My Lord Immortality (7 page)
Read My Lord Immortality Online
Authors: Alexandra Ivy
Sebastian could not find the humor in his situation. Indeed, he found it all utterly frustrating.
“Oh, I have proved to be quite a Guardian,” he said dryly, his fingers still pressed to the slowly healing wound upon his temple. “I cannot even protect myself.”
Nefri clicked her tongue. “Do not blame yourself. The vampire you battled tonight possessed great powers. Powers perhaps even greater than my own.”
Sebastian could not halt a small shiver as he recalled the fierce attack. There had been something unnerving in the cunning manner he had been lured into the stables and the savagery of the villain. There was also a lingering puzzlement as to the motive for the attack.
Had it simply been designed to allow Drake to be alone with Amelia?
Or had it been meant to put a permanent end to him? And if so, why had the vampire not finished the task? If he were willing to use forbidden powers, he could have destroyed him. Or placed him under a spell that would have held him captive for an eternity.
“But who?” he demanded in harsh tones. “And why attack me?”
Nefri's countenance hardened with a bleak expression. “Those are questions that I fear will be answered soon enough.”
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After yet another restless night, Amelia rose and attired herself in a muslin gown the soft shade of daffodil. She even took extra care with the raven curls that she piled atop her head, leaving a handful to softly frame her face.
A glance in the mirror assured her that only close scrutiny would reveal the shadows that darkened her eyes and the faint hint of strain upon her features. It was important that she hide her prickling sense of unease. She did not want William or Mrs. Benson fretting needlessly. Having to devote her days to comforting and reassuring them was an additional burden she did not desire.
Smothering a sigh, she ran her hands over the soft muslin of her skirt and squared her shoulders. She was already late for breakfast. If she did not show herself downstairs soon, Mrs. Benson would be in search of her. The mere thought of her squawking was enough to make her teeth clench.
With a measured step she left the peace of her chambers and made her way to the lower floor. She discovered a portion of her lingering alarm fading beneath the bright summer sunlight that tumbled through the wide windows. Mrs. Benson had even filled the rooms with freshly cut flowers that managed to mask the less pleasant aromas that drifted from the streets.
Entering the small breakfast room, she was surprised to discover that William had already eaten his meal and departed. As a rule he remained, awaiting her arrival, regardless of how late she might be.
Her brows pulled together in concern. Surely he had not left the houseânot after her stern lectures.
Standing in the center of the room, Amelia more sensed than heard someone enter behind her and she swiftly turned to find her housekeeper bustling in with a tray to clear the table.
“Oh, Mrs. Benson, have you seen William?” she demanded, before she could stop the words.
Rather than responding with her usual fuss, Mrs. Benson merely smiled with a surprising satisfaction.
“Yes, he is in the front salon with his visitor.”
Amelia blinked in surprise. “A visitor?”
“A Mr. St. Ives. William appeared right pleased to have him call. A nice change from moping about with his long face.”
Sebastian.
Suddenly Amelia was aware of that familiar tingle that was racing through her blood. Of course. If not for her distraction, she would have already known that he was near. Perhaps a ridiculous fancy, but one she could not dismiss.
There were times when he rose to mind that she could almost believe that she could actually feel his thoughts and emotions.
Ridiculous, indeed.
“Thank you,” she murmured, already moving toward the door. She needed to see Sebastian. She wanted to ensure that her hasty words of yesterday had not made him utterly despise her.
“I'll be having a nice tea tray prepared in a few moments,” Mrs. Benson called after her, in a considerably happier frame of mind than she had been in some days. Amelia could only presume the poor woman had wearied of merely having William and herself as distractions. Any guest would be a blessing.
Resisting the urge to rush down the hall to the front parlor, Amelia instead kept a stately pace and managed to enter the room with every semblance of composure.
That did not mean her heart did not instinctively leap at the sight of his striking features and the bronzed hair that had been left unbound to fall against his shoulders. Or that a disturbing heat did not pool in the pit of her stomach as his silver gaze ran an appreciative gaze over her slender form. Only that she managed to hide her fierce reaction with at least a resemblance of equanimity.
The moment she stepped through the open door, Sebastian was swiftly at her side, a rather guarded expression on his face.
“Good morning, Amelia.”
She smiled warmly, simply happy to have him near. “Mr. St. Ives.”
“Please, I prefer Sebastian.”
The behavior that her mother had drilled into her for years insisted that such intimacy was improper, but Amelia gave a mental shrug. She had abandoned propriety the moment she had left her parents' home. She would always consider herself a lady, but the binding strictures that had so consumed her life in society now seemed more than a little ridiculous.
“Very well, Sebastian.”
His slow, heart-stopping smile was reward enough for her weakness, and Amelia made no protest as he reached out to gently grasp her hand in his own. The dangerous sensations tingling through her body were a worry for later.
