Lady Killer (25 page)

“Come on, Clio,” Justin urged in a voice that sounded greasy to Miles. “You know you have missed me and our—” he winked again, “—long conversations.”

Ten thousand miles, Miles revised. Or the moon. The moon might be a good distance. A good place for that man Clio was in love with, too.

Clio was glad it was too dark for him to see her blushing furiously, but Miles felt the heat of her embarrassment. “The only thing I am missing from our relationship, Justin, is five hundred pounds. Now go, before
you
are missing something. Something vital.”

Justin opened his mouth to speak, but Miles judged that the time had come for him to intercede. The removal of vital organs from the man was just his kind of job. “You heard the lady. Leave.”

Justin jabbed his heels into his horse and sprinted forward toward them, his drawn sword aimed right at Miles’s heart.

“You are mine, Dearbourn,” Justin shouted and his sword made contact with Miles’s sleeve. Then, to Justin’s utter amazement, it clanged against the wall and fell from his hand. As far as he could tell, Miles had barely even flicked his wrist.

Miles slid out of his saddle, picked up the sword, and held it out to his stunned opponent. “If you are really interested in fighting, dismount. There is no need to endanger our horses.”

Justin stared at him. “You will regret this, Dearbourn. I am an expert swordsman.”

Miles smiled and his beautiful teeth shone in the moonlight. “Excellent. It has been a long time since I had a worthy opponent.”

Justin snatched his sword from Miles’s hand, but did not dismount. “It’s going to have to be a bit longer. I do not engage in unofficial duels like a ruffian,” he said disdainfully. Then he looked over Miles’s shoulder and nodded. “Now boys. Get her.”

Miles turned around just in time to see a man grab Clio, drag her from her horse, and sling her over his shoulder. He sensed rather than saw another man to his left, and a third, to his right, both on foot. They must have sneaked up the alley from the back while Clio and Justin were talking. Miles cursed himself for having been so distracted. He could not remember another time anything like this had happened to him. Without taking his eyes off the form of Clio and her assailant as they receded down the alley, Miles’s hands dipped toward his boots. Something glinted and made a whistling noise, and suddenly the two men on foot each let out a howl. Justin, whose horse had been pounding up the alley toward Miles, abruptly reigned in when he saw the two knife points glinting out of the thighs of his accomplices.

“Hurry, Reynolds, he is gaining on you,” Justin shouted after the man who was making off with Clio.

“Yes, Reynolds,” Miles whispered, practically in the man’s ear, “hurry.” Before the man could take this very good advice, Miles brought the side of his hand down against the back of Reynolds’s head at a precise angle he had learned from his cousin Sebastian, sending him careening unconscious to the ground. Miles caught Clio’s body before she fell with him, and cradled her in his arms.

“Clio, are you all right?” he asked, but her head simply lulled from side to side. There was a slight bump on her forehead and it looked as though Reynolds had struck her to keep her from fighting. “Clio,” he said, more urgently, shaking her slightly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Justin, still mounted on horseback, approaching. There was nowhere to put Clio down and no time. Holding her close to his body, Miles spun around and gave a flying kick, sending Justin’s sword hurtling toward the wall. It hit with such force that the hilt broke off and the blade bent.

“You are next,” Miles told Justin through clenched teeth, Clio’s unconscious form cradled against his chest. “If you are lucky, you will just be able to hear the sound your head makes as it hits the wall before your brains explode. It is a very satisfying noise.”

Before Miles had even finished speaking, Justin had turned on his horse and fled. It would have been a pleasure to go after him and make good on his threat, but he had more important things to think about. He looked down at Clio and gently brushed his lips across her forehead. “Clio,” he whispered. “Clio can you hear me?”

This time she stirred slightly. Her eyes came open, and focused on his face. She smiled up at him, the most brilliant smile he had ever seen, and said, “I read once that you kept knives in your boots, but I did not know it was true.” Then her lids fluttered closed and she went limp in his arms.

“May I come in?” Clio asked from the doorway of Miles’s workroom. Two hours had passed since their return to Dearbourn Hall. Two hours during which Miles had plenty of time to think. And fume at her. And berate himself.

How had he let her get hurt? He had been distracted listening to her, applauding her in his mind, and he had made a grave error. It would not happen again. And what had she meant when she said that she had read he kept knives in his boots anyway? Had she been following his exploits? Did she read what the news sheets wrote about him? Did that mean—

From now on he would keep himself aloof from her. He would not allow her to be a distraction. Nor would he allow her to bend him to her will, to go dragging him around the city, to disobey him blatantly, willfully and with the assistance, he now suspected, of his staff. No one disobeyed him. What had happened was at least as much her fault as his. If she had not disobeyed him, she never would have been in danger. What if he had not gone after her? What if Justin’s attempts to take her away had succeeded? The two men writhing in the alley had been kind enough to admit that Justin had paid them each a hefty sum for their assistance in getting the girl. What had he wanted with her?

He did not care. His only interest in Clio Thornton was in keeping her alive and out of trouble while he found the vampire. Tonight he was going to ask her questions and she was damn well going to answer them. Tomorrow he would damn well catch the damned vampire. And then Clio Thornton would be safely out of his damn life forever.

Forever.

By the time they got home, Clio had been semiconscious. Despite her protests, Miles had ordered her into his damn bedroom to take a bath and change her damn clothes. She was filthy and her gown had literally fallen to pieces when she was dragged off her horse. He was not surprised that she obeyed him. Obedience never surprised him.

But he was surprised now when he looked up and saw her standing on the threshold of his room.

DANGER!!!

