Chapter Six
Jonathan would never forget the look on Felicity’s face when her employer presented him. Her lips puckered and her eyes widened, as if she’d bitten into a wedge of a particularly sour lemon.
“Is something the matter, Miss Sorrow?” Mr. Blackwood asked. “I hope you are not feeling unwell.”
Jonathan tried not to laugh as she jerked her head rapidly back and forth. Then she visibly pulled herself together and gave him a smile that was so rigid, it could have graced the face of a marble statue.
“Not at all.” She dipped into a curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Drake.”
She was an exceptional actor. He’d half-expected her to demand he be removed from the premises, but she must have known doing so would only create tension between her and the curator.
“Well.” Mr. Blackwood clapped his hands. “I will let you get acquainted. I am most eager to relay the good news to our patrons.” Then he scurried away.
Felicity exhaled harshly. “As it seems I am stuck with you, Mr. Drake, where should we begin?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Wherever you wish.”
Her eyelid twitched. Watching her struggle was terribly entertaining. He found he wanted to see her angry and flushed with passion.
Perhaps in his bed.
He almost choked on his own saliva. How had he come to think of her sexually?
He’d indulged himself with dozens of willing human women since Marguerite’s departure, but those had all been mature, working-class women, not stuffy assistant curators.
Still, as he followed Felicity to the conservatory and watched her chew her bottom lip, he couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have those lips clasped around his cock.
He squashed those thoughts. She was not a conquest. Getting involved with a hunter would be the most idiotic thing he had ever done.
She was an obstacle in his path and a member of a family that had spilled the blood of his kind for centuries.
Making her suffer required him to earn her trust, which might involve flirting, but would go no further.
He would certainly never kiss her.
“What do you think about the room?” she asked.
He was so distracted that it took several seconds to realize she had asked him a question.
They were in a glass-enclosed conservatory looking out onto a garden behind the building.
He tilted his head up. The sloped ceiling consisted of several glass panels that would have been easy enough to cut through or displace.
“I think your employer has made an enormous mistake.”
Her brow furrowed. “By giving me more space?”
She thought he was disparaging her work.
It was not at all what he’d intended, but he could not resist the opportunity to further irritate her.
“Yes. Do you really expect anyone to be interested in…” He walked to a nearby table and picked up one of the items that had already been relocated from the closet, a carved, wooden figure of a man with bat wings and protruding fangs. “Is this supposed to be a vampire?”
She snatched the item out of his grasp. “Don’t touch that.”
So, she didn’t want him handling her precious artifacts. He grabbed a smooth, ebony staff. “You realize that if you proceed with this exhibit, you will be ridiculed.”
“Be careful!” she cried. “That is an eighteenth-century divining rod. If you break it—”
He lifted the staff out of her reach and twirled it. “What will you do?” He winked. “Emasculate me?”
Her cheeks reddened. “Do you intend to continue irritating me?”
He placed the rod back on the table. “It’s not my only intention.
” Then, before she throttled him and discerned his nature through the coldness of his skin, he pointed to the French doors that opened onto the garden.
“That is the route I’d take.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.
His ability to remain in her orbit depended upon her being wary, but he’d offer a few suggestions to demonstrate his commitment to protecting the museum.
The codex would be his after he convinced Felicity to let down her guard.
She narrowed her eyes. “Precisely how much of a reformed thief are you?”
“You accuse me of deception,” he said, being sure to keep his tone flat, even bored. “How terribly original. Now, where is this ancient text that’s been targeted by our thief?”
She huffed, then glanced at an open crate in the corner.
“Aha.” He pushed past her, ignored her sputtering protests, then lifted the illustrated manuscript. “Here it is.”
A precious item that might hold a cure for the illness that plagued him, and she’d left it in a dusty box. He resisted the urge to run. It would take less than a second for him to escape the museum.
But where was the challenge in that?
If all he’d wanted was the manuscript, he would have taken it when he’d placed the threatening note. As keen as he was to be free of the affliction, his desire to make her suffer was stronger.
She wrenched the book out of his hands. “Keep your hands off my artifacts!”
He let her take the item and hopped onto the nearest table and swung his legs. “That’s it?”
She clutched the book to her chest. “It might not seem valuable to the uneducated, but that does not mean it is not of tremendous historical importance.”
He snorted. “Does it possess the secret to transforming lead into gold?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He couldn’t take his gaze off the codex.
When he presented it to his siblings, he’d be free of their constant pestering to search for his fated mate.
He remembered the lithe, red-haired chorus dancer who had joined his bed the previous night.
Her blood had tasted like sour cherries from the wine she had imbibed, which had left him feeling tipsy.
That had never happened before and was further evidence his condition was worsening.
Still, he’d not been an accomplished thief as a human by acting rashly.
He’d wait a few days, long enough for Felicity to let down her guard, and then complete his mission, leaving her furious and devastated by his betrayal.
Exactly how he wanted her.
