Authors: Alexandra Ivy
My Lord Eternity (6 page)
A friend and savior. His passions would have to wait.
Lucien moved across the room to pour himself a glass of the brandy he had brought from the hotel. He allowed the fiery spirit to slowly slide down his throat as he appreciated the smoky flavor. Perhaps not as satisfying as passions of the flesh, but certainly worthy of enjoyment, he attempted to console himself.
He polished off the last of the brandy as he aimlessly strolled back toward the chessboard. His smile returned as he recalled Jocelyn's astonishment at having been bested. Tomorrow he would challenge her to a game of cribbage, he decided with a flare of anticipation.
And for his prize . . . well, another kiss was certainly tempting, but so was the thought of nuzzling that slender neck or tasting the inner skin of her arm.
His fingers tightly clenched the glass. The dangerous heat once again threatened to rise. Lucien closed his eyes with a faint sigh. He possessed an unsettling premonition that this restless ache was destined to haunt him for many nights to come.
Deciding that another brandy was definitely in order, Lucien moved back toward the sideboard. Lost in his thoughts, he was unprepared when the peaceful silence was shockingly pierced by a sudden scream. Pausing only long enough to slip the dagger from beneath his coat, he was charging from the room and sweeping up the stairs in a blur of movement.
The upper corridor was shrouded in shadows, but his vampire sight made it easy to detect Jocelyn backing from the open door of her chamber, her hand pressed to her mouth.
He charged forward, reaching her side in a mere beat of a heart.
“Jocelyn, what is it?” he demanded, his gaze swiftly ensuring that she had not been injured.
Wide-eyed, she turned to face him, not seeming to notice he had managed to reach her side far more swiftly than humanly possible.
“In my room,” she breathed in unsteady tones. “I saw someone creeping beside the bed.”
“Remain here,” he commanded, not hesitating as he stepped forward.
He was brought to an abrupt halt as she reached out to firmly grasp his arm.
“No. We should call for the Watch,” she said, her expression one of concern.
He could not halt a faint smile. Although he did not sense the presence of Amadeus in the house, he was quite certain that it must be one of his Inscrolled servants. A poor human beneath such a powerful spell would be a dangerous foe. They would fight without concern for their own welfare and to the death if necessary. Far too dangerous for the Watch.
“There is no time, my dove,” he said softly. Her eyes darkened even as her fingers clutched into his arm. “But he might be dangerous.”
“Not nearly dangerous as I.”
“Mr. Valin . . .” Her words trailed away as she gazed into the grim determination etched onto his countenance. Clearly she sensed that he was not to be swayed.
“Believe in me, Jocelyn,” he said, covering her hand with his own. “I shall not fail you.”
Their gazes met for a silent moment in the shadows, and then she gave a small nod of his head. Lucien felt his heart swell at her ready faith in him.
“Stay here,” he commanded yet again, turning to swiftly move across the corridor and into the dim room.
Scanning the small chamber, he located the shadowed form crouched beside the bed. He kept the dagger held low as he silently slipped over the rough wooden boards. Even without his heightened senses he would have been able to locate the miserable servant. Locked in the spell of Inscrollment, the man was slowly rotting from the inside. The smell was nearly overwhelming as Lucien neared.
Perhaps sensing he was no longer alone, the servant awkwardly turned to confront the approaching vampire. His eyes were blank and his lips slack as he faced certain death without fear.
“The woman,” he spat out in slurred tones.
“Pretty necklace. Pretty necklace.”
Lucien discovered himself hesitating. What could Amadeus be thinking? Even if the mindless servant managed to force the Medallion from Jocelyn, it would be powerless. Nefri had bound the artifact to the maiden, and it must be given freely. To steal it would forsake all he had hoped to gain.
“The woman.” The man moved forward, suddenly revealing the short but deadly sword he clutched in his hand. “Necklace.”
Lucien carefully backed out of reach of the sword. He was an Immortal, but that did not mean he could not be injured, or even knocked unconscious, leaving Jocelyn at the mercy of this soulless man.
“Be gone with you,” he ordered in stern tones. “You shall not be allowed to have the woman.”
