Be Mine Tonight (10 page)

Emptiness claimed him then and he stared into the sightless blue eyes until he felt the thick steel of a sword pierce his back. He looked down and saw the tip protruding from his chest. Pain lanced through him as the blade was pulled back out. Rage followed.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and turned to confront his attacker. It was Marie’s father, who stared at him with an expression very much like the one Marie herself had fixed upon him.

“Mon Dieu.”

“Do not waste your breath,” Chapel told him as he pushed the man aside. “He cannot help you. He cannot help any of us.”

He left his village that night and did not return for more than two hundred years. When he went back, he went to that exact spot where he had held Marie, as though expecting there to be some kind of marker. There wasn’t.

He went to her grave. It looked so old and fragile, the letters worn and the stone chipped and patched with moss. He knelt there in the crypt, where he prayed for forgiveness and for her soul, but nothing happened. If God was listening, He didn’t respond.

Marcus Grey had heard incorrectly. Severian de Foncé hadn’t killed his fiancée.

Chapel had.

And Pru Ryland’s kiss wasn’t a reward. He wasn’t so certain it was a punishment either, but it was a reminder.

A reminder of everything he had wanted and destroyed. A reminder of everything he could never, ever have.

“He did what?”

Pru hauled her sister out through the terrace doors. Caroline’s question was so loud, the mice in the attic probably heard her.

Once the doors were closed and the two of them were alone on the heavily foliaged terrace, Pru turned to face her older sibling. The sun was slowly sinking on the horizon. She’d waited all day for the chance to tell her sister about the previous evening.

“He kissed me.”

Eyes wide and bright, Caroline pressed a hand against her mouth as a high giggle escaped. “Oh, my dear Lord! Well, don’t just stand there, silly. Tell me everything!”

They didn’t have much time before the others would come looking for them for dinner, so Pru would have to be quick. Still holding Caroline’s arm, she guided her away from the doors, lest someone overhear them.

She told her sister how she had found Chapel in the library and how she had thought he was going to kiss the maid.

“The cad.” Caroline frowned. “You let him kiss you after that?”

Of course Pru then had to explain how she now believed that Chapel hadn’t pursued the maid, but that the girl had propositioned him—and was turned down. She’d asked her own maid about the girl and found out that she had a bit of a reputation among the servants for “entertaining” male guests.

Caroline shook her head. “You need to dismiss her before she gets herself with child.”

No doubt her sister had no idea how harsh that sounded, but regardless, Pru had no intention of letting the girl go because she liked men.

But she had gone to Mrs. Dobbie, the housekeeper, for a chat. She hadn’t given the older woman all the details, but she told her that she didn’t want the girl punished, merely advised that she might want to effect some changes in her behavior—for her own benefit, as well as that of her position within the household.

“It was divine,” she announced, after revealing the rest of the tale—minus a few details, of course. Caroline did not need to know that Pru had rubbed herself against Chapel like a cat in season.

Caroline looked pained. “Darling, I know I’ve often encouraged you to pursue a gentleman, but you will be careful, won’t you? I would hate to see you hurt in any way.”

Squeezing her sister’s hand, Pru nodded. “I will.” Why argue? Why worry Caroline by telling her that she had no intention of being careful? What did it matter what happened between her and Chapel? The worst that could happen was that he would break her heart. She would get over that, either by the time given to her by the Grail, or by the death that nipped at her heels.

She told herself that was what would happen, but a part of her wasn’t so certain. Fear was not going to keep her from following her heart, however.

No, it would serve no purpose to say these things aloud.

“The others will be waiting for us,” she said, pulling her sister toward the doors once more. “Let’s go in.”

The others were indeed waiting for them. Chapel was talking to Marcus, but his head snapped
up the minute Pru entered the room, as though he sensed her arrival. The idea warmed her like a fire on a cold day, flooding her extremities with delicious heat. The sight of him made her chest tight, he was so lovely.

In black and white evening clothes he looked as stark and golden as an angel. The lines and planes of his face softened as their gazes locked. His honey eyes seemed unnaturally bright, as though lit from an inner fire. He smiled—just for her. Every woman should know the joy of having a man be joyful just for her presence.

He could smash her heart to bits and it would be worth every minute.

She had selected a dark green gown for dinner that hugged her torso and made her skin look like cream. Obviously it had been the right choice, because Chapel looked at her as though he’d like to lap her up.

Oh, dear.
Where was a fan when she needed one?

A pang in her abdomen killed her pleasure. No. Not now. Oh, God, not now.

Another jolt sliced through her. Stricken, she raised her gaze to Chapel. His surprise and dismay was plain as he rushed to her side.

“Pru, what is it?”

