Let the Night Begin (8 page)

Janet was watching her with a wide grin. “It's a lovely room, ma'am, if you don't mind me sayin' so. The loveliest in the whole house.” Her smile faded just a bit. “Apparently the former Mr. Gavin—this one's da—had it made up special for his new bride thirty years ago, but she died before she could enjoy it.”

“How…tragic.” Olivia's mouth was suddenly very dry. Died? He had told the servants that she
died
?

“Aye, but good now that there's someone here to finally appreciate it.” The girl flashed a broad grin that exposed healthy if not slightly crooked teeth. “If you don't mind me sayin', ma'am, it's awfully good to have you here.”

“Thank you,” Olivia replied softly. Then with more volume, “What happened to this other Mrs. Gavin?”

The maid shrugged as she added yet another wrinkled gown to a pile—presumably for pressing. “I'm not rightfully sure. It was well before my time, but a couple of the old servants say that the
former master was so overcome by grief that he shut himself up in this room for a month and refused to leave.”

“You don't believe that, do you?” It was too fantastical—too preposterous—to think that Reign would do that, especially when all she had done was leave him.

Janet moved on to tucking undergarments away in the many drawers of the large cream and gilt dresser. “You may think me a foolish romantic, ma'am, but I do believe it. I like the notion of a man being so distraught over the loss of the woman he loves that he locks himself in the room he made for her just so he can feel close to her again.”

Olivia closed her eyes, her chest so tight she could scarce draw breath. She liked that idea as well. What she didn't like was knowing that Reign had done that for her. It had to be just a story. Exaggeration and nothing more.

But it fit the passionate man she had fallen in love with.

“Do you need help preparing for bed, ma'am?”

Bed. Dawn was still a few hours away, but it was obvious that this little girl had no idea that the former Mr. and Mrs. Gavin were now the present Mr. and Mrs. Gavin, else she'd know there was no way Olivia could be dead. And that meant that she didn't know that Olivia and Reign were vampires.

So Olivia needed to behave as humanly as possible around her new maid.

“Yes.” She rose to her feet. “If you would help me out of my gown I can take care of the rest.”

Janet complied with another toothy grin. “The housekeeper couldn't tell me what hours you like to keep, ma'am. Town or country?”

Oh God, this little chit expected her to get up during the day! Obviously Reign must have preparations in place, heavy drapes in rooms used during the day to protect them.

“Town,” she replied, as the girl drew the gown—it smelled of Reign—over her head. “I'm a bit of a night owl, I'm afraid. And quite used to looking after myself. I'll ring when I need you.” Quite used to looking after herself indeed, in so many ways since being on her own.

Janet dipped a curtsy. “As you wish. If that's all, I'll say good night.”

Olivia nodded and the maid gathered up her laundry and gowns to be pressed. How the little twig of a girl managed to carry the heavy load, Olivia had no idea.

Alone, she stripped off the remainder of her clothing and set her underclothes aside for the laundry. She should have had Janet help with her corset as Reign had laced her in quite snugly. It took some struggling, but she managed to reach around her and loosen the ties, which made it easier to remove. Once she had the undergarment off, she put it in the drawer, then she donned a silky slip of a nightdress, perfect for this warm weather, and began
plucking the pins from her hair. She was brushing the heavy mass, and cursing the tangles in it, when there came a knock on the door.

She didn't have time to ask who it was before the door opened and Reign strolled in.

Olivia paused in her brushing. “Just walk right in, why don't you.” She didn't know what angered her more, that he didn't seem the least bit contrite or that her heart danced at the sight of him.

“My house,” he replied, raking her with an indolent gaze.

She was far too old to be embarrassed, especially when he had seen her naked just hours earlier, but the urge to cross her arms over her chest was there all the same. She put her hands on her hips and straightened her shoulders instead. If he wanted to look, she'd give him a little taut silk over nipples to stare at.

“Mine too, according to you.”

He jerked his shoulders in an abrupt shrug. With an amused glint, his gaze lifted from her chest to her face. “Then you can walk into my bedroom whenever you wish as well.”

His bedroom. They had separate rooms, then? Why was that little tidbit almost as disappointing as it was pleasing?

“Was there something you wanted, Reign?” She tried to sound haughty, but it came out rather biting instead.

He arched a brow at her tone, but otherwise ig
nored her reaction to him—another effort by him that she found both endearing and maddening.

He held up a crystal decanter filled with a rich, red liquid and two goblets that she hadn't noticed him carrying until now. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Olivia's throat tightened, as did her brow. “Thank you.”

Reign grinned rakishly, a bright light in his pale gaze. “Bet you damn near choked on that.”

Whatever offense she might have felt quickly gave way to laughter. He was right, and she appreciated that he had the balls to crow about it—it made accepting whatever gestures he offered a little easier.

They shared a smile, the poignancy of which was not lost on Olivia. She didn't want to smile with him, didn't want to enjoy his company because she wanted to hang on to her hate. It made everything else easier.

She gestured to the pale green armchairs in front of the fireplace. It was such a warm night no fire had been lit, so they would be comfortable there.

Reign sat, set the decanter and goblets on the small marble-topped table between them and proceeded to pour them each a glass. The warm, coppery and slightly sweet scent of fresh blood teased Olivia's nostrils and sent a rush of saliva to her mouth. She slid into the chair across from him and
accepted the goblet he gave her. The cut crystal was cool against her palm.

He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

Olivia mirrored his action and they both took a long swallow. No one had ever witnessed her drinking blood before, until now. It had always been such a private thing to her, and now here she was sharing it with Reign as though they were doing nothing more than having a glass of wine before bed.

They used to have wine all the time. They'd sit and talk—very much like they were now—and they'd share a bottle of Chianti. It usually took no more than three glasses for her to grow restless with conversation and throw herself on him like a cheap whore.

