Vampire Dreams Revamped (A Sons of Navarus Prequel) (3 page)

“Please save me! He’s coming for me!”

In the dim light, she saw his emotionless
expression. Would he help her? Or would he hand her over to
him?

Without a word, the stranger took her
roughly by the arm and led her to a table near the far wall. With
his hands on her shoulders, he hesitated a moment and then spun her
around.

His voice deep, he commanded, “Place your
hands on the table and bend over.”

Fear raced through her as she questioned
whether she’d chosen a fate as horrific as the one she’d fled from.
But she did as she’d been told and waited in terror for what was to
come.

The noise of her stalker entering the
building caused her to turn her head, but the voice behind her
sternly warned, “Face forward.”

She felt hands lift her cloak and dress,
allowing the cool night air to hit the bare skin of her thighs. The
feeling at once thrilled and shocked her, and she instinctively
stood up to cover herself.

The man behind her forcibly pushed her back
down toward the table and leaned over her. Whispering low in her
ear, he said in a kind voice, “Trust me,” as he pushed his body
firmly against her backside.

“Hey you! Where’s the girl who came in
here?”

With his hands on her hips, the man who gave
her no choice but to trust him pushed his hips toward hers and
thrust toward her still clothed body to simulate sex. In her ear,
he let out a throaty groan unlike anything she'd ever heard
before.

“Hey! I asked you about the girl who came in
here!”

Never looking back, Arden squeezed her eyes
closed, shutting out the moonlight that streamed in through the
window above, and waited for the attack she dreaded. Instead, she
heard the man whose body continued to meet hers bark, “Go away!
This whore’s mine!”

Indignant at the use of the word whore to
describe her, she started to push herself up but his hand held her
by the neck and forced her to remain still on the table. A sound
like a hiss came from her protector and the other man hurriedly ran
out of the building.

A hardness brushed past her thighs and she
realized while she’d escaped death, she now faced being raped by
this stranger who had asked her to trust him. Over and over, his
erection teased her. Fear turned to arousal as she felt his stiff
cock press toward her, and her body begin to want him. His hand on
her neck eased almost to a caress as he continued to hold her
down.

Noises behind them told her the original
attacker had been chased off, and when the thrusts stopped, she
pushed back against him, forcing him off her. Spinning around, she
smoothed her dress and snapped, “You are no gentleman! Whore?”

The man stood looking at her, a small grin
creeping onto his lips. In a voice far silkier than she’d heard
from him before, he said, “You didn’t need a gentleman.”

Realizing he had no intention of apologizing
for calling her a whore, she stubbornly tried to push past him,
unsure where she would go, but he blocked her path solid as a
stone.

“Let me go! I demand you step aside.”

“I wouldn’t be that gentleman you expect if
I simply let you walk back out into a potentially dangerous
situation, Miss...”

It was no use. He wasn't going to let her
past until she told him her name. After a few moments, she saw the
sense in his words and relented. “Miss Stephens,” and then added,
“Arden Stephens.”

“Well, Miss Stephens, I feel responsible for
seeing you safely home, so if you’ll just give me the address,
we’ll be on our way.”

Sighing deeply, she dropped her gaze to the
ground. Now he’d realize just what kind of person she was.
Homeless. He’d probably think she’d deserved being chased as a
thief or pickpocket.

“Miss Stephens?”

Arden looked up into the brown eyes that
seemed to search her face and felt the warmth of humiliation grow
in her cheeks. Her gaze drifted over the fine cut of his clothes
and his expensive coat, and she wrestled with how to explain that
although she had no home, she was no street trollop to be looked
down upon. She was just one of the unfortunate few whose father had
died before his daughter had been blessed by a husband and whose
mother had died of cholera in the last great outbreak.

“I don’t have a home,” she said quietly as
she looked directly into his eyes.

For a long moment, he remained silent. Arden
waited for the pity or disgust, the two emotions her statement
generally elicited.