That he called her by her Christian name was proof of just how shaken he was. Pru couldn’t even enjoy his concern, she was in so much pain.

Wet. There was wetness between her legs.

The color rushed from Chapel’s face. “You’re bleeding.”

Her gaze jerked to his. How could he know that? He’d said it low enough that no one else could hear, but it was as though he had realized it at the same time Pru had. How?

“Take her to her room.” It was her father who spoke. “Marcus, go fetch the doctor.”

The next thing Pru knew, she was in Chapel’s strong arms and he was heading toward the stairs, so fast that her sisters had to run to keep up. He didn’t look the least bit burdened by her, and his eyes…his eyes burned like coals.

The pain was making her deluded. That was the only answer for it. No one’s eyes could be that bright. No one was that strong.

But she wasn’t imagining the fear or the concern on his face. He was worried about her and she was touched by it—more so than she wanted to admit.

“To the right,” she heard Matilda instruct when they reached the top of the stairs. Of course, she had no way of knowing that Chapel already knew where Pru’s room was.

He didn’t respond, he just moved with that same strange swiftness, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“What would I—oh!” A spasm brought a sheen of perspiration to her brow and she clenched against it. “—do without you to carry me?”

He gave her the slightest of smiles. His eyes at least looked a bit more normal now. “Knowing you, you’d find a way to carry yourself.”

Pru chuckled. It hurt, but she did it anyway. This familiarity they shared pleased her, gave her
comfort at a time when she usually would have found only pain and fear. It wasn’t usual, for so short an acquaintance, but she wasn’t going to question it. She was simply thankful for it.

They entered her room. Gently—so much so that she almost didn’t feel it—Chapel laid her on her bed. Before Pru could thank him for helping her, he was pushed aside by her sisters, all of whom were intent on babying her.

How frightened they looked. It broke Pru’s heart to see them, so she closed her eyes and ground her teeth as another wave of pain came.

She thought about Chapel, pictured him in her mind and imagined his strength surrounding her. She imagined him holding her again, his arms tight around her, unwilling to let her go. She imagined his smile and thought about how much she enjoyed knowing she was responsible for it.

And prayed she wouldn’t die without seeing him again.

C
hapel sat on the floor outside Pru’s door. No one seemed to mind that he kept vigil there, even though it was highly improper. Molyneux sat in a chair beside him, Pru’s family across the corridor. Even her brothers-in-law were there, though they looked highly uncomfortable. Marcus paced near the top of the stairs.

Chapel avoided the young man. Marcus looked at him as though he expected him to be able to do something for Pru, and that frightened him, not because he didn’t know what to do for her, but because he knew exactly what Marcus had in mind.

Was Pru that sick? She was sick enough that she was bleeding inside. He’d smelled it as soon as he’d reached her. It had been fresh blood too, not monthly feminine blood.

Pain and blood. It was a combination that had followed him for centuries, and it was
never
good.

She would have to be very ill indeed for someone to think being made a vampire would be a fitting cure for her. Of course, there was the Holy Grail.

The Holy Grail. Until now he hadn’t given much thought to the possibility that it was what was hidden in those ruins. Until now all his energy had been directed at protecting the Blood Grail. And now that he had an idea why Pru was so anxious to find that cup—why her interest in the legend had turned to obsession—he wanted it to be there as well.

He watched her family rather than think of all the things that might be wrong with Pru and all the miracles that might be just out of her reach. Her father stood by his daughters, the husbands of whom were a few feet farther down the hall—close enough to lend support to their wives but far enough away to give the family a little privacy. They talked quietly among themselves, with more anxiety in their expressions than Chapel was comfortable witnessing in other men.

Thomas Ryland looked tired, drawn and frightened. Each of his three daughters look similarly. Matilda stood with her hands clasped in front of her, chin high but quivering. Georgiana sat next to Caroline, grasping her sister’s hand. If determination alone could beat an illness, then the expression on Georgiana’s face would do it. And Caroline, poor sweet Caroline, chewed at her lower lip in an effort not to cry.

They were worried. Worried and frightened.

He would have liked to offer them some comfort, but it wasn’t something he was good at. He would have liked to take comfort from them, but he hadn’t known Pru long enough, hadn’t ingratiated himself into the family enough to expect such emotion.

Her family had no idea that he would gladly sell, trade or destroy whatever soul he had left to make Pru well. She had come to mean something to him during his short time at Rosecourt. Something important and precious.

The door to Pru’s room opened and Chapel jumped to his feet. No one but Molyneux seemed to notice that he was more agile than a man his size should be. But instead of a chastising gaze, the priest offered him a hopeful smile instead.

Was his concern for Pru as evident as that of her family?

The physician, a tall, lanky man of middle age with thinning dark hair, spared him the slightest glance before turning his attention to Pru’s father.

