Marguerite picked up her drink and finished off the last sip with a little sigh of pleasure. It was an immortal Bloody Mary--blood mixed with tomato juice, Tabasco, pepper, lemon, salt, and Worcestershire sauce--and had gone a long way to improving her mood. She'd sat fretting over what Tiny had said until her drink had arrived, but just the one drink had made her feel better able to cope with matters. Obviously, the lack of blood was affecting her, she thought and suspected she could do with several more of the drinks to make up for the lack of straight blood in her system.
That thought in mind, she glanced around for a waitress and then stilled when she saw Julius and Christian making their way across the room. Julius was closing his cell phone and dropping it back in his pocket when she spotted him and she wondered about that. The two men had been gone a rather long time, but the interesting thing to her was that while Christian had looked exasperated and Julius worried when they'd left, Julius now appeared cheerful and Christian worried. Curious.
"We have to go," Julius announced as he paused beside her chair.
"What?" Marguerite asked with dismay.
Julius nodded. "I've called for two taxis and they assured me they'd be here right away so we'd best move."
"But--" Marguerite's protest died as everyone else got to their feet, even Tiny, she noted, though she shouldn't have been surprised that he was happy to go. He'd turned a little green when the drinks had arrived. There was just no way to mistake them as being anything other than blood mixes.
Sighing, she gave in and got to her feet, remaining silent as Julius took her arm and walked her out of the club. They didn't wait long out in front of the Night Club before the taxis arrived. Julius led her to the first one and Marguerite slipped inside when he opened the door. She settled herself on the bench seat, sliding into the corner to make room for others, but no one followed right away. Julius was standing in the door, his back to her, talking to Tiny and Christian.
Marguerite frowned and started to slide back along the seat to try to hear what was happening, but just as she did, Julius turned and ducked to enter. Moving quickly, she scooted back along the seat to make room and glanced sharply back when she heard the door close.
"Isn't anyone else riding with us?" she asked anxiously as Julius settled on the seat next to her.
He shook his head and explained, "I had them all take the other taxi. I wanted the chance to talk to you alone about... things."
"Oh." She sat back against the seat as the taxi pulled away, and waited, wondering what he would have to say. Christian had already told her that Julius intended to stick close and keep an eye out for any more attacks, but Julius might not know that and intend to tell her himself, so she waited... and waited. Marguerite finally gave up waiting and decided to prompt him, but she'd barely opened her mouth when the taxi pulled to a stop.
"Where are we?" she asked, glancing around with surprise. The car had pulled over in front of a Starbucks, not the hotel.
"I thought we could talk here," Julius explained, handing several pound notes to the driver and opening the door.
Marguerite hesitated and then followed him out of the car and allowed him to see her inside. He settled her at a table in a corner away from the few other patrons and then asked, "What would you like?"
"Nothing, thank you. I'm fine," she answered.
Julius peered at her silently for a moment, and then said, "I suspect we'll have to order something to sit here. I'll pick something."
He headed off to the counter and she watched him place and wait for their order, fretting over why he'd brought her here. When he returned to their table, her eyes widened incredulously on seeing that he'd purchased not only two large, foamy drinks, but two triangular pastries as well as two square ones she recognized as brownies.
"I couldn't make up my mind," Julius said with a shrug as he placed one of the drinks and a plate with one of each of the deserts before her. He then settled in the chair across from hers and fetched several packets of sugar out of his pocket, offering her two.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"These are mocha, frappa-cappa something or others," he said as he opened two packets and put them in his own coffee. Smiling wryly, he admitted, "The girl picked them and assured me they were good."
Marguerite smiled faintly and opened her own sugar packets to pour in. She stirred the drink then, fascinated by the foamy top. They hadn't had drinks like this when she was still eating and drinking. Her gaze slid to the brownie on the plate and then back to her drink before returning. She could smell the sweet chocolate and her mouth was watering again.
"I wanted to tell you, Marguerite," Julius said, drawing her attention away from the brownie. "I really appreciate what you did for my nephew Stephano in California when he was attacked."
Marguerite shook her head. "I did very little."
"You helped save his life," he said solemnly.
"I merely helped watch over him during the turn. Vincent is the one who saved his life."
Julius nodded solemnly. "I was impressed when I heard what he'd done. Few immortals would have."
"Vincent is special," Marguerite said proudly and then found herself telling him about her nephew; about how talented he was, and about his business and the plays he produced. Somehow that led to talk about her stay in California, which led back to her children and their lifemates.
Julius, in turn, told her some tales of his trials in raising Christian alone. His love for his son was obvious as he spoke. She could hear the pride in his voice and see it in his face, along with his desire--like most parents--to keep his child safe from harm and pain, though he didn't say that outright. Each of them kept to the their own tacit agreement not to talk about either Jean Claude or Christian's mother.
Despite skirting that issue, Marguerite began to realize that she'd misjudged the man. It quickly became obvious that he would do anything for Christian, and that his reasons behind keeping knowledge about his mother from him must be purely protective, not selfish as she'd first thought.