“Well, dear lady, the gentleman in me feels
compelled to remedy that situation. You’ll come to my home, and
although I expect it’s beneath your station and gifts, I can offer
you the position as my maid as my previous one has recently left my
employ.”

Arden looked up and studied the face of the
person who’d been the kindest to her since her father had died
nearly a month ago. His deep brown eyes appeared kind, but his face
possessed a darkness that seemed contrary to them. She guessed he
could be a few years older than her twenty years but noted how
strong he’d proven himself. Correcting herself, she realized she
couldn’t place his age even as he stood no more than a foot
away.

“I couldn’t do that. I don’t even know your
name,” she halfheartedly protested.

“Please allow me to introduce myself. My
name is Brandon Ridley, and you seem to have few options better
than my offer.”

As he spoke, she paid special attention to
his mouth. How beautiful his teeth looked! In fact, as she studied
him closely now, he appeared thoroughly handsome and quite a
gentleman.

With a nod of resignation, she agreed with
his assessment of her present situation and accepted his offer
adding, “But I should inform you, sir, that I have no experience as
a maid, other than to take care of my late father.”

She was pleased when he didn’t express his
sympathy at her father’s passing. Her emotions were still quite raw
and became impossible to control when people gave their
condolences. She’d said her goodbyes and accepted the loss but
truly wished she’d never have to think of it again.

“I’m quite sure you’ll do just fine.”

For the first time in weeks, Arden allowed
herself to smile and actually chuckled when he confided, “Just keep
an eye on the housekeeper. She’s a spiteful old one.”

As they walked, she congratulated herself on
her apparent good fortune and then asked, “You have a maid and
housekeeper? Isn’t that superfluous?”

A surprised look crossed his face.
“Superfluous? Definitely beneath your gifts,” he mumbled to
himself. Turning to look at her, he said, “No, Miss Stephens, I
require both a housekeeper and maid. The housekeeper takes care of
the house, and the maid takes care of me.”

The way he said this struck her, but then
she realized the house must mean the rest of his family. “How will
your wife take to you bringing home a new maid? I know women prefer
to run household staffs.”

Casually, he answered, “I have no wife or
children.”

No wife or children but he requires a
housekeeper and maid?

Arden stopped as he unlocked the front gate
and began walking to the door of his home. Awestruck, she realized
they’d walked blocks away from where they’d been into an exclusive
part of London. His house, an enormous Georgian, stood before her,
a sign of his obvious wealth, and the shame of the recent events of
her life washed over her.

Brandon stopped at the base of the steps and
turned toward her. Beckoning her, he stood obviously confused by
her reluctance.

“Miss Stephens?”

Looking up, Arden straightened her back to
stand tall. She knew she was more than the homeless girl Brandon
Ridley was being charitable toward with a job as a maid. Whatever
he thought didn't matter. He offered a place to stay and a job. She
may not be on his level, but pride was no reason to remain
homeless.

Bowing to her own common sense, she entered
through the gate and locked it behind her. As she joined him on the
stairs, he smiled his beautiful smile again. “I hope you find my
house everything you desire.”

An hour later, she’d met the housekeeper,
Mrs. Benson, and had seen instantly her new employer had spoken the
truth. The rest of the staff had seemed pleasant, and Arden
believed she had found somewhere she could stay, at least for the
time being.

As he escorted her out of the servants'
area, he said, “I’ll show you to your room, Miss Stephens.”

Arden followed him up the stairs to a second
floor of bedrooms and a hallway that led to servants’ quarters at
the back of the house. When he stopped at a bedroom door, she stood
confused.

“This will be your room. My room is at the
end of the hall near the front of the house and that leads to the
servants’ area.”

“Sir?”

“Good night, Miss Stephens.”

Before she could ask if it would be better
if she stayed with the rest of the help in the servants’ quarters,
he turned and left her. As she watched him descend the stairs,
Arden wondered just what exactly she’d agreed to.

***

Brandon leaned back in his chair in his
study and considered the evening’s events. Saving Arden from her
attacker had been a fortunate happenstance indeed. Although he’d
been at that building for an entirely different reason, the potent
scent of one like himself in pursuit of prey had encouraged him to
stay to watch. He'd even considered joining in, particularly after
his conversation with Vasilije. A little diversion was definitely
in order.

