Bespelling Jane Austen

To Jane Austen, for making romance novels classics and keepers for generations.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Janet Mullany, who thought of me for this project—you know how much I adore you, dear tickler. I am thrilled to be part of this group of talent, and express my gratitude to Susan Krinard for the brilliance of the idea.

I’d also like to thank Mary Balogh for taking a chance on a paranormal element and for helping to get this project off the ground.

Thanks to HQN Books for doing such a fantastic job of packaging and putting together this anthology. I couldn’t be more delighted with how this has all turned out!

And I’d also like to thank the fans and readers of the Gardella Vampire Chronicles. Although Victoria’s story is complete, I hope you enjoy this story of a different wing of the Gardella family just as much. Thank you for your support and enthusiasm!

Inroduction

Dear Reader,

I grew up reading Gothic novels, and alternately rolling my eyes at the heroine who creeps up to the attic in the dead of night with a candle, and holding my breath, sitting on the edge of my seat and flipping pages as fast as I could, while she did so. And to this day I am a sucker for the dark, brooding Gothic heroes who remained a mystery until the ends of those suspenseful books.

Thus, when I first read Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, I knew I’d found a kindred spirit in not only Jane, through her tongue-in-cheek rendering of a Gothic novel, but also a heroine I could relate to in Catherine Morland. Like me, Catherine sees stories everywhere, making up histories and Gothic tales in her mind. As a writer, I do that every day.

When I was invited to be part of this group for Bespelling Jane Austen, it was a no-brainer for me to choose Northanger Abbey as the Austen novel I wanted to work with. Since I had already written a series about a female vampire hunter who lived during Austen’s time, I thought it would be fun to take the history of the Gardella vampire hunters and weave them into a summer at Bath with a dramatic young woman.

Thus Caroline Merrill was born—a counterpart to Catherine Morland. A young woman who not only devours Gothic novels as Catherine Morland did, but also sees stories everywhere and in everyone. She’s not always correct in her assessments (nor was Miss Morland), but she rises to the occasion when necessary.

I hope you enjoy Caroline Merrill’s adventures and my tribute to Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. Perhaps you’ll even see a bit of yourself in a young woman who loves her books and finds people to cast as those characters. I know I did!

Happy reading!

Colleen Gleason

Chapter 1

1845

Bath, England

MISS CAROLINE MERRILL SMOOTHED HER RUFFLED-HEM skirt as she settled into the chair against the wall. She quickly tucked her feet under the seat to keep them from being stepped upon or tripped over, and confirmed that the heavy, bulky reticule still dangled from her wrist. One never knew when one might need one of the accoutrements from within.

And then she had her first chance to look around, to really see all of the excitement. The Pump Room was just as thrilling—and packed—as Almack’s had been, filled with people meant to see and be seen.

Unfortunately, Miss Merrill was one of the former—for other than dear, dear Mrs. Argenot, by whose good graces and generosity had Miss Merrill come to be here in Bath, the young woman knew not a soul. It was only because Mrs. Argenot was a distant cousin and old friend of Miss Merrill’s mother, and that she had been desirous of a companion, that the younger woman had been invited to come. An event for which she still gave daily thanks.

“My stars,” Mrs. Argenot said, leaning toward Caroline with an effusive wave of rosewater, “I declare, it’s cooler outside in the noonday sun than it is here in this room.”

“And I would suspect the lemonade would be chillier, as well,” Caroline replied, eyeing the beads of sweat on Mrs. Argenot’s upper lip…and hoping she didn’t sport the same decoration. “Though not by much,” she added, recalling how warm the lemonade was at Almack’s, which, to her recollection, had never been this uncomfortably warm. At least, it hadn’t been, the single time she’d been there as a guest of Lady Jane Merriwether.

“Why do they not open some of the doors and windows? Then we could have a bit of a breeze, at least,” said her companion over the roar of the music, laughter and voices pitched loudly around them. She was a tiny woman, who made Caroline feel like a large and bulky footman next to her, even though Caroline herself was the shortest member of her family.

Granted, it was no surprise that her three brothers should be taller than her, but even her mother, the elegant Mrs. Evangeline Merrill, rose three fingers’ width above her daughter. “I do believe all the doors and windows are open, Mrs. Argenot,” Caroline told her. “It simply makes no difference when it has been so warm outside all day, and there are so many people in here tonight.”

Caroline flattened her upper lip so as to determine whether she did have those glistening dots above it, and then, surrendering to her obsession, began to dig in her reticule.

“I declare, Caro, that is the largest bag I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. Argenot told her. “You could fit one of your precious books in there, couldn’t you? Whatever do you carry around in such a thing?”

“A variety of implements,” Caroline replied, rummaging past her reading spectacles and the palm-size silver cross in favor of the muslin handkerchief she’d been seeking. “One never can tell when one might be in need of a pair of scissors or a magnifying glass.” Among other things that she’d managed to stuff into the bag. Which, she could not deny, really was of an awkward size, especially as an accessory for a ball.

Adding the wooden stake had been the biggest problem and, even now, she wasn’t certain that the one she’d managed to fit within the bag was large and sturdy enough to do the job.

If, indeed, she ever did come face-to-face with a Lord Ruthven, or, worse, a Lord Tyndale–type. Which, heaven forbid she should ever do. But since Caroline was a practical girl, she felt it important to be prepared for any eventuality, hence the silver cross that was simply too large and bulky to wear with her gown. Nevertheless, it would certainly be a deterrent to a vampire.

Handkerchief successfully retrieved, Caroline dabbed unobtrusively at her upper lip as she scanned the room. There was no doubt in her mind that if there was a vampire lurking about Bath, he would be here in the Pump Room tonight.

After all, according to Dr. Polidori’s fantastically horrid novel, the Lord Ruthvens of the world preyed on the innocent, rich-blooded young girls of the ton. What better place than Bath in the summer to stalk his victims?

Caroline tucked the handkerchief back into her bag and scanned the room, searching for a likely candidate. She was not about to be taken unawares, even if the rest of the attendees had nothing to worry about but treading upon the hems of their gowns or finding a dance partner.

“I vow, I’ve never been so exhausted in all my life!” exclaimed a shrill voice. Its owner collapsed onto the chair next to Caroline in a wave of pink ruffles and rose-colored flounces and began to fan herself enthusiastically.

Caroline turned to the newcomer, who was a pretty young woman about her age with wheat-colored hair and a heart-shaped face. She looked exactly like a heroine in Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels: pretty and innocent and lively. “It is quite a trial to make one’s way through all of the crush and keep from getting one’s toes trod upon,” she agreed.

“And my slippers! They’re ruined!” wailed the girl, lifting up her skirts just enough to show toes of pale pink silk. Which, as far as Caroline could see, were unblemished by scuffs, dirt or anything else.

“Er,” she said, “I think they look lovely.” Perhaps she wasn’t the sort of girl who would sneak up to the attic to investigate a locked door during a thunderstorm…no, she would most likely be the Gothic heroine’s best friend and confidante. The one who had exquisite taste in fashion.

The girl glanced at Caroline for the first time. “Oh, my word, can you not see the stains on them? Why, they no longer look the least bit pink! They’ve become as brown as mud!” She fussed for a few moments, adjusting her flounces and smoothing her already smooth skirt.

Caroline watched in fascination, for the newcomer was quite a lovely young woman and her costume was just as pretty. She wondered if the girl was an orphan who’d found a kindly woman guardian, a member of the haute ton, perhaps a very distant cousin, childless, of course, to take her in and sponsor her into Society, and that was why she was so conscientious about her clothing.

“Have you come here before tonight?” Caroline asked, in an effort to begin a conversation that had to do with something other than the state of the girl’s slippers and that might lead into more information about her history.

Or perhaps she would have some information about the very proper-looking older man who lurked in the corner, his dark eyes scanning the room. He seemed just the type to have locked his mad wife away in a tower room and come searching for a new, younger bride. His nose was so sharp and his chin weak…and there was something furtive about him.

“Oh, I have been here many times before,” the girl replied airily. “But as we have just arrived in town yesterday, this is the first visit we’ve made this summer.” Again, she looked up as if she’d just noticed Caroline. “We must find someone to properly introduce us, but until then… I am Isobel Thornton,” she said, still brushing at her skirts.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” Caroline said. “My name is Caroline Merrill.”

“Indeed,” Miss Thornton said, still fussing with her flounces. Then she turned to patting her hair, which had been swept into a smooth, moonbeam-colored twist with perfect little curls framing her pretty face.

Caroline didn’t want to consider what her own honey-colored hair might look like, after the stifling heat and pushing through the crowd. She was certain it didn’t look nearly as fresh as Miss Thornton’s.

“I do not know what’s to come of this visit,” Miss Thornton said. Now she was smoothing her gloves, first the left hand, all along to the elbow and then the right. “I have heard of no one in town at this time. It’s sure to be such a bore, but what can one do? My dear brother, James, must have his way and visit Bath in July.” She shook her head, curls bouncing charmingly. “He can be ever so frustrating, thinking only of his hounds and horses, and his club, and never once thinking of me.”

Caroline forbore to point out that with the number of people crowded into the Pump Room, it could hardly be considered that “no one” was in town. And apparently Miss Thornton didn’t need a kindly sponsor if her brother was taking her under his wing. Perhaps it was his wife who’d stepped in to raise his younger sister….

Then suddenly Miss Thornton was looking at her with interest. “Miss Merrill, you say?” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I recently had the pleasure of meeting a young man, a Mr. Robert Merrill.”

“Oh,” Caroline said, delight coursing through her. “Why, that would be my brother!”

“Your brother!” Miss Thornton’s eyes widened, and a great smile erupted on her face. “Why, I just knew the minute I saw you that we were bound to become bosom friends!” She clasped Caroline’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “And Mr. Merrill… Why, he was such a lovely man. So kind and charming and very handsome.”

Caroline flushed with pleasure. “Robbie is my eldest brother, and I confess that he is my favorite of the three of them. I am so glad that you found him pleasing, Miss Thornton.”

“Oh, indeed! He was the kindest, most charming, and most handsome man I have ever had the pleasure of walking with!” Miss Thornton said, squeezing Caroline’s hand even tighter. “And you must call me Isobel. I just know we are meant to be intimate, intimate friends!”

Caroline responded in kind, “And you must call me Caroline, or Caro if you like. I am so pleased to have met you.”

“And we shall walk tomorrow. And we must visit the Roman baths, too, of course. Oh, I am so delighted to have found such a bosom friend here, when it was sure to be such a bore! And my brother, you must meet my brother, Mr. James Thornton. He is— Why, there he is now!” She waved rather more energetically than Caroline would have, and apparently the gesture was effective, for moments later, an elegant gentleman stood before them. He wasn’t much older than Miss Thornton, and as Caroline looked up at him, she thought he could very well be one of the heroes in Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. Very smartly dressed, he was, with his dark blond hair brushed back neatly from a high forehead.

“Mr. Thornton, may I present to you my dear, dear friend, Miss Caroline Merrill. The sister of Mr. Robert Merrill,” she added.

“My pleasure,” Mr. Thornton said, sweeping a deep bow in front of Caroline. “Have you filled your dance card tonight, Miss Merrill?”

“Why— Oh—” Caroline heard the squeak of surprise in her voice and took a deep breath before continuing. “Why, no, I have not.” She produced her card, which was, at the moment, completely bereft of any markings, due to the fact that neither she nor Mrs. Argenot had seen anyone with whom they were acquainted.

“Then I am most privileged to have the first dance, Miss Merrill.” With a great flourish, Mr. Thornton marked off one of the spaces and handed the card back to her.

Caroline glanced at Mrs. Argenot, realizing that she hadn’t been properly introduced to the gentleman before her. The heat seemed to affect him, as well, for his forehead and cheeks shone. But his thick hair was neat and smooth, his brownish whiskers were well trimmed, and he dressed quite elegantly. He appeared more than capable of riding to the rescue of an endangered heroine.

Mrs. Argenot, as if pulled by a string, turned to look at her at that moment, and Caroline ventured to present Isobel and her brother to her own chaperone, who was her mother’s cousin. Upon hearing their names, the older woman’s face lit up. “Thornton? Of the Bayleston Thorntons in Derbyshire?”

“Why, yes, indeed,” Mr. Thornton agreed with a little bow. Caroline couldn’t help but notice how his hair gleamed and shone in the lamplight…almost as if it were slicked wet. If he had to rescue the heroine in a rainstorm, he would look quite handsome…although his hair would likely not be as neat as it was now. “Our family seat is Northanger Castle in Yorkshire, but we have a small estate in Derbyshire, as well.”

Caroline’s ears fairly twitched. Northanger Castle? What an intriguing name for a family home! How fascinating it must be to live in such a place, with its secret passages and enigmas from years gone by.

“How fortuitous,” Mrs. Argenot crowed, continuing the conversation. Her narrow little shoulders shifted as her hands flapped in delight. “Are you then acquainted with Maybelle Thornton?”

“Our mother,” Isobel said gladly, putting to rest Caroline’s fears that her new friend was an orphan. But no, she lived in a castle! That was even more exciting. “You must know her, then?”

“I schooled with her many years ago,” replied Caroline’s companion. “Do say she is here in Bath!”

“But she is!” Isobel confirmed, quite delighted. “How happy this day is!”

Caroline could not disagree, for now she had a friend, and a partner with whom to dance, and it was all most proper because Mrs. Argenot knew their mother. Delighted with the entire situation, she fairly sprang to her feet when Mr. Thornton turned to her and said, “I do believe our set is come up.”

“I simply love the country dances,” Caroline said, resting her gloved hand on his arm.

Whatever his reply, it was lost in the sounds of clapping and conversation. As they walked to the dance floor, she noticed that he was just a bit taller than she was, and that his shoulders were broad. He filled out his waistcoat rather handily. Although the buttons were not strained, the brocaded fabric hadn’t much room to expand. He was a very solid, square-shaped man. Very capable of saving the day if need be.

As they stepped into their positions and the orchestra began to play, Caroline felt her cheeks flush and her heart quicken.

This was why she’d begged her mother to allow her to come to Bath. To have escaped the boredom of the summer at their small estate and come here, where there was so much to see and do… Caroline was nearly as giddy now as she had been when Mrs. Argenot had secured her mother’s permission for her to join them on their visit.

