He asked for her trust, yet did not offer his own.
With a frustrated sigh she placed her fingers on his arm and allowed him to lead her from the room. She knew enough of men to realize she could not force his confidences. Until he was prepared to lower his guard and share his secrets she could do no more than stew in silence.
Walking through the shadowed hall, Amelia stewed.
Chapter Eight
The sound from the garden was faint, but distinct enough to wrench Amelia from her light sleep. With a groan she pulled the covers over her head and willed herself to return to the decidedly pleasant dream that included Sebastian St. Ives. For once there was not a nagging, strange Gypsy in sight and she intended to enjoy the fantasy.
It was, of course, a hopeless task.
She had no more than closed her eyes when the muffled squeak once again floated through the air. Aggravated beyond bearing, Amelia tossed aside the covers and stumbled from the bed.
Just one night, she grumbled beneath her breath. Just one night she desired to sleep through until morning.
Pulling on her robe, she left the darkened bedchamber and made her way downstairs. More out of habit than concern, she dodged the squeaking steps and the perilous tables as she made her way to the kitchen. Once there, she readily pulled open the door and stepped into the thick night air.
Almost absently, she sensed that it was closer to dawn than dusk, although the inky darkness still clung tenaciously. Dark enough to make her pause as she listened carefully for the noise that had awakened her.
Could it be Sebastian? Although she did not have the familiar feeling of awareness that usually warned of his presence, he had made it obvious he intended to keep a close watch upon the house. A startling, comforting knowledge for a maiden who had been determined to forge a life of independence.
A faint smile touched her lips. She hoped it was he. She would not protest another romantic interlude in the garden, with or without the moon. The magic that had flowed through her blood like honey had nothing to do with gods of the moon. It had been a bewitchment created by Sebastian alone.
Unfortunately, it was more than likely William's cat prowling through the lane. Her smile faded.
Well, on this occasion she vowed not to leave the safety of the garden. The wretched stray would not lead her a merry chase on this night.
Reaching the edge of the garden, Amelia was careful to keep herself hidden behind a large elm tree as she peered into the lane.
At first the gloom seemed impossibly deep. With no moonlight, the darkness was near complete. But then, strangely, her eyes seemed to adjust to the shadows, almost as if the blackness were being filtered to gray. Astonishing.
Within a few moments, however, her astonishment shifted to an icy apprehensiveness. Just across the narrow lane she could vaguely make out the shape of a large man bent over an object on the ground.
Her hands frantically pressed against her lips, stilling the instinctive scream. Against her will, she was brutally thrust back to that horrid night when she had witnessed the shadow as it hovered over the body of that poor woman.
Was this the man who had committed the ghastly murder? Had he struck once again?
The mere thought was enough to freeze her very blood.
She had to flee, a cowardly voice whispered in the back of her mind. She had to make it back to the house before she was missed. But even as the thoughts were running through her mind, a low moan echoed through the silent air.
Dear heavens, whoever was upon the ground was still alive! And clearly in pain.
How could she possibly leave? Someone was in danger. Perhaps even now dying. If she left she would have their death upon her conscience.
Paralyzed between stark fear and the need to try to save the wounded soul, Amelia was unprepared when the crouching shape fluidly straightened, and then began to walk straight toward the tree where she was hidden.
He could not see her; she vaguely attempted to stem the raw burst of terror. She was safely concealed by the shadows. But against all logic, the looming figure paced toward her relentlessly until she felt a cold prickle crawl over her skin.
"Good evening, Miss Hadwell," a familiar, mocking voice cut through the thick silence. "You might a well come out and make your curtsy. I have been waiting for you."
Her heart wrenched to a halt as she stepped out warily, her knees so weak she knew it was useless to attempt to flee.
"Mr. Ramone," she breathed in dread.
The handsome features were cold in the oddly gray mist. Even worse, there was a dark wetness clinging to his lips. Amelia's horrified mind shied from ever considering what the damp stain might be.
