Dawn Thompson (12 page)

All at once, she strained against his grip and he let her go. A cold draft replaced her body heat, attacking his wet shirt where her tears had soaked it, and he shuddered with her warmth taken from him.

Zeus, what an awkward situation! Should he apologize, or carry on as if it hadn’t happened? But it had. There was no getting around it. He had kissed her intimately, and she had let him. Had the brief interlude in the battle they were waging served to bring her out of her shell? He hoped so, because considering what had just happened to him in her arms, he wasn’t likely to get another chance to do so. He dared not risk her discovering his terrible secret in such a horrific way.

He walked his fingers through his hair with painstaking control, and cleared his throat. “Miss Applegate, I—”

“No,” she interrupted, holding up one hand while slapping what remained of her tears away with the other. “The fault is mine,” she murmured. “Please . . . let us just forget it, shall we? Pretend it never happened. I am not myself . . . it is too soon.”

“Sometimes . . . when one speaks of a troublesome thing, brings it into the open and faces it, it doesn’t seem so terrible. As I’ve said, I am a good listener, should you ever—”

“Thank you, but no,” she said, shaking her head unequivocally. “Please say what you’ve come to say and
leave me in peace, if such a thing can be in this accursed place.”

Joss had nearly forgotten what he had come to say; she had so thoroughly bewitched him. In that one wonderful, terrible moment, he wished with all his soul that he hadn’t come upon the carriage, that someone else had rescued her. Yet in the same heartbeat, he was jealous of whatever phantom that might have been—a nameless, faceless figment of his imagination! What was happening to him?

He drew a ragged breath. “Your Lyda is below stairs refreshing herself and becoming acquainted with the staff,” he said. “I thought that a better plan than presenting her to you without preparing you first. Considering your reaction to the news, I evidently decided rightly.”

“It was a shock, is all, after grieving for her among the dead,” she murmured. “Other than that, why should such news upset me, sir? Is it not a reason to rejoice?”

“Under ordinary circumstances, it would be, yes,” he said. “But these are no ordinary circumstances. She was
dead,
Miss Applegate. I have searched my conscience and my memory, and there is no question. There was no pulse, and she had been bitten by the wolf, which I am certain was the coachman who gained entrance to this house. She is
vampir.
I’d stake my life upon it.”

Cora stared.
“Vampir,”
she echoed, clearly doubting all he had told her.

Joss threw wild arms in the air. “Would you wait until she drains your blood for proof?” he said. “That is how you shall have it if I let her enter these apartments. Forgive me, but I did not save you thrice from vampires just to turn you over to one on a silver salver. Do you not see the predicament I’m in?”

“
You
let them in?”

He wagged his head wearily. “My valet did,” he said. “I have had to take him into my confidence about my suspicions. He shan’t make that mistake again. He is the only one I told, but rest assured, I put the fear of God into the rest, and no one else will enter here, I promise you.”

All at once Cora went as white as the snow frosting the windowpane, and Joss gave a lurch. Were they about to have it all over again? He resisted the urge to take her in his arms.

“My God, what is it?” he said. “The snow has more color than you do.”

“If . . . if what you say is true . . . if it is, then what of the others? Suppose they turn up on your doorstep as well. Will you admit them? You will! Oh, you will!”

She backed away from him, her hands clamped over her mouth. Her eyes were wild, tear glazed and trembling. She looked for all the world like a frightened doe sighting death down the barrel of a hunter’s musket.

She continued: “Even if it isn’t true, even if you were mistaken and they weren’t dead . . . You are no surgeon; you could have been wrong. If such is the case, they will surely come. Folk in the village know I’m here now.” She shook her head wildly, her enchanting blue eyes darkened with raw, palpable fear.

Joss took a step nearer, despite his better judgment.

“Don’t you come near me!” she cried. Again, her eyes oscillated about the room—in search of some weapon to prevent him, he had no doubt. “How do you know so much about vampires?” she hurled at him. “Why should I trust you?”

He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Vampires
exist. Remember what you saw, the coachmen! I know the topic is forbidden, not spoken of in polite society, excused away as any number of ailments and afflictions to disguise its true nature—but that does not mean it doesn’t exist. My valet’s own grandniece was savaged by a vampire fifteen years ago, and my parents . . . are celebrated vampire hunters. They are abroad about the business of that now.
That
is why you should trust me. Pretending that a thing does not exist does not make it so, Miss Applegate. What alarms me is that whether your companions are or aren’t infected does not seem to matter to you; you are
that
terrified. Your own father numbers among them. What have they done to you to cause”—he gestured toward her—“this?”