The only thing that would make this visit even more perfect, besides confirming Mr. Thornton as a serious beau, would be if she actually uncovered some sort of Gothic plot and rescued a hapless prisoner, locked away in a dark cellar or tall, round tower…or if she espied a vampire.

Not that she wanted to see a vampire, of course. But after reading Dr. Polidori’s story, and the even more disturbing novel by Mr. Starcasset, she was certain that the undead mingled, unrecognized, within Society…just as evil husbands locked up their poor, dear wives or grandmothers or sons like they did in those horrid Gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe or Mrs. Tenet.

And Caroline was not about to be taken by surprise.

As she lifted the hem of her skirt, twirled away from Mr. Thornton and took three hop-skip steps, she saw him.

A tall, dark-haired man with fair skin…very fair skin, as if he didn’t go out in the sunlight…standing in the corner.

Watching.

Watching her.

Chapter 2

“WHAT A LOVELY DAY IT IS,” ISOBEL THORNTON trilled as she linked her arm through Caroline’s. She held an umbrella in her hand, and it bumped against Caroline’s own parasol as they walked.

Despite gray drizzle, the streets of Bath were filled with gaily dressed ladies, escorted by nattily dressed men or plainly garbed maids. They carried bags and boxes from shopping trips and skirted the dirt and puddles in the street.

Caroline looked at her new friend and barely contained a smile. A lovely day? The only thing that would make it worse would be if the overcast sky opened up and turned the drizzle into a full downpour. Which it had done late last night and into the morning.

“At least the rain has eased up a bit,” she said to Isobel. “I was certain we would have to cancel our walk if it didn’t stop.” She glanced down at the ground, noticing the damp edges of her hem. She wasn’t going to look at her slippers, for she knew what state they would be in.

Surprising that Isobel hadn’t commented on what must be another pair of ruined footwear.

“Mr. Merrill was such a delight,” Isobel said. “Your brother carried my umbrella for me when we walked in the rain one day. I am so happy that you and I are finally acquainted! He spoke so kindly of you, Caroline, dear Caroline. I felt like I already knew you when we at last met! And I have been wanting to meet you for so long!”

Caroline skirted a rather ominous-looking puddle. “He is a very kind man,” she replied. “Very—”

“And now we are inseparable, you and I,” Isobel continued. “We have the same interests and thoughts about everything! And what a lovely frock you are wearing today. It reminds me of the one I was wearing the very first time I met Mr. Merrill. It was yellow, splashed with tiny purple flowers and three rows of flounces at the hem. He complimented me on it, and of course, I demurred…but secretly, I was overcome that he even noticed it!”

They had walked all along Pulteney Street and were now coming to the old Roman baths. “Shall we stop in and see them?” asked Caroline when Isobel paused for breath. “I haven’t had the occasion, as we just arrived two days ago.”

“Oh, no, I don’t fancy going in there. I’ve been so many times before, and it is so warm and close, and the air simply smells like sulfur and heat. It’s very unpleasant. My hair will flatten out into long strips and will look a terrible fright!”

Despite the fact that Caroline yearned to see what had been public baths for the ancient Romans, and that Isobel herself had insisted only the night before that they would visit them, she was more loath to quit Isobel’s companionship. So, despite her interest in investigating the baths, she adjusted her umbrella so that the little drips didn’t dampen her shoulders and continued to stroll along with her new friend.

“Do you like to read?” she asked as Isobel paused from her discourse on the first walk she took with Robbie…up the street and around the corner, beyond the baker’s—where Robbie bought her a little cake—and on to the milliner’s, where he was kind enough to wait while she tried on several smart little spring hats….

“Read?” Isobel said in surprise. “But of course.”

Caroline smiled in delight. Happy day! “I am so glad that we share that interest. My mother claims I’m never to be found without a book in hand, and although that isn’t strictly true—”

“Oh, indeed! My mother says exactly the same. I just love books.”

“My favorites are those horrid Gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe,” Caroline confessed. “And those by Mrs. Tenet, as well.”

“Oh, yes, indeed! I love those books, as well. I’m certain Mr. Merrill knows what a great reader you are, and that we have so much in common.”

But Caroline, having embarked on her favorite subject of all, had more to say. “I have read them all so many times, but my favorite is Udolpho. Did you see the man last night, in the corner? He looked just as I pictured Montoni would be.”

“Oh, my gracious, I couldn’t agree more!” Isobel trilled. “He was so handsome and charming.”

“I am speaking of the one with the hooked nose. He had such dark brows, and a way of looking at people… I was sure he was Montoni, that horrible man. He looks just the type to lock his wife away in a tower.”

“Oh,” Isobel said. “Oh, indeed. I couldn’t agree more. And, look! Oh, look, Caroline! There is my own brother. Why, he could not stop talking about you last night, and here he is. He has found us. I rather suspected he might. You,” she said, looking at Caroline hard enough that she felt a warm flush over her cheeks, “have acquired an admirer.”

Hardly had the words settled in and Caroline’s attention flew to the smart barouche that trundled along the street than Isobel raised her hand and waved. “James! James!”

The mud-spattered conveyance rolled up and Mr. Thornton tipped his hat. “What a pleasant surprise, Miss Merrill. It is such a dreary day, without a ray of sun in sight, but I thought perhaps you might wish a bit of a drive.”

“Indeed she does! If for no other reason than to save her hems,” Isobel said with a vivacious smile. “I shall come on as chaperone, of course, but come now, Caro! Let us go for a ride.”

Caroline could hardly believe her fortune, for it was eminently obvious that Mr. Thornton had indeed sought them out…and dare she hope that it was she in particular?

Mr. Thornton clambered down from his perch, holding the reins looped over his hand, and helped Caroline climb into the high seat. Isobel followed, and then Mr. Thornton walked over to the other side and regained his place, putting Caroline in the middle.

The light carriage started off with a bit of a jolt, sending a trickle of rain careening off the edge of the roof behind them.

“We have been walking all morning, James,” Isobel announced. “What a delight that you found us.” She adjusted her skirt again. “We walked all along Pulteney and then went to the milliner’s, but it’s a small shop and didn’t have anything worth looking at. We had no wish to go into that awful dark and close bath spa, did we, Caroline? Even though it’s so wet. But now you’ve come along, dear James, and we can see the sights without mussing our slippers.”

“Mmph,” he replied as he navigated the horses down the center of the street. “Had to see to some business before I came out.”

“I declare, the smell on this street is simply revolting,” exclaimed Isobel. “Whatever have they dumped in the mews? Hurry on, James, get us past this horrible place.”

“Are you fond of hounds, Miss Merrill?” Mr. Thornton asked.

Caroline jumped, for she hadn’t expected him to direct a comment at her, and her attention had been caught by a tall, darkly garbed figure. He’d been walking along briskly, the drizzle gathering at the curling edges of his hat and sparkling on the shoulders of his cloak. She recognized him straight away from the dance last night.

Not the man with the hooked nose, who brought to mind Montoni, but the one who’d been watching her and Mr. Thornton as they made their way through the steps of the quadrille. The pale-visaged one who looked just as Caroline had imagined the vampire Lord Ruthven to look.

“Er,” she said, turning to gaze at the man as their carriage passed by. “Hounds? I cannot say that I know much about them.” Other than the fact that they jumped all over one’s gowns and employed their tongues in quite a sloppy manner.

The man on the street glanced up for a moment and their eyes met, his dark and steady beneath the brim of his hat. Even from a distance, she recognized disdain in his expression. She shivered and pulled her eyes away, her heart beating as shock buzzed through her.

If he were indeed a vampire, she must take care not to look directly at him. According to what she’d learned, the undead were known for being able to enthrall a mortal being with their eyes alone. But it was also well-known—to anyone who’d read Dr. Polidori’s or Mr. Starcasset’s stories, at any rate—that vampires were only able to come out at night. Exposure to the sun was…

Caroline blinked. But of course. There was no sun today; or at least, what little light shone was buffered, filtered through heavy clouds and rain. Perhaps with a hat to protect one from the direct sun, and gloves, of course, even the undead could walk the streets of Bath during the day.

“—do you not, Miss Merrill?”

With a start, Caroline realized that Mr. Thornton had been discoursing on some subject… What was it? Her mind scrambled to recall, and quickly settled on hounds. However, she hadn’t any idea what he had just asked her.

So Caroline responded, “Mmm…indeed, Mr. Thornton, what do you think?” hoping that he hadn’t just spent the last few moments telling her just that.

But even if he had, she’d learned from watching her mother manage conversations with her father, uncles and brothers that men never seemed to tire giving their opinions about anything. Even if they had just given them. This propensity thus enabled a woman to retreat to her own thoughts whilst they sermonized.

She sighed as Mr. Thornton launched into a treatise on the proper color of a hound. Not that Caroline had ever heard of a white-spotted beagle being a better hunter than a brown-spotted one, but, apparently, it made a difference to Mr. Thornton.

If her own family, and her limited experience with young men—and now Mr. Thornton—were to be any indication, it appeared that Caroline was doomed to a life of listening.

The rest of the carriage ride included Mr. Thornton’s opinions on new boots and Isobel’s classification of each dress shop that they passed as worthy of being patronized or not.

Despite her lack of participation in the conversation, Caroline enjoyed the opportunity to ride with her new friend and her potential beau, and realized that it was her own fault that she had been left out of the discussions because her mind had continued to drift to that gentleman she’d seen on the street.

She shivered just as the barouche stopped in front of the house that the Argenots had let.

“Oh, dear, I do hope you aren’t getting a chill, my dearest Caro,” Isobel said. “I would hate for anything to disrupt our going to the theater tomorrow night. You will join us, won’t you?”

“Oh,” Caroline replied in specious delight. “I should so love to, but of course, I must acquire permission from Mr. and Mrs. Argenot before I accept your invitation.”

“But they must join us,” said Mr. Thornton immediately. “Of course, there is room enough in our box.”

Thus, Caroline could not have been happier when she entered the little bungalow and told Mrs. Argenot about the invitation.

“But of course we shall attend! How kind of them. Mr. Argenot will make his excuses, but you and I will of course accept. I shall send word around right away.”

And so it was arranged that the next night, Caroline and Mrs. Argenot would be called for by the Thorntons in their carriage.

Mrs. Argenot, however, had a bit of the headache that night, which kept Caroline home from the Upper Assembly Rooms, which was another place to go, dance and be seen. “But I am certain I shall be right as rain in the morning,” her older cousin told her. “And we shall go to visit the bath spa before luncheon, as it is a shame you did not get there today.”

Caroline didn’t mind missing the evening at the Upper Rooms anyway, for Mr. Thornton had already indicated that he was otherwise engaged. Instead, she stayed up much too late and read the entirety of one of her favorite novels by Mrs. Radcliffe.

And that night, she dreamt of the man with the hooked nose laughing as he locked her into a room with barred windows…and the dark-haired man from the street slipping through the bars like tendrils of smoke and bending over her bare neck in the night. Fangs gleamed and his eyes burned red and he still wore the same curly-brimmed hat as he laughed and laughed.

Chapter 3

THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT AND SUNNY. Of course, Caroline did not actually see that event, for she was long abed after her late-night reading and the ensuing dreams. But when she actually awoke and dressed and joined Mrs. Argenot in the dining room for a late breakfast, the yellow sun gave such a cheer to the room that Caroline nearly laughed with joy.

Only three days in Bath, and she had already made a friend and had met a handsome, well-appointed young man who seemed more than passingly interested in her. And she had an invitation to the theater this very night. As well, Caroline was certain that there was an adventure to be had, or a mystery to be solved, with the hook-nosed man (whose wife was locked in the tower) or the man from the street and his obvious vampiric tendencies.

All in all, even if it were the cloudiest of days, Caroline would have been in high spirits.

Less than an hour after breaking their fast, Caroline and Mrs. Argenot strolled along the street toward the ruins of the Roman bath spa. Feeling quite the thing in a pale blue lawn with a single white flounce and the most cunning little butterflies embroidered on her sleeves, Caro had a matching spring in her step.

Inside the spa, which was underground, she found it crowded with visitors, dark and close, and endlessly fascinating. The brick walls had long been colored rust from the iron in the water, and the steam did indeed make the air muggy and smell of sulfur—as Isobel had claimed—but Caroline didn’t find it as unappealing as her friend.

“I do think I must get a bit of air,” Mrs. Argenot said, fanning her face, which looked alarmingly pink. Of necessity, she leaned closer than normal, for the low rumble of constant conversation, along with the tumbling water, was picked up by the cavernous space, making the sounds expand and echo.

“May I stay for a bit longer?” Caroline asked. “I wanted to look at the Sacred Temple again.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t want to spoil your fun,” the older woman told her with a smile. “Stay as long as you like. I shall sit in the garden under the rose pergola and enjoy the butterflies.”

Thus Caroline was sitting on one of the stone benches along the edge of the bath, quite out of the way and in shadow, watching the parades of visitors streaming by, when she saw him.

Him. The man from the street, the man with the curly-brimmed hat and the pale skin.

A strange prickle went over her shoulders and Caroline found herself pressing more deeply into the alcove in which she sat. He couldn’t see her from his position, but she had an excellent view of him as he strode through with great purpose. He was very tall, and today a dark coat covered his broad shoulders, but he was without a hat or gloves.

Rather than taking his time to admire the work of the ancient Romans, he seemed to be intent on something else, for he walked through quickly, glancing only cursorily at the other tourists as he wove between and around them.

Was he stalking his prey? Was there a young woman who had become separated from her party that he had homed in on, with his superior undead powers? Was he now hurrying to lure her into a dark corner before her companions missed her?

Caroline felt a shiver cast over her shoulders, quite ignoring the fact that she herself met that basic description. Instead, she dug into her impossibly large reticule, feeling around for the wooden stake…but then she recalled that she’d removed it before embarking on her walk with Isobel the day before. Out in daylight, she hadn’t expected to need such a weapon. And she’d forgotten to return it to its place. Fiddlesticks.

It was sunny today, but the spa was dark. How long had he been lurking here, under cover of the shadows, waiting for his opportunity? Perhaps he even slept here, hiding when the doors were locked for the evening. This would be a most convenient place for a vampire to live if he did not have his coffin nearby.

She was ready to close her reticule in disgust when her fingers brushed the silver cross. Yanking it from the bag, Caroline stood and, heart pounding, she slinked from the dark alcove and began to follow in the footsteps of the man.

