But Harry didn’t look reassured. Deep lines crossed his brow. “I’ve known men who have proposed. Was never as simple as that. Half of them were turned down.” His face blanched. “What if she says no?”
“She will not say no.”
He grinned, and he didn’t look quite so ashen. “Sisterly prejudice.”
Those words deeply touched her heart. She wanted Raven to have this much happiness.
She looked squarely into her brother’s eyes. “I would say yes, if a gentleman I loved told me he felt the same way.”
“Does she love me? How does a bloke know?”
“She must love you,” Ophelia declared.
“I have to impress her. Should I bring roses? Orchids? What about an orchestra? I should have an orchestra play a waltz. Or I should have a trio of violinists. I should write poetry.” He smacked his forehead. “I write execrable poetry.”
“She doesn’t want any of those things, I assure you.”
“Ladies do.”
“Not all ladies. Any woman who is not satisfied by a gentleman’s honest and humble proposal is not worthy of him.” She hugged him. “I
promise
you she will not say no. How could any lady?”
“All right, but what if she does?”
“If she does, then I will eat my bonnet.”
Suddenly, his expression was wary. And worried. “You don’t. Do you?”
“What?”
“Eat bonnets.”
“Of course not.” But her earlier buoyant feeling receded like a swift moving tide. “Ask her,” she said softly. “Please. I want you to be happy.”
He embraced her. “Would you have a word with her first?”
“I would, but you do not need it. You came to her rescue, you saved her. Honestly Harry, you don’t need more than that. Any woman loves the man who came to her rescue.”
She watched her brother run down the corridor to propose marriage, and her heart soared for him and ached for Raven with her every breath.
“He looks like a very happy man,” a deep voice spoke behind her.
She whirled. Mr. de Wynter stood behind her. Apparently he had just come from his bath. He wore breeches and boots, but a loose shirt open at the neck, and his hair was damp, and hung past his shoulders. He gave her a playful bow. “Forgive me for listening in, but I was deeply touched by how you lifted his confidence. Very sage advice, Lady Ophelia.”
She blushed. She kept thinking this man was Althea’s lover, along with her husband.
He looked stricken. “My most sincere apologies. I’ve embarrassed you, when I am the one completely in the wrong.”
She shook her head. “You are not in the wrong at all. I was just—” She felt the heat leave her cheeks. Strangely, it didn’t seem that shocking anymore that Althea should have two husbands. This world of vampires was beginning to feel more natural to her. “You did not embarrass me.”
“Actually I came in search of you, Lady Ophelia. Before he left us, Ravenhunt warned us to protect you from rogue members of the Royal Society. I think he did not entirely trust Brookshire and me, because we are long-standing members of the Society, but he does trust your brother. He told us there was rot in our organization, and that members of it want to hurt you. I believe his plan is to hunt them down, make them pay for taking your prisoner.”
She could not believe it. In everything that had happened, she’d forgotten that threat. “Hunt them down? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Extremely.”
She credited de Wynter with being blunt. “They wanted my power and that was why they kidnapped me. But I don’t have any power now. It is over, isn’t it?” She could understand he wanted revenge, but he must just forget about it. It was done with.
“They should pay for what they did to you—and what they attempted to do.”
“Why? It’s done with! Why should he risk his life for that?”
“He should not be tackling them alone,” de Wynter said. “If there are such men in the Royal Society, we have to deal with them. Do you feel well enough to tell Brookshire and myself about these rebels? Describe them, tell us what happened. Then we can hunt them. Althea will be there. I know speaking of such things can be emotional and horrific, especially after the ordeal you experienced.”
“No, I want this done. I want it to all end,” she declared.
De Wynter elegantly offered his arm. With his fair hair, darkly lashed silver-blue eyes, tall and well-built form, he was a most handsome man. But his looks did not affect her. All she could think of was a dark-haired man who had walked away from her. Who believed he could not have her, when all she wanted to do was give herself to him.
A wild holler of joy sounded down the corridor. Harry! He sounded as he had when he’d been a young boy. Footsteps raced, and he charged around the corner.
