My Lord Eternity (7 page)

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Authors: Alexandra Ivy

BOOK: My Lord Eternity
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“Miss Kingly, do not forget that I stand ready to be of assistance if ever you should need me.”
She felt Lucien's arm tighten about her shoulder as she gave a vague nod of her head. Clearly the two gentlemen had taken a swift dislike of each other.
“Thank you, Vicar.”
“Come, Jocelyn,” Lucien urged, turning her around and leading her from the warehouse.
Jocelyn made no demur. She wanted to be away from the warehouse, and even the dangerous streets of St. Giles.
A beast did, indeed, seem to be walking the streets of London, and she very much feared he was stalking her.
Lucien cursed himself for a fool as he carefully bundled Jocelyn in the waiting hack and then settled himself close to her side.
He should have insisted that she not enter the warehouse. He had sensed before they had even arrived that Amadeus would be waiting. But he had assured himself that while he was near, the traitor could do nothing to harm the maiden. And that it was important he discover precisely what Amadeus was plotting.
Besides, he had been touched by her plea to face her life without the walls of a prison, he ruefully acknowledged.
Although life behind the Veil offered eternal peace and prosperity for vampires, he had discovered a growing resentment at being confined over the past two centuries. He did not want a tidy existence that provided for his every need. He longed for the unpredictable, for confronting a day with no notion of what might occur. Like Jocelyn, he desired to confront the delights, pains, and passions life had to offer in the fullest.
And so he had ignored his good sense and allowed Jocelyn to accompany him into the dark streets. Now he could only wonder if he had made a dreadful mistake.
Wrapping his arms about her, he leaned his head against her satin hair.
“You are very quiet,” he murmured.
“Vicar Fallow said that another maiden was murdered.”
He grimaced, wondering if he should confess that it was Vicar Fallow himself who had committed the atrocity. It would certainly ensure that she never trusted the renegade. But it would also raise endless questions that Lucien was not yet prepared to answer.
How could he confess that Amadeus was a vampire without exposing himself?
And how could he possibly protect Jocelyn if she feared him as a monster?
“I am sorry,” he said gently.
“What does this have to do with me?”
Lost in the sweet scent and heat of her, Lucien discovered himself caught off guard by her sudden question.
“What do you mean?”
“First there was Molly, who had a paper with my name in her hand, and then, last night, those horrid men left that note warning others would be killed.”
Lucien tucked her closer, briefly wishing that Nefri had chosen any other maiden but this one to bind with the Medallion. He did not want Jocelyn in danger. He did not want to hear that edge of fear in her voice. And most of all, he did not want to know that Amadeus was always skulking in the shadows, waiting to do whatever necessary to gain command of the artifact.
“I truly do not know, my dove,” he retorted in rueful honesty. If only he knew what Amadeus plotted, he would feel considerably more confident in his skill to protect her.
She gave a shake of her head. “It makes no sense.”
“At the moment I fear I must agree. I do promise, however, that I will discover what the demon is plotting.”
Without warning she pulled back to regard him with a worried frown.
“You will not put yourself in danger?” she demanded.
He slowly smiled at the genuine anxiety etched upon her beautiful countenance. Jocelyn may not yet accept the fact that an unmistakable affection was growing between them, but it was there whatever her determination to keep him at arm's length.
“No more danger than necessary,” he assured her.
In the shadows her magnificent eyes suddenly flashed with an unmistakable fire.
“Lucien.”
He laughed softly at her chiding tones, firmly pulling her back into his arms and pressing her head to his chest. It felt astonishingly wonderful to hold her close.
There was a silent pause before she heaved a soft sigh. “Why is this happening?”
He glanced out the window of the carriage to view the filthy streets lined with desperate, hungry people. How easy it would be to whisk Jocelyn away from all of this and provide her with the beauty and luxury she deserved. But that would not keep her safe from the traitors, and he was far from certain that she desired to leave those poor souls who depended upon her.
It appeared for the moment he could only offer support.