Skirting around clusters of people, she gripped the cross and hurried as quickly as she dared. But a new influx of tourists had arrived, and of course they had all settled in a deep crowd in the very spot through which she must pass in order to follow her quarry.

Caroline found it nearly impossible to be polite as she edged her way into the mass of people. No sooner had she inserted herself halfway into the group than the crowd, in its entirety, seemed to move like a large lumbering cow along the very pathway through which she had just walked, and Caroline was jostled along with them in the opposite direction to which she desired to go.

It was several moments later, and more than a few minutes since her prey had disappeared that Caroline emerged from the other side of the cluster of sheeplike people. She hadn’t the barest notion what had caught the interest of such a large number of tourists at that very moment that she needed to pass through, and she didn’t care to find out.

Instead, still gripping the silver cross—which had become a bit slick from the dampness of her palm—she hurried on through the doorway through which the man had passed.

Suddenly, she came around a corner and there he was, walking briskly toward her. He seemed to be brushing something off the upper sleeve of his coat, and he had a satisfied expression on a face that might have been handsome if it weren’t so forbidding.

Caroline stopped in her tracks, startled to have come upon him so expediently.

“Where are you going? This area is not open to the public,” he said, his glance sweeping over her. It lingered for a moment on the hand clutching the cross, but then returned to meet her gaze. “And as such, it could be quite dangerous for a young woman alone.” Menace tinged his voice.

She was struck by how cool and dark his eyes were, and she tightened her fingers on the silver object. Of course, he couldn’t tell what she was holding in her hand. That was her intent, for if she needed to employ the item as a shield, it was best to take the vampire by surprise. Instead of being cowed, and fully aware that there was a crowd of people within screaming distance, she returned his look boldly.

Caroline felt the weight of his gaze—now much more potent than it had ever been before because of its proximity—and steeled herself against the warmth that tempted to shiver inside her. She would not fall prey to his thrall. Instead, she replied, “If that is the case, I wonder why you were skulking about back there.”

Was it her imagination or did his eyes flare a bit in surprise? She was certain she’d seen it. Now perhaps it was a glint of humor that lit his dark expression as he returned, “Skulking about? Whoever speaks like a Gothic novel but one who has read many of them, I suspect.”

“I have indeed, and I’ve found horrid novels not only very entertaining, but also quite enlightening. Particularly the latest one by Dr. Polidori.” As soon as she spoke those last words, Caroline wished she could take them back. She drew in a steadying breath and reminded herself of the comforting weight in her hand. She could hardly believe she’d been so bold. Not only had she fairly accused him of a nefarious purpose, but she’d also exposed her own knowledge and intent. Foolish, Caro! Now he will be suspicious of you.

“Indeed?” he replied, his voice cool. “So you consider yourself an expert on haunted castles and ghostly moors? You can distinguish an innocent tower from that in which the crazed madwoman of a wife is locked away? And perhaps you think you might be able to identify a Lord Ruthven, should you come face-to-face with him?” The man’s black eyes lit with mockery.

Was he deliberately baiting her? Telling her that she had indeed come face-to-face with a vampire?

“Not at all,” she replied, once again assuring herself privately that she was within easy distance of assistance should he make any threatening move toward her. In fact, the chatter of the crowd beyond filtered quite readily to her ears, giving her the confidence to continue her conversation. “I’ve found well-written books to be quite instructive with regard to the private characters of people I chance to meet. How well true character can be hidden by a facade or other subterfuge.”

He gave an impolite snort. “I shall take that under advisement the next time I embark on a character study. Surely you know that Dr. Polidori’s novel, while immensely entertaining and possibly informative in the way of characterization, is pure fabrication,” he continued. “And if it weren’t, it certainly wouldn’t do for a young lady like yourself to be skulking about into dark, shadowy, lonely places. Something terrible might happen to her.”

He leaned toward her and Caroline felt her breath catch, but she refused to move back a whole step. Just a shuffle of her feet…because the stone wall was right behind her.

“Or, instead, she might be the only one to witness a horrible event and come to the aid of a woman in distress,” she replied. Her voice sounded breathless and unsteady, and she was aware of how difficult it was to continue to hold his gaze. Yet she forced herself to look up at him.

“Don’t be a foolish chit,” he said, his voice sharp. “You’d do best to stay out of things which you do not understand—and dark corners and abandoned rooms where danger lurks. I should hate to see anything happen to that lovely white neck of yours.”

Caroline snatched in her breath at his effrontery and the gleam of—dear goodness, what was that in his eyes? She felt warm suddenly and, once again, that tug of his thrall. “I assure you, I am not as foolish as those silly heroines who go to investigate the attic alone at night,” she managed to say.

“But if they did not go into the attic at night alone,” he said, a wicked smile suddenly curving his lips, “there would be no story, would there?”

She barely suppressed a surprised laugh; instead, she smothered the instinct into a sort of gasp as the heat of his quick grin jolted her. But before she could open her mouth to respond, the smile disappeared from his face and he moved even closer toward her. Her heart slammed in her chest and it became difficult to swallow.

“Enough of this,” he said as she became aware of the scent of rosemary balm. “I have other matters to attend to than to stand here and exchange repartee with a foolish chit. Take yourself off, madam, and I strongly encourage you to deny your natural curiosities—and your obvious penchant to be your own Gothic heroine—and keep to the public areas of the bath spa. And other places. Or the next time you might find yourself in greater trouble than having to hold your own in a bout of wordplay.”

She drew in her breath to reply, but the black expression on his face, and the peremptory gesture he made back toward the public area compelled her to move. As long as he followed her, she would leave…and then perhaps sneak back once he was gone to see if there was any sign of disturbance. Or worse.

Caroline turned and started back toward the buzzing crowd, fully aware of the weight of his surveillance settling over the back of her bare neck. But she refused to hurry, to allow him to think he’d rattled her. He had not. He’d merely given her even more reason to be suspicious of him by warning her off.

She returned to the gathering of other tourists, noting that it had thinned out a bit. But that the smell of sulfur and too many women wearing rosewater clung to the air even more strongly than before. Once she slipped beyond the crowd and behind one of the cornices, she turned to watch. Sure enough…the man emerged from the shadowy hall, scanned the room sharply, then turned down another corridor and disappeared.

As soon as he did so, Caroline pushed her way back toward the area he’d deemed as not open to the public, and this time she did see the notice tacked to the wall. Closed for Restoration.

But she ignored the sign and hurried along the dimly lit hallway. If he’d lured his prey back into the empty, unrestored area, the poor girl could be lying injured and bleeding. Or worse.

Yet Caroline found nothing untoward but a few piles of dirt and dust among the flickering torches hung high on the wall. Clearly, whoever was doing the restoration was not at work today…or recently. And, even more clearly, she had interrupted whatever plans the man had had to entrap his victim.

Disappointed, yet satisfied that she’d at least disrupted his villainous purpose, Caroline strolled back out to find Mrs. Argenot in the gardens. Her companion was not sitting beneath the rose pergola, which was not a surprise to Caro. She’d learned that her distant cousin was prone to distraction when it came to flower gardens, and had most likely been lured from her seat by an unusual specimen of butterfly or a unique arrangement of bushes.

Grateful for the fresh summer air after the rotten-egg and heavy rose perfume of the baths, Caroline settled on the bench to await her friend’s return.

She had been sitting for only a moment, wishing that she had slipped a book into her bulky reticule, when a young woman passing by paused to admire the spray of pink-tipped ivory tea roses.

“How lovely,” she said, pausing to remove her glove. She reached to touch a petal.

“They smell much better than the ones inside,” Caroline said before she caught herself. Whatever had got hold of her tongue today? “Oh, dear,” she began.

To her relief, the young woman laughed and said, “I cannot but agree. Much as I appreciate the scent of roses, I must admit I cannot admire it when there is quite so much of it in such a small area.”

Caroline nodded, also smiling. “Although my favorite scent is that of gardenia, my cousin prefers roses. In fact, I thought she would be waiting for me here, but she has obviously found something else of interest whilst passing the time.”

The other woman released the rose petal, and the blossom shifted back into place. “And I was supposed to meet my party here, as well, but, apparently, they have not yet arrived. Or else I am too late and they have walked along.”

“Perhaps you would like to sit and wait for them?” Caroline asked, making a show of moving her skirts. “Surely they will return in search of you.”

“How kind of you.” The other woman took advantage of her hospitality and settled next to her on the bench, removing her other glove. She appeared to be Caroline’s age, although she was a bit more petite than Isobel, which gave the impression that she might be a bit younger. With rich chestnut-colored hair and laughing blue eyes, she was very pretty and seemed to be full of life. “My name is Ellen Henry.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” replied Caroline, giving her own name. “Have you been in Bath long?”

Miss Henry shook her head. “No, we have only just arrived this last day. My guardian and I have joined my aunt and her two daughters—that is the party whom I am waiting for.” She smiled a bit abashedly. “I confess, though I have been to Bath thrice now, I never tire of wandering through the bathhouse, imagining the way it was centuries ago. My aunt and cousins find it a bit of a bore after only a short time, so they have learned to leave me to my imagination so that I’m not rushed.”

A rush of kindred spirit flooded Caroline, and she smiled. “That is the precise reason I am waiting here for my companion, Mrs. Argenot. She found herself bored while I could not pull myself away.”

“They claim there is little to see but a few large rooms with warm water, and that it takes but a few moments to admire it…but to me, there is so much to think about and to imagine.” She giggled, her nose wrinkling prettily. “And there is the smell, of course. They complain that it smells like foul eggs.”

“The aroma surprised me at first,” Caroline said, “but I found I got used to it readily, and it didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the area. Oh, and there is Mrs. Argenot now.” She stood, suddenly reluctant to leave her new friend.

Miss Henry appeared to have similar compunctions. “Perhaps I shall see you at the Upper Rooms tonight?” she said, also standing.

Caroline felt a sincere wave of disappointment when she recalled her engagement with the Thorntons for this evening. But whyever should she do so? “I’m afraid not, for I shall be at the theater, but perhaps we could walk tomorrow? And then we could come back to the bathhouse and wander through to our hearts’ content?”

“That would be most enjoyable,” Miss Henry replied enthusiastically. “I’m certain my aunt would approve, Miss Merrill, if for no other reason than that she would not have to take me back here.”

Caroline smiled with equal delight, and upon Mrs. Argenot’s arrival, she obtained her companion’s permission for the outing, and they settled on a time and place to meet the next day. Then she and Mrs. Argenot bid their farewells, and as they strolled back to their house to prepare for the evening at the theater, Caroline found her step to be quite light and merry once again.

Indeed, this visit to Bath was turning into a more pleasurable one than she could ever have imagined.

Chapter 4

CAROLINE LOOKED DOWN AT THE STAGE, WHERE the actors and actresses filled the space with their bright costumes, then across the small theater to the other boxes. Enough light remained to illuminate the house almost as well as the stage, for, just as in London, the attendees wished to see and be seen more than they meant to watch the entertainment below.

Of course, she didn’t expect to recognize any of the other spectators, but she certainly could admire their frocks and observe their interactions. And there was the possibility that she might espy her Lord Ruthven look-alike from the spa earlier today, or the hook-nosed man with the imprisoned wife. Or any number of other mysterious figures.

There had to be at least one scheming woman in Bath who was poisoning her innocent husband’s tea.

“It is such a delight to have you sitting next to me tonight,” Isobel gushed, leaning close enough that Caroline got a strong whiff of powder and tea rose. “Mr. Merrill was so kind as to escort me to five theatrical performances. Three of them were by Mr. Shakespeare, and he was such a gentleman when I was overcome at the tragic ending! Poor, poor Juliet! He offered me a handkerchief, and he patted my hand until I was able to cease my waterworks.”

“Mr. Shakespeare patted your hand?” Caroline asked ironically.

“No, no, goose,” Isobel trilled, patting Caroline’s own gloved hand. “I was speaking of Mr. Merrill. Your brother. He was so very kind and considerate. And…I recall, that night he was wearing the smartest dark blue waistcoat with a sable coat and pantaloons. I had chosen, with the help of Misry, my maid, of course, a dark blue frock with pale blue trimmings. And we looked delightful together. Everyone commented on how well we looked. It was quite a topic of conversation.”

Caroline nodded and made automatic murmuring noises, for her attention had been seized by a familiar figure. Instead of sitting in one of the two short rows of chairs in his box, the Lord Ruthven look-alike stood near the front of the small balcony. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his middle, he appeared not so much bored as watchful.

Not that the actors onstage seemed to draw his attention. Like most of the other theatergoers, the brooding man seemed less interested in the play below than other goings-on.

Intrigued, Caroline examined the other members of his party. Three women, all of whom older than Caroline herself, and four other gentlemen. One of the women seemed to wish to draw Lord Ruthven—she really should come up with a different name for the man if she was going to keep seeing him about—into conversation, but while he appeared to respond politely, he declined to sit in the chair next to her and continued to remain watchful over the other boxes.

Then, suddenly, he seemed to notice her. His gaze fixed on her from halfway across the theater and, for a moment, she fancied her heart stopped beating. Then it started up again, pounding harder. Her mouth dried, and she found it difficult to pull her own gaze away from his dark, intense one.

Ruthven lifted his chin in an arrogant pose and made a brief bow in her direction. She did not miss the sardonic expression that flickered across his countenance. At last, she was able to pull her attention from his, and commenced with what she hoped was a casual glance around the theater as her cheeks felt warm and her breath rushed.

He must know she suspected him, and he’d attempted to enthrall her right then, right here, as a warning. The next thing that would happen was that his eyes would turn red and begin to glow. Then his fangs would extend…

Her palms dampened beneath their gloves and she was aware of the nervous churning in her belly, yet she could not keep the mental images away. He would bend to her, his mouth warm and his fingers strong and sturdy around her arms…he would kiss her first, gently, at the side of her mouth. And then he would move to the edge of her jaw, then to her bare neck—

With a little gasp, Caroline was jerked back into reality by Mr. Thornton, who’d leaned forward from the seat behind and spoke behind her. Heart pounding, skin still prickling, she turned in her chair in time to hear Isobel respond to her brother, who’d leaned forward between the two of them. “Of course not, James,” she said. “We’ve only just arrived. There’s been no chance for anyone to even notice us yet, dear brother.”

