Читать книгу Fangs For The Memories - Kathy Love - Страница 12

Jane’s first thought was to say, no! But then she realized she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t remember, and apparently, neither did he.

Did New York have those all-night chapels like Las Vegas? She’d never heard of them, but at this point, anything seemed possible.

“I—I don’t think so.”

She stared at him. He was still bare-chested, his torso defined with hard muscle. Thankfully, he had pulled on his trousers; otherwise she never would have been able to speak. Although the pants were unfastened, revealing a vee of flat stomach and light whorls of hair trailing downward.

She dragged her eyes upward to his face. That didn’t help. He was a truly beautiful man. His hair was mussed from sleep, and his eyes were intent, studying her.

He frowned, even as a look of realization washed over his features. “You are Jane Harrison.” He said it slowly, almost experimentally, as if he was dredging the name up from somewhere way in the back of his mind.

She nodded. Please don’t tell me he has forgotten even more than I have? What happened to them? How had they both forgotten last night?

“Yes, I remember those amazing green eyes,” he said resolutely. “You are my betrothed.”

Jane stared at him. What was he talking about? And why did he suddenly have an English accent? She didn’t remember him having an accent when he’d walked her back to her hotel.

“Jane Harrison from America?”

She nodded. She supposed that was true. But where did he think he was from?

“I should have realized.” He stepped forward and touched her hair, letting the unruly strands slip through his fingers. “Your hair—that smart crop. Is that the fashion in America?”

She eyed him warily. “Yes?”

He studied her a moment longer, then gave a decisive nod. “I like it.”

Before she could respond, he crouched in front of her, and she clapped her hands over her scant undies.

He noticed, his sculpted lips twisting into a slight smile. She supposed it was a little late to be modest now.

His smile disappeared into something akin to astonishment as he gently reached out and touched her calf.

Heat immediately ran through her. Her skin felt electrified where his fingers brushed over her, and she remembered those wonderful long fingers touching other parts of her body. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as he slowly ran his hand up to her knee and then back to her ankle.

He peered up at her, amazement clear on his face. “Americans shave their legs?”

“Only the women.” Then she amended that. “Well, I guess a few men do, too.”

He considered that for a moment, then finally nodded with understanding.

He stood. “I must find Christian and Sebastian. Hopefully they will recall what happened between us last night.” He left the bathroom.

Oh, dear, was he implying that others might have been involved, too? She really, really hoped not. Although she did hope these men could explain how she got here and why Rhys was acting so strange.

“Christian!” Rhys bellowed as soon as he stepped out of the bedroom into the hall. “Sebastian!”

Jane didn’t follow right away, relieved to see her blouse and skirt folded on a chair in the corner of the room. She stopped and pulled them on.

She heard Rhys shout again and chased after him.

In the hallway, Jane squealed with surprise as she nearly ran into a blond man who stepped out in front of her from one of the doorways lining the long hallway.

“What the hell is with all the yelling?” he asked in a raspy, sleep-filled voice.

Jane didn’t answer, too amazed by the sight of him.

This man looked younger than Rhys, with shorter hair which stuck out in a wild mess. He had hazel eyes like Rhys, although his didn’t seem to have that unusual amber glow. She could see, since he wore only black silk pajama bottoms, that he was leaner, too—not as wide or as tall as Rhys. But he did remind her of Rhys.

“Hey,” he said, not seeming to notice that she was staring. “I’m Sebastian, Rhys’s brother.” He offered her a hand and a lopsided smile very similar to the one Rhys had given her this morning.

“I’m Jane.” So this man was related to Rhys. They must come from one amazing gene pool.

“Is that my crazy brother yelling?”

Jane nodded, wondering exactly how crazy he was talking.

“Sebastian,” Rhys said, striding down the hall toward them. His eyes dropped to where she and Sebastian still held hands. His eyes narrowed, and Jane pulled her hand out of Sebastian’s hold, feeling guilty. Rhys probably thought she was easy as it was; she didn’t want him to think she was moving on to his brother.

But instead of being suspicious of her, he turned his attention to Sebastian. “I would be careful, brother. I do not intend to share my woman.”

