Grayson stepped between Meg and the Constable. “She’s been here the entire night.”
“The Dowager? Lolly? Missing? How?” Meg whispered.
Meg pressed her hand to Grayson’s back. Did she realize her actions? Realize she touched him? Most bloody likely not. She would never admit her need for him, no matter what the situation.
“I will know now, Miss James,” the Constable said, stepping closer to her. “Where were you last night and where is Lady Brockwell?”
“What time was she found missing?” Grayson interrupted.
The Constable’s gaze flickered toward Grayson. “Eight this morn. When was the last time anyone saw Miss James?”
“After three,” Meg answered. “It was almost four when I went to bed. Then around seven, breakfast arrived.”
“I see.” The Constable narrowed his eyes, apparently attempting to uncover the details of Meg’s nefarious plan.
“You can’t possibly believe she could have kidnapped the woman?” Grayson snapped. “On foot it would have taken her thirty minutes there, then another thirty back.”
“Still gives her plenty of time.”
Grayson’s gaze jumped to Meg. She looked so small, so fragile, so damn human he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She couldn’t harm a hare, let alone an old woman. “Do you have any witnesses? If she were traipsing about the countryside, surely some farmer would have seen her.”
The Constable averted his gaze. “Not as of yet.”
The Constable was starting to become a nuisance and this murder investigation was getting in the way of his mission. He could so easily kill the man, snap his neck and be rid of him. But humans tended to notice when one of their kind went missing, obviously.
Grayson took Meg’s hand and squeezed. “Miss James, go to your room.”
She jerked away from him, glaring up into his eyes. “Mr. Bellamont, I am not some child to be sent to her room. I will hear what the Constable has to say.”
Grayson clenched his jaw. Merde! Didn’t she understand he was trying to help? He pasted on his best wartime face. “Go,” he demanded.
She tilted her chin, her nostrils flaring and for a moment he thought she would refuse. In a flurry of skirts she spun around and marched up the steps.
“Please, let us talk somewhere private,” Grayson said.
The Constable followed Grayson into the sitting room. He collapsed into a leather chair near the fireplace, not bothering to wait for an invitation.
Grayson poured a glass of scotch and handed it to the man. “Let’s not pretend. We both know Miss James had nothing to do with this. Who you really want is Lady Brockwell, correct?”
Constable hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “I suppose.”
“Well then, leave Meg in my care. I will find out as much as I can. Befriend her even. I’ve been known to charm the ladies.”
The Constable narrowed his eyes, stroking his chin in thought. “Might work.”
“I promise you it will work better than locking her in a cellar.”
Would the man fall for it?
“Well then,” the Constable stood. He downed his drink and extended his hand. “If you can get Lady Brockwell for me, than it looks like we’re partners.”
Could he seduce Meg to gain her trust? Did he have any other choice? It was for her own damn good. Grayson took the man’s hand, sealing the bargain. They called him a monster, but why did he have the feeling he’d just made a deal with the devil?
Chapter 12
“What are you planning, Gray?”
Suspicion laced the edges of Millie’s voice, making Grayson cringe. Slowly, purposefully, he smoothed his hand over the mare’s nose. It usually took some time to get a mount to trust him. To horses, blood suckers were predators. They could sense the hunter within.
But for some reason, he’d always been good with the animals. He had more of a soul than the rest of them, Millie claimed. With his mount settled, he turned to face the inquisition. He’d hoped to escape before the woman noticed his absence. Millie, blast her, noticed everything.
“Merely going for a ride.”
She swept down the gravel path, the brown walking dress she wore flaring from her trim waist, the hem just high enough for a peek of her shapely ankles. She knew exactly how to attract attention, had been taught at an early age. Where as Millie knew every time a male head turned toward her, Meg was completely innocent of the way she drew a man’s gaze.
“With? I certainly wasn’t invited and you wouldn’t take a basket for yourself.”
