Escaping Mortality Page 4

  I drink and doze a bit. Brien sits still as a statue, but his presence is no longer threatening to me. Surreal as everything feels back on dry land, he might as well be a room decoration.

  It’s not long before Edmund emerges from the washroom with wet hair, wearing loose-fitting clothes. I grunt as he sprawls across my lap, smelling of sandalwood. He steals my drink and takes a long, healthy sip of scotch.

  “Flynn refuses to get out of the tub until you join him.”

  I chuckle. “Ah, but we will not both fit.” Edmund is thinner than me and shorter. Despite being an imposing figure, he can seem quite small when he wants to.

  Edmund takes my glass and stands. He refills it with a bottle that had been already waiting in our room. His hair is beginning to dry. As it does, the shaggy, black locks curl into tendrils above his ears and forehead.

  “How does it feel to be back?”

  “More dream than reality.” He remains standing by the window, staring out. His bare toes tap the floor. “It’s bigger than it used to be.”

  “Things change.”

  “Not us,” Brien says.

  We’re interrupted when Felipe and Michelle come prancing from their room, fully dressed in their bright colors and lace. I admit my interest is piqued.

  Edmund gawks at them. “What on earth are you up to?”

  Felipe crosses his arms. “We demand to see the city. You will take us to a party.”

  “No. Absolutely fucking not. We leave first thing in the morning.”

  “And it is not yet nightfall,” Michelle says. She floats toward my beloved and rests her small hands on his chest. “We have been on a ship for ages. Tomorrow, we go to the country. We require entertainment prior to our next journey—specifically, sustenance. There must be someplace we can go with you as our guide.”

  “Well, he is a duke,” I whisper.

  Felipe gawks. “A duke? You must be joking!”

  Edmund glares at me. “Now, you’ve done it.”

  Michelle coos. “Then, we shall go to a nice London society party.”

  “No.” Edmund shakes his head.

  “Oh, let’s.”

  “Traitor!” he shouts at me.

  “But, Edmund—”

  He holds his hand up in my direction. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Hmm, the young duke is quite amusing when he’s angry.” Felipe drinks right from the scotch bottle.

  “I will kick your scrawny ass.”

  “But please do.”

  Edmund leaps at Felipe, and they’re soon a twisting whirlwind of legs, arms, and Felipe’s lace. Flynn comes traipsing from the washroom in nothing but his skin. “Why is everyone yelling?” He notices Edmund with his arm around Felipe’s throat, Felipe’s dark eyes threatening to bug out of his head. “Edmund, stop!”

  He does, and Felipe chokes, his hair a mess. Between sputters, he says, “So that’s what sex is like with you.”

  Edmund flops onto his back laughing.

  Michelle, in wide, purple skirts, bends down beside him. “Please, darling, let us have some fun.”

  He sighs and stares at the ceiling. “Give me half an hour.”

  AFTER I BATHE, I go to the bedroom I share with Edmund and find him buttoning his silver waistcoat in front of the mirror. He wears his bespoke black suit. Although as a vampire he no longer needs to shave—he admits to missing the habit—his curls are oiled and shining.

  His reflection glances at me, and my expression must speak volumes. “Oh, do I look that good?” he asks.

  I drop my towel from my waist and walk up behind him. I press my naked front against his back and reach immediately for his clothed cock.

  He chokes on an exhale, and his mouth drops open. “Fuck, Andrew.”

  I run my palm up and down his growing length, trapped in his pants. “You’re going to seduce the whole party with your appearance alone. Every one of those posh society brats is going to want to fuck you…or be fucked by you.”

  His head rolls back onto my shoulder. “They never did before.”

  “They were blind.”

  “No,” he huffs. “I was a bit different when I was eighteen, darling.” He rests his hand on mine over his cock. “You’d better stop that. I’d rather not ruin these trousers just yet.”

  I suck his earlobe and taste the usual sweetness of his skin. “Fair enough.” I step away after planting a last kiss to the side of his neck. “You are beautiful, though.”

