The Vampire and the Virgin (40 page)

“I’m sure. I know it comes as a shock, but it’s true.”

Eleni sighed. “I can sense you’re telling the truth.” Her emotions took a dark turn, with disbelief and suspicion

swirling around her. “He’s not hurting you, is he?”

“No, he’s a sweet and gentle man.”

“How can that be? Isn’t he some kind of demon?”

“No. Robby was dying on a battlefield when his grandfather transformed him. He was a good, honorable

man, and he still is. His death couldn’t change who he is.”

Eleni pursed her lips. “I thought vampires were evil.”

“Some of them are. An evil person will turn into an evil vampire. Actually, I suspect they become even more

evil. All that extra power goes to their head.”

“He’s not a devil worshipper, is he?”

Olivia snorted. “No. He was raised Roman Catholic. And he says he’s willing to become Greek Orthodox.”

“Oh.” Eleni’s aura of suspicion cleared away. “That’s good news.”

“And we can still have children.”

“What?” A surge of joy emanated from Eleni. “Why didn’t you say so from the beginning? Of course we’ll

welcome your young man into the family.”

Olivia exhaled with relief. “Thank you. It’ll mean a lot to Robby that you’ve accepted him.”

Eleni waved a hand in dismissal. “I always knew he was the man for you.”

“I thought you had your hopes up for Spiro.”

Eleni shrugged. “Spiro ran off last month to get married.” She winced. “To Dimitrios.”

Olivia laughed. “I’m going to meet Robby on the beach after sunset. I can bring him back here if you like.”

“Of course!” Eleni bustled over to the refrigerator. “What would he like to eat?”

“He doesn’t eat, Yia Yia. He drinks synthetic blood out of a bottle every night.”

“You mean you won’t have to cook for him?” Eleni shut the fridge door, smiling. “That is perfect for you, child.

I’m afraid you were never much of a cook.”

Olivia hugged her grandmother. “Thank you so much for understanding. I knew I needed to tell you the truth

about Robby.”

“Of course.” Eleni wagged a finger at her. “I will know if you ever lie to me.”

“This is something we need to keep secret. I know you like to gossip with—”

“I do not gossip,” Eleni huffed. “And I can keep a secret. Now go on, go see that young man of yours. And tell

him I expect you two to get married here in my church.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Olivia left the kitchen and crossed the courtyard. Memories flashed through her mind. This was

where she’d first talked with Robby, where she’d first started falling in love.

She hurried down the stairs, then headed down the beach toward Petra. The sun was low on the horizon,

turning the sky pink and gold and setting the sea ablaze with golden sparkles.

The Draganesti villa came into view. Robby had left a message on her phone that he’d arrived shortly before

dawn. She’d been waiting all day for him to wake from his death-sleep. She stayed on the beach to watch the

sun disappear over the horizon. It was a beautiful end to a day, and a beautiful beginning for her new life.

“Are ye sure ye’re no’ a Greek goddess?” Robby called out to her.

She turned and grinned at him. He was standing on the bluff, looking gorgeous as usual. “I won’t object to

She turned and grinned at him. He was standing on the bluff, looking gorgeous as usual. “I won’t object to

being worshipped.”

He jumped off the bluff and landed neatly beside her. “I missed you.” He brushed back a curl that the breeze

had blown across her cheek.

“It’s only been two days since I saw you last.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I told

my grandmother about you.”

He winced. “How did she take it?”

“As far as I can tell, you could be an alien from another galaxy, and it wouldn’t matter as long as we can have

children.”

He chuckled. “I like yer grandmother.” He stepped back. “Remember when ye asked me yer three questions?

”

“Yes.”

“Ask them again.” He took her hands in his. “Ask them again, and I will answer.”

She smiled. “What do you want more than anything in the world?”

He squeezed her hands. “I want you.”

Her heart expanded with joy. “And what do you fear more than anything in the world?”

“Losing you.”

“And if you get what you want more than anything, will it make you a better person?”

