Authors: Alexandra Ivy
My Lord Eternity (5 page)
“To rid us of a pest.” Removing the dagger from beneath his coat, he moved with a fluid stealth down the street and slipped into the alley. He confronted the silver mist with a frown. “Reveal yourself, Amadeus.”
With an eerie chuckle the mist swirled, forming into the shape of the nondescript vicar.
“Just keeping a guard on my property, Lucien. Neither of us would desire harm to come to the Medallion.”
Lucien narrowed his gaze in distaste. “I intend to keep a close guard upon Miss Kingly. Your concern is unnecessary.”
The vampire gave an impatient click of his tongue. “The female is meaningless. All that interests me is the power that she unwittingly holds. As long as she maintains possession of the Medallion, I shall be near.”
It was a threat that Lucien did not doubt for a moment. Amadeus possessed a single-minded purpose that would make him relentless in his quest to gain command of the Medallion.
“It shall never come to you,” he swore in low tones.
Again Amadeus chuckled, his expression mocking as he regarded Lucien.
“It will be mine within the month. There is nothing you can do to halt me.”
Lucien clutched the dagger in his hand. “Do you wish to settle this now?”
“Now? That would hardly be logical,” the vampire retorted. “The moment is not yet ripe to put my plans in motion.”
Plans? Lucien experienced a flare of unease. He deeply disliked the knowledge that the cunning vampire was patiently plotting in the shadows. He was devious and utterly ruthless. Worst of all, it appeared that he would not be easily swayed into giving up his desperate desire for power.
“I do not desire to destroy you, Amadeus,” he said in dark tones, his reluctance unmistakable. “But I will if I must.”
“You?” Amadeus stepped forward, his eyes glittering with cold amusement. “Within a few days you will be bored of your role as heroic knight and be seeking more enticing entertainments. You have never been worthy of being a true vampire.”
The condemnation struck deeply. There was no denying that many among the vampires had considered him a plague rather than an equal among brothers. Even the Great Council had chastised him for his frivolous nature and lack of responsibility.
And perhaps, deep inside there was a faint doubt that he was equal to the great task laid upon him. A task that might very well have been given to a far more worthy vampire.
He would not, however, reveal any weakness to Amadeus.
“I will not fail,” he pledged softly. “I will not.”
“Of course you will,” Amadeus mocked. “It is as inevitable as my undoubted success. I always win, my poor boy. You would be wise to stay out of my path.”
The air around the vampire suddenly shimmered, and in a blink of the eye Amadeus had changed into a large black dog. With one powerful vault he was past Lucien and bounding down the street.
With a curse, Lucien turned to follow, but even as he left the alley, the slender form of Miss Kingly was appearing from the shadows.
“Mr. Valin.”
He grimaced with impatience, knowing he could not abandon this maiden to pursue the vampire. There were more dangers than Amadeus in the dark streets.
Calming his fiery desire to discover precisely what the renegade was plotting, Lucien regarded the pale face with a lift of his brow.
“I thought I told you to stay put.”
Her pride was instantly ruffled by his stern words. “I do not take orders from you, Mr. Valin.”
His irritation was swift to fade at her stiff defiance, and a smile curved his lips as he held out his arm. “So I see. Shall we go?”
There was a moment's pause before she at last laid her fingers upon his arm, although she made no move to continue down the street.
“What were you doing?”
Lucien grimaced, still able to feel the faint choking sense of malevolence. “Having a word with an old friend.”
“A friend.” Her eyes abruptly narrowed. “In this neighborhood?”
He abruptly laughed as he realized the direction of her thoughts. “Stop glaring at me in such sour disapproval. My friend was not a poor lady from the local brothel. It was an acquaintance from my homeland.”
A faint color touched her cheeks at the realization she had leapt to conclusions, but her gaze remained steady. “Where is your homeland?”
Lucien shrugged. “At the moment it is in the garret of your house.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“No?”
“No.”
Although he was uncertain that he could keep his secrets forever, Lucien was not about to confess to truth until he had proven to this maiden she could trust him.
