Dark Rapture (21 page)

Scarlet was in a daze as they led her behind the curtained screen of embroidered roses. Obediently, she undressed, allowing Orlena to help her to peel the torn material from her body. “Child, you’ve no petticoats!”

Scarlet cringed but then she was immediately relieved. It was a good thing she wasn’t one for lacy lingerie. Wouldn’t they be surprised to see a little Victoria’s Secret beneath her skirts instead of no petticoats?

“Um ... I took them off. The walk here was long and hot.”

Orlena gasped. “It must have been truly awful.”

“There now, sister, let the child step into the water before she catches a chill. There’s time later to tell her tale.”

Nettie pulled a thick sponge over Scarlet’s body, washing the dirt away from head to foot. Dismay overcame the modesty she should have felt and she sat quietly, enjoying the lukewarm water streaming over her head and down her back. When she was clean, Orlena wrapped a long blue silk robe around her shivering body and sat her down on the bed.

“You’re deathly thin, girl.” Nettie touched Scarlet gently on the ribs as she plopped down next to her and started to comb out her wet hair.

“Looks like we’re going to have to prepare a grand feast tonight,” added Orlena. “Hope we have enough wine left.”

Wondering what she had meant by that, Scarlet turned to Nettie, who smiled and waved her sister off with a few tilts of her head. “We had a funeral a few days ago. Lovely young thing was attacked by a wild animal. Poor child, wasn’t much left of her throat. ”

“Nettie!” Orlena reprimanded as she walked past with a bucket of the dirty tub water.

“Yes, well, we had quite a crowd of people here. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ve some wine somewhere. Have a tart, child you must be starving.”

Scarlet sat with her hands crossed over her breasts, watching in the mirror as Nettie combed through the snarls and snags in her thick black hair. Who the hell cared about tarts? What had happened to this girl? She shivered at the thought of being alone in the early morning hours at the graveyard. She could have been victim to an animal attack.

“So,” Orlena stopped before her with a handful of clean bed linens. “What happened to put a lovely child in such a mess and alone in the country by yourself?”

“Well . . .” Should I tell them?
You see, it was this dead lady. She kidnapped me from the future and brought me back to your time.

Right, they’d love to hear that one. She remembered the carriage she’d passed as they’d led her into the house and knew that her story just might work. “It was my carriage, it overturned.”

“
Mon dieu!”
Nettie stopped combing and gazed up at her sister, whose expression was that of surprise and dismay. “Why, you’re lucky to be alive! Were the horses spooked?”

Her sister shushed her and they both looked to Scarlet, eagerly waiting for her to go on.

Not familiar with horses, or their behavior, Scarlet crossed her fingers beneath the folds of her robe and resumed her French.
"Oui,
they were, poor beasts, something in the trees I think. We were . . . crossing a bridge.” She bit the corner of her lip, waiting for her lie to be exposed.

“The
cheval
bridge just over the hill?” asked Nettie.

Scarlet let out her breath and nodded.
"Oui,
that must have been the one.” What luck, there was actually a bridge in the area. “The driver, ah, the horseman, was thrown over and into the water. He hit his head on a rock when he went in.” Scarlet hung her head. Better to get rid of any invisible people now. “He wasn’t moving when I finally found him below the bridge.”

Orlena’s eyes widened to two blue bulbs and her mouth dropped open, revealing badly stained teeth.

“The poor man,” said Nettie.

“You are a lucky girl, Elisabeth. But where are the others?”

“Others?” Scarlet wasn’t sure why the old lady assumed she had been with someone. She was beginning to dislike her prying questions. But of course, it occurred to her it wouldn’t be proper for a young lady to ride unescorted through the countryside. Unless ... “I was alone.”

“Alone!” Orlena clutched her throat and glanced at her sister. “You were traveling alone? But why, and where to?”

“The city?” Nettie asked eagerly.

"Oui,
the city.”

Oh, what city was she talking about? Cursing herself for concocting the whole story, Scarlet wished the questions would stop.

“Oh yes!” Nettie was as excited as a schoolgirl gossiping about her new boyfriend. “You must have been on your way to the party. Everyone is going, you know. The duke’s party is not something to miss. It’s his son’s birthday.”

A birthday. Yes, of course, that would be a good reason for travel. But who was this duke and his son, and better yet, why was she going to the party alone?

