The Companion (36 page)

“What knowledge?”

He sat again abruptly. There was a pause. “I need to know the location of Kivala.”

“You have been there.”

“I wandered in the desert half-dead for weeks until I happened upon El Golea. I could not find Kivala again. But you can. You have the texts that show the way. I can tell you the general area where ‘the spine of the earth’ must be. Together, we can find the city.”

“Why?” she asked. He had wanted directness. . . . “I thought you wanted no part of Africa.”

He spoke with difficulty. “I . . . I don’t. But I cannot escape it. Asharti knows where I am. She threatens to hunt me down. She is making vampires, many vampires. That’s what we are, you know, vampires.” His voice tried to be hard and
cracked on the word. He took a breath and continued. “Asharti is a danger to the fabric of our world, vampire and human . . .” he trailed off.

Vampire! She had not said the word to him. He must have gotten it from somewhere else. The Countess! Of course. “And . . . ? You have not told me why you must go to Kivala.”

“I think I can stop Asharti. The answer lies at Kivala, behind two tablets I cannot translate. I can’t run away while she destroys . . . everything.”

Beth nodded slowly and gazed at him. What did she see? Confusion, courage, the pain she knew so well. The resolution had almost disappeared. What happened if he asked? Dared she imagine it? What if she was wrong?

“So,” he said, looking down at his hands, “I . . . I have come to ask you to marry me.” But he could not leave it at that. “I know . . . I know that a creature such as I am has no right to ask such a thing. But it would be a marriage in name only. You would be able to conduct your researches, mount expeditions. I would fund everything. You could have the life you want, unencumbered by a husband who made demands of you, but with all the advantages of the married state. Unless, of course, you wished to marry another rather than . . . well, rather than have liaisons. Then I should disappear and let you have your freedom.”

Beth had never heard such a daunting speech. Her heart closed for a moment as the world shifted around her. Had she ever imagined the pain a proposal of marriage by a vampire could cause? And all because he did not even pretend to love her. She was astounded to realize that if he had said he loved her, she would have said yes in an instant. She looked down at her hands.

“I . . . I will disclose everything about my state, though you know most already.” He cleared his throat. “Apparently, I will not age. I can disappear, and exert my will over others. A parasite in my system requires that I feed on human blood, and there is no way around that. But I will never violate your person. That once was only because . . . because I was taken
unawares. You will be entirely safe with me. The more so since I have become very . . . strong.”

He was immortal? The consequences of that statement almost overwhelmed her. “I will age.” It was the one difference that mattered, somehow.

He blinked. “I will always provide for you, but if my presence becomes . . . unwelcome, I will not burden you with it.” An image formed in her mind of a cracked and lined old woman living alone in some palatial house while the vibrant man who looked thirty careered around the capitals of Europe having liaisons with beautiful women like Beatrix Lisse, Countess of Lente.

“I would help you find Kivala even without your kind offer.” The revelation cost her something, but in her confusion she could not tell exactly what.

He chewed his lip and got up to pace again. “I know. I know you would. That is a testament to your character and your sympathy, undeserved as sympathy is in this case. But there are texts at the tomb that must be translated in order to enter, which means you must go with me. I trust no one else. If you go in my company without the protection of a wedding band, your reputation will be ruined, your life made . . . difficult. I could not bear to harm you in such a way. You deserve only the highest consideration, and distasteful as this must be . . .” He whirled on her, his face aghast. “Of course, you probably have other offers. I am forgetting myself.”

“I . . . have no other offers,” she murmured.

Rufford raced on, as though he were afraid to stop. “If you marry someone else, still you should not return to Africa with anyone but me. With Asharti on the loose, who else could protect you?” He stumbled to a stop. “But perhaps you don’t wish to go to Africa. . . .”

“I do want to go to Africa.” Beth was surprised her voice was calm. Indeed, Mr. Rufford’s chaotic speech had created some small island of hope inside her. Still, she had to know a little more. “I simply hate to saddle you with an unpleasant burden, for who knows how many years. I am still young, you know. You will tire of me even on this trip, I imagine.”

