Be Mine Tonight (23 page)

“Chapel…” She stopped, a wave of embarrassment washing over her.

His good humor vanished. “What is it?”

“I don’t…I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to help me bathe.”

“Why not? I’ll have you know I’m very good at bathing people—I bathe myself on a regular basis.”

He was being silly for her benefit; she knew because he still wasn’t all that good at it. “I don’t want you to see me naked.”

Exaggerated confusion colored his expression. “But I’ve seen you naked already—quite a few times.”

“Not like this.”

Sighing, he tossed his coat and cravat over the chair of her dressing table. He rolled up his sleeves as he turned to her. “You don’t have to be bashful with me, Pru.”

“I’m not being bashful.” It was more annoyance than self-pity that colored her tone. “I just don’t want you to see how ugly I am.”

“Ugly?” He finished rolling up his sleeves as he crossed the carpet to sit on the side of her bed. “My darling Pru, you will never be anything but beautiful to me.”

“But—”

“We’ve already discussed this.” His tone told her that was the end of the discussion. Standing up, he tossed back her blankets and lifted her into his strong arms—ignoring her protests as he did so.

He carried her into her bathing chamber—a modern convenience her father had insisted upon her having. Chapel set her in a padded wicker chair as he filled the bath. A turn of the taps soon had the tub filling with hot water. He pulled the stoppers from several bottles, sniffing each before
settling on the perfect scent to pour into the water. Soon the air was lightly scented with the smell of jasmine.

When the tub was almost full, he helped her to her feet and slipped the wrapper and gown from her. Mortified, Pru noticed there was blood on her gown. Chapel either didn’t notice or just pretended not to. Either way, Pru loved him even more for it.

She also loved him for the way he looked at her as though she were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was enough to bring the sting of tears to her eyes. How could he look at her like that when she knew how awful she must appear?

He removed his own shirt, revealing the masculine beauty of his upper body to her appreciative gaze. She hadn’t felt like making love in days, but the sight of him sent a little thrill through her all the same.

“I can get into the tub on my own,” she told him as he lifted her once more.

“Why do that when I can do it for you?” A small smile curved his lips as he lowered her into the fragrant water.

She sighed as the water washed over her. How could she not? It felt so good, she broke out in gooseflesh. She stretched out in the tub, leaned her head back against the polished enamel and closed her eyes.

Chapel, however, apparently decided his job was not done. Barely a minute passed before she felt the soft brush of a soapy cloth against her upper chest. She opened her eyes.

He was crouched beside the tub, still shirtless, a warm glint in his golden eyes.

“You are going to wash me as well? I’m not an invalid, you know.” It came out sharper than she intended.

His left brow twitched, but other than that there was no reaction in his expression. “I know you are not an invalid. I’m doing this for myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am a selfish creature. I want you all to myself for a while. Now I have you completely at my mercy.”

A tired smile tugged at her lips. “You and your nefarious plans.”

He spent the next half hour gently scrubbing every inch of her clean. If the sight of her body bothered him, he didn’t show it at all. Then he washed her hair as well, making the heavy mass feel light and bouncy again.

After the bath he toweled her dry and helped her change into another demi-corset and nightgown, and a heavier wrapper. There was no way she could wear her normal corset and squeeze herself into an evening gown. Even if her abdomen wasn’t as it was, she was too thin for most of her clothes now.

Besides, it wasn’t as though her family would care what she wore.

Chapel amazed her further by winding her hair into a simple bun on the top of her head and pinning it into place.

“I’m going to fire my maid and hire you in her
stead,” she announced, admiring his handiwork.

He planted a small, hot kiss on the side of her neck as he finished buttoning his jacket. “I accept.”

She was still smiling when he carried her into the dining room, where the others waited.

Everyone looked so happy to see her that Pru didn’t care how she looked or that she was so weak Chapel had to carry her. At that moment, she felt better than she had in days. At that moment, she felt that life was very good indeed.

Dinner was delicous. She ate as much as she could, which wasn’t a lot. She filled up on conversation and laughter instead. Perhaps some of the conversation was a little too silly, the joviality a little too forced, but it was still there. They were trying for her, and Pru appreciated it and loved them all for it. Even her brothers-in-law got into the foolishness, telling stories and making jokes—often at Pru’s expense.

Chapel joined in, and though the air was a little tense between him and her father, they made the best of the situation. He wasn’t safe from the teasing either. It was nice knowing the family had accepted him. Perhaps he’d look over them from time to time for her. Maybe, if she asked, he’d watch over Caroline’s baby—make sure it grew up safe.