Caroline realized that Mr. Thornton had been inquiring as to whether they would like to take a turn about the galley or get some refreshments, and she was relieved that Isobel had declined. Despite the fact that the man had caught her looking at him, she intended to keep a close watch on Ruthven.

She turned back to her task of observing the handsome—she supposed he was handsome—pale-visaged man. When he tensed and straightened, Caroline noticed, though it was a subtle movement. He seemed to come to attention, his sharp eyes fixated on a box two away from hers. His gaze appeared to have been engaged by a new arrival. A woman with a cloud of dark hair, in a rose-colored frock. She was some years older than Caroline, but still seemed delicate and demure.

A prickle tingled up her spine. Was she Lord Ruthven’s latest target? She had arrived in the box without escort, although its other occupants greeted her with delight.

A woman alone. Caroline’s heart began to beat faster. A perfect target for a Lord Ruthven.

Perhaps she should think of him as Lord Brooding. Lord Gloomy? Then she recalled his short, clipped conversation with her today and revised: Lord Rude.

Isobel suddenly clamped her fingers around Caroline’s arm and gave a sharp tug. “Do you see that?”

“Yes, yes, I see it, too. He’s looking at—”

“What a cunning little wrap Mrs. Erthwistle is wearing! Why, it’s nearly as smart as the one I nearly lost on the first day I met Mr. Merrill. I left it behind on a park bench and he kindly returned it to me. Of course, we had already been introduced, otherwise it might have been rather awkward, but he was so very kind. And so polite.”

Caroline, having been jolted from her observations when Isobel’s fingernails dug into her gloved arm, murmured something appropriate and returned her attention to the box where Lord Ruthven had been sitting.

He was gone.

Fiddlesticks and ferndots.

Caroline half rose in her seat, leaning forward to peer toward Lord Rude’s box in the event that he’d simply moved to the back of the space. But she could see no sign of a tall, dark figure lurking in the back, and she settled back in her seat, frowning worriedly. Something was wrong. He was up to something nefarious.

She knew it.

And she was the only person here who suspected.

Then she looked over at the box with the delicate brunette woman. The woman had taken a seat in the second row of chairs, leaving Caroline to wonder how such a small figure meant to see over the other occupants of her box. But she didn’t appear to be discouraged by her view, for the woman leaned near the man next to her as if to exchange some comment.

When the young man responded, the brunette smiled demurely, then accepted a handkerchief offered her. The gentleman was clearly besotted, and she seemed quite as delighted to be in his presence. Yet…Caroline caught a certain angle of her expression, and something seemed odd. As if it were not as innocent as it appeared.

And that was when the prickling became stronger over her bare shoulders. Perhaps the woman was married…and she’d fallen in love with this younger man. Yes, that made sense. She was much older than the smart dandy next to her.

But if the woman was married, she must, of course, find a way to dispose of her husband. The prickling became stronger. So delicate, so demure and innocent-looking…but Caroline was not fooled. Just like the villainess in Mrs. Tenet’s novel The Iron Gate, the woman seemed all innocence…but she was slowly poisoning her husband to death so that she could be with her younger lover.

Of course, the villainess in Mrs. Tenet’s novel had different motives that involved a chest of family jewels, but that didn’t matter. She was the same sort. Caroline had seen it in that brief flash of her eyes.

She jumped when Isobel grabbed her again. “You simply must come with us,” Isobel demanded. Her voice was pitched with excitement.

Caroline firmly withdrew her limb, certain that in the morning her skin would be decorated with small bruises. Isobel had no sense of how her excitement manifested itself.

“May she, Mrs. Argenot?” Isobel had turned to the older woman, who, despite the activity going on around the theater, seemed to have been quite engrossed in the play below. “May she indeed?”

Caroline smiled at Isobel’s enthusiasm. The girl’s blue eyes sparkled, and she looked so pretty and alive that any lingering annoyance about her propensity for inflicting bruises faded. “And what is this great plan?” she asked, glancing briefly at the boxes.

Lord Rude had not yet returned, and Mistress Poison remained in tête-à-tête with her younger companion. Perhaps it wasn’t she who’d garnered Rude’s attention after all.

Yet Caroline was certain that if Rude had left the box, he must have done so for some nefarious purpose. He must have.

“Why, James has concocted a scheme to take us on an evening picnic to the abbey ruins tomorrow,” Isobel said. “Come, James, will you not tell Caroline about it?”

“Would be my pleasure, Miss Merrill,” Mr. Thornton said, leaning forward from his seat behind Caroline. “Could show you my new pair. Just bought them today, and a fine step they have, if I do say.” His smile showed a wide expanse of very white teeth and a charming dimple in his left cheek.

Her first response to the invitation had been a leap of delight, but then Caroline recalled her engagement to meet Miss Henry tomorrow afternoon at the old bath spa. She feared that would not give her enough time to return home, change and be ready to join the Thorntons for an early evening. “Oh, dear,” she said with great apology. “I am afraid I have already been engaged for tomorrow. I should very much love to go to the ruins,” she added quite truthfully. “But I must decline. Unless it could be arranged for another day.”

Ruins, whether they be bathhouses or abbeys or castles could only be filled with fascinating finds. Ghosts, remains, hidden secrets and old passageways—and under the moonlight of an evening picnic? What more thrilling adventure, she could not conceive.

Though Caroline’s disappointment was acute, she was in no way inclined to cancel her arrangements with Miss Henry, even if she must let the opportunity pass.

“But you must come with us,” Isobel cajoled. “Whatever can be more exciting than to visit the old abbey? And James will drive us, and we shall have a splendid picnic! You must cancel your engagement and plan it another day, Caroline! You must, for I vow I shall not allow you to miss the day.”

“Perhaps if Mr. Thornton’s schedule permits,” Mrs. Argenot, who sat on the other side of Caroline, said gently, “you might arrange it for a different day? I would not be surprised if the day turned rainy tomorrow, for the clouds this evening were heavy and dark. If it does not rain tomorrow, it looks as if it will be quite stormy tonight, leaving it very wet tomorrow.”

“But with whom do you have an engagement tomorrow that you are abandoning us?” Isobel demanded, speaking over Mrs. Argenot’s quite sensible suggestion. “I simply cannot accept that we should go without you, Caroline! Can you, James? It just cannot be. We must convince her to come with, dear brother. We must go tomorrow evening! The scheme has been made up already!”

Caroline imagined that if Isobel had been standing, she would have stomped her foot and perhaps even crossed her arms petulantly over her middle. And, as this was the first mention of such an adventure, she suspected its inception had been only moments ago. Hardly a disruption in any plans.

“I should very much love to attend,” she said appeasingly. “But earlier today I made arrangements with my friend Miss Henry for an afternoon engagement, and if it is to be wet again, as Mrs. Argenot suggests, I do not think it would be all the thing to go tomorrow.”

She glanced back over to the boxes and noticed with a start that Mistress Poison had left her seat, and so had her young gentleman friend. Caroline straightened, her heart thumping, scanning the interior of the box. No, indeed. They had left.

Could they be bent on putting Mistress Poison’s husband out of his misery this very night? Was it possible that he was waiting at home, ill in bed from his rancid tea, and she was too impatient to wait for his death any longer? She meant to hurry it along, perhaps with a well-placed pillow, held by her young lover?

Or did they merely plan to take a stroll about the gallery, perhaps to finalize the details of Mistress Poison’s husband’s demise? What better place to discuss such a topic than in a public, yet private place?

And had Lord Rude indeed been watching Mistress Poison for his own purposes? Even if she planned her husband’s death, one could not sit back and allow her to fall into the hands of a vampire.

Yet, Caroline told herself she should not worry, for if the woman had a companion with her, certainly she would be safe from any attempt by Rude to lure her into the dark.

But, then again…Caroline pursed her lips. The man seemed rather young and a bit flimsy, like the foolish dandy in Mr. Starcasset’s novel who was lured to a gentleman’s club by Lord Tyndale, only to find that it was populated with vampires like Tyndale himself. The poor fop became Tyndale’s latest victim and was left for dead, bleeding into the cobblestones of Baker Street.

She tried to settle in her seat and even to watch the play, but Caroline could not keep her thoughts from wandering hither and yon. She must investigate, if only to ease her own mind.

Gathering up her skirt, which happened to be an unusual lavender color that Mrs. Argenot claimed looked particularly well with her honey-colored hair, Caroline bent to her friend’s ear and said, “I must excuse myself for a moment.”

“Oh, indeed,” Isobel said. “Dear James will escort you, and he must convince you to join our party tomorrow.” Her smile seemed complacent, as if certain that her brother would succeed.

Caroline tried to think of a manner in which to decline his presence, but there was no polite way to do so. To her chagrin, Mr. Thornton offered his arm and led her out of the box.

“I confess, you might find it to be a bit of a bore,” she told him as they started along the long room that served as gallery for the theater patrons. “I merely wished to walk a bit and to…uh…admire the murals and statues.”

She realized belatedly that the majority of the murals and statues were little more than cherubic angels playing harps and lyres, with long, faded red scarves streaming out behind them. Not particularly imaginative, nor worth a second glance. As she warned him: boring.

They were not the only couple strolling through the gallery, she noted. But none of the other random visitors were Madame Poison, her young lover or Lord Rude.

“It is my deepest pleasure, Miss Merrill, to accompany you,” he told her, patting her gloved fingers, which had curled lightly around his forearm. “I could have wished for nothing more than to have a few moments of your time, in which I might express my sincere admiration for you and your person.”

He gave her that smile again, wide and white, and with the deep-cut dimple, and Caroline formed her lips into a responding one. “Why, thank you, Mr. Thornton,” she replied.

“I do hope,” he said a bit pompously, “that you would give me the great honor of addressing me by my given name, James.”

“Oh,” Caroline said, and felt the swarm of heat over her cheeks. How forward of him, after knowing her for only two days! But she was fully aware of the honor he did her by the request and, feeling a bit like one of those wooden toy men her brothers had played with, bobbed her head. “How kind of you, Mr…. er, James.”

How odd, how foreign, to be speaking a man’s Christian name. Of course, she spoke of her brothers in such a manner, but never had she done so before to any other adult man. As her mind raced and bobbed along, and she was aware that Mr. Thornton—James—had led her to the end of the gallery, she reminded herself of her purpose for coming out of the theater box and Caroline gathered back her thoughts.

“Mr…. er, James,” she said, “I wonder if you might be so kind as to fetch a refreshment? Did I see that they offered lemonade?”

“But of course, Miss Merrill,” he said. “Whatever you wish. Come along, I do believe I saw a table in this direction.”

“Oh,” she said, stopping. She gave him her most charming smile. “I wonder…would you perhaps bring it back for me? I am simply enamored of this…uhm,” she fumbled for something to say, then continued, “this lovely painting. The detail of the cherub’s wings! I must admire it, and learn how the artist’s technique was applied.”

“Of course, Miss Merrill,” he replied. “I did not know you were a painter.” Was it her imagination that he continued to use her name as a reminder that she had not yet given him leave to call her by her Christian name? “With your permission, I shall return in haste.”

Oh, please do not. “Thank you, James,” she said. “And…I would be honored if you felt familiar enough to call me by my Christian name, as well.”

“Caroline. Such a lovely name,” he told her. James gave a bow and he started off, leaving Caroline in her contemplation of the cherub’s wings until he was safely out of sight.

“I cannot see what you find so admirable about that painting,” came a familiar sardonic voice behind her.

Caroline nearly leaped out of her skin, barely controlling herself from clasping a hand to her chest and gasping like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s heroines. Instead, she curled her fingers into her palms and willed her heart to stop its frightened pounding.

“It looks as if a child had done it,” continued Lord Rude.

While she privately agreed, she couldn’t exactly divulge that her reason for admiring the work was so that she would have a private moment to try and find the man standing in front of her. “And what brings you from your theater box this evening?” she asked boldly, thinking that if she detained him with some conversation, he might also be foiled in his plan of coaxing Mistress Poison—or which other victim he’d identified—into his clutches.

Caroline could not help but notice how crisp and snowy white was his shirtwaist, and how intricately his burgundy and black cravat had been tied. Yet, he seemed to have a bit of dust or ashes on an otherwise pristine costume, gray and clinging to his right sleeve as well as the same side of his coat.

His dark hair, which would be described as being the color of a raven’s wing in one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s thrilling novels, had been brushed neatly back from his high forehead and chiseled cheekbones. As was the fashion, his sideburns grew long, but they were neatly trimmed and did not threaten to swallow his face. The rest of his strong features had been carved by the same bold sculptor—a straight, prominent nose, large deep-set eyes and a solid, square chin.

Imposing and arrogant, and truly quite handsome, Lord Rude nevertheless seemed to have an air of suppressed energy simmering beneath his well-cut coat. He reminded her of one of her father’s stallions—Teton, a black, muscular monster that barely restrained himself while bridled, and even then allowed only Caroline’s father and her brother, Robbie, to ride him.

Rude was definitely more of a Lord Tyndale type of vampire than a Lord Ruthven, she decided at that moment. She felt her palms dampen beneath her gloves. Very attractive and very dangerous.

Lord Rude lifted his eyebrow and fixed his gaze on her. Caroline felt that little tremor shiver through her when their eyes met, and she yanked hers away.

“I had business to attend to,” he replied to the question that she’d already forgotten she’d asked. “But I need not inquire what has drawn you from your seat.”

Surprised, she forgot herself and her attention flew back to his dark eyes. “What do you mean?” Could he have realized her purpose?

His lips, thin with mockery, curved up on one side. “Whether it was your excuse or that of your companion, the result is the same: a few stolen moments of privacy whereupon he might wax rhapsodic about your freckled, button nose or your cornflower-blue eyes.”

Caroline clapped her hand over her nose. How much powder had she applied to cover that horrid wash of freckles? Apparently, not enough. And at least she didn’t have dirty smudges on her clothing. “I do not have a button nose,” she retorted. She’d always thought of her proboscis as being larger than it need be. “It’s much too large to be considered buttony.”

He gave a short laugh. “It is all a matter of perspective, I do believe.” He gestured to his own prominent feature. “But I find it interesting that you do not deny the presence of freckles, yet argue the size of your nose.”

“I cannot change the size of my nose,” Caroline replied, wondering how she’d come to be engaged in such a conversation with a suspected vampire. “But I can attempt to obliterate my freckles. And it would be much more polite if you were not to mention them.”

