The Demon Count Read online

  The peace and fresh air of the country did wonders for the two of them long before I began to rouse myself from the stupor of pain and guilt Luc's death had thrust me into. But as I found what I had wanted so much coming true, I began to accept life once more. My first move was to have Luc's fortune put in trust for our child. Once that was taken care of I had retired to Lord Bateman's dower house, there to while away my confinement in as much content­ment as I could command under the circumstances.

  In the first few months I accepted the flattering invita­tions issuing from Bateman's Folly. Highly colored accounts of my heroism in trying to save Venice's most recent mar­tyr, Luc del Zaglia, preceded each introduction, until I was ready to scream. The only sympathetic face there belonged to the great Italian patriot, Guiseppe Mazzini, who would look at me out of his sad, dark eyes and talk about flowers and children instead of the interminable babble of politics. I couldn't help being grateful to him, and it was his absence alone that I missed when my pregancy began to show and I resolved to stay closer to home.

  I seldom passed any of the villagers on this secluded path. If I happened to, they would nod and tip their hats to the poor, sad widow-lady, Mrs. Ferland, casting furtive glances at her feline companion. I looked down at the bloodstone ring on my finger. All the jewels that Madde­lena rescued from Mildred and her cohorts had somehow found their way into my baggage, but I hadn't had the heart to touch any of the glittering diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires. The bloodstone ring was enough.

  Had it been up to me I would never have accepted Mark's name, even on such a superficial basis. I would have borne Luc's child proudly. But between Mark and Maddelena's protestations I had come to accept that I should not put that burden on a helpless child. Between the two of them a bogus marriage with Mark's nonexistent brother was concocted, and no breath of scandal was at­tached to me as I spent my quiet, secluded summer days, even when my supposed brother-in-law took every possible excuse to visit me and see how I was doing.

  Each visit was accompanied by fervent proposals of mar­riage, and as the time passed my resolve began to weaken. I loved Mark, I would be safe and happy with him. But I didn't love him enough, and I couldn't bring myself to give him less than he deserved.

  My trailing black skirts caught in the fallen branches, and I yanked them free nervously, leaving Patrick to chase after the blowing leaves, forgetting his stateliness for a mo­ment. I was still able to wear my old clothes. Maddelena had let them out a trifle in the waist, and no one as yet could tell I was four and a half months pregnant unless they looked closely. And so far no one had had that chance. Until today.

  I was avoiding my latest problem. A simple missive ar­rived this morning from Lord Bateman. A hero of the Venetian conflict had arrived that weekend, fresh from It­aly, and wished to pay his respects to Luc del Zaglia's ward. No doubt I would like to hear the latest word from that bedeviled city. His lordship's friend would be pleased to call upon me at four o'clock that afternoon.

  Lord Bateman was very high-handed, I thought angrily. But then, I had come to expect that from him. It was time I turned back, time I made sure that Maddelena and Bitsy, the clumsy, cheerful young woman brought in to help, had managed a creditable tea for this Italian gentleman. No doubt they had degenerated into one of their countless bat­tles, and it would be up .to me to brew the tea and super­vise the setting of the tray. I was getting tired more and more easily as my child grew, and I wished in vain they would learn to get along. But Bitsy maintained that Madde­lena was a witch and Maddelena maintained that Bitsy was an addlepated gossip. Both were right, but beside the point.

  My doctor had ordered long walks to keep me fit. I was in perfect health, he said, and would no doubt bring forth a large, lusty baby with no difficulty whatsoever. I only hoped and prayed he was right, in the meantime doing ab­solutely everything he suggested with a religious fervor. I remembered Luc's face in the garden, when he had spoken of his wife's deliberate childlessness, and determined not to fail him in this.

  It was a little past four by the time I arrived back at the lovely weathered stone cottage that had held Bateman dow­agers since time immemorial. Bitsy was waiting for me, her eyes as large as saucers in her bovine face.

  "Oh, madam, there's been such an upset. The old witch has taken to her bed with the vapors, and the gentleman's waiting for you in the garden. I said as I didn't know where in the world you were and perhaps he might come back another day but he said he'd wait. "

  Alarm burst within me. "I'd better go up and see Mad­delena. Serve the gentleman tea and send him on his way, Bitsy. Tell him I'm unwell, that I appreciate his calling but that I'll have to see him another day."

