Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bryony paced the parlor floor as she waited for Stefan’s arrival.
She had insisted on being able to see Stefan every night until she was married.
To her surprise, her father had acquiesced, which had left her wondering, somewhat suspiciously, why he had so readily agreed.
But she had more important things on her mind.
Time was running out. Had Stefan found a way for her to get out of marrying Bloodworth?
She knew Stefan would take her away before he let her wed another, but she couldn’t run away.
Timothy Bloodworth was a greedy, selfish, vindictive man.
He would never forgive such a large debt.
And she couldn’t just run off and live happily ever after when there was a possibility that Bloodworth would send her father to jail or that her family might be evicted from their home and left destitute.
Almost stronger than her horror at marrying Bloodworth was her anger at her father.
How could he have let something like this happen?
How could he have put their land and their future at risk?
If word got out, what would Veronica’s future husband, Robert, think?
Would he still want to marry Veronica if her father was sent to debtor’s prison in disgrace?
And what of Eli and his betrothed? Would their marriage also be at risk?
She had the beginnings of a horrible headache when Stefan arrived. For once, her family was not present. Eli had gone hunting. Veronica and their mother had gone to the city earlier and had not yet returned. She had no idea where her father was.
Stefan frowned when he saw the look on her face. “What troubles you?” he asked, as he took her in his arms.
“What do you think?” Taking his hand, she led him to the couch and sat down, tugging him down beside her.
“Do you actually believe I would let that man or any other lay their hands on you? I would see them dead first.”
“That wouldn’t solve the problem,” Bryony said with regret. “My father would still owe the debt.”
He had several options, Stefan mused. He considered simply wiping the debt from Bloodworth’s mind, but there were bound to be others who knew of it, friends, perhaps.
Surely his solicitor and the banking office.
And the physical note itself. Far easier to go to Bloodworth and give him the money. Or offer it to Barrett.
“Stop worrying, my sweet.” Lifting her hand to his lips, Stefan kissed her palm. “I shall pay the debt. It will take me a few days to withdraw the funds.”
Bryony blinked at him. “You would do that? For me?”
“Would you rather I killed him?” Stefan asked with a wry grin.
“Of course not,” she said quickly. “But…it’s a great deal of money.”
“Then it is fortunate that I have a great deal of money, is it not?”
She didn’t know why she was surprised. He had spent a small fortune on her, buying her fashionable clothes, art supplies and books, taking her out to expensive restaurants and the theater.
He owned two houses that she knew of, although she recalled that he had burned one of them down.
She smiled inwardly. She couldn’t wait to tell her father that Stefan had offered to repay the loan.
Perhaps gratitude would replace the dislike he had for Stefan.
“Is it all right if I tell my father tonight that you’re willing to repay the debt?”
“If you wish. It will be my wedding gift to you.” Slipping his arms around her, he captured her lips with his in a long, slow kiss that brought her whole body achingly alive with wanting him.
“Let’s go someplace where we can be alone,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
“Where?”
“I will find a place.”
“Let me tell one of the maids we’re going,” she said, though it was hard to think coherently when he was holding her close, his tongue sliding seductively along the length of her neck.
“Hurry.”
Reluctantly, she eased out of his arms and went in search of one of the housemaids.
“Lucy, I’m going for a walk with Stefan. If I’m not back when my parents return, let them know where I’ve gone.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Smiling, Bryony hurried back to the parlor. Stefan wrapped her in his arms and a moment later, they were in a quiet glade surrounded by trees and flowering shrubs. A full moon smiled down on them.
Kneeling on the lush grass, Stefan pulled her down beside him, his mouth covering hers while his hands stroked up and down her back, brushing against the sides of her breasts.
His touch lit a fire deep inside her and she moaned softly as he stretched out on the grass and drew her body close to his, her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest, their legs entwined.
She yearned toward him, aching for more than kisses.