Lord Rude gave a short bow. “I shall leave that to your companion.”

“Have you been digging in a fireplace?” she asked, unable to keep from mentioning the ashes. “Your coat is a bit dusty. Just…there,” she added with a little gesture.

“Ah,” he said, and brushed at it. “My apologies if it offended you.” The ash filtered into the air, pungent and musty, like nothing she’d ever smelled before.

But when he returned his attention to her, she saw that his expression had changed. “You and Mr. Thornton seem to have become quite familiar with each other. Dare I presume that the man has taken your fancy?”

Caroline could hardly believe the effrontery of his question. “Mr. Thornton is very kind,” she said, with a pointed emphasis on this last word. “And I cannot imagine why our relationship should be of interest to you, Lo—” She caught herself before speaking the moniker she’d given him privately.

Rude cocked that eyebrow again. “I was merely attempting to make conversation, Miss…?”

“We have not been properly introduced,” she reminded him. And lifted her so-called button nose.

“You state the obvious,” he replied dryly. “And since we have commenced with discussing the others’ appendages as well as flaws in dress, I had thought to rectify the situation. But apparently that is not to be so.”

“If there is ever a reason for us to be formally introduced, I am certain that instance shall occur.”

“Indeed.” Then his expression became even more forbidding. “I should like to remind you once more, madam, that young attractive women like yourself ought to take care in walking about alone. I can’t think what Mr. Thornton—is it?—thought to leave you unattended.”

“It was at my own request,” she replied. Glancing about, she reassured herself that they were not the only occupants of the gallery, and that she could summon assistance if she needed it.

“How convenient,” he murmured, his ironic gaze sweeping over her, “that you have so quickly enthralled Mr. Thornton.”

Enthralled? Caroline caught her breath. For him to use such a word…the term used to describe the vampire’s power over his victim. Her suspicions solidified. “Mr. Thornton is no Lord Tyndale,” she retorted meaningfully. “I am certain of that.”

“Tyndale?” Lord Rude stilled, and suddenly Caroline felt very aware…and perhaps a bit frightened by the black expression that came over his face. “What do you mean mentioning Lord Tyndale? Do not tell me you have read Starcasset’s book?”

“Why, I have indeed,” she replied, taking a very small step backward. She felt a statue’s pedestal behind her. “And I have found it to be quite enlightening.” It was an effort to keep her voice steady in the face of such a response.

“Enlightening? You would find it so, wouldn’t you?” He appeared quite angry. “However did you come by a copy of that ridiculous tale? It was never supposed to have—” He caught himself, and for the first time, Caroline felt as if Lord Rude were tipped a bit off balance.

“It was not easy to obtain a copy,” she told him, feeling a bit more sure of herself in the face of his obvious discomfiture. “But my brother is a friend of the publisher’s son, and managed to gift me with an early copy because I had enjoyed Dr. Polidori’s story so well. And then,” she added, frowning in remembrance, “I did hear that the rest of the books were destroyed in a fire.” She looked up at him. “And the publisher decided not to print any more of them. I cannot understand why, for it was quite a thrilling tale.”

Lord Rude said something under his breath that she was certain should not have been uttered in the hearing of a gently bred woman like herself, but he made no attempt to apologize. Then he fixed his dark gaze on her once more. “So that is why you continue to gad about, spying on people. It is a dangerous occupation.”

Caroline swallowed. So he had figured it out. But before she could respond, he continued, “I’ll warn you again, madam, not to poke that pert little nose of yours into business that you don’t understand, and things that could endanger your slender, delicate neck. Starcasset’s book is a fairy tale, the figment of an overactive imagination. Do not allow it to mislead you into ridiculous assumptions.”

Perhaps he might have continued his lecture if Mr. Thornton—James—had not appeared at that moment from the other end of the gallery. He was dutifully carrying two small cups, and recognition must have shown in Caroline’s expression, for Lord Rude was facing the opposite direction and would not have seen him.

“So your companion has returned,” Rude said, beginning to ease away. “Do not take my warning lightly, madam,” he said as he stalked off.

Moments later, Caroline realized her fingers were still shaking a bit as she gratefully accepted the cup of lemonade from James.

“My apologies that it took much longer than I’d hoped,” James told her, glancing beyond her shoulder at Rude’s disappearing figure. “The first cup they offered me was too warm, and the second I thought tasted much too sweet. I made certain they prepared it correctly. Who was that you were chatting with, Miss…er, Caroline?”

Having sipped the lemonade, and finding herself agreeing that the beverage was neither too warm nor too sweet, she swallowed and replied, “A gentleman passing by who stopped to ask for directions to the upper boxes.” How quick she was on her feet with James! Why could she not be quite as snappy when she spoke with Lord Rude?

James nodded, and offered her his arm, then peered at one of the murals. “What a ridiculous rendition of a hound,” he said. “Why would one ever portray a hunting dog with a snout of that length? It’s much too short, and shallow, to be of any use running down a fox or hare.”

Caroline glanced at the image in question, noting that the hound seemed to be running happily alongside cherubs, hares, cats, and the like. She forbore to point out that it looked nothing like a hunting dog, and more like a pup frolicking with friends. Not that James would have heard her response, for he was still waxing on about not only the size of the snout, but also about the unfortunate pup’s haunches.

Apparently, they were too curved.

“Perhaps we should return to our seats,” Caroline at last managed to insert when he paused to sip his lemonade. “I’m certain Isobel is wondering what has befallen us.”

“And I must return with you and your agreement to accompany us on our adventure tomorrow evening,” James said. “I shall not take your declination, my dear Caroline, without being grievously offended.”

“But I cannot cancel my previous engagement,” she replied as they began to walk back to their box. “Surely you understand it would not be seemly for me to do so. I am meeting my friend Miss Henry late in the afternoon, and I do not believe there will be time to—”

“Why do you not invite her to join our party,” James suggested. “That will solve the problem, and we shall be able to go as planned.”

Oh, that was a splendid idea, and one which Caroline seized upon readily. If Miss Henry were as intrigued by the old spa as she seemed, then she would no doubt be even more delighted to take part in their other adventure.

“I shall put the invitation to her,” she told James. “But if she does not wish to join us, I am afraid I must keep my engagement with her.”

“Of course,” James replied, opening the door to their box. “But I trust that you will be greatly persuasive so that I am not to be deprived of your company…under the moonlight.”

Caroline felt her face heat and she ducked her head as she slipped past him into the box. “Indeed” was all she replied as she did so, taking her seat.

“Has he succeeded?” Isobel asked, swooping down on her as soon as she sat. “You will be attending with us tomorrow, will you not? James, tell me you did convince my dear Caroline to come with.”

Isobel’s question to her brother saved Caroline from having to answer, leaving her free to glance out over the other spectators. Immediately, she found herself meeting the dark, intense stare of Lord Rude from across the way. This time, he didn’t attempt to be casual about it; he caught her gaze, nodded and even made a subtle bow.

Caroline pulled her attention from him, refusing to acknowledge his mockery. But as she scanned over the other boxes, she noted that, while Mistress Poison’s young lover had returned to his seat in the balcony, he sat alone.

Mistress Poison was nowhere to be seen, and, although Caroline watched during the remainder of the performance, the tiny brunette never reappeared.

Chapter 5

CAROLINE HAD JUST FINISHED BREAKING HER FAST the next morning and was still sitting in the dining room with Mrs. Argenot when the butler announced a visitor.

“Mr. Robert Merrill,” he said.

“Robbie!” Caroline was out of her chair in a flurry of skirts, throwing her arms around the eldest, and favorite, of her three brothers. “What on earth are you doing in Bath?”

“Mama mentioned you were here with Cousin Hilda,” he said, bowing to Mrs. Argenot, who had risen when he entered, “and when I happened to be in town for a time, I knew that I must come to call.” He returned her hug and dropped a quick peck on her cheek.

“Indeed you had must,” Caroline said, ignoring proper grammar in the light of this lovely surprise. “For if I had heard you were here and that you did not visit me, I should never have let you live through it.”

“More frogs in my bed?” he said, taking a seat now that the ladies had also taken theirs. “But you know that my only recourse would then be to fill yours with spiders.”

Caroline rang for the butler to bring another place setting (for their staff in Bath was small), and replied with a wave, “Ah, pish. I am no longer afraid of spiders. So you would have gone to the trouble of catching the crawly creatures in vain.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Robbie said with a smile. He was a handsome fellow, with the Merrill dimples that graced all the siblings, courtesy of their mother. He had the same dark hair as their father, while Caroline and the other brothers had honey-colored curls. “For I confess, it was nearly as traumatic for me to catch them as it was for you to find them in your bedwarming pan.”

“Oh!” Caroline squealed, suddenly remembering her good news. “I am ever so pleased you are here. I have a wondrous surprise for you.”

“And what might that be?” Robbie asked, helping himself to a rasher of bacon.

“I have made the acquaintance of one of your friends. A Miss Isobel Thornton.”

“Isobel is here?” He seemed sincerely surprised, and just as delighted. “That is a grand bit of news.”

“And we are going on a twilight picnic tonight at the ruins of an old abbey,” she told him. “You must come with us, Robbie! Isobel will be inconsolable if you don’t. Say you haven’t any other engagements.”

“I haven’t any other engagements,” he told her with a fond smile. “And I can only imagine how Isobel would stomp her foot if she learned that her plans were turned awry. I shall indeed accompany you.” He dabbed at a spot of grease from the bacon. “A ruined abbey by twilight, hmm? You must be in your great glory, kitten,” he added. “I do believe the clouds might have dissipated by then, for they have been rolling in frightfully dark. But you wouldn’t mind that at all, would you? It makes the day all the more gloomy—the better for an intriguing adventure.”

“I do anticipate it to be a fascinating excursion, clouds or no clouds. At least it hasn’t rained, as Mrs. Argenot suggested it might. And I am so happy you will join our party. I’ll send word round to Isobel that we have another guest attending. Shall I tell her it’s you, or shall we surprise her?”

“Oh, I think you’d best tell her that I’m here,” Robbie replied. “Isobel puts such effort into her dress for any occasion that I suspect a surprise might disrupt her planning.”

Caroline laughed. How well her brother knew her friend. “Indeed. I’ll send word around straight away, and then I must beg your leave, dear Robbie. For I have another engagement myself. Unless you wish to walk me to the Baths?”

“No, thank you, kitten,” he said. “Since I am now engaged this evening, I have other matters to attend to. I will be here tonight, though, and be well ready to see Isobel again. Now I am even more delighted that I made the point of seeing you while I am here.” His teasing smile told her that he was purely joking.

“I must be off after I dash off the message,” Caroline told him. “I will see you tonight.”

So quickly and with such delight did Isobel receive the message that Robbie was to accompany them that her response came back before Caroline left to meet Miss Henry. And when she read the message, which stated, “What a happy surprise! I am most pleased that your brother will join us along with three more of our acquaintances. And if there are any others who might wish to make up our party, tell them they are welcome to attend, as well.”

Miss Henry, or Ellen, as she insisted that Caroline call her, was as enthusiastic about the twilight picnic as she was about the old spa. “I must gain permission from my guardian for the adventure, but I am certain he will approve, provided my cousins are invited to attend, as well.”

Caroline linked her arm through Ellen’s as they walked through the crowded bathhouse. “I am almost tempted to cut our visit short so that you might obtain permission immediately!”

Ellen’s pretty bow lips smiled. “You have just spoken my own thoughts, but let us at least walk through the spa for a bit. My aunt and cousins are shopping for some new ribbons, and they won’t be back to fetch me for another hour.”

“Very well. But tell me, do you think your guardian will allow you to come tonight?”

“Mr. Blanchard is rather strict, but he is not unreasonable,” Ellen told her. “I have great hope that he will allow the adventure, especially if Aunt Lou chaperones.”

“Then we shall fix our thoughts on such an outcome and enjoy the rest of our visit here.” As they came around the corner into the main bath area, Caroline saw the hook-nosed man from the Pump Room.

Her arm must have tensed against Ellen, for her friend said, “Is something amiss?”

Caroline tugged her friend to the side and spoke quietly. “That man there, standing next to the very tall woman. Do you see him? He has dark hair, with the nose like a knife blade?”

“Oh, I do,” Ellen replied in a hushed voice—although such prudence wasn’t strictly necessary, as the cavernous room echoed with laughter and conversation. “He looks frightfully dangerous.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, I do hope I have not offended you and that he isn’t Mr. Thornton. Or your brother, Mr. Merrill.” Even in the dim light, Caroline recognized the flush of pink over her friend’s cheeks.

“Oh, no indeed,” she replied. “I had thought the same thing. Does he not bring to mind the evil Melantrott from The Iron Gate? I am certain he has a lonely, frightened wife locked away in a tower somewhere. Does he not look the type?”

Ellen gasped an unladylike snort of laughter, then clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide above it. “Caroline, you ought to be ashamed!”

But mirth crinkled her face and she kept looking back at the hook-nosed man. “I cannot deny that he does have a certain look about him.” Ellen burst into giggles again. “And I suppose you look at that young woman there, in the yellow frock,” she said, gesturing subtly with her pinkie finger whilst her hand was still covering her mouth, “and suspect that she is an orphan girl who has been taken into the home of the kindly man and woman walking with her.”

Caroline stepped back and leaned against the wall so that she could have a better look at the girl in question. “Yes, indeed, and of course she has a horrid secret that she dare not allow to be exposed. Is there not a certain look about her eyes?”

“Of course. For if the secret is brought into the daylight, she’ll find herself in the same situation as Miss Harriet Leavenworth in The Dark Blade of Hawthorne Castle,” Ellen finished.

“And there may not be a Laird Blade to save her,” added Caroline. “Though he was so dark and unpleasant at first, I sensed there was more to him than simply villainy.”

“He ended up being so dashing and heroic,” Ellen sighed.

“I do believe Laird Blade is my favorite villain-turned-hero in all the books I have read,” Caroline agreed.

They looked at each other and giggled. “I vow,” Ellen said as she wiped away the tears from her eyes, “I never believed I could have so much fun at the hot springs.”

“Nor I,” Caroline added, once again linking her arm through Ellen’s. “Oh.” She stopped suddenly, a flush rushing over her face. “Oh, my, Ellen,” she said from the side of her mouth, and tightened her fingers on her friend’s arm. “Do you see that man over there? Oh, dear, he is gone.”

