Chapter Five
Marcus pulled back the edge of a velvet curtain in his workshop as a cloud passed across the sun.
He should have been with his valet preparing for the wedding, but he could not resist attempting to catch a glance of his bride-to-be as she arrived.
He’d spent the past several weeks imagining what it would be like to see her for the first time.
Perhaps he would wait for her family to retire to their assigned rooms and then surprise her by appearing from one of the secret passages.
She would spin around, her lips parted, her unruly hair tied tightly behind her head, her spectacles falling down her nose.
He released the curtain and returned to his worktable.
The hours until the ceremony were passing with agonizing slowness.
If he did not occupy his mind, he would end up so nervous that he would suffer another attack and fail to speak his vows.
He’d already sent his valet away twice because Marcus could not step a foot outside his tower without feeling as if he were going to faint.
There was a loud knock on his door.
“Let me in,” an irritated voice said.
Cordon again. Marcus allowed his brother inside. Unlike the last time he’d visited, he looked at Marcus with an expression so grave that he half-expected his brother to tell him one of their siblings had died.
“Come to offer congratulations?” Marcus asked weakly.
“Lucina sent me.” Cordon palmed a glass paperweight from atop a pile of papers on Marcus’s desk and rolled it around in his hands. “She wanted me to tell you several vampires were killed in Glasgow last week. There are rumors that hunters have returned to Scotland.”
Marcus straightened. “That’s impossible.” He trusted Lucina, his youngest sister and the leader of the ancient vampire council known as the Wild Hunt, but she had to be mistaken. “There hasn’t been a hunter sighting here in over a century.”
The humans known as hunters had once reigned over the Continent with an iron grip, dispatching any vampire that was unlucky enough to stumble across their path.
The Wild Hunt had been formed to address the hunter threat; by limiting how many humans could be turned, the number of fledgling vampire attacks decreased until the hunters eventually faded into obscurity.
“Then you will do nothing,” Cordon said.
Something about the way his brother had said that made Marcus bristle. “There is nothing to be done.” He turned to the window. “Lucina is mistaken.”
He clenched his hands and forced himself to breathe slowly as the walls shivered around him. There could be no hunters, because if there were, every member of his nest was in danger while he remained stuck in his castle like a coward.
“Do you intend to turn Miss Belltree?” Cordon asked.
“Eventually,” Marcus said. “She will need time to adjust to the idea.”
He didn’t want to consider what he’d do if she reacted poorly. There was always his eldest nest sister, Seraphina, who could erase human memories, but there would still be the problem of Winifred being his wife.
“You should cancel the wedding,” Cordon said suddenly. “You hardly know Miss Belltree. It could be a trap.”
Marcus did not dignify that comment with a response.
In reality, he knew more about Winifred than his own siblings.
He knew she struggled with crowds and loud noises, that she always slept on her side, and that she was equally excited and anxious for their upcoming union.
Instead of talking to his brother, he should have been finding her and easing her worries.
He could only imagine how terrified she must be, preparing to become the wife of a man she had never seen.
She would be second-guessing her choices even now. Any rational woman would be.
“She’s not who you think she is,” Cordon said.
“Of course she isn’t,” a tall, black-haired man wearing a baggy sack coat said as he swaggered into the room from behind Cordon. “All women are tricksters.”
Marcus’s pleasure at seeing his youngest brother, Jonathan, for the first time in months was so overwhelming that he almost enveloped the man in a hug before remembering that Marguerite would never have done anything of the kind. Instead, he inclined his head. “It is good to see you, Jonathan.”
“Do not tell me you missed me.” Jonathan put his hands in his pockets, looking around as if evaluating the small space the way he might assess a museum or a bank vault.
He was one of the most accomplished thieves in all of Europe, in part because he could walk into a business three times wearing a different disguise and never be recognized.
“Have you come to warn me not to marry Miss Belltree as well?” Marcus asked.
Jonathan walked over to the fireplace and picked up a cigar from a box on the mantel, which he twirled in his fingers.
“Certainly not. If you want to chain yourself to a woman and face questions as to why you never age or venture out during the day, I won’t stop you.
” Then he turned, still flipping the cigar.
“Marcus is the eldest, Cordon. It’s not our place to tell him what to do. ”
“He is making a mistake,” Cordon said, in a tight voice.
Jonathan lifted one eyebrow. “You’ve got that right. He should be out enjoying his last hours as a bachelor, not sitting here chatting.”
Cordon snatched the cigar out of Jonathan’s hands. “Will you take nothing seriously?”
Marcus edged between the two vampires and shoved them apart. “Enough.”
