MacNachton Vampires: Born To Bite Part 22

Ellie, however, knew better than to a.s.sume capitulation on her mother's behalf. Until the word "yes" audibly crossed her mother's lips, the battle had not been won.

"A lovely girl, isn't she, Mama?"

"Don't try my patience, Elspeth."

"Just let me do this one last thing. Let me have a small taste of freedom, of friends.h.i.+p. Of belonging. Then I'll go wherever you wish."

Ellie stepped forward until she was but an arm's length from her mother. Miss Breckenridge's birthday party had become the most imperative engagement of her life.

They desperately needed the money-now more than ever, if another infernal cross-country trip loomed scant days hence. But even more than that, Ellie wanted to go. She wanted to see the estate so smothered with messy riches, to hear the music of an orchestra swell around her. And, if she was being honest, she really wanted to lay eyes on Mr. Macane once more. Not because she gave Miss Breckenridge's fear of Lord Lovenip any credence, but because Ellie rather liked him.

He'd danced with her. Perhaps he'd do so again.

"Please, Mama." Following her mother's example, Ellie kept her voice calm and reasonable. "I don't wish to fight. I would just like to spend a few days with a friend before we run off yet again to some remote place where we won't know a single soul."

Mama's eyes narrowed. "A girls' weekend, she said. Just the two of you and a kitten?"

"And her parents, of course," Ellie put in quickly, lest her mother denounce the plan due to a lack of proper supervision.

"Very well," her mother said with an appraising once-over and a sigh. "But do not make me regret this."

"Truly?" Ellie's stomach dipped in a swirl of glee and apprehension. "I can go?"

"We can go," Mama corrected with a sharp nod. "I'm coming with you."

Chapter Five.

Cain cursed whatever demon had incited him to descend upon the Breckenridge country estate perched atop a whip of a curricle.

Vampires might be immortal, but immortality did not exempt one from the discomfort of foul weather. Thunderclouds enshrouded the sky, echoing Cain's darkening mood. Where he had once been hopeful that tonight was the night he would encounter his elusive prey, now he was simply hopeful he'd encounter a roof, and with luck, a fire. He was s.h.i.+vering and soaking wet and miserable.

So were his horses.

The beasts no longer believed him when he promised their destination must be around the next bend. The ragged lightning coursing across the sky terrified the grays as much as the roaring thunder that followed. Yet the intermittent flashes of bright white shooting across the thick woods were the only source of light along the serpentine trail. His favorite mount had thrown a shoe over one of the many patches of fist-sized rocks atop unstable mud. But the smartest choice was to continue on. His lodgings were already an hour past, and his home a forgotten memory until he, as hunter, returned with the prize.

Rain-blurred lights flickered around the next bend. In his excitement, he scarce discerned a small, dark shape huddled directly in the path. His horses reared. Cain barely wrangled them under control in time to avert their course. He might have missed the trembling ball of mange altogether, had it not whined plaintively upon the realization it was about to be trampled to death.

Cain leaped from his rain-soaked perch, barely vaulting over his skittish horses. He landed hard on his left shoulder, but did his best to ignore the sickening snap and the sharp flash of pain. There was no time. He scooped up the s.h.i.+vering pile of wet fur and rolled out of the way seconds ere they both would've had the full weight of a pair-and-carriage squelching them into the mud.

If his horses had been alarmed before, now they were altogether panicked. They shot off along the pitch-black trail at a suicidal pace, the phaeton clattering perilously behind. Unsteadily, Cain hauled himself to his feet. He tipped his face into the driving rain and let the pelting drops clear the dirt from his eyes before bending his head to inspect the bundle quaking in his arms.

A puppy.

It licked his face, and Cain laughed despite himself. He'd lost his curricle, lost his horses, and broken his collarbone, but he'd managed to save the life of a half-drowned puppy.

"Stupid creature," he scolded under his breath, but scratched its ears anyway.

He knew better than to stop for animals. He definitely knew better than to pick them up and cuddle them to his chest. But he loved animals and couldn't resist rubbing the puppy's belly and scratching behind its ears.

Wincing, Cain set off after his horses, puppy in hand and mud dripping from his face. When he'd accepted the Breckenridge invitation, he had wished to make an Appearance-and d.a.m.n his arrogance, now he certainly would.

His clothes were ruined, his hair a fright, and his shoulder ... Och, at least the snapped bone wasn't protruding from his skin.

