Vampire, Interrupted (27 page)

“Well, you called him,” Marcus pointed out with amusement, apparently understanding Julius’s upset.

“I left a message. I didn’t expect them to head over,”
Julius muttered and then catching her concerned gaze, he offered her a smile. “It will be all right.”

Marguerite nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything. She hadn’t been saying much of anything since leaving the townhouse. Mostly what she’d done was stare. She stared at Julius, trying to find these memories they said were missing, imagining him in fifteenth-century dress in a fifteenth-century York. And she stared at Christian, trying to see herself in him and wondering if he really was her son. And through all her staring, both men kept giving her little reassuring smiles, as if to say it was all right. Everything was all right.

It made Marguerite feel bad. She felt bad for not remembering Julius, if there was anything to remember. She felt bad for apparently trying to kill Christian, and she didn’t have a clue what to say or do or even how to interact with either of them now, so all through the train ride to London and then on the airplane to Italy, she’d just kept staring at them both.

The car pulled to a halt in front of what was apparently Julius’s house and they all got out and moved around to the trunk to retrieve their luggage. They were moving toward the front door of the house when it opened and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out.

If Julius hadn’t seemed pleased to know this man was here, the man looked no more pleased himself. His face was cold, his eyes filled with loathing as they fixed on her, and he growled, “Julius!”

“Hello, Father,” Julius said calmly, taking Marguerite’s arm in his free hand and starting forward. “How—?”

Marguerite glanced at him with surprise when he
suddenly snapped his mouth closed mid-greeting and stopped walking. She knew it was the appearance of the dark-haired woman who suddenly hurried out of the house that made him pause, but didn’t understand why. She thought the man was much more intimidating…until the woman burst out furiously, “How could you bring that—that
woman
here, Julius? Here! After what she did!”

Marguerite stiffened, confusion rife in her. She wanted to be angry at such a rude welcome, on the other hand, if she’d done what they all said she’d done, well, she kind of deserved it.

“I’m sorry,” Julius said to Marguerite with a sigh, and then he handed his own suitcase over to Christian and turned to head toward the couple. “Mother, Father. Come inside, we need to talk.”

He took their arms and began to lead them back into the house, but paused at the door to glance back to the rest of the party. None of them had moved. Marguerite didn’t really want to, and Marcus, Christian, and Tiny had only moved as far as to position themselves around her, offering silent support.

Julius nodded as if it was as it should be and said, “Marcus, could you come with me?”

“Do you want me to take your suitcase?” Tiny offered when the man nodded and started forward.

“Thank you, no. I’ll just leave it inside the door,” Marcus responded.

“You can leave mine inside the door as well, Christian,” Julius said and then added, “Please see Marguerite and Tiny inside and get them settled and then give them a tour of the house so they know where
everything is.” He started to turn away again but paused to swing back and add, “Put your mother in the room next to mine.”

Marguerite felt a jolt of shock roll through her at the word
Mother
. Not that she’d never been called that before, she had four children—other children, she corrected and frowned with confusion.

“I think he means you,” Christian teased softly, apparently spotting her confused expression.

Marguerite forced a smile, but couldn’t manage any more than that. Her mind was drawing a complete blank. Apparently her intelligence had run off to hang out with her missing memories wherever those were, she thought wearily.

“It’s okay,” Christian said quietly. “It’s a lot to accept, I know.”

“You seem to be handling it all well enough,” she pointed out unhappily.

“Maybe,” he said, slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder so he could take her arm and urge her forward. “But I’ve spent five hundred years sneaking into Father’s desk to look at your picture. Your face has always been my mother’s face in my mind.” He squeezed her arm gently. “I know it hasn’t been the same for you. You didn’t even know I existed and probably aren’t even yet sure it’s true.”

Marguerite swallowed. He was being very kind to her considering she’d ordered him killed at birth.

“Maybe you could show her the picture now,” Tiny suggested as they entered the house.

“What picture?”