“Miss Ryland is resting,” he informed them. “I gave her something for the pain and I expect she will sleep through the night.”

“Is she…all right?” It was Matilda, the motherly one, who asked.

The doctor—Higgins or something was his name—favored her with a smile. “She’s comfortable and I expect she will feel more herself come the morning.”

Chapel wasn’t the only one who noticed that the doctor hadn’t answered her question. Matilda
did not look convinced, and turned to her father.

Thomas Ryland sighed. “What about her condition, Philip? Has it worsened?”

Condition? Chapel glanced at Higgins, very anxious as to what his reply would be.

“The cancer is progressing,” Higgins replied in the same calm tone, “as we knew it would. But Prudence is as stubborn as her father and I expect she will be with us for some time yet.”

Cancer.
Chapel leaned his shoulder into the wall for support. Christ. He knew it had to be serious, but…cancer.

His last priest had died from cancer of the stomach. It had been an awful thing, watching a hale and vibrant man dwindle to a shrunken husk. Chapel hadn’t recognized him at the end.

The idea of Pru meeting that kind of fate made him feel as though he might vomit.

It also made him angry—angry enough that he didn’t dare look anyone in the eye lest they see just how inhuman he was.

But cancer wasn’t something he could beat or kill or intimidate. Cancer didn’t give a whore’s honor who or what he was. Cancer was one of the true monsters of the world. Oh, he could change Pru into what he was, that would destroy the cancer that was killing her.

It might also destroy Pru as well. God knows it had destroyed Marie. Chapel wasn’t quite sure if it had destroyed him or not.

“May we see her?” It was Caroline who asked.

Higgins nodded. “She’s asleep, but I do not see
any harm in having one or all of her sisters sit with her.”

The women didn’t even look at one another for encouragement. It was as if the three of them simply knew that each would want to sit by Pru’s bed. They moved as one, just as he and his companions had, knowing instinctively what the others were thinking. He envied these women that closeness. He hadn’t felt it for a very long time—not until he’d felt Temple’s presence at the dig site.

He watched the sisters go. They would get to watch over Pru and keep her comfortable and safe, not he. There was no reason for him to sit with her, but he wanted to. He wanted to watch her breathe, just so he could know she still drew breath.

Christ, Molyneux was right. He had to get out in society more if this was how he now reacted to being confronted with death. He, who had killed plenty in his lifetime, both as man and as beast. Pru Ryland would die and go on to a better place. He would still be there long after her bones had turned to dust.

He really was going to vomit.

He excused himself and escaped down the stairs as quickly as he could without raising questions. Molyneux and Marcus were hot on his heels.

Chapel went for the drawing room, where he poured himself a liberal amount of whiskey. Molyneux abstained, but Marcus nodded that he would like one as well.

When the three of them were seated, Chapel turned his anger on Marcus. “You knew about this?”

The young man seemed surprised by his rancor. “About Pru? Yes, I knew. I’ve known since we first met.”

This must be what Grey had hinted at before. “And you didn’t tell me. Why?”

“It was none of your business.”

“None of my business?” The tumbler in his hand groaned as his fingers tightened around it. “How is that?”

Marcus shrugged his broad shoulders. “She didn’t want you or Father Molyneux to know. Nothing personal, she didn’t like anyone knowing. She said people treated her differently once they found out. How about you, Mr. Chapel—will you treat her differently?”

Something in the young man’s tone sounded very much like a taunt.
Yes.
“No.”

“You like her, I can tell.”

The tumbler began to crack. Chapel set it on the table. “What I think of Pru is none of
your
business.”

Marcus merely shrugged once more. He looked older than he normally did—finally showing his true age. “That’s shit and you know it. Pru is my friend and you’re just some vampire sent here to make sure she doesn’t uncover something that could save her from a painful death.”

Molyneux gasped, his pale gaze whipping around to meet Chapel’s. Chapel merely looked away.

Marcus was right, of course—painfully so—but that didn’t stop Chapel from wanting to rip his throat out. A low growl escaped his throat and he felt his control waver for a second as the urge to pounce rose to the surface.

“Save her?” He lifted his chin, looking Marcus directly in the eye. “Is
this
what you would want for her? A demon inside that demands blood? Would you deny her the sun, deny her the embrace of heaven? Do you really want to spend the rest of your friendship with her wondering if she’ll give in to temptation someday and find out if you taste as good as she imagines you would?”

Marcus swallowed, his blue eyes wide with trepidation. “No,” he whispered. “I would not, but nor would I have her die.”

Chapel sighed and ran a hand over his jaw. He was tired. Here it was, the night still young, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and never wake up.

“I do not want her to die either,” he admitted. “But I will not damn her. You cannot ask it of me.”