“I brought a few guests with me. I hope you do not mind?”
“Guests?” She lifted her brow in surprise.
“Very important guests.” Slowly shifting his body, he allowed Amelia to catch sight of William happily settled upon the window seat with six black kittens curled upon his lap. Her smile abruptly widened at the sight of William's unabashed pleasure.
“Oh, bless you. William has been quite anxious to know that the kittens are well. You have greatly eased his mind.”
“I feared that he might be fretting,” he admitted softly.
Her gaze returned to meet his watchful look. “It was kind of you to go to such an effort.”
He wrinkled his nose at her sincere gratitude. “It was no effort. I simply scooped the box from the kitchen floor.”
Amelia gave a choked laugh, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Never say that you have taken the kittens into your home?”
His own lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “Much over my housekeeper's protests, although I have noted she devotes considerably more effort to seeing to the comfort of those creatures than she does to my own. I am commanded to return them within the hour for their feeding.”
“She sounds a lovely woman.”
Sebastian gave a teasing frown. “Fah. She is a frightening old tartar who bullies me unmercifully.”
Impressed far more at his kindness toward her brother than any lavish gift he might have brought for her, Amelia reached out to lightly touch his arm.
“I . . .” Her words of gratitude failed as her gaze moved over the oddly familiar features and abruptly caught sight of a half-healed cut upon his temple. There was also the unmistakable darkening of fading bruises upon his white skin. “You have been injured.”
She felt him stiffen beneath her fingers before forcing a wry smile to his lips.
“It is nothing.”
Her heart clenched fiercely. The thought of him being hurt brought her physical pain. As if she had taken the blows herself.
“What occurred?”
“A brief altercation in the lane.”
“With whom?”
His lips twisted wryly. “I fear I did not take the time to note his identity.”
Her fingers unconsciously tightened upon his arm. “Could it have been the murderer?”
“I think not,” he retorted, his tones oddly clipped.
Her brows drew together. “How can you be certain?”
He breathed out a harsh sigh. “Can you not simply accept my word?”
Amelia began to bristle at his chiding words, only to realize that she was once again being unreasonable. The poor man was still healing from his wounds, and rather than offering him sympathy, she was bullying him with her suspicions.
“Yes, of course,” she said with a regretful smile. “Forgive me.”
His countenance swiftly softened at her apology, his hand reaching up to cover the fingers that still lay upon his arm.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
“But there is,” she insisted, determined to have the air cleared between them. “I have not been entirely myself lately and I fear that my concerns have made me strike out at even those who have shown me only kindness.”
He stepped closer, easily trapping her in the molten silver of his eyes. “If we are confessing, then I suppose I must also admit that I can at times be unfortunately highhanded. It was not my intent to drive you away.”
Her heart flip-flopped as she felt the warmth feather over her skin. Yes, he could be highhanded, but at the moment she thought she could forgive him anything as long as he promised to continue gazing at her in precisely that manner.
With an effort she attempted to collect her disappearing wits. She could not continue to simply gape at him like a looby.
“Well, now that we have that out of the way, I wish to know if you have been injured elsewhere.”
“I am well.” A rather strange glint of humor simmered in his eyes. “I heal remarkably quickly.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I hope that your attacker was suitably punished?”
His rueful chuckle tingled down her spine. “No. To be honest, I did not give a good accounting of myself. In my defense, however, I was taken by surprise. On the next occasion I shall be better prepared.”
Her breath caught. No. She could not even consider the thought of this gentleman being harmed.
“I pray there is no next time.”
“As do I.”
“Still, you must take better care.”
His brows rose at her fierce command. “Lectures from the daring Amelia Hadwell?”
In spite of herself, Amelia felt a renegade tug of amusement at her lips. It was perhaps a bit hypocritical to command him to keep himself safe when she had blatantly announced she was going to hunt for a murderer.
“I am not the one nursing cuts and bruises, sir.”
The silver eyes widened before he gave a swift laugh. “I suppose I walked straight into that one?”
Her smile widened in enjoyment at his teasing. “As a matter of fact, you did.”
He became still as he gazed down at her upturned face. Then he slowly shook his head.
“Amazing.”
The breathless sensation returned as she battled to slow the sudden charge of her heart.
“What?”
His hand lifted to gently touch the corner of her mouth, seemingly unaware that he was making her knees so weak she could barely stand.
“I did not realize how extraordinarily charming dimples could be.”
“You are being absurd,” she breathed.
He heaved a barely perceptible sigh. “It appears to be my fate when you are near.”
“Sebastian . . .”
The desire to confess that he managed to confuse and befuddle her with equal force was abruptly snatched away as Mrs. Benson entered the room with a beaming smile.
“Here we are. Some nice hot tea and fresh muffins.”
