The flowers, the cross, all were to keep her safe from Zayan, but there was something half-hearted in Father’s admonishments about protection this time. And she feared that none of these measures would do any good.
In truth, she was afraid to open that crypt. That was probably why she had the dream.
Althea swung her legs around the side of the bed—really more of a cot—until her bare feet brushed the small carpet thrown over the splintery floor.
Her journal sat by her bed, beside a gutted candle in a beaten brass holder. She didn’t dare record her dreams. There was almost enough moonlight to read by, but she felt far too restless to do that.
She wanted to…to do something. Plucking up her spectacles, Althea slid off the bed and winced as her feet sank into the cool carpet. She padded across the worn, faded wool to her window. A glance told her the catch was still fastened, though she touched it with her fingers to make sure.
She knew to be wary of unexplained urges to walk about in the dark. Knew to resist the call, the lure. But no, whatever it was she wanted, it wasn’t to go out of doors.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she refused to accept that what she wanted was to make her dream come true.
A flicker of flame outside caught her attention. Leaning forward until her forehead brushed the cool panes of glass, she could just make out the flurry of activity in front of the inn.
What she had spotted was an elegant carriage drawn by four coal-black horses, almost invisible in the dark but for its burning lamps and the reflections on the gleaming traces. The carriage rattled slowly over cobblestones and came to a halt before the door. Male voices rose in hale greetings and terse orders. A dog set up a howl, answered by others, which sparked a whinnying frenzy as the horses shied. Skittish animals. It took the coachman minutes to settle them. Surprising for animals reaching the end of their travel.
Intrigued, Althea pushed the garlic flowers to the side. She sat up on the deep windowsill and curled her legs beneath her to warm her chilled feet. Cold whistled around her and she rubbed her arms through the long, tight sleeves of her nightdress. Cold was supposed to subdue improper arousal, wasn’t it?
The gleaming black door of the coach sported a crest, which meant the newest guest was a member of the nobility.
How would a peer feel about sharing quarters with vampire hunters? The lord in question would never know, of course. Sir Edmund Yates was known only as a famous antiquarian. And Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 7
no one ever suspected Miss Yates, his plain slip of a daughter, was anything more than a glorified secretary. Even Mick O’Leary had scoffed when she told him she was adept with a crossbow and knew exactly how and where to plunge in a stake.
Movement in the yard. His lordship’s footmen in livery—silver and pale blue, startling against the dark.
The coach door swung open. In a blur of motion, a male figure jumped down and straightened—a man dressed in head-to-toe black. Althea could barely see him, but the way he moved suggested he was young, strong, athletic.
Heat unfurled deep inside. Goodness, she was incurable. But she wanted a glimpse. To see if his face proved as promising as his form. A tall beaver hat covered his head, but she saw pale blond hair curling into his collar.
Led by servants with lanterns, he strode away from his carriage.
Tudor in vintage, the inn sat right beside the road, with barely a step up to the threshold. To her surprise, the lord paused at the door, then stepped back.
A servant lifted a lantern by his master’s side and golden light slanted over austere features, hinting at a strong jaw line, sharp cheekbones, a broad forehead, a straight nose.
Rendered in shadow and light, he made her think of the man from her dream. The mysterious one who stood behind her. He was the one who came to her in all her dreams.
Althea knew the sound of his voice, the scent of his skin, the way he kissed, even the way he braced himself on his powerful arms as he made love, but she had never really seen his face….
She gave herself a shake. Of course this gentleman was not in her dreams!
The nobleman abruptly pushed the lantern aside and, as though he sensed her stare, he looked up to her window. His eyes reflected a sliver of moonlight, pure silver disks in the velvety dark. Gleaming, mirror-like eyes. Like those of a wolf or a fox.
The eyes of a vampire.
Althea blinked. She looked again, but he had disappeared from her view. She got up on her knees to try to see him, straining to see him. She couldn’t.
A vampire lord. Was it possible? Had it just been a trick of the light? Just her imagination playing havoc?