"Who did you expect?" Mr. Ramone demanded. "That tedious Nefri?"
Amelia blinked in fearful confusion. "Nefri?"
"No?" A sardonic expression settled upon the pale countenance. "No, of course not. It is that pathetically devoted Sebastian that you seek. I fear that he has been distracted for the moment."
Sebastian. Dear heavens, she had not even considered the thought that he might be in danger.
Her heart felt as if it were being crushed by a ruthless hand.
"What have you done with him?"
"He is unharmed. For the moment, at least." An awful smile curved those wet lips.
"Unfortunately, I can not say the same for his housekeeper. I fear that she might not survive."
Raw horror raced through her. "You killed that poor old woman?"
"It brought me no pleasure, I assure you." He shrugged, as casual as if they were discussing the weather, stepping closer to her trembling body. "I far prefer my sufferers to be young, ripe, and beautiful. Much like yourself."
She shuddered, stumbling backward in instinctive revulsion. At the same moment, however, Mr. Ramone's distinctive scent filled the air and she froze. That smell. A smell of cold steel. Just like ... what?
Just like the night she had witnessed the first murder, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Of course. She should have suspected the truth the moment the man had first approached her.
She had sensed there was something wrong about him. Something wrong and dangerous.
"You... you were the shadow," she stammered before considering how dangerous confessing her awareness of his monstrous sins might be.
"Yes."
Her hands pressed to her heaving stomach. "Dear lord, what are you?"
"What am I?" He mockingly pretended to consider the question. "I am your master. The one chosen to rule above all."
"This is madness. A ... nightmare."
"A nightmare?" His eyes narrowed to cold slits. "Truly, Miss Hadwell, there is no need to be insulting. You should consider yourself to be exceedingly fortunate. It is not every mortal who can claim to have been in the company of the most superior of all vampires."
Amelia uttered a strangled noise. She desperately desired to close her eyes and pretend this was all some horrible nightmare. Instead, she attempted to clear the fear fogging her mind.
"You must be insane. There are no such things at vampires."
"No? Would you desire me to prove the truth?" The thin lips widened to reveal the white teeth.
Then, even as Amelia watched in morbid fascination, a set of fangs lengthened to glint evilly in the darkness. "I assure you I have devoted a number of nights to considering how pleasurable it would be to feast upon you."
Instinctively, Amelia lifted protective hands to her throat. It could not be possible. Vampires were myths. Mere children's stories.
But possible or not, there was no denying the awful truth.
This gentleman was a vampire. And she was standing directly in his path.
"I... what do you want from me?" she managed at last to choke out.
"It is rather a simple thing. I desire your amulet."
Amelia was quite certain she had misunderstood. "My amulet? Why?"
"You are hardly in a position to ask questions, my dear," he rasped.
That was certainly true enough. Only a fool would dare to cross this dangerous monster. And, a very large part of her had no desire to cross him. Not when she had only to shift her head to see the last poor victim of this vampire lying still as death upon the ground.
And yet, Amelia found herself hesitating. There had to be a reason for his desire for the amulet. No doubt a dangerous and nefarious reason. And had the Gypsy not warned her never to give the necklace to another?
Besides which, she had a horrible fear that the moment he had the necklace in hand she would be yet another maiden found savaged upon the streets of London.
"It belongs to me," she retorted between stiff lips.
She heard his rasp as he stepped even closer. "Do not be a fool. It could never belong to a mere animal. The amulet is but a piece of an ancient Medallion that belongs in the hands of a vampire. In my hands."
"No, you are mistaken," she babbled. "This was given to me by an old Gypsy woman."
"It was given to you by Nefri. An interfering, loathsome vampire who has mistakenly presumed that she is capable of forcing other vampires into becoming her willing prisoners. It is a fate I have no intention of enduring."
That sweet old woman had been a vampire? Her head whirled and her heart was beating so rapidly that she thought it might burst. Had the entire world gone mad?