Chapter 6
The Gypsy stood in the darkness, her lined face wreathed in concern. “You must not falter. The danger is close, far closer than you know.”
Amelia struggled to reach the woman, a sense of panic fluttering in her stomach. “What danger? Where is it?”
“It follows you. Close. So close.”
“But . . . what can I do?”
The woman was fading into mist as she held out a gnarled hand. “Trust in the Guardian.”
“Guardian? There is no guardian.”
The Gypsy smiled. “He is watching you.”
“Please, tell me of the danger.”
“Protect the amulet.” The voice was barely able to reach Amelia's straining ears. “You must keep it safe.”
“No, do not leave. I need to know . . .”
Amelia awakened with a jerk.
Blast. Struggling to untangle from the covers that threatened to smother her, Amelia groaned in annoyance. The dream haunted her without mercy. No matter how tired she might be, at some point during the night she was destined to be visited by the relentless Gypsy.
At last able to sit upright, Amelia instinctively reached up to touch the amulet about her neck. She should simply toss away the necklace and be done with it, she thought with a weary yawn. Perhaps then she would be allowed a night without the disturbing presence of the old Gypsy.
Oddly, however, she knew that she would do no such thing. There was something comforting about the heavyweight of the amulet as it nestled against her skin. Almost as if it belonged there in some indefinable manner.
With a shake of her head at her fuzzy thoughts, Amelia prepared to return beneath the covers when a familiar tingle of excitement drifted down her spine.
On this occasion she did not dismiss the vague warning. She knew precisely what it meant.
Not giving herself time for second thoughts, she slipped from the bed and grabbed her nightrail from a nearby chair. Pulling it over her gown, she quietly left her room and made her way through the sleeping house.
Using the experience that she had gained during her past forays in the dark, she managed to avoid the occasional steps that creaked and the tables that littered the hall. She even kept the number of times she banged her toes to less than a dozen.
All the time the tingles grew more pronounced and warmth began to flood through her blood. She was growing nearer, she acknowledged with a twitch of her heart. Much nearer.
At last slipping through the kitchen door, Amelia paused only a moment before moving through the small garden toward a large oak tree.
“Sebastian,” she called softly.
“I am here.” There was only a moment of hesitation before a darker shadow detached from the low wall about the garden and stepped into the bright, silver moonlight. “I thought you would be sleeping.”
Amelia discovered her gaze clinging to the chiseled lines of his features and the broad width of his shoulders, as if she had not seen him only yesterday. She knew she could stand there and simply drink in his male beauty for hours if it would not make her appear noddy.
“I was,” she finally forced out in husky tones.
He moved toward her with a slow, fluid grace, almost as if afraid a sudden movement might send her into flight.
“Surely I was not so clumsy as to waken you?”
“No.” She breathed in deeply, taking pleasure in that warm scent of male skin and the faint hint of spice. “It is odd. Somehow I seemed to sense you were here.”
“Perhaps not so odd.”
She tilted her head back to meet his silver gaze squarely. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted his slender, elegant hands. “Admiring the beauty of the night.”
“You could not admire the beauty of the night from your own garden?” she teased gently.
He gave a rueful shrug. “It seemed prudent to ensure that William had not decided upon a midnight stroll.”
She had known precisely why he was there, but his confession still sent a warmth flooding her heart. She was unaccustomed to anyone taking such concern for her brother, or herself. Not even her parents.
Her hand reached out of its own accord to touch his arm. “That is very thoughtful, Sebastian, but you should not feel obligated to keep a watch upon William. He is my responsibility.”
“I do not feel obligated, Amelia.” He searched her face bathed in moonlight. “I am here because I desire to be.”
“Oh.”
His lips twitched at her obvious bemusement. “I do regret, however, that I awakened you, no matter how unintentionally.”
Amelia did not. Standing in the silvered darkness of the garden and surrounded by the pungent aroma of roses, she thought that she must still be dreaming.
A handsome, charming gentleman. A moonlit night. The seductive privacy of a garden.
It was all far too romantic for an aging, nearly-upon-the-shelf spinster.
“I do not mind.” She offered him a tentative smile. “It is a lovely night.”
He nodded slowly but his gaze never left her.
“A magical night.”
“Magical?”
His hand lifted to lightly touch the raven curls that tumbled about her shoulders.
“The moon is full and there is bewitchment in the air.”
There was certainly bewitchment, but Amelia was quite certain it had more to do with the tall gentleman standing before her than the moon.
“You surely do not believe in such nonsense?”
His brows lifted. “Why do you condemn it as nonsense? Civilizations have honored the power of the moon for centuries. Indeed, most cultures worshipped it as a god.”
“Or goddess,” she readily pointed out.
