Читать книгу Come the Night - Susan Krinard - Страница 12

GILLIAN FROZE at the other woman’s question. She had already taken in the short dress, the bobbed hair and the bright red lipstick that identified Allie as one of the flappers who seemed so common in London. The two women stared at each other, and Gillian felt a stirring of instinctive hostility.

Ross was quick to fill the silence. “I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he said, a little stiffly. “I didn’t know you were coming back.”

“We didn’t, either.” Allie’s gaze returned to Gillian. “Any friend of yours is welcome here.” Abruptly she started for the staircase, nearly running up the steps until she was standing just below Gillian. “Sorry about the quip. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She thrust out her hand. “Allie Durant.”

Gillian’s training overcame her aversion. She took the proffered hand. “Gillian Delvaux,” she said. The sound of rapid footsteps warned her that Toby had heard the voices and come to join them. “This is my son, Tobias.”

Toby careened to a halt at Gillian’s side, remembered his manners and gave a little bow. “How do you do, Mrs. Durant?” he said. “Are you the vampire?”

Allie burst into laughter. “I see that Ross has told you all about me,” she said when she had caught her breath again. “That makes things easier.” She smiled at Toby. “Yes, I’m the vampire. You aren’t scared, are you?”

A look of faint scorn crossed Toby’s face. “Certainly not.” He glanced at Gillian. “Werewolves are just as strong as vampires, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Gillian said, meeting Allie’s gaze. “I have no vampires among my acquaintance.”

Allie’s smile never wavered, but her eyes took on a sharper expression. “You’re loup-garou?” she asked. “From England, right?”

“Yes,” Gillian said. “I apologize for visiting at such an inconvenient time. We shall leave immediately.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Allie turned her head slightly as Ross came up behind her. “I have a feeling there’s a very interesting story behind all this, but I’m famished. Grif will be here any moment. Would you like something to eat?”

Gillian was at a loss, a feeling she had experienced all too frequently since she’d met Ross again. The day’s events—the pressing human crowds, the emergency with the boy, the reporter’s intrusions—had shaken her more than she liked to admit. And now she was face-to-face with a vampire for the first time in her life—a remarkably hospitable vampire, for all her forwardness.

“Thank you,” she said, “but Toby and I have recently dined.”

“Then you won’t mind if I make myself a sandwich.” Allie addressed Toby. “Did Ross tell you that vampires can eat just like normal people?”

“I didn’t get the chance,” Ross said. He gave Gillian an encouraging glance. “Mrs. Delvaux only arrived from England a short time ago, and it’s been kind of a rough day.”

“Mr. Kavanagh exaggerates,” Gillian said, wishing she could sink into the landing and disappear.

Allie seemed to notice her discomfiture. “That’s not something he usually does. I’ve been a lousy hostess. Ross, you’ve shown Mrs. Delvaux the bedrooms?”

“Yes. And she needs to rest.”

“I am quite well,” Gillian said with as much dignity as she could muster.

“In that case, why don’t you come downstairs and make yourself comfortable? I—” She stopped as a man walked through the front door. “Here’s Grif now.”

The gentleman who entered the hall was roughly Ross’s age and height, with dark hair, golden eyes and handsome features…far more classically handsome than Ross’s rugged contours. Gillian wasn’t certain that she would have recognized him as a werewolf if she hadn’t known beforehand; she had sensed something when she’d first entered the house, but aside from Ross, she’d met few strangers who had turned out to be werewolves.

Griffin Durant’s face registered surprise as he saw Ross and Gillian; he set down the suitcases he had brought inside and continued on to the staircase.

“Ross!” he said with obvious pleasure. “I didn’t expect a welcoming committee.”

“Yeah,” Ross said. “Like I told Allie, I didn’t know you were coming back today.”

“Completely understandable.” Durant’s eyes reflected the same curiosity Allie had shown, but he remained cordially reserved as he looked up at Gillian. “May I be introduced?”