She knew what answer he’d received even before he yelled, “She said yes!”
“Congratulations,” de Wynter said warmly.
Harry was so happy, and she was so happy for him. But her heart felt empty without Raven. Her brother had been afraid, but he had faced his fears and captured love.
She had to make Raven see that was possible.
Or was he going to try to throw his life away again?
In a drawing room decorated with turquoise watered silk walls, soaring marble columns, and dainty plasterwork of white, Althea and Brookshire waited. Althea patted the settee at her side, and the earl bowed and handed Ophelia a restorative sherry. De Wynter sprawled elegantly in a wing chair. She told them everything about the attack by the men in the street the night Raven rescued her and the laboratory, the doctor, and the men. She described everything she could remember, and did it quickly, filled with worry about Raven.
The earl seemed aware of her anxiousness. “Sebastian, you and I will convene a meeting of the men we know we can trust.” He stood, bowed again. “Do not worry, Lady Ophelia. We will deal with these men.”
She stood. “You do not think Ravenhunt would go after these men alone, do you?”
Brookshire exchanged a glance with his brother. “I am afraid he might, Lady Ophelia.”
“He would,” she said, seeing the answer for herself. “He was a soldier, then he became an assassin. He used fighting and violence to keep his mind occupied so he couldn’t think. Now he has vowed not to be an assassin anymore. He’s refused to turn me. I see now—he doesn’t intend to live alone, existing as a vampire in the world as you do. He needs escape, and he wanted that escape to be destruction. He still wants it.”
“Very astute,” de Wynter said. “But we will ensure it doesn’t happen.”
“But he will just try it again.” Love for her wasn’t enough to stop him. That realization struck like a blow and she sank back on the chair.
Brookshire and de Wynter bowed and left.
She turned to Althea. “What am I going to do?” She quickly told her friend what she had guessed about Raven. “He’s hell-bent on destroying himself.”
“First, you should go home and see your sister. Then we will decide what to do with Ravenhunt,” Althea said firmly.
This was her
home
. A large mansion marched along part of Brook Street. Dozens of paned windows reflected the pink promise of morning.
Ophelia tilted her head back to drink in the stone front with the beautiful carved window details she’d always admired. She had to close her eyes.
Home—when she’d been a prisoner of Mrs. Darkwell, it was all she’d dreamed of. This should be the most wonderful moment of her life. Her dream sat right in front of her. Her dream of returning home. But she felt empty inside.
The door opened and a footman in livery stepped out. He squawked in surprise as a dervish exploded from the shadowy doorway and shot past him. Her sister rushed down the steps. “Ophelia! We thought you were gone, too! I can’t believe you’re here!”
Tears gathered and fell before she met Lydia halfway across the drive. Lydia had been just a child the last time Ophelia had seen her. Now she was tall, willowy, with her blond hair pinned up. “Lydia, you are so grown-up!” She had no idea what to say—she wanted to be light and happy about this reunion, and not have to tell Lydia about her power or vampires.
Harry had told her he’d kept his vampire slaying a secret from Lydia.
“I’m so sorry you thought I was dead.”
Lydia’s eyes, a remarkable blue-green, searched hers, glittering with tears. “Harry said you were very ill, and you were taken away so you could not make us sick. He said we were told you’d died because we could never see you again.”
She hugged her baby sister tighter. “I’m cured now. I won’t hurt you.”
“Of course you won’t!”
How much loss her family had suffered: their parents and the oldest son. Before that, she had lost Harry and Lydia and they had lost her. Yet despite all the horror and grief, Lydia could hug her tightly and shed tears of happiness. Harry had done an amazing job of ensuring Lydia grew into a normal young woman.
Lydia drew back. “You must come in. There’s tea. It won’t be long until breakfast. Harry says they didn’t look after you well at this place, but you survived in spite of them.”
That much was true. “Don’t fret, Lydia.” She smiled at the young girl’s wide turquoise eyes. Lydia looked so much like Mama. “I will be very happy with anything. I’m just so happy to be home and to see you again.”