“Certainly.” He smiled deep into her eyes. “I have always presumed the moon's seductive lure must be that of a female. Still, in the old days Hindus believed that it was a very male god of the moon who would ride through the sky in a chariot pulled by white horses.” His low chuckle echoed through the still air. “And, of course, they thought the moon itself a storehouse of elixir that the gods would drink, causing it to become smaller with every passing night.”
Amelia discovered herself intrigued despite the fact that she had never been fond of studies.
“A rather odd belief.”
“Ah, perhaps you would prefer the ancient Samarians, who thought the moon a young, handsome bull with long horns whom they named Sin.”
“Sin.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled with humor. “Somehow that seems a rather appropriate name.”
“Indeed.” His fingers moved to trace the line of her brow, sending a shock of sensations through her body. “Nights such as this lead to all sorts of wicked thoughts.”
Wicked. Amelia shivered, feeling oddly unlike herself in the darkened garden. Perhaps it was the moonlight. Or the delicious scent of roses. Or perhaps this was simply a moment out of time, she thought dizzily. Whatever the reason, she desperately longed to shrug aside her heavy burdens and responsibilities. Just for now she wanted to be a young, beautiful maiden with nothing to concern her but a very desirable flirtation with a handsome gentleman.
With a deliberate coyness she peered at him from beneath her heavy lashes.
“You intrigue me, sir. What possible wicked thoughts could a gentleman such as you possess?”
His breath rasped through the air at her deliberately provoking manner, but his expression never altered.
“Thoughts best forgotten, my dear.”
“Why?”
“You do enjoy playing with fire, do you not?” he murmured, his fingers moving to outline the full curve of her lips.
“At times, I suppose.” Lost in the unfamiliar fever that seared her blood, Amelia shifted close enough to feel his body through the thin lawn of her gown. “Do you prefer the more cautious paths?”
He gave a choked groan deep in his throat, his fingers convulsively cupping her cheek. “They are considerably safer.”
“But often dull.”
“And peaceful.”
She gazed into the eyes that had turned to a misty smoke. “Surely as a scholar you desire some stimulation to keep your wits sharp?”
His features remained composed, but Amelia could sense the rapid, uneven beat of his heart. He might desire to be indifferent but his body was swiftly betraying him.
“It depends entirely upon the stimulation,” he muttered. “My wits do not feel particularly sharp at the moment.”
Her smile was filled with a feminine mystery as old as time. Oh no, at this moment she was not boring, responsible Amelia Hadwell at all.
“Perhaps you should blame it upon the moon.”
“The moon does indeed possess its share of blame.” His gaze lowered to where his fingers continued to brush over her lips. “But not all, I think.”
“I have no ancient powers.”
His expression became wry. “You are mistaken. Your powers are the most ancient of all.”
A faint frown touched her brow as she sensed the rigid control that wrapped about his inner passions.
“Powers you are quite determined to resist, are you not?”
He drew in a deep, uneven breath, an unmistakable flare of pain darkening his eyes.
“It seems the wisest course.”
“Why?”
“There is still a demon haunting the neighborhood. As long as there is danger then I must remain vigilant.” His hand tightened upon her cheek, his expression somber. “It is very important, Amelia.”
“Yes, I know,” she agreed softly, even as her mind shied from recalling such unpleasantness. There would be time enough for such worries tomorrow.
Clearly sensing her dangerous mood, Sebastian shifted uneasily. “You should return to bed.”
Her fingers tightened upon his arm. “I am not tired. I feel . . . I do not know, as if my blood is on fire.”
A fine shiver raced through him. A shiver echoed within herself.
“Moon madness,” he whispered.
“Perhaps the moon does have its share of blame, but not all,” she softly echoed his own words.
“Amelia,” he moaned in agonized tones.
Emboldened by the undeniable desire smoldering in his eyes, Amelia leaned even closer to his welcome strength. Moon madness or not, she was not yet prepared for this interlude to end.
“Do you desire to kiss me?”
Sebastian stiffened, and for a horrified moment she thought she might have disgusted him with her forward behavior. He was no doubt a gentleman unaccustomed to such giddy recklessness. Then he shifted so he could frame her face with his hands. Even in the moonlight she could easily detect the strain upon his countenance.
“You can have no notion,” he breathed.
Her heart fluttered. “Then why do you not?”
“As I said, it is not wise.”
Her own hands rose to cover his fingers still cupping her face. The tingling excitement in the air could not be denied.
“For the moment I do not wish to be wise. The moon is shining, the roses are blooming, and I am an aging spinster who has never been kissed.”
“Hardly a spinster,” he growled.
“I am three-and-twenty, near enough to be put upon the shelf.”
“Absurd.” His gaze stroked over her countenance, lingering for a long moment upon the unsteady line of her mouth. She could feel the taut control that hardened his body. “You are young and beautiful and utterly enchanting. If you desire to be kissed I do not doubt that gentlemen will be beating a path to your door.”
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