The horse snorted, pawing at the ground, eager to escape. He didn’t blame the mare. “It’s business.”
Millie slipped her pale fingers into the dark brown fur on the horse’s neck. The animal shifted, uneasy under her touch. “Meg is business?”
“I didn’t say Meg was going.”
She moved to the basket that rested on the floor of the carriage, but not before he saw her grin. Nosy as always, she lifted the lid. “You didn’t have to say Meg was going.”
Grayson leaned against the black buggy, crossing his arms over his chest. “I do not want to hear a word.”
She ignored his command and tapped her finger against the corner of her full, heart-shaped lips. “You certainly aren’t doing this in hopes for a romantic interlude.”
“Perhaps I am.”
“Ha. I know you and you’re planning something.” She clasped her hands behind her back and paced in front of him. The soldier in her was coming back to life. “You’re after something.”
“Merely planning a picnic.” Merde, why must she always pry?
Her face grew serious and she sighed, any teasing gone from her eyes as if it had never been there. “Be careful, Gray. You could ruin it.”
Her words stabbed at him like the stingers from a thousand bees. He turned away from her, checking the reins although he didn’t need to. “Ruin what?”
“Any feelings, any affection she may hold for you.”
He moved closer to the horse, ignoring the twinge of guilt that crept through his body. Meg didn’t hold any affection for him, how could she? She’d seen the monster within. “And what makes you think I’d care?”
“Because I saw you in the garden yesterday.”
He adjusted the horse’s bit. “Yesterday was a lapse in good judgment.”
Millie sighed. “Whether you admit it or not, there is something between you and being with her will only flare those flames of desire.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “If Meg is who you want, grab her and hold on tight. Don’t ruin it. People like us do not often have such a chance at love. Tell her all, now, before she finds out on her own what you truly are.”
Her words hit him in the chest. Heavy words he didn’t want to contemplate. He forced himself to laugh. “Love? Apparently, you’ve exaggerated my emotions. We can’t love. We don’t need love. Love is for weak humans who need something to cling to. I need answers. The only way to get answers is to befriend her.”
“Will you drink from her? You know the risks. Drinking from her will only add to the situation, make her think you care more than you do.”
He shrugged, pretending her words didn’t influence him. Pretending, even now, he wasn’t imagining sinking his teeth into Meg’s beautiful neck. He shivered, despite himself. “I have no clue what will happen.”
“Admit it, you can’t stay away from her. You hunger for her blood like no other.”
“I’m merely fucking hungry. I’d feed from anyone at this point.”
She frowned. “Sounds like you’re going to use Meg.”
He spun around, tired of her accusations. “That’s rich, coming from you. How many humans have you used? Christ, when did you become such a sentimental fool?”
Millie narrowed her eyes, her lips lifting into a snarl that let those white fangs flash. “I’ll ignore that since you are obviously suffering.”
“The only reason I’m suffering is because you won’t bloody well
allow this conversation to end.”
The front door opened and they fell into a tense silence. He smelled Meg’s sweet scent a moment before she appeared on the front stoop. She swept down the wide steps, her light pink dress swirling around her ankles like a fluffy cloud of ignition. Her gaze found Grayson first, then Millie, then landed on the phaeton and narrowed. She looked anything but thrilled at the thought of spending time with him.
She held up the invitation he’d sent to her that afternoon, the paper quivering in the wind. “What’s this?”
He cleared his throat, attempting to make his face appear passive. “I thought you might wish to look at flowers, or whatever it is you do.”
She quirked a brow and tapped her booted foot in obvious irritation.
“She’s on to you,” Millie whispered.
He ignored her comment. “Shall we?”
Frowning, Meg crossed her arms over her chest. “Mr. Bellamont, although I appreciate you taking, no doubt, an extraordinary amount of time to demand your servants prepare a basket and the phaeton, if you are planning on escorting me merely for information you’ll be woefully disappointed.”
