The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed (2 page)

Thank fuck she took his invitation.

The first touch of her thoughts to his gave him a delicious internal shiver. She stroked his senses with gentleness. Did she do that to everyone she read? He coveted that mental caress. To claim it, hold it, and keep it for his own.

She jerked a nod and withdrew, tempting him to follow, to trace her mind with the same tender touch. His cock twitched.

“There’s only my brother and me in Taken,” she said. “He’s gone off somewhere, probably Houston. He gets restless.” She frowned. “He’ll come back soon, or he’ll contact me.”

Thoughtless young barbarian. “Does he often leave without telling you where he’s going?”

“Sometimes.” She met his gaze directly but glanced away quickly, obviously uncomfortable with the confession. “His telepathy’s not too good.”

“It only works over short distances, and skill varies.” Just how secluded was she, and how much did she know about their community?

She nibbled her lip, plump from their too-brief kiss. “Maybe that’s it. But he has a cell phone.”

Jay nodded. Cell phones gave mortals an unfair advantage. He missed the old days.

Her brother’s lack of communication irritated her, but he detected a trace of worry in her thoughts too. When she talked about him, she looked away from him as if revealing too much, but recovered herself fast. A woman of spirit.

As he watched, she straightened and lifted her chin. When he ventured into her mind again, he found everything as it should be, her thoughts strictly ordered and her sigil on display. All he learned was her Talent, that she was a vampire, which he already knew from the pattern of her mind, and her family, one he didn’t know. Parker. He didn’t recognize the name, but then he wasn’t familiar with every vampire in the USA.

This one, though, this one he wanted to know better. The boy’s absence concerned him. Jay wouldn’t tell her. Until he’d discovered a bit more, there was no sense worrying her about something that might not matter.

Sometimes he felt so fucking old.

“How did you get here?” he demanded.

She shrugged. “Car. I parked it about a mile away.”

“I’m glad at least you didn’t drive on to my land.” He waved his hand. “I have guards patrolling the perimeter.”

She raised a slim brow. “Somewhat extreme?”

“Not with the guests I’m expecting tonight.” VIPs and a small group of people who required extraordinary care.

He began to walk. When the dog refused his invitation, he jerked the chain, and the monster got to its great, furry paws and trotted by his side. She stuck her hands in her pockets and strode on the other side. He’d have thought her nonchalant if he hadn’t detected the emotion churning inside her. For him, he noted with satisfaction. He’d interested her, much as she’d prefer to deny it.

He liked her in jeans. If he lagged behind on the pretext of urging the dog, he’d get a fine view of her butt. Not that he’d dream of doing that. Not in the least. But he wanted to get his hands on her one day. Soon. “This way?”

She nodded. “Do your men have guns?” Worry tinged her words. “Would they hurt Digger?”

He gave a short laugh. “Yes, they have guns. But I doubt they’d shoot a dog. Just a person showing signs of wandering deeper.” He shrugged. “My guests appreciate their privacy.”

She shot him a startled glance. “Talents?”

“Maybe.”

“You talk spiffy. Like an old-fashioned Englishman.”

He huffed a laugh. “It intrigues the natives.”

She shot him a quick grin. “Patronizing, much?”

“That’s me.” This woman amused him. To meet a vampire so young was a rarity. He was enjoying the fresh attitude of someone who truly belonged to this generation.

Memories lived in his head of people long gone, times gone by forgotten by everyone but him. Of all the senses, scent remained most vividly. The pervasive aroma of horseshit in the so-called romantic era of carriages, the thick, sickly scent of pastilles unsuccessfully trying to mask the smell of burning coal, the aroma of a woman in heat. Now that had remained with him unchanged. She’d know none of that, no ghosts in her mind, in her memory. One lifetime. Only the woman brought a different scent with her.

He wanted to provoke her some more. When she got riled up, her cheekbones gained a pretty shade of rose, and that interested him enough to make his cock stir.

Since his own kind knew his reputation, they kept on guard around him. This woman didn’t, and he liked it.

He touched her thoughts, read her anxiety, and found it at a low level. “How old is your brother?”

“Drew? Twenty-two.”

He sucked in a breath between his teeth. Talent or mortal, they could get reckless at that age. Not good for an older sister. She shouldn’t be running around after him. Now Jay regretted his decision to stay away from the local communities, or he’d have met her sooner. “Does he have a job?”

