Divination of My Heart

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"Flattery will get you everywhere," the Duchess of Dunbar returned once her hand had been relinquished back to her person. She fluttered her eyelashes. "Don't I make the most fetching Cleopatra?"

It took almost everything in Julien to choke back the bark of laughter which threatened to burst free. "The most."

"Thank you, dear. And I'm really glad you could make it tonight."

"You know I wouldn't have missed your ball for the world, Eleanor."

"In that case, you should have confirmed your attendance." Despite her chastisement, her brown eyes sparkled with warmth.

"Have I ever?"

"Never," she admitted ruefully. "You, just like your rake of a father before you, have always eschewed society's conventions, so there's no good reason for me to hold out hope you'll be changing anytime soon, is there?"

"And you've always been a stickler for the rules. You won't give up on your pestering of me because you like the challenge too much."

"What an odd match we two make, Jules," the Duchess remarked, her expression authentically fond.

"Wouldn't change it for the world, Nora," Julien said, his expression reflecting an affection for the lady he didn't truly feel.

She turned her attention to the male standing next to Julien, who wore a half mask as a concession to the ball's costumed theme much like the one Julien himself wore. "I don't recall receiving your reply to my invitation either, Evans. But then that might have less to do with your blatant disregard of etiquette and more to do with me not issuing the invite in the first place."

"A minor oversight, I'm sure," Gabriel Evans, third Duke of Lexington, graciously replied.

"I'm quite sure it wasn't."

Undaunted by the set down, Gabriel favored the Duchess with his most charming smile and a gallant bow. "Nevertheless, it is a pleasure to see you again, Nora."

"You may rest assured the pleasure is definitely all yours. And that's Duchess Dunbar to you. Or madam if you so please, but never the familiarity of Nora." With a disdainful sniff, the formidable Duchess spun stiffly on her heel and walked over to greet her costumed guests, leaving the air surrounding Julien and Gabriel on the edge of the ballroom a marked thirty degrees cooler.

"The only resemblance that shrew shares with Cleopatra is her exceedingly proud carriage," Gabriel remarked, watching her make her rounds. "She's thrice Cleo's size."

Amused, Julien considered his friend's detached expression. "I daresay old Nora still hasn't forgiven you for breaking her heart, Evans."

"I'd daresay so, too, Montford. Only, she's not supposed to know I'm the responsible party. She's supposed to think it was my deceased grandfather." Gabriel pinned Julien under an inquiring stare. "It's always been my plan to put her out of her misery myself, but am I in need of doing it sooner rather than later, Jules?"

Julien didn't take exception to the ridiculous, thinly veiled accusation. His friend was simply on the receiving end of a sense of foreboding Julien himself had been feeling in spades lately. "I didn't tell her, if that's what you want to know. Despite my uncommon partiality for the shrewd biddy, keeping your nature hidden is as important to my survival as it is to yours, my friend. Once they discover one of us, that opens the gates to the discovery of all of us. If you feel the need to take care of her, it would be prudent to do so."

"Maybe I will." Gabriel's attention returned to the Duchess. "Strange thing is, I've always felt like she's known. Even when I disappeared, returning many years later as my father."

"Who, mind you, in her eyes was the spitting image of your grandfather. And you, in turn, are the spitting image of them both."

"You, too, are the spitting image of both your father and grandfather."

"Ahh, and that, I believe, brings us to the crux of the problem," Julien said, letting his attention drift to the pairing off of couples on the ballroom floor. The first strings of a waltz drifted to his ears.

"Which is?"

"Women are crafty creatures, Nora is the craftiest...and I never broke her heart." The two males shared a good laugh and when their mirth subsided, Julien figured it was a good a time as any to broach the subject which had been plaguing him for some while. Though they'd just returned from a two year trip to the West Indies, for the sake of keeping what they were a secret, he strongly felt it was time to leave England. He was fairly certain their amazing resemblance to their deceased predecessors would soon be noted by more than just the eyes of the scorned Duchess of Dunbar. "Our run here has been lucrative, Gabriel, but I think it may be time for us to move on."

Before his friend could respond, a tiny masked piece of rose covered fluff pushed past the two of them with a faint whispered, "Excuse me, my lordships," offered as an apology. In unison, they turned to watch the girl, who had skirts hiked well above slim ankles to allow for speed, hurry into the garden.

