Chapter Thirty-Two
The day of the wedding dawned grey and cold with the promise of rain. It suited Bryony’s mood perfectly as she stood at her bedchamber window looking out.
She had spent the day before trying to convince herself that she could go through with the ceremony, which was to be held that evening at the church in the city.
She told herself she had no choice, there was no other option.
It was marry Bloodworth the Bald or watch her father be arrested and dragged off to debtor’s prison, perhaps for life, the only home she had ever known sold.
In all honesty, she wasn’t sure which would be worse.
Bloodworth was rich and proud. Maybe if she went to him and begged him to annul their marriage, he would agree.
Why would a man wish to stay wed to a woman who didn’t want him?
She would promise to repay the debt with interest if he would end the marriage.
Even if Stefan didn’t want her, he still might be persuaded to lend her the money.
It was a slim hope, but it was the only one she had.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. If she failed, things would be no worse than they were now.
It was hours until the wedding. Stepping out of her nightgown, she put on her undergarments and then went to the wardrobe.
Opening the door, she considered the choices inside.
After a moment, she pulled out her ugliest dress, a murky brown velvet that did nothing for her figure or her complexion.
She pulled on a pair of ugly brown boots that should have been thrown away months ago.
She swept her hair back into a severe bun and covered it with a net.
She smiled grimly when she looked in the mirror.
She had made herself as unattractive as she could.
Heaving a sigh, she donned her cloak and tiptoed down the stairs. It was still early. Most of the household was asleep. She found a servant in the kitchen and sent him for the carriage.
Twenty minutes later, she was on her way to the Bloodworth estate.
Ten minutes after that, the Bloodworth’s butler escorted her into the front parlor.
She was too nervous to sit still. The house was quiet, the room cold.
The furniture was costly, the paintings that adorned the walls were the most beautiful she had ever seen.
She bit down on her lip, thinking she would rather live in a hovel with Stefan than share this house with Bloodworth the Bald.
The butler’s footsteps sounded overly loud as he entered the room. “Lord Bloodworth will see you upstairs.”
Bryony swallowed hard. “Upstairs?” She started to say it was inappropriate, but that wouldn’t wash. She was, after all, legally his wife.
Heart pounding with dread, she followed the butler up the long, winding staircase to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall lined with portraits of the Bloodworth family. She noted they all had a tendency toward corpulence.
The butler ushered her into Bloodworth’s sitting room.
Bryony’s heart was beating double-time as she came face-to-face with the man who was her husband. He was clad in a dark blue velvet robe, his sparse hair mussed. He needed a shave.
“Wife,” he said. “How good of you to come. Dare I believe you couldn’t wait until this evening to consummate our marriage?”
The thought made her stomach turn. “No. I’ve…
that is, I was hoping…” She clasped her hands together, her nails biting into her palms. “I wish to annul the marriage,” she said, the words running together in her haste.
“I will pay the debt for my father. No one need know of the earlier wedding. There will be no embarrassment for either of us.”
His little pig eyes narrowed as she finished speaking.
“I know this comes as a surprise,” she hurried on when he made no reply, “but I’m just not ready for marriage. Perhaps in a year or two,” she added hastily.
A faint smile twisted his thin lips as he removed his robe, revealing a pair of silk pajamas that made him look even fatter than he was. “I think I prefer my idea better,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Bryony took a frantic step backward, but there was a wall behind her and she had nowhere to go.
Reaching out, he snagged her wrist with his pudgy fingers and dragged her into the bedchamber. She stared in horror at the enormous bed with its purple velvet hangings. Merciful heavens, did he intend to claim his husbandly rights here and now?
Panic raced through her when he pulled her roughly into his arms and began to kiss her, long, wet kisses that filled her with revulsion.
She bit his lower lip, kicked his shins, but he merely laughed in her face.
She begged him to let her go, but he paid no attention.
She lashed out at him again to no avail, her struggles useless against his strength.
Until she raked her nails down his cheeks, drawing blood.