“Aye, it will.” He knelt on one knee. “Will ye marry me, Olivia?”

“Yes!” She fell on her knees and wrapped her arms around him. “Yes.”

He hugged her tight. “I love you, Olivia.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, too.”

“I looked up yer last name in a dictionary, and it means salvation. That’s what ye’ve done to me, lass. Ye

saved me from a life filled with hatred and vengeance. I’m free now.”

She rested her hands on his face and gazed into his glittering green eyes. “We’re free together.”

She rested her hands on his face and gazed into his glittering green eyes. “We’re free together.”

Dark and Dangerous Ways…

Dearest Reader,

Why is it that the unrepentant rake, brooding duke, or wicked rogue never fails to set even the most sensible

hearts aflutter?

And what happens when a sensible lady plays with fire, unafraid to get burned?

This winter feel the heat with four new, delicious romances—from
New York Times
bestselling authors

Elizabeth Boyle, Sandra Hill, and Kerrelyn Sparks and talented debut author Sarah MacLean—in which

scandalous heroes meet their matches at last, in ladies who know that sometimes bad can be gloriously good

…

…

Coming January 2010

How I Met My Countess

The first in a new series

from
New York Times
bestselling author

Elizabeth Boyle

When Lucy Ellyson, the improper daughter of an infamous spy, saves the Earl of Clifton’s life, he decides to

make her his countess. But then the irresistible chit vanishes and Clifton is certain he’s lost her forever…until

he discovers she’s living in Mayfair, as scandalous as ever and in the sort of trouble only a hasty marriage can

solve. But before Clifton can step in, secrets from the past emerge, threatening to ruin them both.

W
hile the Earl of Clifton had been expecting a scullery maid or even a housekeeper to respond to Mr. Ellyson’s

shouted orders, the gel who arrived in the man’s study left him taken aback.

Her glorious black hair sat piled atop her head, the pins barely holding it there, the strands shimmering with

raven lights and rich, deep hues. They were the sort of strands that made one think of the most expensive

courtesans, the most elegant and desirable ladies.

Yet this miss wore a plain muslin gown, over which she’d thrown an old patched green sweater. There were

mitts on her hands, for the rest of the house was cold, and out from beneath the less than tidy hem of her

gown, a pair of very serviceable boots stuck out.

This was all topped off with the large splotch of soot decorating her nose and chin.

She took barely a glance at Clifton or his brother before her hands fisted to her hips. “Whatever are you doing

shouting like that? I’m not deaf, but I fear I will be if you insist on bellowing so.”

Crossing the room, she swatted Ellyson’s hand off the map he was in the process of unrolling. Plucking off

her mitts and swiping her hand over her skirts—as if that would do the task and clean them—she caught up the

map and reshelved it. “I doubt you need Paris as yet.”

There was a presumptuous note of disdain in her voice, as if she, like Ellyson himself, had shelved their

guests with the same disparagement that she had just given the errant map.

And in confirmation, when she cast a glance over her shoulder and took stock of them, it was with a gaze that

was both calculating and dismissive all at once. “Why not begin with ensuring that they know how to get to the

coast,” she replied, no small measure of sarcasm dripping from her words.

Ellyson barked a short laugh, if one could call it a laugh. But her sharp words amused the man. “Easy girl,

they’ve Pymm’s blessing. We’re to train them up.”

“Harrumph,” she muttered, putting one more stamp of disapproval on the notion.

Clifton straightened. It was one thing to be dismissed by a man of Ellyson’s stature, but by a mere servant?

Well, it wasn’t to be borne. He opened his mouth to protest, but Malcolm nudged him.

Don’t wade into this one, little brother
, his dark eyes implored.

“I need to start with Lisbon,” Ellyson said. “But demmed if I can find it.”

“Here,” she said, easily locating the map from the collection. “Anything else?” Her chapped hands were back

on her hips and she shot another glance over her shoulder at Clifton, her bright green eyes revealing nothing

but dismay, especially when her gaze fell to the puddles of water at his feet and the trail of mud from his boots.