“I believe we should be about our task. The night is swiftly passing.”
She frowned into his impassive countenance. “What are you hiding?”
“All things in their time, my dear. For now I think we should concentrate upon what we set out to do this evening.”
Perhaps sensing he was not about to satisfy her curiosity at the moment, she gave him a last probing glare before reluctantly nodding her head.
“As you say. It is this way.”
Allowing her to lead the way down the street, Lucien kept a watchful eye upon the various drunks and ruffians that tumbled from the local gin houses. More than one allowed their gazes to linger with hunger upon the beautiful maiden at his side, but one glance into his set countenance was enough to convince them to move along to less dangerous game.
He was so intent upon his vigilant guard that he nearly stumbled over Miss Kingly when she came to an abrupt halt before a tumble down building.
“An empty warehouse?” he demanded in puzzlement.
“It is not empty.” She headed toward a narrow door. “Come, but be on your guard.”
He smiled ruefully at her warning. “I am always on my guard, my dove.”
Coming to the door, Miss Kingly knocked sharply upon the splintering wood. From within, a muffled voice could be heard.
“Who passes?”
“It is Miss Kingly.”
There was a moment of silence. “Do you know the password?”
“Thomas,” Miss Kingly retorted in stern tones.
“Sorry, that ain't be it.”
“Thomas, open this door at once.”
With ready speed the door was pulled open to reveal an urchin with a round, dirty face and clothes far too large for his slender frame.
“Just be having a bit of fun, Miss Kingly,” he said with a roguish grin.
“Mmm. I have a good mind to give your peach tart to another.”
The lad did not appear particularly concerned by the threat. Indeed, his grin only widened.
“Now, you know I be yer favorite, Miss Kingly.”
The maiden gave a chiding click of her tongue, but there was no mistaking the glint of amusement in her eyes.
“You are a scamp.”
“Aye, but an adorable scamp.”
Miss Kingly chuckled as she reached into the basket she carried to remove a small bag.
“Are there any injuries?”
“Freddie was roughed up a bit last night,” the lad answered, his grin fading.
“Where is he?”
“In the corner.”
“Here.” Miss Kingly handed the basket to the boy. “Feed the youngest first.”
“Aye, Captain,” the urchin readily agreed, turning about to hurry from the door.
At the maiden's side Lucien stepped into the dirty, shadowed interior of the warehouse. He briefly halted as the smell of sewage and rotting food threatened to overwhelm his heightened senses. Great Nefri, but the place was a cesspit.
A fierce urge to grasp Miss Kingly in his arms and take her from this awful place rippled through him. No maiden should be exposed to such wretched surroundings. But even as the thought was running through his mind, his gaze caught sight of the mass of children huddled around Thomas and the basket of food.
There were at least twenty of them, ranging in age from sixteen to a few who could not be more than five. His heart faltered at the knowledge that they had been thrown onto the streets as if they were no more than garbage.
It was little wonder that Miss Kingly found it impossible to turn her back on such misery, he thought, turning his head to watch the maiden as she moved toward a small form huddled in a distant corner.
It seemed impossible to believe that any creature with any heart at all could allow such misery to exist.
Uncertain whether to join Miss Kingly and risk frightening the injured child, Lucien was halted as a small hand suddenly clutched his fingers.
Glancing down, he was instantly enchanted by the tiny girl with a heart-shaped face and large brown eyes that were regarding him with absolute trust. With great care not to startle the child, he settled his tall length onto a dusty barrel, indifferent to the knowledge his breeches would be ruined.
She regarded him in silence before calmly climbing onto his lap and polishing off the peach tart she held in her grimy fingers. Lucien instinctively cuddled her close, thoroughly caught off guard by the warm glow that entered his heart at the sensation of her tiny form settling against his chest.
He was uncertain how long they sat there in silence, but sensing someone watching him, Lucien lifted his head to discover Miss Kingly regarding him in surprise.
“Are you finished here?” he asked in low tones.
She gave a slow nod of her head. “Yes.”
