for more lovemaking. Already, it was late enough to be risky for him to leave her room. She broke away and turned her head. “I love you.” She kept her eyes focused on the whitewashed wall, refusing to allow him to see the tears in her eyes.

“When I return, you will leave this place.” His voice was firm, but sounded thick. “Contract or no contract.”

She nodded, unable to watch as he left. Their reunions were joyous, but the partings always robbed her of the euphoria she experienced when he held her in his arms. As soon as she heard the door close softly behind him, she collapsed on the edge of the bed and sobbed. Her words had been brave, but another year on Tremont Plantation without Nicholas would seem like forever.

After restoring her appearance, Elspeth went downstairs to begin breakfast. She was surprised to find Johanna already in the kitchen, stoking the fire. She looked at the sky through the window, noting it was near the time she always began breakfast.

“Did you have a lie-in?” Johanna’s voice bordered on friendly.

Elspeth blinked. “No. I did not think I was tardy.”

“No matter.” Johanna waved to a basket on the table. “Lord Tremont has requested fresh berries. You are to pick them.”

Her eyes widened. “The briar patch is over an hour away, Johanna. Breakfast will be delayed if I go for blackberries.”

She shrugged. “I cannot counter the master’s whims. I obey his instructions.” A small smile flashed across her face. “I suggest you enjoy the sunshine and a morning off. Abel has a horse waiting for you.”

She bit her lip, hesitating. The thought of picking berries was tempting, but she was reluctant to go. It was disconcerting to see Johanna so cheerful, and she wondered at that. When the explanation occurred to her, she almost giggled. Clearly, the housekeeper was happy to have her out of the house for the morning. Perhaps she imagined serving Lord Tremont breakfast would prompt him to make a marriage offer. It would be nice to spend some time alone, and if Lord Tremont was ordering her to go, what choice did she have? “I shall return later in the morning.”

Johanna nodded, not taking her attention from the forming fire.

Elspeth slipped through the back entrance of the house and ran across the hilly green ground to the stables. As promised, Abel waited with an elderly sorrel. She mounted and rode away at a steady pace, until the plantation faded behind her. Once out of sight, a happy laugh escaped her. For a few hours, she could pretend she was free of the obligations imposed upon her. She could fantasize she was meeting Nicholas.

She sighed. If only she had known of this morning’s duty, she could have arranged to meet Nicholas away from the plantation. She would have loved another hour in his arms, but would have to be content with last night until she saw him again. A year was not so long, she consoled herself. It was barely enough time for a horse to foal or the seasons to change. The time would pass quickly.

Chapter Eight

Emily awoke with a dull headache and a raging appetite. Her head spun when she sat up, and she had to clutch the nightstand for support when she gained her feet. She waited until the room stopped spinning before shuffling into the bathroom, shedding the pajamas as she went, leaving the pants in the doorway.

She turned on the water as hot as she could stand before stepping under the stream. A hiss escaped through her teeth as the pulsing jets seemed to strip the skin from her body. She turned down the hot water, and the painful sensation faded. She leaned against the wall and let the water flow over her.

When she felt completely steady, Emily washed her body and hair, lathering a second time to remove the dried blood matting her hair. She left the conditioner on double the recommended time in hopes of combating the tangles.

When the water turned cool, and her skin wrinkled, she turned off the spray and stepped onto the bathmat. Her head felt clear, and the dream returned to her in full force.

She met her haunted eyes in the mirror after wiping away the condensation. Could it be that the Bartholomew Tremont from her dream was the same pitiful creature enslaved by Nicholas? A chill ran through her when she pictured the handsome face of the man in the dream before Tremont’s current visage took its place. How the man had been tortured. What could he have done to deserve such cruel treatment?

Emily longed to return to bed, in case the memory revealed itself fully, but was too hungry to sleep. Her stomach cramped and twisted with the need to feed. She looked away from her own eyes when she remembered Nicholas intended to take her hunting tonight. How could she kill someone to live?

A dark thrill coursed through her when a vision of a stilled heart resting in her hand flashed through her mind. The thought should sicken her, but instead, she salivated. Emily whimpered. She didn’t want to feel the way she did, and vowed she wouldn’t allow herself to do anything terrible. As long as she maintained her resolve, she would be fine. She wouldn’t be a monster like Nicholas.

Once she had dried off and brushed her hair, she left the bathroom and went to the dresser for fresh underwear. She rummaged through the drawers, but found no pants. She hadn’t expected to, since there hadn’t been any before. She went through the closet again, but found only skirts and dresses.

She finally settled on a long denim skirt and a black turtleneck sweater. The brush of denim against her calves felt strange as she walked. She eyed herself in the mirror and grimaced. She wasn’t particularly feminine, and it showed. She stood awkwardly, trying to adjust her posture to fit the skirt, but it was hopeless.

