Fallen Embers (34 page)

Georgia nodded sadly. “Of course I thought of it, Conrad. I'll not deny that it crossed my mind—how could it not? But perhaps the cost was higher than I was willing to bear. You are not the worst sire one might have, you know. I am content with my place in life, Conrad, or reasonably so, and thus have no pressing desire to see you dead.”

She hoped he wouldn't think to question her further. Though she had said nothing that was not true, she was afraid her motives would not stand close inspection. “But, my own concerns aside, I must say I'm shocked that you care so little for the rest of your family that you'd be willing to subject
them
to the stress and strain of being left fatherless. There are quite a few among them who would doubtless end up turning feral in your absence. And all but a few would likely be left penniless as well, since as far as I can tell, your affairs are in a right mess. You've had no one handling things since Damian left, have you?”

Conrad sighed. “Indeed. You are quite correct. I have let things go for too long. Very well, my dear, I will take care of that without delay. Perhaps you would like to take on the task? You could move in here, if it suited you. There's plenty of room and, despite the unseasonable weather, I'm persuaded this house could be made most comfortable with but a little effort.”

Georgia ducked her head. Once that was the thing she would have loved most. Now… “If that is your wish, I will of course abide by it, but I confess it would not be my first choice. I have obligations elsewhere, after all.”

Conrad nodded and looked away. “Ah, yes, of course. I was forgetting. And how are all your young men keeping these days? Are they taking good care of you?”

“They are as well as ever, thank you for asking, and send you their regards. You'll forgive me, I hope, for not having thought to mention it sooner.”

“Of course, of course.” Conrad waved her concerns aside. “We'll say no more about it.” He studied her for a moment, then asked, “Are you happy,
ciccia
?”

“Yes, I believe so. As happy as can be expected, given the circumstances. I confess, I'd be
more happy
if I was certain you were well—or at least on the road to recovery.”

Conrad sighed. “Very well. You've shamed me enough. There's no need for you to worry yourself any further on my account. I have responsibilities; I will no longer shirk them.”

“Good. Then perhaps we might get off this floor? I'm finding it exceedingly uncomfortable. You need rugs in here.” Rising to her feet, she extended a hand to him, to help him up. Conrad grimaced, but allowed her to assist him—even going so far as to not object when she slid an arm around his waist and urged him to lean on her.

“Where are we going now?” Conrad asked, smiling teasingly when Georgia turned them toward the door. “Are you taking me to bed, wench?”

“Tempting, but impractical. Perhaps, in a few days, when you're feeling stronger.”

Conrad pressed his lips to her head for a brief kiss. “Quite right, my girl. I doubt I'd be of any use to you in my present condition.”

“A hearty meal—that's what you need. You'll be back to your old self in no time,” Georgia promised.

Conrad laughed. “Heaven save me if that be true. For, as you know, my old self is nothing I wish to aspire to.”

They settled together on the couch and he cuddled her close. Georgia sighed—partly in contentment, partly in relief, partly with regret for what they could have been. After a moment, she gave in to her longing and buried her face against his neck, breathing in his scent, taking comfort in his strength. He tightened his arms around her and held her close, but the passion that had once blazed between them seemed but a warm memory now. It was no more than a glowing coal that might be counted on to keep one warm—all winter long, if necessary—an ember, from which a flame might yet be coaxed, if an effort was made, but which was unlikely to ever again flare up on its own. Which was probably just as well.

“Why did you do it?” he asked at last.

“Do what, love?”

“Why did you take the chance of coming here today?”

Georgia gazed at him in surprise. “Did I not explain that already? Were you not listening?”

“I listened,” Conrad insisted. “I heard every word—all you had to say on the subject. But you knew, better than anyone, the risk you were taking. And, however pleased you are with me as a sire, you also know it's not the same as being your own mistress—and it never will be.”

Georgia sighed and slipped her hand into his. “I know.”

“Then, why?”

