Let the Night Begin (19 page)

“What did you ever see in me?” she asked as he turned off the taps and climbed into the bath with her. The tub was so full that some water sloshed over the edge onto the floor.

His arms hanging loosely over the sides, he regarded her through heavy-lidded eyes. “I ask myself that very same question almost daily.”

If there had been anything but humor and a touch of gentle reproach in his voice she might not have flushed with pleasure as she did. He spoke as though the answer should be obvious, with an intimacy that made her foolish heart kick against her ribs.

“You were unlike any woman I had ever known,” he amended, his tone more serious. “For the first time in my life I knew I had found someone who could make eternity fascinating every damn day.”

She blinked, her eyes inexplicably hot. “I couldn't possibly live up to such an expectation.”

“You haven't failed yet.”

“You haven't seen me for thirty years,” she replied dryly.

He smiled sadly. “Not a day went by that I didn't think about you.”

Olivia stared at him, helpless and so humbled she felt crushed by it. “You haven't even asked me why I did what I did last night.”

Reign's smile faded. “You wanted to meet the kidnappers—Dashbrooke—on your own.”

Her throat tight, Olivia dipped her head. “Yes.”

“Did he say anything about James?”

She closed her eyes against the anguish that washed over her. Dear James. Whatever would become of him now? Had her threats, her bravado, to Dashbrooke worked? Was her nephew even alive?

“Not much, no.”

“Don't fret, Liv. I'm sure James is safe.”

She opened her eyes and found him leaning toward her, so close she could see the striations of gray and silver in his eyes. “There's something I need to tell you. And after I do, you might decide to reevaluate whether or not I've failed your expectations.”

His head tilted slightly. Her gaze fell upon the strong column of his throat, her gums itching. She was hungry and he smelled so good. She was needy and he was so strong. She was guilty and he was her only salvation.

“What is it?”

“It's about James,” she rasped. “About the ransom Dashbrooke wanted.”

He watched her patiently, as he took a cloth and a bar of soap from the side of the tub and dipped both in the water, rubbing them together to form a thick lather. “Go on.”

Olivia drew a deep breath. Now was not the time for fear. She had gotten herself into this situation and now she had to own it. Regardless of what happened next, she could go on with her soul relatively clean. Unless, of course, Dashbrooke killed James, in which case she might as well be dead herself.

“He wanted you.” It all tumbled out after that first confession. “I didn't know it was him at the time, but he told me to go to you. I didn't want to, but I didn't know what they'd do to James, and I would have done anything to save him. I was supposed to bring you to Scotland and exchange you for him.”

He set the soap aside and swung his calm gaze to hers. “I know.”

It was as though the water had suddenly turned to ice, so great was her shock. “You know?”

Reign took one of her hands in his and lifted her arm so he could run the soapy cloth along the length of it, scrubbing away the blood and dirt of the night before. “Clarke told me when he arrived. Seems he took a little trip to Clovelly and found the original note in your room. You should always burn things like that, Liv.”

Her mouth opened, and hung like that for a moment. So many things she could say, so many questions she could ask. “You never said a word.”

He moved on to her other arm. “I wanted to see if you would tell me yourself.”

And now that she had, it was too late. “I drugged you.”

He nodded. “Put me out for a good twenty minutes. I tried to tell you that I knew, but then my tongue turned as heavy as a brick. That was a lot of laudanum you gave me.”

“Why aren't you angry?”

The slick cloth ran over her chest. She winced as it brushed the bruised flesh near her heart. His touch wasn't the least bit sensual, but her nipples tightened all the same.

His gaze flickered to her face before falling on the task of washing her. “You despised me enough that you would never come to me without good reason.”

He was right, but that didn't stop her from wallowing a little in her shame. Her thoughts of him had changed so much, so very quickly. “You don't hate me?”

He must have heard the catch in her voice, because he stopped what he was doing and looked at her—really looked at her—with an expression so sweet it robbed her of breath. “No. I understand you too well to ever hate you. You did what you thought you had to do. There is something I want to know, though.”

“What?” Anything. She'd tell him whatever he wanted to know, give him anything he wanted.