Lydia frowned, looking to the drive, which was now a bluish color as the sun crept higher. “Where are your things?”
“I don’t have any things. All I have is what is on my back.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter, Lydia. Things don’t matter.” They were at Darkwell’s and therefore lost forever. And she didn’t care. Her few dresses and vanity items represented her life as a prisoner.
“Come see your bedroom. We didn’t touch it at all. Father and Mother wouldn’t allow it.”
Her parents had died a year after she had been sent to Mrs. Darkwell’s. Then Simon had become earl and had run the household until his death. Harry had been only seventeen when he had become earl. It was at the same time he became a vampire slayer.
Harry had been forced to grow up so quickly.
All because of her power. She knew how Simon had really died, but her power
must
have killed their parents. Guilt bit into her. She had robbed Lydia of parents. How could she be happy and normal with her sister knowing that?
How did one fight this horrible guilt? She wanted Ravenhunt to fight it, yet she didn’t know how. She could not just forget it. It was real and it was a pain that wouldn’t go away.
Guilt made the rest of her morning with Lydia strange and awkward. She tried to behave naturally, but inside self-reproach gnawed away at her stomach.
Finally she begged the need to lie down. She went up to the attics.
Years ago, in the old nursery, she had made a small studio for sculpting. Everything remained in place. Wooden-handled sculpting tools sat on a cloth on a small table. Partly finished carvings sat in the light of the windows. There were her clay pieces. They had never been fired; they had just dried out with time. Some had crumbled.
She picked up one of the tools. She’d spent hours using it. Banished away from people because of her supposed illness (really her power), she had come up here. The sculptures acquired by Father over his Grand Tour days had inspired her.
Father had agreed to provide her with tools and materials, even though this was a shocking occupation for a girl.
Ophelia set down the carving tool. She didn’t want to sculpt anything.
Well, what she really wanted to mold and shape was her own future. She wanted to cut away Raven’s guilt, exposing a man who could be happy.
She had picked the one sculpting ambition that would be almost impossible.
Changing a man.
She was supposed to spend the night safely in her old bedroom, but she couldn’t sleep. Ophelia got out of her old bed, in this room that now felt foreign and strange. For years, when a prisoner at Mrs. Darkwell’s, she’d dreamed of being here. Now she felt she didn’t belong here—she belonged with Raven.
Stealthily, she got out of bed. Harry had left her and Lydia here and he’d returned to the Royal Society offices. The house was filled with servants, and that would keep her safe. She knew he, along with Lord Brookshire and Mr. de Wynter, had already circulated the truth throughout the Royal Society: that her power was gone.
She had nothing to fear from them anymore.
She crept to her brother’s room and quickly dressed in some of his clothes. His trousers were rather snug over her hips.
Ophelia pulled on one of Lydia’s velvet cloaks to hide her masculine attire, then had one of the footmen summon her brother’s carriage. The servants had been given no instructions to stop her. She guessed Harry had never thought she would try to sneak out.
She rushed down and clambered into the carriage, giving the address of Guidon’s shop. With the carriage waiting outside, she banged on the now familiar door.
In minutes, she was inside the parlor with Guidon. But he did not give her tea. This time he gave her sherry.
At least, she thought it was sherry. She took a sip, gasped a bit, for even just a drop burned on the way down. “Strong,” she gasped.
Guidon studied her seriously. “It must be, my lady, for it helps you to see everything you wish to know.”
Impulsively, she touched Guidon’s arm. “I want to know about Ravenhunt. Did you know what happened to him
before
he became a vampire? He was a soldier, I know, but why does he feel such guilt? Why did he run away when his fiancée died? Was it because he loved her so much and then lost her? Does he feel responsible?”
“I should let Ravenhunt tell you, Lady Ophelia. He did reveal the worst to you. The thing that he feared would hurt you. The death of your brother.”
“I don’t remember very much about my brother. I had no idea Simon was a warlock—until I went to Mrs. Darkwell’s, I didn’t know what one
was
. But I want to know what torments Ravenhunt so.”