The air in the chamber behind her was still steamy from her bath, and seemed to cling to her in a glowing aura. Her long straight hair hung loose over her shoulders, and two thin braids framed her face. She was wearing one of the gowns he had ordered for her, the dark purple one. It was cut significantly lower than her old dresses, and was significantly more fitted. Where her previous attire left almost everything to the imagination simply by nature of its shapelessness, this seemed designed to outdo the imagination with its devilishly engineered lines.

If she had been beautiful before, now she was staggering.

Miles barely noticed.

Not the way the gown brought out the deep purple flecks in her brown eyes. Not the subtle curve of her breasts, framed by the V of the bodice into a shadowy, fragrant valley. Not the grace of her neck, which would really look better with the Loredan amethysts around it. None of it. Let whomever she was in love with drape her with his family jewels. Miles was too damn angry at her, and if she thought that appearing in a new dress and looking like some kind of goddess was going to make him rise from his seat and take her in his arms and beg to be allowed to make love to her and forget all about his wrath, she was wrong. He scowled at her darkly and tightened his grip on the restraining arms of his chair.

Clio swallowed hard and fortified herself with a deep breath, telling herself she was
not
disappointed. She had never worn a gown like the one she was wearing now, of fine silk, beautifully cut by a master designer. By the standards of current fashion, its single color and the gem-less hem of the skirt were very plain, but Clio thought it the most glorious garment she had ever beheld. Slipping it on had been an almost erotic experience. The silk was incredibly thick and smooth and cool against her skin, like a caress. It rustled every time she moved and seemed to float around her. For the first time in her life, as she surveyed herself in the mirror that had been placed against one wall of Miles’s bedchamber that day, she felt elegant. And graceful. And almost lovable.

For a moment, as she had gazed at her reflection, she began to hope it could be like her dream, the dream she had begun having ten years earlier. It began with her gliding into a room. Over the years it had changed—initially, with her limited experience, the room had been a kitchen, the only place she had ever been comfortable. Next, fueled by the stories she read in news sheets, it had been a crowded ball room with a secret alcove off the side filled with padded chaise lounges. Now it was the outer chamber of Miles’s apartment, the room where he was diligently working at the round, leather-topped table. But no matter the room, the dream was always the same. He would look up, and his heart would stop beating and she could see in his eyes that he thought her beautiful. “Clio,” he would whisper, saying her name with reverence. “Clio Thornton, you are spectacular.” Then he would cross to her and take her in his arms and say, “I want to make love to you right here, right now.”

But given the look he was leveling at her, that hardly seemed possible. There was no spark of recognition, no moment when he looked up and his heart stopped beating. His eyes made it clear that what he was seeing was a drab woman foolishly garbed in a dress designed for a princess. She looked idiotic, and out of place, and clumsy. And as if to confirm all of that, she tripped for no reason as she moved into the room.

“We’ll have to have that gown shortened,” he said coolly, and it was the only evidence she had that he had even noticed what she was wearing. Then he looked back down at the papers that were spread over the table. “In half an hour we will dine together and discuss your behavior tonight, and in the future. Until then, I am busy. You may amuse yourself as you wish so long as you do not leave this apartment.”

You are clumsy and foolish and silly,
Clio reminded herself as she moved numbly toward the chair on the other side of the table and sank into it. Just like Justin had always said.

Justin. What had he been doing tonight? She found it hard to believe that he was trying to save her, despite his words. But if he was not saving her, then he was kidnapping her, and that was even harder to imagine. That Justin had never loved her was clear; why he would bother to risk his life trying to get her was not. He seemed so much smaller and less worldly when she had seen him tonight than she remembered. Perhaps that was why she had not recognized him before. Because now she was almost positive that it was he who had been the man in the red doublet, the one she suspected of pushing her into the street in front of Dearbourn Hall two days earlier. The day she had come to see her grandmother. The day she had kissed Miles on the street.

If only she were not wearing the ridiculous dress, then maybe she could sit comfortably and figure all this out. She wished that Toast had not been sent to sleep in Corin’s chambers, wished that somehow she was not entirely alone with Miles. Wished that her best friend was not a monkey. She felt her lower lip begin to tremble and commanded it to cease. She would not break down in front of Miles. Her eye fell on his copy of
A Compendium of Vampires
then, and she opened it to the page that was marked with a tightly braided yellow ribbon. She would work. It would be a perfect distraction. There had been something tugging at her mind all day, a persistent annoyance, the subconscious knowledge that a fact or an idea was out of place, and maybe, just maybe if she concentrated on the book it would come to her. Not cry, work. The words on the page were familiar to her, she had read the passage a dozen times, but she forced herself to study them anyway.

“
Concerning the Vampire, t’are those who say he is
e’en
such a one as
rises
from the dead, but this is wrong, for the Vampire is a living being,
and
takes to his blood sucking so that he may prosper, and grow stronger, from others. For him, the blood is as food for us, and he must have it, lest he weaken and
die
. This is the cause that he shall be known to strike in a regular way, just as we must eat our victuals and drink ale at our regular times or we will perish. So that he will suck blood every day or every week, as he list, but regular like always,
else
he will be sick unto death.
”

Clio paused here to assess if she felt “sick until death” from lack of blood sucking. She did feel sick, there was no question about that, but she thought it had more to do with Miles than with any absence of human blood in her diet. Not really relieved, she read on.

“
This nourishment he taketh only by night, being a creeture who loves the darkness, and thrives upon it. So that as the Moon, no longer
young
, waneth in her course and grow slimmer, even so the Vampire grows
fatter
, which
is
to say, more powerful.
”