The Vampire Who Loved Me (16 page)

As he disappeared into the manor’s low-slung stone stable, she crouched behind a bush, her teeth clenched to still their chattering. He emerged from beneath the stable’s thatched
roof a short while later, leading a jaunty little bay mare harnessed to an equally jaunty little cabriolet. The elegant two-wheeled cart had just enough room for two.

As he closed his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly to its padded seat, she whispered, “Did you leave a note explaining that we were only borrowing the horse and cart and would be returning them on the morrow?”

He gave her a narrow look. “Why do I need a soul when I have you to be my conscience?”

“I’d just hate to see you get your soul back only to be hanged for horse thievery. Wallingford would be beside himself with delight.”

“Ever practical, aren’t we, my love?” He climbed aboard the cabriolet, settling into the seat next to her. “As soon as we arrive at Adrian’s, we’ll roust one of his grooms out of his warm bed and order the poor fellow to return both horse and carriage to our anonymous benefactor.”

Despite the need for both stealth and haste, he refused to proceed until he’d tucked several soft woolen blankets around her, creating a cozy nest. He walked the mare all the way to
the road, then gently tapped the whip on the horse’s flanks to coax her into a trot.

Portia laughed with delight when frosty feathers of snow began to spill from the luminous night sky. Julian wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close. She rested her head against his shoulder, unable to remember a time when she had felt so happy and full of hope for the future. She knew there were dangers ahead to face, but at the moment she felt utterly safe in the arms of the man she loved.

Everything sounded like music to her ears—the crisp clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, the jingle of the harness bells in the frosty air, the whisper of the falling snow. A part of her wished they would never reach London, but could simply continue on this road forever.

Despite her determination to savor every second, the steady rocking of the cart and the sheer delight of being cocooned in Julian’s arms soon lulled her exhausted body into a doze.

The next time Portia stirred and opened her eyes, Julian was turning the cabriolet down a cobbled street lined with elegant town houses.

She yawned and stretched like a drowsy little
cat. “I don’t suppose we’re going to find Adrian in a very amiable temper.”

He slowed the horse to a walk. “I just hope he gives me a chance to explain before he whips out that infernal crossbow of his.”

“Don’t be silly.” She gave his knee an encouraging pat. “He wouldn’t dare shoot you without asking me first.”

He slanted her an amused glance. “Remind me to stay on your good side, you bloodthirsty little minx.”

“You can start right now,” she said, tipping her face up to his for a long, lingering kiss.

When they broke apart, it was snowing even harder. Portia frowned up at the sky. “Those are some of the biggest snowflakes I’ve ever seen.”

Julian brushed a flake from her cheek, then rubbed his fingers together, creating a black, sooty smear. He slowly lifted his eyes to hers. “It’s not snow. It’s ash.”

His face going grim, he withdrew his arm from her and slapped the reins on the mare’s back, doubling her pace. Portia clung to the side of the cabriolet as they raced the final block to Adrian’s mansion. As they approached
the house, they both realized that something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Because there was no house—only a burned-out hulk silhouetted against the night sky.

Gray clouds of ash and cinders drifted
through the air, tainting the falling snow. The stench of charred wood hung over the smoldering ruins of the mansion. Here and there plumes of smoke were still rising like ghosts from the fallen beams and blackened walls. A rocking horse lay on its side among the rubble, its brightly colored paint blistered and peeled. As Portia watched in numb horror, the entire second story stairwell collapsed in a shower of sparks, burying the grand pianoforte beneath it.

Overturned buckets littered the small square of scorched lawn in front of the house. A cart
with an abandoned hand pump slumped near the corner of the street, its leather hose curled up like a defeated snake—damning evidence that the fire brigade had either arrived too late or given up too soon.

Adrian’s neighbors and several weeping servants huddled together on the opposite side of the street, some still in dressing gowns and nightcaps. As Portia climbed down from the cabriolet, mired in the slow motion haze of a nightmare, she could feel the sting of their pitying glances.

She drifted toward the house with Julian moving like a shadow behind her.

“Portia!”

The joyful cry startled her so badly she nearly shrieked. She could only stand frozen in place as Vivienne came sprinting toward her. She had been so mesmerized by the sight of the house that she hadn’t even seen Larkin’s carriage parked beneath the gaunt branches of a nearby oak.