Millie laughed, then tried to cover her amusement by coughing. “The weather,” she said. “The sudden change has wreaked havoc on my lungs.”
“Miss James, get into the carriage,” Grayson snapped.
She moved down the shallow steps. “Do not be ridiculous. It’s going to rain.” She swept her hand up to indicate the gray clouds hovering on the horizon, just waiting for an unwary traveler.
“Nonsense, it’s quite lovely.”
A low rumble rolled across the skies. Meg looked pointedly at him. “Do you wish to see me killed, is that what this is about? Struck by lightning in a storm so you will be rid of me, Mr. Bellamont?”
She called him Grayson when they kissed. Did she realize that? He released a long breath through gritted teeth. “The storm is certainly not coming this way. You’ve been cooped inside, surely you wish to enjoy the cool weather.”
She shifted, her lips pressed into a thin line. Millie stood to the side, watching their interaction with barely concealed amusement. He was prepared to toss Meg into the carriage, if need be. Then she surprised him by tilting her chin high and sweeping down the path. She ignored his outstretched hand and started to climb the phaeton without assistance.
Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose. “God save me from stubborn women.”
Millie chuckled. Of course she found his predicament amusing, because it wasn’t happening to her. Bloody humans and their bloody emotions. He heard Meg’s frustrated sigh and turned to see her struggling with her skirt while balancing precariously on the edge of the carriage step.
“Allow me.” He took her hand before she could argue.
The contact sent heat up his arm and down, straight to his groin. Damn it all, he couldn’t touch her without reacting. He never should have kissed the woman. Never should have tasted her blood. He swallowed hard and focused on her face, wondering if his nearness affected her in the least. Apart from her pale complexion, she seemed as indifferent as the horse.
“Have a wonderful time,” Millie called out in an overly cheerful voice.
Grayson slid the woman a warning glance as he jumped into the carriage. Immediately, he regretted his decision to take the small phaeton. He’d thought to make their environment more intimate, and he had, unfortunately. Merde, he would not react to Meg’s nearness, certainly not when the woman was intent on seeming indifferent to him.
She clung to the side as if he had an illness she feared catching. Amazing, he’d had his fair share of women and this country chit wanted nothing to do with him. Had he frightened her? Did she regret their kiss? Why the hell did he care? He could go into town this very day and find any number of women who would gladly allow him to do whatever the hell he wanted to them. Things that would make Meg blush.
“I’ve told you all I can,” she said, not looking at him. “You don’t have to attend to me in hopes of gathering more information.”
He slapped the reins urging the horse forward. “Perhaps I merely wanted to enjoy the fine weather.”
She slid him a glance. “And then perhaps you’ll write a poem and compare my eyes to the sky on a summer day?”
“Perhaps I will,” he snapped.
He slapped the reins harder and the horse burst into a run. Meg squeaked and clung to the side of the phaeton. The scenery rushed past, a kaleidoscope of green grass and gray skies. Instantly he was a young lad again, racing his mates through London, laughing, jesting, completely fearless for he knew it would take more than the average to kill him. But the memory was as fleeting as his smile.
He slowed the carriage to a respectable trot. Meg’s giggle made him stiffen. Color had rushed to her cheeks and her forget-me-not eyes sparkled in pure delight. He couldn’t seem to look away. He wanted to drown in her innocence, her purity, her laughter. She caught his gaze and her smile fell.
He didn’t want her to stop smiling. “Where would you like to go? You know the area better than I. Where are your flowers?”
She shifted, hesitating. “Well, anywhere will do.” Suspicion quickly replaced the sparkle in her eyes. How could he gain her trust? She took her lower lip between her teeth, her hands twisting the material of her gown.
“Go on then, you obviously have some place in mind.”
“Well,” she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling once more. “Near the marsh is a flower I have yet to catalogue.”
Her excitement was oddly infectious. “Point me in the direction.”