With an oath, he drew back and slapped her across the face twice, the force of the blows driving her backward. She tripped over a throw rug, let out a frightened cry as she fell backward. There was a horrible crunching sound as the back of her head hit the hearthstones in front of the fireplace.
Stefan woke with Bryony’s cry ringing in his ears. Naked, he rose and pulled on a pair of trousers, nothing more. It took only a moment to hone in on her blood. A thought took him to a large estate. Bryony was inside. Dying. A quick brush of her mind with his told him everything that had happened.
He pounded on the front door, cursing the threshold’s power to keep him out, cursing himself for shutting her out of his life.
He had told himself he was doing what was best for her and that misguided decision had led to this.
Dammit! Her father had failed her and so had he.
If she lived, he would never fail her again.
A butler answered his knock, took one look at his face, and closed the door.
Stefan pounded on the door again, but there was no answer. Willing himself into the backyard, he found a servant. Trapping the man’s gaze with his own, he said, “You will go into the house and invite me inside. Now, dammit!”
The man hurried toward the back door, opened it, stepped inside, and quickly said, “Please come in, sir.”
Stefan flew past the servant and raced up the stairs.
Bloodworth stood over Bryony, his hands on his hips. Blood dripped down his cheeks. He looked up when Stefan entered the room. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“What have you done?” Stefan asked, his voice deceptively mild.
“Nothing. It was an accident and it doesn’t concern you. My wife fell and hit her head.”
“Have you called for a doctor?”
Bloodworth shrugged. “It’s too late for that.”
Rage unfurled inside Stefan as he stepped forward and picked up the fireplace poker. “No,” he said, his voice like ice over steel. “It is too late for you.”
Bloodworth’s face went pale, his mouth gaping open for a scream that never came as the poker crushed his skull.
Stefan tossed the poker on the bed and knelt beside Bryony.
Her head was bleeding profusely, the rug beneath her was wet with it.
Her face was fish-belly white, her lips turning blue, her breathing erratic.
He had done this to her. He should have taken her away when he had the chance.
What did he care if her father went to prison?
If the whole damn family ended up behind bars? It would have been better than this.
She stared at him a moment, her expression blank, before slipping into unconsciousness.
Time was running out. Swearing softly, he lifted her into his arms and transported the two of them to the Stone House in the valley. Cradling her to his chest, he whispered, “Forgive me, my fair Bryony. You may hate me for what I do, but I cannot live in this world without you.”
Lowering his head, he removed the hair net and gently brushed the blood-soaked strands away from her neck.
Taking a deep breath, he drained all but the last of her life’s blood from her body.
When it was done, he bit into his wrist and held it to her lips.
“Drink, love,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You must drink.”
For a moment, he thought she was too far gone to respond but then, slowly, she began to lap at his blood. Gradually, her pale cheeks took on a bit of color, her breathing grew regular, as did her heartbeat.
When he was satisfied that she would survive, he sealed the wounds in her throat and his wrist and laid her carefully on his bed.
After filling a basin with water, he washed the blood from her hair and neck.
When that was done, he quickly removed her blood-stained clothing and her boots, leaving her clad in nothing but her chemise.
He covered her with a blanket, brushed a lock of hair from her brow, and bent down to kiss her cheek.
For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, Stefan bowed his head and offered a silent prayer of thanks that he had arrived in time to save her life, although it would never be the same again.
He felt no remorse for killing Bloodworth, only for letting Bryony down when she needed him the most.
Knowing she would sleep through the rest of the day, that night and the following day, he donned a clean shirt, combed his hair, and transported himself to the Barrett estate. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Barrett what had happened, but Bryony’s family had a right to know.
He made a short side trip to the Bloodworth mansion on the way.
He found the servant who had invited him into the house and wiped the memory of Bryony’s visit and his own from the man’s mind and replaced it with another memory, one where a stranger broke into the house and killed Bloodworth.
He planted the same memory in the mind of the butler.
It was mid-afternoon when Stefan arrived at the Barrett house.
Standing outside, he heard a dozen voices asking a dozen questions.
Someone—Barrett’s wife? was weeping. He didn’t have to read Barrett’s mind to know that the family knew Bryony had gone missing.