“Pretty necklace,” he rasped, moving relentlessly forward.
Realizing that he had no choice but to rid the house of the dangerous intruder, Lucien backed toward the center of the room, where he would have more space to maneuver. Thankfully the man eagerly followed his path, not realizing his danger. Keeping his gaze upon the sword, Lucien feinted with his dagger, leaving himself seemingly open to attack. As expected, the intruder lunged forward for the kill, unprepared for Lucien to swiftly vault to one side and come at him from behind.
Locking his powerful arms about the man, Lucien heaved him off his feet. Then, ignoring the muted struggles and offensive smell, he carried him toward the open window and tossed him through. There was a dull thud as the man hit the ground below. Astonishingly, however, he was swiftly upon his feet and scrambling toward the nearby alley.
Lucien was preparing to slip out and follow the servant back to Amadeus, when he heard Jocelyn suddenly cry out.
“Lucien.”
As he hesitated, he felt an unexpected pain bite deep into his shoulder.
Cursing his foolish inattention, he spun around to discover yet another servant standing with the sword that had been dropped.
Blast himself for a fool. He had been so intent upon the intruder, he had not suspected that another hovered out of sight. A near-catastrophic assumption. His lack of wits could easily have allowed Jocelyn to be harmed. The mere thought sent an icy chill through his blood.
Ignoring the blood he could feel flowing from his wound, he clutched the dagger and waited for the servant to attack. It took only a moment as the man gave a mindless growl and heedlessly charged forward.
It was a simple matter for Lucien to dip low as the villain reached him, grasping the fool by the legs and neatly tossing him through the window.
On this occasion he managed to keep his wits about him, and rather than watching the servant plunge to the ground, he maintained a close guard on the room.
Against a far wall he could see the frightened form of Jocelyn, but there were no other shadows in the cramped chamber. Slipping toward the bed, he carefully ensured that there was no one hidden beneath and then moved to search the narrow armoire.
At last convinced that they were indeed alone, he slipped the dagger beneath his jacket and heaved a rueful sigh.
“They are gone.”
As if some spell had been broken, Jocelyn gave a low cry and abruptly charged forward.
“Oh, Mr. Valin . . . Lucien . . . are you harmed?” He grimaced as he carefully kept his injured shoulder turned away. This maiden was certain to question how he was capable of receiving a deep sword wound and healing within a few hours.
“Only a trifling scratch, and only because of my own foolishness,” he assured her wryly. “I was so intent upon impressing you with my skill that I blundered into forgetting there might be a second villain. Thank goodness he was as inept as his partner.”
His light words were greeted by a lingering frown of concern. “You are certain you are not in need of a doctor?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“At least it must be cleaned,” she persisted.
Although pleased by her obvious concern, Lucien realized he needed a distraction. He could not allow her to examine the wound. Already the bleeding had halted and the flesh was beginning to weave a smooth bond.
“I will tend to it later.” Firmly he moved to gaze out the open window, not at all surprised to discover that the second villain had disappeared as well. The Inscrolled slaves would be indifferent to any injury, no matter how grievous, in an effort to return to their master. His attention moved to the iron pipe that ran close to the window from the gutters above. That no doubt explained how the intruders managed to enter the house undetected.
“They must have crawled through the window,” he murmured.
She crossed to join him. “Yes, it was open when I stepped into the room.” There was a startled pause. “They have disappeared.”
Realizing that she had expected to discover two broken bodies in her garden, he gave a negligent shrug.
“Yes, the drop is not far.”
“Stillâ”
“At least they are gone,” he firmly interrupted, reaching out to grasp her shoulders and turn her to meet his reassuring gaze.
“Yes.” A sudden shudder raced through her body. “But why were they here?”
He softly stroked the tense muscles of her shoulders, wishing he could assure her that she need never fear again.
“Desperate thieves, no doubt.”
She gave a slow shake of her head, her brow pleated in unease. “They spoke of a necklace. My necklace.”
Lucien sternly kept his expression unreadable. He had hoped that she had not overheard the rasping words of the intruders. It would be difficult enough for her to forget the terror of having her home invaded without worry they might return for the Medallion about her neck.
