The Vampire Who Loved Me (13 page)

Wax tapers burned throughout the cavernous room in every manner of stick and branched candelabrum. Their flames danced in the invisible drafts and cast a flickering web of light and shadow over the ballroom’s three dozen or so occupants. Portia was surprised to find most of the vampires simply standing around chatting or gathered around tables playing cards. Many of them appeared rather bored with both the night and themselves. At the far end of the
ballroom, a set of broad marble stairs swept upward to the second-floor gallery that ringed the chamber.

A ragged quartet of vampires sprawled on chairs in the corner, fitfully tuning their instruments, while a particularly pale fellow with an aquiline nose, artfully curled forelock, and boldly cleft chin stood with one foot on the dusty marble hearth, regaling his companions with some sort of recitation. His sonorous voice carried throughout the ballroom:

Portia stumbled right into Julian’s back, gaping. “But isn’t that Lord B-B-B-…”

“Hello, Georgie,” Julian called out.

As the vampire returned the greeting with a slightly effeminate wiggle of his fingers, Portia’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me that the rumors were true? Lord Byron really is a v-v-v-”

“—vapid narcissistic hack? Yes, I’m afraid so.
And although I would have thought it impossible, he’s even more boring in death than he was in life. Try to imagine the horror of listening to him blather on like that for all eternity. It’s enough to make one want to drive a stake through one’s own heart. Or through his.”

Shaking his head in disgust, Julian shouldered his way through Byron’s rapt audience. Portia stood gawking at the legendary poet until Julian gave the chain a pointed tug.

Hurrying to catch up with him, she murmured, “I have to confess that this gathering isn’t at all what I expected. I pictured more of a Bacchanalian revel of debauchery with virgins and kittens being sacrificed on some blood-soaked altar.”

He swung around to face her, his voice low but ripe with emotion. “You needn’t sound so disappointed. Vampires hardly have a monopoly on evil, you know. If you want to see acts truly worthy of eternal damnation, you should join His Majesty’s army or visit one of the hellfire clubs in Pall Mall where screaming virgins are routinely sacrificed to the lusts of unscrupulous noblemen with too much money and too little mercy. Vampires only destroy and kill
so they can survive. Mortals do it for the sheer giddy pleasure of it.”

She took a wary step backward, thrown off balance by the force of his passion.

“Lover’s quarrel?” The melodic voice poured over them both like liquid silk.

A vampire had materialized out of the shadows. He was dressed in the style of a century ago in knee-breeches and a dark blue
habit à la française
with gleaming gold frog-and-button fastenings and a flared skirt. Extravagant falls of lace cascaded from the collar and cuffs of the elegant coat. Although he wasn’t wearing a powdered wig, his long, sleek golden hair had been gathered at his nape in a velvet queue. His angelic features and bright blue eyes would have looked equally at home painted on the ceiling of some Florentine cathedral.

Julian executed a deep bow. “My dear, this is Raphael—our host for the evening. He was kind enough to extend his hospitality to me when I first returned from the Continent.”

“Lovely place you’ve got here,” she murmured awkwardly, trying not to look directly at Raphael or at the silk hangings peeling in ribbons from the walls, the cascades of melted
wax dripping from the candelabrums, the cobwebs festooning the crystal chandeliers, the dead leaves drifting about the floor, the sparrows darting among the exposed ceiling beams, or the shattered mirrors that hung between each window.

“Even more lovely now that it has been graced with your presence, my lady.” Raphael captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. Instead of kissing her knuckles, his moist lips flowered over the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. From the corner of her eye, Portia saw Julian’s mouth tighten with displeasure.

“Why, thank you,” she replied shortly, offering him a thin-lipped smile. As she felt one of his fangs graze her flesh, she jerked her hand out of his grip, terrified he would feel her racing pulse.

He peered into her face, a moue of concern softening the sensual cut of his lips. “You look a trifle bit pale, my dear. Can I offer you someone to eat?”

She swallowed, but before she could choke out a reply, Julian slipped an arm around her waist. “That won’t be necessary. We dined before we came.”

Raphael was still staring at her, his narrowed gaze slightly less benevolent than before. “I never forget a beautiful face, you know, and I would almost swear I’d seen yours before.”

Julian cast a furtive look about them as if to make sure that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, then leaned down and whispered something in Raphael’s ear.

“No!” the vampire exclaimed, his eyes widening to shocked pools of blue.