“Truly?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
A smile spread across her face, and like a Russian saber her joy pierced his heart. A joy that he didn’t quite understand, had never felt before. He had the sudden desire to see her this happy always. Disconcerted, he looked away. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somehow she’d found a way into his thoughts, his soul. She’d seen a part of him in that prison he’d wanted to keep secret, a part of him that should have terrified her. Yet, she wasn’t cowering now. Almost as if… she accepted him for who he was.
She inched closer to him and pointed toward a bend in the road. “Turn there.”
Her shoulder brushed against his arm and his heart lurched at the close contact. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. He felt on the brink of battle, a war he had no choice but to participate in. Even now he could taste the memory of her blood on his tongue. How much longer could he be this close and not have her completely?
“You’re writing a book?” he said, desperate to talk of something, anything that would take is mind away from her warm body.
Her face flushed and she twisted her skirt more tightly. “Yes. At Beth’s insistence, actually. I had thought on it for quite a while and Beth gave me the push I needed. She noticed how much I appreciated nature and that I could draw rather well.”
“I see.”
She seemed to bristle at his comment, her body stiffening. “It’s very popular at the moment, you know, botany and such.” There was a touch of defense to her tone.
He wasn’t sure what he’d said or done to make her upset. Humans were so damn confusing. “I’m sure it is.”
She frowned and fell silent. The wind whispered seductive words around them, making her locks dance on the breeze and brush across his neck, taunting him. How he wanted to wrap his fingers into her hair, jerk her close and crush his mouth to hers, propriety be damned.
“It’s just over the hill,” she said. With a sigh, her shoulders slumped. “It seems as if summer is over. My sister’s favorite season was fall.”
“Hanna’s mother?”
“Hmm?” She turned to look at him, her brows drawn together with confusion.
“Hanna’s mother.”
The clouds in her eyes cleared. A rush of pink colored her high cheekbones. “Oh, yes, of course. Julia was her name.” She looked away, as if avoiding his gaze. He found he
r response incredibly suspicious. “I think it a bit depressing. Autumn. Everything goes still, the year has ended, never to return.”
“I prefer the season, actually. A time for quiet reflection, rest for the weary.”
Meg laughed. “And what induces your weariness, Mr. Bellamont? The constant respect people give you? Your large house? Your money.”
His gaze slid to her. “No one has a perfect life, Miss James.”
She dropped her gaze to her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You must forgive me. I’ve had little sleep and have not been feeling myself.”
“It’s not surprising, given the circumstances. I suppose it’s difficult taking care of an entire family. Not to mention the stress your under.”
“Of course not. I am blessed to have such sisters,” she said the words as if she’d rehearsed them.
Memories of his own childhood flashed to mind. A childhood of indulgences and laughter. How differently would his life be if his parents had lived? If he wasn’t a monster… She was right. He’d led a life of privilege. As a child he’d wanted for nothing, and he had thought his family was invincible. Isn’t that what his parents had taught him? Blood sucking demons lived forever. But every living thing had a weakness. Someone had found his parents’ and someone had found Emma’s.
“Calm down, Miss James. I am not condemning you.” He shifted, scanning the rolling hills. “Where is this place?”
“It’s just there,” she said, pointing ahead.
He maneuvered the carriage to the side of the road and set the break. Gray clouds hovered above, like a demon flying over the landscape, awaiting to cloak them in its darkness. Just off the road, an inky marsh glistened, creeping across the landscape and into the birch and fir trees that dotted the ground. A person could get lost in a marsh like this.
**********************************************
Meg didn’t wait for his assistance, but jumped from the carriage eager to escape his touch. Only once she was on the ground could she breathe with some normalcy. She’d been terrified during the entire drive that he would kiss her again and when they’d stopped and he hadn’t, she felt something else. Disappointment? No, surely not. She should be terrified, being alone with the man, not thrilled. What was wrong with her?