Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (102 page)

“Yes, Oliver mentioned something of it, congratulations. But I thought your children were taken care of by Grandfather’s estate.”

“To a degree, but Edmond has friends throughout London who will help them when they’re grown. It’s not enough to have money, or do well at the right university; one must have influence and connections in society. But being in law yourself, you understand that.”

“Yes, I do have an idea on the importance of influence,” I said, smiling at my unnatural talent in that area.

“As for the interest I have in handsome young men, well, I just can’t seem to help myself. Edmond knew of it before our marriage and we talked about how we would conduct things afterward. He said he wouldn’t mind as long as I was discreet, but that didn’t last long. He tries not to be jealous, but sometimes he . . . .”

“He what? He doesn’t mistreat you, I hope?”

Her gaze suddenly dropped and she primly laced her fingers together. “No more than many other husbands with their wives.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Now, Jonathan, I must insist you stop there, as what goes on between us is not your business. He can be churlish, but I know how to handle him.” She still did not look at me.

After her warnings to me, I could only assume them to have been inspired by her direct experience with his temper. The idea of him harming her in any way was sickening. Perhaps I could arrange an interview with Edmond on the subject. A private little talk to spare Clarinda from future harm . . .. Yes, that appealed to me. On the other hand, if an alternative presented itself, it should also be explored. My influence, unless regularly reinforced, had its limitations.

“Can you not leave him? I mean, that is, if you don’t love him?”

She sighed and shook her head. “God have mercy, but you are so young and dear. You have no idea how complicated life can be for a woman.

“I’m not entirely ignorant. If you need a place to go, Oliver will gladly put you up here and protect you.”

She was shaking her head again. “No, no, no, it’s impossible or I’d have done that ages ago with Aunt Fonteyn. I have to live the life I’ve got, but that’s all right, I’m happy enough. Besides, it’s not as bad as you seem to be imagining. He’s really decent most of the time, but the funeral has upset him greatly. I was thinking that with you here he might be tempted to do something rash.”

I again reassured her of my intent to avoid all trouble with Edmond.

“Then I shall be relieved on your account. I would feel awful if anything happened to you because of him.”

I bowed. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“Flatter? It’s more than flattery on my part. My dear, you have no idea of the depth of pleasure you’ve given me.”

“It was so brief, though.”

“But treasured, as you’ve said. Of course, we can always make another happy memory for ourselves . . . if you like.”

Oh, but did she not have a bewitching smile? I couldn’t help but feel that delightful stirring through my body as I looked at her. She’d not altered much, a little fuller of figure, but that just made more of her to explore. I wondered if her thighs were as white and silken as I remembered . . . .

Don’t be a fool, Johnny-boy.

It wasn’t just that she was married, though that was a major detraction; it was my change that made me hesitate over her invitation.

I could surge upon her here and now like a tide and bring her to a point where she wouldn’t notice my drinking from her until it was over. But then she’d want an explanation, and I wasn’t about to sit down and tell her my life’s story concerning Nora. Enough people knew already. No more.

Or I could make her forget about the blood-drinking part, but Clarinda deserved better treatment than that. It was different when I was with women like Jemma at The Red Swan; their favors were for sale and well paid for. To treat Clarinda in the same cavalier manner smacked of theft in a way. Certainly
I
was not comfortable with that idea.

Perhaps if there was a possibility of having an ongoing liaison with her as I’d had with Molly, I might then . . . .

No, that wouldn’t be right, either. Not with Edmond lurking around as we arranged trysts for ourselves. I liked Clarinda, but not to the point of having her as my mistress.

Then there was Elizabeth to consider.

And Oliver.

One look at Clarinda’s throat and they’d instantly know what was going on.

No, it was simply too complicated. I couldn’t possibly . . . .

Still, I could go in, leaving my mark on an area not readily visible to others. Her soft belly or the inside of one of those wondrous thighs suggested themselves readily to my hot imagination. The thought made my mouth dry and my corner teeth begin to extend. I put a hasty hand to my upper lip, trying to push them back.