“We own a bar in town. These days it’s tourists mostly, so we gussy it up with ranch stuff. Branding irons, horseshoes, plain rough floors, that sort of thing. We run it together with a couple of members of staff, but he’s planning to go to university soon. He should have gone at eighteen, but, well…” She shrugged.

But what? “Did something happen to stop him going?”

She shrugged again, and her breasts shifted within the confines of her T-shirt.
Nice
. “We had a few lean years, but trade’s looking up now, so he decided to stop with me and help. We’re doing better. Taken’s grown into quite the tourist venue.”

He negotiated a small hillock, a bump in the terrain, and ensured she got over it safely. “Have you lived in Taken all your life?”

She stuck her hand deeper in her pocket, really dug in. “Never left Texas. One day I’ll travel and see the beautiful things I’ve only seen in books and on TV, but I need to be here for Drew right now.”

“I have a Picasso.”

She stopped, turned to face him. “You do?”

“Up at the house. You should come see it.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Nope.” Damn, this Texas accent was catching. “I have other pieces there too. Maybe Lawrence interests you.” Would she recognize the portrait Lawrence had done of him in full Regency rig? Breeches so tight the observer could tell if he was aroused or not, crisp white waistcoat, a neckcloth he’d tied in elaborate folds each day, never deigning to allot the task to his valet. He gave her an apologetic shrug. “You don’t get to my age without collecting a few bits and pieces.”

“I guess not.” She stared at him in fascination, blue eyes sparkling. “I’d love to see them. So would Drew.”

“Pardon me?” Nothing she’d said about her brother indicated that.

“He’s bright. Real bright. Sometimes when he wanders, it’s because he’s found something new to learn. He delayed university to help me get the bar revamp working, but he wants to study.” She gave a short laugh. “He could live in a library. The other half of the time, it’s the usual stuff, nightclubs and girls.”

Shit, the kid should think more of her than to abandon her when the mood took him, and dump his dog on her.

Big as a fucking wolf, this beast, though shaggier with lighter-colored fur broken by patches of tan. The floppy ears and sweeping tail hinted at some spaniel ancestry. He jerked the animal’s chain. Digger gave him a reproachful look, his gaze softly pleading, and instantly Jay felt guilty. It wasn’t the dog whose chain he wanted to jerk, but his owner. The boy didn’t think enough of his sister’s concern to use his own cell or borrow one to give her a call. When he met Drew Parker, Jay planned to deliver a lecture he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

“Come to my party tonight.” He waved his hand at a man in the distance. One of his. The man waved back. Jay sent him soothing waves, calming the jittery nervousness of someone who didn’t yet know the terrain he was patrolling. “It’s a themed affair.”

“What theme?”

She was probably thinking of cookouts and hoedowns, or maybe a dance with a band that played both kinds of music. “Do you know much about the Regency?”

“The period between 1811 and 1820 when the Prince Regent ruled Britain.”

That description made his time sound dry as dust. “How about the Cyprians’ Ball? Heard of it?”

She frowned and gave a slight shake of her head.

“It’s not in many history books. But you know about Almack’s, the marriage mart, all that shit.” He sighed. “Every April after Easter, young girls debuted into society. Pastel dresses, parading in front of men they hoped would propose. Sex for sale. Not as blatant, of course, nothing so vulgar. But we decided to echo it. Only
with
the sex.”

He ignored the widening of her eyes at that
we
. “We parodied the grisly parades at Almack’s by inviting the other side of society to a ball. The Cyprians, the demimondaine. Whores. They’d arrive in full rig—or almost full rig. We called it a masquerade, but in a lot of cases their faces were all they hid.”

Heat flushed through him at the mental vision of the woman next to him dressed in a skimpy silk gown, the neckline undone and shoved to her waist. It took an effort of will to get his cock back under control. No doubt about it; he wanted her.

He went on hastily. “We’d engage in whatever we pleased. The idea of the redoubtable ladies of society witnessing us using their daughters in such a way added spice to what we were doing.” That wasn’t much better.

“Orgies?”

“Naturally. Would you enjoy it?” God, he hoped so.

Her careless pout failed to conceal her interest. “I don’t know. Never tried anything like that.”

