famous Scottish artist employed by the royal families of Europe."
The young man who smiled at me from the painting was definitely a head turner—not beautiful in the true sense of the word but very hot. I figured him to be about my age, maybe a year or so younger. Light blond hair fell across his brow in a most becoming fashion and was tied back behind his neck. A lace ruffle at his throat and the patterned silk jacket he wore told me this was an eighteenth century painting. His eyes, a sparkling blue, were filled with laughter and mischief. Oh yes, I thought, I just bet you were a handful .
69
My Vampire and I
by J. P. Bowie
"His name was Thomas."
"What happened to him?" I asked, my eyes riveted to the painting.
"He died many years ago."
"So he wasn't a vampire? You didn't change him?"
"Yes," he said, not looking at me. "He was a vampire. No, I did not change him. He came to me already changed, some one hundred years before. A fledging, really. He left the one who changed him for me." A certain bitterness had crept into Marcus's voice, and I began to wish that I had never broached this particular subject.
"Marcus," I murmured. "If this is upsetting you, please ... I don't want you to be sad, remembering..."
His gaze returned to my worried face. He seemed to give himself a little shake, then he smiled at me. "This was a long time ago, but sometimes the memory of what happened, still fills me with anger. I apologise for turning our time together into a wake."
I would have loved to have changed the subject, but it occurred to me that perhaps he needed to talk this out.
Rather than let it always hang between us like an impenetrable curtain, I decided I should encourage him to vent. Putting down the portrait and my wineglass, I moved to him and wrapped him in my arms. For just a brief moment, he did not respond, and then, much to my relief, I felt his arms enfold me.
"Sweet Roger," he murmured in my ear. "Do I deserve someone as loving as you?"
70
My Vampire and I
by J. P. Bowie
"If that needs an answer," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere just a little, "it's an unequivocal yes." Gently, he pushed me back down onto the comforter and lay beside me.
I put my head on his shoulder. "Tell me what happened, if it doesn't hurt too much."
"Imagine if you will," he began, "The Paris Opera House, a gala performance by the Paris Symphony attended by the nobility of Europe. Kings, queens, princes, dukes, earls, all vying with one another to look the most splendid.
Everywhere, a sea of silk, satin, and lace confounds the eye.
Scents of every exotic variety mingle in the warm summer air, dizzying the senses.
"Into this fantastic scene step two men, and immediately every eye is riveted upon them. The clamour and the hubbub of voices die away, and the whispers begin. It's them , they say, the Comte d'Arcy and his acolyte, Thomas Lebrun .
"I had heard of d'Arcy, of course. His fame as an artist preceded him as did the scandal attached to his name. It was said he indulged in certain practices that precluded him from invitations to many a fashionable soirée. So, it was surprising that he should have been invited to attend this gala. But what was more surprising to me was that I immediately recognised them both as vampires. Paris then, of course, had its fair share of us, just like any large city, but not many could be seen in public. I knew they both must be 'older' vampires to be able to pass as normal humans. The assembled crowd might know d'Arcy for his scandalous deeds, but no one there could possibly guess that two of the living dead stood among them.
71
My Vampire and I
by J. P. Bowie
"The Comte d'Arcy was a handsome fellow, tall, of military bearing, and fashionably dressed, but it was Thomas who caught my entire attention. That portrait, excellent though it is, does not do him enough justice. His beauty seemed to transcend all around him. It was easy to see why d'Arcy had chosen him as his forever
The young man who smiled at me from the painting was definitely a head turner—not beautiful in the true sense of the word but very hot. I figured him to be about my age, maybe a year or so younger. Light blond hair fell across his brow in a most becoming fashion and was tied back behind his neck. A lace ruffle at his throat and the patterned silk jacket he wore told me this was an eighteenth century painting. His eyes, a sparkling blue, were filled with laughter and mischief. Oh yes, I thought, I just bet you were a handful .
69
My Vampire and I
by J. P. Bowie
"His name was Thomas."
"What happened to him?" I asked, my eyes riveted to the painting.
"He died many years ago."
"So he wasn't a vampire? You didn't change him?"
"Yes," he said, not looking at me. "He was a vampire. No, I did not change him. He came to me already changed, some one hundred years before. A fledging, really. He left the one who changed him for me." A certain bitterness had crept into Marcus's voice, and I began to wish that I had never broached this particular subject.
"Marcus," I murmured. "If this is upsetting you, please ... I don't want you to be sad, remembering..."
His gaze returned to my worried face. He seemed to give himself a little shake, then he smiled at me. "This was a long time ago, but sometimes the memory of what happened, still fills me with anger. I apologise for turning our time together into a wake."
I would have loved to have changed the subject, but it occurred to me that perhaps he needed to talk this out.
Rather than let it always hang between us like an impenetrable curtain, I decided I should encourage him to vent. Putting down the portrait and my wineglass, I moved to him and wrapped him in my arms. For just a brief moment, he did not respond, and then, much to my relief, I felt his arms enfold me.
"Sweet Roger," he murmured in my ear. "Do I deserve someone as loving as you?"
70
My Vampire and I
by J. P. Bowie
"If that needs an answer," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere just a little, "it's an unequivocal yes." Gently, he pushed me back down onto the comforter and lay beside me.
I put my head on his shoulder. "Tell me what happened, if it doesn't hurt too much."
"Imagine if you will," he began, "The Paris Opera House, a gala performance by the Paris Symphony attended by the nobility of Europe. Kings, queens, princes, dukes, earls, all vying with one another to look the most splendid.
Everywhere, a sea of silk, satin, and lace confounds the eye.
Scents of every exotic variety mingle in the warm summer air, dizzying the senses.
"Into this fantastic scene step two men, and immediately every eye is riveted upon them. The clamour and the hubbub of voices die away, and the whispers begin. It's them , they say, the Comte d'Arcy and his acolyte, Thomas Lebrun .
"I had heard of d'Arcy, of course. His fame as an artist preceded him as did the scandal attached to his name. It was said he indulged in certain practices that precluded him from invitations to many a fashionable soirée. So, it was surprising that he should have been invited to attend this gala. But what was more surprising to me was that I immediately recognised them both as vampires. Paris then, of course, had its fair share of us, just like any large city, but not many could be seen in public. I knew they both must be 'older' vampires to be able to pass as normal humans. The assembled crowd might know d'Arcy for his scandalous deeds, but no one there could possibly guess that two of the living dead stood among them.
71
My Vampire and I
by J. P. Bowie
"The Comte d'Arcy was a handsome fellow, tall, of military bearing, and fashionably dressed, but it was Thomas who caught my entire attention. That portrait, excellent though it is, does not do him enough justice. His beauty seemed to transcend all around him. It was easy to see why d'Arcy had chosen him as his forever
Similar Books