What a maudlin, yet romantic thought—him looking after her family for the next five generations or so because his heart was still so full of her. She’d laugh if the thought belonged to anyone other than herself.

Instead, she laughed at something her brother-
in-law James said in relation to Georgiana’s short stature. She laughed harder than she had in such a long time.

She was still laughing when pain—sharp and intense—lanced through her. It robbed her of all laughter and breath as it ripped her apart inside. In fact, it was so bad, it knocked her from her chair onto the floor. She couldn’t even put out a hand to save herself, she just fell.

Chapel was the first one to reach her, even though he had been seated across the table. No doubt he simply leapt to her side. Did her family even notice, or were they too busy watching her lie panting and convulsed on the dining room floor?

Chapel gathered her into his arms. She cried out despite his tenderness. “Pru?”

God, she hated hearing that vulnerability in his voice! He was her warrior, her vampire. He was supposed to be so much stronger than this. So much stronger than her.

She gazed up at him, seeing more than one of his lovely face. “Take me to my room.”

T
hree days.

Three days of waiting, of watching Pru drift in and out of consciousness. She was slipping away and he didn’t know if he’d hear her voice again, if he’d get a chance to say good-bye.

He should be slapped for thinking of himself. Angrily, he remembered that all that mattered was Pru wasn’t in pain. As long as she wasn’t suffering, nothing else mattered.

Of course, her family was suffering a great deal. He couldn’t stand to look at them. They all tried to be so supportive and caring toward him, but he knew they had to blame him. In their hearts they couldn’t be as good as they pretended. Did they hate him for not turning Pru into a vampire, for not “saving” her?

Did they hate him as much as he was beginning to hate himself?

A telegram arrived from Molyneux, telling him how sorry he was to hear about Pru. Both he and Marcus sent their regards and prayers. They would return to England as soon as possible. And no, they hadn’t found Bishop yet. As if Chapel cared about Bishop, Saint, Reign or even Temple. He didn’t care about any of them—not at the moment. How could he, when the woman he loved lay dying?

The woman he
loved.

He sat on the floor outside her room, waiting for his turn to watch over her. Her family shared the days, but the nights were his and his alone. He woke as early as he could, and when he did there was always a small bottle of blood waiting for him. He didn’t ask where it came from and no one volunteered. Contrary to Mr. Stoker’s novel, vampires didn’t need to glut themselves to survive. As long as they had human blood in their system they were fine. One pint could often last a couple of days if the vampire didn’t expend a lot of energy. And sitting beside Pru’s bed didn’t expend energy at all.

He suspected the blood was from Caroline, as she was the most open to what he was, but he hated the idea of her risking weakening herself and her baby by giving him her blood. She didn’t look weak, however. Just sad.

The door to Pru’s room opened and Chapel was on his feet in a second. Matilda stared at him with wide hazel eyes.

“Please don’t do that,” she said, her hand pressed to her heart.

“Forgive me.”

She nodded. He could hear her heartbeat start to return to normal. “Of course. Pru is asking for you.”

Joy burst within him. “She’s awake?”

Another nod. “She’s tired, but she says she won’t sleep until she’s seen you.” Tears filled her eyes. “I think she’s…Don’t tire her, please.”

She whirled away from him, but not before he saw her wipe at her eyes. Her fear resonated deep in his soul. Was this the end? Was Pru’s time at hand?

Slowly, he opened the door to her room and stepped inside. It was dark in the room, save for a lamp on the vanity—close enough so Pru could see, but not close enough to keep her from sleeping.

“Chapel?” Her voice was thin and soft. “Is that you?”

“Yes.” His own voice was a ragged whisper. “It’s me.”

A ghostly arm raised from the bed. “Come sit with me.”

She looked so little and fragile in that great big bed. Her rich hair spread around her, fanning out across the stark white pillow. Her face was almost as white, dark circles beneath her eyes, hollows beneath her cheeks. Where had his Pru gone?

She had told him she didn’t want him to see this happen to her. He had told her he didn’t care, that he wasn’t leaving. He had meant it, but by
God he wished he could stop it, not for himself but for her and for her family.

He took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold and skeletal as they clung to his. He wrapped his other hand around hers to warm it. “You should be resting,
mon coeur.
”

A smile touched her lips. “Did you just call me ‘my heart’?”

He nodded. “I did.”

“I like that.”

He gazed into her hazel eyes, and that’s where he saw his Pru. She was still there, deep inside this shell of her former self.

