Darius watched the steward’s face carefully. “And you were not aware of anything... that would lead one to expect such a disappearance.”
The servant’s left eyebrow twitched once.
And there was a long silence.
Darius lowered his voice to a whisper. “If it eases your conscience, you have my word as a Brother that neither myself nor my colleague shall reveal what you say to anyone. Even the king himself.”
Fritzgelder opened his mouth and breathed through it.
Darius remained in silence: Pushing the poor male would only slow the process of revelation down. Indeed, he was either going to talk or not, and encouraging him would but delay his decision.
The steward reached into the interior pocket of his uniform and withdrew a bright white handkerchief that was pressed into a precise square. Blotting at his upper lip, he fumbled to put the thing away.
“Nothing shall breach these walls,” Darius whispered. “Not a thing.”
The steward had to clear his throat twice before his thready voice materialized. “Verily... she was above reproach. That I am certain of. There was no... consort with a male about which her parents were unaware.”
“But...” Darius murmured.
At that moment the door swung wide and the butler who had let them into the mansion appeared. He seemed totally unsurprised by the meeting and utterly disapproving of it. No doubt one of his underlings had tipped him off.
“You run such a fine lot of staff,” Darius said to the male. “My colleague and I are very impressed.”
The low bow did nothing to ease the male’s expression of distrust. “I am complimented, sire.”
“We were just leaving. Is your master about?”
The butler straightened and his relief was obvious. “He has retired and that is why I came to see you. He has bidden you well adieu, but must needs look after his beloved shellan.”
Darius got to his feet. “Your steward here was about to show us the grounds on our way out. As it is raining, I am certain you should prefer one of your staff to guide us o’er the wet grass. We shall return here after the sunset. Thank you for your accommodation of our requests.”
There was no other response save for the one the male gave: “But of course.”
Fritzgelder bowed to his superior and then extended his arm toward a door in the far corner. “This way.”
Outside, the air carried little of spring’s promise of warmth. Indeed, it was winter-cold as they trudged through the mist.
Fritzgelder knew exactly where to take them, the steward walking with purpose around the back of the mansion to the part of the gardens that were overlooked by the female’s bedroom.
Did not this work out well, Darius thought.
The steward stopped right under Sampsone’s daughter’s window, but he didn’t face the stout stone walls of the house. He looked outward... across the flower beds and the hedge maze... to the estate next door. And then he deliberately turned to face Darius and Tohrment.
“Lift thine eyes unto the trees,” he said while pointing at the house as if describing something pertinent—because undoubtedly they were being watched from the leaded windows of the manse. “Regard well the clearing.”
Indeed, there was a break in the crowd of barren tree limbs—which was how they’d seen the far-off mansion from the second floor.
“That vista was not created by our household, sire,” the doggen said softly. “And I noticed it about a week before... she was found gone. I was upstairs cleaning the rooms. The family of the household had retired underground as it was lighted day. I heard the sounds of cracking wood and rendered my eyes unto the windows, whereupon I saw the branches being taken down.”
Darius narrowed his stare. “Very deliberate, the cutting, isn’t it.”
“Very deliberate. And I thought nothing as it is naught but humans who reside therein. But now...”
“Now you wonder if there was a pur pose other than landscaping. Tell me, to whom did you mention this.”
“The butler. But he beseeched me to remain mum. He is a fine male, of good service to the family. He wants nothing more than to have her found...”
“But he wishes to avoid any conception that she might have fallen into human hands.”
After all, they were just a tail away from being considered upright rats by the glymera.
“Thank you for this,” Darius said. “You have done well your duty.”
“Just find her. Please. I care not the source of the abduction—just bring her home.”
Darius focused on what he could see of the manse next door. “We shall do that. In one manner... or another.”
For their sakes, he prayed that the humans in that estate had not dared to take one of theirs. The other race was to be avoided, by the king’s orders, but if they had the temerity to aggress upon a vampire? And a noble female at that?
Darius would slaughter each one of them in their beds and leave the bodies to rot into a stench.
THIRTY-ONE
Gregg Winn woke up with Holly curled against him, her lush fake breasts a pair of twin pillows pressing into his side.
A quick glance at the clock and he saw that it was seven a.m. Might as well get packed and head for Atlanta.
“Holly.” He nudged her with his hand. “Wake up.”
She let out something close to a purr and stretched, her body arching into his and turning his morning hard-on into a raw need that he was inclined to do something about. Memories of how she’d ended up in his bed curbed that impulse quickly, though.
Proving that he was a gentleman in some ways.
“Holly. Come on. Wakey-wakey.” He pushed her hair back and smoothed it down her shoulder. “If we get a move on, we’ll be in Atlanta by late afternoon.”
Which, considering he’d cost them a day chasing after this Rathboone thing, was going to come in handy.
“Okay. I’m up. I’m up.”
Actually, he was the only one of the two who got vertical. Holly just nestled into the warm space he’d left and went right back to sleep.
He took a shower and then filled up his suitcase as loudly as he could but she was dead to the world. Not so much asleep as in a coma.
He was just about to go a round with Stan, who was even worse at the whole rousing thing, when a knock sounded on the door.
Could the stoner fool already be awake?
Gregg started talking to his cameraman as he opened the door. “Listen, let’s pack up the van—”
It was the tight-ass butler. Looking as if someone had dumped red wine all over his couch.
Gregg lifted his palm. “We’re leaving, okay. We’re taking off. Just give us—”
“The owner has decided to allow you to film here. For your special.”
Gregg blinked like an idiot. “Excuse me?”
The butler’s tone grew even more disgusted. If that was possible. “The owner spoke to me this morning. He said you are permitted to host your show herein.”
One day too late, Gregg thought with a curse to himself. “Sorry. My team and I are—”
“Thrilled,” Holly finished for him.
As he glanced over his shoulder, his narrator was pulling her robe into place and getting off the bed.
“That’s great news,” she said pointedly while smiling at the butler.