Seized by the Vampire Lord (Dark Lords) (13 page)

“My manor?” the man retorted with raised eyebrows. 

“The last time I saw a servant wear rubies as red as those at your cravat and wrists, was in a particularly good dream.  Your shirt is of the finest linen, your jacket and breeches tailored by the best.”  She smiled coldly.  “My father may have died four years ago, but he only wore the best that London’s tailors could produce.  You, milord, are wearing the best.  Your cravat has been tied by a master and your hair styled and cut to the latest fashions…If you aren’t the Lord of this manor then I’m a fairy.”

For some reason, that seemed to make him laugh, but he held up a hand and relayed, “You are indeed correct.  In more ways than one.”  The last was said with a slight smile.  “Tis my manor, ever since my father died ten years ago.  Old bastard, I was glad to see the back of him.”

“I see that you did not share my love for my parents with your own.”

“He was a confounded tyrant.  Mother was a pussy cat.  Not a damned hope of surviving the brute.”

“It is strange indeed, milord, that you’re willing to discuss your dislike of your father and your mother’s intimate past, yet you will not tell me who you are to Wolfe Sinclair or what he is to me.”

“Ah, but then we live in a strange world, do we not?  And it is becoming stranger all the time.”  He smiled faintly at her.  “Drink your chocolate,” he ordered. 

With raised eyebrows, she complied and said, “I thank you for your hospitality, milord.”

“You’re very welcome.  Not often that I can welcome such a beauty as yourself into my home and without the matchmaking mamas and old tabbies coming along for the ride, as it were.”

Despite his loose words, she had a feeling that she was entirely safe with him.  Why, she did not know for certain.  Although Isabeau had the feeling that she was stamped with the mark of Wolfe’s possession and that to this man, was stronger than any attraction he might have felt for her. 

Whilst she did not appreciate it, if it kept her safe from the man before her, then she was grateful.  She did not doubt that were she not stamped as such, he would have been ripping through her petticoats and fondling her as soon as he’d settled the salver upon the bed.  Instead he had shied away from her. 

Why he had done so, she didn’t know, but again, was glad of it.  Wolfe’s possession, she might be to this man, but surely placing a tray upon her lap was hardly dangerous!  Was she that great a temptation? 

She ducked her head into the large pot of chocolate to hide her face and the huge grin that had two dimples cutting into the soft flesh of her cheeks.

Her eyes flickered over the expensively decorated room, the lusciously appointed antiques, the gilt etchings and protruding plasterwork on the walls.  She looked up at him and said, “It seems that Wolfe has a generous friend indeed.  I can but hope that he is generous with me.”

“That is something that we all wish for, is it not?  Generosity from those who are stronger, or more powerful than us.  I’m sure that Wolfe Sinclair will not…disappoint.”

She frowned at his words, but watched as he collected the tray, bowed low over it and at her, then walked towards the door.  It swung cleanly open and then shut. 

Isabeau’s eyes narrowed as she tried to translate the conversation into something that was more understandable.  She had the feeling that he had almost been speaking in a code of some sort, but she knew that was ridiculous.  It had not been a code, simply the fact that he was withholding information from her and either purposely or inadvertently, kept slipping tidbits to her. 

Either way, she felt more confused than ever and after spending the entirety of the ride towards this manor house, in a state of befuddlement, Isabeau realized that she was damned tired of feeling that way!

Be it confused about the strange and bewitching sensations her captor inspired in her.  Or about his role in her parents’ deaths or whether he was the elusive someone she had been running from these last four years. 

Isabeau wanted answers and knew she wasn’t about to receive any. 

She settled back into her gilded cage with a sigh.  Her shoulders were swallowed by a feather pillow and slowly she felt herself drift off to sleep. 

Her mind felt heavy, filled with weight and her limbs were somehow similarly indisposed.  Every inch of her felt drowsy and with a soft, sleepy smile, Isabeau realized that this was how it felt to be drugged.

She was far too tired and far too fatigued to care that the food had been poisoned with some kind of sleeping draft.  The only thing that disturbed the happy haze circling her being were the shots of pain that her ring directed along the length of her forearm.  Like stinging barbs, akin to the pins and needles that besieged a numb foot, they were most uncomfortable and difficult to ignore. 

Isabeau knew from long experience that it was a warning signal.  That impending danger was heading her way.  But a sluggish lethargy was gradually creeping through her veins and her eyelids felt as though they were weighted down with anchors.

As they finally slipped down and covered the balls of her eyes, she both heard the click of the door opening and saw a dirty and bedraggled head walk into her chamber. 

Rather than react with fear, she felt fearless and protected by the acres of space between the door and the bed upon which she was laying.  Nothing could harm her, when she felt like a cream-sated cat…Especially when it was only a floating head…