  "I don't think he'll listen, ma'am. I don't know as I dare to tell him you won't see him."

  I made an impatient gesture. "What are you frightened of, you silly goose? He's not some ogre, is he?"

  Bitsy sighed gustily. "Oh, no, ma'am. Mrs. Ferland, that is. He's ever so handsome."

  That should have warned me, but worry for Maddelena and annoyance overruled my thinking processes. "Very well, I'll see the man. You go up and check on Maddelena and make sure she's all right."

  "Me?" Bitsy squeaked. "She'll put the evil eye on me."

  "I'll put the evil eye on you if you don't do as I say," I snapped. "Where's the tea tray?"

  Bitsy pointed, and I grabbed it and stormed out into the garden, determined to rout my intruder in a few short sen­tences.

  Patrick had prowled ahead of me and was now most un­accountably busy rubbing ecstatically against the stranger's black-clad leg. His back was to me as I walked through the door. He was staring out over the rolling green hills, and I felt a start of pain so sharp it was almost physical. His back, the way he held his head, was so like Luc. I won­dered if I would ever get over imagining his face in a crowd.

  "I beg your pardon," I said nervously, and he turned around. The tea tray crashed to the flagstone terrace as I stared at my beloved's face. And then everything swam be­fore me, and I nearly joined the broken crockery.

  A moment later I was thrust gently but firmly into a chair with my head between my knees, a difficult feat con­sidering the beginnings of my stomach. Thankfully Luc was unaware of that aspect of the situation. I could feel his hand at the back of my neck, rubbing the nape with a touch that almost made me swoon anew. After a few deep breaths I sat upright, my eyes meeting the amber gaze I thought never to see again in this life.

  "You're not dead," I said foolishly. But then, there's not much witty or entertaining one can say in such a situation.

  He smiled. "No, I am not dead."

  "But Holger shot you. You drowned," I insisted dazedly.

  A smile cracked his tanned face. "Captain von Wolfram had no way of knowing that I had been swimming in those canals since I could walk. The bullet lodged in my shoul­der, and I was able to swim to one of the many underwater entrances along the Grand Canal. It was only fortunate that the tide was coming in." He looked down at me, an enigmatic expression in his golden eyes, just enough reserve to prevent me from throwing myself into his arms as I so longed to do. "You should not have worried, Charlotte. Like our friend Patrick, I have nine lives."

  "You must have given up quite a few already," I replied breathlessly. Charlotte, he called me. He was obviously dis­pleased with me. My heart sank.

  "Perhaps." He moved away from me then, his eyes never leaving my face. "I have had a great deal of difficulty trac­ing you, my little ward. After you and your husband ar­rived in England you seemed suddenly to disappear. It was sheer chance that I met Lord Bateman in London and he happened to mention the widowed Mrs. Ferland who once was my ward. And still is, for that matter. When do you become twenty-one?"

  I hadn't even thought of that aspect. "Within a year."

  "And what happened to Ferland? I understand from your idiot of a maid that his brother is courting you, and an announcement is expected momentarily." There was a gentle question in his voice as he
stood over me. I had forgotten how very tall he was. He had lost weight during the intervening months, and the added gauntness made him appear even taller. But for once he seemed neither demonic or frightening.

  "Charlotte?" he said impatiently. "I asked what hap­pened to Ferland?"

  I pulled myself together. "I'm sorry. I . . . it's just that I have never seen you in the sunlight before." I kept ex­pecting his lean, handsome face to crumble, his liquid eyes to dissolve, and his mobile mouth to decay before my eyes. He remained, resolutely alive and in one piece. "Mark . . . caught a fever. He died" three months ago." The lie came off my tongue trippingly, and I folded my arms in front of my gently swelling stomach. I had no idea why he had come to see me, but I was determined to find out before he knew of the child I carried—if, in the face of his remote­ness, I decided to tell him at all.

  "And you are about to marry his brother?" The question was sharp and cold, his face unreadable as always.

  "I . . . I had thought to," I lied, not liking his abrupt questions. "Have you seen Maddelena? Oh, but you must have."