Heat sizzled through Jane’s belly at his possessiveness. But she immediately admonished herself. She shouldn’t be enjoying this. She had no idea what was going on—and Rhys was clearly not acting normal.

“Especially since she is now, very likely anyway, my wife and thus your sister,” Rhys added, smiling down at her as if he was quite pleased with that idea.

Not normal at all.

Sebastian turned to stare at Jane.

She gave him a weak smile.

Sebastian frowned back at his brother, and Jane changed her initial opinion. He could look as intense as Rhys. “Rhys, what the hell are you talking about?”

“This is Jane Harrison.” Rhys came to stand beside her. “The lady to which I have been betrothed.”

When Sebastian just stared at him. Rhys clarified, “From America.”

When his brother still didn’t speak, Rhys turned to her. “I am sorry. Sebastian is often considered the gregarious member of the family. But apparently today he is—”

“Freaked out,” Sebastian suggested.

Rhys shot his brother a puzzled look. “Freaked out?” He said the words as if that phrase was totally unfamiliar to him, but then he smiled at Jane apologetically. “I should also add that while he is gregarious, Sebastian often says things which are best just disregarded.”

Sebastian didn’t respond, although his facial expression said the same thing he’d already voiced. His brows were drawn together, and his hazel eyes were opened very wide. He looked—freaked out.

That had to be a good sign; if Rhys was truly insane, then presumably Sebastian would not be unnerved by this behavior. Right? She hoped so.

“Rhys,” he finally said. “I think Jane would probably like to have some…tea. Tea and—kippers. So I’ll take her to the kit—dining room and get her settled. Then I will talk to you about all this—amazing news.”

Rhys debated, then nodded. He touched Jane’s cheek, his fingers gentle, his thumb close to the fullness of her lower lip. “Will you be all right? My brother is relatively harmless.”

She nodded, fighting the urge to nuzzle her face against his large hand. She was truly pathetic. Any sane person would be running. Maybe she was the one who was crazy.

He glanced at Sebastian. “Although, he does not know how to dress in front of a lady”—then he cast a wry look at himself and his own state of undress—“but nor do I.”

Sebastian still sported that same muddled, yet concerned look. “I’ll make an effort to be more modest around your—Jane.”

Rhys nodded as if he thought that was a good idea, but Jane noticed he didn’t make the same pledge.

“I will let you and Sebastian get acquainted.”

“The dining room is this way,” Sebastian said, gesturing down the hallway.

Jane followed him, looking back over her shoulder once. Rhys still stood in the center of the hallway, watching her. A look laden with desire and something very like wonder made his amber eyes seem to glow.

Again her insides did a little flip.

This was ridiculous. She should not be reacting to Rhys this way. She didn’t know him. She didn’t remember how they’d ended up back together—and in bed.

Yes, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, but she had to be sensible. And sensible women didn’t have relationships with men who were possibly crazy. Although he hadn’t seemed crazy when he’d saved her. Or when he’d walked her back to her hotel. And Jane knew crazy.

As if he’d been reading her mind, Sebastian said, “My brother isn’t normally a nut.”

He’d led her into a large room with dark wood paneling and two windows hidden behind burgundy velvet drapes. The light in the room came from two elaborate chandeliers dangling over a long, heavy, dark wood table surrounded by a dozen ornately carved chairs with burgundy velvet backs and cushions.

He closed the door behind them.

She turned from surveying the room. “I don’t know your brother very well, but he did save my life last night, and although I can’t remember much else, I know he wasn’t insane.” She couldn’t say why she felt so strongly about that fact, except for maybe because she’d lived with someone not quite sane. Jane’s father hadn’t been certifiable, but he had been a little strange.

“He saved your life?”

“Yes, I didn’t use very good judgment and trusted a man I shouldn’t have. Fortunately Rhys realized this guy was not a nice person. He followed us and…” She took a deep breath. Again, she was so thankful that Rhys had been there. “He stopped the guy from doing something awful. Then he walked me back to the hotel where I am staying, and he left.”

“But he must have come back? Or you went to find him?”

She shook her head. “That’s the thing. I don’t remember seeing him again. I did leave the hotel and head back toward the bar. But I never encountered Rhys. At least not that I can recall.” She frowned, confused. “But I suppose I must have.”