Somehow, while not paying attention, Marguerite found herself eating both the brownie and the lemon cranberry scone that was the triangular pastry. Both were like manna in her mouth. She had never tasted anything so good. They also went through several of those mocha-frappa-cappa drinks as well, both of them going up to the counter together to purchase them so they didn't have to stop talking, and so they could both pick out other pastries to try.
Julius was telling her about Christian's musical abilities when Marguerite reached for her drink and lifted it to her lips only to find her cup was once again empty. She shouldn't have been surprised, she supposed, talking and laughing was a thirsty business.
"I, of course, don't know a thing about music, that's something he got from his mother's side, obviously," Julius said dryly, drawing her attention from her empty cup. "But the minute he picked up that violin and started to play it by ear, I was sure he was the next Chopin or Bach."
Marguerite bit her lip on a laugh at his self-mocking expression.
"So I spent scads of money, hired the best teachers in Europe, all the while imagining that one day my son would play in the world's premier orchestras. He would compose music that would last through the centuries. The name Notte would resound through the music world."
"But he didn't get accepted into an orchestra?" she asked sympathetically.
Julius snorted. "Oh, yes. He did. He was accepted to several over the centuries, but he never stayed long at any of them. He found most of the music he was made to play too staid, and the stuff that he did like he soon got bored of playing over and over." Julius shook his head. "Finally, he seemed to give it up. He worked for the company and kept his music as an enjoyment on the side."
"What a shame," Marguerite said sadly.
"Hmm." Julius nodded his head. "I was terribly upset at the time, but now, all these centuries later, he's found the music that stirs his passion. He's actually composing. I can see the difference when he plays it. Even I, musically retarded as I am, can tell that before this, while he was technically perfect, his heart was not in it. But now, he's excited, vibrant, alive... playing with his heart rather than just playing by rote."
"But that's wonderful," Marguerite said, and then tilted her head uncertainly at his wryly amused expression. "Isn't it?"
"I guess it is," he said with a laugh. "I just find it..." He shook his head. "Ironic."
"Why? What is he playing?"
"My classically trained, world-class violinist, prodigy of a son is playing..." He raised an eyebrow. "Hard rock."
Marguerite blinked. "You mean he's switched to guitar?"
"No. He plays violin... in a rock band."
Marguerite sat back in her seat with a bump. "Really?"
Julius nodded.
"Well, that is..." She paused, at a loss for words. She'd never heard of a violin rock player.
Julius chuckled at her expression and then lifted his cup to his mouth, only to pull it away and peer into it with a frown as she had moments ago. "I'm empty."
"So am I," she admitted.
"Shall we try something new this--" He paused and glanced toward the window beside them. "Is that birdsong?"
Marguerite glanced out the window. The sky was still dark, but now that he mentioned it, she could hear what sounded like bird's chirping their morning call.
"The sun will be up soon," he said and Marguerite glanced over to see him peering at his watch with an expression that was half surprise and half disappointment.
She glanced down at her own watch, shocked to see just how late it was... or how early depending on your point of view. The sun would indeed be up soon. They'd spent the entire night in that Starbucks talking.
"I guess we'd better head back," Julius muttered Marguerite nodded reluctantly, her eyes slipping over their table laden with countless empty cups and half a dozen empty plates that had once held pastries. The aftermath of a night that was the most fun she'd had in a long time... perhaps in her life. She didn't ever recall laughing as much as she had tonight, and she was sorry to see it end.
"Yes, we should go back to the hotel," he said more firmly, as if--despite his words--he'd considered not doing so. "We have to get some sleep. We're catching the seven P.M. train to York tonight."
Marguerite nodded and stood. They started to collect their cups and plates, but the fellow behind the counter who had served them all night was immediately there, waving them off and assuring them he'd get it. He wished them a good morning as they left.
It was much cooler than it had been earlier in the evening, but not uncomfortably so. A mortal might have wished for a coat, but immortal's bodies weren't as affected by temperature as mortals were. After so many hours spent doing nothing but talking, the two of them were oddly silent on the short walk back to the hotel, but it was a companionable silence that neither of them seemed to feel the need to fill.
The hotel lobby was nearly empty when they passed through it to the elevator, with just one couple dragging luggage to the reception desk to check out and catch an early flight.
"Here we are," Julius murmured, stopping at the door to their suite.
Marguerite remained silent as he unlocked the door and then stepped inside when he held it open for her. The lights were on in the sitting room, but there was no sign of Marcus.
Marguerite hesitated, her eyes moving to the door to her bedroom, but then turned back, uncertainly, to Julius. "Thank you. It was fun."
"Yes, it was," he agreed. He raised his hand to gently brush her cheek and for one moment, Marguerite was sure Julius was going to kiss her. Despite her long-held determination not to risk involving herself with another relationship after what Jean Claude had put her through, at that moment, Marguerite wasn't at all sure she didn't want him to kiss her, but then he merely offered a crooked smile, let his hand drop away, and whispered, "Good night."
Marguerite slowly let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and turned away to walk to the door to her room. She paused there to glance back, and smiled slightly when she saw that he had reached his door and done the same. When he smiled back, she slipped into her room and eased the door closed.