God, she had missed that. Missed feeling dizzy and wonderful after a small amount of wine and missed tossing herself at him and having him take full advantage of her drunkenness.

“I didn't tell you before we left,” he began, not quite meeting her gaze, “Father Abberley…he's dead.”

Anguish, guilt, anger—these emotions tangled together to vie for dominance as they swirled sickeningly in Olivia's stomach. “God rest his soul.”

Reign didn't acknowledge her little benediction. “It's not your fault. You know that, don't you?”

She could argue, blame herself, but that only went so far. She felt awful that Father Abberley
had been a victim of a scheme that involved her and James, and even Reign. But she could not have known that the old priest would have been killed or even injured because of a conversation with her.

“I know,” she answered honestly. “But I regret it all the same.”

He nodded, and a few moments of silence passed before he moved on to the situation at hand. “I sent word ahead of us to several acquaintances that we would be arriving today,” Reign told her, wiping his mouth with the pad of his thumb. “As I predicted, we've received a handful of invitations already, one of which is for a party Friday night. If you want to ask questions about James, that would be a good place to start.”

“A party?” Those were the only words that seemed to make it past the disorientation that clouded her brain.

“Sir Robert Anderson and his wife are the hosts. Their gatherings always draw a number of guests. Dashbrooke and his crowd would definitely be on the list. I'm sure someone there will have seen James before his disappearance, if he had been out in society at all.”

Olivia stared at him, uncertain of what to do, or say or even think. When she had approached him with the appeal for help, it had been little more than a ruse, a way to persuade him to accompany her. She hadn't expected him to actually act upon it, even though he had promised he would. And
now he had them invited to a party where the man who had brought James to Scotland might arrive.

It was all too much. Too much for her guilt-addled mind to accept. “Why are you being so nice?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Why would you go to such measures for…for me?”

Reign's expression was sympathetic, a fact that fed the anger she was trying so desperately to hang on to. “You're my wife.”

“Stop saying that!” The blood sloshed in her glass, coming dangerously close to spilling over the sides. “I was your wife for one night, hardly enough to warrant such devotion!”

“You were my lover for months before that,” he reminded her, as though she needed reminding of those lovely nights. “And I've never claimed to be devoted.”

No, he hadn't. But he had told her he loved her and she believed it. “Then why hold my comfort or my feelings in such high regard? Are you trying to make me regret my decision? Am I to be made to feel as though I was the one in the wrong?”

His smoky gaze bore into hers, suddenly as sharp as a hawk's. “Are you in the wrong?”

“No, damn it!” She would never admit to such a thing. She had been right then and she was right now. She was doing what she had to do, and she was not going to apologize for it! Not when she had yet to hear one word of remorse from his lips.

“Then you have no reason to feel any guilt.”

“If either of us should feel guilty, it is
you
.” Pain. Anger. Loss. They were combining inside her to form a dangerous chemistry. “I loved you. I trusted you, and you ruined that.”

“Liv…”

She would not hear it. Her glass hit the table with a loud thud. “You raped me, Reign! For all intents and purposes, that's what you did when you bit me without my permission.”

On their wedding night, no less. He had sank his fangs into her and when she struggled and pleaded for him to stop, he held her tighter. Olivia's hand went to her throat at the memory of the pain as he tore into her, drinking from the wound even as she sobbed in agony. And then, he had made her drink from a slash in his wrist, completing her transformation.

A transformation she would have made not only for him, but for herself as well, if he had only given her time. She would have had time to grow accustomed to the idea, to ask her questions and have some power over her own destiny.

If he had given her the choice.

“It was my decision,” she ground out, clenching her jaw to fight back the tears of rage and betrayal as all the feelings came flooding to the surface once more. “It was
mine
, and you took it!”

Anguish played across the rugged plains and contours of his face, darkened his eyes and thinned his mouth. “I'm sorry.”

Oh, it was like a kick to the chest, those simple words. They were too late. Much too late. She made herself believe that even as her traitorous heart burst with hope and longing.

“I needed your apology thirty years ago,” she rasped coldly. “It's no good to me now.” It was a lie and she knew it. Perhaps he did too.

“You won't even try to forgive me will you?”

The pain in his face was too naked and she looked away. “I don't know if I can.”

He didn't try to touch her. He stayed as still as a statue, his heart beat low and calm while hers was practically human in its thumping. “Has your life been so awful? Has being a vampire been such a terrible thing?”

She thought about all the friends she had lost, and the family too. She thought about Rosemary and James, and she thought about all the days she had spent alone in her bed, knowing that she would spend the next day alone there as well. The dark-haired young men she had taken some comfort from, and she thought about the man sitting across from her, who had haunted her every minute of those three decades.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it has.”

Reign paled. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he ran his hand over his face. “It might not have been, had you stayed and allowed me to make amends, which might have done both of us some good.”

There was truth in his words and it stung. Maybe she could have forgiven him if she had stayed and let him try to make it right. But how could he have ever accomplished such a feat? “If you wanted to make amends so badly, why did you never try before this?”

“I didn't think you would listen.” His thick dark brows drew together. “I'm not so sure you're listening now.”

She glared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He rose to his feet, towering over her like some dark angel. She wasn't afraid. In fact, part of her wanted him to grip her by the arms and haul her to her feet as well. She wanted his anger to fuel her own. She wanted to fight him, physically and emotionally and then she wanted him inside her until they were too exhausted to think let alone fight.

“You are my wife, Liv. That means something to me, regardless of what it means to you.”

Why did his words sound like a challenge? Or even an ultimatum?

He continued, “I'm tired of feeling guilty for what cannot be undone. I agreed to help you because I thought it might help mend things between us, that by offering you my trust I might lay claim to yours once more.”