“Because… Oh, I suppose in part it was because once, a long time past, in a lonely cove on a now-forgotten beach, you happened upon a girl engaged in the fight of her life. I still remember that night, even if you do not.”

“I remember it well. And I have it on good authority 'twas ne'er so dire. This girl you mention? She had the matter well in hand.”

Georgia smiled sadly. “She may have said so at the time, but if you would know the truth, she was quite certain that night would be her last. The end she faced was not like to be a pretty one either, and she was sore distressed about it.”

“If that were so, she hid it well. Are you sure that's how it happened? Perhaps you're misremembering the facts?”

“I assure you I am not. Might I continue?”

“Oh, by all means. You make it sound quite a thrilling tale. As I've said, I remember this lass of whom you speak—very well, in fact. As I recall, I thought her quite enchanting even then.”

“You thought her a vile monster and soulless besides. You made that quite plain.”

Conrad shrugged. “It's possible. But as you have not infrequently pointed out, I am hardly infallible.”

“Indeed. I pray you will remember it. Now, as I was saying, despite the fact that you had no use for her or any of her kind, despite the fact you could have simply walked on and left her to her fate, you did not. You chose, instead, to step in and save her for no other reason than that the odds were against her and your sense of fairness was affronted by it.”

“There may have been more to it than that. I also admired her spirit, her bravery, her handling of her weapon, the way she stood her ground even when faced with certain death.”

“Is that so?” Georgia looked at him in surprise. “You never said.”

“You were also quite fetching. In fact, as I think back upon it now, I wonder if I might not have based my decision on that alone.”

Georgia rolled her eyes. “I'm glad to see your mood is improving. And, in any case, it really doesn't matter why you did it; the result was the same. You saved my life that night. How could I count the risk now, when I had the chance to, in some small way, repay the favor?”

Conrad shook his head. “There was no need. You've long since repaid me for any kindness I did you that night. Indeed, you did so that very evening. Scarcely a day has gone by since then that I have not thanked my stars that I did
not
walk on and leave you to your fate. That would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”

He pulled her close again and she went willingly into his arms, but her heart was heavy. “
Grazie, ciccia
,” he whispered. “
Cucciola mia
.
Te voglio bene
.”

“I love you too, you know. For all that it matters. Love is a very strange thing, I sometimes think.”

“It's a terrible thing. The joy is fleeting, the regret eternal.”

Georgia sighed. “And now I assume we're back to speaking of Damian? Why am I not surprised? My love, if you want him that badly, why do you not simply call him back to you? You're his sire, Conrad; you
know
he cannot refuse you. If you'd have put your mind to it, you could have had him back months ago. And then, rather than spending all this time regretting your loss and all but ruining your health in the process, you might have spent it indulging in much more pleasurable pursuits.”

Conrad scowled. “Call him back to me? How—against his will? Never.”

“Why should it be against his will? As I said before, despite your shortcomings, you're hardly the worst sire one could have. Even Damian must realize that. I'm sure he's already regretting his actions. He'd likely be more than pleased if you asked him to return. I dare say he's probably secretly hoping you'll do so.”

“Even if that were the case, I still would not have him back. Not at the cost of hurting him again.”

“They say true love does not count the cost. If you're so very reluctant to reclaim him, one has to wonder if, perhaps, your heart is less engaged than you believe. Perhaps you hesitate for quite a different reason?”

“What other reason could there be?”

“Perhaps, deep down, you realize that taking him back would not be for your highest good.”

“It's not
my
good that concerns me, Georgia.”

“I know,” she sighed. “It never is. And that is what has always worried me most about you. Now, enough talk. It will be dark in a few hours. Why don't we both try and get some rest until then? Later, perhaps, if you feel up to it, we might go out and hunt up some dinner.”

Conrad laid his head against her shoulder. “You're very good to me.”

Georgia turned her head and laid a kiss upon his brow. “As you are to me, my love. Always.”