It was only as she was undressing for bed that Marguerite realized that he had never brought up the "things" he'd said he'd wanted to talk to her about alone. If there had been "things," she thought, her mind mulling over what had just taken place. As far as she could tell, she'd had a very enjoyable nothing-to-do-with-business sort of date with Julius. And both of them had eaten food and drank several caffeine-rich beverages.
Both of them.
She was eating. He was eating. She couldn't read his mind. Could he read hers?
Marguerite didn't know, but she did know that Jean Claude hadn't eaten when he'd met her. He hadn't displayed that sign of having met a true lifemate. Not that she would have recognized it as a sign at the time. She'd been mortal then, a simple servant in a large and rich castle, completely ignorant that there were immortals walking among them, beings who fed on blood, were stronger and faster and could survive long, long lives while non-immortals dropped around them.
Wincing as she recalled her naivety, Marguerite slid into a long black satin nightgown and moved to the window seat, settling herself there to peer out over London. She really hadn't known much of anything when she'd met Jean Claude. She'd barely been fifteen; young and impressionable and easily swept off her feet by a simple smile from the handsome warrior on horseback. She'd thought her infatuation was love, and had been foolish enough to equate his desire with his loving her as well. She hadn't known until much later that she looked so like his long-dead and well-mourned lifemate that he'd been driven to sweep her off her feet, claim her as his own, and turn her. By then it was far too late to change anything.
But, in all the seven hundred years of their miserable union, Marguerite hadn't ever seen Jean Claude eat as Julius had.
Marguerite was almost afraid to consider what this might mean. Perhaps the man made himself eat all the time. Some immortals did, usually the men wishing to keep up their muscle mass. Her own son Lucern had always eaten for just that reason, though he'd taken little pleasure in it until meeting his lifemate Kate. Perhaps Julius was the same way. But Marguerite knew that--despite her fears--in her heart of hearts she was hoping that wasn't the case. She was hoping that she too could find what her children had found and experience what life with a real lifemate was like. The idea of having a true and proper mate to love and care for you and share the burden of this long, sorrow-filled life made her heart ache. Surely she had paid for such happiness in advance with all the misery Jean Claude had dealt out to her? Surely she deserved some happiness too?
As much as Marguerite ached for it however, she was reluctant to risk another relationship that might turn out like the one she'd had with Jean Claude. One would think it wouldn't be a concern; that no immortal would willingly bind to someone who was not a true lifemate, but it had happened. Hers was not the only such match where a naive mortal was lured into a life-long binding to an immortal who could and did control them. She'd even heard of it happening between immortals, who should know better but--weary of being alone--settled for a union with a non-lifemate. They were usually temporary relationships, however, because it was rare for one immortal to be able to control another as wholly as jean Claude had controlled her, and they were usually able to break free. Marguerite thought his power over her must have come from the fact that he had turned her, though she would never know the truth.
Whatever the case, while she was attracted to and was coming to like Julius Notte very much; if he wasn't a lifemate, she wouldn't accept such a relationship, a temporary affair that would eventually go wrong when the stronger one could no longer resist and tried to dominate the other. The truth was she wanted an equal partner such as her children had... which meant she should probably avoid being alone with Julius for now. If he hadn't been able to read her, she was quite sure he would have said something, so either he could read her or he hadn't yet tried.
Either way, it seemed better to avoid being alone with him as much as possible until she knew whether he could read her or not. She already liked the man more than anyone else she'd met in her long life, and she was attracted to him as well. She could be very badly hurt if it turned out he could read her.
Marguerite came to that decision before finally dropping off to sleep curled up in the window seat of her room. She awoke a few short hours later to pounding on her door.
Gritty-eyed and exhausted from lack of both sleep and blood, Marguerite uncurled from the window seat and stumbled to answer it.
"Marguerite!" Tiny cried. "Everyone is waiting in the lobby for you. Julius is checking us out this very minute and you aren't even dressed yet!"
She could just make out his scowl through her sleep encrusted eyes and grimaced in response. Honestly, why was it men were always so grumpy? Or was it just her who seemed to bring about this exasperation?
"Move, woman," he ordered, turning her from the door and pushing her across the room to the en suite bathroom. "You shower, I'll get your clothes."
Marguerite paused abruptly in the bathroom door, suddenly wide awake and digging in her heels. "I'll get my own clothes."
"Marguerite," he said with exasperation.
"You are not rifling through my panties," she snapped.
"Oh." Tiny stopped trying to push her at once. "Yeah. Okay, you get your clothes."
Was she not now in a bad mood, she would have laughed at his sudden discomfort.
Shaking her head, she gestured to the door. "Out. I'll be downstairs in ten minutes."
Tiny hesitated and then grumbled, "You'd better be or we'll miss our train."
Marguerite waited until he left, then burst into action, rushing to her suitcase to snatch up clothes, then hurrying into the bathroom. She took the very first shower of her life, cursing when she got shampoo in her eyes, and then cursing again when she realized that she'd been so distracted the evening before that she'd never managed to call Bastien about the blood. With it once again too early to call him, she'd muttered to herself with irritation as she ran a towel quickly over herself to dry the worst of the water, then stepped--still half wet--into her clothes.