Had he been in Scotland, he would've already procured the sustenance necessary for rapid healing. But he was in G.o.dforsaken England trying to pa.s.s for human. Regardless, no maiden in her right mind would offer a nip to a mud-stained rogue in such abominable condition. He would simply have to give his best careless-rake smile and feign nothing was amiss. The usual.

"Well," he murmured to the s.h.i.+vering puppy. "If we're to be stuck with each other, we might as well introduce ourselves. You can call me Cain. And I'll call you ..." He studied the puppy in his arms. Light brown fur, dark brown eyes, a quick, wet tongue, and a whip of a tail that managed to slap Cain's tender shoulder and spray dog-scented rainwater into his eyes with every swipe. "The more I think on it, the more I come to believe you're the one who should be called Cain," he informed the recalcitrant puppy, and was rewarded with exuberant face-licking. "As that's already taken, you'll have to settle for ... Moch-eirigh."

Closing his eyes, Cain shook his head in self-disgust. He'd lost his mind and named the d.a.m.n thing. Hadn't he sworn to himself a thousand times over that his puppy-adopting days were done? And hadn't he triply sworn that he was done torturing himself by giving animals names that reminded him of home, and of things he could never, would never, see again? He'd named his grays Sunrise and Sunset, and now he'd gone and named the puppy Early Riser. As he had been, once. Back when it was a joy to greet the dawn and spend the day awash in suns.h.i.+ne.

A regular glutton for punishment, he was. He deserved the bittersweet reminder of who and what he was.

He took a deep breath-which only served to unbalance both dog and collarbone, and was unnecessary for survival in any case-and tramped forward into the night, his eyes squinting against the onslaught of rain. The puppy snuggled tight against his unbeating heart. They both desperately needed a bite to eat, so the sooner they descended upon the festivities, the better.

After what felt like miles but was likely no more than ten minutes of cursing and stumbling, Cain could fully make out the Breckenridge estate looming up from the darkness. Unlike Cain, his horses were apparently in no rush to make themselves known. Instead, the grays stood perpendicular on the muddy path, their faces buried in a thatch of rain-battered gra.s.s.

He managed to fetch the ribbons without dropping the puppy and hauled himself back onto his perch. With a tug, his horses abandoned their meal and resumed the miserable trudge to the Breckenridge stables. The ceaseless rain managed to cleanse nearly all the mud from both Cain and puppy, but had no ameliorating effect whatever on tangled fur or ripped linen.

The swarm of liverymen who rushed to greet the carriage had enough breeding to hide any shock at Cain's appearance-or perhaps he was not the only guest to have arrived worse for wear from the vicious downpour. A stroke of fortune, since he was scarcely in any condition to Compel the minds of a dozen servants at once.

Nonetheless, brown and bedraggled was not at all the impression Cain hoped to make upon the weekend revelers, and his sole request of the obsequious footmen was to be granted admittance through a side door, so as not to cause a stir. This pet.i.tion caused startled blinks all around, but in short order Cain found himself welcomed to Breckenridge via the connected conservatory, and ushered to sumptuous guest quarters featuring both a crackling fire and a large bath.

Heaven, Cain decided the instant he sank into clean, warm water. h.e.l.l, he amended, upon the unexpected accompaniment of his new puppy.

By the time the dinner bell sounded, Cain felt ... well, if not like a new man, then at least like a reinvigorated Scottish warrior disguised as a harmless-and shameless-Society flirt. He had played this role for so long that sometimes he almost forgot he was acting. Both personas were men of single mind. The real Cain just wanted to return to his homeland with the missing vampire securely in hand. The false Cain just wanted the mysterious Miss Ramsay in hand. Rather, his hands on her bonny face, the fragile curve of her neck, the ample swell of her- He groaned and considered dumping himself back into the oversize tub, dinner clothes and all. He meant the false Cain just wanted women. All women. Any women. The sillier the better, so as to afford greater access to the sweet nectar flowing hot beneath their perfect skin.

Why, then, had Miss Ramsay sprung to mind? She was far from silly, more warrior-like than waiflike, and she had no business whatever strong-arming his thought processes. Given that he was apparently the only one to have registered her presence at the Wedgeworth rout, they were unlikely to cross paths amongst the high-nosed Breckenridge set. And he was unlikely to cross paths with anyone at all, if the only thing he intended to do all weekend was kneel on the floor getting dog hair all over his gloves and breeches.