“Mrs. Delvaux,” Ross said, “this is my friend Griffin Durant. Grif, this is Mrs. Gillian Delvaux.”

Griffin reached the landing. “How do you do, Mrs. Delvaux?”

This time Gillian offered her hand first. “Very well, thank you, Mr. Durant. May I present my son, Tobias?”

“Tobias. Pleased to meet you.”

Toby stared at Mr. Durant. “Do you belong to the New York pack?”

Durant glanced at Ross, who buried his hands in his trouser pockets. “As I was telling Allie,” Ross said, “Toby and Mrs. Delvaux have only been in the States a short time and aren’t familiar with the setup here. Loups-garous do things differently in England.”

“A fascinating subject, I’m sure,” Allie said, “but I’m still starving. Let’s go downstairs.”

Griffin stood aside to let the women precede him. Gillian hung back.

“If you will excuse me for a few moments…” she said, and ushered Toby into the room she’d chosen for him.

“Toby,” she said, “listen carefully. You are not to mention anything to the Durants about your relationship to Mr. Kavanagh, or about what happened at Coney Island. Nor are you to quiz Mrs. Durant about her…particular constitution.”

Toby understood her readily enough, but his jaw set in incipient rebellion. “You don’t want anyone to know that Ross is my father.”

“The matter is private and of no concern to people we have just met, even if they are Mr. Kavanagh’s friends.”

“Then what do you want me to say?”

“You know how to hold a civil conversation.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “I trust you to use good judgment. You may answer general questions about England and what you have observed in America. Say nothing about the method by which you arrived. I am simply an acquaintance of Mr. Durant’s, and we are here on holiday.”

“What if Father tells them the truth?”

“I believe—” dear God, let it be so “—that he will also prefer to keep our private affairs confidential.”

“Your mother is right,” Ross said, walking into the room. “We won’t say anything to embarrass her, will we?”

Gillian listened for sarcasm in his voice and heard none. When he offered her his arm, she took it, well aware that he could make things very unpleasant if he chose to do so. His tacit promise to hide their secret only strengthened the emotions with which she’d struggled ever since he’d taken such trouble to protect her and Toby from the intrusive interest of the crowd.

It had taken more effort than she would have supposed to meet Ross’s mocking feints with appropriately composed answers, both in the hotel and at the amusement park. She had wavered constantly between despising him and—to her shame—wanting desperately to be near him. Only his sarcastic manner and biting questions had kept her leaning toward the former.

But his behavior had changed completely from the moment she had tried to help the boy. His support had been immediate. He had realized—all too well, as she had just discovered—how much she wanted to avoid the public notice her actions had attracted. He had been very much the gentleman then, as if he felt he owed her his protection.

Of course he didn’t, just as he didn’t owe her the compliments he’d paid her a few minutes ago.

She continued down the stairs at his side, concentrating on moving with the dignity and grace that were expected of her, letting such simple thoughts create a barrier between her keen physical awareness and the necessities of her position. She must overcome her attraction, for Toby’s sake. Dependence upon Ross’s assistance while she remained in New York would hardly persuade Toby to leave the father he had just met, and her memories…

Ah, her memories. They were the greatest obstacle of all. Vivid recollections of her affair with Ross, feeding the unwelcome reactions that overwhelmed her when she was in his presence, whenever she touched him.

Thank God Ross hadn’t sensed her emotions. He certainly didn’t share them. He’d shown no sign that his feelings for her went beyond the same natural gallantry that had been so much a part of his nature when she had met him. Still, the bitterness and wounded pride she had seen in him during their conversation at the hotel seemed to have given way to a far more sympathetic attitude.

Unless his softening was no more than a new tactic to throw her off her guard. The possibility seemed more likely as she considered it, and it was all she could do not to remove her arm from the crook of his elbow.

If he really did intend to use this new method of attack, she must under no circumstances let him think he had succeeded.