“Jocelyn, you are a strong woman. Strong enough to face this danger and survive.”
He felt her shiver. “How can you be so certain?”
Determined to lighten the dark mood that was threatening to overwhelm her, Lucien deliberately tilted her chin up so that he could smile deep into her troubled eyes.
“Because I am not only handsome, charming, and witty, I am also quite perceptive. I no doubt already know you better than you know yourself.”
Thankfully the tightness of her features lessened and a hint of amusement glinted to life within her eyes.
“You, sir, are impossible.”
“And charming and handsome and witty,” he added, bending slowly forward to softly brush those tempting lips with his own.
For one delicious heartbeat she allowed his mouth to linger. Then, with a near-tangible reluctance, she pulled back to regard him with a faint frown.
“You can make no claim of winning any kisses on this night, Lucien,” she pointed out in unsteady tones. “There were no wagers or forfeits to be paid.”
“Shall I admit that I simply could not resist?”
She opened her mouth to deliver a pert retort, but thankfully the hack drew to a shuddering halt and Lucien was swift to slip out of the door and help her onto the street. She did manage a jaundiced glance as she swept past him and toward the house, but it did not entirely hide the color that stained her cheeks.
Ridding himself of the impatient driver, Lucien strolled up the path to join her as she opened the door and entered the foyer. She was clearly eager to be away from his presence, but with a firm motion he reached up to grasp her arm.
“Hold a moment, Jocelyn. I wish to ensure your chamber is safe.”
Her lips thinned at his commanding tone, but as if sensing he would not be pressed upon this issue, she gave a slow nod of her head.
“Very well.”
“Wait here.”
With a last glance toward Jocelyn, Lucien turned and slipped through the dark silence. Although he could feel no threat in the air, he was not about to make any mistakes on this night. Jocelyn had been frightened enough. He was uncertain even her staunch courage could cope with another unpleasant surprise.
It did not take long to search through the upper chambers, and certain that Amadeus had no further traps devised, Lucien returned down the stairs and took Jocelyn's hands in his own.
“All is well,” he assured her softly.
In the light of the candle that had been left by Meg, Jocelyn's features appeared remarkably fragile. Lucien caught his breath, mesmerized by her beauty.
“Then I shall wish you a good night,” she retorted.
His hands briefly tightened upon her fingers, desperately wanting to prolong this moment. Only the shadows lingering in her dark eyes kept him from pulling her into his arms and covering her lips with his own.
She was far too vulnerable this evening. He would not take advantage while she was defenseless.
“Sweet dreams, my dove,” he murmured, reaching down to brush his mouth over her troubled brow before stepping back to allow her to leave.
She hesitated only a moment before she was moving through the foyer and up the stairs. He stood silently until he was certain she was in her chambers, then he turned to make his way down the hall.
He knew precisely what he would discover in the small kitchen at the back of the house.
Stepping into the cramped room, his gaze swiftly fell upon the large, dour-faced woman seated at the table with a heavy frying pan in her hands.
With his lips twitching in amusement, Lucien strolled to stand beside the table. “Ah, Meg. I thought I would find you still awake.”
The woman regarded him with an aggressive frown that would have frightened a hapless thief into an early grave.
“I won't be having any more of them villains bothering Miss Jocelyn.”
“She is safely in her chambers,” he reassured the loyal servant.
“I warned her there would be nothing but trouble living in such a place,” Meg muttered in disgust. “Perhaps now she will listen to reason.”
Lucien grimaced. “I would not place too much hope in such an occurrence. She is devoted to her work among the poor.”
Meg gave a click of her tongue. “Devoted enough to end up with her throat slit, no doubt.”
He stiffened. “Oh, no. I will not allow that to happen,” he retorted in fierce tones.
The servant regarded him with a disapproving glance. “And how will you protect her when you are here for only a few weeks? Soon you will be back among your fancy friends and Miss Jocelyn will be alone.”
“I will be here for as long as Jocelyn needs me.” He met the distrustful gaze squarely, his features as hard as granite. “I will not allow her to be harmed.”