  “Thank you.” He sighs. “I haven’t been to a society party in a million years.”

  Earlier, he sent out notes of inquiry, announcing his return to London but also asking about any society soirees. The response was almost immediate. The seventh Duke of Wilshire back in London? Yes, please, join us! Three invitations had vied for his attention, but he’d chosen what he called the “best party”—in other words, the one most likely to include passionate trysts in corners and opportunities for feeding. Still, it would be “formal and boring and uptight and so very British.” He said the last word with such disdain, you’d think he wasn’t an Englishman—although he never had spoken of his country with too much pride. He obviously did not love it the way I loved New Orleans.

  I pull my suit from the wardrobe. “Do you remember how to behave?”

  “No. God, no. I never behaved in the first place. That’s why I didn’t fit in and had no friends.”

  “You with no friends?” I shrug into my shirt. “I can’t picture that.”

  “Well, I…” He slumps onto the edge of our bed. “I didn’t care really. I despised them. Their forced frivolity and manners. It was all a load of horse shit.”

  “And you’re too honest for that.”

  “I can play a part. I just didn’t want to play that one. They probably won’t even recognize me anyway.”

  I turn to face him as I pull on my pants. “You’ve changed that much?”

  He smiles. “Andrew, you would have considered me feminine back then. I was so much thinner, weaker. Smaller. Men loved throwing me around.” He looks at his hands, no longer covered in calluses but large and strong nonetheless. “Wouldn’t be so easy anymore.”

  “I still can.”

  “Because I let you.”

  I scoff. “I’ll always be stronger than you.”

  He grins. “Don’t bet on it.”

  I reach for my waistcoat. “You’ll be escorting Michelle. Just so you know. I can’t very well show up on your arm.”

  “Fuck, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “I assume ‘fuck’ is frowned upon at these things.”

  “Oh, everything is frowned upon at these things.” He stands and dons his beautifully tailored black coat. “I’ll have to sneak you away somewhere private and suck your dick.”

  I almost fall over, reaching for my shoes. “Good God.” One of my shoes, though, flies from my grasp, and Edmund catches it midair.

  “Hmm. Wonder how much trouble I could cause with that trick tonight.”

  “Absolutely not.” I grab my shoe from him. “You will not use your abilities in public, particularly not in front of humans. Brien told you. We’re not to draw attention.” I appraise him up and down. “Well, we are not to draw attention to our immortality. Looking the way you do this evening, you’ll be the talk of the town.”

  “It’ll have little to do with how I look. As soon as I’m announced as the Duke of Wilshire…” He closes his eyes. “This is going to be a massive cock-up.”

  Chapter Five

  WE MEANDER THROUGH the stinking streets of London in a carriage. It’s just the four of us: Edmund, Felipe, Michelle, and myself. Brien showed no interest in attending, and although Flynn wanted to join us, he has no proper clothes for such a soiree. Edmund begrudgingly agreed to visit a clothier first thing in the morning to buy things for both Flynn and Brien. Although they won’t be bespoke, they’ll have to do, as we leave for Heavenhill straightaway.

  My love is pretty much begrudging about everything right
now. I watch him watch the city pass by, and unlike the overwhelming enthusiasm he held for New Orleans, he seems downright depressed here.

  I put my hand on his knee and squeeze. “Edmund.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Look at me.”

  He does.

  “I love you.”

  He smiles immediately. “Is my misery that apparent?”

  “Yes,” Felipe announces.

  Edmund glances back at the window. “I never missed this place.”

  I take his hand in mine. He wears his black leather gloves, which send a pang of lust through me every time he dons them. “We won’t be here long, and I say we enjoy ourselves while we’re here.”

  “You haven’t met these people.”

  “But I know you, and we always enjoy ourselves, don’t we?”

  He smirks before leaning forward and kissing my cheek. “Fuck them and their quiet, little minds. And I could go for a bit of strange meat.”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Felipe agrees.

  Michelle and I share a smile.