She brushed her wet hair while throwing her nightgown and other items in her suitcase, threw the brush in last and zipped it up. She was ready. Or as ready as she had time to be, she supposed, applying lipstick as she dragged her suitcase out of the room and wheeled it to the elevator.
She stepped off the elevator to find Julius, Marcus, Christian, and Tiny waiting for her near the elevator doors. The relief on their expressions when she stepped out made her feel guilty, but then she noticed that Dante and Tommaso were missing and began to frown.
"Where are the twins?" she asked, dragging her suitcase off the elevator.
"They're on the way to the airport. There's some business back home that needs tending," Julius answered as he took the handle of her suitcase from her. Passing it to his son, he then caught her arm and urged her toward the doors to the street.
Julius already had two taxis waiting. They divided the luggage between the two and Marguerite, Tiny, and Julius rode in one, while Marcus and Christian followed in the other. Traffic wasn't too bad by London standards, which was a good thing since even with that advantage, they arrived at King's Cross just seconds before their train was to leave. A mad dash followed as they raced through the station to reach and board seconds before it pulled away.
Julius had booked the tickets, reserving two sets of table seats for their party of five. One table was a four-seater, the other, which was across the aisle, sat two. Julius explained this as he stowed the bigger suitcases on the rack. Marguerite followed as he then led the way up the aisle to their seats. He paused on reaching them, stowed a black overnight case overhead, and then slid into the nearest window seat of the grouping of four. However, when he then glanced at her expectantly, she--firm in her determination to distance herself a little from him until she knew which way the wind blew and whether he could read her--took the far window seat of the two-seat table on the left so that they were kitty-corner to each other across the aisle.
She saw the surprise that flashed across Julius's face, followed by disgruntlement. Much to her relief, however, he didn't say anything. Tiny was directly behind Marguerite and--after a hesitation--moved to drop into the seat across from her, leaving Christian and Marcus to take the two seats opposite Julius.
Marguerite was at first satisfied with the arrangement, until she realized that Julius's position seemed to put him exactly in her line of vision... and she seemed unable to keep from looking. Her gaze drifted over the man and she noted how the overhead light gleamed off his shiny black hair, how his features were almost noble, how deep and mysterious his eyes were, how soft and full his bottom lip looked in comparison to the thinner upper lip--That thought made her wonder what it would be like if he kissed her and she could almost picture it, his strong, nicely shaped hands gliding through her hair, pulling her face closer as his mouth descended--"Something to eat or drink?" Marguerite blinked and sat up abruptly as her view of Julius was suddenly blocked by a cart. Glancing up, she found herself staring at a redhead with a healthy sprinkling of freckles on her face that no amount of makeup would hide. Despite that, it didn't detract from her attractiveness, her wide smile, and sparkling eyes made up for it.
"I'll have a sandwich, please," Tiny said, drawing the woman's attention.
Marguerite waited until Tiny had finished his purchases and when the woman then turned to her asked, "You don't have anything to read, do you?"
"There was a women's magazine left on my seat, Marguerite," Tiny said as the server shook her head apologetically.
"Thank you." Marguerite accepted the magazine as the girl turned her attention to Julius and the others. She glanced over the cover, grimacing at blaring headlines that read, "Lose Two Stone In Four Weeks Without Dieting!" "Health Worries--SOLVED!" and "100 Secret Sex Techniques To Drive Your Man Wild!" That last one made her pause and she opened the magazine, flipping through to the page listed on the front. It had been a while. A refresher course couldn't be bad. Not that she expected to have sex any time soon, Marguerite assured herself.
The sound of the cart moving on distracted her and she glanced up, finding herself looking at Julius again. He was saying something to Marcus, gesturing with his hands as he did, and she couldn't help but notice how strong and nicely shaped they were.
Shaking her head, Marguerite forced her eyes back to the magazine in her hands, and managed to read a whole sentence before her gaze slid back to settle on Julius once more.
Really, this was just ridiculous. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about the man.
Now that she felt sure he'd kept Christian's mother's identity a secret to protect him, her judgment had softened considerably. A good parent protected their child as much as possible and that was what he'd been doing. Even more impressive to her was that for five hundred years Julius had allowed Christian to think he was simply being annoyingly autocratic, and had preferred Christian to be angry with him for not telling rather than cause him the pain that knowing his own mother hadn't wanted him and had actually ordered him dead would bring.
Marguerite thought it a very caring thing to do. Most men would have happily revealed the truth and probably delighted in painting the mother a bitch while presenting themselves as the saintly parent who had saved them from her clutches and raised them with love. Instead, he had neither told the truth of the matter nor painted her as anything and Marguerite thought Christian had probably benefited from it.
Julius glanced up from the newspaper he was reading and Marguerite immediately looked away, groaning inwardly as she felt a blush creep up over her face. She was seven hundred years old, not a schoolgirl, for heaven's sake. She had no business blushing. Next she'd be giggling and holding pajama parties.
"I should have picked the cheese and onion sandwich."
"What?" Marguerite glanced at Tiny. He was making a face as he opened his sandwich and spread it out on the table between them.