“Perhaps they noted the amulet when you entered the room and presumed it worth stealing.”
“I suppose.” Her expression remained filled with doubt. “It is still very odd.”
Stepping closer, Lucien carefully encircled her in his arms, hoping to surround her with his strength.
“Let us not dwell upon it, my dove. They are gone and I do not believe that they will soon return.”
There was a short pause before she slowly lifted her head to regard him with a somber expression.
“I am relieved you were here.”
Lucien stilled, caught off guard by her soft words. Then slowly he smiled deep into her darkened eyes.
“So am I,” he whispered gently, wanting nothing more than to ease the fear that lingered within her. This maiden should know only joy, he told himself fiercely. And he would do whatever in his power to see it done. “You see, for a frippery fellow, I do have my uses upon occasion.”
To his great relief, a measure of her tension eased and her lips even twitched with reluctant humor.
“Upon occasion, I suppose,” she conceded.
He lifted his brow with a wicked glint smoldering in his eyes. “I have numerous other uses beyond rescuing damsels in distress, if you would only allow me to demonstrate.”
Despite her best attempts, she could not entirely prevent the faint hint of color that touched her cheeks.
“I believe you have demonstrated quite enough for one evening.”
“Ah, but that was only a taste.”
“Really, Mr. Valin,” she protested in breathy tones.
His hand lifted to lightly stroke the soft skin of her countenance. “I believe you called me Lucien earlier. Such formality is surely unnecessary between friends.”
He heard her catch her breath as she abruptly spun away, as if to hide her expression from his searching gaze.
“I think it best if weâ” Without warning her words came to a halt and she took a step toward the bed. “What is that?”
Lucien frowned as she reached out to pluck a scrap of paper from the heavy quilt. “I haven't the least notion.”
Holding the paper in fingers that visibly trembled, Jocelyn moved toward the window, where the moonlight offered a silver glow.
“Miss Kingly,” she read aloud. “They are dying. Will you save them? It is in your hands.”
Chapter 5
Jocelyn was uncertain how she discovered herself flat against the wall with Lucien standing directly before her and his hands planted on each side of her head.
One moment she had been slipping on her shawl, preparing to leave for her nightly visit to the streets, and the next she had been swiftly maneuvered toward the wall by an angry gentleman who was currently regarding her with smoldering golden eyes.
“No, Jocelyn,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.
With an effort Jocelyn gathered her composure. After a restless night, followed by a long day brooding upon the two thieves who had so rudely intruded into her home, she had been determined to shake off the lingering unease.
Certainly she had been unnerved by the strange thieves. And even more so by the mysterious note they had left behind. But she could accomplish nothing by cowering in her house and fearing every small noise.
She had already learned her lesson in attempting to hide from life. After her scandal, she had done her best to disappear. For weeks she had remained in Surrey, rarely leaving her chambers except when she was certain she would be alone. She had wanted only to flee the pain and embarrassment somehow.
But as the long, dark days had passed, she slowly realized that she was being ridiculous. Surely she possessed more courage and worth than to dwindle to an old, bitter spinster with nothing but regret to fill her memories?
Perhaps the future that she had thought would be hers was gone, but that did not mean she could not find a purpose to her days.
She would face the world bravely. She would help others. Her life would be filled with more than shame and fear.
So, ignoring the temptation to remain comfortably at home and forgetting the danger that lurked just outside the door, Jocelyn had finished her dinner and collected her shawl from the foyer. She had not expected Lucien to appear just as she was stepping toward the door, or that he would so neatly trap her.
“I am going, Mr. Valin,” she warned, attempting to ignore the proximity of his large form. Not an easy task when she felt cloaked in his fragrant heat. Or when the astonishingly beautiful countenance was so close that her fingers itched to reach up and test the smooth bronze of his skin. “And there is nothing you can do to halt me.”
“Are you so certain?” A dangerous glint entered the golden eyes. “I could lock you in your chambers until you regain your senses. Or better yet . . .” His gaze deliberately lowered toward her mouth. “In my chambers.”