Throwing her arms around Portia’s neck, Vivienne burst into tears. “Oh, Portia, I’m so glad you’re all right! We were so terrified for you!”

“We?” Portia whispered, equally terrified of giving too much weight to the word.

Vivienne grabbed her hand and tried to tug her toward the carriage but Portia’s feet remained rooted to the walk.

Oblivious to her agony, Vivienne kept up her steady stream of chatter. “When there was no word from you or Julian today, we feared the worst. I tried to tell them all that things would work out for the best because they almost always do, but then one of Adrian’s servants came banging on our door shortly before midnight to tell us the house was on fire. I have to confess that when we arrived and I realized how dire things were, I nearly lost faith myself. But now that
you’re
here, I just know everything will…” She trailed off, finally realizing that she was still tugging but Portia wasn’t moving.

“It’s Portia!” she called over her shoulder. “She’s come home!”

Several figures slowly emerged from behind the carriage, their faces dappled with shadows from the branches above.

There was Larkin, his eyes even more soulful and wary than usual. Wilbury, his nightshirt billowing around his bony body like a shroud.
And finally Adrian, holding on to Caroline as if he never intended to let her go.

Portia’s relief was so keen she felt her knees give way. Julian caught her before she could fall, holding her upright until she could find the strength to stand.

Gently disengaging herself from his arms, she moved toward her family, her vision blurred by grateful tears. She was almost upon them before she realized that their faces were so haunted they looked like shades of themselves. It was as if both a day and a lifetime had passed since she’d last seen them.

Caroline was garbed in her flowing white nightdress with Larkin’s greatcoat draped over her shoulders while Adrian wore only trousers, boots, and a soot-streaked shirt that hung open over his powerful chest. As Portia approached, neither one of them made a move toward her. She gave Larkin a bewildered glance, but he simply folded his arms over his chest and lowered his gaze, studying the scuffed toes of his boots.

She glanced at Wilbury and found a sight even more chilling than the desecrated ruins of the house. The old man’s chin was quivering and tearstains streaked his papery cheeks.

Despite the gentleness in Adrian’s hands as he stroked his wife’s tangled hair, there was a wild look in his eyes that Portia had never seen before. Caroline’s face was devoid of any expression at all. It was as blank as the painted face of one of Eloisa’s dolls.

Portia gently touched her sister’s sleeve, her hand already beginning to tremble. “Where’s Ellie, Caro? Is she asleep in the carriage?”

Caroline drew in a shuddering breath before lifting her lifeless eyes to Portia’s. “She’s gone. They took Eloisa with them. They took my baby.”

At first Portia thought the inhuman sound of grief and rage had come from her own throat. But it was Julian who stumbled a few feet away from them and stood gazing up at the house as if it was the tomb of his every dream.

“Your plan must have been a spectacular success,” Adrian said, his voice still raw from the smoke he’d inhaled. “You obviously succeeded in driving Valentine into a murderous frenzy. As you well know, vampires hate fire so she sent her minions to do her dirty work for her. If Wilbury hadn’t smelled smoke and sounded the alarm, we’d have all burned to death in our
beds. By the time Caroline rushed into the nursery, it was too late. Eloisa was gone. The bastards had taken her.”

Julian shook his head, his own voice nearly as hoarse as Adrian’s. “I never dreamed she’d come after you. It was me she wanted. I should have been here…waiting for her. Or destroyed her when I had the chance.”

Vivienne clutched at Portia’s arm through the sleeve of Julian’s coat. “Where have the two of you been? We feared Valentine had taken you as well.”

Portia gazed into her sister’s guileless blue eyes, at a loss for words. How could she explain that it wasn’t Valentine who had taken her but Julian? And not just once, but numerous times. While little Eloisa was being wrenched from her bed by brutal strangers as the only home she’d ever known collapsed around her in flames, she and Julian had been huddled together in the cabriolet, still drunk on the pleasure of each other’s kisses.

She was fumbling for an answer when Adrian gently handed Caroline off to Wilbury and walked over to her. Before she realized what he meant to do, he tugged at the end of
Julian’s cravat, unwinding it from her throat and revealing the fresh puncture marks for all of them to see.

Larkin swore and Vivienne gasped. Wilbury simply bowed his head, his rheumy eyes brimming with sorrow. Caroline didn’t even blink.