With a final pat for the puppy, Cain pushed to his feet and slipped out the door. Or he would have, had Moch-eirigh not been of a mind to follow along between her new master's boots. Thus began a ten-minute farce wherein Cain and the puppy chased each other in and out of the doorway as they attempted to settle their difference of opinion. Cain won the battle, but only just. After securing the door, he leaned against the thick mahogany to pluck one-handedly at the stubborn puppy hairs clinging to his lawn and buckskin. He was thus engaged-though he pretended to be merely catching his breath-when the youngest daughter of his hosts entered the corridor bearing a lit candle.

"Miss Breckenridge." He bent in a deep bow. "Felicitations on your birthday."

The girl in question nearly jumped out of her skin. She apparently had not noticed his presence in the sunken shadows of his closed doorway. Now that he had made himself known, the horror in her visage seemed to indicate she rather suspected him of wis.h.i.+ng to celebrate by ravis.h.i.+ng her right there in the hallway. He wasn't sure whether it was good manners or panicked indecision that held her frozen stiff, just ten paces away.

Presumably having decided between abandoning whatever mission set her in this direction and continuing on her path, she inched forward, albeit keeping comically close to the far wall.

"How do you do, Mr. Macane." She inclined her head, but did not offer her hand. Instead, she lifted a gloved finger to her neckline and tugged a slender chain into view. A moment later, the chain's pendant was revealed to be a delicate silver cross.

Cain cut his sharp gaze to her face, where Miss Breckenridge's previous panic had been replaced by a highly suspect expression of wide-eyed innocence. She knew! No-how could she know? Besides, if she knew, she would hardly have admitted him for a weekend house party. And yet, his hunter instincts reminded him that nothing was ever coincidence. Particularly as his hostess continued to finger the silver cross and search his face for clues as to his reaction.

Moch-eirigh took that moment to ram into the other side of the bedchamber door. Cain whirled around to verify the security of the latch that, for the moment, appeared to hold. The puppy's plaintive cries, however, were far from m.u.f.fled. Nor were the unmistakable scratching noises of her tiny claws rending against the antique wood. Blast. Cain was not so foolish as to open the door and risk whatever wild behavior his new puppy longed to enact. Nor was he so foolish as to imagine his hostess would be remotely pleased at what were bound to be permanent scratch marks marring the interior panel of the door.

But when he turned around, to his surprise Moch-eirigh had succeeded where Cain had not-Miss Breckenridge was disarmed completely.

The silver cross was still visible, but lay forgotten against the lace fichu of her gown. Her candle listed precariously in her outstretched hand, and she was goggling at him with nothing short of wonder. Incredulous wonder, perhaps, but wonder nonetheless.

"You have a dog?" she demanded, her voice pitched high with the same level of shock in which another person might have asked, You have fangs?

"A cursed puppy," he admitted with another bow. "You have found me out."

Miss Breckenridge stared at him openmouthed, apparently content to stand there gaping at him until the small flame melted her taper to a nub.

"May I escort you to dinner?" he asked.

Suspicion returned to her features full-force, but Miss Breckenridge was astute enough to realize she had but two options: Give an invited guest the cut direct en route to the planned festivities, or place her palm on his proffered arm.

A well-timed whine by Moch-eirigh decided the matter.

She relinquished the taper to Cain's free hand and settled the barest tip of her fingers on the crook of his evening jacket.

When they reached the intersection leading to the opposite wing, Cain's muscles tensed. There had been no telltale sound, no scent, no flicker of flame or shadow, no hint at all that they were not alone-yet his every sense was p.r.i.c.kling. He jerked his head around just in time to glimpse a slender woman at the far end of the corridor slip into the furthest chamber and disappear. For a moment, he'd thought it might be Miss Ramsay, but the movement had been too quick, too soundless. The only audible heartbeat had been that of the woman on his arm. And most d.a.m.ning of all: He'd recognized her.

"What is it?" Miss Breckenridge stammered, alarmed. "Did you see something?"

"A woman," Cain answered. "Do you know her? Medium height, golden hair, very beautiful ..."

"Of course I know her." Miss Breckenridge's lips pursed, as if she interpreted his interest to be of the licentious variety. "She is not to be disturbed. She's a guest, just like yourself, and the reason I was in this wing to begin with. She has the headache and shall not be attending dinner, but I a.s.sured her anything she desired from the kitchens was hers for the asking, should she be hungry later."

Cain's eyes narrowed. If his instinct was correct, the woman's hunger could not be quenched with anything present in the Breckenridge larders, short of partaking of the servants themselves. "Tell me-is she from the family Munro?"