Jocelyn struggled to breathe. She had promised herself she would not react to this man's obvious appeal. Heavens above, she had sworn to forbid him even near. Unfortunately, while her mind might readily acknowledge the danger sizzling in the air, her body was not nearly so wise.
“Mr. Valin.”
“Lucien,” he firmly corrected her. “Or Luce, if you prefer.”
“Mr. Valin,” she repeated, only to discover her courage faltering as he slowly began to lower his head. “Oh, very well . . . Lucien,” she hurriedly amended, not willing to risk another of those disturbing kisses. The very fact that she was finding it difficult not to lean toward that male form warned her that prudence was preferable to pride. “I must discover if any of the women were harmed.”
“I can discover any information you might desire.”
“No.”
“Why?” The elegant features hardened with impatience. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
Her eyes darkened with an unconscious vulnerability. “Because I learned long ago that I cannot hide from unpleasantness. To cower in fear behind closed doors is no life. I would rather confront my fears, and even danger, face-to-face.” She reached out to place her hand upon his arm. “Lucien, I will not live in a prison of my own making.”
An oddly arrested expression settled upon his countenance. Almost as if her words had reached deep within him. Then he offered her a wry smile.
“I cannot help but desire to protect you, Jocelyn. It is simply in my nature.”
Her fingers tightened upon his arm. Surprisingly she discovered that she was far from offended by his confession. Instead, a warm glow threatened to fill her heart.
“Yes, I know,” she said softly.
His lips twisted. “You are determined upon this?”
“Yes.”
“You will not leave my side?”
Her brows lifted at his commanding tone. Now he was going too far.
“I have been caring for myself a long time, sir. I no longer depend upon others when I am perfectly capable of seeing to my own needs. It is, in fact, how I prefer my life.”
Without warning, his hand shifted to cup her chin in a gentle grasp. “Stubborn.”
She grimly ignored the flare of pleasure that tingled through her. It would be all too easy to become addicted to his touch.
“Strong-willed,” she corrected him.
His soft chuckle filled the foyer. “Is there a difference?”
“Of course.”
“If you say,” he murmured, his fingers slowly moving to trace the firm line of her jaw.
The danger in the air shimmered with a sudden heat. “I . . . we should be on our way,” she whispered.
His eyes swept over her flushed countenance, lingering for a tantalizing moment upon her unsteady lips.
“You are always eager to be hurrying away when things become interesting.”
Interesting?
Perilously insane, more likely.
“Interesting for you, perhaps,” she forced herself to retort.
“I think for the both of us if you would just lower your guard.”
“My guard is staying precisely where it is,” she warned in what she hoped were firm tones. “You might as well resign yourself to that fact.”
He gave a shake of his head, the tawny hair that framed his lean countenance shimmering in the candlelight.
“Never,” he swore softly. “I will wait all eternity if need be.”
“An eternity?”
“Yes.”
Her breath once again became elusive. “You are being absurd. Let us go.”
His fingers searched along the curve of her neck, slowly testing the softness of her skin.
“You cannot run from me forever, Jocelyn,” he warned in husky tones.
It took far more effort than she cared to admit to abruptly thrust away from the wall and step from his tempting nearness. She felt bewitched, and not at all herself.
In an effort to disguise her odd trembling, Jocelyn made a great show of smoothing her plain gray gown and ensuring her expression was calm.
“I can run an eternity if need be,” she retorted in thankfully steady tones.
He smiled ruefully at her swift retreat, although a shimmer of determination remained in the golden eyes.
“Ah, no, that I will not allow,” he warned as he moved to place her hand upon his arm and escorted her out the door and down the steps to the darkened street. “Where shall we go first?”
“To the warehouse,” she said, having made her decision earlier in the day. “I wish to ensure the children are safe.”
Lucien gave an understanding nod before stepping forward and at last hailing a passing hack. They rode in silence as they made their way the handful of blocks to the derelict warehouse. Jocelyn was soon lost in her concern for the children and women who were forced to sell themselves upon the streets. They were unfortunately vulnerable and all too often the victims of violence. A violence they possessed few means to oppose. Her distraction, however, was ruthlessly pierced as they moved closer and closer to the warehouse. A shiver raced through her as she felt an odd prickle of evil crawl over her skin.