Her father was certain she had run away to avoid marrying Bloodworth.
Veronica was in a panic. Eli was out looking for her, along with a dozen members of the household staff.
His knock was answered immediately. “You!” Barrett hissed. “What have you done with my daughter?”
“Calm down and step outside,” Stefan said in a voice that brooked no argument. “I need to speak with you in private.”
The color drained from Barrett’s face as he called over his shoulder to his wife, telling her he would be right back. His movements were wooden as he followed Stefan toward a wrought-iron bench in the side yard and sat down heavily. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked tonelessly.
Avoiding Barrett’s question, Stefan said, “She went to see Bloodworth, hoping to talk him out of the marriage. Bloodworth refused and then informed her that he intended to consummate the marriage then and there. Bryony resisted and Bloodworth struck her.”
Rage flared in Barrett’s eyes and was quickly replaced by resignation. And grief. “How do you know all this? Were you there?”
“I read her mind. When she fell, she hit her head on the hearth,” Stefan said, his voice filled with guilt and regret. “She was bleeding profusely when I arrived. I got there a moment too late.”
“Where’s Bloodworth?”
“I killed him.”
“Good,” Barrett muttered, not meeting Stefan’s eyes. “Saves me the trouble.”
“As I was saying, I killed Bloodworth and took Bryony home with me. She was very near death.” Stefan paused, wondering how best to tell Barrett what he had done. But a quick glance at the man’s face told him Barrett already suspected.
“You turned her, didn’t you? You turned my beautiful, innocent daughter into a monster.”
“She is still beautiful,” Stefan said, his voice tinged with anger. “She is still innocent. And she will never be a monster.”
Barrett came off the bench, his hands clenched into fists, his outrage a physical force.
“Strike me if it will make you feel better,” Stefan said, his anger replaced by a wave of sympathy for the man. “This was all my fault.”
“I want to see her.”
“If you wish.”
Barrett frowned, obviously surprised by Stefan’s reply. “Just give me a minute to tell Maida I’m leaving and ask Brimhall to bring the carriage around.”
“We don’t need the carriage.”
Barrett stared at him for a moment, grunted softly, and hurried back to the house.
Stefan was waiting for him on the front steps when he came outside ten minutes later.
“Take hold of my arm,” Stefan said. “Use both hands.”
Barrett looked at him suspiciously. “Why? What…?”
“Just do it.”
Feeling foolish and a little embarrassed, Leyton grasped Stefan’s forearm in both hands.
He let out a muffled cry of alarm as the world fell away into darkness. A moment later, they were standing beside a bed.
“Bry!” Barrett dropped to his knees beside the bed, one hand cupping his daughter’s pale cheek while silent tears dripped down his face. “How could you?” he asked in a strangled voice. “How could you?”
“I could not let her die,” Stefan said. “I could not live without her.”
Barrett looked up at him. “You love her, don’t you?” he asked, a note of wonder in his voice.
“More than my life.”
“What happens to her now?”
“She will wake up tomorrow night as a new vampire. I will teach her what she needs to know. If she will have me after what I have done, I will spend the rest of my life caring for her.”
”What if she hates you?”
Stefan blew out a breath that came from the very depths of his soul.
Looking at his future without her in it was like looking into an endless abyss.
There was no answer there, or anywhere else.
“Come,” he said. “I will take you back home. I hope you and your family will not turn your backs on Bryony now, when she needs you the most.”
Barrett rose. Stefan had never seen a man who looked so wounded, so lost.
“She was to marry this evening,” Barrett murmured. “Even now, the family is getting ready. I don’t know what I’ll tell Maida.” He shook his head. “This is all my fault. If I had just let her marry you, none of this would have happened.”
Stefan swore under his breath, then extended his arm.
Barrett stared at the vampire for a moment, then grasped Stefan’s forearm, wondering how he was going to explain to his wife and children that Bryony was no longer human. How would his daughter react to her changed state? His youngest child had always been a picky eater, he thought, with a grimace.
But there would only be one choice on the menu from this day on.