“Burden?” He looked blank. “I could not imagine a more congenial traveling companion. You never complain. You are interested in everything. Your observations are always penetrating. And you play a very decent game of chess.” He smiled a rather touching, secret smile. “Just at my level. What more could one ask?”

“Or a little beyond your level.” She tried to keep her eyes serious.

“That I do not concede.” His gaze rested on her with an expression that contained wonder and almost tenderness.

Beth felt the door of hope open a little wider. Now was the moment. She either threw herself through that door or closed it forever.

“I should be happy to accept your offer of marriage.” The words, once uttered, almost shattered her. What had she done? She felt her eyes grow large. She could not get enough air in this stifling room. Why ever did Lady Rangle always set these chairs so close to the fire?

They stared at each other as though a chasm had opened up right here in the drawing room and they tottered on the edges. “Right,” Rufford said, recollecting himself. “Ahhh, when would be convenient? I had thought tomorrow? There is some urgency, you know.”

“Tomorrow!” This was becoming altogether too real. “One can’t get married upon a moment’s notice. There are the banns, the arrangements . . .”

He fished a heavy paper from the breast of his coat awkwardly. “I have a special license. Just in case, you know, you agreed. A ship leaves Portsmouth for Casablanca before dawn Saturday. I think we should start there. Kivala is somewhere east of the Atlas Mountains and west of El Golea.”

Beth drew her brows together. “However did you get a special license?”

He glanced away, then deliberately back. “It’s very hard to resist a vampire’s request.”

“Oh.” Beth’s mind darted over the possibilities inherent in that statement. Had he compelled her to accept him? She hadn’t felt compelled . . . but tomorrow? Who would she get
to stand up for her? And she had nothing to wear, an objection she could never voice to Rufford. She was becoming positively missish.
The pink will do
, she thought. “Could we settle upon day after tomorrow? That would give me time to pack, and yet we could still make the sailing on Saturday.” Rufford nodded. But he must pass a final test. “One thing I must know.”

His eyes opened in apprehension.

“What is behind the doors you want me to unlock that will allow you to defeat Asharti?”

He swallowed. “You are ever practical.” He took a breath, and she could see him resolve to tell her the truth and let her make her own choice. “It is a temple. In it, a strange being waits whom Asharti calls the Old One, He Who Waits. His blood made the first vampires. It makes Asharti strong. If I can get him to give me his blood, perhaps I can defeat Asharti.” He shook his head, embarrassed. “It’s not much of a chance.” He shrugged. “It’s the best I have.”

He had passed the test. She squared her shoulders. “You deserve your chance. I will do what I can.”

He peered into her eyes, searching her soul. He did not seem to see what he had anticipated. He shook himself. “I expect I must ask your aunt for permission. I don’t suppose she is equal to it now, but there is so little time. . . .” He fidgeted with the license.

“Up to it? She is probably waiting for it.” Beth rang for Edwards.

“Do you think . . . ? I mean it is sudden.”

Beth raised her brows. “You will find her grateful for taking me off her hands.”

Beth was not wrong. Lady Rangle cared nothing for propriety when so great a catch as the very rich brother of a Viscount was involved. She cooed and clucked, “Oh, Mr. Rufford, how satisfying it is to see a man so carried away by love!” Both Beth and Rufford were discomfited. “Thursday, you say? But how will I recruit a respectable attendance?”

Beth glanced at Rufford. “Mr. Rufford and I were thinking of a private ceremony.”

“Yes, Lady Rangle. We are beginning our wedding trip from Portsmouth on Saturday. I thought we would visit Miss Rochewell’s beloved Africa.”

“Oh! Oh, dear. No reception after the ceremony?” She looked from one shaking head to another. “No.” She sighed, obviously mourning a chance to show off her niece’s catch to jealous matrons. “That will look so havy-cavy. Well,” she acquiesced.

“I . . . I will send round with all the details. Whom should I see about the marriage settlements?” Beth could see he had not thought this far. A sheen of perspiration broke out upon his forehead. Her own thoughts were already spinning ahead to the wedding night and on to all the arrangements to be made for an expedition and then back to the wedding night.