It was ridiculous, she attempted to tell herself. One could not feel evil. And yet, her fingers instinctively reached up to touch the amulet around her neck, as if it were offering her a warning she should not ignore.
The sensation only grew stronger as the hack halted in the shadows of the warehouse. With a stiff reluctance she forced herself to accept Lucien's help in alighting, then moved toward the narrow door. Much to her astonishment, she discovered it already open. A frown marred her forehead. The children were wise enough never to leave the door unattended.
“Thomas?” she called softly.
In a heartbeat Lucien had firmly grasped her arm, the moonlight glinting off the dagger he held in his hand.
“Wait here a moment,” he commanded, his features oddly grim.
“No, Lucien. I will not be left behind.”
Just for a moment he appeared poised to argue. It was obvious that he desired to keep her tucked away from danger. Then, noting her determined expression, he gave a resigned shake of his head.
“Very well,” he conceded, “but remain behind me.” With a startling graceful movement Lucien slipped through the door, leaving Jocelyn to follow behind. She was careful to keep close, still bothered by that ominous sense of dread. Ridiculous or not, it could not be shaken.
They had managed to enter the cavernous room and take several steps forward, when the familiar form of Thomas abruptly stepped in their path.
“'Ere, now. It be Miss Kingly's gentleman.”
Lucien came to a smooth halt. “Good evening, Thomas. Is all well?”
An unexpected grin split the dirty, angular countenance. “I'd say. A bloke came earlier with a whole cartload of food.”
“What bloke?” Jocelyn demanded, stepping from behind Lucien with a startled frown. For months she had been caring for these children, and never to her knowledge had another shown the slightest interest in their welfare.
“Oh, Miss Kingly.” Thomas gave a cocky bow. “Evening to you.”
Jocelyn's frown did not ease. “Who brought you the food, Thomas?”
The lad lifted a bony shoulder as he waved his hand toward a distant corner.
“He is over with Freddie.”
Turning her head, Jocelyn slowly stiffened as she recognized the thin, balding man attired in black.
“Vicar Fallow,” she breathed.
Almost as if hearing her soft words, the vicar slowly turned and regarded her from across the room. Even at such a distance the pale eyes seemed to chill her deep within. They glittered in the darkness with an unholy light, sending a rash of prickles over her skin.
Then she was sternly chastising her absurd fancy.
This gentleman had revealed nothing but generous kindness. First by chasing off the villains who had attacked her in the street, and now tonight, by offering starving children a much-needed meal.
She should be delighted with his appearance at the warehouse, not shuddering with distaste.
Keeping that thought firmly in mind, Jocelyn managed to conjure a smile as the vicar hurried across the floor to offer her a faint bow.
“Miss Kingly.”
“Vicar,” she murmured. “It was most kind of you to bring food to the children.”
He moved his hands to his bony chest in a modest gesture. “I fear it is not much.”
Jocelyn glanced to where the children greedily gorged themselves upon the large platters of food.
“It is far more than they had before.”
“Perhaps.” The vicar waited until Jocelyn returned her gaze to his thin countenance. “I only wish it were possible to take them away from such squalor. They should have homes with loving families.”
“We can do only what is in our power.”
“That is true, my dear.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Still, I worry for their safety. It is said another maiden was killed this evening.”
Jocelyn felt the blood drain from her face. No. This could not be happening. Not another poor, wretched maiden.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“Terrible, is it not?” Vicar Fallow murmured, reaching out to pat her arm lightly. “A beast walks the streets of London. It is said he hunts someone or something.”
Something?
Unconsciously stepping away from his distasteful touch, Jocelyn lifted a hand to the amulet about her neck.
What was happening?
And why?
“I . . .”
“Jocelyn.” Abruptly appearing at her side, Lucien wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder. “There is no need to linger. The children are fed this night.”
Shaken by the revelation of yet another murder, Jocelyn readily allowed Lucien to lend her support. The familiar scent of his male warmth shrouded her in a sense of well-being.
“Yes.”
The gaunt countenance of Vicar Fallow hardened at the arrival of Lucien, but the thin smile remained intact as he regarded the shaken Jocelyn.
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