“Then you are not like most gentlemen of society,” Meg said with a sniff.
Lucien barely swallowed a sudden laugh. He wondered what the older woman would think if he assured her just how different he truly was. Obviously her opinion of London dandies was not entirely pleasant, but he could not imagine that the notion of a vampire beneath her roof would be any easier to bear.
“I can safely assure you that I am utterly unlike any other gentleman of society.”
With a small grunt Meg heaved herself out of her chair, the frying pan still clutched in her hand.
“I shall wait and see.”
“As you wish.” He sent her a kindly smile. “Go to bed, Meg. I will keep watch upon Jocelyn.”
She waved the pan in a warning gesture. “Not too close a watch, mind you.”
“Believe in me.”
He watched as the servant wearily made her way out of the kitchen and toward her own small bed behind the pantry. For a moment he considered whether to return to the warehouse and attempt to track Amadeus to his lair. He was certainly no further along in convincing the traitor into returning to the Veil than he had been when he first arrived in London. Worse, he still did not know exactly when Amadeus might next strike.
Then he gave a slow shake of his head.
He could not leave Jocelyn in the darkness of night. It was the time of vampires. It was when those who had indulged in bloodlust were at their strongest. And, of course, there was always the danger of Amadeus's henchmen.
He would do precisely as he had promised.
He would stand guard over the woman who was rapidly becoming a very necessary part of his life.
A woman who was stirring more than just his passions to life.
Chapter 6
Hidden in the cellars of a local brothel, Amadeus sat beside the man chained to the heavy table. For nearly a week he had patiently tortured the foolish dandy, careful to keep him upon the edge of death without allowing him to tumble into oblivion.
It was tedious, delicate work. Only a master such as himself could possibly maintain such a fine line between life and death.
But even a master could begin to lose patience, Amadeus conceded, reaching up to remove the gag from the pathetic wretch's mouth.
The pudgy face of the dandy was set in rigid fear as Amadeus bent over him.
“No,” he choked out in terrified tones. Smothering his angry impatience, Amadeus forced a comforting smile to his lips.
“Be at ease, my child,” he soothed. “I am here to help. Would you like some water?”
“Yes.”
Careful to dribble only the smallest amount of water between the gaping lips, Amadeus bent over the nearly delirious gentleman. The fool appeared a sorry sight with his hair matted with sweat and his finery stained with his own blood. Far different from the arrogant pup who had swaggered into the brothel searching for the more exotic sins of the flesh.
“Now, look at me,” he commanded in relentless tones. “Look deep into my eyes. Tell me, what do you see?”
Unable to resist the compelling force of Amadeus's voice, the man gazed helplessly into the pale eyes.
“Darkness,” he babbled in fear. “Evil. Evil.”
“No, you idiot,” Amadeus gritted out. “What do you see? What truths do you behold?”
The dandy shook his head from side to side, spittle foaming at his mouth.
“Servant of hell, begone.”
“Fah.”
Thoroughly disgusted by the ridiculous buffoon, Amadeus leaned downward and sank his fangs deep within the fat throat. In moments the man below him was arched in the throes of death, and the vampire slowly glutted himself in the delights of bloodlust.
And why not?
It had obviously been a vexing waste of time to attempt to learn anything from the wretched human. Like all the rest, he was weak and unable to concentrate when faced with the ultimate wonder. He had provided him nothing. Nothing but the usual babblings.
Wiping the blood from his lips with a handkerchief, Amadeus slowly regained control of his icy fury.
There were endless mortals to experiment upon, he silently consoled himself. And once the Medallion was in his grasp, he would no longer need to conceal himself in such squalid surroundings with only the dregs of humanity to choose from.
The Medallion.
The pale eyes glittered in the thick darkness.
His desire for the powerful amulet was becoming nearly overwhelming. He could feel it in the distance. A shimmering temptation that taunted him by remaining just out of reach.
“Master.”
Amadeus turned to discover his most recent servant shuffling into the dark room.
“What is it?”
“I have brought the glove.”