Gently running his hand over the girl's tangled locks, he reluctantly set her onto her feet and watched as she hurried toward the other children. Only then did he rise to his feet and fall into step beside Miss Kingly as she made her way back to the door and out into the street.
Realizing that she was still regarding him with puzzled surprise, he abruptly came to a halt and met her gaze squarely.
“What is it?”
“Annie.”
It took a moment to work out that she was referring to the child he had held on his lap.
“Is that her name? A charming minx.”
“She is very wary of adults. Indeed, I have never been allowed even to come close to her,” the maiden confessed.
Lucien smiled at her puzzlement. Obviously she did not consider him the sort of gentleman who would naturally be good with children.
“Perhaps she was felled by my charm,” he teased lightly. “Females find it quite irresistible, you know.”
A reluctant smile curved her lips. “Whatever the reason, I am grateful you coaxed her into eating her dinner. Although the older children do their best, she is easily overlooked.”
Lucien reached up to tenderly cup her chin. “It is no hardship to be kind to children.”
A faint tremor raced through her at his touch, and his heart quickened as she reached out to tongue and moisten her lips.
“I wish that all shared your sentiment. There are so many I cannot reach.”
Stepping closer, he allowed the passions that had been so long suppressed to course through his blood. In the soft night his blood ran hot.
“That is enough for this evening, Miss Kingly,” he said in husky tones. “You have done your duty and it is time to consider more enjoyable pastimes.”
Sensing the sudden heat in the air, her eyes widened. “What enjoyable pastimes are you referring to?”
He gave a low chuckle. “You shall soon discover, Miss Kingly.”
Chapter 4
Jocelyn shifted uneasily on her chair as she cast a covert glance at the elegant gentleman seated across the small chessboard from her. He should appear ludicrously out of place in the shabby room with his expensive clothes and the candlelight shimmering in the tawny strands of his long hair. Even the delicate beauty of his features was a direct contrast to the harsh surroundings. He surely was a creature of Mayfair.
And yet there was no hint of discomfort in the noble countenance or any air of a gentleman who thought himself above such meager entertainment as a game of chess with an aging spinster.
Instead, a wicked smile played about his lips that thoroughly distracted Jocelyn from any hope of strategy.
Perhaps sensing her intense scrutiny, the golden gaze abruptly lifted to regard her with open amusement.
“Checkmate,” he announced in soft tones.
Startled out of her odd distraction, Jocelyn glanced down at the chessboard to discover that she had indeed been properly cornered.
A disgruntled disbelief flared through her at being so easily bested.
“Impossible,” she muttered.
He leaned negligently back in his seat, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. “I did warn you that I am quite skilled.”
“I am known to possess a certain amount of skill myself,” she retorted with a hint of annoyance.
“You have skill,” he conceded before allowing his gaze to deliberately drop to her full mouth. “But not enough daring. You play a game of defense, not willing to risk all to capture victory.”
It would be impossible to escape the knowledge that he spoke of more than a mere chess game, and Jocelyn struggled to hide that absurd prickle of awareness that raced through her.
“Risk can as easily bring defeat.”
If possible, his smile became even more devilish. “That is why it is so thrilling. Anyone can move pieces in a well-plotted routine.” The golden gaze returned to pierce deep into her wary eyes. “Ah, but one who is willing to boldly strike out without knowing if he is destined to taste success or falter in failure is truly a master of the game.”
She did not doubt that he was a master of such games. He would be bold and daring whether playing chess or facing an enemy or seducing a woman.
And in truth, she had once been very much like him. Confident, brash, and utterly confident that she was impervious to danger.
Life had taught her a bitter lesson in assuming that she could play with fire and not be burned. And burned badly.
“Routine plodding is far more dependable than brash recklessness,” she philosophized.
His eyes narrowed as if he sensed she was hiding secrets deep inside. “But where is the fun?”
“The satisfaction of success.”
A surprising hint of tenderness softened the beautiful features. “There is little point in achieving success if you did not enjoy the path leading to your purpose.”