“Why didn't you do it?” He paused in his gentle scrubbing of her skin. “James could be safe right now.”

He didn't sound like he particularly believed that. To be honest, Olivia wasn't certain she did either. “Because…” She could not bring herself to tell him she loved him. It was foolish she knew, but she just couldn't say the words. Not yet. Nor would she be trite and go on about how he had been so good to her. “Because I couldn't betray you.”

From the way his lips parted, his breath hitching ever so slightly, she knew she might as well have made a declaration of love.

“So you chose me over the boy you consider your own son.”

When he put it like that…God, she should feel horrible, shouldn't she? “I only knew I couldn't betray you.” It was a whisper, but he heard it. How could he not?

There was a great upheaval of water as he came up on his knees. He captured her face in his hands and kissed her, with such desperate longing that Olivia's fingers tingled with it. She clutched at his shoulders as she opened her mouth to his, rejoicing as his tongue slid inside. And when he moved backward, she went with him, allowing him to stretch out his legs so that she could straddle his lap. He was iron-hard as the silky head of his erection pressed against her, igniting a need that went so far beyond the physical it was damn close to spiritual.

She couldn't do this. Not yet. Not without saying the words that needed to be spoken. Break
ing their kiss, she leaned back onto his thighs. “I'm so sorry,” she blurted. “Oh, Reign. I tried to tell myself it was the right thing. I tried not to care. I even told myself they wouldn't—couldn't—hurt you.”

“Shh.” Bending forward, he kissed her again, and then trailed feathery kisses over her damp eyelids and cheeks. “It's all right. Don't torture yourself anymore. I'd go willingly to Dashbrooke if you asked me to.”

Trembling with need and emotion, Olivia reached down beneath the water, shivering as wet heat lapped against her. She wrapped her fingers around the thick length of his cock and lowered herself onto it, sighing as it slowly filled her.

Reign was perfectly still as she settled onto his lap. He was buried to the hilt inside her, and when she moved, friction danced along that eager little ridge of flesh between the lips of her sex. She teased them both by being as still as possible.

Then he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to the spot where the bullet had entered her chest. It didn't hurt, but rather filled her with a strange, tight heat that seemed to push outward, too much for her body to contain.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her damp flesh. “I've never been that scared, not even when you left.”

Olivia churned her hips downward, engulfing the length of him with her body. She shivered in
his embrace. “It's all right,” she soothed. “I'm still here.”

Reign raised his face to hers, a vulnerability in his gaze that humbled her. “I prayed, Liv. I prayed to God to keep you with me.”

That heat that had filled her rushed upward and spilled out of her eyes, sending a river of scalding tears down both of her cheeks.

“Don't ever put me through that again.” The harshness of his demand was lessened by a hoarse tone. This time it was she who took his face in her hands. She kissed him with everything she felt as she moved her body up and down on his. Her movements were jerky and frantic, splashing water over the sides of the tub as she rode him, bringing them both to a swift and intense climax that had them both crying out into each other's mouths.

Afterward, Reign finished bathing her now exhausted body and then lifted her out of the tub. He dried her with soft towels and carried her to her bed in the adjoining room where soft, clean sheets engulfed them. He held her against him and offered her his throat in a gesture that was so simple and trusting that it brought fresh tears to her eyes once more.

She'd cried more since being reunited with him than she had in the last thirty years.

She pierced his flesh with her fangs, taking his strength into her, making it her own. He shuddered against her, slid into her once more and made love
to her tenderly, patiently, until she begged him to let her come. He didn't have to ask for her to look at him. She held his gaze easily, letting everything she felt shine in her eyes since she couldn't yet bring herself to say the words that would strip her so bare she might never recover.

Then, sated in so many ways, Olivia snuggled against her husband's chest and sighed in contentment. Without looking she knew the bruise on her chest had faded noticeably. She could feel Reign's blood coursing through her veins, healing her.

“Sleep for a bit,” he told her, wrapping a warm, heavy arm around her shoulders. “When you wake up I'll tell you how we're going to rescue James.”

She glanced up at him, dangerously close to tears again, damn it. “You're still going to help him?”