“But why were you alone?” Orlena pressed for an answer. “Surely your parents would not send an unescorted child by herself to the party?”

I’m not a child, I’m twenty-six years old, Scarlet thought, but she feigned control. “I was going to meet someone there.” Sure, that sounded good to her. “My uncle . . . mmm . . . Uncle Vincent. I was to stay with him for the summer.
Oui.
He was going to . . . tutor me in my musical studies.”

“Oh music! That’s lovely, what instrument?”

Scarlet frowned, wishing Orlena would just shut up. “Voice lessons.”

“A woman of musical accomplishment is a lovely catch for any man. Where do you and your parents live?” asked Nettie, her eyes glimmering as she looked up into Scarlet’s.

You’d never believe me in a million years.
“Umm, west.”

“
Normandy?” asked Orlena.

Oh my God, I’m actually in
France!

Scarlet's stomach flip-flopped as if she’d just swallowed a goldfish.
How in heaven did this happen to me?
She had traveled back in time
and
across the ocean. She felt her chest tightening and her lungs expanded painfully against her ribs.

“Are you all right?” Orlena fanned her bony fingers in front of Scarlet’s staring face. “Elisabeth?”

Elisabeth?
Who was Elisabeth? Where am I?

Scarlet’s eyes glazed over and the women’s voices faded into the background. The gold curlicues dancing around the tops of the cream-colored walls began swirling around her and their color went from gold to gray and then to black.

Chapter Twenty

The next morning Scarlet woke to the sound of a rooster crowing, something she’d only seen and heard in the movies. She sat up, eager to start the day. But at sight of each piece of furniture, so new, yet so old in her mind, and of the ancient tapestry on the wall, depicting a romantic scene of a man astride his white stallion and his lady love waiting for him atop a hill stitched in brilliant greens, her happiness was dashed. She realized that yesterday had not been a dream.

I’m really here.
Out of place in time. Captive in a world and history she knew nothing about.

She fingered the lace-edged spread that covered her from the morning chill. It had not been a dream when Nettie and Orlena had come running to her across the great green lawn. It wasn’t a dream when they’d washed and dressed her, or when she’d fainted and then woken later to find a feast of cherried pheasant, fresh baked wheat bread and potatoes sitting before her on a silver tray. They’d brought her supper to her room, thinking that she needed rest after her terrible ordeal.

No more dreams. She was
really
here.

And Sebastian wasn’t.

Pulling the heavy feather pillow across her lap, she hugged it to her breast. Closing her eyes, she could feel Sebastian’s warm strong arms wrapped around her, his face close to hers, and could smell the spicy aroma that lingered in his hair.

“Sebastian,” she whispered with all her being.

His lips touched a quiver of heat to her neck, and a cool shiver trickled down her back as his ivory teeth slid across her flesh, teasingly delaying the inevitable.

Scarlet swallowed. “I hope you can hear me, Sebastian. I need you.”

“So, are you ready to get all prettied up? We’ll be leaving soon.”

Nettie’s voice shattered Sebastian’s image like ripples of water destroying a reflection. “To where?”

“Silly girl, the party. You can ride with us and then you’ll be able to meet up with your Uncle Vincent as planned.”

Party? Oh yes, she had forgotten, something about a duke’s son and his birthday.
Just what I need.

“I guess I’m a little forgetful. It would be nice of you to give me a ride. I’m sure I’ll be able to locate my uncle once I’m in Paris.”

Though she had no idea what she would do at a party, she didn’t expect that it would help her situation much. But what more could she do here? Maybe there was someone in Paris who could help her. There had to be some way to get back home. Perhaps a psychic or a witch?

Nettie tossed a huge pile of white material across the three-legged chair and went to the vanity where she started laying out various accoutrements that were obviously meant for Scarlet’s hair. There was a simple curling rod that was warmed over a candle, dozens of thin metal pins, and of course, plenty of white powder.

“The party is for the duke’s son, yes?” Scarlet asked, wondering if she dared ask which duke and which son they were discussing.

"Oui."
Nettie swung around, clutching her hands to her chin in a swoon. “Such a handsome young man. So elegant and polite. But of course you know, you’ve seen portraits of the family?”

“No. I’m new here, remember?”