“There are other things in life beyond fun and enjoyment,” she determinedly argued.
“What?”
“Duty, responsibility, and consideration of others.”
Slowly he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to lightly touch her cheek.
“All very noble, Miss Kingly, but life is a banquet that should be sampled to the fullest. Duty, joy, love . . . passion.”
Although his touch was as gentle as a feather, Jocelyn felt scalded by the fingers that lingered against her skin. She thought she was no stranger to passion. Hadn't she once before tasted of the forbidden fruit?
But her brief experience did not seem to make her any more prepared for the flutters of excitement that sped through her or the sudden racing of her heart.
With an awkward haste she rose to her feet and backed away from his large form.
“It is growing late,” she muttered, watching warily as he swiftly gained his feet and moved to stand directly before her.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed.”
With deliberate, relentless steps he backed her toward a nearby wall, placing his hands on each side of her head to effectively trap her.
“Not quite yet, I think,” he murmured.
She sucked in a sharp breath, then wished she hadn't. The warm scent of male skin and a faint hint of spice threatened to cloud her mind. A potent, undeniable quiver of longing swept through her.
“What do you want?” she demanded in unsteady tones.
Those distracting fingers lifted to stroke the line of her exposed throat, coming to rest upon the frantic beat of her pulse at the base of her neck.
“You lost the match, my dove. Now you must pay your forfeit.”
“I . . . there was no mention of a forfeit.”
His soft chuckle feathered down her spine, sending a rash of delightful sensations through her stiff body.
“What is the point of winning a game if I cannot collect a prize?”
Jocelyn discovered herself battling to maintain her usual calm demeanor. This man possessed the most shocking ability to slip beneath her defenses and stir sensations she had thought buried forever.
With wide eyes she regarded the delicate features of his countenance.
“What sort of prize?”
He slowly smiled. “Ah, you should have determined the precise nature of the wager before accepting our bargain.”
She wanted to be furious at his audacity. To be able to wound him with the sharp edge of her tongue. But it was utterly impossible when she was shivering at the temptation that swirled thickly through the air.
“Mr. Valin, I warn you that I will tolerate no foolishness,” she forced herself to mutter.
The golden brows lifted as his fingers daringly stroked the modest neckline of her gown.
“What shall it be, Miss Kingly? I have no need for coin, nor do I care for trinkets, although . . .” His gaze slowly lowered to where the golden amulet lay against her white skin. “I must confess a fascination with the Medallion that you wear about your neck.”
Muddled by his proximity, and not at all prepared for his sudden interest in the amulet, she instinctively lifted her hand to clutch the necklace.
Having become accustomed to the strange weight of the amulet, she rarely recalled the encounter with the old gypsy woman. She had been on her way home from visiting the small farm where she placed those women willing to leave the streets, when the gypsy had suddenly stepped before her carriage. Afraid that she had been hurt, Jocelyn hurriedly climbed down to tend to the old woman.
What followed was oddly difficult to recall, although she did clearly remember the gypsy placing the amulet about her neck and telling her that she must never give it to another. She had warned that a gypsy gift was both blessed and cursed, and that she would receive happiness beyond measure if she carefully guarded the necklace from all others.
Jocelyn, of course, was far too sensible to believe in such nonsense. Gypsies were notorious for spreading such tales. Still, she discovered herself unwilling to part with the bauble. It had become almost a part of her now.
“No,” she denied with a shake of her head. “It was a gift.”
“Ah. From an admirer?”
“Actually it came from a gypsy.”
“A gift from a gypsy.” His fingers brushed over the amulet and Jocelyn gave a small jerk at the tiny prickles that seemed to come from the warm metal. “Is it blessed?”
Feeling rather foolish, she gave a lift of one shoulder. “If you believe in such things.”
He held her gaze for a moment. “Oh, I believe, as should you. Such a blessing can be a powerful force against evil.”
There was something in his tone, some dark quality that made Jocelyn feel a shadow fall over her. “Evil?”