Chapter Twenty

San Francisco, California

Present Day

They were waiting for him in his study—just as he'd asked them to do. Damian turned anxiously from the window as Conrad entered the room. His eyes searched out Conrad's face, but he said nothing. It was Julie, seated on the couch with Armand, her hand clasped so protectively in his, who broke the silence.

“Is she dead?” Her voice shook with emotion.

Conrad looked at them. They looked so bewildered, so lost, so betrayed. “No,” he said. “No, not yet. She's…resting. Christian is with her.”

Julie winced a little at his words and Armand pulled her close. His gaze met Conrad's—defiant, challenging. “What's to be done with her?”

Conrad glanced away. “I'd rather not discuss it at this time.”

“But,
querido
…”

“Please do not argue with me now, Damian. I do realize the situation cannot be allowed to continue indefinitely. They must be dealt with—and soon.”

“But…have you left them quite alone? I understand that she might be too weak to pose any kind of threat but are you so certain
he
won't try and run?”

Conrad shook his head. “You need have no fear on that count. He will not leave her side.” Let them think it was a simple matter of devotion. Conrad saw no need to tell them otherwise, to admit that he, too, had been in no mood to take chances. Christian hadn't even noticed when Conrad laid his compulsion upon him. Georgia did, however. The knowledge shone in her eyes, clear as the tears she continued to shed. When her gaze met Conrad's he saw no hope there, no hope at all. After all this time, after all was said and done, Conrad was about to break the very first promise he'd ever made her—and they both knew it.

“Oh, my dear.” Damian must have seen something of what Conrad was feeling in his expression, for he crossed the room and enfolded Conrad in his arms. “
Querido
, I am sorry, so very sorry.” For once, Conrad let himself be comforted. He didn't care who saw, or whether or not it made him appear weak. His heart had been broken by the events of the day. All too soon he would likely have to put to death one of his oldest and dearest friends. If ever he needed comfort, it was now.

“I don't understand,” Julie said. “Damian and Armand have been trying to explain about this sickness, but…”

“Julie is
not
sick,” Armand insisted. He tightened his hold on Julie and glared at Conrad. “She has
not
been infected—she says so and I believe her. I don't care what lies the others have been telling you. I won't let you touch her. I won't let anyone touch her.”

“What's this now?” Damian stiffened. He pushed away from Conrad, his face white. “Conrad, what is he talking about?”

“Calm yourself,” Conrad said as he pulled him back into his embrace. “There's nothing to fear; I swear it. Armand is quite right. Julie is in no danger.”

“Well, I certainly don't
feel
like there's anything wrong with me,” Julie said, the hint of a tremor still audible in her voice. “But…what if she's right?”

Conrad reluctantly disengaged himself from Damian's grasp. “There is a lot you don't understand as yet. There's a lot that's been kept from you.” He shot Armand an apologetic look and added, “That's been kept from you both. And for that, I apologize,
mon ami
. My only excuse is that I felt it was necessary—for everyone's sake.”

“And so it
was
necessary,” Damian added staunchly. “How were we to keep them safe otherwise?”

“I wish you'd all stop talking about me like I'm not right here in the same room,” Julie complained. “You're frightening me.”

Conrad shook his head. “No, my dear, there's no need to be afraid. I will always do everything in my power to keep you safe. That is a promise I made to your mother on the night she died. It's the vow I hold most sacred, the vow I must defend above all others—no matter the cost.”

Julie sighed. “Thank you. That means a lot. But I'd still like to know what's going on.”

Conrad turned to Damian. “Well? What say you?”

Damian shrugged. “I think, perhaps, it's time.” He reached for Conrad's hand and squeezed it tight. “We always knew this day must come—if we were lucky enough to get here. It's where we've been heading all along.”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Conrad squared his shoulders. “Very well then.” Bowing to the inevitable, he turned his attention to the couple on the couch—to Julie and Armand who were still gazing warily back at him. “My dears, we need to talk.”