After Midnight (4 page)

"I think he likes you." Ruth giggled and snuggled deeper beneath the down bedcovers. The chamber was dark save for the light of the fire in the fireplace. The long case clock on the landing outside their door struck ten.

Emily slid closer to her friend in the big bed so that they might share body warmth. The wind howled outside and the fire crackled and spit as it was fed from the gusts blowing down the chimney. "Oh, he does not. He was merely being polite."

"Polite, my fangs." Ruth pushed up on one elbow to face Emily. "I saw the way his brown eyes twinkled. The way his hand
accidentally
touched yours when he poured you more wine. He'd have rattled on all night about those old dusty books if I'd not fallen asleep with my face in the pudding."

"You're being ridiculous." Emily rolled onto her side to face Ruth. Despite the cold Highland air, she was toasty warm beneath the weight of the quilts. "He was only being polite. We share the same interests."

"Each other?" Ruth purred.

Emily flopped down on her back. Ruth knew her too well, better sometimes than she knew herself. She was captivated by Gordon Fraser, as much for his mind as his striking good looks. But she wasn't ready to admit that attraction, not to Ruth, not even to herself. "Ruth. I am a professional woman. I do not form
interests
in my employers." She cut her eyes at Ruth. "And certainly not my vampire employers."

Ruth burst into a fit of giggles and fell onto the mattress, kicking her legs wildly. "A vampire! Can you believe he actually said that with a straight face? I think he was hurt that we didn't believe him."

Emily elbowed her companion. "Ruth, hush. You're too loud. What if he hears you?"

Ruth popped up in the bed again. "You mean, what if Igor hears. Next thing you know," she said in a spooky voice, "he'll be crawling up the sides of the castle wall in haste to tell his master."

"Ruth!" Emily tried to sound appalled, but a moment later, she was laughing with her. "It really is quite funny," she whispered. "Gordon Fraser a vampire… a rather handsome vampire," she dared.

"A minor eccentricity," Ruth said. "Considering the man's obvious virility. I'd take him for myself, but he's not my type. I prefer a more… physical man."

Emily tugged the bedcovers to her chin and stared at the canopy overhead. The light and dark shadows thrown from the fireplace made eerie patterns on the rich fabric. Suddenly she was a little frightened, not of the eerie castle, or the hulking Angus, but by her own feelings.

"I'm telling you," Ruth whispered as her laughter subsided. "This one may be your prince."

Gordon sat in a chair beneath a reading lamp and attempted to concentrate on the copy of
The Canterbury Tales
he'd just acquired from Great Britain. He strove to hear the beauty of the cadence of Chaucer's middle English, but to no avail. Each time he tackled another stanza, Miss Emily MacDougal, the American, interfered. No matter how he tried to push her from his thoughts, she slipped in again, all bright-eyed, warm, despite her businesslike attitude, and filled with the same love of books he possessed.

Finally, in exasperation, Gordon set aside the book and retrieved the snifter of brandy Angus had brought him.

"Ye would want another book, master?" Angus moved quietly about the tower bedchamber, tidying up. It was their usual routine, one they had carried on for the twenty years since the bright, young, seasick Angus had come to work for him at the age of twelve.

Gordon sipped the century old French brandy he'd bought just before the French revolution. It was as smooth as silk. "Nay. 'Twould make no difference. I'm not in a mood for reading tonight."

"The guests," Angus said simply, as he returned several books to the shelf beside Gordon's curtained four poster bed.

"Aye." Gordon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He'd dressed for bed in a Chinese silk robe and slippers with gold tassels at the heels. "She's so damned beautiful, Angus."

His manservant paused. "The companion, master?"

"Nay. Miss MacDougal. Emily. She's so damned beautiful, and her mind, her mind." He gestured with his hands. "She's so bright and articulate. Did you see the way she smiled politely when I told her I was one of the undead? That woman isn't afraid of anything, Angus. Sweet heather! I love a woman with a spine."

Angus went back to picking up books, papers, and assorted clothing from the floor, chairs, and tables. "She didna believe ye, master."