  He allowed a small smile to curve his lips. "Yes, I saw her. Not a coherent word did I get from her, just prayers and rejoicing and weeping and wailing. Did she carry on like that when she thought I was dead?"

  "Yes." The idea of his death seemed to amuse him, and rage flared within me. "I, of course, danced in the streets after watching you drown."

  His smile broadened. "Still the sweet-tongued little girl you always were, eh? Are you wondering why I came to see you?"

  "The thought crossed my mind. I assume you want your money back. Not to mention the bag of family jewels you had Maddelena conceal in my trunk. I will instruct my lawyers to arrange the transfer of funds," I said coldly, wishing he were dead after all, rather than have my short remembrance of love destroyed. "It will take a while . . . I put it in a trust fund. But you should have it before long."

  "I thank you," he said gravely. "But actually that is not why I came to see you."

  "No?" My voice came out cold and hard, admirably hid­ing the fact that I was near tears.

  "No, little one," he murmured, taking my hand and pull­ing me reluctantly to my feet. "You are not going to marry Ferland's brother. I am still your guardian, and I refuse to give you permission." From my numbed hand he drew off my wedding ring. "And you are not going to wear this any more, either." He glanced down at it and frowned sud­denly. "This is the ring I left with you." he said abruptly. "Why are you wearing it? Couldn't Ferland provide his own?"

  I tried to snatch it away, but I was always helpless against Luc's superior strength. "Leave me alone," I shouted suddenly, unable to bear any more. I tried to pull away but now he held both my wrists in his steely grip. "Please," I whimpered, those damned tears spilling over once more. "Go away."

  "You will make Maddelena very unhappy," he said in a calm voice.

  "You make me very unhappy," I stormed back.

  "But I told her I had come to marry you. It set off a spasm of rejoicing that finally carried her off to her bed. What will she say when I tell her you refused me?"

  "Refused you?" Now I was furious. "You haven't asked me. You've never asked me a thing, you've always told me, and tormented me, and teased me. And now, for -reasons unknown to me, you decide to marry me. God knows what you've been doing for the past four and a half months—you certainly were too busy to let us know you were alive." I wondered whether Maddelena had divulged the secret of my pregnancy, but I didn't dare ask in case she hadn't. Instead I ranted and railed at him, inwardly begging him to tell me what I wanted and needed to hear.

  "Venice was a little difficult to escape from with a price on my head and a bullet in my shoulder," he said stiffly. "And what about you? I had no desire to intrude on your honeymoon," he said furiously, his raging voice filling the garden. "I was scarcely cold in my grave before you danced off to marry that English idiot!"

  "I did not! And besides, you told me to!"

  "I thought I would be unlikely to survive. I assumed you knew better than to obey me," he shouted back. "You never obeyed me before! Did you, or did you not, marry Ferland?"

  "Damn you, no! And I won't marry you either. I can't imagine why you'd want me. It can't be for my money— you've plenty of your own." I had to bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

  He pulled me into his arms then, holding my body close against him so that my struggles were useless. Gradually they ceased. "No, mia Carlotta, it is not for your money, or your charming tongue and friendly ways." He pulled my head up with sudden force and kissed me, long and deep until I was shaking and breathless. "And it is not even for that, delightful as it is." He kissed me again, more gently this time, and I could feel my bones melting within me. "It is because, Carlotta Theresa Sabina, I love you and you love me. And despite my dangerous life and advanced age, I intend to live a long time, and I want to spend that time with you. If I didn't marry you I don't doubt you would run off with the first pair of broad shoulders you saw."

  I gasped in protest, and he kissed me again. I was so blissfully happy I didn't care that he was squashing his son and heir. "And I intend to have many, many children by you," he continued, "and they will all grow up to be revo­lutionaries, sharp-tongued shrews, or vampires, depending on their talents."

  I smiled up at him, clearly besotted, and the look in his golden eyes was all that I could have asked for and more. I put his hand on my swelling abdomen. "And what will this one be?" I asked shakily. "I think he will have to be a demon-count."

  For the first and last time in our lives I had truly taken him by surprise. And then his laugh rang out through the hills over Somerset. "A demon-count he will be," he agreed, and pulled me back into his arms.