“Indeed,” Julian said in a voice just loud enough to carry to the vampires lounging around the baize-covered card table in the corner. “And you can imagine my brother’s chagrin when she willingly surrendered both her body and her soul to me.”

Raphael clapped his beautifully manicured hands, all but chortling with delight. “Stole her right out from under the vampire hunter’s nose, did you? What an amazing coup! Why, you’re sure to be the talk of every nest in England!”

Julian ducked his head modestly.

Raphael’s gaze lingered on the creamy swell of her breasts as revealed by the low-cut décolletage of her gown. “Given her history, how can
you be sure she’s not still hiding a stake or a crucifix in there?”

“Oh, I can promise you she’s been
thoroughly
searched. I’ll be the only one doing the staking tonight.” As Julian stroked her nape just above the collar, Portia could only hope that the heavy layer of powder would mask her scalding blush.

Raphael smiled and chucked her under the chin as if she were a particularly delightful puppy. “She’s very quiet, isn’t she? I do so love a woman who knows how to keep her mouth shut and her legs open.”

Portia lunged at him, her snapping teeth barely missing his fingers. He recoiled in surprise.

Wrapping the chain around his fist, Julian jerked her around until they were nose to nose. “Mind your manners,” he hissed, baring his own fangs. “I’d hate to have to discipline you in front of the others.”

Portia had forgotten what it was like to be at the mercy of all of that tightly coiled power. Before she could stop it, a growl had escaped her own lips. Something more primal than lightning arced between them, jolting every pulse in her body to throbbing life. Suddenly it was as if they
were the only two creatures in the room, perhaps in the entire world.

She didn’t know what might have happened if the musicians hadn’t chosen that precise moment to strike up their instruments.

As several couples eagerly took to the floor, Julian slowly released the tension on the chain. “Shall we dance?”

“As you wish, my lord,” she replied, lowering her lashes to veil her mutinous expression.

Splaying his hand at the small of her back, he swept her away from Raphael and into the waltz, leaving their host and everyone else within earshot watching with open-mouthed fascination.

As they whirled around the floor to the soaring strains of one of Mozart’s more joyous pieces, Portia held herself as stiff as his possessive embrace would allow. “How could you allow him to say such horrid things to me?”

“What did you expect me to do? Challenge him to a duel to the death?”

“How could
you
say such horrid things? I hadn’t realized you’d be playing your role as villain with such conviction.”

“
Me?
What about you? I
am
a villain. You’ve only been pretending to be one for a few
minutes and you’re already snapping and snarling like some sort of rabid wolverine.”

She tossed her head, sending her mane of curls rippling down her back. “I thought you vampires liked that in a woman.”

He urged her closer—so close that there was no escaping the hard, hungry press of his hips against hers—before growling in her ear, “We do.”

He swept her into a dizzying turn, leaving her with no choice but to surrender to his mastery. On the very night Duvalier had abducted her, she had dreamed of dancing in his arms exactly like this. In her innocence, she had believed such a dance might lead to a whispered exchange of endearments or perhaps a chaste kiss in a moonlit garden. She had never anticipated this wild abandon coursing through her veins, this irresistible temptation to succumb to an even more dangerous dance—one that had been luring women to both rapture and ruin since the beginning of time.

She lifted her chin and met his gaze boldly, gaining in confidence with each step. Perhaps they were more alike than either of them would
care to admit. They both lived for the thrill of the game, the exhilarating rush that came when the fragile sphere of their fates was precariously balanced in their own hands.

“We shouldn’t have to remain much longer,” he murmured beneath the guise of nuzzling her ear. “Raphael is a shameless gossip without an ounce of discretion. It’s been whispered that he was the one who informed Henry VIII that Anne Boleyn was dallying with four lovers who were plotting to dethrone him. It wasn’t true, of course, but the rumor still cost poor Anne her head.”

As he straightened, Portia followed the direction of his gaze. Their host was wending his way among the various groups, recounting what he’d just learned with a relish that left the men smirking and the women whispering behind their fans. Apparently, vampires loved a juicy morsel of scandal every bit as much as mortals did. Soon every gaze in the ballroom was riveted on them. Portia didn’t need a mirror to know what a striking couple they must make.

Julian’s eyes glittered with triumph. “I do believe our mission has been a rousing success. I
predict that before the sun rises tomorrow Valentine will have heard all about our unholy little union.”

