The Vampire Queen's Servant (19 page)

"I did spend the night
thinking, my lady. Fully bound as you left me." He inclined his head.
"I chose to free myself an hour before dusk to prepare for your care. I
ask your forgiveness and pray you won't view that as flaunting your will."

Lyssa pushed herself up,
blinking. Wetting the cloth and squeezing out the excess hot water, he spread
it out over his hands. "May I, my lady?"

When she nodded, he brought it
to her face, pressing comforting heat to her skin. She drew in a breath,
letting it wake her up and drive grogginess away. She smelled the scent of the
lotion she used to remove traces of makeup and realized she'd forgotten to
remove it as she customarily did before she slept. Apparently he'd noticed and
so did it for her now, withdrawing the cloth after a moment to wipe the lids,
over and under, pass the cloth over her cheeks, her lips, so she could feel the
touch of his fingers through it. He brought the basin onto the bed then, rinsed
it out a couple times. When he was done, he put cloth and basin back to the
side and lifted the robe. "If you'd like to slip into this, my lady, I'll
brush and pin up your hair before you bathe. Unless you'd like me to help you
wash it today."

Once when she'd been angry with
Thomas over something she couldn't even remember, she'd told him she was going
to toss him over the next available cliff. Unruffled, he'd assured her she'd
never do that. "If my usefulness to you expires on every level, you'll
still need a mirror." Perhaps that's why he'd taken such extra care to
teach Jacob all the things involved in her daily toilette, and overlooked some
of the other things that seemed so much more significant.

"What if I told you I'd
make you leave if you don't tell me how you keep getting loose?"

"That threat is wearing
thin, my lady. I need to have some secrets from you or I'll bore you within the
first century."

He held the robe by the
shoulders. Lyssa pulled the black nightgown over her head. In a fit of
petulance, she tossed it to the floor. Let him have his secrets. He could keep
them while he picked up after her.

His gaze flickered to it, then
back to her, but he didn't comment. His attention did slide down her throat
though, to the slopes of her bare breasts, the nipples that tightened under his
regard as she remembered his mouth there.

Sliding out of the bed, she
turned her back to him. She expected him to rise, but he didn't. He moved down the
bed until he was behind her, his knees close to the back of her legs. Touching
her hands lightly with his, he guided them into the sleeves. When he brought
the satin up, he stopped just short of pulling it onto her shoulders,
restricting the movement of her arms unless she wanted to tear the garment.
He'd adjusted his position so his long legs were on either side of her, his
left foot next to her bare one on the floor. His heat was on three sides of
her, his touch conveying a sense of reassurance.

Whatever she sensed from him, it
wasn't censure for her treatment of him yesterday evening. She felt no
emotional withdrawal from him at all. Intriguing.

"My lady, will you tell me
what happened last night?"

"Not yet," she said
after a long moment. With renewed energy simmering in her blood, last night's
episode was deceptively remote in her mind. "For now, you'll carry a
backup for the powder I have. I'll show you the ingredients. As you saw last
night, once I take it, I require a recuperation period."

Even saying that much to him was
difficult. She hated the necessity of it. So she didn't look at him. She gazed
at the painting on the wall. Van Gogh's
Cafe Terrace on the Place du Forum
.
It always made her slightly dizzy, in a good way. It also reminded her of one
night Rex had danced with her in a quiet deserted street under a jeweled sky in
Italy.

"You now know when an enemy
could kill me, Jacob. It would be child's play. Just a matter of waiting and
watching."

Ironic as well, considering the
things she hadn't told him yet.

When he rose, she drew in a
breath as his body touched her back. He finished easing the robe onto her
shoulders and freed her hair with a brush of his big hands on her nape beneath
it. Drawing her hair to one side, he bent his head and his lips grazed the side
of her neck where he'd bitten her, making her shudder. Gods, did the man know
nothing of showing a servant's respect?

"It will not be child's
play for anyone as long as I watch over you, my lady."

She closed her eyes, overcome by
a sense of guilt. She needed to send him away, refuse him before his life was
lost.

Thomas, you wouldn't have
sent him if you'd known. It was pointless
. Of
course, she had already given him the first mark herself, so how could she cast
stones? She wanted him, though it was the height of selfishness to do so.

"I didn't think vampires
could hold their breath. Or had breath at all."

He was actually teasing her for
her reaction to that kiss on her throat. The scoundrel.

"Of course vampires
breathe," she said impatiently, covering the warm rush of response that
went through her skin. "You can't speak without breath. Cough, or yawn.
It's just that the lack of breath won't kill us. We don't require oxygen to
live."