“Oh yes, that’s right.” Nettie resumed attention to the hair supplies but turned back over her shoulder. “But I am surprised that you haven’t seen a single picture of the family. The LeReaux family sits quite highly in the king’s fancy. The Duke of Mezieres is a foremost figure in the king’s court. Though it’s not clear exactly what the man’s duties are . . .” She paused, losing herself in her thoughts. “You’ll find the local gossips think him a spy for the king. Though I wouldn’t take it upon myself to assume such a thing, as I’m sure you won’t either.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t.” Now which king reigned right now? Scarlet wished she had paid more attention in history class. “Perhaps I have seen a picture of the family. I must have, I’m sure. But refresh my memory,” she prompted, digging for information.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll recall their son once you see him. Oh, he’s so charming. Your eyes will pop right out of your head when you meet him. He never wears a wig, always leaving that lovely dark hair to show for everyone to adore. He’s part Italian, you know, on his mother’s side. And such manners for a young man. You’ll have to be sure to dance with him. Of course, a young girl as lovely as yourself will have a hard time keeping out of the young man’s vision.” Nettie looked down her nose and added slyly, “He’s quite the rake. If the grapevine is correct, and it usually is in matters of immediate importance, the duke is hoping that this party will give his youngest son a chance to choose a wife.”

Nettie took Scarlet’s hand and pulled her over to the vanity where she sat her down on a red padded stool facing the mirror. Like a whirlwind, the old woman's fingers began twisting and twirling, working magic on the thick dark tresses.

Scarlet picked up the tin of powder and traced a line across the surface of the fine white dust. “What was his name again? The duke’s son?”

“I do believe you must have taken a nasty bump to the head when you fell. You’re very forgetful.” Nettie picked a thin pin from between her teeth and stuffed it into Scarlet’s hair. “It’s the nineteenth birthday of Sebastian LeReaux.”

***

The yellowed pages of the diary were not so old as they seemed. From the dates he had found, Sebastian judged the words to have been written around the early nineteen hundreds. By Vince’s great-grandfather, Alexander Lyons II.

There were many revelations in the pages of the old man’s writing, some disturbing to Sebastian.

From what he could tell by reading the flourishing script blotted with tears and dust, the woman, Marie Elisabeth Debonet, had been killed in the year 1769. The cause of her death, as documented by Alexander Lyons: Vampire bite. Or more accurately, her throat had been torn from her body and ripped to shreds by the frantic teeth of a moon-crazed vampire.

Sebastian settled back on the couch, the diary resting on his crossed leg, and took a deep breath. He had a suspicion about Scarlet. Though he wasn’t well-versed on the occult or supernatural happenings by any means, he did know a little. It seemed to him that perhaps Scarlet was some sort of medium, a supernatural link to the spiritual world. It would explain a lot. If Scarlet had been wearing a dress that belonged to Marie Elisabeth, and if the pearls that Vince had placed around her neck had also belonged to her, then it was entirely possible Scarlet had been possessed. Marie’s spirit had been able to become an entity within Scarlet’s body.

And Marie had been killed by a vampire.

But this information was not what was so disturbing to him. What had happened at the residence of Marie’s murderer a few days later was.

He traced his finger beneath the French words and reread them.

... stranger arrived at our house today, I did not see her for I was still mourning and desperately ill over the past days’ events. I know not where she came from, for she claimed her carriage had overturned by the cheval bridge over the field. No remains were found, nor was the driver whom she claimed had fallen into the river and hit his head on a rock . . . such unexplained occurrences would normally disturb me, but alas, I’ve enough to fret over ... I went to Marie s grave today, and there were footsteps and blood over the earth that covers her wretched body ... so confusing . . . the stranger is gone, she accompanied my sisters to the LeReaux party . . . she did not return
.

Sebastian closed the diary.

“Please let it be her,” he whispered.

***

Sebastian’s Corvette would have been welcome right now. Scarlet braced herself against the side of the wobbling carriage as they flew across yet another rut in the ill-trodden country road. Nettie had dozed off about twenty minutes ago and her head now bobbled across Orlena’s shoulder.

Wiggling her toes within the confines of her shoes, Scarlet was thankful that they fit. Now the only suffering she had to endure was the cramped confines of the tiny coach, which hadn’t been built to house three women in massive eighteenth- century dresses.