Even with the mask covering his features, the narrowing of Gabriel's gray eyes and the flaring of his nostrils was plain. Added to those telling reactions was the swift compression of his lips into a thin, hard line.

"Want her?" Julien questioned.

"With a passion," Gabriel answered, not removing his eyes from the garden doors.

"A pint or two of blood? Or her life?"

"Her life."

"How very unfortunate for her. Come along, I'll act as lookout." Julien had already reached the doors when Gabriel's next words made him pause.

"I'm almost as old as you, Julien. You know I would never come to an event such as this without taking the proper precautions first."

"You mean to say, then, you've already fed?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Then why the reaction?"

"I don't know," Gabriel admitted. He raked a hand distractedly through his short brown locks. "But I'm damned sure about to go find out."

It didn't take them long to find the girl. Masked removed, she sat on a bench in the middle of the garden maze, still and pretty as the Capitoline Venus. Moonlight streamed down to highlight her delicate profile and to caress blonde curls artfully arranged to spill over one shoulder. From her hasty exit, Julien had assumed she would be in tears over what was, no doubt, this trivial matter or that. But to his surprise, she wasn't.

She just appeared...destitute. And well she should considering her end was so near at hand.

With a single glance, Julien determined Gabriel to be utterly incapable of speech at the moment, much less dazing the girl into being amenable to his feasting on her neck. In truth, the male seemed to be grappling with some deep inner issue...and it was clear he was losing the battle.

Stepping from his side, Julien approached in his stead. He placed a hand on her shoulder and the prettiest, bluest eyes jerked to his. A shock of momentary recognition stunned Julien before it dissipated with the realization the girl was a complete stranger. "Are you unwell, my dear?"

"Your grace." Her words were respectful, her eyes wary. "I probably shouldn't have come out here by myself."

And it was on hearing her voice that Gabriel finally located his. "Julien," the male growled, "I love you like a brother, but if you value your life you're going to want to take your hand off of her. And then back away. Slowly." The words had been spoken low, meant for Julien's ears alone.

"What?" Julien didn't move, shooting Gabriel an inquisitive glance instead.

"Now!"

Dawning came to Julien then, expeditiously and with a fair amount of hilarity attached to it. Hands in the air, he backed away one step at a time until he stood several paces away. Chuckling, he questioned, "Satisfactory?"

"No. But it'll have to do." Gabriel's gaze fastened hungrily to the girl like a starved street urchin to a sweet tart. "Are you injured, sweet?"

"N-n-no," she stuttered, rising to her feet, obviously unnerved. She skirted to the far side of the bench, placing it in front of her as if to use it as an obstacle. "I mean, yes. Well, 'tis only my silly pride that's been bruised, in truth."

"All you have to do is tell me who bruised your pride and I will avenge you," he swore somberly.

"In that case you'll have to call out every man who's expressed interest in me then asked for the hand of another." Her statement was given in a voice just as somber as Gabe's, but the bloodthirsty effect was negated moments later by her nervous giggle.

"And I will. But not for asking for the hand of another, but for—well, never mind my reasons. Just give me the names. I can't make dawn appointments with the culprits, but I shall see you avenged nonetheless."

"I...I thank you, your grace. But I only jest."

"I don't," Gabe muttered under his breath, the words carrying easily to Julien. To the girl he said," Then I guess I have no choice but to honor your wish."

"I..." Still unsure about the two men she unexpectedly found herself in the company of, her words faded into nothingness as she divided her wide eyed attention equally between Julien and Gabe.

"Sweet, although Montford is deserving of harsh punishment for his many past transgressions, right now he's innocent of any wrongdoing. So unless you want me to back out on my word, starting with him, I suggest you don't look at him anymore," Gabe ordered softly.

Her compliance was swift and immediate. She didn't even bother to steal one last glance, which suited Julien's purposes just fine. He had no desire to fight his oldest friend for rights to what was obviously his lifemate. A lifemate who was undeniably lovely and uncomfortably familiar, but held absolutely no interest or desire to Julien.

"That's right, sweeting," Gabriel continued to cajole. "Look at me. Only me. I'm the only person that matters to you. And you're the only person that matters to me."