“Bryony, my best beloved one.” His voice was whiskey-rough with desire, every instinct urging him to take her, to make her completely his, body and soul.
He had never wanted another woman the way he wanted her.
Not since the fateful night he had turned Salina had he considered making another vampire, but he yearned to drink from Bryony, to glut himself with her life’s blood and then give it back to her, to make her a vampire, so that she would be his forever.
His kisses turned more ardent as he thought of what it would be like to have her share his whole life.
He would show her a world she had never seen, never imagined.
Places mere mortals had never been, sights unknown to human eyes.
His fangs extended at the thought.
A moment later, Bryony let out a surprised cry.
Stefan recoiled immediately, an oath escaping his lips when he realized his fangs had drawn blood. The scent of it inflamed his senses and he sprang to his feet.
Bryony wiped her mouth, then stared up at him when she saw the blood on her fingertips.
“I am sorry,” he said, his voice rough with guilt. “Forgive me.”
She frowned, thinking he looked different somehow. She saw a hint of his fangs before he turned away. “Stefan?”
He took a deep breath, wondering if he dared tell her what had happened. Would she understand? Or would it frighten her to know how close he had come to turning her?
“Stefan?” Overcome by a sudden chill, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Slowly, he turned to face her. “You tempt me on so many levels,” he said. “Your beauty. Your sweetness. Your acceptance of what I am.” His heated gaze moved over her. “Your kisses. The enticing scent of your life’s blood. It calls to me in ways you will never understand.”
His words, the faint touch of red in his eyes, sent a shiver down her spine. “What are you trying to say?”
He shook his head. “Do not ask me to explain. Come,” he said, offering her his hand. “I will take you home.”
“No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong?”
“You will not like the answer.”
“Tell me.”
“I was thinking how much I would like to make you what I am.” He didn’t know which of them was more surprised by his answer. He had sworn he would never again make another vampire. And yet, apparently, his subconscious didn’t agree.
She stared up at him, a look of horror spreading across her face as the meaning of his words sank in. “You want me to be a vampire?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. It was only…” He shrugged. “You were in my arms and your blood sang to me so sweetly…” He shrugged again. “Forgive me. It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more.”
He lifted her to her feet. He didn’t say anything, just put his arm around her. In the blink of an eye, she was home, in her bedchamber, and he was gone.
A moment of weakness, she thought later that night, when she was safe in her bed. What if he accidentally turned her in a moment of weakness? It was a worrisome thought, one that kept her awake far into the early morning hours.
Stefan relaxed in a hot bath, a glass of wine in his hand.
He had accumulated a great deal of wealth in four hundred and fifty years, some by nefarious means, some at the gaming tables in London and Paris, some by wagering on sporting events.
Of course, being able to read minds took the gamble out of most of it.
He kept the bulk of his wealth in banking institutions around the world.
He would have to buy a new home for Bryony if she would still have him. A carriage, furniture. A soft, new bed. He smiled at the thought of making love to her in their own home, in their own bed, with no one to interrupt. He grunted softly. A new home far away from that of her father.
Rising, he set his glass aside and reached for a towel.
There were no bathing facilities other than a pitcher and bowl in the old castle, which was why he was spending the night at an inn in Ireland.
While drying off, he imagined sharing a tub with Bryony, washing her from head to toe, drying her off, making love to her all night long.
The very thought had his body hardening.
Muttering an oath, he wrapped the towel around his waist and strolled down the hall to his room.
Moving to the window, he stared out at the night, drinking in the myriad sights and smells that were unknown to humankind.
How he loved the night! The way the darkness enfolded him, the way the night wind whispered secrets in his ears.
A deep breath carried the scents of mortals and animals alike, the pungent odor of smoke wafting from a chimney a mile away, the cloying smell of a tart’s perfume, the musky scent of her customer’s lust.
He turned away from the window and imagined Bryony beside him.