He looked surprised that she'd asked. “Of course. Regardless of what he might have gotten himself into, you don't think I'd leave our nephew in Dashbrooke's hands, do you?”

Our nephew
. If she hadn't realized she'd loved him every day for the last thirty years, she did now. “Thank you.”

He gave her a squeeze. “Thank me by letting me give you a proper honeymoon once this is all over.”

Olivia was becoming accustomed to this tightening in her throat and chest. “Why, Mr. Gavin. Are you asking me to be your wife?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Laughing, Olivia wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Yes.”

He kissed her then and for the first time in so many, many years, Olivia knew what it was to believe that everything was going to be all right. That there was such a thing as a happily ever after.

She drifted off to sleep holding on to that thought as tightly as she could.

“O
bviously we overestimated your aunt's attachment to you, James.”

Reggie Dashbrooke watched as his friend stiffened under Reggie's father's icy regard. Even bedridden from injuries, the old man was an intimidating bastard.

It felt good to call his father a bastard, even if only in his head.

“She'll come for me,” James said, his voice strained, but full of conviction. “She won't risk anything happening to me.”

The lot of them were gathered in his father's bedchamber, clustered at the foot of the bed like a group of naughty schoolboys brought before the headmaster's desk. Even Fitzy was there, recently returned from London.

George Haversham sneered at James. “She chose her husband over you—a bloke who she hasn't seen since before you were born.”

James's expression weighed heavily on Reggie's heart. He knew his father was up to no good. He
knew he planned to hurt his friends. Before last night Reggie thought he didn't have a choice but to play along, but now, seeing his father battered and bruised, he wondered if there wasn't a way out of this.

“They'll come.” Reggie surprised himself by speaking clearly and forcefully. His gaze fell on George, who actually flushed under it. “Reign will want blood for what happened to James's aunt.”

George's eyes widened. That terrified gaze shot to Fitzy. “What in the name of God will he do to us?”

“Make you gods,” Reggie reminded him. “Once we have the vampires in captivity, we'll be able to take their blood and become immortal ourselves.” He turned his head to the man on the bed. “Isn't that right, Father?”

Surprise flickered in the older Dashbrooke's eyes before a pleased smile curved his thin lips. He looked like a big fat lizard sunning himself against the pillows. “Quite right, my boy. Quite right.”

Liar
. At that moment, all the bitterness and inadequacy Reggie had ever felt under his father's icy stare came rushing to the surface, congealing into a hatred so strong, Reggie's heart pounded with it.

“But what about the news that she's dying?” Fitzy demanded. “Sorry, James, but if she dies, there's nothing to stop Reign from slaughtering us all—and to hell with making us vampires.”

“She's not going to die,” Reggie insisted and hoped to God it was true, not for his own sake, but for James's, and for George, who didn't seem to realize that his headaches and nosebleeds were symptoms of something that would cut his life short if he didn't become immortal.

James shot him a thankful glance and Reggie smiled at his friend. James might be a bit spoiled and self-serving, but he had always been good to Reggie. Had always been there to insist that Reggie was good enough, even though his father insisted that he was a disappointment.

Reggie wasn't about to sacrifice that for his father's approval. His father's approval didn't matter anymore. She didn't know it, but Olivia Gavin had become an inspiration to him. She had chosen to protect the man she loved rather than betray him.

Reggie wasn't going to betray his friend, and he didn't care if James blamed him for ruining his plans.

“We need to prepare,” he announced, ignoring how the others were watching him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright surprise at this new side of him. “They will spy upon us first, look for our weaknesses.” He glanced out the window at the slowly sinking sun. “They'll spy tonight. Attack tomorrow evening.”

“How do you know?” It was Fitz who asked, breaking his normal silence.

Reggie looked at him. “Because James's aunt will be even more worried about him now. And because they'll want to attack while Father is still weak.”

They were all watching him, but there was only one with whom Reggie concerned himself. He turned to his father, saw the tiny flicker of fear in the older man's gaze. He was playing with his ring, the symbol of the Order, that had always meant more to him than his own son.

