The Vampire Narcise (Regency Draculia #3)(26)
Author: Colleen Gleason

"Cock-licking snake," she muttered. Belial was a fool who’d become too important for himself. She took out her annoyance on the charcoal, crumbling a corner of it and creating an unnecessary smudge when she raked it too hard across the page.

"Does your brother allow all of his servants such freedom?" Cale asked quietly.

"He won’t come back until the lesson is finished," she told him. "We are private. And, no, Cezar would not allow such effrontery if he saw it. Everything must be well under his control, and a servant-no matter how trusted-who over-steps his boundaries will find himself turned out or otherwise disposed of."

"Good." Cale moved, sliding off the stool. He raised a hand to his face, and the lump in his cheek moved, then disappeared as he caught whatever it was in the palm of his hand. "Peach pits," he told her with a sidewise grin. "Two of them, in fact." He placed them in a handkerchief on the stool. When he took off his hat, then tousled his curls from where they plastered to his skull, she found herself wanting to assist him.

But Narcise remained in her place, a distance away. "Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?" She noticed a fat black spider making its way along the edge of one of the wood planks on the floor.

"Since I doubt your brother would allow me to court you in a normal fashion, I decided I had better take matters into my own hands." A glint of humor that she’d come to realize was part of his personality shone in his eyes, and then it disappeared.

"Court me? Are you mad?" No man courted the sister of Cezar Moldavi. They merely took-or, at least attempted to.

"I would have come sooner, but the arrangements took some time. But in the end, Monsieur David was grateful for my large donation to his cause, and the extra time with which to spend it. Are you well?"

She realized her brows had drawn together in a frown. He spoke to her with such familiarity; as if they’d known each other forever, as if they were friends and intimates. "We’ve only met twice," she blurted out, hardly realizing what she was about to say. "But I feel rather as if I’ve come to know you even more than that."

He still wore the false nose; perhaps that wasn’t so easily removed and replaced as the other elements of his disguise. Nevertheless, it was clearly Cale, with his steady eyes and the full lips that had traced the oozing blood on her palm so tenderly. "I couldn’t be more pleased to hear that, for I feel as if I’ve known you forever…even though I hardly do, in all the ways that matter. I must know, Narcise…have there been any other fencing matches since our last? How have you fared in them?"

She knew what he was asking-whether there had been any other men since him, and whether she had been forced or not. "There are not so many now who are brave enough to face my saber," she said by way of answer. "Few men are willing to expose themselves to the possibility of the humiliation of being bested by a woman."

"Which is precisely why I took measures to make certain I would win," Cale replied. His roguish smile was infectious enough, even from a distance, that she couldn’t keep her own in check.

A ridiculous thought: that he was here to court her. Yet, deep in the softest part of her stony heart, she felt a twinge of lightness. A girlish leap inside the hard heart of an old crone.

"But you did not answer my question," he pressed. He was leaning against the table where Belial had set the tray-still some distance from her. She noticed absently that the spider had made its way into the center of the room and was heading toward the opposite side with eight-legged efficiency.

"Other than ours, I haven’t lost a fencing match for more than five years," she told him. "And before that, after the first five years in Romania, before I had my lessons, it was a rare night that I lost. Perhaps two or three times a year."

Cale’s eyes were somber now. "I’m sorry it was that many times."

"So am I. But I’ve become stronger for it," she said, in a reminder to herself as well as to him. "And no one has touched me-against my will," she added with a quick glance at him, "for many years."

"Will Belial bother you? Cezar is gone, is he not?"

Narcise waved the steward away with a charcoal-smudged hand. "If he acts inappropriately, I know how to handle him."

"I have no doubt of that."

He didn’t speak after that, but his eyes scanned her. The hunger therein was bold and obvious, but again, he made no move toward her. Narcise wondered about that, and felt herself tensing in readiness. And, if she must be honest, anticipation.

"Are you and David lovers?" Cale asked abruptly.

She couldn’t control a shocked expression, nor a shiver of distaste. "No, of course not."

"Good." He nodded once. With a deliberate movement, he smashed the spider under his foot, as if to emphasize his response.

Narcise blinked then redirected her thoughts. "Once again, I must ask, Monsieur Cale, why you have gone through so much trouble to come here."

"I wanted to see you, of course, but I didn’t want your brother to know it," he explained.

"Because he wouldn’t like it?" Narcise frowned. "I am not so certain of that. He was mightily impressed that you won our sword parley, and I believe he finds it amusing that you’re very well-matched in skill with me. He wants to forge a business relationship with you."

Cale was looking thoughtful. "I’m not certain whether he would or wouldn’t like it, but either way, I’m not inclined to give him the benefit of the knowledge that you belong with me."

She drew herself back in affront. "I don’t belong to anyone." A blast of rage shuttled through her, but when he lifted a hand she allowed him to speak.

"I said you belong with me, Narcise. Not to me. We belong together. I can feel it, and you will, someday, as well."

She looked away. "You’re mad." But even she knew her words sounded weak and unconvincing. The truth was something tugged deep inside her, throughout her whole being, when he was near. This was so different from any of the other men who’d claimed to love her, to want her, to own her.

It was different because, damn the Fates, she felt it, too.

"He knows that I could take you away from him, from here," said Cale. "He knows that I’m the one."

Narcise raised her eyebrows skeptically.

"When you trust me." He smiled, but this time there was a bit of an edge to it. "And since I cannot come near you today or that low-crawling rodent will smell us, you’ll see once again that I mean to take nothing from you that you aren’t willing to give."