At first, she didn't think he'd answer. His concentration was on the serious business of scraping off the brown relish from his Ploughman's sandwich, but then he sighed with disgust as he got the last of it off. Slapping the two parts of the first sandwich half together, he explained, "I don't like this brown stuff they put on their ham sandwiches over here. I should have picked an onion and cheese sandwich."
"Why didn't you, then?" she asked with amusement.
"I wanted meat," Tiny muttered.
"They had shrimp salad," she pointed out.
"Shrimp is not meat," he said with disgust and then added, "And who ever heard of putting shrimp on bread?"
Marguerite smiled faintly at the comment as she reached over to take one of his chips and popped it in her mouth. Salt and vinegar. Mmm. The flavor burst in her mouth, almost painful in its sharpness.
"Why didn't you get something for yourself if you're hungry?" he asked with disgruntlement.
"I don't eat," she reminded him.
"Yeah, right," he said on a sigh.
Ignoring his ill-temper, she took another chip and popped it in her mouth. She then sat back in her seat and tried to concentrate on her magazine article. So far, she wasn't seeing any new and wondrous techniques. It seemed nothing had changed much in that area in the more than two hundred years since she'd got pregnant with Lissianna. Good to know, she supposed.
"You look pale Marguerite. When was the last time you fed?"
Marguerite glanced up with a start, cursing the blush that returned to her cheeks as she saw that Julius had stood and crossed to stand in the aisle beside her. There was a concerned look on his face.
She snapped her magazine closed before he could see what she was reading and answered honestly. "I ran out just before we started the drive to London the night before last."
His eyes widened incredulously. "But you had a cooler in the hotel. Dante brought it with your suitcase."
"The cooler is empty. I was supposed to receive a delivery at the Dorchester but we left before it arrived. I never got around to calling Bastien last night," she said with a shrug.
"You should have said something. We have plenty to share," Julius said with exasperation as he reached up to shift through the bags in the overhead rack until he found and pulled down the small black cooler bag he'd stored there. Taking the bag, he turned away, ordering, "Come."
Marguerite's natural instinct was to refuse the order, to rebel where she hadn't been allowed to rebel against Jean Claude. But she would only be spiting herself. Her body was aching at the very idea of the blood in the cooler he carried, and she couldn't feed in front of a trainload of people. Sighing, she got to her feet and followed him up the aisle and out of the carriage.
Julius led her to a door and opened it, revealing a small bathroom. Her eyebrows rose at the tiny cubicle, but when Julius stepped aside for her to enter, she stepped inside. Marguerite then turned to accept the bag of blood she expected him to hand her, but instead she found him following her inside.
Eyes widening incredulously, she quickly scuttled to the side, trying to make room for him, but there was really little room to make. In truth, the tiny cubicle was probably too small for him to sit in comfortably alone. It was positively claustrophobic with the both of them standing in there. Not that it seemed to bother him, Marguerite noted as he set the small cooler bag on the sink and moved in front of it. She heard the sound of his unzipping it, and then he turned to offer her a bag of blood.
"Thank you," Marguerite said, her fangs sliding out as she took the bag. Leaning against the wall to brace herself against the sway of the moving coach, she popped the bag to her teeth and met his gaze, only to glance self-consciously away as she waited for her teeth to do their work.
Julius didn't take the opportunity to berate her further for not mentioning her need. This rather surprised her. Jean Claude would have. Instead, he simply waited until the bag was nearly empty, and then turned away briefly to retrieve another bag. When the bag on her teeth was empty and Marguerite pulled it free, he held out both hands, one offering her a fresh bag, the other waiting to take the empty one, and they swapped.
Marguerite had never needed as much blood as Jean Claude and the boys, but that need had seemed to lessen as the centuries passed, until now she could go three or four days without feeding if necessary before the need became unbearably painful. She knew it was unusual for an immortal, but it was the way she had always been.
Jean Claude had once said it was the sign of an exceptionally strong constitution. That was way back at the beginning of their marriage when he had still troubled to complement her on occasion. That period hadn't lasted long. His ability to read and control her had soon quashed whatever little bit of respect he'd held for her when they'd first married. It had made her weak in his eyes, less... and not deserving of respect.
Pushing these unpleasant thoughts away, Marguerite removed the second empty bag and shook her head when Julius offered her a third. The first two had taken the edge off her hunger and she didn't want to deplete the men's supply when she intended to call Bastien and have him arrange for someone at the UK branch of Argeneau Enterprises to deliver her own supply once she knew where they were staying in York.
"Take it," Julius insisted, giving the fresh bag of blood a shake. "You're still pale."
Marguerite gave in less than gracefully, even performing something of a restricted flounce as she accepted the bag and popped it to her teeth.
For some reason, that made Julius smile. He didn't comment, however, but simply waited patiently for her to finish and then tucked the empty bag away in the cooler when she was done.
Relieved to finally be able to leave the cramped space they were sharing, Marguerite stepped out from beside the toilet the moment he closed the bag and turned to the door. However, the train began to slow then and rather than exit, he turned to speak, and then paused as he found himself face-to-face with her.
Julius's eyes became hooded as he peered down at her expectant face and then he murmured, "We'll have to wait. The aisles and corridor will be crowded with people disembarking. It's best to wait until the train starts to move again and everyone is settled."