Their problem was a lack of structure. His absence in their daily lives meant there was no dominant vampire in the hierarchy. Without consistent orders, their bickering would escalate to a power struggle that one of them would not survive. He had to redirect their energy to more productive efforts.
He clasped Cordon’s shoulder. “I will not jeopardize the safety of the nest without proof. If you believe the hunters have returned, then bring me evidence.”
His brother dipped his head. “As you command.”
“As for you, Jonathan,” Marcus said. “Observe my guests and inform me if you notice anything suspicious.” Then he waved a hand, and both brothers vanished.
Not a moment too soon, as their squabbling had become tiresome.
He was too nervous about his upcoming nuptials to be settling conflicts, even if it made him feel rather nostalgic for when they had all lived together in Paris.
He could have that again, if only he could find a way to manage his attacks.
Now that Winifred had arrived to assist him, he would have a second pair of hands to help with his experiments.
Winifred.
Months of anticipation and she was finally within reach.
According to his duty as host, he should have greeted his visitors at the door as they’d arrived, but he feared if he faced them when his nerves were so rattled, he would suffer another attack.
Meeting Winifred alone, however, might be manageable.
His valet would be irritated by the further delay in preparing for the ceremony, but Marcus could no longer wait.
He ran down the tower steps and then along the hall until he reached the room his housekeeper had assigned to her.
But when he lifted his fist, he heard a voice.
Instead of knocking, he ducked into the adjoining room and moved the dusty bookshelf to reveal a secret passageway that ran parallel to several of the rooms on the floor.
He had not intended to spy, but he could not resist the urge to see her, if only for a moment.
He squeezed through the narrow, cobwebby space until he’d reached a peephole, then peered through and sucked in a breath.
She was standing directly in front of him.
His heart fluttered in his chest. She had the exact uncontrollable, brown, curly hair he’d imagined, tucked into a braid that looked ready to burst apart at any moment, and wide, brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes hidden behind wire-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose.
He’d expected her to be with a lady’s maid, but she was alone. Her slim figure was draped in a loose-fitting cream silk dressing robe and a long, white dress lay draped over the length of her bed, along with a pair of white slippers and a sheer veil.
“Oh, Marcus,” she said.
He startled, smacking his shin against the wall. Hearing her say his given name in such a breathy voice made his skin erupt in gooseflesh.
She was thinking about him.
Then she walked back to the bed, sat down, and let out a heart-wrenching sob.
The posture stabbed at Marcus’s heart. She looked so vulnerable. Terrified. And it was all his fault. He reached for the clasp to open the wall when there was a knock at her door. She wiped her tears away with a handkerchief she’d pulled out of her sleeve. “Come in.”
An older woman wearing an elaborate, light-green gown with wide, puffed shoulders and a cinched waist entered. She shared Winifred’s dark hair and large, brown eyes, which could only have meant she was Mrs. Belltree.
“Terribly rude of your new husband not to greet us,” Mrs. Belltree said. Instead of comforting her daughter, she swept across the room and scrutinized Winifred’s wedding dress. “And this evening wedding! Such an unusual man.” Her brows drew together. “It is almost as if he’s…”
Marcus stiffened. Had he been discovered so soon? That would be disastrous, given his inability to leave the castle.
“It’s almost as if he’s what?” Winifred asked.
Mrs. Belltree shook her head. “It matters not. The man is eccentric, but he is still an earl.”
Marcus forcibly relaxed his muscles. He was safe, for the moment.
Mrs. Belltree picked up the garment on the bed by the shoulders and held it to her own body. “Do not fret, my dear. I remember the day I married your father. I was in quite a similar state.”
Winifred put her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. He cursed Mrs. Belltree for arriving before he could enter and tell Winifred that his intentions were honorable. She didn’t need a lecture; she needed reassurance that she wasn’t about to marry a monster.
It wasn’t entirely Mrs. Belltree’s fault, his conscience reminded him. He’d already have been introduced to Winifred if he’d done his duty properly.
“Well, get up, child,” Mrs. Belltree said.
Winifred shoved her balled-up handkerchief away. “What?”
Mrs. Belltree tutted. “You know the Sorrow family custom. This is the way things have always been. I have also prepared the other items you will require…”
Marcus quickly shuffled away. As curious as he was to get a better look at Winifred, he would not impose upon her any more than he already had.
He edged out of the secret passage, dusted the cobwebs from his trousers, then grimaced.
He had a mere hour before he was expected in the ballroom, where they would marry.
That would have to be enough time for his valet to prepare him.
He wanted Winifred to have the best possible first impression.