  Minutes later, the inside of the carriage glows orange with lamplight as we pull up to a massive, three-story home wedged into what I presume to be the center of London. I actually have no clue, but it feels crowded here as if we step out into the city’s beating heart. I pull my collar up against the cold and damp as Edmund helps Michelle from the carriage. He is, after all, her escort. I admire the gray brick façade and Doric columns. Candles flicker in each and every window.

  Michelle curls her arm around Edmund’s as they step up to my side. Her white hair turns gold in the nearby flames—torches set high and bright on either side of the house’s grand entrance. “Shall we?”

  “If we must,” Edmund says, and onward they march.

  A doorman welcomes us, and a servant silently takes our hats, gloves, and overcoats. Unlike our coven parties, I do not smell decadent foods. I barely hear music, just a bit of strings, over the quiet sound of muffled voices. Gaudy, white flower bouquets are everywhere as if we’ve interrupted a wedding.

  A man ahead stands stiffly, waiting. Beyond him, I see women in fancy dress, men in high-collared suits, and more flowers. The people stand with champagne in their gloved hands, chattering quietly, laughing. Once we reach the stiff man, Edmund leans close and whispers his name and title. There’s really no turning back now.

  With a volume I wouldn’t have expected, the stiff man shouts, “Madame Michelle and the seventh Duke of Wilshire, Edmund Baines.”

  It’s like someone sliced all their pretty throats.

  Edmund mutters, “Fucking hell,” as the polite chatter disappears, replaced by a silence that feels akin to water. It’s impossible to take a breath, which makes me glad I don’t need to. Glares, gazes, and curious quirked eyebrows akin to physical touch strip our skin.

  Michelle, bless her, is lady enough to digest their attentions and walk farther into the room, smiling, dragging Edmund along by his arm. Felipe and I are quick to follow.

  Conversations slowly start up, even quieter than before, but I hear Edmund’s name whispered, whispered. They’re talking about him.

  Felipe whispers too. “That was…” He tugs on his collar. “Well. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to be here.”

  A few steps ahead, Michelle pets Edmund’s arm and presses her lips practically against his ear to speak. Whatever she says makes him smile, at least.

  When a servant passes with a tray of champagne, we’re all quick to grab. We stand in a little circle, the four of us, and I try not to stare—but there’s so much to see. It’s much like New Orleans but then, not. The fashion is similar, although several men still wear breeches, unlike Edmund’s trousers that go all the way to the floor. Michelle fits in well, as there are exuberant frills everywhere and hair stacked high. Yet, the women stand taller, their corsets perhaps tighter. Due to my previous experiences with the British, I recall them being morally upstanding. All right, uptight is the word, until I met Edmund, of course: my foul-mouthed sailor. These people seem uptight, but then again, I am accustomed to orgies.

  Michelle finishes her first glass of bubbly. “Edmund, dance with me.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “What?” This seems odd, even to me.

  “I never learned so I wouldn’t have to.”

  I nod. “Sort of brilliant really.”

  “Felipe.”

  “At your service.” He takes her hand, and they walk toward the back of this grand ballroom toward the dance floor near the string quartet. The ballroom is set up like an outside courtyard in New Orleans with balconies on the second story that allow people to observe from above and, I assume, judge.

  Edmund relinquishes his empty glass and grabs another. The maneuver is a dance in its own right. “There isn’t enough champagne in the world.”

  I lean a bit close but not too close. “You’re the most handsome man here.”

  “That was never much of a challenge.” He downs his second glass. “The aristocracy does love its inbreeding.”

  I guffaw into my glass.

  “Edmund Baines.” A light female voice invades our revelry.

  Edmund’s eyes slide shut. His shoulders creep ever closer to his ears, but he quickly opens his eyes and plasters on a grin even a blind man wouldn’t believe. “Veronica.” He turns and takes the extended hand of a tall blonde with brown eyes and a deep-green gown.

  “You look different,” she says.

  “As do you.” He kisses the back of her hand, covered in black silk.