There was a moment when even the snow seemed to stop. Then Adrian lunged for Julian, closing the distance between them in three long strides. Before any of them could react, his powerful fist had smashed into his brother’s jaw.

Julian staggered but did not fall. Nor did he fight back. He simply spread his arms as if to make himself an even larger target for his brother’s wrath. Portia doubted he would have lifted a hand to defend himself if Adrian had picked up one of the charred scraps of wood scattered across the yard and driven it through his heart.

Before Adrian could do just that, both she and Larkin made a grab for him, each of them seizing one of his arms. He could have shaken her off as if she were no more bothersome than a gnat, but Portia knew he would never deliberately hurt her.

“You bastard!” he spat at Julian, straining against their grip. “I should have known you
couldn’t keep your greedy fangs—or your greedy hands—off of her!”

“No, Adrian!” Portia cried, still tugging frantically at his arm. “It wasn’t like that at all! He didn’t want to do it. I was the one who insisted that he drink from me.”

Adrian wheeled on her, shaking himself free of Larkin’s grasp. “Why, Portia? Was he dying again? Or had he simply run out of the port he swills as if it were water?” He swung back toward Julian, shaking his head in disgust. “Didn’t you hurt her enough in the crypt? Did you have to make her a victim of your accursed appetites again? Does your greed and lust and selfishness know no bounds?”

Julian simply gazed at him, his face nearly as expressionless as Caroline’s.

Adrian’s own face crumpled. His fists were no longer clenched with rage but helplessness. “You’re my little brother, Jules. I’ve loved you since you were old enough to crawl out of your crib and toddle after my heels. And I’ve done everything within my power to protect you and save you. But at what cost? Portia’s innocence? My daughter’s life?”

“Don’t blame yourself, Adrian,” Julian said
quietly. “Mercy was your only sin and I’m sure that God will forgive you for that.”

Portia watched in disbelief as he turned and began to walk away from them all.

“This wasn’t your fault, Julian,” she said fiercely, hastening after him. “And Valentine won’t dare harm a hair on Eloisa’s head as long as she believes there’s a chance you’ll come back to her. We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home together!” Growing more frantic with each step, she caught the back of his shirtsleeve, trying to tug him to a halt.

He wheeled on her, his fangs in full bloom, his eyes burning like live coals in the savage mask of his face. She recoiled before she could stop herself.

“Don’t you see, Portia? Adrian’s right! This is exactly what I was trying to warn you about. It’s why I stayed away from you for all those years.”

Hot tears began to spill down her cheeks. “But you admitted that in all that time you never stopped loving me!”

“My love poisons everything I touch! If I let it destroy you, I’ll be even more damned than I already am!” Despite the violence in his voice,
he reached to tenderly brush a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You should have let me die in that crypt.”

As he turned to walk away from her, Portia was surprised to feel a scalding rush of fury. “You know, you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I kept you alive. And I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you. Because there hasn’t been a moment since then when I’ve been free of the burden of loving you. And I haven’t drawn a single breath that hasn’t been poisoned with that love!”

He just kept walking.

“If you walk out of my life this time, Julian Kane, don’t bother coming back! Ever!”

He stopped in his tracks, then turned and strode back to her. Snatching her up by the shoulders, he gave her a savage kiss that was both bitter and sweet, laced with a lifetime of longing and an eternity of regrets.

Then he was striding away from her again, leaving her with nothing but the taste of his kiss on her lips and the ghost of a passion she might never feel again.

She took a stumbling step after him, but was halted by Caroline’s impassioned cry. “Let him go, Portia! He can’t change what he is and he’s
brought nothing but heartbreak and disaster to this house. I wish to God he’d never come home!” Her voice breaking on a wail of agony, she crumpled to her knees, clutching her stomach.

“Get a doctor, Larkin!” Adrian shouted, scrambling to his wife’s side.

Portia stood frozen on the walk, torn between her sister’s suffering and the man she loved. With one final look at Julian’s receding back, she snatched up her skirts and ran to Caroline.

Dropping to her knees, she squeezed her sister’s icy hand to her breast. “Everything will be all right, Caro. We’ll find Ellie and bring her home. I swear it on my life.”

When she glanced back over her shoulder again, the snow and ash was falling on an empty walk. Julian was gone.