But even with that caution taken I’d have the same problem as before, having to explain everything about myself to her. Or use my influence.

Then again, I
could
just pleasure Clarinda in the more acceptable fashion. I was yet capable of that, but how frustrating since it denied me a consummation. And if, in the throes of the event, I lost myself and took from her anyway . . .. Once started it was difficult to stop, for when the passions are aroused, it’s too easy to forget solemn promises made when the mind is cool and capable of sensible thought.

No. Not this time, sweet Cousin.

Damnation.

“Is something wrong, Jonathan?”

My internal debate was much like the other I’d held before in this room, running through my head in the blink of an eye. Only this time I would have to steel myself and hold to my decision. “I could wish things—circumstances—could be other than what they are.”

“Such as my being married?”

I nodded, grateful to have her taking that as the most obvious excuse for my refusal. “You are a most beautiful, desirable lady, and it is with the greatest reluctance that I must decline your lovely gift.”

Another rueful smile. “Then I shall have to be satisfied with a memory?”

“I fear you must, as I must. I do apologize.”

“Oh, nonsense. You’ve not lost your manners, anyway. Yours is the most polite refusal I’ve ever gotten. Besides, I can hardly force you to bed me, not that I wouldn’t like to try, but I’ve no wish to impose upon your honor.”

I thanked her for her consideration, then begged to take my leave. “It’s a bit of a walk home for me—”

“Walking? You’re going to
walk
in this weather?”

“The sleet’s stopped and the wind is down. The cold air should be reviving after the press of tonight’s gathering.” After all this I wanted some time on my own, which is why I had not arranged for any of those with carriages to give me a ride back. I’d had my fill of family for one night.

“You are perfectly mad,” she said, with something between admiration and alarm.

I waved a careless hand. “You are not the first who has made that observation, madam. Nor, I think, the last, but I enjoy a healthful ramble and—”

“No doubt,” she interrupted, standing. “Well, my dear cousin, if you are sure of your decision—you are?—then I shall have to wish you Godspeed home. It is very late, after all. . . .”

With that broad a hint placed before me, it would have been rude not to take it. I bowed over her hand, wished her a good evening and let myself out.

Apparently that was her room for the night, for she did not follow as I made my way back to the entry hall. I wondered if she’d arranged to have it for her use with a mind to sharing it with me. Now, there was an interesting thought. Instead of a hasty and surreptitious coupling, we could have had hours and hours to—

None of that Johnny-boy. You’ve made your bed, and you will sleep in it—even if it is empty of company.

Damnation.

Again.

* * *

Out the front doors and down along the long drive I went, moving briskly.

The sleet had stopped and the wind had lessened, but that which remained was still knife-sharp and unforgiving. Though I possessed a degree of immunity to the cold, I was not going to unduly strain it. Halfway between Fonteyn House and Oliver’s home lay The Red Swan, and there I planned to stop for a time and warm myself by taking full advantage of its hospitality. Clarinda had gotten me thoroughly stirred up and I had a mind to settle those stirrings in the company of the lovely Jemma or one of her sisters in the trade.

Dour Cousin Edmond was also in my mind. If he was treating Clarinda roughly, I wanted to do something about it. We’d likely run into each other again soon and it would be the work of a moment to take him to one side to deliver a firm speech on the subject of treating his wife gently from now on. I’d done similar work with Lieutenant Nash often enough to curb his greed; why not again with Edmond for his jealousy and temper?

Then the thought of Nash reminded me of home and of Father and the others. I hoped that he was all right, as I’d so quickly assured Elizabeth. We had no letters from him yet, but it was getting on into winter and the ocean crossing was bound to be more difficult for the ships that followed ours. The war would cause additional delays . . . wretched business, that. As if there weren’t enough troubles in the world, those thrice-damned, so-called fool Patriots and their congress were wanting to add to them. Nothing like a bit of war, famine, and death to provide entertainment for those who would not be directly involved with such horrors.

Death. . . .