However, just the sight of Arden had made
him interrupt the chase. Innocent, with a gentleness that touched
him, she couldn't be left to suffer the fate the vampire chasing
her had planned. Her brown eyes staring up at him in desperation
and her hands pressed to his chest as she pleaded for his help had
ignited something in him making him want her for himself.

As he finished the last of his port, he
remembered with pleasure the feel of her bent over in front of him.
The feel of her hips under his hands. The softness of her body
pressed against his. With no effort, she’d aroused him, even though
the act had been entirely pretend. And if his acute sense of smell
wasn’t mistaken, she’d wanted him.

As he fantasized about her, he wondered what
had happened to make her one of London’s many homeless. Why had no
one taken her for his wife? He thought of her wit combined with her
obvious beauty and imagined many a young man vying for her hand.
Young men like himself.

No. Not like me.

It didn't matter. No, he wasn't a young
suitor who would court her and hope she'd graciously say yes to his
offer of marriage someday. He was a vampire hundreds of years old,
but that didn't mean he couldn't have love. He was more than the
dissolute soul who'd accepted a stranger's touch simply to feel
something just hours earlier.

Arden was more than just some homeless
wretch he'd saved from an unknown assailant. She was someone he
could keep safe in his house as his maid. And even if he couldn’t
be the kind of man she deserved, he would make her his.

Chapter
Three

Arden spent her first full day in her new
home learning from the rest of Brandon’s staff how he liked his
house run. Mrs. Benson lectured her on such topics as dust and the
importance of beating rugs correctly, while the older Mrs. Jandry,
the cook, stood quietly cutting vegetables and preparing meals each
time Arden passed through the kitchen.

By dinnertime, she hadn’t seen him yet that
day and casually inquired about his daily schedule from Mrs.
Jandry.

“Does Mr. Ridley usually stay away from the
house all day?”

Never lifting her eyes from the bread dough
she was kneading, the grey haired lady replied, “The master is a
night owl, to be sure. As his maid, you best become accustomed to
his peculiar schedule.”

She ate dinner with the rest of the
servants, listening to the two women bicker about some Mr. Andrews
and his poor treatment of his daughter, but Arden silently wondered
exactly what Mrs. Jandry had meant by “peculiar schedule.” She
remembered Brandon saying the maid took care of him. Did that mean
turning her days and nights upside down and becoming a night owl
like him? And if so, when would she sleep—in the day?

Resolved to ask him about her concerns, she
waited to see him, but by nine o’clock he was still absent and when
the rest of the household retired to their rooms in the servants’
quarters, she reluctantly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Unsure
if she was expected to know of his peculiar schedule, she remained
awake until ten o’clock, but found herself too sleepy by then and
retired for the evening also.

Wearing a borrowed nightgown from Mrs.
Jandry's niece, Arden looked around her new quarters. The room was
small, but it was cozy. Alongside the bed was a small night table,
and in the corner was a dressing table very much like the one she'd
had before her father's death had caused her to lose their
home.

She stared at the table, letting her mind
travel back in time to when her parents still lived and cared for
her. The pain of losing them, still fresh in her mind, bit at her
heart, and she pushed it away, angry with herself that she let the
thought in at all. They were gone, and there was nothing she could
do about it.

Extinguishing the gaslight, she lay back on
her bed and relaxed in the darkness. The comfort of her new bed,
unlike anything she’d had for weeks, felt so wonderful beneath her
tired body. Closing her eyes, she let the reality of her new
situation settle into her brain. She was no longer homeless, a
street urchin scorned by all who passed by and forced to sleep on
the hard ground. She was what she'd been before her father's
passing—a young woman who although she had no fortune was still
honorable. Comforted by this, she let her mind stray to Brandon
Ridley and his unusual living habits. As she drifted off to sleep,
she wondered if her new job of being maid to a man who never stayed
home was too good to be true.