“Sorry,” she said as she pulled back her feet and realized she had just apologized to Nettie, who most likely didn’t mind her stepping on her toes while she dozed like a bear in hibernation.

Finding that Orlena wasn’t much for conversation, Scarlet pulled the green damask curtains to the side and scanned the countryside, lush with summer blooms. She couldn’t shake the intuition that she’d had earlier.

They were on their way to Sebastian LeReaux’s nineteenth birthday party.

Could it be? Was it possible?

The crisp snap of leather across the horse’s flanks matched the snap in Scarlet’s mind. It had to be. Please . . . couldn’t it be?

Okay, let’s just say it is.

Scarlet nodded as she imagined the possibilities. Say it was the same Sebastian, her Sebastian. Then her worries would be solved!

No. He wouldn’t know her. They hadn’t met yet.

“What did he tell me?” she whispered to herself.

It had been a few days after his nineteenth birthday that he had been transformed into a vampire. She remembered him speaking of the woman he’d fallen in love with, the one who had turned him into a vampire.

Scarlet crossed her arms over her chest, her elbow bracing her body from repeatedly rocking into the door. If this party was for
her
Sebastian, then tonight would be her chance to meet this woman. She felt a stab of jealousy as she tried to imagine what she might look like. In a way, the vampire woman was responsible for her own vampirism. And that was enough of a reason to hate her.

If I can prevent Sebastian from meeting the woman, then perhaps I can stop him from becoming a vampire.

“Yes.” She nodded again.

And that would mean that he would have died in the eighteenth century. And he would cease to exist in the present ... he would never be around to change
me
into a vampire.

These thoughts came quickly, and as if hit over the head by a brick, the realization came to her. “Then there might be some way out of this mess!”

Scarlet cringed and glanced at the two women across from her, afraid that Orlena would cast the evil eye her way after her outburst.

“Whew.” She’d lucked out. Orlena’s head rested atop Nettie’s now and her upper lip quivered with each snoring breath.

Putting her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, Scarlet turned away, feeling the determination strengthen her courage. “I must stop him from meeting the vampire woman.”

***

Weaving back and forth between the crowds, Francesco spied Vince dancing with a woman on the far side of the bar. He watched tensely as Vince’s hands slid up and down the woman’s body, rising and falling with the excitement of the music. He was drunk, Francesco could tell from the way he staggered, but that didn’t keep Vince’s hands from roaming the body of a very enticing woman.

Vince pressed his body close to hers and laid his head on her shoulder. He spied Francesco and winked as he shimmied down and kissed the top of the girl’s breasts.

A strange twinge ran through Francesco’s body. Jealousy? He gripped the gold handrail that circled the dance floor and steadied himself. It didn’t bother him that Vince was caressing and manhandling the girl. What really made the hair on his neck prickle was the way the woman touched Vince
.
So personal and seductive were her moves as she trailed her fingers over Vince’s lips, down his chest, and to his waist where she slipped them deep into the pockets of his jeans.

Francesco clutched the rail until his knuckles were as white as the dead bodies he’d left behind in his lifetime.
He's mine.

And then as if by some wonderful chance, it happened. Vince tripped and plunged forward, bringing the woman down with him.

Francesco pushed through the crowd making it to Vince’s side just as he was picking the woman up. As she rose, straightening her tight mini-skirt, she blurted obscenities and kicked Vince in the shin, leaving him hopping around drunkenly to the corner of the darkened bar.

“Shit, man, did you see that?” Vince hobbled to the wall with Francesco’s help and stood beneath a neon beer sign.

“Smart woman.” Francesco stood in front of Vince, blocking his view of the dance floor and sectioning him off from the rest of the crowd. It had been a mistake to come down to the bar again, but the man had pleaded, saying it would keep his mind off his mother. “Think it’s time to go, Vince?”

“Oww, that hurts!” Vince pulled up his pants leg. “Would you look at that? The bitch drew blood.”

Not caring about the people walking by, Vince slumped against the wall and fell to the floor with one leg stretched out and the other held close to examine his wound.

“Pardon us.” Francesco offered apologies to the angry stares around them and bent over Vince. He fingered the oozing gash in the bony flesh on Vince’s calf. She must have dug her heels in. Vince certainly hadn’t deserved that. But the sight of the vibrant blood seeping from the wound made Francesco’s lips burn. He closed his eyes, drowning out the mad blur of people.