I’d have to write something tonight on it, or at least begin writing. It had been several days since the accident and past time that I sent the bad news off to Father about Aunt Fonteyn, though it could hardly be called bad from Oliver’s point of view now. (I’d not mention
that
in my missive.) I’d enclose a mourning ring for Mother in the packet and hope she wouldn’t make life too hellish for Father. God, she might even find a way to blame him for the business. I wouldn’t put it past her.

Worry, worry, worry.

So sounded my footsteps as I paced carefully down the drive, avoiding patches of ice. The ground was hard, probably frozen. The tip of my cane made no impression in it. Just as well Aunt Fonteyn went into her box in the mausoleum instead of a grave; it’d be much too much work for the sexton and his fellows to chop their way down through this stuff. It was probably one of the only times in her existence that she’d done anything for the convenience of another person.

Wicked thought, Jonathan.

I grinned. Not all that capering in the bone house had been for Oliver’s benefit. I’d thoroughly enjoyed myself, once I’d gotten over the unease of being there in the first place. Nasty spot, cold stone and so far from everything and probably just as bleak in the summer. A pity it wasn’t summer; oh, but then she wouldn’t have had any ice to slip on. What had the old crow been doing out in the middle of the maze for, anyway?

An assignation with some man? Not likely, considering her supremely bad temperament and acidic nature. She’d ever been clear in her views on carnal exchanges, being so strongly opposed to the act that I wondered just how Oliver had ever come to be conceived.

It was also unlikely that she’d been enjoying the innocent folly of the maze for its own sake. Again, her temperament forbade it.

Also, the wind that night had been almost as keen and cutting as it was now. She would have needed some strong reason to give up the comfort of a fire to be out there.

To meet someone for a private talk? But why go to the maze when there were any number of warm rooms in the Bolyns’ house to accommodate a discreet conversation? And what had she to talk about? With whom would she talk?

My speculations were nothing new; many of the family both before and after the funeral asked as much from one another, but without forming any satisfactory answer. The gossips in Fonteyn House could only conclude that it was very mysterious.

But it was investigated. No one at the Masque had noticed her leaving the house for the garden that night. They’d been too involved with their own pleasures to pay attention to one disagreeable old woman. Those friends she’d been with at the ball had likewise nothing to contribute; besides, if she’d been meeting anyone, they’d have come forward by now, wouldn’t they? But if not, then why not?

Heavens, I was getting as bad as the gossips.

It was easy for them to speculate, easy to wonder and whisper, but so hard to—

Now who the devil is that . . . ?

Well ahead of me were the gates to the property, wide open, with torches on either side to mark the entry, their flames nearly exhausted. Had my eyes not been so well suited to the dark, I’d have missed seeing the figure entirely. A man it was, made anonymous by the masking shroud of his cape. He stood in the shadows, or what should have been shadows to anyone else, and his posture suggested that he awaited someone.

A footpad? They usually operated within the warrens of the city where the harvest was more abundant, not away here on the West End where the grand houses stood on their own spacious grounds behind high walls and closed gates.

Then it jumped into my head that he might be a medical student come to steal a body for study. Oliver had told me many grisly tales on the difficulties of mastering anatomy. So desperate were some for specimens that if they couldn’t get a corpse from Tyburn, then they resorted to theft for their needs. Good God, but that would be the worst, for Aunt Fonteyn to end up a subject on a dissection table. I hadn’t liked her, but even she deserved better than that.

Having come to this conclusion—and it seemed likely, given the late hour and the fact the funeral had hardly been a secret—I debated how best to deal with the situation. Only the one man was visible. Though one alone could bear away her corpse, I could not discount the possibility of his having allies present. The macabre nature of such a dark errand as grave robbing must dictate that the thief bring at least one friend to bolster his courage and help with the lugging.

I held to the same pace, pretending not to see the fellow. He must have been aware of me, but made no move to further conceal himself. I expected him to do so as I got closer, and that’s when I planned to spring on him for a reckoning on his intrusion.