Determined not to reveal the grim nature of her thoughts, Gillian joined the Durants in a pleasant room plainly but comfortably furnished in a rustic American mode very much at odds with the Georgian style of the house itself. Allie pulled back the heavy drapes to reveal French doors that opened onto a well-kept garden, now cloaked in darkness.

“Please, sit,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do you want anything, Grif?”

“Not at the moment, thanks,” her husband said. He waited until Gillian and Toby had taken their seats on the sofa and went to the sideboard standing against one wall. “Would you care for a drink, Mrs. Delvaux? Ross?”

Ross shook his head. “Thank you, but no,” Gillian said.

“I don’t drink myself,” Durant said. He took one of the armchairs. “I was unaware that Ross had friends in England, Mrs. Delvaux,” he said, his posture relaxed but alert. “I hope your visit to America has been pleasant thus far.”

Gillian prepared herself to tell the necessary lies. “I find your country to be very interesting, Mr. Durant,” she said.

“We went to Coney Island today,” Toby piped in.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Immensely. We went into the Dragon’s Gorge and then on the Aerial Swing.” He bit his lip, eyed Gillian and fell silent.

“Mrs. Delvaux volunteered as a nurse at the hospital in London where I recovered after the War,” Ross said. “We became friends. I wrote to her a few times after I returned to America. We lost touch, but she looked me up when she came to the States on holiday with her brother.”

He didn’t look at Gillian, but she understood his ploy. He was protecting her “honor” by revealing as much of the truth as possible.

“Yes,” she said lightly. “My brother, Hugh, insisted that Toby and I come along when he decided to visit the United States. I remembered that Mr. Kavanagh had joined the New York police force after his return.” She smiled at Ross. “He has been an excellent guide.”

“I told her a bit about you and Allie,” Ross said. “I thought I’d show her Oak Hollow…the other side of American life.”

“That’s a lot to do in one day,” Allie said from the doorway, balancing a plate adorned by an enormous sandwich. “And you said you just arrived, Mrs. Delvaux?”

“Yesterday,” Ross said. “I’m afraid Toby’s been running his poor mother ragged.”

“Not at all,” Gillian said quickly. “There is so much to see and do, I’m quite certain that we shall leave America with a great many interesting sights unvisited.”

“Can’t have that,” Allie said, falling into the chair nearest her husband. “I guess you haven’t had time to see Harlem or visit a speakeasy. That’s not really Ross’s type of place, though…he’s been a cop too long.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Delvaux would be interested in visiting a speakeasy,” Ross said.

“Oh, come on. The best jazz is in the speaks. You can’t come to America and not hear the jazz.” She took a bite of her sandwich and spoke again as soon as she’d swallowed. “I know the best places. I’ll be glad to show you around.”

Gillian was beginning to feel very much out of her depth. “Your offer is much appreciated, Mrs. Durant,” she said. “But as much as we have enjoyed Mr. Kavanagh’s company, Hugh—my brother—wishes to escort us during our visit.”

“Call me Allie. Mrs. Durant sounds so…stuffy.”

Griffin Durant gave his wife a teasing look. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t agree…Mrs. Durant.”

It was obvious to Gillian that the couple were engaging in a kind of banter with which both were comfortable, an indication of their affection for each other. A vampire and a werewolf, she thought, still amazed. She tried to imagine what her father would say to such a union and found even the suggestion impossible to comprehend.

Allie was watching her. “I guess things are a lot more formal in England. Grif spent a lot of time there.”

Immediately Gillian recognized the new danger. “Indeed?”

“I don’t imagine we’d have many acquaintances in common, Mrs. Delvaux,” Durant said. “I didn’t actually meet any loups-garous when I lived there.”

Gillian concealed her relief. The chances that Griffin Durant knew anything of her personal history appeared to be remote. Unless, of course, he was lying out of courtesy.