“Ah, yes.” Moving forward, the vampire plucked the glove from the man's outstretched hand. Earlier in the day he had commanded the servant to slip into Miss Kingly's home and procure a piece of her clothing. He grew weary of the woman's stubborn refusal to accept his generous offer of friendship. And even more weary of Lucien's unwelcome interference. Tomorrow evening he would attempt a more direct means of acquiring the Medallion. But first . . . “I must hunt another mortal for my experiments. Have this body tossed in the river.”
 
 
Even for a summer day it was hot.
Golden sunshine bathed the remote meadow in a brilliant afternoon light, the faint breeze spiced by the scent of wildflowers.
But it was not the cloudless sky or the unfamiliar heat that was causing the faint moistness that trickled down Jocelyn's back.
Oh, she might adamantly tell herself that the rapid pace of her heart and unmistakable fever in her blood came from the sun overhead. And that her mouth was dry from the heat. Unfortunately she could not quite make the thought ring true.
Instead, she very much feared it was the tall, lean gentleman who was currently pressed behind her with his arms around her. Although he was officially attempting to teach her how to shoot the bow and arrow she currently held in her hands, very little of her mind was upon the lesson. How could she possibly concentrate upon anything beyond the delicious curls of excitement that were running rampant through her?
It was indecent; she attempted to chide her wayward reaction to his proximity. She knew nothing of this gentleman who had so swiftly invaded her home and her life. He was as much a mystery as the day he had first walked into her study.
And yet, with every passing hour she discovered herself more and more drawn to his dazzling presence. In just a few days he had awakened within her all those unpredictable passions and thirst for life she had thought safely put behind her. And worse, she was uncertain whether to curse him or bless him.
All she did know was that when she was with him she forgot all the pain and darkness that had marred her life. She did not think of the scandal that had ruined her future among society. She did not think of her parents, who had turned her out of their home. She did not even think of the danger that suddenly shrouded her in fear.
There was nothing but Lucien and the gentleness of his smile that could reach her very soul.
Seemingly unaware of her growing weakness, Lucien leaned closer, his breath brushing her cheek as he pressed her arms higher.
“Now pull back slowly,” he commanded, waiting until she had pulled the bow tight. “Yes. Hold your arm steady.”
Glaring toward the target set across the open meadow, Jocelyn grimaced at the low words. She had already attempted to hit the blasted thing on a dozen occasions. Lucien, of course, had proven to be just as efficient an expert with the bow and arrow as he was at everything else. He had managed to hit the bull's-eye with every arrow he sent winging toward the target.
It was decidedly maddening.
“I am trying,” she muttered.
“Concentrate upon the target.”
His fingers brushed over her arms left bare by her blue muslin gown. Jocelyn gritted her teeth at the sharp pleasure that flowed through her.
Concentrate? When he was so close that she could feel the very heat of him searing her skin?
“I see the target,” she retorted in tart tones.
“No, concentrate upon it until there is nothing else,” he corrected her in that dark, honey voice. “Now breathe steadily.”
Knowing that it was impossible to concentrate upon anything but the gentleman pressed so intimately against her, Jocelyn heaved a sigh.
“Surely it cannot be so difficult to fly an arrow toward a target?”
“Do you wish to learn the proper technique or not?”
“I suppose.”
“Then, concentrate.” Keeping his hands upon her arms to help her aim, he waited until she had managed to steady her swift breaths. “Now.”
At his command, Jocelyn abruptly let the arrow fly, thoroughly astonished when it actually managed to head in the proper direction, and even caught the bottom of the target. It promptly bounced to the ground, but she did not care.
“I hit it.” Grinning broadly at her success, Jocelyn spun about to confront Lucien. “Did you see?”
An indulgent expression spread across the delicately chiseled countenance.
“Yes, I did see. But you allowed your arm to dip when you released the arrow. Would you care to try again?”
“Good gads, no,” she retorted with sincere weariness. “I shall be stiff for the next fortnight as it is.”
The golden eyes sparkled at her blunt confession. “Very well.”