Shocked, she sat back, and thumped hard against the wall of the window alcove.
She slid off the sill to her feet. Her rumpled bed beckoned, but she’d never sleep now. No, she would sneak out to the top of the stairs and have another look at the mysterious lord.
Shrugging on her wool wrapper over her shoulders, she caught the sides around her and cinched the belt tight. The trailing hem covered her bare feet and jammed in her slippers as she hurriedly shoved her feet in.
She didn’t dare go out unarmed. By her bed, she dropped to her knees, drew out her case and flipped open the lid. Instead of gowns and slippers and hats, her case contained stakes, a crossbow, a small, lethal sword, and crosses. She tucked a thin, pointed stake between her wrap and her nightgown, secured in place by her snug belt.
A thrill of excitement shivered down Althea’s spine. Not that she planned to be foolhardy.
She knew to be cautious and careful. If he truly were a vampire, he would possess incredible strength and power. But she had a few tricks of her own. And she knew exactly what to expect.
At the head of the stairs, she saw the lord and the innkeeper in discussion. She stayed in the Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 8
shadow to watch.
His lordship stood with his face away from her but she had a perfect view of the florid features of Mr. Crenshaw. Alarm flashed in the innkeeper’s small eyes and he was punctuating his apologies with wild motions of his hands. The gentleman wore a cloak, she noted, which surprised her. Most men favored greatcoats.
The lord brushed his cloak back from his shoulders, giving a glimpse of the lining, black silk embroidered with gold. From the window, she’d created an impression of him—tall, lean, elegant. Now she saw he was taller than she’d guessed. He towered over Crenshaw by at least a foot. His hat brushed the plaster ceiling. And he possessed a broader, more powerful body than she’d first thought. Shoulders as wide as Mr. O’Leary’s, Althea noted.
But was he a vampire?
Her breathing quickened and not from fear. Her breasts tingled and her nipples eagerly stood up against her bodice. Already wet between her thighs from her dream, she flushed as more hot moisture bubbled there.
He was facing away from Crenshaw’s lamp, his hat worn low, at an angle that shielded his eyes—and that prevented them reflecting the light.
Perhaps that wasn’t his intent. She knew nothing of male fashion to know if all men wore their hats in that way.
The lord snapped a question at Crenshaw, his voice deep and low. Fancifully, she imagined his voice sounded like black silk, dark and smooth. But did he sound like the man from her dream?
He wasn’t the man from her dream, she told herself sternly.
If only he’d speak louder.
“…Yates…”
Althea stilled at her surname falling from the nobleman’s lips. His lordship knew her father was here? She left the shadows, not caring if the men noticed her. She leaned against the rail, straining to hear.
Crenshaw appeared bent in a permanent bow. “…I fear not, my lord…”
Was it only that Crenshaw had mentioned her father as one of the other occupants of the inn? To imply that he served distinguished men? Her father might be a great scholar, a star in his own orbit, but a gentleman antiquarian would hardly register in the mind of a peer.
“You fear not?” The dark velvet voice held a razor-sharp edge now.
He did sound similar, but not quite the same. In her dreams, his tone was always seductive and teasing.
“I am afraid, my lord, Sir Edmund has retired for the evening.”
“Wake him.”
“I’ve a fine room available for the night, my lord, and in the morning—”
“I’ve no need of a room. Your parlor will suffice. I shall wait in there upon Sir Edmund.”
“But—”
The gentleman swirled around, sending his cape flapping around him. Like bat’s wings, of course—and Althea forgot to move back into the gloom.
His dark gaze fixed on her, appraised, then his wide, full lips curved in a smile. She’d once Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 9
been set aflame by Mick O’Leary’s cheeky smirks. Sizzling as those were, they were nothing compared to the controlled fire in this lord’s arrogant, confident grin. She was left with the image of wildfire ready to burst beyond control and consume everything in its path.
“I am sorry if I woke you, my dear,” he drawled and he ignored Crenshaw to move to the foot of the stair. This put the lantern behind him and plunged his gorgeous face into shadow again.