"That's the way of it," Julien commented, watching the "wooing" with amused indifference. "You'll win her in no time."

"Julien, kindly keep your opinions to yourself." With extreme caution Gabe neared the girl, as if scared of what he'd do if he closed off the distance separating them too quickly. A clever course of action, because if he did close off the distance separating them too quickly there was no telling what he'd do. "Now and forever, sweet. Me and you."

In his long illustrious life Julien had already had the thrill of meeting that one person he couldn't daze, and couldn't resist, because her blood forbade it even as it sang to him in a tempting voice as sweet and pure as that of his former lover Francesca Caccini. Knowing it would be useless, Julien hadn't even tried to daze the peasant, but rather drew the twit into a deserted alley instead by means of a suggestive wink and a sensuous smile. There he'd unashamedly drained her dry, her life sustaining elixir piquant, but surprisingly nowhere near as irresistible as he'd been led to believe it would be by others who'd met their lifemates.

And it was his own long dead lifemate that this slip of girl put him in the mind of, Julien realized suddenly.

With keen interest, he wondered how Gabriel would react. He was almost as jaded as Julien so there existed a certain possibility he might very well drain his lifemate dry right here in this garden and be done with her. Or would he turn her, making her his for life? In truth, Julien knew it would more than likely be the latter as Julien was the only vampire he'd ever known who had chosen the gratification of a moment versus the enjoyment of a lifetime.

But even as the myriad of thoughts ran through his mind, Julien recognized there was something troubling him. Each step Gabe took forward reverberated through him with an overpowering wrongness. His gaze flicked from Gabe's large form to that of the petite blonde. But, still, he felt nothing for her, felt no undeniable urge to issue a challenge. And he wouldn't as the husk of his own lifemate was buried deep in the ground two centuries past, the only surviving memento of her a silver necklace he'd torn from her neck as she took her last breath.

So why, then, did he want to rip his friend's head off?

"Tammy?" a male voice called lowly from a considerable distance away.

In an effort to prevent an attack on Gabriel, Julien focused on the disembodied tenor as it called out the name Tammy several times more, each increasingly more desperate, and closer, than the last. He could hear the man's steps as they drew nearer. And with each one of those steps, it became harder and harder for Julien to control himself.

Gabe was too close to...her? No, it wasn't the girl. Gabe was too close to—

"Tammy? Where the devil have you gotten off to?" The owner of the voice rounded the hedgerow, stumbling onto the threesome. "Tammy? Tam—"

Julien was immediately upon the man, forcing them both to the ground with his greater size and strength. His hands ripped off the masks they both wore as well as the man's cravat and his elongated canines found purchase in the man's throat.

"Mine," he lifted his head long enough to snarl in Gabe's general direction.

"Yours," Gabe agreed, before he pounced on his lifemate, slapping his hand across the girl's mouth before she could vocalize the horror on her face. The furious sounds of feeding were the only sounds to disturb the otherwise quiet night.

Mine, Julien thought to himself.

This man belonged to him. And his taste was truly bel canto.

*

Consciousness returned to Thomas all at once. His head pounded unmercifully, making him yearn to return to sleep. Maybe he would lay abed for a little while longer...

Tammy! Thomas struggled into a sitting position, a pained groan issuing from a source deep within him. He rubbed his head, hoping to rub the ache there into a distant memory. After several minutes of his futile ministrations he gave up, his concern returning once more to his sister.

Removing the coverlets from atop him, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, noting with disgusted chagrin he'd apparently drunk himself into such an oblivious state he hadn't undressed. Though his coat, cravat and footwear, and even his mask, were all missing, he still wore his wrinkled shirtsleeves and trousers.

Such a sorry state he was in, yet hard as Thomas tried he couldn't recall taking one sip of the spirits which had landed him there. He could only hope he hadn't made too much of an ass of himself while in mixed company before returning home and retiring for the evening.