Then she looked up at him with a gaze that said one thing:
You’d best not expect me to clean that up
.

Clifton could only gape at her. He’d never met such a woman.

Well, not outside of a public house.

Bossy termagant of a chit, still he couldn’t stop watching her, for there was a spark to this Lucy that dared to

settle inside his chest.

She was, with that hair and flashing eyes, a pretty sort of thing in an odd way. But she held herself so that a

man would have to have a devilish bit of nerve to tell her so.

Then she shocked him, or at least, he thought it was the most shocking thing he’d ever heard.

“Papa, I haven’t all day and I’ve a roast to see to, as well as the pudding to mix.”

Papa?
Clifton’s mouth fell open. This bossy chit was Ellyson’s daughter?

No, in the world of the Ellysons, Clifton quickly discovered, such a notion wasn’t shocking in the least.

Not when weighed against what her father said in reply. “Yes, yes, of course. But before you see to dinner, I

have it in mind for you to become Lord Clifton’s new mistress. What say you, Goosie?” he asked his daughter

as casually as one might inquire if the pudding was going to include extra plums. “How would you like to fall in

love with an earl?”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder and looked at the man standing beside the door. Very quickly, she pressed

her lips together to keep from bursting out with laughter at the sight of the complete and utter shock dressing

her lips together to keep from bursting out with laughter at the sight of the complete and utter shock dressing

the poor earl’s features. He had to be the earl, for the other man hadn’t the look of a man possessing a title and

fortune.

Oh, heavens! He thinks Papa is serious. And in a panic over how to refuse him.

Not that a very feminine part of her felt a large stab of pique.

Well, you could do worse
, she’d have told him, if the other man in the room, the one by the window, the earl’s

brother from the looks of him, hadn’t said, “Good God, Gilby! Close your mouth. You look like a mackerel.”

The fellow then doubled over with laughter. “’Sides I doubt Ellyson is serious.”

Lucy didn’t reply, nor did her father, but that was to be expected, for Papa was already onto the next step of his

plans for the earl and his natural brother, and therefore saw no polite need to reply.

“Sir, I can hardly…I mean as a gentleman…” the earl began.

Lucy turned toward him, one brow cocked and her hands back on her hips. It was the stance she took when

the butcher tried to sell her less than fresh mutton.

The butcher was a devilish cheat, so it made ruffling this gentleman’s fine and honorable notions akin to

child’s play.

Clifton swallowed and took a step back, which brought him right up against the wall.

Literally and figuratively.

“What I mean to say is that while Miss Ellyson is…is…that is to say I am…” He closed his eyes and

shuddered.

Actually shuddered.

Well, a lady could only take so much.

Lucy sauntered past him, flicked a piece of lint off the shoulder of his otherwise meticulous jacket, and

tossed a smile up at him. “Don’t worry,
Gilby
,” she purred, using the familiar name his brother had called him.

“You don’t have to bed me.” She took another long glance at him—from his dark hair, the chiseled set of his

aristocratic jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the long lines of his legs, to his perfectly polished boots

—everything that was wealthy, noble, and elegant, then continued toward her father’s desk, tossing one more

glance over her shoulder. “For truly, you aren’t my type.”

Which was quite true. Well, there was no arguing that the Earl of Clifon was one of the most handsome men

who’d ever walked into her father’s house seeking his training to take on secretive “work” for the King, but Lucy

also found his lofty stance and rigid features troubling.

He’ll not do, Papa
, she wanted to say. For she considered herself an excellent judge of character. And this

Clifton would have to set himself down a notch or two if he was going to stay alive, at the very least, let alone

complete the tasks he would be sent to do.

No, he is too utterly English. Too proud. Too…too…noble.

And Lucy knew this all too well. For she’d spent a good part of her life watching the agents come and go from

her father’s house. She knew them all.

And she also knew the very real truth about their situation: They may never come back. As much as she found