There was nothing else to do, so she walked to the door. To her surprise, the knob turned easily, and the door opened. She peeked into the hallway, but neither Nicholas nor Tremont lingered near the doorway. She took a step outside the room and froze, waiting for someone to stop her. Eventually, she continued walking down the hallway, until she entered the living room.

Nicholas stood by the large window, but turned when she stepped into the room. “How did you sleep?”

She hesitated, torn between the need to know about Tremont, and the reluctance to admit to having dreamed. “I dreamed.”

His brow quirked. “What did you dream about?”

“You,” she said abruptly, “and Tremont Plantation.”

His smile was bittersweet. “I thought Elspeth was the most stubborn of all your manifestations, until you.”

“What happened?”

Nicholas’s mouth firmed. “I don’t wish to discuss this.”

She frowned. “But—”

“You will remember in time.” His voice cracked. “Don’t make me recount the memory of finding you…” He trailed off. “The image remains in my mind to this day. I can’t speak of it.”

“What about Tremont? Is your servant the same man?”

Nicholas nodded, but didn’t speak. He walked toward her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We will go now. I can feel your hunger.”

She sighed, but didn’t press for an answer. His closed expression indicated how receptive he was to answering questions. She would have to finish the dream before she knew what had happened.

They left the apartment, turning onto 6
^th
Street. Emily attempted to shrug off his hold a couple of times, but he tightened his grip each time. She eventually settled into his embrace, matching her pace to his. Walking beside him felt more comfortable than it should have. As they neared Greenwich Avenue, she searched for a topic of conversation, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. She thought of Jeremy and winced. “Is it really true? Everything I learned in Huxley is real?”

He nodded, obviously attuned to her thoughts. “Yes.”

“Did you know this would happen?” she whispered, dreading his answer.

Nicholas shrugged. “I didn’t think of it. My goal has been only to find you again.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “I didn’t think much beyond that. It was so easy before.”

She lifted a brow. “I don’t understand.”

Nicholas turned his head to gaze down at her. “You’ve never hated me before.” His face revealed traces of his pain. “Always, your soul recognized me, and you loved me.”

She sniffed, denying a dart of guilt. “Did you kill my friends and take me from my family before?”

His eyes slid from hers, and he quickened their pace. Once on Greenwich Avenue, his posture became different. He seemed leaner and longer, with a magnetism Emily didn’t think she was imagining. His dark gaze turned watchful and more predatory than usual as they scanned the people milling about.

He wasn’t the only one who changed. A boneless sensation passed through her body, making her gait sexy and tempting. She scanned the passersby, looking for one to lure away.

She blinked, alarmed by her thoughts. She was straying into dangerous territory by allowing her thoughts and actions to mimic Nicholas’s. She would have to be on her guard.

“There,” he said, pointing down an alley. A small group of people huddled at the end of the lane, just barely visible behind a pile of boxes. He pulled on her arm.

Emily tried digging in her heels and going slack, but he was undeterred by her efforts at resisting. As they walked down the filthy alley, her nose crinkled from the pungent odor coming from a large dumpster. Her senses were heightened, and she could hear the heartbeats of the small group collectively and individually. It was like four separate heartbeats pounding in syncopation. Dark hunger clawed its way up her stomach to the back of her throat. Her sluggish heartbeat accelerated, and her mouth watered.

They stopped a foot or two from the group of people. No one spoke. The four, huddled around a small fire of burning paper, looked up at them with slack faces and shining eyes. There was a sense of detachment about them, as if nothing she or Nicholas might do would surprise them. The child stared off into space, as if he was beyond seeing them.

Each wore ragged clothes covered with stains. They appeared to be a family, with a woman and man in their late-thirties, and an elderly woman, in addition to the boy of perhaps eleven. Her stomach churned looking at them, and her mouth fell open to utter an admonition to run. She discovered she couldn’t move her tongue when she tried to speak. Nicholas shot her a look before focusing a charming smile on the group.

“It’s a cold night,” he said in a soft, seductive voice. “Wouldn’t you like to be warm?”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she nodded. The man still looked hesitant, as did the elderly woman. The boy’s gaze remained fixed on the wall in front of him. A thin line of drool hung from the corner of his mouth, and his expression remained blank.

Emily found her voice as the urge to shout at them passed. “The boy. What’s wrong with the boy?”

The man’s shoulders hunched, and he looked defensive. “There’s nothing wrong with my son.” Her question seemed to have shattered the trance Nicholas had been trying to impose upon him. “What do you want?”

“To ease your burdens.” Nicholas’s words were charitable, but his tone was mocking. “And ours,” he added.