“It will always be yours, Pru. My heart.”

Her fingers squeezed his. “Not always. Someday you’ll find someone else to give it to.”

There was no censure in her tone, but he reacted against it all the same. “No. That won’t happen.”

She gazed upon him like a mother upon a difficult child. “You cannot die, Chapel. It isn’t reasonable to say you will never give your heart again.”

He leaned down, taking one hand from hers and cupping her cheek with it. “It does not matter how long I live, Pru. I will love you until the day God finally takes me home.”

“Home. That’s a nice way to think of it. I’m going home, Chapel.”

His throat tightened. His eyes burned. “I know, love.”

A tear slipped from her eye. “I wish we could have had more time. I would have liked for you to hold my heart a little while longer.”

He nodded. He couldn’t speak.

She licked her lips. Speaking seemed to take so much out of her. “I want you to know how much these weeks with you have meant to me.”

“Don’t talk.” He didn’t want to lose her any sooner than he had to.

“I need to tell you these things,” she insisted hotly. “I want you to know how much
you
mean to me. I want you to know how happy you’ve made me.”

“I’ve been happy too,” he confessed. “Happier than I ever remember.”

Another smile. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy, Chapel. You deserve so much more than you believe. God has chosen you for a special task.”

A shiver spiked down his spine. “What do you mean?”

Her free hand came up to the one on her cheek, holding it against her soft flesh with cool fingers. “You’re a warrior, Chapel. A warrior for goodness and light, don’t forget that.”

“Pru…” He could argue, but what good would that do? Let her believe it.
He
wanted to believe it.

Wanted to.

“You were sent to me for a reason,” she told him. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad I did it.”

“What
you
did to deserve me?” His disbelief was obvious. “Pru,
I’m
the one who was blessed by you.”

A glint entered her eyes and he knew he was caught. “Now, why would a God who is trying to punish you bless you?”

Her words hit like a sword, cleaving him to his very soul.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. It was true. Why would God send him Pru? He refused to think of her as anything but a gift. What had he done to deserve such bounty?

“I think He knew we needed each other.” Her voice was so soft now he could barely hear her. “I think He wanted you to know love and He knew I’d love you. I do love you, Chapel. With all my heart.”

Tears streamed down Chapel’s cheeks. “I love you too, my beautiful Pru.”

Her fingers tightened, the only indication that she had heard him, and then a rattle of breath poured from her chest.

No!
Wild, Chapel clenched her fingers, put his ear to her mouth. She was leaving him. The last of her breath leaving her body. She was dying.

“Pru?” She didn’t respond.

No. Not like this. She was his, damn it. She loved him. No woman had ever given him what Pru had. No woman had ever accepted him for what he was. She asked nothing of him—nothing except that he live. Was he just going to let that go because he believed he was some kind of monster?

“So what if I am?” he asked aloud. What if he was a monster? He had free will, he chose his own actions. For centuries he’d made himself miserable, punishing himself for a stupid mistake that he had more than paid for. For the first time he felt
like he could finally forgive himself and accept his fate. He could accept anything, face anything knowing that Pru loved him. Loved
him.

What if Molyneux and Pru were right? What if he was looking at his life the wrong way? What if this was a gift?

Curse or not, he wasn’t going to let Pru go. Over five hundred years he had spent working for the church, doing what they wanted, listening as they talked him into the dirt as a demon.

He wasn’t a demon. He was a descendant of the first wife of Adam and a fallen angel. He was a powerful being who could choose his own destiny. He fought for the forces of good. He wasn’t evil, and he made his own fate.

He lowered his head to Pru’s chest. Her heart still beat, but it was unsteady and weak. There was still hope.

No more thinking. He simply acted. His fangs tore from his gums with the force of his emotion. Gently, he pulled the neckline of Pru’s nightgown aside, baring the tops of her breasts to his gaze. Beneath the pale, fragile skin was a trace of blue. His mouth covered it, fangs pierced it.

He drank.

Pru’s warmth and sweetness flowed through him, filling him with a sense of peace and belonging. She was his and he was hers. They belonged together as surely as the moon and stars. She flooded his mouth, took over his senses and still he did not stop. He took her into him until he felt her heart sputter. Only then did he lift his head.

He closed the wound with a gentle lick before biting into his own wrist. He didn’t even wince, he was so far removed from the pain. He placed it over her mouth, willing her to drink. There was a soft pressure as she tried. Her throat worked with the effort.

Then there was nothing. Her lips were still against his flesh.

Too late. He was too late.

Chapel prayed.