“I do not have to explain myself to you,” she snapped, tossing her long chestnut mane. How like a proud thoroughbred she seemed to him then, glazed eyes flashing, ready to rear and strike. He thrilled at the sight. “I insist that you hire a coach for me at once. I have the price of one.” She darted toward the vanity and took up a beaded chatelaine purse. Drawing out a fistful of notes, she waved them at him. “See?”

He nodded. “But you could offer the coffers of Croesus and no coachman would venture out in this. No coach can climb the tor.”

“Your vicar managed.”

“In his sleigh, miss—and beat a path back to his kirk, coattails flying.”

“You have a sledge,” she persisted. “Take me to the village in that, then, and let me find my own way. You have no right to keep me here! If you do not let me go, I shall go on my own! You say that I am not your prisoner here—prove it!”

Joss’s shoulders slouched in defeat. “You are frightened, and you are talking nonsense. Look out that window—look!” he said, steering her toward it. Outside, the wind howled about the pilasters and snow hissed against the panes as though some unseen hand was flinging it. All the world was blinding white, in swirling, wind-driven motion. “I wouldn’t turn a dog out in such as this, but there
are
wolves abroad in it—one at least, and it is
vampir.
Do you honestly think I would let you risk yourself?”

“I am not your concern.”

“Ohhh, to the contrary, miss,” he said. “I did not save your life only to have you throw it away. Like it or not, you are my guest until the tor is navigable and the coaches are running again, so we shall just have to make the best of it. I have my butler’s corpse to be respected in the salon, his poor wife, my housekeeper, is on the verge of madness at the loss, and physically ill besides. My help has already admitted one vampire to the Abbey, and I fear they have just let in another. I have quite enough to deal with without your irrational desire to flee. Besides, where would you go? Back to Yorkshire? That would be the first place they’d look.”

“That does not concern you,” she spat.

“It certainly
does
concern me,” he argued. “In saving you, I seem to have opened myself to a vampire invasion. That means everyone under my roof is at risk now because of you.”

“Please, I beg you . . . do not let them in!”

“You do not comprehend the graver ill—what am I to do with the one we
already
have let in?” he said. “If my suspicions are correct, her powers will be useless during the day. She will be lethargic, to the point of weakness, unable to infect you. But once the sun sets, she will gain
strength. If I leave her in these rooms with you, you will be at risk from dusk to dawn, Miss Applegate.”

“Not from Lyda,” she sobbed. “She would never harm me. Why, she watched beside my bed for days on end when I was taken with the scarlet fever. Without her tending, I would have died.”

He sighed. “A vampire cannot help itself once the bloodlust comes upon it. The craving for blood will overpower any other emotion.”

“Well, I am warned,” Cora said, her haughtiness returning. It was likely she’d dismissed all he’d told her. “Send her to me and I shall see. I think I have known her long enough to make an assessment. Since you have no proof, I do not see that you have a choice. Besides, you have no one else to see to my needs.”

Joss stared long and hard at her. How could he refuse? Though his gut instinct was to evict the abigail—storm or no—suppose he
had
been mistaken? It had been bitter cold with blowing snow, and dark as sin when he came upon that coach. Numb fingers and poor vision in the blowing snow could have deceived him. He did not have proof of her vampirism like he did of Sikes’s; that was why he could not act.

After a moment he nodded. “Very well,” he said, “but on your own head be it.” Stalking to the door, he turned. “Do not touch her wound,” he said. “Dr. Everett in the village found it suspect. He thinks the animal may have been rabid. As you know, I believe it to be something far worse. Either way, you mustn’t touch the wound. It could infect you.” She nodded, and he went on quickly. “Look for signs of lethargy during the day and increased energy after sunset. We already know she can tread upon holy ground, as she has been recuperating at the vicarage. If you have any religious articles,
leave them about and see how she reacts to them . . . just in case. Watch for fangs. They will appear over her canine teeth, her eyes will glaze over with a green iridescence and glow red when she is at her most powerful. If this occurs, run as far and as fast as you can. I am right down the hall in the yellow suite. Come to me at once.”