Realizing that she was standing much closer than propriety allowed, Jocelyn reluctantly stepped from his tall form. It was far too easy to forget propriety when she was with this gentleman, she acknowledged ruefully.
Not that she particularly cared about the rigid rules of society any longer. She had already lost that battle. But, she was still a lady, and she would not allow herself to behave as a common tart. Her honor was all she had left.
“Perhaps we should return,” she forced herself to murmur. “Meg will begin to fret if we are gone too long. She can be rather protective of me.”
His smile was rueful at her vast understatement. “So I had noticed. Still, it does seem a pity. It is a beautiful day to be away from the clutter of town.”
Jocelyn lifted her face up toward the golden sunshine. It was beautiful. She had nearly forgotten how lovely the English countryside could be. Surrounded by the dark, grim streets of London, it was easy to become lost in its depressing gloom.
Now she allowed herself to breathe deeply of the sweetly scented air.
“Yes, it is,” she whispered, allowing the peace to soothe her troubled soul. “I forget how quiet it can be.”
His golden gaze lingered upon her upturned countenance. “Quiet enough to hear the beat of a heart.”
Jocelyn abruptly stilled at his odd words.
No. It was simply not possible. She could not hear, and certainly she could not feel, the beat of his heart. It was absurd. Mad. And yet . . . there was the oddest sensation within her. As if she were connected with this man in a manner that defied logic.
“I . . .”
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Just for a moment . . . no, nothing. It is ridiculous.”
Almost as if sensing her strange confusion, Lucien stepped closer, his fingers reaching up to gently cup her chin.
“Do not turn from the truth, my dove.”
She frowned into the countenance that was becoming so terrifyingly familiar. “What truth?”
“That we are becoming entwined in both heart and soul,” he said softly.
She should have laughed at his words. Two people did not become entwined. They lusted, they loved, and, on the rare occasion, they even liked each other. But they did not share thoughts and feelings as if they were one.
Still, she did not laugh.
Not when she felt her entire being was consumed by such an intimate awareness of Lucien.
“No,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened upon her chin, his expression relentless as he held her wary gaze.
“You can sense it as well as I, Jocelyn,” he whispered in mesmerizing tones. “The beat of our hearts, the joining of our minds, the desire that binds us together.”
She could sense it. She could sense it pulsing through her blood and seeping deep into her soul.
A flare of near panic struck her heart. This was not supposed to be happening. Her life was meant to be calm, predictable, and devoted to others.
Wetting her dry lips, she gave a shake of her head. “Lucien, I cannot do this.”
“Why?” His gaze stabbed deep into her wide eyes. “What do you fear?”
“Betrayal,” she said before she could halt the revealing word.
The golden eyes darkened as his fingers tenderly moved to stroke her pale cheek.
“Never, my dove. You can believe in me.”
A tremor shook her body. He could not possibly understand. No one understood.
“I think we should go,” she breathed.
There was a strained silence, as if he battled the urge to force her to accept his pledge. Then his lips twisted with rueful humor.
“As you wish. Our time will come. Eventually.”
Taking the bow from her hands, Lucien moved to retrieve the arrows, and then with exquisite care he helped her to the carriage he had rented for the day.
Jocelyn settled herself on the leather seat with a hint of regret.
When Lucien had first suggested they spend the day out of the city, she had hesitated. She was all too aware of the danger of spending such a vast amount of time alone with this gentleman. He was too achingly handsome, too charming, too sensually compelling not to be a danger to any maiden.
But the desire to be away from the cramped house and dark streets had proved to be irresistible.
She did not want to spend the day brooding on yet another murdered maiden or on the strange fear that she was being ruthlessly hunted. Just for a few hours she wanted to feel young and unfettered and happy.
And she had.
The day had been filled with laughter and the sort of lighthearted teasing that she had not enjoyed in far too long.
Now it was time to return to her home and the ever-present duty of the life she had chosen. A life that until Lucien's arrival had been quite enough to fill her with satisfaction.

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