“You asked if I were a member of the New York pack,” Mr. Durant said to Toby. “I am not, for various reasons. Not all werewolves in the United States are attached to a pack.”

“Neither are we,” Toby said, apparently judging that he was on safe ground. “But sometimes lots of werewolves from all over Europe come together in a big meeting called the Convocation, where everyone—” He caught himself in midsentence. “Do you have Convocations?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Mr. Durant said. “But I confess that I don’t monitor the doings of werewolves in other parts of the country.”

Gillian turned hastily to his wife. “Have you been married long, Mrs. Durant?”

“Allie, remember?” the vampire said. “Almost a year. Most of that time we’ve been overseas with Ross’s sister, Gemma.” She glanced at Ross. “Seems quite a bit has happened while we were gone.”

Ross stared at the darkened windows. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “The clan split up into two factions after Raoul died. It got pretty bad for a while. They’ve only just reunited under a new leader.”

For the first time Allie’s high spirits seemed to dim. “We should have been here,” she muttered. “We might have helped.”

“Wouldn’t have made any difference,” Ross said. “The clan is no happier about your marriage than the pack is. Not likely that they would have listened to either one of you.”

Allie noticed Gillian’s oblique glance. “The clan is the big vampire organization in New York.”

“From which Allegra fortunately escaped,” Griffin said.

“With a little help,” she said, reaching over to lay her hand on Griffin’s sleeve. “Anyway…the subject won’t interest Mrs. Delvaux. I’m the first vampire she’s met. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Gillian said, prompted by the other woman’s frankness. “I’m certain they must exist in England, but loups-garous…have no dealings with them.”

“Let alone get married to them,” Allie said wryly. “The prejudice probably goes back thousands of years.”

Gillian stiffened. “I didn’t intend to cause offense.”

“None taken.” Allie squeezed Griffin’s hand. “Someday, maybe everyone will realize it’s love that matters, not that other stuff.”

Her words slashed at Gillian’s already fragile composure. She was painfully aware of Ross, knowing what he must be thinking. She could hardly bear the thoughts careening through her own head.

If Allie had been in her place, she would have stayed with Ross. She would have flung all other considerations and consequences aside.

But I am not Mrs. Durant. I could never be.

Gillian rose. “We have imposed too much upon your hospitality, Mrs. Durant,” she said. “We should return to Manhattan.”

Ross cleared his throat. “I’m sure that Griffin and Allie would be happy to put you up tonight,” he said.

Gillian knew what he was trying to say. It was still possible that O’Grady would find her and Toby. But the prospect of staying here seemed almost as bad. “I would not wish—” she began.

“Ross is right,” Allie said. “It’s getting dark, and God knows this heap has plenty of empty rooms.” She pursed her lips. “You’re a little taller than I am, but I’ll bet I could fit you out with anything you’d need.”

“Mrs. Durant, I—”

“Can’t we stay, Mother?” Toby begged. He yawned expansively behind his hand. “I am rather tired.”

In spite of Toby’s blatant manipulation, Gillian knew that a refusal now would be rude. She had begun to like Allie Chase in spite of her initial doubts, and the prospect of being close to Ross on the trip back to Manhattan was more than a little daunting.

“Very well,” she said. “If you are certain our remaining will not be an imposition.”

“Not at all,” Allie said.

“May I use your telephone? I should ring my brother and tell him where we are.”

“Of course. Come with me.”

“Perhaps I might put Toby to bed first.”

“I’ll take him up,” Ross offered, getting to his feet. “You do whatever you need to.”

Gillian had no desire to behave in a way that would suggest to the Durants that she didn’t entirely trust her good friend Ross Kavanagh. “Thank you.” She turned to Toby. “I shall say good-night presently.”

Toby nodded, his eyes unfocused. Gillian knew that look. It had nothing to do with boredom or weariness; he was concocting some sort of scheme or other. Reluctantly she followed Allie to a somewhat more formally decorated room that was obviously left unused the majority of the time. An ornate telephone table stood by the door.