"Nay. She did not." He rose, casting a long shadow across the plastered wall. "For a short while I felt like the old Gordon Fraser I was, though a little older, a little wiser. It's been so long since someone showed interest in me, the man I am." He touched his left breast, then let his hand fall. "Not what I have become," he finished bitterly.

"Ye canna help what ye are, master."

Gordon glanced up, thankful for Angus's companionship. "No more than ye can help being born a fisherman with a weak stomach."

"Ye have told me many times." A path cleared to the bed, Angus pulled back his master's bedcovers. "We are what we are, my master."

"And thankful to have each other, aye, Angus?" Gordon patted his manservant on his back.

Angus took Gordon's drink from him. "Sleep, master; ye will nay feel so melancholy on the morrow. Ye have a full month of the lady's companionship to enjoy."

"And then what?"

"Ye will send her on her way, master… or keep her."

Gordon turned sharply and the round tower room seemed to spin with him. "Ye do not suggest I drink of her blood, Angus? Ye know I do not take women against their wills. Above all else, despite my curse, I am a Highlander and a gentleman."

Angus halted at the door and lifted his candle so that the light cast across his broad, plain Scot's face. "Mayhap it wouldna be against her will, master."

"I'd sooner die," Gordon said softly, "than take her life."

"I dinna say you must take her life. Ye could…" Angus hesitated. "Ye could make her one of your own, master, and then ye would share the joy of your books forever."

"A companion," Gordon said softly, turning away. "I yearn for a companion. A woman." He lowered his hands to his sides, tightening them into fists. "But I willna do it. I willna force my way of life upon her."

"Ye said yourself she had a mind of her own. There are many advantages to eternal life. Ye are a charming man. Perhaps she would choose to—"

"Nay, Angus." He took a swipe at the air with one hand. "I willna have it."

"As ye wish, master." Angus left the room and closed the door behind him.

Only once the door had shut and he was alone did Gordon realize the depth of his loneliness. Six hundred years was a long time to endure without a shared kiss, a caress, without a woman he cared for… loved. Emily MacDougal would be so easy to love. But would she be easy to kill?

Emily turned slowly in a circle as she stared at the shelves of books that lined all four walls, floor to ceiling, of Gordon Fraser's library. She was overwhelmed by the vast collection. She'd never thought there was another with a passion for old books to match her own, but she knew she'd found him. Gordon's interest didn't seem to be in the monetary worth of the tomes so much as the worth of what was inside them. That was as important to her as his love for the books.

"I've never seen so many books in one library," she breathed in awe.

Gordon leaned against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest. She hadn't been able to help but notice that his black frock coat was freshly pressed, his Irish lace cravat brand new. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he dressed for her.

"I dare admit collecting and reading has become my major interest. It's a good way to pass many lonely days."

Emily ran a long, slender finger down the leather spines of his books. "Herodotus, Calderon, Machiavelli, Boccaccio," she said. "And American authors, too! Jefferson, Grant, Poe." She spun around to face him, secretly pleased she'd allowed Ruth to dress her this morning. She wore a blue brocade gown that Ruth said emphasized the color of her eyes and highlighted her red-blonde hair. "Where did you get all these books?"

He shrugged, seeming embarrassed by her attention.

Modest, too
. Emily admired a modest man.

"Acquired them over the years." He smiled almost bashfully. By the light of the day, he seemed younger, even more elegant than last night. "I've had many years to collect, ye know."

She smiled, realizing he was teasing her about his tale of being a vampire. By the light of day, the illusion was harmless enough, even charming. "Of course. You've been acquiring for what, about six hundred years now?" A book caught her eye and she pulled out the volume. "Is this really an original collection of Shakespeare's comedies?" She opened the cover and perused the first page.

"Aye to your first question and your last." He walked over to the bookshelf she stood before and pulled out a couple of volumes. "You'll want to see these, too."

She accepted the books, but weighed down by them, glanced around the crowded room for somewhere to sit.

"I'm sorry I've no chairs. I had my last manservant remove them so there'd be more room for the books. But you're welcome to take a crate." He scooped up a pile of books from the nearest chair-height shipping crate.