Reggie almost laughed, but he contained it. “Don't worry, Father. I will take care of you.”

 

When Olivia woke for the second time that day, the sun had set and the wounds in her chest and shoulder had faded to yellowish green bruises. The spots were tender, the muscles stiff, but not so much that she was in pain. Her own exceptional healing, mixed with Reign's blood, had her almost completely healed.

Her husband was nowhere to be seen. She listened for the sound of his voice and heard him downstairs talking to Watson and Clarke. They were waiting on her.

She slipped out of bed and rang for Janet. As fast as she was, there were some things a woman could do faster with help—such as fasten buttons up the back of a gown, or fix her hair.

The maid arrived in a few minutes, carrying a bundle of clothes.

“Mr. Gavin thought you might want to wear these tonight, Missus.” She kept her expression neutral even though curiosity shone in her eyes.

The clothes Reign sent for her were a pair of loose black trousers with a matching shirt and a pair of sturdy boots.

“Thank you, Janet. I'll wear a demi-corset as well.” Her other corsets were simply too long to wear with the trousers. It was strange to not feel the snug pressure of the stays around her abdomen and hips—free, but strange. Thankfully she had two, because her other one—the one she wore to confront Dashbrooke—was ruined.

After she was dressed, Olivia sat before the mirror and let Janet brush the tangles from her hair. Then the young woman plaited and coiled the heavy mass until it was neatly secured high on the back of her head.

The whole process took longer than it had the night before without the maid's help, but Olivia felt better prepared this night—stronger and more at ease. Perhaps that sense of security came from within herself, or perhaps it came from knowing that whatever happened this night, Reign would be with her.

Dressed and ready for battle, she went downstairs to join her husband and his friends in Reign's study. They looked up as she walked in: Watson with an expression of curiosity, Clarke with barely veiled distrust, and Reign with such pleasure at the
sight of her that Olivia's knees trembled. He had given her that very same look the night they first met, when she threw propriety to the wind and took him to her home and into her bed. She hadn't regretted any of it. In fact, now that she knew all that she did, the only thing she regretted was running away from him.

He rose to his feet, towering over her and clad in head-to-toe-black as she was.

“Watson has given me the location of the house where we believe James is being kept. Shall we go?”

Just like that? God, he was
such
an amazing man. She looked between Watson and Clarke. “Just the two of us?”

Clarke looked away. He didn't like her and Olivia knew why. His loyalty to Reign was admirable, and she deserved his coldness. That didn't mean she intended to suffer under it for long.

“Tonight we're spying,” Reign replied as he came toward her. “Unless we're forced to act tonight, we'll return to the house tomorrow evening to rescue James.”

Of course. They would investigate the house, check for guards and weak points and then make their move. It made perfect sense, but the impulsive side of her nature—the side that was so afraid for James—chafed at it all the same.

Regardless of the turmoil inside her, she nodded in acquiescence. “I'm ready.”

Reign addressed his men. “You know what to do if the house is besieged.”

Watson nodded. “Aye.” Clarke bobbed his head as well, his cool gaze locked on Olivia. Yes, she was going to tire of that very quickly.

“Good.” Reign held out his hand to Olivia, but his attention was still on the other two. “If we're not back by dawn, send word to the Bucket of Blood and move on Dashbrooke immediately.” The men agreed and Reign guided her from the room.

“What are they supposed to do if the house is attacked?” she asked as they climbed the stairs to the attic. Better to think of that than what might become of them if they didn't return by dawn.

“Burn it,” Reign replied as they crossed to the exit to the roof. “Preferably with the invaders inside.”

“Oh.” Part of her was horrified, but another, more bloodthirsty part agreed with the plan. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. “Do you think there's much chance of that happening?”

“No. They want us to come to them. It would be easier for them that way.”

“Aren't we giving them exactly what they want?” She wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid of anything with Reign beside her—except perhaps of losing him.

He flashed a grin in the darkness as they walked out into the night. “Only if they catch us.”

Olivia returned the grin. “Which they won't.”
It was easy to share his bravado and draw strength from it.