“Here it is,” Allie said brightly. “I’ll give you a little privacy.”

But she made no move to leave the room. Instead, she wandered about, clucking her tongue as she brushed her fingertip across a tabletop and her skin came away coated with dust.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I never was much of a housekeeper.”

Gillian searched her mind for something to say. “Did you enjoy your stay in Europe, Mrs. Durant?”

“If you don’t start calling me Allie, I’ll think you don’t like me.”

Gillian looked for somewhere to sit. “We have scarcely met,” she said.

“True, but if you’re Ross’s friend…” Allie trailed off and picked up a porcelain figurine from the table. “So you worked as a nurse during the War?”

There seemed no polite way of escaping Allie’s questions. “Yes.”

“And that was when you met Ross.”

“Yes.”

“Your husband must be a pretty modern guy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The old-fashioned kind—you know, the ones who still have a foot in the last century—they probably don’t like their wives to go gallivanting around a foreign country with an unattached male friend.”

Informality was one thing, but this was another matter entirely. “I am a widow,” Gillian said coldly.

As if realizing she’d gone too far, Allie set down the figurine and met Gillian’s eyes with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “I’m sorry,” she said, the simple words covering Gillian’s loss and her own rudeness. “It really is none of my business.” She strode to the door, her short skirt swirling about her knees. “Please let me know if there’s anything you need.”

She left, closing the door gently behind her. Gillian took a moment to catch her breath. Why had Allie found it necessary to probe into her marital status? Why had she assumed that Gillian’s supposed husband would forbid her to see an old wartime friend?

Because that is exactly what would happen, Gillian thought. Of course, if she were married, Toby might never have escaped, and neither of them would have come to the United States.

Unwilling to pursue that line of thought, Gillian picked up the telephone receiver. She dialed the operator and asked for the Roosevelt Hotel. Hugh answered on the third ring.

“Gilly!” he exclaimed. “Where are you? I expected you back hours ago.”

“You needn’t have worried, Hugh. We are still with Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Well, you’d better get back here soon. Warbrick has been haunting the hotel since this morning.”

“I did attempt to ring him at his hotel.”

“He said he’s been out of town. He nearly blew his top when he heard you were with Kavanagh.”

Perhaps because he hadn’t known that Gillian was coming to America herself, let alone that she might contact Ross directly.

“I tried to explain what had happened,” Hugh continued, “but he just kept shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Wouldn’t tell me why he was so upset, just that he wasn’t going to leave until you got back.”

Gillian had already begun to think that she’d made a very poor decision in agreeing to stay at Oak Hollow. “Toby and I are stopping with friends of Mr. Kavanagh’s on Long Island. We shall not be back until tomorrow morning.”

“It sounds as if you’ve been very busy, Gilly. I can’t wait to hear the details.”

That was something Gillian did not anticipate with any degree of pleasure. “I shall see you tomorrow morning, then. Give my regards to Ethan, and assure him that Toby and I are quite well.”

“Swell.” He paused. “Be careful, Gilly. But then, you’re always careful. Or at least you used to be.”

He hung up, and Gillian was left with his unsettling words ringing in her ears. Hugh was hardly a model of discretion himself. If he thought she had been reckless in her dealings with Ross, he must really be concerned.

But he had agreed that she ought to allow Toby some contact with his father. Even if he hadn’t, she would have relied on her own judgment, not his.

Judgment she had begun to doubt more and more as the day went on.

As for Ethan…He had always been protective when they were children, angry when her father had been more critical than usual or had made it difficult for her to leave Snowfell to meet him. When they’d met again as adults, after a separation enforced by Sir Averil and facilitated by Ethan’s years away in Europe and the East, she’d told him about Toby’s real parentage, but she’d made it very clear that she had no desire to rekindle her past with her American lover. She couldn’t guess why he would be so upset about her having met with Ross.

