But had her face been painted and her dress cheap dyed cotton, he wouldn’t have stopped to nudge her dead body. She didn’t really want his gallant services, but walking around with ripped clothing would attract attention.
“No, sir. Thank you. I walked past an exposed nail.” She glanced about in pretended distress. “Could you please hail me a cab?”
Pleased to be of assistance, he stepped toward the street, found her appropriate transportation, and lifted her inside the cab as though she were a kitten.
“You are most kind, sir.”
“Not at all,” he said, bowing slightly like a knight standing over a slain dragon.
The cabbie pulled out and followed her directions to Bridge Street, to Edward’s hotel suite. She’d never stopped viewing any of their various residences as Edward’s.
Apparently the aging Sir Galahad must have paid for her trip, because once she stepped down, the cabbie pulled away without a word.
Eleisha turned and headed up the stairs of the Green Gem Hotel to find Edward sitting on a velvet couch reading the newspaper.
“Hello, angel,” he said over a cup of tea.
She smiled absently, noticing how comfortable he always appeared inside a lavish hotel suite they would simply abandon in another few months. Didn’t he ever wish to stay in one place and make it a home?
William tottered out of his bedroom, messy silver hair hanging in his face. “Eleisha,” he said, smiling in a moment of coherence. “Time for supper?”
He and Edward had begun avoiding each other of late. Instead of becoming accustomed to William’s condition, Edward was growing more repulsed with each passing year. This bothered Eleisha.
“Yes, time for supper,” she said. “Just let me change, and I’ll get you a rabbit.”
She’d arranged for a local butcher shop to bring in live rabbits—for a substantial fee. Money meant nothing. From what she understood, Julian sent them enough money to support ten people in style. Edward believed he was doing her a service by managing their finances. He supplied her with spending money, and he always told her, “You only have to ask.”
But for some reason, lately, she didn’t like having to ask.
“Why are you changing clothes?” Edward lowered his paper and looked up over the top of his teacup. He was especially dashing tonight in a brown silk waistcoat.
“A thief on the pier tried to rob me,” she answered.
“Is he still with us?”
“No.”
“Good girl.”
He could still make her smile.
Two years later, Eleisha stood staring out yet another hotel window.
She didn’t hear him approach, but wasn’t surprised when Edward peered over her shoulder.
“See anything you like?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Shall we go to Delmonico’s?” he asked in a bright but forced tone. “Have something upscale for supper?”
She tilted her head back to look up at him. His green eyes were sad.
Neither he nor she seemed able to speak of anything beyond the moment. They rarely hunted together anymore—or rather she rarely wished to hunt with him.
“Of course,” she said, feeling guilty. “I’ll get my cloak.”
He nodded in relief, but his eyes were still sad.
Summer was approaching.
William was sitting on the velvet couch one night, carving a new set of checkers and talking quietly to himself. It troubled Eleisha that he only ventured out into the main sitting room now when Edward wasn’t home . . . No, it more than troubled her.
Tonight, she wore a comfortable muslin dress—that she’d purchased herself—and was walking around the hotel room in bare feet.
“Are you tired of carving, William?” she asked. “Would you like to play chess?”
“No, no. I’ll stoke up the fire,” he said.
“All right.”
She knew this was his answer for when he was content with his current activity. So she looked about the suite, wondering what to do with herself, trying not to let herself think. Lately, all she could do was think—to mull doubts and questions over and over again.
She had longed to ask Edward for the answers for years now, but at the same time, she resisted having to accept anything from him, to need him, to depend on him.
And so a few weeks ago, she’d gone to a library to do research on the undead. The wealth of material astounded her. She was bursting to know . . .
Turning her head, she heard Edward’s light footsteps on the stairwell, and a moment later, he swept in through the front door with a “Tallyho” and a bottle of red wine.
“Hello, darlings,” he called. “Daddy’s home. Look what I’ve found. A bottle of 1865 cabernet sauvignon. We should celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” she asked.
“Oh, I