They vaulted off the roof together, letting the night give them wings. The first time she had flown had been by accident when she had tried to kill herself by jumping off the top of the clock tower at Westminster, the one that housed the bell called Big Ben. It had been the same night she'd accidentally killed a person while feeding. She had drifted through the night sky sobbing, feeling as though all of her choices had been taken from her.

They hadn't been, of course. But she had certainly made some bad ones over the years. She glanced at the man beside her. He was not one of them.

They flew east out of Edinburgh, past the outskirts of the city and its lights and smells, to a small, rural area slightly southwest of Haddington township.

The house stood by itself, fenced in by trees and other foliage planted for privacy as well as decoration. It was a pretty, modest country home that didn't look at all like the lair of a villain.

“Do you see any guards?” Reign asked as they drew closer.

“In the drive,” she replied, spotting a shadow moving across the front of the house. “You?”

“I think the back is clear. They're probably patrolling.” He reached out for her hand, and when she took it, led her down toward the dark garden behind the house.

“I don't smell any dogs,” she whispered when they touched down on the well-manicured lawn. They were partially hidden by a hedge—not that anyone other than another vampire or perhaps a cat might see them.

“Dashbrooke doesn't strike me as the type to have pets,” Reign replied, his gaze fastened on the guard now circling the house. “He's too much of an animal himself.”

Once the guard continued on his tour, she and Reign raced across the grass to the dense, black shadows cast by the manor. They crouched below a window—one of the few that glowed from light within.

“Look in,” Reign whispered near her ear, his hot breath on her skin making her shiver. “Is James in there?”

Slowly, Olivia straightened as much as she dared and peered inside the window. There were three young men sitting at a table drinking ale and sharing a loaf of bread with cheese. One of the boys she recognized as George Haversham, who was laughing at something one of his companions said.

And the companion who had spoken with such wit was James.

“He's there,” she whispered, jerking away from the window and pressing her back against the smooth stone of the outside wall. Relief, coupled with confusion coursed through her veins.

“Why is he sitting there laughing with his friends when he's supposed to be a prisoner?” She wondered aloud. She forced herself to meet Reign's bright gaze. “George Haversham isn't being kept against his will, we know that. And if Haversham is one of James's captors, why is he sitting there laughing with him?”

Reign glanced through the window, then back at her. His expression was sympathetic, but not pitying. “Because he's not a prisoner, Liv.”

Which meant that James played a willing part in all of this. That he had helped stage his own kidnapping—put her through all that worry and terror.

“No,” she murmured, feeling strangely calm. “It can't be.”

“Maybe he's been kept here under false pretenses,” Reign suggested, but she could tell he didn't believe that. “There's no knowing what lies Dashbrooke might have told him.”

Yes, that had to be it. James might be a foolish boy, but he would never betray her. Would he? He just might, if he thought the reward great enough. If Dashbrooke had somehow toyed with his mind.

Reign's fingers closed around her arm, the warmth of them snapping her out of her thoughts and back to the moment. “Save your questions for after we save him. Right now, I need your mind clear.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He released her arm, but not before giving her a hard, fast kiss on the mouth. “That's my girl.”

Before the guard circled around again, they made the leap to the gabled roof. One look inside one of the dormer windows confirmed that the attic was used for storage and not a bedroom. It would be easy to break the latch on one of them—or simply break the glass if necessary—and slip inside.

“Why not the cellar?” Olivia asked. “Wouldn't that be easier?” They could go in through the kitchen.

“Too much chance of running into a servant,” Reign whispered. “Or several. I'd rather as few innocents are hurt as possible.”

She hadn't thought of that. “I'm not much for strategy, am I?”

He smiled. “You do well enough. You managed to best me on several occasions.”

Olivia grinned as well. “But you're easy.”

Reign shot her a look that told her she'd pay for that remark later—in all kinds of deliciously sensual ways.

This was what she had walked out on thirty years ago. If only she let him explain, but she'd been so scared she ran away—scared of what she was. Scared of forever.

She wasn't scared anymore.

After another survey of the grounds and peeking in a few more windows, they had a good idea of how best to approach the house the next night,
where to enter and how many guards they would likely have to face.