It had indeed been Lord Rude who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, walking briskly through the bath ruins, pushing past the throngs with ease and aplomb. But he hadn’t seen Caroline, for she and Ellen were tucked into a dark corner as they watched the people go by. And then he disappeared, his face settled in its familiar frown.

“Who was it? Your brother? Mr. Thornton? You cannot know how intrigued I am to meet this Mr. Thornton, who seems to have taken quite a fix to you.”

Caroline stood on her tiptoes, the better to peer over the other tourists’ heads. “No, no. Neither of them. It was… I believe he might be a Lord Tyndale type,” she said with a meaningful nod.

“Lord Tyndale?” Ellen frowned. “I don’t know to what book you are referring, Caro.”

“Oh, it is the most exciting book,” Caroline said. “The Venator, by Mr. George Starcasset. It’s better than The Vampyre by Dr. Polidori, and it’s much longer, too.”

Ellen was shaking her head, smiling. “I haven’t even heard of The Venator. But I was reading The Vampyre and Mr. Blanchard became quite annoyed. Normally he doesn’t care what books I read—he claims that reading anything is better than reading nothing (although he is careful not to say that in front of Aunt Lou). I once caught him reading one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels, and he seemed to be enjoying it. Though he would not admit to it.”

Caroline had the picture of a very proper, portly gentleman with plump white fingers sitting in his chair and reading with a glass of whatever it was men drank when they were reading horrid novels. She said, “I am not surprised that you haven’t read the book, dearest Ellen, for there were only a few copies made. I begin to wonder if there isn’t a reason for it. But, I digress. What I meant to say is, Lord Tyndale is a most frightening vampire. His eyes turn red when his fangs appear, and he lures young women—or men!—out into the darkness, where he feeds upon them. There is nothing of the romantic about him at all.”

Ellen’s eyes had grown wide. “How horrifying!”

Caroline nodded soberly. “It is nothing as titillating as The Vampyre. And Tyndale has humans who serve him because he is an undead and cannot go about in the sunlight. They belong to a secret society called the Tutela.”

“What a terrible tale! I must read it,” Ellen said, her eyes sparkling. “Will it keep me awake, listening to every odd sound?”

“It is a most horrid book that had me locking my window at night! But there are vampire hunters,” Caroline added in a whisper. “A whole family of them, for generations. They work in secret to keep humans safe from the horrible creatures, hunting and killing them with wooden stakes. When they stab at a vampire, it explodes into the dust its body would have turned to if it had remained dead and in its grave.”

“In the book?” Ellen whispered back.

“Yes. The Venators—that is what they are called, and hence the title of the book—are quite heroic. But…I begin to wonder if the book isn’t purely fiction. And if that’s why there weren’t many copies made of it.”

“Because it revealed too many se—”

“At last I have found you, Ellen. I have been searching for you these last thirty minutes.”

Caroline’s neck prickled and she turned at the familiar voice.

Ellen had straightened up at the sound of Lord Rude’s words, as if loath to be caught whispering conspiratorially. But she didn’t appear to be upset at his presence, and instead replied, “I’m sorry to worry you, but I didn’t expect to see you here, Mr. Blanchard. Aunt Lou and the cousins are shopping and intended to retrieve me at half-past three.”

Mr. Blanchard? Caroline felt her face grow fiery red as she looked up and met the eyes of none other than Lord Rude…who was also, apparently, Ellen’s guardian. And possibly, quite possibly, a vampire. She swallowed and tried to appear unmoved. But inside, her heart was pounding mercilessly.

His dark eyes skated over her, dismissing quite rapidly Caroline’s mental image of the portly gentleman with the pudgy fingers reading a horrid novel. “Well, now, Ellen, my dear,” he murmured. “I do hope you will properly introduce me to your companion.”

“Of course,” the girl replied. “Mr. Thaddeus Blanchard, may I present you to my dear friend Miss Caroline Merrill.”

Caroline gave a brief curtsy and nodded when Mr. Blanchard executed a correct bow. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Merrill,” he said. When he raised his face and looked at her, she had the distinct impression he was laughing inside. At her.

Beastly man.

Then she realized what this could mean. Her dear friend Ellen was living with a vampire!

However was she going to tell her? Caroline swallowed hard and refrained, with difficulty, from biting her lip. She would say nothing until she confirmed her suspicions, and then she would carefully divulge the news. Poor, dear Ellen!

She realized suddenly that Lord Rude—Mr. Blanchard—was looking at her, along with Ellen. “Pardon me,” Caroline said, her face heating again. “I was woolgathering for a moment.”

“Mr. Blanchard is considering my request to accompany you on the twilight picnic tonight,” Ellen said, her eyes excited with the possibility.

“But I would like to know exactly who is making up the party,” added Lord Rude.

“It will be myself, along with Miss Isobel Thornton and her brother, Mr. James Thornton, as well as my brother, Mr. Robert Merrill, and perhaps three other friends of the Thorntons,” Caroline told him.

After a moment, Lord—Mr. Blanchard—nodded briefly. “Then I should be quite remiss in withholding my permission, Ellen, dear. You may attend with my blessings.”

The young woman clapped her hands and smiled in delight and, for a moment, Caroline thought she meant to bound into her guardian’s arms in appreciation. “Thank you, Mr. Blanchard.”

“But perhaps I should join the party, as well,” he suggested, his attention sliding over Caroline and then back to Ellen. “It sounds as if it is to be quite the adventure.”

No! Oh, no!

Caroline’s eyes flew to his and she saw the mirth lighting them. “I do believe I shall,” he added blandly, looking at Ellen. “If you do not mind that an old man should join you.”

“Why, Mr. Blanchard, you are not an old man,” Ellen said with the same sort of familiarity Caroline used when she spoke to her brothers. “Why, you cannot have attained more than thirty years! And there is not a speck of a gray hair in your entire head. You must certainly join us if you wish.” She looked at Caroline. “My guardian always seems to have the most interesting bits of information to share about any excursion on which we embark.”

“Of course,” Caroline said, trying to keep her expression blank. Vampires were indeed ageless, and would never get gray hair no matter how long they lived. “But are you certain you will be able to attend? You must be very busy, Mr. Blanchard, and I do believe we intend to leave just before sundown.”

She looked meaningfully at him with this last statement.

“Before sundown?” he repeated. And then a flash of something shone in his eyes.

He knows that I know. A rush of prickles swept over Caroline, but she maintained a calm expression. Her palms dampened beneath her gloves.

“But you are quite correct, Miss Merrill,” he said, “I am rather busy this afternoon. Perhaps I shall not make it after all. Or perhaps,” he added, looking directly at Caroline, “I shall simply join your party later.”

After the sun goes down.

The words were unspoken, but Caroline heard them as if they had truly been uttered. Her breath became shorter and now she was more certain than ever that poor, dear Ellen’s guardian was a vampire.

But then it occurred to her that, here he was, out in the daylight. How could he be a vampire—oh, of course. Robbie had mentioned the dark clouds, and Caroline well knew that a well-curtained carriage could shield one from whatever sun might filter through clouds, and one could alight beneath the cover of an awning. And if one remained inside dark buildings, such as these dank ruins, a vampire could indeed move about during the day if he took care.

What was she going to do?

“With your permission,” Mr. Blanchard said suddenly, glancing toward a cluster of people that included the orphan girl in the yellow frock, as well as her adoptive parents. “I shall take my leave. Ellen,” he added, drawing his attention away from the spectators and back to his ward, “I meant to tell you that your aunt was required to bring one of your cousins home for the headache, and she has asked me to escort you back. I will return for you in,” he glanced over again, “no longer than ten minutes.”

“Oh,” Ellen said, seeming a bit crestfallen that their meeting should end so early. “But of course, Mr. Blanchard. And we will have plenty of time this evening, Caro, won’t we?”

Before Caroline could reply, Mr. Blanchard walked off as if intent on meeting someone. She watched as he appeared to wander, but with a sense of direction nevertheless.

Was he following the orphan girl in the yellow dress?

But before Caroline could turn to watch him, Ellen tugged on her arm and said, “Come, Caro, let us finish looking at the Sacred Spring again before Mr. Blanchard returns.”

Caroline bit her lip, but allowed herself to be directed off. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps the girl in the yellow dress would remain safely with her adoptive parents.

But she could not put the young woman out of her mind and worried about her the rest of the day.

Chapter 6

AS IT TURNED OUT, THE THORNTONS’ CARRIAGE did not call for Caroline, Ellen and Robbie until the sun had actually set.

Caroline had not really known whether the sun would be down when they left, but she felt not a bit of guilt that she had misled Mr. Blanchard. She simply did not want to have to worry about vampires tonight when she was exploring the moonlit ruins of Blaize Abbey, although she managed to fit a slender wooden stake and a bulb of garlic into her largest reticule. Despite her precautions, she was relieved when Ellen arrived at the Argenots’ home without her guardians.

“Mr. Blanchard decided not to attend?” Caroline asked innocently.

“Oh, he was much too busy. Although he said he might join us later, I do believe he was merely teasing me,” Ellen said.

Privately, Caroline disagreed that Mr. Blanchard might do anything at all resembling teasing, but she said nothing to her friend and commenced with introducing her to Robbie. Shortly thereafter, the Thorntons arrived, and along with them, a second carriage, for by now the party had grown to eight.

Isobel was delighted beyond words—quite a feat for her—to see Robbie again, and Caroline could see that he was quite attached to the young woman as well. Isobel arranged it so that she and Robbie rode in the same carriage as Caroline and Mr. Thornton, leaving poor Ellen to ride with the other three young people—the Misses Wren, and their cousin Mr. Yarmouth.

Despite her efforts to include Ellen in their carriage, Isobel would have none of it. “It will throw the balance off,” she said in a fierce undertone to Caroline, and she settled herself next to Robbie. This left Caroline in the front with Mr. Thornton, who was driving the rig.

“Let us be off!” Isobel crowed. Then she leaned forward to speak to Caroline. “You look very fine tonight, my dearest, darling Caroline! I do not think I’ve ever seen you so well.”

“Thank you, Isobel,” she replied. “I confess, I—”

“And do you not notice the cunning little beading on the edges of my gloves? I declare I’ve not seen anything to compare to it, and they look so lovely with my slippers. I do hope they don’t get ruined in the dirt,” she added with a sidewise glance at Robbie. “I can only imagine that the ruins will be frightfully messy. I may have to impose upon someone to assist me getting through the mud and over the dirt.”

Caroline forbore to point out that it was foolish to wear such ornate and dainty footwear when one was going to explore ruins—she herself had donned her riding boots—but before she could open her mouth, Isobel had turned to Robbie and commenced a discussion about her pretty blue slippers and the beauty of the sunset beneath heavy gray clouds, and a variety of other things.

This left Caroline to listen to Mr. Thornton’s discourse on whether one ought to eat one’s toast with strawberry preserves or eggs. And aside from making her feel rather hungry, she found it one of the least interesting one-sided conversations ever.

But less than thirty minutes after leaving the outskirts of Bath, Blaize Abbey rose on a low hillock above them and Caroline’s spirits picked up considerably. No sooner had she alighted from the carriage than she found Ellen. The two bosom friends clasped hands, looking about at the ragged stonework of the old abbey and the way it sprawled in a long, low area. The clouds had indeed gone, and the full moon cast a broad swath of light, almost as if it were day.

“Shall we eat first?” suggested Isobel, who had taken no more than two mincing steps away from the carriage until Robbie gallantly spread his coat for her to walk upon.

Noting that the grass was thick and full, and the waste of a good coat, Caroline said nothing to Robbie, but instead smiled to herself. He must be quite attached to Isobel if he would ruin his coat.

Caroline and Ellen ate as quickly as they dared, planning their excursion through the grounds as they conversed with the twin Misses Wrens—who had little to recommend themselves as conversationalists except that they finished each others’ sentences. Mr. Thornton seated himself next to Caroline and endeavored to redirect the topic of discussion to classic Greek architecture, but even that fascinating subject failed to interest Caroline when led by Isobel’s brother.

As soon as the meal was finished, she and Ellen started off on their explorations. Mr. Thornton insisted upon joining them. At first, he remained in their company, but when his suggestions for which direction to explore were ignored, he excused himself and wandered off along a different path.

Caroline and Ellen were delighted to find dark and hidden cubbyholes, exposed by the small torches they’d lit from the carriage lanterns, and even a hollow stone bench in what appeared to be a sitting room that could have belonged to the abbess. It took great effort for them to move the heavy top, but Caroline went into raptures when her torch exposed an old string of prayer beads inside. She pulled them out to show Ellen.

“This must have belonged to a poor young woman, sent away from the man she loved when her father refused to allow her to wed him,” Caroline guessed.

“And she spent her days in prayer, lonely and sad, until she died an old woman,” agreed Ellen. “The beads are lovely! They look like opals.”

“Such a fancy string of beads for a poor sister. She must have come from a rich family,” said Caroline. “Perhaps she became a powerful abbess herself, and this was her sitting room.”

Just then, they heard their names being called. “Miss Henry! Caro! Where are you?”

“That’s Robbie,” said Caroline.

“There you are,” her brother said, coming around the corner. “I have been looking for you.” He spoke to Ellen, “Your guardian has just arrived and there was an unfortunate accident.”

“What is it? Is Mr. Blanchard injured?” Ellen’s face paled in the torchlight and Caroline realized how fond she must be of her warden. What a tragedy it would be for her to learn the truth about him!

“He is not injured, but Miss Thornton appears to have turned her ankle,” Robbie explained. “The party is to return to Bath now, and I have come to fetch you.”

Caroline clamped her mouth shut over the disappointment that the excursion was to end so soon. And that the fault lay with Isobel, once again. Of course, it wasn’t Isobel’s fault she’d turned her ankle, although if she had worn more appropriate footwear, she may not have done so.

Working to hide her disappointment, Caroline followed her brother from the ruins, feeling Ellen’s own discouragement as well. “Look here, Robbie,” she said, producing the prayer beads. “We found this in the abbess’s sitting room.”

He took the beads and was examining them as they reached the rest of the group. Caroline’s eyes went immediately to Mr. Blanchard, who looked even more forbidding tonight, dressed all in black. The silvery moonlight gilded his austere face, making him appear even more the way she’d pictured Lord Tyndale. He turned to look at her, as if feeling her attention on him, producing a deep shiver down Caroline’s spine.