"Oh," Marguerite breathed, her gaze somehow finding its own way to his lips.
She felt his fingers brush over the skin of her arm and shivered slightly at the tingle the small touch sent through her. Her gaze returned to his eyes then and she saw the silver of his eyes flicker as if he too had felt the shock of attraction she'd experienced, then his hand was curving over her shoulder to wrap around the base of her neck. He used his hold to draw her forward and tilt her head at the same time as his mouth lowered to hers.
The first touch of Julius's mouth on hers was a revelation. Marguerite may have felt something the first time Jean Claude had kissed her. She'd been infatuated by the man after all. But seven hundred years of pain and cruelty had followed those days and by the end, she'd felt nothing at all when he'd touched or kissed her.
Her reaction to Julius was a stark contrast. Marguerite felt almost too much as his soft lips brushed over hers, then settled firmly and urged her own open. Suddenly breathless, her body humming, she moaned into his mouth and slid her arms around his neck, pressing close as his hands ran over her back urging her closer still.
Julius was not unaffected. His hold on her neck tightened almost painfully before his hand suddenly slid up, his fingers tangling in her hair. He used that hold to direct her head as his mouth became demanding on hers. His tongue filled her and his hips ground into her so that she felt the proof of the effect she had on him. But she didn't need that to tell her what he was feeling, she was experiencing it herself, his excitement and pleasure and need rushing into her, joining her own and bouncing back to him, only to return doubled again.
Heat roaring through her, Marguerite curled the fingers of one hand into the hair at the back of his neck and tugged in demand while with the other she clawed at his shoulder.
The train shuddered as it came to a halt and they both stumbled, breaking the kiss, then Julius urged her back against the wall, pinning her there with his weight as his lips traveled across her cheek to her neck. Gasping, Marguerite tilted her head back briefly, moaning as his teeth grazed the tender flesh. She didn't notice that he'd set to work on undoing the buttons of her blouse until he suddenly pulled the sides apart and leaned back to look at what he'd revealed.
Marguerite bit her lip as his eyes slid hungrily over the black silk under her blouse.
"This has been driving me crazy since we met in the lobby of the hotel," he growled, running two fingers of one hand lightly over the curve of one black silk encased breast. "What is this?"
"A chemise," she whispered, flushing and starting to feel embarrassed and uncomfortable as the passion and their connection began to slip away.
"I could see it through your blouse," Julius growled.
Marguerite opened her mouth to explain that it was supposed to be visible through the blouse, but gasped instead as his hand suddenly closed over one breast. Then his mouth was on hers again and passion leapt in her once more.
Moaning into his mouth as he tugged the soft cloth of the chemise aside so he could touch her breast unhampered, Marguerite pressed herself into his leg raising her own slightly to rub it against his groin at the same time. In the next moment, Julius had turned them both until the small sink counter was at her back. Pressing her against it, he broke their kiss and ducked his head to replace his hand at her breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth and lavishing it with attention as his hands reached for the hem of the short black skirt she'd donned that morning. He quickly began to draw it up her hips.
Excitement coursing through veins too long denied, Marguerite immediately reached to cup his erection in her hand and squeezed encouragingly, then cried out as Julius bit down on her nipple lightly in response. Raising his head at once, he kissed her again as his hands finished with her skirt, raising it almost to her waist so that one hand could slide between her legs. This time it was Marguerite who bit down, grazing his tongue briefly before she controlled herself and began to suck on it instead as his fingers brushed against her through her panties. Then he tugged the delicate cloth aside and found the warm, wet spot waiting for him.
By the time, he lifted her onto the tiny counter, Marguerite had forgotten where they were and that people could be outside the door. Her legs wrapped around him automatically and she reached between them to help with his belt and the unfastening of his dress pants when he reached for them.
"Marguerite?" Tiny's query was followed by a knock on the door that made both Marguerite and Julius freeze. A second knock made them break apart.
Marguerite stared into Julius Notte's ebony eyes watching the silver fire recede, leaving them mostly shadowed black... and wondered what on earth she thought she was doing. She'd nearly had sex in a cramped little bathroom on a moving train between London and York, for God's sake. What had she been thinking? This was not keeping her distance.
Another knock sounded at the door, drawing her from her thoughts as Tiny said, "Marguerite? Are you okay?"
Biting her lip, she avoided Julius's gaze and began to tuck herself back into her clothes, doing up buttons and pushing her skirt back down over her hips. She heard Julius breathe a curse, then he eased away from her and began to straighten his own clothes. They finished at about the same time, then he reached around her to grab the black cooler, his mouth thinning when she shrank from his touch.
Pausing, Julius peered at her and said quietly, "I would never hurt you, Marguerite. You have nothing to fear from me."
Then he turned and opened the door, murmuring something to Tiny as he stepped out and headed back into the train carriage.
"Are you all right?" Tiny asked, eyeing her with concern through the open door.
Marguerite let her breath out on a sigh, but nodded. "Yes. I'll be there in a minute, just... give me a minute," she said wearily.
Tiny hesitated, then nodded and closed the door, leaving her alone.