“Are you actually going to help me?” she asked.
He blinked. Was that desperation or hope in her voice? It was not something he had expected, and it left him scrambling for a teasing response. He was saved by the sudden appearance of a red-bearded man wearing a long leather coat and an odd triangular hat.
Felicity straightened. “Great-Uncle! What are you doing here?”
Jonathan watched the exchange with interest. So, this man, who looked as rough as a sailor with a ragged scar across his cheek and shoulders as large as a barge, was the leader of the Sorrow hunters.
“Benedict heard the rumors,” Mr. Sorrow said. “Is this how you show your loyalty to your family, Felicity? By disobeying a direct order and stealing artifacts out of the archives?”
“It is not what you think. I—”
Mr. Sorrow drew his right hand back, as if he intended to slap her. “Cease your chatter!”
The fury in the man’s voice made Jonathan realize the perilous situation in which he’d placed himself.
Tampering with Felicity’s memory had worked because she was young and inexperienced.
Mr. Sorrow was neither and therefore much more likely to recognize Jonathan was a vampire.
Before the hunter noticed him, he hopped off the table and relocated to a shadowy corner, while staying close enough to listen to the conversation.
“Your behavior is entirely unacceptable,” Mr. Sorrow said. “I might have expected such disobedience from your cousins, but not you.” He grasped her upper arms. “I’ve already lost Vincent and Winifred. I cannot lose you as well.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. Jonathan recognized everything about the scenario, and the familiarity was like a knife slipping between his ribs.
“I was only trying to help,” Jonathan whispered.
The remains of the music box he had carried all the way from a West End market lay shattered at his feet.
It had been made of porcelain and hand-painted with tiny, red roses.
When he’d seen it, he’d immediately known it was the perfect gift for his maker.
But when he had presented it to her, she had smacked it from his hands.
“You risk all of us by venturing out during the day,” Marguerite said. “I did not create you to fritter away your time.” She sighed. “You are young, child. Still a fledgling. You must listen to your elders.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “I cannot lose you.”
Jonathan shook the memory away. He’d done everything he could to earn his maker’s love, but he no longer believed Marguerite had ever wanted the best for him.
All she’d cared about was her own selfish desire to keep each of her children under her power.
That was why she’d sent Helena to the abbey, to prevent Lucina from forming a stronger bond with her nest sister than with her maker.
A similar situation was playing out between the figures in front of him.
The way Felicity stood stiffly upright, despite Mr. Sorrow’s evident disapproval.
The way her shoulders curled inward. The way she didn’t speak, didn’t defend herself.
She didn’t have to. She had been trained to bear the guilt in silence.
That was how her family kept her obedient, through suffocating bonds of duty.
He crossed and uncrossed his legs. What was he thinking? Mr. Sorrow was nothing like Marguerite. She’d occasionally been stern, even cruel, but everything she’d done had been to protect her nest.
“You will bring the artifacts back immediately,” Mr. Sorrow said.
Jonathan tensed. He hadn’t wanted to intervene, but he no longer had a choice. If the codex was returned to the hunters, it would be far more difficult to steal.
He should have just taken the damned thing when he’d had the opportunity.
“I understand your concern, Mr. Sorrow,” he said as he joined Felicity’s side. “But I can assure you, this museum is well guarded.”
Felicity glanced at him, eyes wide. He rested a hand on her shoulder, assuming the many layers of fabric would insulate her from his icy skin, then squeezed.
“And who are you?” Mr. Sorrow asked. His nostrils flared, and his eyes darted between Jonathan’s face and his hand on Felicity’s shoulder.
“A professional,” Jonathan said.
Mr. Sorrow’s scowl remained in place. Jonathan was about to shift tactics when Felicity spoke up.
“I know I’ve made mistakes, but all I want is a chance to prove myself.”
The old man’s jaw worked. “You had your chance six years ago. The exhibit you curated failed. I see no reason to try again.”
Jonathan remained silent, not wanting to interrupt what was obviously a power struggle. He’d known she wasn’t close to her family but hadn’t realized it was because of the failed attack in Scotland.
“Please.” Felicity’s voice rose in volume. “At least let me try. If anything is stolen, I…” Her shoulders trembled. “I’ll stop trying to follow in my parents’ footsteps.”
She hadn’t said the word ‘hunter,’ but it hung unspoken in the air.
Mr. Sorrow’s expression softened. “I see. If this is truly that important to you, then I suppose I can give you an opportunity.” He sniffed. “It is not as if any of your guests will believe what they see.”
Felicity tensed beneath Jonathan’s hand, but she wisely remained silent.
Mr. Sorrow waved his hand. “You may continue this spectacle for a week. If anything goes wrong, I will hold you to your promise.” Then he turned and left, his coat snapping behind him like a whip. The door clicked shut, and the moment it did, Felicity sagged.
“That was too close.”
He laughed softly. “Quite the family you have.”
She stomped on his toes.