Isobel sat on a blanket on the ground, and when Robbie went to kneel next to her, Caroline noticed that her friend hardly acknowledged his presence. She was more intent on describing her injury, in the most delicate terms, of course, to Mr. Blanchard.

“Perhaps you might assist me to the carriage,” Isobel asked, offering her hand to Ellen’s guardian.

Caroline watched in confusion as Lord Rude smoothly assisted Isobel to her feet, and when it appeared that the young woman could not stand on her own, he swept her into his arms and carried her to his rig.

She glanced at Robbie, who’d passed the prayer beads to Mr. Thornton, and saw that he’d turned away from the little tableau. What had happened?

Before she could pursue that thought, Caroline realized that Mr. Blanchard was about to drive off with Isobel—alone.

“I must get back and have my ankle seen to,” Isobel was explaining to the Misses Wren. “Mr. Blanchard has offered to drive me.”

“I shall ride along, too,” Caroline said quickly, hurrying to the rig. She could not allow Isobel to be alone with the vampire, and at least she had her stake to protect her if the need arose.

“But of course, we must be properly chaperoned,” Lord Rude said, a faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “I was about to suggest that my ward might wish to ride with us, but if you would prefer to do the honors, Miss Merrill, I would not decline.” He gave a little bow that seemed more mocking than polite.

“Oh,” Caroline said. “Of course Ellen must ride with you.” Surely the vampire wouldn’t do anything untoward with his ward in the carriage. And this would give her the chance to speak with Robbie about Isobel. They seemed to have been getting on quite well earlier. Perhaps they had had an argument.

“What a lovely string of beads,” Mr. Thornton said, drawing Caro’s attention away as Ellen was helped into her guardian’s carriage. “Where did you find them?”

Caroline explained, and even went so far as to show him the place in the old sitting room. That was when he tried to kiss her.

“Miss Merrill,” he said, walking toward her so that her back bumped the stony wall. “I must proclaim my deepest regards for you.”

Fearing that her face expressed three Os of surprise—her mouth and two eyes—Caroline struggled to find something to say. But Mr. Thornton glided closer, and she could not move when his hands settled on her shoulders and drew her close for a kiss.

His lips settled over hers, light and warm…and chilly, too, from the night air…and she felt her heart pounding in her breast as he pressed them harder against hers. And then, to her great relief, he pulled away.

“I do not wish to frighten you, Miss Merrill,” he said. “But I could not contain myself. You, here in the moonlight, are a sight to behold. My heart stirs when I look at you.”

“Caro!”

Thank heavens! “I’m here, Robbie,” Caroline called back.

Moments later, Robbie appeared, looking a bit forlorn. “Are you ready to leave now, kitten?” he asked.

“Yes, I am feeling quite weary,” she said.

“I shall be along in a moment,” Mr. Thornton said, but Caroline hardly heard his words, for she was off so quickly with Robbie.

“Whatever happened with you and Isobel?” she hissed as they exited the ruins. The Misses Wren and their cousin were still waiting, having climbed into their carriage.

“I don’t know,” her brother replied. “One moment, she was delightfully Isobel, and the next, she had turned her ankle and could see only Mr. Blanchard.”

He looked miserable and Caroline’s heart went out to him. “I am certain that Mr. Blanchard will provide no further competition for you after this night, darling,” she said. “Isobel could speak of nothing but you for the last week that I have known her. Perhaps she felt as if she were showing you too much attention and wished to be more prudent.”

Robbie seemed to lighten up after that, and Caroline was left to mull those very thoughts on the way home that night.

But the next day her worries resurfaced, for she received a message—with an intriguing invitation—from Isobel and Mr. Thornton.

We are returning to our family home, Northanger Castle, and request your presence at a weekend house party. Mr. Blanchard and Miss Henry have already accepted our invitation, and we should like you to make up the other guests.

Regards, Miss Isobel and Mr. John Thornton.

Although Robbie’s name wasn’t specifically mentioned in the invitation, Caroline responded with an acceptance for both of them, knowing that her parents’ permission would be more readily obtained if she were accompanied by her brother. And aside from that, she was certain that whatever had happened with Isobel was a misunderstanding that would easily be addressed when they were all together again.

She did not miss the fact that the invitation was not given in person, nor did it have the same enthusiasm as Isobel’s previous schemes.

Perhaps Mr. Thornton had insisted his sister extend the request.

Regardless, Caroline was determined to go—for she must set things right with Isobel and Robbie, and she was the only person who realized the danger in the person of Mr. Blanchard. Above all, she must keep Ellen and Isobel safe from him.

Chapter 7

CAROLINE’S FIRST GLIMPSE OF NORTHANGER Castle was enough to set her heart to thumping in anticipation. Dark and gloomy, set atop a hill and surrounded by an iron-gated fence, the Thorntons’ homestead jutted with spires and odd-shaped additions. Trees grew nearby, ivy clung to the gray stone, and Caroline swore she saw a window curtain move in one of the high towers.

She could not have imagined a more Gothic, secret-ridden structure had she tried.

Oh, there must be hidden passages and locked-door towers throughout. Mysteries to solve, enigmas to uncover. Danger and perhaps even ghosts!

One thing was certain: there was a vampire in residence, in the form of Mr. Blanchard, who had presumably arrived earlier that day with Ellen.

Caroline had had to wait until Robbie put his affairs in order before they could leave Bath, having already received her parents’ permission to accompany her brother. They had embarked later in the day than had the Thorntons, Ellen and Mr. Blanchard, and were just arriving as evening approached.

Even the weather cooperated with Caroline’s imagination, for just as Robbie turned on the road that led to the forbidding castle, a boom of thunder shook the air. Lightning flashed, sudden and spindly in the darkening sky. By the time they entered the iron gates, the rain had begun to pelt in large, furious drops.

Thankfully, the butler greeted them at the front door with a large umbrella, and Caroline managed her entry into the vestibule without a single drop of rain marring her clothing.

“Dinner will be served momentarily,” the gaunt-faced butler—the perfect servant for such a Gothic home—intoned. “Perhaps you wish to freshen up after Mrs. Humpton shows you to your chamber.”

The last was more of a command than a suggestion, and Caroline hurried to comply. As she and Robbie followed Mrs. Humpton to the second floor, they passed the sitting room, where the other guests had gathered for little glasses of sherry. Aside from Ellen, her guardian and the Thorntons, the room contained several other people unknown to Caroline. Mr. Blanchard happened to look up as she walked by, and he raised the dainty glass to her in a mocking salute. His dark eyes followed her, fastening on her person in such a way that it made her stomach flutter.

“Seems like a fine fellow,” Robbie commented, obviously having seen the gesture, but not comprehending the intensity of his stare.

Caroline declined to respond. The truth would come out soon enough—perhaps even as early as tonight. She shivered in anticipation as well as nervousness as she imagined slipping through the dark warren of hallways in the dead of night, in search of the vampire himself.

Not that she would be so foolish as to attempt to hunt him down, à la the Venators in the Starcasset book, but if she could foil his plan to lure anyone into a dark corner, she would do so, armed with stake, holy cross and garlic—along with a powerful set of lungs that could scream to shake the rafters.

The storm whipped itself up as the evening meal approached, and the dinner, served in a long, red room, was punctuated by ferocious thunder that rattled the silver.

Despite the delicious meal of minted lamb chops and new potatoes, Caroline could hardly enjoy it, for her brother’s misery seemed hardly subtle. Isobel had seated Mr. Blanchard next to her vivacious self, and her dinner companion seemed intent on keeping her entertained.

Caroline, positioned across the table from Robbie and next to Mr. Thornton, attempted to divide her attention between her conversation with them while angling to hear just what was so particularly amusing between Isobel and Lord Rude. She could scarcely comprehend him having anything to say that might be witty or charming.

Ellen had been seated next to Robbie, which gave her ample opportunity to exchange glances with Caroline. As the wind howled and the rain battered the windows, the two young friends sent each other private messages with the lift of an eyebrow or a gesture of the chin.

In this manner, they agreed that meeting in the library while the gentlemen had their port would be a good place to start their exploration of this fascinating place.

But those plans were to be ruined, for as the meal broke up, Mr. Thornton suggested that the gentlemen forgo their cigars and port to join the ladies for cards and a bit of music.

Isobel could not have been more delighted, in Caroline’s eyes, for she edged next to Mr. Blanchard until he offered her his arm as escort into the large parlor. As they passed by, she heard Isobel discussing the particular color of her frock in comparison to the ribbons edging it.

Poor Robbie was left to escort Ellen into the parlor, watching the beacon-headed Isobel disappear ahead of him, her laughter trilling behind. Caroline’s jaw hurt from gritting her teeth.

“Miss Merrill,” said a deep voice at her shoulder.

Caroline turned, a bit startled, and found Mr. Thornton—she still could not think of him as James—standing behind her.

He offered his arm. “I was hoping you might join me for a little walk through the portrait gallery of the Thornton family ancestors.”

Unable to find a polite way to refuse, Caroline slid her fingers around his arm and allowed him to lead her away. “How kind of you, Mr. Thornton,” she said. Despite the fact that she wanted to keep an eye on Mr. Blanchard, she was intrigued to have a bit of a tour of the castle.

“And I confess, Caroline, that I had hoped to find a few moments alone with you,” he told her, glancing down as they walked along a dimly lit corridor. “I have not had the opportunity to express my delight at your presence here in Northanger. I do hope you find the estate to your liking.”

Caroline felt her heart begin to pound harder. Why should he care if she approved of his estate, unless he anticipated her spending a great amount of time here? Her mouth had dried and she looked up at the gentleman next to her. He was a fine-looking fellow, polite, if a bit dry in his conversations. Isobel could be genuinely amusing, but only in small amounts.

“Here is the portrait of my great-great-great-grandfather,” James told her, pausing in front of a very large painting.

Caroline listened to his voice, which had become the most animated she had ever heard it, as he gave her brief histories of grandparents and uncles. When they reached the end of the gallery, he paused, turning her to stand in a pool of moonlight.

“Miss Merrill—Caroline—I know that this may come as a bit sudden,” he said, and to her mortification, dropped onto one knee in front of her. “But my affection for you has taken hold of my sensibilities, and I find that I must wait no longer in expressing my very deep attachment to you.”

“Mr. Thornton,” she began, aware that her palms had become damp and that her heart was pounding.

“Please, Caroline, I wish to offer you a token of my great fondness—and dare I say love—as an indication of my serious intentions to you. Until I can speak with your father, I hope that you will keep this—” and at that, he pulled a small metal object from his pocket and pressed it into her hand “—near your heart, as I shall keep thoughts of you near mine.”

Caroline hardly knew what to say, so she focused her attention on the item he laid in her glove. “It’s quite unique,” she said, looking at what appeared to be a brooch wrought of some old metal, perhaps bronze. A lion’s face, its mane writhing about it in darker bronze, and two chips of garnet glinting as the feline’s eyes. “It appears very old.”

“It is,” he told her. “I found it at Blaize Abbey, not so far from where you found those prayer beads. Perhaps they belonged to the same person.”

Caroline looked up at him, for the first time fully appreciating the fact that James Thornton seemed to understand her affinity for the mysterious. “How kind of you,” she said. “I shall treasure it.”

He pulled back to his feet, and offered her his arm again. “Is it possible that my intentions might be welcomed by you, then, Miss Merrill?”

She felt an odd heaviness in her middle, but the weight of the brooch overruled it. “I do believe they would be.”

After all, she would be mistress of this estate. Of a castle, with rooms for her to explore to her heart’s content! She could never have imagined such an outcome.

“You have made me a most happy man,” James told her.

He seemed as if he might bend toward her for a kiss again, and Caroline felt just a bit unsettled, so she spoke quickly, “Perhaps we ought to return.”

James nodded, and suggested, “And you will want to put that brooch away somewhere safely, I am certain. Perhaps in your room? In a pocket of your trunk or deep in a small reticule?”

Caroline agreed. “You are correct. I shall stop in my chamber and do just that, then I will join you belowstairs.”

A crash of thunder set a glass chandelier to clinking, and a great spear of lightning lit the room as if it were midday.

“What a horrid storm,” she said as they parted ways at the staircase. “Do you have them often here at Northanger?”

James looked up at her. “Indeed, but I hope not too often for your taste.”

“No indeed,” she replied, starting up the steps.

The storms, she decided, would be the best part of living here.

Chapter 8

CAROLINE DID AS JAMES SUGGESTED AND WRAPPED up the lion brooch in her least favorite reticule, then tucked it in the deepest part of her trunk.

When she finished, she slipped from her room and, hearing the chatter and laughter wafting up from below, decided that she simply could not miss the opportunity to do a bit of exploring. As she came down the flight of stairs to the main floor, she stayed to the right and in the shadows, sneaking off toward the older wing of the castle.

If there was anything curious or sinister to find, it would certainly be there, where James had mentioned that the household rarely ventured. He claimed it was left uninhabited because it was too cold and damp, but Caroline could not resist the chance to check that sensation for herself.

She hadn’t gone far when she heard the soft brush of a footstep behind her.

Starting, she whirled and found Lord Rude—Mr. Blanchard—emerging from the shadows. Her heart thumping madly, Caroline began to dig in her reticule for the stake.

“So there you are.” Was there a tinge of relief in his voice? We’d begun to miss you,” he said, walking toward her. “You left with Thornton, but he returned without you.”

“I had something to put away,” she said, pleased that her voice was calm despite the fact that her fingers didn’t seem to be able to grasp the stake.

“In the deserted area of the castle?” he asked, his voice tinged with mockery. “Or are you playing at being Emily St. Aubert, intending to get yourself into trouble?”

“So you have read Udolpho,” she said.

“And a variety of other novels in which a young woman, at great risk to herself, foolishly goes harking about dark and dangerous castles or abbeys when she knows that danger lurks about. Or she gets herself involved with unsavory people.”

Caroline lifted her chin. “It is not a foolish thing to do if nothing untoward happens.” But her throat turned dry, for she realized she may have just proved her point. For it certainly appeared as if something unpleasant was about to happen.

“I thought it would be in your best interest if I came looking for you. In the event you got lost.” He was standing very close to her now, and his dark eyes had fixed on hers.