The question made them pause inside the door and glance at the woman moving up the hall toward
them. She was oddly attractive in an austere way, at least until she smiled in greeting, then the austerity dropped away, becoming a memory.

“Marguerite, this is my Aunt Vita. She’s my father’s oldest sister.”

Vita Notte laughed at the introduction. “You never call a woman old, Christian. And oldest is even worse.” Shaking her head, she turned to Marguerite. “Hello, Marguerite, is it?”

“Yes,” she accepted the hand held out and shook it with a small smile.

“My mother,” Christian growled, and Marguerite couldn’t decide if it was pride, or warning, or both in his voice. She saw the surprise flicker in the woman’s eyes, and braced herself for an attack as the mother had launched, but Vita merely released her hand, her smile becoming a little stiff.

“Of course, I should have realized…the name. Well…isn’t this nice,” she said and then seemed to be either unsure what to say next, or unwilling to say any more.

Marguerite herself was at a loss as to how to fill the silence that followed and it was Tiny who finally said, “Christian was about to show us to our rooms.”

“Yes, of course.” Vita immediately stepped aside for them to pass and as they began to continue forward, said, “The Rose Room is quite nice, Christian. Marguerite might like it.”

“Yes, it is, but Father wants her in the room next to his,” he responded and then he was leading them around a corner.

Marguerite felt her shoulders relax the moment they were out of the other woman’s sight. This was
looking to be an unpleasant stay indeed if she was constantly waiting for Julius and Christian’s family to attack her. Not that Vita had seemed intent to do so. She hadn’t seemed to know how to react to her presence. Marguerite could sympathize. She was a little lost herself.

“Here we are,” Christian said after leading them upstairs and along the hall to a door almost at the end. Pausing, he opened it, and then reached inside to switch on the light before waving her in.

Marguerite walked inside, pulling her suitcase behind her. The room was large and airy and decorated in cream colors that made it bright and cheerful and soothing.

“If you want to unpack, I’ll take Tiny to his room and then dump my own suitcase in my room before giving you a tour around.”

“I wouldn’t mind a shower before the tour,” Tiny admitted. “It’s been a long day.”

Christian hesitated and then glanced at Marguerite in question.

“That’s fine,” she said.

Nodding, Christian turned back to the door. “Half an hour, then. I’ll collect you both in half an hour for the tour.”

“And the picture?” she asked.

Christian hesitated, and then shook his head. “I think it’s probably best if my father shows you that.”

Marguerite nodded in understanding.

“Come on, Tiny. I’ll show you to your room so you can get that shower. I wouldn’t mind one myself now.”

Marguerite followed them to the door and closed it behind them, then turned and paced restlessly across the room to peer into the en suite bathroom. It seemed obvious it was shared with the next room, the master bedroom she realized and turned away to pace to the windows. Tugging the curtain aside, she looked out on the dark yard. It was large, well kept, and surrounded by a high wall with wire running along the top that Julius hoped would keep out anyone who wished to control her.

Marguerite let the curtain drop back into place and began to pace.

She wanted to see the painting. She also wanted to call Martine and Lucian. She was restless, and impatient and wanted answers.

Mouth firming determinedly, she strode to the door of her room. Julius had said she could see the painting and make the calls when she got here and that was what she was going to do. Marguerite simply couldn’t wait.

The hall was empty when she slipped out of her room. At the stairs she paused and peered nervously down, not eager to run into Julius’s parents or even his sister on her own. She didn’t see anyone, however, so—straightening her shoulders—started silently down.

She reached the main floor, and went searching for the study, peering into each room as she passed. All of them were empty and then she heard voices coming from an open door at the end of the hall. They were growing louder with each word, telling her that someone was approaching the door.

A frisson of anxiety sliding up the back of her neck,
Marguerite opened the door she stood beside, the first she’d come across with the door closed and slid inside. She eased the door quietly closed, just catching a glimpse of Julius as he stepped out of the room at the end of the hall. She didn’t think he’d seen her, though, and breathed a little sigh of relief that she hadn’t been caught snooping by Julius and his parents as she released the doorknob.

