Let the Night Begin (12 page)

“We can't live on what-ifs, Reign,” she murmured, rising to her feet. “I've spent a long time learning that. I'm going to bed.”

On his knees, Reign watched her leave. He stayed like that for some time before standing. He turned off the light and returned to his room, closing the French doors and the heavy drapes over
top of them just as the first gray light of dawn appeared on the horizon.

Naked, he crawled into bed once more and in the darkness of his room, he stared at the ceiling and contemplated what was perhaps the biggest difference between him and Olivia. He didn't live on what-ifs.

He lived
for
them.

 

Would tonight be the night she had to betray her husband?

Not for the first time that evening, as she prepared for the party the kidnappers demanded she attend, Olivia ruminated over that very question. If James's abductors chose this night to demand their ransom, she would hand Reign over and walk away. She would. She had to.

And yet, she had dressed for Reign's approval and his alone. Her gown—gold embroidered gauze over ivory satin—had large silk flowers on the left shoulder of the tiny puffed sleeve, that trailed along the low neckline to just above her left breast. Matching flowers decorated the hem and train. Her gloves were the same delicate shade of ivory, reaching past her elbows. Gold slippers with low, curved heels, and pearl inlaid buckles adorned her feet.

She had even had Janet style her hair in the way that Reign preferred, a mass of artfully arranged curls on top of her head that allowed a few soft
tendrils to curl around her cheeks. Not the most fashionable of looks, perhaps, but flattering.

And for what purpose, she asked herself. So she could be a pretty Judas?

God, she hoped the kidnappers did want to make the exchange this night. Then she could take James home and resume her life.

And hope that Reign survived whatever they did to him, because living with the guilt of his death might prove too much—even for her. Just when he did something crass or bullyish and she thought she could hang on to her bitterness and hatred, he did something unexpected, something sweet that made him strangely vulnerable.

He didn't humiliate her when they had sex, but he humiliated her by rejecting her when she practically offered herself up like a bitch in heat. He insinuated that James might have played a part in his own abduction, as if James would ever do such a thing to her. And then he expressed such sincere regret for having brought her over as he had. If he would just stop being so unpredictable this would be so much easier.

God, the horror of when she killed her first victim—how hollow it had left her. How could he take that away with an apology? But he had taken it away—or at least diminished it. Those days of hiding from the awful sun in crypts and cellars didn't seem so awful now. Feeding on drunken men—some clean, some not—didn't seem as horri
ble as she had once thought either. Only the loneliness of that existence continued to haunt her. Until she reunited with Rosemary and became part of a family again. Rosemary had accepted her for what she was, and entrusted the welfare of her only son to her. That boy, that baby, was what kept Olivia from walking out into the first sunrise she found after the death of her sister.

James had given her hope. “You're going to wear a trench in the marble.”

Olivia lurched to a stop. She hadn't realized she'd been pacing until that exact second. She looked up, and saw Reign regarding her with blatant amusement as he came down the stairs with the lazy gait of an arrogant male.

He was beautiful as usual. Black and white were perfect colors for him, bringing out the tan of his skin, the paleness of his eyes and the richness of his thick, wavy hair. His face would never be pretty, but that was only because it was such a patently male face. That little smile of his, the one that crinkled the skin around his eyes, was enough to bring even the most hardened of women to her knees. Tonight, it made that hardened woman want to beg for forgiveness while she was down there.

“I had to amuse myself somehow while you made me wait,” she replied with more humor than she felt. “Pacing seemed the logical choice.”

His smile grew sympathetic. Of course he saw
through her façade to the fear and worry beneath. Thank God, he didn't see the deception as well. “As long as we do what they tell us, James is safe, Liv. You have to believe that.”

She nodded—too hard. “I know. I'm just anxious for this to be over.”

“Patience is your best weapon.”

A tiny bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat. “Oh, God.”

He came to her then, as he stepped off the last stair. It was all she could do not to push him away. Comfort? The last thing she wanted was his comfort.

“They will be watching tonight,” he surmised, brushing his palms lightly down her arms. “Don't let them see your fear. Think of James.”

“You are right.” It was not a difficult acknowledgment, and the low rumble of his voice took much of the tension from her. All she had to do was concentrate on James and everything else paled in comparison. She would do whatever she had to do to get her nephew back, and for that reason she had to be strong.

“That's my girl. Now, where's your wrap?”

She retrieved the prettily embroidered ivory shawl from the table where she had set it and stood stiff, and close to coming out of her skin, as he draped it over her shoulders.

“It will all be over soon,” he told her, his breath warm against her ear. “I promise.”

Olivia closed her eyes. She could do this. She had to.

It was a half-hour trip to the Dunlop's home. They shared a bottle of blood in the carriage to dull any hunger that might arise from being in the company of a group of humans, and made little conversation. Reign didn't seem any more eager to talk than she was, and for that Olivia was grateful. The last few nights they had both said more than enough—more than either of them should have.

How easy it was to fall into intimacy with the man who had put her life on this path. And far too easy to forget that if not for him, James wouldn't be in trouble in the first place. This was all his fault and he deserved everything he got.

And so did she.

“You look beautiful,” he commented, bringing a lengthy silence to an end. “I should have told you earlier.”

She shrugged, trying to ignore the thrill of pleasure his words wrought. “You don't have to tell me at all.”

He didn't seem the least bit offended by her snotty tone. In fact, he grinned at it. “I wanted to tell you before we left, but you were gazing at me with such adoration I couldn't think straight.”

“I was not.” But her words had no effect as he laughed. As much as she wanted to hit him, she wanted to thank him for irking her. She preferred annoyance to guilt anytime.

He leaned back against the seat, lazily sprawled like a sultan in the carriage light. The very picture of masculine indolence. “I took it as a compliment, Liv. As should you.”