"No." Miss Breckenridge's raised brow indicated she now perceived him as more of a dunce than a deviant.

He made no further comment. Perhaps his leap from the carriage had addled his brain as well as broken his shoulder. First he had thought his hostess suspected him of bloodl.u.s.t, and then he imagined glimpsing an infamous runaway vampire under the same roof. What he needed was a nice, warm sip of fresh blood to clear his head and put his shoulder to rights.

"Come to think of it," Miss Breckenridge said presently, "I'm not rightly acquainted with her given name. We simply addressed the invitations to Mrs. and Miss Ramsay."

He came to a dead stop. "Ramsay?"

Miss Breckenridge nodded abstractedly. "She'll feel worlds better after a good night's rest. I'm sure you'll meet her on the morrow, when we break our fast."

"Is this woman any relation to the Miss Elspeth Ramsay you introduced to me at the Wedgeworth soiree?" he asked, careful to keep his tone light and disinterested.

"Her mother, of course," Miss Breckenridge replied with a little laugh. "Although she looks more like an elder sister. A bit melodramatic that way, too-reminds me of my own sisters. She was in a perfectly pleasant mood until she realized there were meant to be other guests, and then suddenly it's oh dear, I must retire from the shock, and off she floats. Her daughter is turned out excellently, though. She's clever enough to-"

But here Miss Breckenridge broke off her speech, with a snap to her teeth and a blush to her cheeks. She stared resolutely forward, as if determined not to meet Cain's gaze.

For his part, silence was just the thing, as his mind was reeling with implications and calculations. If "Mrs. Ramsay" was in actuality Aggie Munro, then of course she'd appear more like a sister than a mother, as her looks had been frozen at six-and-twenty... three hundred years earlier. Perhaps young Miss Ramsay was a great-great-great-descendant thrice removed or some such, but more likely she was simply a human la.s.s, chosen for her superficial resemblance rather than any convoluted blood relation.

Because his glimpse had been from a distance and his quarry awash in shadows, the cynical side of Cain's personality prepared for the possibility of mistaken ident.i.ty. The elder Ramsay might well be human, and Cain not the slightest bit closer to his goals.

His heart was hopeful, however. Too many signs pointed otherwise. That was Aggie. He was sure of it. But what about Miss Ramsay? Since no vampire parents had ever beget a human child, some deeper game must be afoot. Servitude? Coercion? The very thought made his flesh run cold.

His castle had plenty of human servants, but all of them were perfectly aware of who they served, and how. Any of them were welcome to leave at any time-although they would be psychically Compelled not to breathe a word of the truth and to forget everything they had seen.

So, what was Elspeth Ramsay doing pretending to be Aggie Munro's daughter? Either young Miss Ramsay had known all along whom Cain was and why he was so far from home, or else she was an innocent being dishonorably used by an unscrupulous vampire, either as an alibi, a distraction, or a slave. What if Miss Ramsay was an involuntary companion, forced into servitude by vampiric Compulsion? Aggie could have abducted her as a child, changed her name, forced her to forget her parents, her past life, her ident.i.ty. Being human, Miss Ramsay would have been powerless to resist. She could also have been a food source for as long as she'd been an unwitting prisoner. Cain's fingers clenched. A harmless nip here and there was one thing, but using thought control to enslave an innocent girl was quite beyond the pale.

If only there were some way to broach the topic without, well, broaching the topic. Cain frowned and quickened his pace. His desire to taste and touch Miss Ramsay had now been eclipsed by a desire to see her safe and well protected.

He glanced down at Miss Breckenridge. Although she seemed more discomfited than delighted in his presence, she, too, was an innocent and not to be exploited. Or was Miss Ramsay perhaps a willing partic.i.p.ant in whatever scheme Aggie Munro was about? Cain shook his head. Even were that the case, a human girl clearly had origins outside of a vampire clan, which meant she came from somewhere, and whatever complicity Aggie had engendered in her young charge had undoubtedly arisen from machinations rather than fair play. Nonetheless, it was paramount to discover just how closely Miss Ramsay knew her "mother."

Upon reaching the dining hall, Miss Breckenridge shot from his arm to join a gentleman undoubtedly leagues more eligible. Grouped in ranked pairs, the guests filed into the dining room to take their seats. The placard bearing Cain's name was just far enough away from Miss Ramsay that there was no hope of private conversation, although his removed position on the opposite side of the table did afford him an un.o.bstructed view of her profile.