It
was
his voice! That lazily seductive growl was exactly the voice of man from her dreams.
She heard his whisper again in her head:
Then perhaps it is not a dream, Althea. Perhaps it is a
premonition.
It couldn’t be! But she hunted
vampires
, and she knew that second sight did indeed exist.
Stunned, she stared into his shadowed eyes. No, she wouldn’t…couldn’t…
Even in the gloom, she saw his brow lift in interest.
She must behave normally—though what could be normal?
A curtsy. He was a lord, after all. Althea dropped, quick and unsteady, aware that she wore her wrapper and nightgown, her ugly spectacles. Her hair was in its nighttime braid and the end curved around the swell of her left breast. Her heart hammered so hard, she imagined the braid was bumping in time with it.
Did he know about the dreams…had he…oh, goodness…?
Legs trembling, she straightened. “You had an appointment with my father, my lord?”
“Not an appointment, no. But I want to speak with him tonight.” His large black-gloved hand wrapped around the banister.
Want
. He said the word as though what he wanted was never denied.
She couldn’t prevent a blush heating her cheeks. In her dreams, she had never denied him anything. So it was not to be a premonition after all. She was not about to let her father, who was so weak and confused these days, confront this vampire. Definitely not when
this
vampire might know about her dreams. “You cannot, my lord. But you can speak with me.”
“And who are you, my dear?”
She moved down two steps. The jab of the stake at the bottom of her ribs comforted. “Sir Edmund Yates is my father. I am Althea Yates.”
“Miss Yates.” He bowed with courtly elegance. As he straightened, surprise lifted his blond brows. “You assist your father?”
“In
all
of his research, yes. And his investigations.” She was halfway down the steps now.
“So you know about the excavation of the crypt?”
Her slipper-clad foot missed the step; her heel glanced along the edge of the tread and landed hard on the next one. Of course, she did, but how did he?
Father had spoken of a vampire—an ancient one—one who could only be defeated by the power of the vampire entombed in that crypt. She hadn’t understood. They’d never spared a vampire before. Father’s answers were vague and told her nothing. He kept so much to himself now, but she’d understood from disconnected snippets that he was hunting the creature he believed was the oldest of the undead. The first. The ghoul from which all others had spawned.
A whisper of fear shivered down Althea’s spine.
Could this man be that vampire? This man who had seduced her in her dreams?
Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 10
No, impossible. Not if he was truly a peer of the realm.
Father would suffer a fit of apoplexy if he knew what she was about to do.
Crenshaw, Althea saw, was following their conversation. If anything, the portly innkeeper looked more confounded. “My lord, do you wish a room then, or do you wish to retire to the parlor with Miss Yates…” Crenshaw’s reedy voice died away and the man flushed.
Althea rolled her eyes. The innkeeper was mortified because he’d just suggested that the lord and an unmarried woman make use of a parlor alone in the middle of the night. How ridiculous after what they’d done together in her dreams.
But that hadn’t been real.
Trembling, she gazed into his lordship’s eyes. Seeking recognition? A clue? A hint of desire for her?
Black and bottomless, his eyes told her nothing.
“The parlor will be fine,” she snapped to Crenshaw, suddenly tense and irritable. Suddenly fearful she was far out of her depth. Should she turn and run?
Hell and the devil, she planned to hunt vampires! She couldn’t cower over a few dreams…even forbidden ones.
Softening her voice slightly, Althea turned to the vampire. Her…oh, goodness…her dream
lover
. “But first, my lord, might I have your name? You have not yet made yourself known to me.”
“You do not know who I am?”
She started. Damn shadows. She couldn’t read his expression. He must mean that many young English ladies knew who he was. Heaven knew, once seen he would never be forgotten.
In her dreams, he had never bothered to introduce himself. She would not let him get away with that now.
“Until one month ago, my lord, I was living in the Carpathian Mountains and have done so since I was a young girl. So, no, I do not know who you are."