After returning the receiver to its cradle, Gillian stepped out of the room. She was relieved to find the hall empty. Moving quickly to the stairs, she paused at the landing. She heard the low hum of Ross’s voice and the higher pitch of Toby’s light alto coming from Toby’s room.

The temptation to listen was great, but she deliberately closed her ears and continued on to her room. She would bide her time until she could speak to Toby herself, and then she would be free to spend the rest of the night alone.

Alone with the cruel little voice that kept asking her if she’d made the worst mistake of her life on that painful day twelve years ago.

GRIFFIN WAS WAITING for Ross at the bottom of the staircase.

As restrained as Grif had been compared to Allie, Ross had a feeling he wasn’t going to get away without answering a few questions. He’d noticed the way Griffin had watched first him and then Gillian, silently appraising, his golden eyes narrowing from time to time as he listened to their brief exchanges…or lack of them.

Whatever Grif was thinking, it was better that he knew at least some of the facts rather than speculate and come up with all the wrong ideas.

“How about that drink?” Ross suggested.

“Has Mrs. Delvaux retired?” Griffin asked.

“I haven’t seen her since I went up.” Ross passed Griffin and walked into the summer parlor, heading straight for the sideboard. “What she told you was the truth, you know.”

Griffin considered Ross from the doorway, one brow cocked. “Which part?” he asked.

“About our meeting while I was recuperating in a London hospital.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Ross poured himself a brandy. “We got pretty close back then. You know how it was. People formed strong bonds during the War, and it didn’t really matter who you were or where you came from.”

“I remember.”

“Anyway, she got married, and I went on to join the force.” He paused, wondering if Grif had heard anything about the scandal while he and Allie had been away. “I didn’t hear from her until she phoned me from England a couple of weeks ago. She thought we should meet again for old times’ sake.”

“Old times,” Griffin repeated. He wandered toward the windows. “You don’t have to play these games with me. I owe you more than I can repay. I would never presume to judge you.”

Ross downed the drink and poured another before he had time to think. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I would accept that, Ross, if it weren’t so clear that you’re in some kind of trouble.”

He didn’t know. Ross expelled his breath. “And you think this ‘trouble’ I’m in has something to do with an old friend from the War?”

“She’s more than an old friend, isn’t she?”

The second drink disappeared in seconds. Ross set the glass down a little too forcefully.

“We were close,” he said. “Very close. But it didn’t work out.”

Griffin sat on the sofa, stretching his arm across the back. “What about the boy?”

“What about him?”

“He’s yours, isn’t he?”

Ross could have denied it. If he had, Griffin might have left it alone. Or, white knight that he was, he might have decided to interfere anyway, his usual courtesy be damned.

“How could you tell?” Ross asked.

“A hunch.”

“That’s all? A hunch?”

“And the fact that you offered to take Toby up to bed. If you’d never met the child until recently…”

“I hadn’t.” Ross forced himself to walk away from the sideboard. “Look, it’s not something I want to talk about.”

“Did Mrs. Delvaux bring Toby to the States to see you?”

“No. And please don’t mention any of this to her. She and Toby…” He swallowed. “They might not be in New York much longer.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.” The impulse to tell Griffin everything gnawed at Ross. He wished he could take the risk of getting drunk. “What do you think of the kid?”

“He seems a fine boy,” Grif said. “He looks very much like his mother.”

“I’d noticed that.” Ross paced across the room. Though it wasn’t small, it seemed far too confining. “He’s only part werewolf,” he said suddenly.

“Is that important?”

“It is to Ji—To Mrs. Delvaux.”

Griffin considered that in silence. “You’re worried about Toby.”

“I want to make sure he has a good life in England,” Ross said. He rubbed his hand across the unshaven stubble on his chin. “Hell. I’ve only known him two days, Grif. And seeing Jill again…”

“Allie told me she’s a widow.”

Ross wondered what sort of conversation she and Gillian had had. “Yeah.”

“Do you still love her?”