He wanted to help her find out. Enjoying her attempt at worldly nonchalance, he grinned at her. “You could try tonight. I’ll send you an invitation. You can just watch if you want to, no obligation to join in. Dress appropriately, by which I mean the kind of gowns ladies wore in the years between 1811 and 1820. Or an approximation.” He shot her a grin. “I might show you my Lawrence.”

She swallowed, her color heightened. Lord help him, he wanted to run his tongue over those cheekbones before tasting her mouth again. He badly needed her to come tonight. In any sense of the word she cared to name, but if he pushed her, she’d back off. Her nervous excitement was palpable, but he was too old a hand at this game to say more.

The narrow road loomed ahead, and parked by the side, half run on to the grass verge to allow other vehicles to pass stood a dusty green pickup. “This yours?”

“Sure is.” She reached for the dog’s chain, but he held it away from her.

“I’m serious, you shouldn’t handle this dog. He’ll hurt you if you try to control him with your body alone.”

He suppressed his inner animal, the one demanding he jump her bones here and now, and damn the consequences as long as she was into it too. This enchanting woman intrigued him. “We both know at night you’re more than a match for Digger, but during the day you’re mortal, with a mortal’s strength.” The vampire’s curse. They could only call on their superior powers at night.

“You’re handling him.”

“I’m bigger, I have better experience—with big dogs,” he added, acknowledging the innuendo, “and I’m using a touch of telepathy. If you need to use that, then do it, but don’t let him fight back. Scare him, then he’ll do what you want.”

“Or I could do this this.”

When she mentally tickled the dog behind the ears, persuaded his doggy sensibilities she was in reality touching him, the animal whimpered and twitched. Jay wanted to do the same.

He half laughed, half groaned. “Nice.”

Nevertheless, when she opened the door of the vehicle, he ushered the dog into the backseat himself. “Will you come tonight?”

“No.”

A shame, but he wouldn’t leave the area without seeing her again. “I’ll send you an invitation anyway. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“I doubt it. You’ll go away soon, won’t you?”

Usually he would. Not this time. The restless feeling he’d had for the past few months coalesced. He’d been looking for something he couldn’t name for a long time.

Maybe he’d just found it.

Chapter Two

James, Earl of Trevithick, has the honour of inviting

Miss Lucille Parker and companion

to a masquerade to be held at his house

tonight, 16th May.

Missy glanced at the gilt-edged and embossed card before turning her attention back to the road. “He can’t spell.”

“It’s English English.” To Lucille’s mind, the spelling gave the invitation more class. Missy had whirlwinded her into this just like she always pushed Lucille into doing things she wasn’t sure about.

Lucille had gotten cold feet on the way, but Missy was driving and refused to turn back. “This is an adventure. It’s fate. You bumping into Lord Trevithick himself”—she sniggered at the title—”and then finding that old dress, and getting Joe to work on his night off. You can’t argue with fate once it’s pointing you in a direction. It ain’t right.”

Lucille’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen and sighed. She might have guessed Ryan would call.

“Joe told me you’re going to the shindig at the ranch tonight,” he said.

“Yes, Ryan, I’m going.”

“Not a good idea, darlin’.” He sounded pissed. It figured. Ryan assumed he had ownership over her, and had appointed himself her protector. She didn’t need that.

His attitude only strengthened her resolve. “I can’t miss this chance, Ryan. I’ve always wanted to know what goes on there. And he has some important guests who could be looking for local places to visit.”

“You don’t want that kind of clientele, Lucille.” He’d quelled his anger, and worse, he spoke in the tones of patient endurance she hated more. “Debauchery goes on there.”

Debauchery? She snorted. “Why do you think I want to go?” Until he’d informed her she didn’t want to go, she hadn’t been sure. Now more than anything else, she wanted to visit the Trevino ranch on party night.

“Ladies shouldn’t attend those functions. Trust me, you won’t enjoy it.”

Was he the ancient vampire, or Jay Trevino? At the moment, with his old-fashioned ideas, Ryan could be the Victorian.

“I guess I’ll find out, wont’ I?” She didn’t wait for his answer. She cut the call and switched off her phone, because as sure as the world went around the sun, he’d try to call back. When she turned her glare on Missy, her friend glanced at her. “Not a word,” Lucille warned her, but as usual, Missy took no notice.