Caroline found it difficult to breathe, and knew she was sinking into his thrall. But she could not look away, and, as the moment stretched on, she felt less endangered and more…warm, and tingly. Back in the deepest part of her mind, she knew he was doing it purposely, and she tried to fight it…but she could not. His eyes were about to turn red, and those sharp fangs would appear.

Mr. Blanchard stepped even closer, and she felt his hands settle on her upper arms. She was powerless to pull away. “Do you not know how much danger you are in, here in this very house?” he murmured.

At that moment, deep in the pouch, her fingers closed over the smooth wood of the stake. But before she could yank it free, he bent toward her.

Caroline’s heart seized and her breath clogged in her throat, but instead of a sharp pain in the side of her neck, she felt the soft warmth of lips closing over hers. Shock trammeled through her as their lips met, her own mouth parting slightly as if to allow his to fit just right.

She very much feared she might faint at the range of sensations that suddenly burst over her. Warmth and pleasure, solidness and curiosity, and a desire for more. Her heart began to function again and she realized that his lips had moved gently over hers, brushing against them in a tingling, whisper-soft caress, over and over. Gentle, tender, coaxing…and that she had been moving her own mouth against his in the same manner.

When he pulled his face away, and looked down at her, the expression in his eyes made her feel weak in the knees. Caroline realized, foggily, that she still grasped the stake, and she closed her eyes, fighting back the thrall that seemed to have snagged her.

Just as he bent toward her again, she struggled to pull her hand free from where it was trapped between them. But as she moved, clumsily, he bumped her and the stake fell from her nervous hand, clattering to the floor.

It rolled loudly on the marble floor and came to rest at the edge of a rug.

Mr. Blanchard pulled farther away from her now, still holding on to her arms, and looked at the spindle lying on the ground. “What in the blazes is that?”

“I—” Caroline tried to speak, but no words would come from her dry mouth. Her heart still raced and her knees felt as though they might buckle at any moment so that she was relieved he still held on to her as she dug once more in her reticule.

“Is that a stake?” he said, incredulously.

“Yes, I am afraid I know your secret, Mr. Blanchard,” Caroline managed to say, pulling the silver cross triumphantly from her pouch. She brandished it in his face as he released her arms.

But instead of cowering in fear, or even wincing at the sight of the holy article, Mr. Blanchard took one look at the cross, then his attention went to the stake on the floor. And he began to laugh.

Caroline seized the moment to rush over to the stake and swipe it up into her hand, so that when she turned back to him, she wielded the cross in one hand and the stake in the other. He might laugh at her, but he would be surprised at her boldness. She would not be frightened into the corner, not when the life of her friend Ellen was at stake.

“Miss Merrill,” he said, his laughter having ebbed into seriousness, “or perhaps I should be granted permission to call you Caroline, after that most pleasant interlude a moment ago. Caroline, did you mean to stake me?”

“Yes, indeed,” she replied, feeling much more powerful now that he didn’t seem to have the ability to enthrall her, and now that she was armed with her two weapons. “I told you, I know your secret. I have been observing you and following you for days.”

His lips twitched in a way that annoyed her, because it made him appear even more handsome and charming—which wasn’t saying much, for she hadn’t nicknamed him Lord Rude for naught.

“And my secret is…that I am a vampire?” he said.

“You cannot deny it. I saw you at the Roman spa, and you lured that young lady to her death back in the area that was closed to the public. You must have disposed of her body when you were finished. And that woman in pink, with the dark hair, at the theater. I realized she was poisoning her husband, but that was no excuse for you to coax her into the darkness and—and—”

By now he was looking at her so incredulously that her voice trailed off. “The woman in pink? The older woman, who was with the younger man at the theater? Was poisoning her husband?”

“Yes, and then just after that, you accosted me in the gallery, Mr. Blanchard. I daresay if James hadn’t appeared at that moment, you would have done the same to me.”

“My dear Caroline,” he said, his voice filtering over the syllables of her name most tenderly. Yet, there was a bit of humor lying beneath. “Do you mean to say that you saw that young lady and knew something was amiss? And the woman at the theater—you noticed her maliciousness?” His eyes narrowed. “I suppose then that you noticed the young girl in the yellow dress, just the other day at the spa when I came upon you and Ellen?”

“The orphan girl with a devastating secret,” Caroline said, nodding. “Never say you were after her, as well!”

“I was indeed hunting all three of those women. But not for the reason you seem to think,” he said. His eyes, usually so dark and annoyed, had lit with appreciation. “They were the vampires, and I did indeed lure them away so that I could—er—dispose of them. But how could you know that?”

Caroline felt her eyes widen. Impossible. Mr. Blanchard—should she call him Thaddeus now?—was a vampire hunter? “And why should I believe you?” she asked. “How do I know you have not simply made up such a story to hide your true deviltry?”

He spread his hands. “Stake me if you wish, then, Caroline. If I am a vampire, I will explode into a pile of ash. If not, then I shall bleed quite profusely and you shall have to nurse me back to health.” He smiled suddenly, a very wicked smile that had her stomach pitching and dropping to her knees. “I do believe I should like very much to know a woman besides Miss Pesaro, who is altogether too full of herself thanks to her father, who can sense the presence of a vampire.”

Caroline blinked. “Who is Miss Pesaro?”

“Oh, she is a hunter of vampires like myself, and a bit of an annoying chit if one must know—all because of who her parents are. Well, then, are you going to stake me?” Thaddeus (yes, indeed, she had given herself permission to call him by his Christian name) asked, offering his rather broad chest, suitably covered in shirtwaist and waistcoat, but impressive nevertheless.

She raised her stake, aiming it at that wide expanse of white linen, and he stopped her. “No, darling Caro, you mustn’t hold it like that. See how easy it is for me to stop the blow?”

He adjusted the wooden pike in her hand so that she had a better grip and a more formidable angle to her strike, and once again opened his arms for her target. “There, now, take a blow. Right in the heart.”

“I know it must go into the heart,” she said, suddenly very unsure of herself. “But is there not another way to prove whether you are a vampire or not?”

He smiled. “You may simply believe me when I tell you I am not. I am a Venator myself, a member of the famous Gardella family—which I trust you have read about in that ridiculous novel by George Starcasset. Pesaro is going to be more than a bit livid to find that there are still some copies of it going about. I daresay Starcasset will have to disappear somewhere permanently, or Pesaro will do the honors himself.”

“A Venator?” Caroline drew in her breath. “You are a Venator? A vampire hunter? Truly?”

“Of course. But it is not something I rush about telling people. We do keep that sort of information to ourselves for obvious reasons.”

“What sort of obvious reasons?”

He spread his hand to encompass herself, her stake and the cross. “So that we do not have untrained, inexperienced people like yourself getting in our way when we attempt to do our jobs.” Despite his words, the tone to his voice was light. “I have a confession to make now, my dear Caroline, and I hope that you will find it as amusing as I do.”

“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Until you tried to stake me, it occurred to me that you might be a member of the Tutela.”

“The secret society of vampire protectors?” Caroline said. She was aghast. “Why on earth would you think that?”

And so was that the only reason he had kissed her? For some reason, she felt as though her whole world had turned dark.

He stepped closer to her again, and brushed his fingers along her chin. She allowed him to do it—after all, she’d assumed he was a vampire, and she considered that that made them even.

“Because I have been watching James Thornton—who, my dear, does happen to be a vampire—for some time now. I knew he was about to pass a very important artifact on to a member of the Tutela. All I knew was that she was a woman. After a bit of observation, I came to the conclusion that it was either you or Miss Thornton.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t me,” Caroline said, feeling more than a bit huffy for a variety of reasons she didn’t dare to examine.

“I cannot tell you how delighted I am to learn that,” Thaddeus said. And he drew her into his arms. The moonlight shone through the window, falling over her arms and bosom. “How lovely you look, dressed in the silver gilt of moon,” he said, bending to kiss her again.

Caroline found her arms moving up and around his neck as their mouths met. She tumbled into a realm of pleasure—of warmth and comfort, a delicious tingling and sleek, languorous movements. And in the back of her mind, she realized she was not being kissed because she was a member of the Tutela, but because she wasn’t a member of the Tutela, which caused her to smile against his mouth.

When she at last extricated herself from him, something that he was reluctant to allow, she looked up at him. “So do you believe that Miss Thornton is the member of the Tutela? But she is his sister.”

“Indeed. I no longer suspect her—for a variety of reasons, one of which is that I cannot endure another moment of listening to a discourse upon which ribbon goes with which slipper, and how she searched for a week for a particular hat with a—what is the word? cunning—little feather. I don’t believe she has a space in her head for anything other than such nonsense,” he said. “So she is not a member of the Tutela.”

“But if it isn’t her and it isn’t me,” Caroline said, “to whom is Mr. Thornton giving the artifact?”

“I don’t know yet. And that is the only reason I have not introduced him to the pointed end of my stake.” As if to prove his point, he slipped a wicked-looking black spindle from beneath his coat. Caroline shivered, realizing at once that he must be quite formidable as a vampire hunter.

“But perhaps we shall find out over the rest of this house party,” he said. Thaddeus offered her his arm. “Although nothing would give me greater pleasure than to remain here with you in the moonlight, sharing perhaps another kiss…or helping you to explore the abandoned wing of the castle, I suppose we must be prudent and return before we are missed.”

Caroline, suddenly feeling light of foot and heart, curled her fingers around the solid musculature of his arm. Such a difference from the softness under James’s coat sleeve. Then a thought struck her. “You knew that James was a vampire, but you allowed me to go about with him? Why, how could you allow such a thing? I might have been lured into a dark alcove and torn apart!”

Thaddeus smiled down at her and, for the first time, she realized that it wasn’t a vampiric thrall that made her heart stutter and her breath stop—it was something much more pleasant.

“I knew you were in no danger from James, at least now. He is much more cunning, to use his sister’s word, than that. It would be too obvious if he were squiring you about and you suddenly disappeared or were attacked. In fact, being the object of his affection made you as safe as you could be from him at this time.” Then his muscles flexed beneath her fingers. “At least, as safe as you could be when not under my protection. Which you will be from this moment forward, Caroline…if you will allow it. And welcome my intentions.”

Caroline realized that this was the second proposal of sorts she’d received this evening. But for some reason, this proposal made her feel billowy and warm inside, while the statement of James’s intentions had merely made her feel upset. “I believe I do welcome your intentions, Thaddeus.”

“I am quite relieved to hear it, for it has been quite a struggle for me. Either you had fallen under Thornton’s spell, or you were a member of the Tutela—and in either case, it was becoming more difficult for me to ignore your lovely button nose, that sassy smattering of freckles you try so hard to hide, your quick wit and the fascinating conversations we seem to have.”

They began to stroll back through the corridor. “And,” he added, “it appears you have the uncanny ability to identify vampires, without actually realizing you are doing so. Quite intriguing.”

“But don’t you have that same skill, as a Venator? They seemed to in the book.”

“I do, of course. It’s part of the family legacy. But for a non-Venator to have that sense, well,” he said, once more smiling at her, “it’s rather fascinating.”

Caroline bloomed warm again beneath his attention and realized why Ellen seemed so fond of her guardian. Although sharp with his words, and often rude and intense, he had a right to be when doing such a dangerous job. But he also had a more pleasant aspect to his personality, and one that she intended to see much more of.

“I shall have to return the gift Mr. Thornton gave me tonight,” she murmured, thinking to herself as they strolled along. And then she stopped suddenly. “Oh my!”

“What is it?” Thaddeus asked.

“The artifact… Oh, I am so stupid!”

He raised his brows. “Now, I have never said such a thing, even when lecturing you about going into the empty areas by yourself. Or being wooed by a vampire.”

“Is it a lion’s head?” she asked. “A pin?”

Thaddeus’s eyes narrowed and his face became serious. “Have you seen it?”

“He gave it to me. Tonight! And he told me to hide it.”

“He must know that I—or someone—is after it. Where did you put it, Caroline? Take me there immediately.”

Without giving a second thought to the idea of bringing a gentleman to her bedchamber, Caroline led him to that very place and burst into the room.

James Thornton stood there, his hands deep in her clothing trunk. He spun, and there before her eyes, his irises turned a burning red. “So!” he said, and the fangs erupted from his mouth. “Where have you hidden it? I must have it back now!”

He lunged for Caroline, who, in her excitement, had preceded Thaddeus into the room. James’s fingers closed around her arm and he yanked her toward him.

Everything happened so fast after that. Thaddeus moved, there was a flash of his arm as he leaped toward them, slamming the stake down into the vampire’s chest. James Thornton froze, his mouth open wide in shock.

The grip on Caroline’s arm released, and as she turned, James disintegrated into a puff of ash, filtering all over the room.

The smell was foul, and the dust clung to her, and, as she brushed it away with shaking fingers, Caroline realized she had seen Thaddeus do exactly the same thing that first day in the bath spa. And when she’d seen him at the theater, she’d pointed out the dust speckling his coat.

“He’s gone,” she said when she found her voice. “You—you did that so quickly.”

“Of course,” Thaddeus said matter-of-factly, slipping the stake back into his inner pocket. “Now where is the lion’s brooch?”

Caroline dug it from the depths of her trunk and handed it to him.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, once more pulling her flush against his body for a long, thorough kiss. “You have made my task much easier and more enjoyable this time.”

“I am delighted to be of help,” she replied.

“Now, we had best return to the rest of the party,” he told her.

“But what will we do about James?” she asked.

Thaddeus shrugged. “There is nothing we can do. But there is no body to be found, so everyone will simply believe he disappeared.”

She slipped her hand once more around his arm. “What a fascinating life you must lead, Thaddeus.”

He looked down at her, his eyes warm and velvety. “I have a feeling, my dear Caroline, that with you involved, it’s about to get even more fascinating.”

She smiled up at him. “Well, I certainly hope so, for after this, I don’t believe I’ll be satisfied simply reading about Gothic adventures.”

“No, my dear, I shouldn’t think so.” And with that, he dropped a quick kiss onto her freckled, buttony nose and took her back to the party.

THREE MONTHS LATER, they were married.

Two months after that, with the effusive blessings of her guardian, Miss Ellen Henry wed Mr. Robbie Merrill.

And six months later, Miss Isobel Thornton found a wealthy earl to wed, and to keep her in ribbons and cunning hats and embroidered slippers.