“My man of business, Edgely at Drummond’s, will see to it. Do you go to the Fairfields’ ball?” Lady Rangle asked with slightly more animation. “We were just about to leave.” Ahh, Lady Rangle saw an opportunity for an informal announcement of her triumph. Beth was wrung with conflicting anticipation of dances in Mr. Rufford’s arms and society’s astonishment that someone like Mr. Rufford could have offered for someone like her.

Rufford bowed punctiliously. “May I escort you, ladies? My carriage waits.”

All the way to Fairfield House, through streets crowded with carriages, Beth responded incoherently to her aunt’s chatter. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the distraction—Mr. Rufford was as silent as she was. But doubt assailed her. Why ever had she agreed to this mad plan? Because he needed help? Of course, but marriage? And the fact that he was right about it ruining her reputation was only an excuse. She wanted Ian Rufford as a husband, mystery, painful past, even vampire and all. He did not love her. He had admitted that. She had vowed she would never marry without love on both sides. Yet he liked to be with her. He wanted to protect her. And there was that mysterious expression when he looked at
her. . . . Were these together something on which she could build? She was not the Countess of Lente. She might endure a lifetime of the pain of his constant association with creatures more ravishing than she. But in the moment she accepted him, she realized she could not imagine her future without him. The months until she saw him again had been a desert more bleak than any in North Africa. There would be danger at Kivala, if they could even find the place. That was nothing to the danger she faced on the interior landscape of her heart. He had it in his power to make her pay a horrifying price for her love. But better she pay it in his presence for however long she could induce him to stay with her than suffer the huge rip in her life made by his absence.

As they alighted from the carriage, Lady Rangle was claimed instantly by the ancient Earl of Silchester and began whispering to him. Beth placed her hand on Rufford’s arm and felt the electric warmth shoot through her. He looked down at her with eyes full—of what? She could not read them. He had not said six words to her since informing her aunt of his intentions. But he filled her present with his presence and that was enough. She indulged in a tiny pang of regret that she would be seen on his arm tonight in a light blue dress of figured muslin that was her aunt’s idea of maidenly propriety. There was nothing wrong with light blue, of course, on Miss Fairfield, but it was a disaster with Beth’s coloring.

As they entered the house, blazing with light, and ascended the stairs, Beth had a terrible thought. What if Mr. Rufford was embarrassed by being seen with her in public with her odd looks and odd manners? Would he regret his offer? She resolved to be as circumspect as possible. Inside the great ballroom of Fairfield House, they came first to Miss Fairfield and her brother, greeting guests near the door.

Miss Fairfield glanced from Rufford to Beth and smiled a knowing smile. “Miss Rochewell, how good of you to come. You are looking well.” Her brother shook Rufford’s hand.

“I am not, Miss Fairfield, and you know it,” Beth said. “Why my aunt insists on pastel colors I have no idea, unless
it is the same impulse which drives her to call me Lizzy no matter how many times I protest.”

Miss Fairfield laughed. “Then you must order your own dresses. You have no choice.”

“No choice indeed. You have no idea.” She caught Rufford looking strangely at her, even as, behind her, she heard an old woman say in the loud voice of the deaf, “What an odd girl!”

So much for circumspection.

They made their way into the hall, trailing stares. Lady Rangle talked in excited tones to Lady Jersey and several other matrons. Beth saw the astonished glances, Lady Rangle’s self-satisfied look. She could practically hear her aunt saying, “He is so eager that it is to be a quiet, immediate affair. The ardor of the young!” She flushed with the imagined conversation.

“May I get you some refreshment?” The rumbling voice above her startled her into the present. “It is quite warm in this room.”

She spared him a glance and looked quickly away. “I am fine, thank you.”

“Rufford!” The musical voice was unmistakable. The Countess of Lente sailed into view in all her glory. It was emerald green tonight. Beth shrank inside. “I wondered where you had got to.” There was a sharp edge to the beautiful woman’s voice. “Have you decided to go abroad?”

“We have, but to North Africa, rather than America.” Beth saw relief bloom in the radiant face, followed closely by puzzlement. “Countess,” Rufford continued, “will you permit me to introduce Miss Rochewell, my future bride? Beatrix Lisse, Countess of Lente.”