“Yes you were with him again. I mean, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here now.”

His words were obviously true, but there was something about the way he said them that struck her as strange. A certainty that almost implied he knew more than he was saying.

But then he smiled at her, a nice, encouraging smile, and she decided she was reading too much into his simple agreement to her own ponderings.

“Okay, well, let me show you to the kitchen,” he said, leading her through the dining room to another door. “I think we have tea and sugar. There might even be bread and butter or jam or something.”

Jane nodded, thinking that it was odd that he seemed so unsure of what was in his own kitchen. But then maybe he just didn’t cook. Or eat at home.

“Help yourself to anything. I’ll go talk to Rhys, and hopefully, I can get some answers out of him. Or at least figure out why he’s acting so strange.”

Jane nodded, but she didn’t move. She just looked around the kitchen, suddenly overwhelmed by the weirdness of the situation—of the past two days.

“It will be okay, Jane.”

She offered him a forced smile as he left the kitchen. She did appreciate his comforting words. It had to be pretty odd for him, too. He must be really shaken up about Rhys.

Sebastian grinned as soon as the kitchen door swung shut behind him.

Wasn’t this turning into another interesting evening.

Rhys, his detached, surly and annoyingly gloomy brother, had saved a mortal life. Unbelievable!

Rhys adhered to one cardinal rule: never get involved with mortals. At least no mortals outside of the ones he used as his food source. And they were always the dregs of society.

Sebastian shuddered, just thinking about it. They didn’t use the word dregs for no reason. Lowlifes tasted like the residue at the bottom of the barrel—vile and stale as if their life forces were decaying with each evil act they’d done.

But Jane had done no evil acts. Not a one. That fact was clear in her very scent—she was wholesome. The last type of mortal with whom Rhys would entangle himself. But he most definitely had. They had somehow gotten entangled with each other. Sebastian could smell that, too. Both of them reeked of unbridled lust.

Sebastian grinned again with amusement. Who knew his brother grim even had a sex drive. Sebastian had always believed Rhys’s thoughts of sex had been cast aside to make more room for all his languishing. Apparently not. Rhys had just required the right lady.

But who was Jane? Sebastian’s steps slowed, and his smile slipped. Great. Rhys had a romantic interest, but Jane’s story certainly hadn’t clarified what had happened in the alley last night.

He could deduce that the male mortal in the alley was the guy who had attacked Jane, which was why Rhys had gone dental on the guy. But he still didn’t know who had attacked Rhys or why. And he had no idea why Rhys was acting so weird earlier. He thought Jane was his betrothed. And he’d even smiled a couple times. Rhys never smiled.

So much was still unexplained. Who was he kidding? Nothing made sense. He really hoped Rhys had snapped out of his lust-induced delirium and had some sort of explanation.

It didn’t take long for Sebastian to find Rhys—in the library, a large room full of books and music, and Rhys’s favorite room in the apartment.

Rhys sat in a chair, leaning back against the cushions, legs crossed, looking unusually relaxed. Two glasses of scotch were already poured and waiting on the table.

“There you are,” Rhys greeted with a broad, warm smile. “I thought we might have a drink to celebrate.”

Sebastian blinked. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen that smile, certainly not since Rhys crossed over. And Rhys celebrating? Brooding was about as celebratory as Rhys got.

“Is Jane settled with her tea?”

“Yes. She’s fine.”

“Good.” Rhys stood and crossed to the giant stone fireplace that took up most of one of the walls. He picked up a fire poker from the hearth and stirred the smoldering ashes. Then he tossed a log onto the orange coals.

“She is lovely, is she not?”

“Jane? Yes.” Sebastian studied his brother. Why was he talking so stiltedly? And when had his English accent gotten so pronounced? They’d both lost their accents almost totally over the decades.

Rhys returned to pick up his scotch. Then he crossed back to the fireplace, leaning an arm on the mantel. He took a sip of the golden liquid, then sighed. “I am quite pleased with the match, I must say. When Father had told me that he had arranged for me to wed an American, I had been more than a little outraged.”

Sebastian remembered, even though the incident had happened nearly two hundred years ago. Was that why Rhys was talking and acting so strangely? Somehow he believed he was back in nineteenth century England?