She was lovely. Easily as comely as the infamous Aggie Munro. But unlike his quarry, whose beauty was legendary, Miss Ramsay seemed wholly unaware of her extraordinary looks. Her soft, red-gold curls framed large blue eyes and a lush rosebud of a mouth. Her gown, although not the first stare of fas.h.i.+on, boasted high-quality tailoring. The aquamarine confection complemented that l.u.s.trous hair and the creamy perfection of her skin. How she could believe anyone immune to her charms was beyond his ken.

Cain frowned to realize that the other guests were, in fact, incomprehensibly unaffected. No one glanced in Miss Ramsay's direction, much less engaged her in conversation. Despite her being seated between two easygoing lads and directly across from a notorious flirt, none of the three seemed aware of her presence ... nor did she attempt to engage their attentions.

Instead, she kept her eyes focused on her plate, where she spent the entirety of the meal nudging each course with the tip of her fork without consuming any of it. Did she seem paler than last he saw her, or was it a mere trick of the light? Perhaps she had taken ill. Bending his head to concentrate, Cain isolated the sound of each guest's heartbeat until he recognized hers. Faint, but steady.

He lifted his gaze and considered her down-turned profile. She seemed to be having an absolutely miserable time. If she were not here of her own free will, such enslavement would drive another nail into Aggie Munro's (figurative) coffin. But first, he needed to be certain. Look at me, he commanded her with his mind.

As before, his order went unheeded.

He gradually became aware of the conversation around him and was alarmed to discover a picnic had been planned for luncheon the next day. He would need a full feeding to be able to withstand the rays of the sun. Since that didn't seem likely, he would be forced to remain indoors.

The moment the meal drew to a close, the gentlemen rejected the habit of retiring for port in favor of immediately joining the ladies for card playing. Cain would have preferred to stalk his prey. But as this was the last time the company would be together this evening, and he would necessarily be indoors much of the morrow, he would take advantage of the game play in order to steal a moment of Miss Ramsay's time.

His opportunity came before the players had settled at the tables. Miss Breckenridge had been standing near Miss Ramsay until being borne away to determine which guests would partner at which tables. Cain positioned himself just behind Miss Ramsay. Close enough to whisper into her ear. Or to feather kisses beneath the curls at her neck.

"Miss Ramsay," he murmured. She started, but did not increase the distance between them as she turned to face him.

"Mr. Macane," she responded composedly, although her pulse pounded louder in Cain's ears. He would have liked to attribute the phenomenon to mutual desire, but her expression gave nothing away. She nodded in the direction of his broken collarbone. "I trust you don't suffer unduly?"

He very nearly gaped at her uncanny comprehension, then realized she was not referring to his swan dive at all, but rather to their previous encounter. "Nary a mark remains," he a.s.sured her with a playful smile, "and you are welcome to bite me anytime you please."

The sweet scent of blood teased his nostrils as a touch of pink feathered across Miss Ramsay's cheeks as she lowered her eyes and glanced away. She was so easy to embarra.s.s, so lovely, so ... human.

Never before had the chasm between what he was and what she was seemed so insurmountable. He was a vampire. She was human. It would never do. As much as she intrigued him, he longed to experience the biting ritual shared by a vampire couple in love. There was no greater sensation in this world. And while Miss Ramsay would undoubtedly make a very bonny bedmate indeed, vampiric mating rituals were not something they would be able to share. Particularly since her humanity was one of the qualities he liked best about her.

Miss Ramsay's humanity-and implicit mortality-brought the specter of Aggie Munro back to mind. He needed to find out what, if anything, Miss Ramsay knew ... and then decide what to do about it.

He lowered his voice. "Have you been to Scotland?"

"I told you last time I had not." She raised a brow at him in a mock-disgruntled expression. "Were you not attending?"

"I was undoubtedly preoccupied with my baser instincts at the time." He gave an exaggerated leer and startled an involuntary giggle from her. He smiled back to distract her from the import of his next question. "How about your mother? Has she been to Scotland?"

"Mama?" Miss Ramsay repeated with choked laughter, as if she had not heard a more preposterous idea in her lifetime. "She won't even visit the milliner, much less go on holiday."

Cain carefully monitored her heartbeat and breathing pattern, but could discern no deception. Whatever Aggie Munro was about, Miss Ramsay was not privy to the wherefores. But perhaps there was still something to be learned.

"Ah," he said sorrowfully. "Then you'll not know about Foulis."

Her brow furrowed. "Who's Foulis?"