Marcus tossed back the remainder of his whiskey. “What if it is the Blood Grail we find? Will you stop her from making the choice on her own?”

“Mon Dieu!”
Molyneux crossed himself. “My boy, you do not know what you are saying!”

A sharp bark of laughter tore from Chapel’s throat. “He knows exactly what he is saying. Yes, Mr. Grey. I will stop her—and you, if necessary.”

The young man’s gaze was pure defiance. “Then I guess I had better get inside the ruins first.”

Icy fingers reached through Chapel’s veins. “We had an agreement.”

Marcus stared him down. He was not afraid and Chapel both despised and respected him for it. “I release you from it.”

“You cannot do that. You wanted information in exchange for allowing me to enter the cellar first. If Temple is there, he will kill you.”

Marcus stood, his cheeks flush with color. “Then I’d better take every precaution to ascertain that he isn’t. I will not allow you—a creature who knows nothing of her—to make such a decision for Pru.”

Chapel rose as well. His heart banged once against his ribs. Nothing of her? He’d wager he knew her better than Grey did. “You would make her a demon?”

Blue eyes narrowed. “Is that what you are? I thought you were just a coward. Go back to your rock, Chapel. Hide under it for another hundred years or so. Let the rest of us brave enough to want to live worry about the rest.”

He might have attacked had he not been too shocked to even move. Dumbfounded, Chapel could only stand there and watch as Marcus strode from the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

“He doesn’t understand.” Chapel sank into his chair. He could not allow Marcus in that cellar. Regardless of what Temple might do to him, he could not allow him to give the Blood Grail to Pru.

“Perhaps he simply sees things differently,” Molyneux suggested.

Chapel faced him with incredulity. “Are you mad?”

The priest patted him on the thigh as though he were some ignorant schoolboy having a lapse in faith. “You see your situation as a curse. Marcus Grey sees it as a blessing. It is all a matter of perspective,
non
?”

“Non.”
Perspective? What the hell? “It is a curse. I have a demon inside me. It tells me to prey on human life, what else could it be?”

Molyneux tilted his graying head. “Prey, but not kill. You have the choice to make what you will of your affliction. You have decided to make it a curse, something to be ashamed of and be punished for.”

“Yes.” It made perfect sense to him.

The priest shook his head and rose to his feet. “You could just as easily have made it a gift. Think of all the good you could do with your abilities.”

This was ridiculous. “Kill people out of mercy?”

Another head shake. “It is no good talking to you now, not when you are so upset about Mam’selle Ryland. It is ironic, I think.”

Chapel waited. He rolled his eyes as the silence dragged on. “What is ironic?”

Molyneux crossed the printed carpet to the door, where he paused—rather dramatically, in Chapel’s opinion. “That the one person you have made any kind of connection with in centuries is
the very one who would no doubt trade places with you in an instant.”

Chapel opened his mouth to respond, but Molyneux didn’t give him a chance. The soft click of the door latch punctuated the finality of his departure.

Closing his eyes, Chapel leaned back in his chair. The quiet was sweet, but his thoughts were not. Poor Pru. Sweet, fragile Pru. She probably would trade places with him. From what he already knew of her, he doubted she would even stop to consider the consequences.

But would he trade with her? No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t pass on this curse to anyone.

But to be honest, he wasn’t entirely certain he’d give it up either.

When Pru awoke late the following afternoon—after waking up several times during the day only to have one of her sisters tell her to go back to sleep—she discovered that not only had her party—the one to celebrate finding the cellar—been postponed by a few days, but so had work on the ruins.

It was an announcement that terrified her, but Marcus assured her that as soon as she was recovered, he would resume work at double speed so she could be there to reap the benefits of their work. He wanted her to be there for their triumph, not in bed where she couldn’t see the Grail firsthand.

Their
work. It was kind of him to say so, but it
didn’t feel as though she had contributed much to the effort. True, she had convinced her father to purchase the land, but for the most part she had been as useless a partner as anyone could be.

By now both Chapel and Father Molyneux knew the nature of her illness. She really didn’t mind the priest knowing. He might come in handy before all this was said and done. And she didn’t expect that a man who looked forward to going to heaven would pity her. No, it was Chapel’s knowing that bothered her. Would he look at her with pity now?

Or would he be angry that she hadn’t been totally honest with him? Did he feel betrayed, foolish? Did he regret kissing her? Or would he see her as a potentially easy seduction? No, she couldn’t imagine him thinking that way. He might be hiding parts of himself as well, but he wasn’t evil.

Drawing herself up in the bed, she leaned against the pillows and considered throwing back the blankets and going to the windows to open the drapes and let in what little daylight there was left. After a moment’s contemplation, she decided she was simply too lazy to bother.