Cora nodded, averting her eyes, and turned away from him. Would she take his advice, heed his warning? Only one thing was certain: The interview was over. He stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

Cora reeled away from the window at the sound of the door clicking shut. She flew to the vanity. Lyda mustn’t see her like this, with her face all tear streaked and blotched with red, and her eyes nearly swollen shut. She flitted back to the window and opened it enough to snatch a handful of snow from the sill, then shut it again. It took all her strength to budge it, and even through the tiny opening great clouds of blowing snow blasted the room.

Applying the snow to her swollen eyes, she left it until it melted. It was so cold it actually hurt and did little to reduce the swelling, but there wasn’t time for another application. Talc was needed. Thanking the stars that her toiletries were amongst the things her host had brought back from the carriage, Cora lavished the powder on and smoothed her hair back behind her shoulders with a quick sprinkle of rosewater, all save the obstinate tendrils that always wreathed her face. She had no sooner finished when a knock came at the door.

“C-come,” she said, her eyes riveted to the door as she
spun. She held her breath as it opened, and Joss handed Lyda over the threshold. Yes, it was Lyda! Her quick intake of breath at sight of the abigail caused a narrowing of Joss’s eyes that Cora couldn’t miss. Nor did she miss the thrill those quicksilver eyes delivered straight to her core, just as they had when dilated with desire earlier, passion turning them a smoky shade of gunmetal gray. Now they were sending another message altogether, and it stood the fine hairs on end at the nape of her neck and sent cold shivers unrelated to the chill she’d taken opening that window walking up and down her spine. He really did believe he was delivering her into the hands of a vampire. She almost pitied him. Their gazes locked for one heart-stopping moment before he broke eye contact and bowed out, closing the door behind him. That click reverberated through her, undermining her balance as she ran into the abigail’s outstretched arms, fresh tears streaming down her carefully powdered cheeks. But it didn’t matter anymore; the new tear tracks would cover the earlier ones. Lyda would never know.

“I thought you were dead!” she sobbed, holding the abigail at arm’s distance to take her measure. She gasped. “My God, you look dreadful! Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I don’t think I’m ever goin’ ta be warm again,” Lyda said. “I don’t blame the master o’ this fine place thinkin’ I was dead. I musta been near frozen stiff out in all that cold. I still don’t know how I ever made it ta the village, unless it was sheer fright o’ them howlin’ dogs. Somethin’ just come over me, and I done it.”

“The others . . . ?” Cora asked. “What of them?”

Lyda shook her head. “I never seen ’em,” she said. “I was all alone when I come to. Good riddance to ’em,
that’s what I say, leavin’ me ta fend all on my own like that.” She spat in punctuation. “
That
ta them! Are ya sure you’re all right? A dog bit me. Are ya sure ya wasn’t bit, too?”

Cora gestured that she hadn’t been. “I’m sure,” she said. “Come and sit down, Lyda. You look worn to a raveling. There’s a cot in the dressing room, and I have your traveling bag. Mr. Hyde-White brought all my luggage from the coach, yours included. You’ll have to make up the cot yourself, though. The butler’s died, and the house is in sixes and sevens.”

“So I gathered,” said the abigail. “I’ve met the staff below. They seem a fine lot, but it’s you it does my poor heart good ta see.” She embraced Cora again. “I’ll do up the cot and all once I’ve rested. I’m plumb tuckered, Miss Cora, and that’s a fact.”

Joss lumbered along the corridor to the yellow suite, growing more apprehensive with every heavy step that put distance between him and Cora Applegate. Every instinct in him screamed:
Go back! Don’t leave her with that woman! She was dead. Dead! Dead! Dead!

The only saving grace came in the form of a vision of Cora wielding a porcelain pitcher and a silver hairbrush. Woe betide and heaven help the fool who tangled with Miss Cora Applegate in one of those moods. She was a cheeky little spitfire. That was enough to defend her against him, but was it enough for her to hold her own against a vampire? At least she hadn’t wholly denied the possibility of such creatures. She wasn’t like so many shallow, self-serving females he’d met, who accredited the affliction as symptoms of other ailments, as if acceptance of the existence of vampires tainted them somehow. There was much to be admired in Miss Cora
Applegate. Still, he dared not get too close. It was one thing for her to accept the possibility of vampires; it was quite something else for her to want to make love with someone who possibly was one.