  “I wouldn’t have recognized you if not for your hair.” She smiles something strange and small. “All of us girls envied your hair, but of course, you were such a pretty child.” She says it with such veiled vehemence, you’d think she’d accused him of sucking a priest’s cock.

  His Adam’s apple bounces, but he keeps smiling.

  “I believe you know my husband.” She looks back over her shoulder. “Thomas.”

  Edmund laughs once, quickly, and I try to remember why that name sounds so familiar. Oh, yes. Thomas was Edmund’s first kiss. Happened in a broom closet, if I recall, when Edmund was fourteen. Thomas busted my darling’s lip in his haste to touch and taste, but who can blame him?

  And isn’t Thomas a delight? He turns at the sound of his wife’s voice, giving me a perfect view of his chestnut-gold hair and full lips. He chokes on his champagne when he sees Edmund, however. “My goodness, Baines, but you look…”

  Edmund flutters his eyelashes, waiting.

  Thomas clears his throat and steps from right foot to left. “Apparently becoming a mad seaman has been good for you.”

  Now, my Edmund is truly smiling. No need to fake amusement anymore. “And you married Veronica. How lucky for you.”

  Veronica taps her gloved fingertips on the side of her glass. “I saw you arrive with a stunning beauty. Madam Michelle, was it?”

  “Is she your wife?” Thomas asks.

  “Oh, we both know I’m not the marrying type, Thomas.”

  The man turns red.

  “You never did seem the sort to settle down.” Veronica’s eyes immediately dart in my direction. “Your friend, is he a sailor, as well?”

  Edmund clasps me on the shoulder. “Andrew? God, no. He’s from New Orleans. Andrew, meet Veronica and Thomas. Old friends.”

  I kiss Veronica’s hand and nod at her husband. The poor bastard can’t take his eyes off Edmund. He goes so far as to lick his lips while taking in every inch of Edmund’s impressive physique. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

  “American.” She smiles that little smile of hers. “How novel. How did you two meet?”

  Edmund and I glance at each other.

  “Uh…” he starts. “It’s kind of a long story, that. There was a shipwreck. And cannibals.” He scratches the back of his head. “A good bit of carnage, really.”

  “Oh.” They both stare at us, eyes wide. “Well. At least you found time to see a good tailor. Your suit is
exquisite.”

  I don’t mean to, but I laugh. It’s so ridiculously polite.

  She touches his arm. “My mother mentioned your mother is ill?”

  “Indeed, it’s the reason I’m home. My friends and I travel to Heavenhill tomorrow.”

  “Well.” She spares one last glance at me, and it’s as though her eyes say, I know you’re fucking him. “Our prayers go with you. It was wonderful to see you, Edmund.”

  As they back away, we share little smiles, and that’s when I realize why Veronica’s grin struck me as so strange. A smile is supposed to be an indicator of happiness, but hers is nothing more than a trained expression. There is no joy behind it. It’s almost like having the ability to walk but never knowing where to go.

  “You don’t talk as they do. Your accent sounds different. I never noticed before.”

  “Well, I assume they’ve never left England.” He winks when Thomas takes one last look back and almost trips over his wife’s dress. “I’ve been around the world. It was bound to change me, whereas they are exactly the same.”

  “You think he’s still kissing boys in broom closets?”

  He smiles and shrugs. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he gave that up years ago. Doesn’t mean he still doesn’t want it. If I truly set my intention, I could seduce half the men in this room. Hypocritical cowards.” He reaches for a passing tray of champagne, but before he can touch a glass, the glass leaps from the tray and, unbalanced, into his hand. He spills some on the floor and glances at me, eyes wide.

  “Careful,” I mouth.

  I have a feeling Edmund’s abilities are directly affected by his emotions. When he’s happy, with my arms around him, he’s better at control. That was how he was able to control the ladle on the ship, after all. When he’s stressed, objects fly every which way. I don’t want to see what anger might do.

  “Right.” He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Michelle and Felipe are…”

  “Still dancing.”

  “Think they’ll be all right on their own?”

  “You want to leave already? Not that I blame you, but—”