“I was picturing a hulking woman who pushed a plow through the fields all day,” Rhys told him, and it took a moment for Sebastian to realize what he was talking about.

“A woman with no social graces,” Rhys continued. “A savage, in truth. But out of respect for Father and Mother, I would have married her.”

Sebastian almost chuckled at that. Man, Rhys had really dodged a bullet on that one. Rhys’s image of his American fiancée was dead on. Sebastian couldn’t recall her name—Bertha, he seemed to think. And she had been a hulking, abrasive and very unattractive woman.

In fact, Sebastian wished he’d remembered ole Bertha earlier. When Rhys was lamenting being a vampire, which he did often, Sebastian could have reminded him that he could have lived and died in the arms of big Bertha.

Which brought him back to the mystery of who Jane was and what happened in that alley last night. Jane didn’t know. And it was pretty darn obvious Rhys had no clue either as he was quite happily back in merry old England.

Sebastian concentrated on Rhys. He couldn’t sense anything physically wrong with him—even his maimed neck had healed completely. So why was he acting this way? Rhys was too angsty to be insane. Insanity would normally be way too fun for him.

“Where are Christian and Elizabeth? I want them to meet Jane. They will love her.”

Suddenly Rhys’s current predicament didn’t seem quite so amusing. He had somehow forgotten the past two centuries. And all the painful things that had happened in that time. Elizabeth’s death. Christian’s hatred toward them both—but especially Rhys.

The loss of his siblings had devastated Rhys, but he’d subsisted, not ever returning to the Rhys whom Sebastian had known in life, but he kept going. Somehow Sebastian didn’t think Rhys could survive losing them all over again.

Wait, if he didn’t remember Elizabeth’s death, and he didn’t remember his rift with Christian, then he certainly didn’t remember he was a vampire. He didn’t have a clue that he was undead.

“Sebastian,” Rhys asked sharply. “You are a thousand miles away. Did you hear me? Where are Elizabeth and Christian?”

“They are—at the country estate,” Sebastian said quickly. What the hell was the name of that old place?

“At Rothmere?”

That was it. “Yes. Remember, Christian took Elizabeth there, because her friend was having a house party?”

Rhys frowned, obviously trying to recall. “Elizabeth is always attending this or that. I cannot keep track.”

Sebastian took a swallow of his scotch. This was too weird. Who knew a vampire could even get amnesia, but that appeared to be exactly what Rhys had.

Rhys walked over and turned on the floor lamp beside a tan, overstuffed chair.

Sebastian watched him closely, expecting him to react to the whole concept of electric lights—an invention they didn’t see until the late 1800s, nearly fifty years after their undeaths.

But Rhys didn’t react. He sat down and refilled his glass. He held up the decanter to Sebastian.

“Please,” Sebastian said. He was going to need a couple drinks to grasp what was going on here. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Rhys what he was, but he hesitated. Rhys was calm, content—unlike he’d been in centuries. Perhaps it was better to let him remain blissfully oblivious for a while longer. At least until Sebastian understood more of what had happened to him.

“Jane is far more perfect than I could have hoped for.” Rhys sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“Yes.”

“I must admit, though, I do not seem to recall how she got here. Nor do I remember last night.”

“You’ve forgotten a good bit more than just last night,” Sebastian said wryly, but quickly covered his comment. “You and Christian were celebrating your upcoming wedding before he left with Elizabeth.”

Rhys nodded, readily accepting that explanation. Christian had always been the wildest of the three brothers. He would be the one who would have convinced Rhys to make the party last well over a few days.

They drank silently for a few moments, and Sebastian tried to figure out what he should do about this. Maybe he should talk to some of the other vampires that frequented his nightclub. Maybe one of them had heard of this disorder. And he would definitely ask about any rogue vampires in the city—a vampire who was attacking other vampires.

“Upcoming wedding?” Rhys asked, suddenly. “Jane and I are not wed already?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No. Jane only got here last night.”

“Good Lord, you mean to say, she got off the ship, and I herded her straight into my bed and compromised her? While I was drunk, no less?”

Sebastian blinked. This was just way too weird.

“She seemed agreeable to it.”