A gust of wind suddenly ripped through the ballroom, driving a shivering heap of dead leaves before it. Portia lifted her gaze to a spot just over Julian’s shoulder, thankful that the powder caked on her cheeks would also hide the sight of every last drop of blood draining from her face. “Something tells me you might not have to wait that long.”

As both the musicians and the dancers stumbled to an awkward halt, Julian turned to find his former mistress standing at the top of the stairs.

“Bloody hell,” Julian breathed as Valentine
came sweeping down the stairs, looking like an angel with her silvery-blond hair piled high on her head and the train of her snow white gown flowing behind her.

“Well, we wanted to find her, didn’t we?” Portia whispered weakly.

“Not when we’re outnumbered and on her turf.” He glanced behind them, measuring the number of steps to the door. “I have to get you out of here.”

Valentine’s regal presence parted the other dancers like an arctic ice floe. Portia had tried
to forget how ravishingly beautiful the woman was, but as she came gliding toward them, her jewel-encrusted slippers barely grazing the marble floor, Portia could feel herself shrinking into a squat homely troll.

Valentine stopped directly in front of them, her feline gaze darting between the chain and collar. “And what’s this,
mon cher
?” she asked, her contemptuous gaze raking over Portia. “A peace offering? Have you grown bored with the kitten’s charms already and decided to let me have her after all?”

“I’m afraid not,” Julian replied, coiling the chain around his fist and tugging Portia into his side. “On the contrary, I’ve decided to keep her for myself.”

Valentine pursed her lush red lips in a becoming pout. “You needn’t be so greedy. If I caught such a pretty pet, I’d share her with you.”

He snorted. “If you caught such a pretty pet, there wouldn’t be anything left of her to share once you were through with her.”

Valentine’s low ripple of laughter raised the gooseflesh on Portia’s nape. “You know me too well, don’t you, darling? So why did you come
here tonight? To beg my forgiveness for behaving so abominably the last time we met?”

“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you’d always considered yourself above all…
this
.” Julian’s elegant shrug somehow managed to encompass Raphael and his motley group of guests, most of whom were watching their exchange with a disturbing combination of malevolence and delight.

She sighed. “If you must know, the nights have been very long and I’ve been very bored and lonely without you. Raphael keeps a pair of strapping young minions chained upstairs who were only too happy to
alleviate
my boredom for a few hours.”

Portia couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Julian’s face, but it remained as impassive as a piece of sculpted marble.

“If you’d like,” Valentine continued, “they can keep your kitten here occupied for the rest of the night while you and I get
reacquainted
.”

Portia edged even closer to Julian, his sidelong glance reminding her to hold her tongue.

“My ‘kitten’ has a name. Or have you forgotten it?”

Valentine tapped her lips with one pale, slender forefinger. “Let me see…was it Penelope? Prudence? Prunella?”

“Why don’t you try Portia?” Julian gently prodded.

“Ah yes—Portia.” Her upper lip curled in a sneer. “Its name is Portia. And she’s a sentimental relic from your misspent youth. I do hope you’ve had your fill of the little chit by now. Judging from her pallor, you’re in danger of drinking the poor creature dry.” She reached over and gave Portia’s arm a sisterly pat. “You have my heartfelt sympathy, my dear. I’m well aware of how insatiable Julian’s appetites can be.
All
of his appetites.”

As her barbed words struck a tender nerve, Portia bit her lip so hard she was afraid she was going to spoil their ruse by making it bleed.

Julian only laughed. “You needn’t worry about her. I can assure you that she now shares those appetites.
All
of them.”

It was Valentine’s turn to look horrified. “Surely you didn’t…You can’t mean that she’s…”

“That’s right.” His smile was so cold Portia wouldn’t have been surprised to see frost
forming on his lips. “She’s one of us now.” He wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, drawing her into his arms. “And all mine.”

She wasn’t prepared for the primal thrill that coursed through her soul at hearing him claim her so boldly. For a dangerous moment, it was only too easy to pretend he was speaking from the heart.

Valentine shook her head, plainly aghast. “Why would you do such a foolish thing? You’ve never even killed a human before, much less stolen a soul.”

Julian reached up to draw the backs of his fingers down Portia’s cheek in a lover’s caress. “Maybe I never before found one worth stealing. One so bold and tender and irresistibly sweet. What man—or vampire—wouldn’t want to spend an eternity in her arms?” He eased aside her hair and pressed his lips to the exquisitely sensitive spot just behind her ear, sending a shudder of melting delight deep into her belly. She did not have to feign her gasp of pleasure. “Or her bed?”

