Page 11 of Vampire's Breath

I followed Briar back to the office. As we got near, she pointed at a bench running along the side of the building with a hose nearby. “I’ll clean it over there.”

I carried the plant to where she indicated and wrestled it from the pot, shaking as much dirt from the roots as I could as she turned on an overhead light. She moved toward me, reaching for the hose. I stepped in, stopping her hand. “Why don’t you let me?” I glanced at her cream-colored shirt that accentuated her figure. “Your clothes.”

She smiled, handing me the hose. “Thanks.” She took a step back. “I appreciate it.”

She watched as I cleaned the soil from the roots and trimmed a few that had been damaged in the shock of the fall, then I rinsed the pot and replaced the plant. I glanced around thebench and located a bin of soil. In minutes, the plant sat nestled in new compost. I cleaned my hands in the water from the hose, the tang of the earth and damaged leaves vying with the soft perfume of her skin.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft as she spoke, and her smile lit up her face. “I didn’t mean to put you to work.”

“I volunteered.” I stopped myself from brushing her arm with my fingers. She held a beauty I hadn’t seen in a hundred years, and my heart raced as I looked into her eyes, her pupils dilated.

“How did you know…?”

The corner of my mouth tilted up. “I came here to buy a plant. Remember?” It was the best I could come up with because the truth wasn’t an option.

“Well, um…” She broke away from my gaze. “Why don’t you go into the office, and I’ll get us a drink each. What would you like?”

“Irish whiskey?”

“Sure.”

Opening the door to the office, I let myself in and closed it behind me. There was something about her, something that put me at ease even amid a crowd that overwhelmed me. And here, her presence lingered like the sea fog that clung to the cliffs on Éire’s shores. Could I? I closed my eyes. Could I let someone into my life?

The office was cozy and homey. Briar had put effort into how she portrayed herself in this space. The perfume of her lavender-based shampoo hung faintly in the air, mixing with the aroma of drying herbs that hung above the plants on the right side of the office. I scanned the titles on the bookshelves behind her desk—books on plants and holistic healing methods, the kind of knowledge we learned as children but had been lost to modern thinking. Beyond those sat a section of books on history. It wasn’t the history I expected Briar to be interested in, but partof my history—Georgian England and the Regency. I smiled, remembering my last time as the Marquess of Dún Na Farraige.

The door behind me opened. “Lorcan? Your whiskey.” Briar reached out with the amber liquid. “I can go get some ice if you want it. I forgot to ask how you took it.” Her cheeks colored a warm red, and I could smell her blood.

“This is wonderful, thank you.” I took the glass, my fingers brushing against hers. An energy went through my arm that stole my breath.

“You have quite the selection of books there.” I forced the words out to start a conversation.

She curled her fingers around the stem of her wineglass, and her eyes glazed over with a sadness I couldn’t place. “I’m a bit of an amateur historian.”

“The Georgian period—especially the Regency—is fascinating. The art was good, but the literature…”

I relished London’s nightlife in those days, often attending salons and chatting with friends. Jane’s face would light up whenever she spoke of her inspiration for Fitzwilliam Darcy. And the last time I saw George was when he introduced me to Ada. What an underrated, intelligent woman she became, although she was a tiny bundle of swaddling clothes with puffy cheeks and huge brown eyes when I saw her just days before George walked out on his wife. What would he think of the bay my town sits on being named after him?

“Do you know much about history?” Briar’s voice pulled me back to now. Her eyes had brightened. She sat down at her desk. “Please, sit, be comfortable.” She pointed at the armchair in the corner instead of the green cushioned chairs meant for business by her desk.

The smooth velvet of the chair enveloped me as I accepted her invitation. I nodded an answer, a sense of dread growingin my stomach. “I’ve studied Georgian England extensively. Sometimes it almost feels as though I lived then.”

Briar straightened in her seat, her head cocked. “Did you ever hear about the trial of Lady Isobel Fitzwilliam? Well, she would have been Blackcairn during the trial.”

My grip tightened on my glass, her words stirring memories I would rather leave buried—Lord Edward Ashdowne’s body with a wooden knife protruding from his chest. I had arrived too late to hide the body and could do nothing but watch as an investigation began. But I couldn’t say the man didn’t deserve it.

I tilted my head, feigning mild curiosity. “Remind me?” I didn’t need reminding. Lady Isobel’s soft brown hair and oval face came to mind. I made a mental note to find her descendants again. It had been far too long since I checked in on them.

Briar leaned back in her chair. “Lady Isobel was convicted of murdering a man she claimed was a vampire. She used a knife fashioned out of a piece of wood to stab him through the heart.”

I blinked. How on earth did she know that?

“That’s an interesting tale. Where did you hear about it?”

I knew it wasn’t in the history books. The royal court buried it about as deeply as they could. With the king having gone mad, it didn’t look good for the peerage to be killing each other off, with claims of one of them being part of the immortal damned, no matter how in vogue they were at the time.

I studied Briar’s face. A cold hand gripped my spine as I waited for her answer with a modicum of fear—a fear that I would not have to look far to find Isobel’s descendants.

Briar pointed at the leather-bound journal on her desk, confirming my suspicion. She didn’t even need to say it. How many times had I seen that book?

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