Rhys shook his head, his eyes dark with self-reproach. “That is simply not how one treats their intended. And the wedding will obviously have to happen as soon as possible. I cannot have her reputation in tatters because I was a randy, soused caper-wit.”

Randy, soused caper-wit? Did they really ever talk like that?

“Sebastian,” Rhys said, drawing Sebastian’s attention back from the oddities of the English language. “I intend to keep Jane. To find happiness with her.”

At first, Sebastian found Rhys’s wording strange. Keep her.

But his attention was immediately drawn back to Rhys as a wave of overwhelming need flooded the room. Then it was promptly replaced by a devastating, heartbreaking sense of loss that seemed to weight the air and crush Sebastian.

Sebastian blinked, forcing himself to focus on his brother, realizing the emotions came from him.

Rhys stared straight ahead, his eyes distant, almost as if lost in a trance.

Sebastian started to ask Rhys what was wrong. But before he could get the words out, images began to bombard his brain like a rapid-fire slide show. Visions of Elizabeth. And Christian. Other things from their pasts.

Sorrow nearly choked Sebastian—as the visions continued at a speed that offered only brief glimpses of lives now lost.

And just when Sebastian thought he couldn’t handle any more, that his brain and emotions were going into overload, the grief evaporated away.

One final image flashed in Sebastian’s mind. Jane. Then that image, too, vanished.

The air grew lighter—only the subtle scent of Rhys’s desire for her drifting through the room.

Sebastian blinked. What the hell was that? The flashes had been similar to what happened to him when Rhys had been attacked. He was again feeling what Rhys was feeling.

He looked at his brother. Rhys’s gaze no longer had that faraway look. He actually even smiled again, although there was a determined edge to the set of his mouth.

“I cannot explain it,” he said, and for a moment, Sebastian thought that Rhys knew what had just occurred. “I realize I just met Jane, but I simply cannot let her go. I must have her.”

Then suddenly, between Rhys’s words and the images Sebastian had seen and the loss surrounding those visions, he understood what must be happening in Rhys’s muddled head.

Rhys wanted Jane, but as a vampire, Rhys would never allow himself to grow attached to a mortal. He’d already lost too much in his vampire state. Been hurt too much.

But if he could go back—before the losses, before the vampirism—maybe then he could have Jane.

Sebastian knew his brother’s connection to the little mortal had been very strong. That had been the main reason he’d brought her back here, and even put her in Rhys’s bed. So Rhys would sense her near, and he could rest easier and heal. But Sebastian had no idea the extent Rhys wanted her.

Not until now.

He wanted her enough to forget what he’d been for almost two hundred years. Rhys was forcing himself to forget he was a vampire, simply going back in his head to before Lilah, to before they crossed over.

That had to be why he didn’t seem fazed by this apartment or the modern conveniences. To question how those things could exist in the nineteenth century would ruin this fantasy world he had created.

But Sebastian decided to put his theory to the test.

He pointed at the lamp on the end table. “What is that?”

Rhys glanced at the light, then gave his brother a wry look. “It’s a lamp,” he said slowly, as if Sebastian was the one who’d lost his wits.

“And that?” He pointed to the state-of-the-art stereo system on one of the many shelves.

“A CD player.”

“And that?” He gestured toward the wall.

“The thermostat. Listen, is there any point to this little game of twenty questions?”

“I’m just pointing out all the fine things you have to offer Jane,” Sebastian told him. “Not many men in London at this particular period of time could offer his bride so much.”

Rhys stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, clearly thinking Sebastian was mad.

Sebastian wasn’t mad; he was brilliant. Rhys was suppressing only the bits of his past that he couldn’t accept. The loss of all the things he loved. Elizabeth. Christian. His life.

But even as he was pleased with his own deductive reasoning, he was also stunned by the extent of his brother’s pain. He knew Rhys had never been able to accept himself as a vampire—but Sebastian had never truly realized the agony and guilt he felt. But it did make sense. Rhys had always been the head of the family. And he’d lost the most when he lost Elizabeth and Christian.

Sebastian watched his brother for a moment, trying to decide what would be the best thing for him. Finally he decided. He couldn’t give him back their sister or their brother, but he could help him with Jane. He could give him a chance to love this little mortal who had managed to touch his brother’s heart. A heart that had been frozen for…Forever.