Closing her eyes, Marguerite stood still for a minute, then turned to peer at herself in the mirror. She may have straightened her clothes, but the signs of what had happened were all over her, written in her rumpled hair, her swollen lips, and--Dear God, was that a hickey? She ran her fingers lightly over the barely visible mark, then lowered her head and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply.
Everything was fine, she assured herself. Everything would be fine. But she was having trouble believing it. She'd just indulged in a necking session and almost sex in a cramped and really not very clean--she noticed now--train bathroom.
Everything wasn't all right. She was in trouble. She'd fallen in at the deep end and was sinking fast. Marguerite was not the promiscuous sort to go hopping men at every turn. Jean Claude had been the only lover she'd ever had, though lover was a kind description. It just wasn't her nature to be indulging in a sordid little bit of hanky-panky in a train toilet. It seemed to her that her best bet was to solve this case as quickly as she could and then scurry back to the safety of her home and family.
And that was that, Marguerite thought determinedly as she turned to open the door of the bathroom to head back to her seat.
"There you are," Tiny rumbled as she settled back in her seat. "I nearly came to blows keeping your seat for you when everyone got on this last time. These Brits are quick bastards."
Marguerite managed a shaky smile knowing that was the only reason he'd said it. He was just trying to make her smile. He wouldn't have had to fend for her seat, their seats were reserved. "Thank you for guarding it for me."
"No problem." He eyed her and then asked under his breath, "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Thank you for coming when you did," she answered and meant it. She was sure he'd saved her some heartache by interrupting what had been happening. Leaning over, she gave him a grateful kiss on the cheek, then picked up the magazine she'd been reading, raising it in front of her face to hide from the three pairs of male eyes she could feel on her; Christian, Julius, and even Marcus were all staring at her as if she had sprouted a third nose.
Ignoring them, Marguerite forced her gaze over the lines of the magazine article she'd been pretending to read. She'd purchased the magazine in the train station, choosing it because it had an article on York in it. Since she'd never been to the medieval city, she'd hoped to learn something about their destination. She hadn't learned a thing. Not because the article wasn't good or informative, Marguerite couldn't say if it was or not. She hadn't absorbed a word of the damned article, her attention had kept slipping to Julius. Now, her eyes were staying firmly on the magazine in her hand, but her mind was slipping back to those heated moments in the bathroom.
Trying to distract herself, she glanced out the window, watching the nightscape roll by. In the dark it looked not unlike Canada, and she found herself thinking of home and her daughter and worrying. This was the second night she hadn't contacted her family. They'd have started to worry when she hadn't called the night before. She'd called every night since landing in England.
Of course, Tiny would have called Jackie to check in and she'd let the others know they were fine and what was happening, Marguerite assured herself, letting that worry go. It still left her worrying about her daughter, but Tiny would have told her if anything was happening at that end. Maybe. Vincent probably wouldn't be the first to hear if his cousin went into labor. He and her son Bastien used to be close and seemed to be rebuilding that old friendship, but he really didn't know Lissianna well.
"Tiny, would you trade seats with me? I'd like a word with Marguerite."
Marguerite glanced up in surprise to find Julius standing in the aisle next to them. Tiny hesitated, his questioning gaze moving to her, and Marguerite could have kissed him for his loyalty. He wouldn't move unless she said it was okay. The problem was, it would be incredibly rude of her to say no, especially when the man had shared blood from their supply with her. As for what had taken place in the bathroom, she hadn't been fighting him off. He hadn't forced her, so that gave her no excuse to be rude.
"Marguerite?" Tiny asked quietly when the silence drew out.
Sighing, she gave a slight nod of her head. He nodded back and then stood and the two men shuffled around each other in the narrow space afforded as they switched seats.
Marguerite eyed Julius warily once he was settled in Tiny's seat.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked with stiff politeness after a moment. When her eyes widened incredulously, he quickly added, "From the blood."
A cough from Marcus made them glance his way.
When he raised his eyebrows at Julius, Marguerite didn't know what he was trying to say, but then she realized that Julius had been speaking in a normal voice when he'd mentioned the blood. She glanced to Julius to see that he was just grasping the meaning behind Marcus's expression as well. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd done, then he looked angry with himself, and then confused as if he couldn't understand how he could have done something like that and finally he just looked defeated. She almost felt sorry for him.
"Marguerite?" he said quietly after a moment.
"Yes?" she asked reluctantly.
"Did I offend you in some way last night?"
She blinked in surprise at the question. "No, not at all."
"Good," he said, nodding solemnly. "It's just that when you met us in the lobby you wouldn't even look at me, and I noticed in the taxi and then on the train you chose to sit as far from me as you could."
Marguerite stared at him silently, her mind awhirl. How was she supposed to answer that? What could she say? "Oh no, I'm not offended at all, I simply can't read you, am eating and fear I'm falling in love with you and while twenty-four hours ago that would have horrified me, I now find that I'm quite wishy-washy on the subject and am hoping that you can't read me either so we could have a true relationship as lifemates. Would you mind trying to read me right now so that I can either jump across this table and kiss you if you can't read me or get myself as far away from you as I can if you are able to read me?"
Marguerite was rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, when Marcus suddenly leaned across the aisle and hissed at Julius, "Tell her you can't read her."