The older woman crossed herself. “Be gone,” she said in a low whisper. Her lips parted to reveal blackened gums, minus teeth.

Nicholas’s gaze locked with hers. “Be still.”

She ceased to move. She didn’t even blink. Her face froze in an expression of terror, and her hand remained frozen in air, having been partway through crossing herself again.

Nicholas’s dark gaze clashed with the man’s for a long moment, and then he stopped moving. The woman burst out sobbing and muttering. Nicholas barely gazed at her, and she stiffened. She was already beaten. He didn’t bother with the boy.

Emily stood back as he went to the elderly woman and lifted her effortlessly. Her eyes darted around with terror, but she didn’t even cry out as Nicholas’s head dipped to her neck.

She turned away when Nicholas began to feed, not wanting the sight of him feeding to fuel her hunger. However, she could still hear the sounds of him sucking the blood. They echoed through her in time with her heartbeats, seeming to call to her. With a tiny cry of defeat, she spun around.

Nicholas looked up from his victim. Her blood had smeared across his face and teeth. His red eyes gleamed even in the meager light. He licked his lips and lifted his head. “Come.”

She shook her head, even as her feet obeyed his command. Emily tried to stop walking toward him, but couldn’t control her body. When he lifted his hand, she abruptly stopped, inches from the two of them. Her mouth fell open, and she whimpered when he returned to the throat of the old woman. Her stomach growled as his fangs penetrated the sagging, leathery skin of the grandmother. She saw blood seep from the wounds before his tongue lapped it away. She wanted to feed.

A stirring of resistance built in her, but she was beyond paying it heed. Emily’s thoughts focused only on taking part in the feast. She ached to feel the blood sliding down her throat, wanting the coppery taste to fill her mouth.

Nicholas dropped the old woman, and she landed on the cement of the alley with a moist thud. Her eyes stared up into the sky, as if begging God for an explanation. She was dead.

He held out his hand to her.

Emily’s arm lifted of its own volition, until her hand was snug in his. She took a step when he took a step, moving with him toward the man. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Nicholas’s.

“Yours.” He touched the shoulder of the man and pushed Emily down onto her knees beside the man.

She stared at him with wide eyes, unable to get up, and unable to lean forward. She remained frozen, torn between her hunger and her conscience. Her eyes fastened on his carotid artery, visibly pulsing. She could smell the fear on him, and her stomach rumbled.

Nicholas knelt beside her, smoothing hair off her shoulders. “It’s just like with me, love. Tear the vein and drink the blood.”

“Will he be in pain?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll see he enjoys it.” He leaned closer. “If you can concentrate while feeding, tell him with your thoughts how pleasurable the experience is.”

She nodded, tentatively reaching out to touch the man’s neck. It looked none too clean, and the stench emanating from him nearly quelled her appetite, until she glanced at Nicholas and saw the blood on his lips. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before leaning forward.

When her face was in the crook of the man’s neck, she gagged on his scent.

“Think of roses,” Nicholas said as he smoothed his hand down her back. “Your mind is powerful enough to make him smell like anything.”

Emily tried to recall the smell of the honeysuckle near the backdoor of her parents’ house during summer. Soon, the scent filled her nostrils, along with the gentle hum of the bees that spent the season circulating the bush whispering in her ears. She opened her mouth and traced her tongue along the path of the man’s vein. Dirt and sweat clung to her tongue, and she scraped it along the top of her teeth, puncturing herself on her fangs. The taste of her own blood was a welcome respite from the taste of her victim’s skin.

Nicholas put his arm around her waist and leaned forward with his head on her shoulder. “Bite through the skin, Emily. You know how.”

She swallowed down her fear and self-disgust as her fangs penetrated the man’s skin. It was like sliding a hot knife through butter. His flesh offered no resistance, and soon a well of blood pooled in her mouth. It was warm and intoxicating. The aroma sent shivers racing down her spine, and she gulped greedily, tearing with her fangs to widen the wound.

A veritable river of blood flooded her mouth and spilled over, running down her chin and staining her shirt. She remained too focused on feeding to worry about the proper etiquette of ingesting a victim’s lifeblood. She lapped and sucked eagerly, desperate for every drop. When the flow began to diminish, she pushed her face deeper into his neck, ripping at him with her fangs.

“Stop, Emily. There’s nothing left.”

She ignored Nicholas, determined to wring every drop from the man in front of her. She rooted against his neck, licking at the skin, and not noticing the awful taste that had previously repelled her. Her heart raced in her ears, and delicious warmth spread through her.

She cried out with pain when Nicholas yanked on a handful of her hair, pulling her away. She glared up at him, baring her fangs and hissing.