He was eager to show her the wonders of the world—the Taj Mahal in India, the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower in France, the Great Sphinx in Egypt, the Parthenon in Greece, the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, the Colosseum in Rome.
He had viewed them all, time and again, as he traveled the world, but always alone.
How much more satisfying it would be to share such beauty, such magnificent creations, with the one he loved.
It would be like seeing them all anew through her eyes.
Bryony. Body and soul, he ached for the touch of her hand, her kiss, the breathy way she murmured his name when he held her close.
Bryony sat up, her gaze darting around her darkened bedchamber. “Stefan? Stefan, are you there?”
Disappointed, she slumped back against the pillows when there was no reply.
She could have sworn he was in the room.
How she wished he was there, holding her close, murmuring that he loved her, his tongue playing over her lips, his fangs nipping at her neck, his bite filling her with warmth and pleasure.
Her Stefan. She missed him desperately when they were apart.
I am with you, my fair Bryony. Go to sleep and dream of me.
It was startling—and oh, so exciting—to hear his voice in her mind. To know he was thinking of her. She refused to succumb to her earlier fears, reminding herself that in all the time they had been together, he had never hurt her. No, not once.
Sliding back under the covers, she closed her eyes and summoned his image to mind—devil-dark eyes, a body she loved to touch, and kisses that could drive her to distraction. She was smiling when she fell asleep and he was there, in her dreams, waiting for her.
Bryony woke early the next morning, eager to tell her father the good news.
She knew he always spent an hour or two in his study before breakfast and she wanted to catch him alone.
She didn’t take time to dress, just pulled on her favorite wrapper, stepped into a pair of slippers and hurried down the stairs.
She found him sitting behind his desk, perusing some important-looking papers.
He glanced up, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw her. “You’re up early,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Everything is wonderful.”
“Is it?”
Nodding, she sat in the ladderback chair beside the desk. “Stefan said he’s willing to repay the Bloodworth loan. He said it would be my wedding gift.”
She had expected him to be relieved, happy, even. Instead, he stared at her, his eyes narrowed.
“I would rather go to prison for life than accept help from that bloodsucking monster. And I will send you to a convent before I let you marry him. Is that clear? I’ll find a way to settle the debt.”
“But…”
“I mean what I said. And one more thing, he isn’t welcome in our house any longer. Tell him so.”
“I can’t believe you’re willing to force me marry a man I don’t love, a man old enough to be my father, rather than accept help from the man I love.
The man who loves me! I will never, ever, forgive you for this!
And if you force me to marry that dreadful man, I will never speak to you again as long as I live! ”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
She fretted over her father’s stubbornness the rest of the day. Did he hate Stefan so much that he would truly rather go to prison than accept help freely offered? Was it hatred or pride that prevented him from accepting Stefan’s offer?
Pleading a headache, she spent the day in her bedchamber. Her mother came in and fussed over her. Veronica read to her from Ivanhoe. Eli brought her a rose he picked in the garden. She was grateful for their attention, but her misery remained.
That night, she watched for Stefan from her balcony. As soon as she saw him striding toward the front door, she whispered his name.
He looked up, a smile on his face when he saw her.
She gestured for him to come to her, watched in amazement as he jumped from the ground and over her balcony to take her in his arms.
“Good evening, princess,” he said, with a teasing grin. “Do you need rescuing?”
“You have no idea. My father refused your offer. He said he’d rather go to prison than accept help from you.”
Stefan grunted softly, thinking he should have seen that coming.
“There’s more.”
“I am no longer welcome here.”
She nodded. “What are we going to do?”
“Come away with me.”
“You know I can’t.” She shook her head. “I can’t let Bloodworth send my father to prison, nor can I let my father sell our home and land and leave my family with no place to go.”
Stefan swore softly as she laid her head against his chest. He would give Barrett a week or two to reconsider his offer. If the fool still refused, Stefan would go to Bloodworth and pay the man directly, Barrett and his foolish pride be damned.