His features became stark, the golden eyes darkened with some inner thought.
“It exists, make no mistake about that, my dove,” he warned in husky tones. “And it is closer than you ever dreamed possible.”
She shuddered at the words. “What on earth do you mean?”
“You must take great care. A shadow moves through London.”
Jocelyn briefly thought of poor Molly and the note that had been left in her dead hand. A prick of dread touched deep in her heart.
“Are you attempting to frighten me?”
Easily able to sense her rising anxiety, Mr. Valin allowed his distracting smile to return.
“No, I only offer a warning. Keep the amulet close to you and give it to no one. It might very well save your life.”
Jocelyn stilled at his soft words. It seemed impossible that he would echo almost precisely the same warning as the old woman.
“That is what the gypsy told me. Do you know something of this amulet?” she demanded in suspicion.
“Perhaps.” His voice lowered and his accent was more noticeable as his fingers stroked over her skin. “But at the moment I am more interested in my prize.”
Jocelyn was well aware that he was deliberately attempting to distract her. Unfortunately he was succeeding all too well. She could think of nothing beyond the delicious feel of his touch.
“Mr. Valin . . .”
“Let me see,” he teased softly. “We have ruled out money and trinkets. What do you have left to offer?”
“Nothing.”
The golden eyes abruptly flared with undisguised desire. “Do not be so certain. There is always this. . . .”
His words trailed away as he slowly lowered his head. Jocelyn knew beyond a doubt he was going to kiss her. Just as she knew that he was giving her ample opportunity to halt him if she so desired. But even as her hands lifted to press against his chest, her lips were parting in an undeniable invitation.
She wanted him to kiss her, she dizzily acknowledged. Despite all logic. Despite all the warnings clamoring in the back of her mind. Despite all the betrayal she had endured. She wanted to know the feel of his mouth against her own.
Keeping her gaze entangled with his own, he continued downward, at last touching her lips in a tender kiss. Jocelyn's breath caught at the soft caress. It was enchanting. Astonishing. Magical.
With gentle care he explored her mouth, urging her to soften against the welcome hardness of his large form.
Warm, sweet pleasure flooded through her, making her knees weak and her head spin. How easy it would be to lose herself in such delicious sensations.
Far too easy.
With a gasp she pulled back to regard him with a guarded unease. “No. Please, do not.”
The golden eyes smoldered beneath his lowered lashes. “Do my kisses offend you?”
Offend her? They nearly set her on fire with longing, she reluctantly acknowledged.
“It is not proper,” she rasped.
“That was not what I asked. Do you dislike my touch?” he persisted.
“I . . . I wish to go to my chambers.”
“Answer me, Jocelyn.” He put a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his relentless gaze. “The truth.”
“I do not want to feel this,” she whispered.
His lips twitched with rueful humor. “I, on the other hand, could not be more delighted.” Without warning he swooped down to brush a kiss over her forehead. “Now run along to your chambers, my dove. We will begin our game again tomorrow.”
Jocelyn did not hesitate.
The moment he shifted aside she was swiftly crossing the room and rushing out the door. It was not until she was safely in her chambers that she at last took a deep breath.
Dear heavens. She had been right. Mr. Valin was dangerous. Perhaps the most dangerous gentleman she had ever encountered.
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Lucien watched Jocelyn's hurried departure with a rueful smile. He had not wished to allow her to escape so easily. He had not wanted to allow her to escape at all. Not when he had felt her shiver with longing beneath his touch.
In the silken night his long-denied passions shimmered with incandescent heat. Even now he could still smell the warm scent of her skin and feel the satin of her lips. A tremor raced through him.
Miss Jocelyn Kingly was proving a temptation that he was finding more and more difficult to resist. Only the memory of the stark loneliness in those beautiful eyes kept him from charging down the hall and carrying her off to his cramped garret.
She needed a friend and a savior, he sternly reminded himself. Her danger was all too real. Not only from Amadeus and his henchmen, but also from the brittle wounds that she harbored deep within.
He sucked in a deep breath.
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