“I should be flattered that you believe I adore you?” Any cattier and she'd sprout whiskers.

All humor disappeared from his mouth and eyes. “That I was so dumbstruck by your beauty that I couldn't put it into words. Even now I cannot, and I've had this long to think upon it.”

Oh
. Olivia's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Fortunately, the carriage slowed and gently lurched to a stop, effectively saving her from trying to respond. And Reign, to his credit, did not mention it again.

Hiram and Rosamund Dunlop greeted them immediately after they were announced to the other guests assembled in a pretty little blue parlor. Hiram was a tall, stocky man with red hair and a clipped beard. Rosamund was almost as tall with hair that was as black as pitch and bright green eyes. Both of them were fair with rosy cheeks and bold, jovial personalities. Olivia liked them instantly. Rosamund reminded her of her own mother, who had been a little boisterous in life. She'd also had a temper that would frighten Lucifer himself.

Sir Robert Anderson and his wife Heather were in attendance and Olivia found herself being drawn into conversation despite her nervousness about the evening. Through the baronet and his
wife, and their hosts, she met several other guests, all of whom seemed far too pleasant and open to be involved in James's kidnapping.

“We're so delighted that you accepted our invitation,” Mrs. Dunlop gushed, handing Olivia a glass of wine. “When we didn't hear immediately, we thought you would not be able to join us, and then poof! There was your reply just in the nick of time.”

Olivia forced a smile. “Thank you for inviting us.” Obviously the kidnappers had intercepted the invitation. Was it someone in the Dunlops' employ, or had they watched for the post to be delivered to Reign's town house and nabbed it there? Whichever it was, they were arrogant. And she was going to beat them within an inch of their lives if she ever found them.

The rest of the evening followed without incident. Olivia kept watching, her gaze darting from guest to guest, servant to servant. Her attention was rarely held by one person for long, but she managed to participate in some conversation and somehow avoided making a fool of herself.

Reign, she noted, was much more subtle in his surveillance. He could seemingly keep track of all conversation while still keeping an eagle eye on everyone who came and went during the course of the evening.

Nothing happened. No one looked at her with a meaningful gaze. No one made any cryptic or
thinly veiled remarks. In fact, it would have been a perfectly pleasant evening were she not constantly waiting for
something
.

Dessert followed the meal, and then the ladies left the men to their port and took tea in the parlor. Olivia would rather have had the port. Once the men joined them, several of the ladies indulged in a little sherry. It did nothing to dull the rawness of her nerves.

They stayed until the rest of the guests began to leave. In fact they were the last to leave, but only by a few moments, after it became clear that neither their hosts nor anyone else had any information to offer them. Hiram and Rosamund were obviously tired and ready to retire for the evening. Olivia and Reign had no choice but to take their leave.

“It was so delightful to meet you!” Rosamund punctuated the announcement with a brisk, tight hug that might have bruised the ribs of a lesser woman. “Please come visit with us again.”

Olivia hated to lie, but she replied that she would gladly return in the near future. She would never return here. Even when she found James, she could never return to Edinburgh, coward that she was.

If
she found James. Her anger at his abduction was rapidly turning into stark terror. They had come to the party as instructed. Now what?

“What happened?” she demanded as they stepped outside into the balmy night to wait for their carriage to pull up. She spoke softly so none
of the others could hear, but it was very difficult to keep the despair from her voice. “Did they change their minds?”

She snuck a glance at Reign. His mouth was grim, the spot between his dark brows furrowed. “I don't know.”

“Was it all a ruse? Did I do something wrong? Is James dead?” Her voice might be low, but the agitation in it wasn't.

Reign took her by the arm and guided her to the far end of the portico. No one seemed to notice their odd behavior.

“You did nothing.” As always, his mellow voice soothed her. “Their plans might have been thwarted, or my presence might have kept them from getting close to you.”

There was concern—real concern—in his countenance. Instead of worrying that he was right, Olivia instead wanted to ease his mind. “No, they would have found a way to get to me. Either you are right and their plans were thwarted by an outside force, or the bastards are having a bit of fun at our expense.”

At James's expense.

Their carriage pulled up behind one belonging to Sir Robert and Lady Anderson. Reign led her down the steps toward it, calling out their farewells to their hosts and the few other guests that were waiting for their conveyances.

“Pardon me, sir?” The driver—whose name
Olivia did not know, but he was the same man who drove them every evening—beckoned for Reign to approach.

“What is it?” Reign asked. Olivia chose to watch the exchange rather than climb into the carriage.

The driver leaned down. “I joined some of the other lads belowstairs for some supper. When I come back to the stables, I found this—” he held out an envelope “—on me bench. It has Mrs. Gavin's name on it.”

Olivia's chest pinched in anticipation, but she managed to keep silent, remembering earlier Reign's supposition that the kidnappers would no doubt be watching her. The pointed glance he slid in her direction was proof that he was thinking the same thing.

“You were right to give it to us now,” Reign informed the man, who couldn't have very well come into the party looking for them. “Thank you.”

He turned toward her and Olivia finally took the footman's hand and stepped up into the carriage. Reign followed. Once the door was shut behind them, and the carriage in motion, he gave her the envelope. As commanding as he could be, he wasn't so heavy-handed as to open something meant for her.

Olivia held the envelope in her lap and stared at it. It was roughly the same size as the one she had received containing the invitation to the dinner. Was it a demand to attend yet another party?

“Are we to be led on a merry goose chase?” She raised her gaze to Reign's. “Why have us come all this way just to leave this in the carriage?”

Reign's face was impassive, but anger burned in the sooty-ringed pale depths of his gaze. “Because they wanted you to fret and worry all evening.”

“Bastards.”

“Yes. They like feeling as though they have power over you.”