Valentine began to sputter, deserted by her oily composure. For a brief moment, Portia almost pitied her. When she finally found her
voice, there was an ugly hiss to it that hadn’t been there before. “She may be tender and sweet but she’ll
never
please you as I did. Has she been the lover of both emperors and kings? Has she spent a year of her life in a sultan’s harem, studying a thousand different techniques for pleasuring a man?”

“I’m the only man she’ll ever have to pleasure. And I can assure you that she’s more than equal to the task.” He gave the chain a gentle tug, turning her away from Valentine. “Come, darling. Let’s leave this place while the night is still young.”

They were halfway to the door when a terrible shriek echoed through the ballroom. “She can’t have you! I’m the one who rescued you from the stake in Paris!
You belong to me!
”

Portia stopped, turning so quickly that she whipped the end of the chain right out of Julian’s hand. Before he could make a grab for it, she had gone striding back across the ballroom, trailing the length of chain behind her. As she came to a halt in front of Valentine, several of the gawking vampires began to back away from the two of them.

“You know, Mademoiselle Cardew,” she said.
“I don’t really care how many sultans you’ve serviced or which king’s harlot you’ve been. You may know a thousand different techniques for pleasuring a man, but I can still give Julian something you never can.”

Valentine sneered down her patrician nose at her. “And just what would that be?”

Portia took a deep breath. “My love. You may have saved him from the stake, but it was my love that kept him alive when Duvalier tried to destroy him all those years ago. So that means he was mine first. And he’s still mine. You may very well have his soul.” She leaned closer, tossing the woman’s own words back in her livid face. “But
I
will always have his heart.”

Although Portia would have thought it impossible for Valentine’s alabaster skin to go a shade whiter, it did. With a howl of rage, she wrenched a small glass bottle from her belt. Clawing the stopper free with her crimson nails, she flung its contents into Portia’s face.

Portia cried out and clapped her hands to her face. From the horrified gasps and keening wails that arose from the vampires, she half expected her flesh to start sizzling and melting from the bone. But when she didn’t feel so much
as a sting, she slowly lowered her hands, blinking the stuff from her eyes.

She gave Valentine a disbelieving look, her relief so keen she could not hold back a startled burst of laughter. “I don’t know why they’re all making such a fuss. It’s only water!”

As Portia realized what she’d done, the phrase “dead silence” had never seemed so apt. She stole a look around her and all she could see were eyes narrowing to hostile slits and lips parting to reveal the deadly gleam of fangs. She gave Raphael a beseeching look, but her formerly amiable host’s only response was a serpentine hiss.

Then the real outcry began.

“He tricked us!”

“She’s a mortal!”

“I thought I smelled something sweet!”

“I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that!”

“You’ll have to wait your turn just like the rest of us!”

The vampires closed in around her, forming a circle even Julian couldn’t penetrate. And at their head was Valentine, her green eyes glowing and her ripe ruby lips curved in a triumphant smile.

“Portia! The water!”

Julian’s deep voice held a commanding note that was impossible to ignore. She glanced down at her dripping hands in bewilderment. Then inspiration dawned and she shook herself like a wet dog, flinging drops of holy water everywhere.

Valentine and the other vampires shrieked and recoiled, shielding their eyes and faces with their hands. The stench of sizzling flesh filled the air.

That was all the distraction Julian needed. He cleared the thrashing vampires in a single leap, sweeping Portia clean off her feet and into the cradle of his arms. She shrieked and instinctively threw her arms around his neck as he flexed his knees and jumped, sending them soaring toward the gallery.

He landed in a crouch on the balls of his feet, absorbing the shock of the impact before it could rip through her. Furious shouts rang through the ballroom below.

Julian sprang to his feet, his frantic gaze searching for any means of escape.

Following the direction of his gaze to the stained-glass window at the far end of the
gallery, Portia’s mouth fell open. “Surely you don’t intend to…” She swiveled back around to blink at him. “You do know I can’t turn into a bat, don’t you?”

“I’m hoping you won’t have to,” he said grimly. “Just hang on to me as if your life depended upon it. For it very well might.”

Giving her little choice in the matter, he took off at a dead run. They went barreling toward the window, his long strides eating up the length of the gallery. Her whimper rising to a wail, Portia squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against his throat at the precise moment he leapt and the window exploded in a moonlit rainbow of shattering glass.