Turning, Marguerite leaned against the wall to wait for the hall to be empty again, deciding that she’d head right back to her room. She didn’t mind Julius knowing she was poking around looking for the painting. She really didn’t think he’d be angry, but she was less than eager to have his mother or father know. Their opinion of her was bad enough alread—

Marguerite’s thoughts died as she glanced around the room and realized that it must be Julius’s study. She stared at the desk arranged in front of the windows across the room and let her breath out on a slow sigh, then forced herself to move away from the wall and walk to the desk.

Fourteen

“Oh, that’s a likely story!”

Julius and Marcus exchanged a speaking glance as Marzzia Notte threw her hands in the air and began to pace the library. They had known the woman would be difficult about this. Of his two parents, she was the most volatile. In contrast, Nicodemus Notte, Julius’s father, was always calm. His mother’s reaction was the reason he’d hoped to keep them out of the matter until he had everything resolved. It had never occurred to him that they’d show up at his home before he was ready for them. He’d only called his father, to ask if it was possible for a three-on-one to be done on an immortal and what the results might be. Unfortunately, his parents had been out when he’d called and Julius had been foolish enough to leave a
message that had piqued his father’s curiosity sufficiently that he’d come to see what it was about.

His mother clucked with disgust and said, “The truth is now that her precious Jean Claude is dead she has decided to make do with you.”

“He was not her precious Jean Claude. They were not even true lifemates,” Julius insisted, though he didn’t know why he bothered. He’d already told her this.

“How would you know?” she asked sharply, whirling to glare at him. “You cannot read her.”

“But I can,” Marcus said, drawing her furious gaze.

Nicodemus had been silent through all this, a stark contrast to his wife. Now he moved to Julius’s mother and slid an arm around her, drawing her to his side in a manner that seemed to calm her at once. Turning to Marcus then, he asked, “And you are positive her memories are missing?”

Marcus nodded.

“How can that be?” Marzzia asked with a frown and then suggested, “Are you sure she was not simply guarding her thoughts?”

“No.” Marcus shook his head. “I have read her repeatedly both in America and since we flew to England. In California, I even crept into her room while she was sleeping to read her while she could not put up any guards.”

Julius scowled at this news. Marcus had neglected to mention that fact. Before he could say anything, Marcus continued.

“Marguerite Argeneau has no memory of any of us or that time,” he added firmly. “Including the twenty years when Jean Claude was missing and presumed
dead. Which begs the question, why wipe her memory of the incident if she really did turn Julius away and return to Jean Claude?”

His mother was silent, her expression becoming troubled. It was Nicodemus who asked, “The memories are just not there? Or is it that she has other memories in their place?”

Eyes narrowing, Julius glanced to his father. The tone suggested he was considering something.

“She has other memories in their place, a vague recollection of traveling Europe with Jean Claude. Very vague,” Marcus added dryly. “More like a thought than experience.”

“Her mind has been wiped and new memories put in to replace them,” Nicodemus growled thoughtfully.

“But it would take a three-on-one,” Julius’s mother protested. “That is dangerous enough on a mortal, but on an immortal? No.” She shook her head. “It could have killed her. No immortal would agree to do that to another.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Nicodemus muttered with disgust.

Marzzia frowned at the possibility, but sighed. “It matters little. Not remembering what she did does not make up for the doing.”

“
If
she did it,” Julius pointed out quietly, and she looked at him with surprise. An expression that was quickly followed by pity.

“My son,” Marzzia said sadly. “I know you loved her, but she wasn’t who you believed her to be. She had all of us fooled. And while she may have been your true lifemate, you were not her only lifemate. She chose Jean Claude over you and then tried to kill
your child. He probably demanded it of her to prove her loyalty to him.”

“I told you, they weren’t true lifemates. Jean Claude Argeneau could read and control Marguerite from the day they met.”