Pulling the robe closed, she
tied the sash and turned to face him.

Jacob sitting was distracting.
Standing before her with those vivid eyes studying her face and firm mouth
within touching distance, he was overwhelming. It made her need oxygen, despite
what she had just said.

It infuriated her suddenly, the
frustration of having to be one thing and say another, of having him not
understand and take it all so lightly. Of course, that was likely because she
hadn't told him the things he really needed to know. He was having trouble
understanding the full impact of the situation because she herself didn't want
to accept it.

"My lady." His hands
touched her face. He'd stepped forward to close the small gap between them, and
she hadn't even noticed the movement. "Sometimes you look so sad. Please
let me help you."

Raising her lashes, she looked
up at his concerned expression. "You are too good-hearted for this task,
Sir Vagabond. I think you need to move on, continue your wanderings."

He shook his head. "My feet
have grown heavy and clumsy since yesterday, my lady. I'd trip over them and
fall flat on my face if I got more than a hundred paces from you." When he
traced her brow with a finger, something passed through his eyes. "I'm not
as good as you think, Lady Lyssa. I'm no saint, and I'm far from harmless."

"My mind does not tell me
false, knight. You're too pure a soul for this work. So was Thomas. That's why
he's dead."

She walked away from him, the
staircase opening so she could ascend to the upper level where she could see
the light of the moon glittering through the stained glass.

He'd collected the items from
her bed and was following, so she sat down at her vanity, drawing her robe
around her ankles in a sweeping fan. She needed to have Jacob remount the
mirror on the wall. Since she showed no reflection, she hadn't been able to
bear the absence of Thomas in the glass standing behind her, dressing her hair,
his hands moving in an odd mime over empty space while she felt every touch. So
she'd removed it, putting Edward Hughes's
Midsummer Eve
there, the
human girl daring to stand among the fairies, foolishly bent over as if she
thought she'd happened upon charming miniature children.

She heard his footsteps, let the
tension flow out of her shoulders as he began to brush her hair. Firm, full
strokes, easy pressure to remove tangles. He didn't speak again, apparently
picking up on her mood.

"I'm having a dinner party
here three weeks from now," she said, looking at that girl. At the fairies
studying her, amused with her naivete. "A party of eight. The two of us,
and three other vampires and their servants. Once I get bathed and dressed,
we'll go over the details, the contacts. You'll call their servants directly as
well as send it by sealed invitation. I'll prepare the invitations."

Suddenly, she couldn't handle
his touch a moment longer. Rising abruptly, she turned to face him. "We'll
select the catering choices together. I'll tell you what I want and how I want
it done, and it will be your responsibility to coordinate it."

When he laid the brush on the
vanity, her gaze strayed to the long fingers, the way they handled such a
feminine object with ease. "As my lady wishes."

She didn't see any apprehension
in his expression, so he obviously knew how to do this part. "Go to the
kitchen. You'll need to familiarize yourself with everything to instruct the
caterers properly. The same goes for everything else in the house. If I have
overnight guests, you should be able to provide them whatever they need."

The original works of art in the
room mocked her with their realism, their value, as she spouted nonsense she
was sure Thomas had gone over with him a hundred times.

"I'll provide you an
allowance to do whatever you need to serve my household, and you'll let me know
whenever more needs to be transferred into that account. I check the books once
a week. You'll be given a salary for your own needs, of course."

He nodded. "Do you want me
to help you bathe, my lady?"

She blinked. She'd fired words
at him intended to point out his inferior status and he'd rebounded with
something that reminded her of the intimacy she could require from him. That he
offered freely and so temptingly.

"No," she snapped.
"Go to the kitchen. Do as I've asked."

Pivoting on her heel, she strode
to the bath and closed the door, turning the key in the lock with a decisive,
unmistakable click.

Because the first mark told her
where he was, she knew he stood in the same spot several minutes before leaving
to do her bidding. When she turned her gaze to the tub, her forehead still
pressed against the cool wood of the door, she saw steam rising from it. It
brought her the scent of lavender and rose petals, telling her he'd sprinkled
oils for both in the water. He'd also placed a vase of flowers on the foot of
the tub, artfully strewing a handful of the mixed petals down along the damp
side of the porcelain. It created a pale pink and lavender-colored path that
made her dizzy, much like the Van Gogh. In the rising steam she could imagine
herself dancing with Jacob, twined around him, immersed in him.

Thomas, who the hell is this
human?