Eyes widening, Marguerite glanced from one man to the other in question. Marcus was looking grim and insistent, Julius was looking startled. He stared at the other man with shock, then jumped up, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from the seat and along the aisle out of the carriage.
"Did I hear that right? Did Marcus just say that Julius can't read you?"
Marguerite turned to look at Tiny as he dropped back into his own seat. She nodded slowly.
He considered her expression. "You don't look as horrified as I expected."
Marguerite breathed out a little sigh and confessed, "I'm a bit confused. I don't think I'm as afraid of relationships as I thought, just non-lifemate relationships."
"Like the one you had with Jean Claude," Tiny suggested.
She nodded.
"But if Julius can't read you and you can't read him, and you're eating... is he eating too?" he asked curiously.
Marguerite nodded.
"So... he's your lifemate, which would be an okay relationship. Right?"
"I think so," she said uncertainly.
"That's what I thought," Tiny said sounding relieved. She understood why when he added, "So, I guess I don't have to run interference any more, right?"
"I--" She shook her head helplessly, unsure what anything meant at the moment, but he took it as agreement that he didn't have to and released a breath of relief.
"Good. Cause I thought Julius was going to kill me when he came out of that bathroom."
"Really?" Marguerite asked with surprise. She hadn't noticed anything at the time.
Tiny nodded solemnly. "Trust me, if looks could kill, I'd be vampire fodder right now."
Marguerite patted his hand gently, "I'm sorry. Thank you."
Tiny chuckled. "You can still say that now that you know he can't read you? Seems to me if you'd known that at the time you wouldn't have been thanking me at all."
She blinked in surprise at the words, but realized they were true. If she'd known Julius couldn't read her in that bathroom, as worked up as she'd been, Marguerite might very well have been tearing his clothes off and telling Tiny to get lost, she thought wryly, her gaze shifting to the carriage door.
Marguerite watched through the window with interest as Julius appeared to berate Marcus in the corridor outside the carriage door. She had to wonder why he was so upset at her knowing he couldn't read her, but then thought perhaps he didn't know she couldn't read him either. Or maybe he had some fears of his own.
Tiny followed her glance and teased, "I'd say it's not too late, that you have ten or fifteen minutes before we get to York to drag him back in the bathroom, but it doesn't look to me like he's in the mood at the moment."
"No it doesn't," Marguerite agreed quietly as she watched the men.
"I can't believe you said that," Julius growled as the pneumatic doors closed behind him and Marcus, sealing them in the corridor between trains. Turning, he glared at the man who had been his best friend since the cradle. "Especially after you're the one who assured me it would be a bad idea to get into the whole lifemate deal because she was gun-shy after Jean Claude and wouldn't react well."
"That was Christian," Marcus argued.
"You said something similar in Italy before we flew over here," Julius insisted grimly.
"Yes, well, I was really more concerned about resolving the problems of the past than that. And she won't run," he assured him firmly. "I wouldn't have said what I did otherwise. She is afraid after her experience with Jean Claude, but her mind is turning. You are lifemates, and she can't fight it any more than you."
Julius scowled at the words. Knowing it was true. Despite everything he wanted her, loved her, felt like he needed her. He should be moving cautiously and even angry at her, but instead he wanted to love her and coddle her and give her everything she wanted and needed. Like his hunger for blood, his hunger for her was just as impossible to ignore. It had tormented him for all these centuries they'd been apart, filling his dreams with memories of her laughter, her smell, and her taste, leaving him miserable and lonely on awaking to find her gone, nothing but bitter memories in her place.
"It's true, Julius," Marcus said, apparently thinking his silence was denial. "You're confused and distracted and your mind is an open book to me at the moment. I know you've fallen in love with her all over again."
"I never stopped loving her," Julius admitted grimly. "Despite everything, I couldn't make myself stop loving her."
"Yes," Marcus said sadly, and then shrugged and said simply, "You are lifemates."
Julius turned away and paced to the door of the carriage, his eyes finding Marguerite at once. She was talking to Tiny, her expression uncertain and confused. It made him want to hurry in there, take her in his arms and comfort her, tell her everything would be all right.
"She will not run, but we still don't know what happened when Christian was born," Marcus pointed out quietly.
Julius's mouth flattened unhappily. "Why doesn't she remember me? Us? Our meeting before and loving each other." He turned to Marcus and asked, "I take it you haven't found anything in her memory to help us figure that out?"
"No." He shook his head with regret. "I've searched her mind several times and there is nothing. Just as I found in California, the memories of that time are simply gone. If I didn't know better I would say she wasn't the same woman."
"She's my Marguerite," Julius said firmly.
"Yes. Of course, but... Why has she no memory of you? If she were mortal I would say a three-on-one had been done to her to wipe her memory, but that isn't possible with an immortal."
Julius's mouth compressed stubbornly. "It doesn't matter. As I said when you first told me this on returning from California... Obviously something was done to her. Things are not as we had thought."
"I agree something was done to her, but what? And when? And, more importantly, is she innocent?"
Julius sighed unhappily at the questions he could not answer. "I hope to God she is Marcus. I love her enough that I could forgive her almost anything... but not for trying to kill our son."