He lurched to his stockinged feet and headed to the door, planning to seek out his sister. The last thing he remembered was searching the throng of costumed guests for her after hearing whispers of two well known rakes slipping out the doors leading to the garden trailing an unidentified, unescorted female. All of his nightmares of Tammy's downfall came to life when Lady Miranda and Lady Matilda had sought him out to confirm with merriment that the unknown girl was indeed his sister gone to get a breath of fresh air after learning of yet another previous suitor's recent engagement and that the two dukes following her were libertines of the worst sort. If Tammy was discovered with them, they'd advised, Thomas and Tammy may as well make arrangements to return post haste to their rundown home in the country. Because Tammy would be ruined. Enjoying their game, they'd even gone so far as to promise to keep the busybodies out of the garden for five minutes...at which point they would then lead the crowd there themselves to discover whatever mischief there was to be found.

Flummoxed, Thomas stared at the door in front of him. It was on the long wall of the room.

It was on the wrong wall of the room.

Headache gone, he whirled in a circle to take in the richly appointed candlelit bedchamber he stood in, only to find it to be unfamiliar. The bed was twice the size of his in the rented townhouse. And it had a canopy—a canopy! His bed didn't have a canopy, just four posts. Why wasn't the presence of the blasted canopy the first thing he noticed, he wondered irritably. Even the walls were vastly different. They contained no windows and were papered in an expensive raised fabric containing an intricate design which looked soft to the touch. Almost as soft as the flooring beneath his feet which wasn't rug covered hardwood, but carpet.

The whole room was done in varying shades of crimson and obsidian. It stimulated the senses and left little to the imagination as to what purpose the room was designed to be used for. And that purpose had little to do with sleeping.

Where in Hades was he? And where in Hades was his sister?

Without another thought, Thomas burst through the door into the corridor beyond. He rushed down the hall, opening door after door looking for Tammy. When he finally came to the end of the hall he was forced to acknowledge that wherever his sister was, it wasn't here, in this overly huge townhouse with its subterranean chambers devoid of natural light. Thomas hurried to the grand staircase located right across from the entrance to the last bedchamber he'd searched. Halfway up, he came to an abrupt halt.

A man had appeared at the top. A man huge in height as well as breadth, with a wide brow, pitch black eyes and auburn hair tied back off a pale face possessing aristocratic features containing more than just a touch of cruelty and hardness. A man who's face Thomas had seen before. But not in person.

But seen it he had, he admitted to himself. Next to his own, just hours earlier, in the hand mirror which still lay on the floor of his room. As he'd never before made the man's acquaintance, he'd assumed the man was a figment of his imagination even going so far as to jokingly tell Tammy on the way to the ball that her magic hand mirror had shown her husband to him rather than her because it knew a male relative's approval was required first.

What he hadn't mentioned to Tammy was that "her husband's" lips had been pressed tight to Thomas's throat.

The man didn't speak, just stared down at Thomas. Unable to hold the piercing, cold gaze, Thomas's eyes dropped to the man's hands. One rested lightly on the railing while the other held a glass containing a sanguine fluid. Thomas had the most irrational desire to taste the liquid. Just to see if it tasted like it looked...to see if it tasted like...blood.

Disturbed at the train of his thoughts, Thomas drug his eyes back upwards. And was immediately hit with the impression that the man wasn't just seeing him, but that he peering into Thomas's very soul, seeing, understanding, dismantling all of him. Even parts of him that Thomas himself didn't understand.

Thomas took a step down and backwards, back the way he'd just come. "Wh-where am I? And where is my sister?"

"Safe," the man answered in a rumbling bass which was pleasing to the ear. A vague smile twisted his lips up slightly at the corners. "But you're asking the wrong questions, dear Thomas."

Thomas started, surprised the man knew his name. "I apologize, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. You are...?"

"Julien Montford."

The Duke of Williamton. Thomas may not have known the man by sight, but he certainly knew him by name. The man was legendary for his genius with financial undertakings.

"Y-y-your grace," he stammered, dismayed not by title, but by the duke's menacing stance. Just standing there as he was, he was an exceedingly intimidating figure. "I'm sure you'll understand that I'd like to verify with my own eyes as to the safety of my sibling. If you will kindly tell me where she is."

Montford lifted his glass to his lips and took a long draw of the contents. "Safe."

Thomas's mouth watered. He'd never cared much for wine, preferring instead warmed brandy, but right now he was eager to taste the blood red liquid for himself. It looked delicious. And warm. And thick. And he fancied that he could almost smell its strong coppery aroma.