Emily didn't care where she sat, she just wanted to get a better look at the Shakespearean collection. Without bothering to dust off the box, she sat down. "Are all these boxes filled with books?" She glanced up from her perch.

There was a desk, piled with books, two tables, piled with books, and then at least a dozen slatted wooden crates, some as tall as she was, stacked in the room. To reach the shelves at the far side of the twelve-by-fourteen room, she would have to weave her way through the maze of boxes and draped objects.

"Aye, well, most of them. Also a few paintings. I buy things, but then sometimes it takes me a while to get them unpacked and placed where I want them." He scowled, perplexed, as he gazed at the crowded room. "I've a DaVinci sketch I picked up from Rome some hundred, hundred and fifty years ago, and I've not been able to locate it." He pried back a slat in the nearest box, peered in, and coughed as dust rose from inside. "Nay, not here. This one's from Cairo."

She glanced up from the book, amazed by the man. None of her employers had ever amazed her before. No man, in fact. "Egypt?" She could have sworn she smelled hot, dry, sand. Of course he was teasing her again. One hundred and fifty years, indeed.

"Aye." He grinned at her boyishly. "A bit of sculpture from a tomb. I'd prefer to see the artifacts left where they lie, but alas, that's not always possible, is it?"

He seemed saddened by his words and she felt a softness for him. Then she felt silly for falling for his ruse. The box probably had no Egyptian artifacts from a tomb in it. It was probably just full of sand.

She lifted an eyebrow. "So you buy the artifacts to protect them?"

"Better I say that collectors such as myself should purchase them to keep them from being sawed in half and sold in pieces. Often I make an acquisition and then donate the artifact to a museum."

She lowered her gaze to the book on her lap. He was right of course. She'd recently had the same discussion with a would-be employer who had wanted her to remove illuminated pages from a fifteenth century book of prayer to sell as framed prints. Needless to say, she'd not taken the position.

"You're welcome to look at any of the books here. I
know you understand their worth, so you'll take care with them." Gordon stepped over a small box and tugged on a canvas dust cover. "Aha, there she is. I wondered where she'd gotten to."

Emily stared in wonder as he uncovered a life-size statue of a woman carved from stone. "Greek?" she breathed, feeling again as if she were dreaming. It looked authentic. Could it be?

"Most likely Macedonian. Found at the bottom of the harbor in Athens about—"

She raised her palm. "Please don't tell me it was found four hundred years ago."

"Actually about five hundred," he admitted sheepishly. "I was just beginning to dabble in collecting then."

She closed the copy of Shakespeare in her lap, exasperated. She really liked Gordon Fraser. Why did he have to be psychotic? "Mr. Fraser—"

"Please, call me Gordon." He began to recover the statue of the woman, crowned with stone laurel leaves.

"If we're going to be together for the next month, you might as well call me Emily."

There was that shy smile. Surely he wasn't flirting with her again? "I should like that Miss… Emily."

She rose from the crate, setting the books down carefully. "Do you mind if I speak frankly then, Gordon?"

"Please do."

She rested her hand on her hips, suddenly feeling silly in Ruth's blue dress, with her hair piled on her head and little pin curls at her temples. Had she really spent an hour readying herself for a day with a man who thought himself a vampire? "Gordon, this vampire… thing." She tucked one of the annoying little curls behind her ear. "You don't really think you're a vampire, do you? Last night's tale… it was just for entertainment. Like telling tales around the fire on cold nights."

"I was being honest with ye, Emily. I am a vampire."

The statue covered, he faced her. She had always been such an excellent judge of character. He looked so honorable and forthright. He looked like he believed what he said.

"You can't be a vampire," she said impatiently.

He leaned against the Egyptian crate. "Why not?"

"Well, because… because…" Uncomfortable, she glanced away. Sunlight shone through the room's only window. She looked back at him. "Because vampires can't stand the light."

He glanced at the arched window, amusement twitching on his sensual lips. "Everyone knows the sun nay really shines in the Highlands, lass," he said with a feigned Scottish brogue to match Angus's.

She had to admit even a sunny day did seem overcast here in the Highlands. She narrowed her eyes. "Do you sleep in a coffin?" she shot.