She stepped back, and he released her. She wandered around the office, noting the two leather wingback chairs, the desk, computer, and file cabinets. She stopped by a worktable that was strewn with beautiful fabric in shades of green and blue. A pile of peacock feathers begged to be touched. She stroked the soft fronds.
"I knew you would have to touch," he spoke quietly behind her. "You like texture."
Her skin prickled with goose bumps. "How did you know?"
"I've been watching you." He moved close beside her. "You like the smoothness of silk against your bare skin. You like to touch chenille and velvet." He picked up a peacock feather. "This reminded me of you. It holds all the different shades of green and turquoise that I see in your eyes. They change slightly when you're smiling or frowning or...climaxing."
She shot him an annoyed look. "Your eyes change, too."
He smiled and handed her a stack of sketches. "What do you think?"
She looked them over. He was so talented. He managed to draw on centuries of fashion experience and create something both classic and new. "They're beautiful."
"So is my inspiration." He stroked the edge of the feather down the side of her face and down her neck.
She dropped the sketches and paced toward the window. She gazed down at the mannequins, stark white in the dark showroom. "I need to know more about you."
"What do you wish to know?"
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass. "Everything. You know everything about me."
He sighed. "There's not much to tell. I was born a poor peasant, the son of Jean who cleaned out the stable. I don't recall a family name."
She turned to face him. "What about Echarpe?"
"I acquired that name after I was transformed. Some Vamps gave it to me as a jest. After women...encountered me, they would wear a scarf to hide the marks." He shrugged. "Echarpe means 'scarf.'"
She winced. "A sad joke."
"Much of my life has been a sad joke. I have...fought to be where I am today."
She could relate to that. "Is it true what you said the other night - that your mother died when you were young?"
Frowning, he sat in one of the wingback chairs. "Both my parents died. I was orphaned by the age of six. The baron allowed me to sleep in the stable and take over my father's duties."
Heather huffed. "Well, that was kind of him."
"It was better than being homeless."
She walked toward him, stopping at the desk. "Go on."
"The baron was a seasoned warrior, and he had several wards living at the chateau with his son. He was training them all for knighthood. I would hide behind barrels to watch. Then I practiced at night in the stable with a staff."
She nodded. "I bet you were good."
"The baron's son was a bully, and he would beat the other boys to a pulp. The baron did nothing, for he was proud of his son. One day, when I was about ten years old, the son had one of the wards down on the ground, and he was pummeling him with a club. I grabbed my staff and shoved him away. We engaged in battle."
Heather winced. As a history teacher, she understood the severe consequences if a peasant attacked one of his superiors.
"The servants were yelling at me to stop and run away," Jean-Luc continued. "The other wards ran to alert the baron. And I continued to fight. I fought like a madman. All my years of frustration and misery erupted with so much anger."
"I can believe that." She'd been so angry at herself for her years of being a doormat. "What did the baron do?"
"He ordered us to stop. I realized then what I had done. I thought I was going to die." Jean-Luc rubbed his brow, frowning. "That was the first time I felt the full extent of being powerless. My fate was entirely in the hands of another man."
"How terrible." Heather moved to the chair next to him.
"To everyone's surprise, the baron walked up to his son and backhanded him across the face so hard, the boy fell to the ground with a cut lip. The baron called it punishment for failing to kill an inferior in battle. Then he said if I wanted to fight, I could. I was astonished, but it seemed much better than mucking out the stables for the rest of my life, so I agreed."
"You trained with the other boys?"
"Yes. The next few years were difficult. I had to be on guard constantly, for the baron's son was always trying to ambush me and beat the hell out of me."
"What a creep."
Jean-Luc smiled. "He was. The king at that time, Louis XII, was trying to take over Italy. He demanded his nobles send him their best knights. The baron was linked to the powerful de Guise family who wanted the king to fail, so the baron was told to send his worst. And so I was quickly knighted. Another sad joke."
Heather winced. "You couldn't have been the worst."
"I had no real battle experience. And no family, so I was expendable. I was given a poor excuse for a horse, and some pathetic old weapons."
"Oh my gosh, they sent you to die."
"Exactly. I remember the baron laughing, saying that his decision to train me had paid off. I was sent instead of his son to die in a war that was doomed to fail." Jean-Luc closed his eyes briefly. "I swore that day that I would never be powerless again. I would never be a pawn again."
Heather touched his arm. "I'm so sorry."
He took her hand in his. "My first battle was in 1500. I survived."
"You were only fifteen."
He nodded. "I continued to do well. I was noticed and given a better horse and equipment. I was working my way up the ranks until 1513 and the Battle of the Spurs."
"That's when you..."
"Died. The English invaded France at Guinegate, and my comrades fled in battle. I was so angry that I stood my ground and slashed the first Englishman who approached me. A stupid mistake, for soon I was surrounded and stabbed many times. They left me to die."
Heather shuddered, and he tightened his grip on her hand.
"That night, Roman found me. I didn't want to die."
"Of course not. You were so young."
"Yes, but it was more than that. I wanted to be in charge of my own destiny. I was sick of being powerless. I wanted power, even power over death."
Heather swallowed hard. "I guess you got it."
He smiled wryly. "I can still die. And the final joke to my short life as a mortal - the following morning, my body was gone, so the Battle of the Spurs has gone down in the history books as a bloodless battle. I was the one forgotten casualty."
"I'm sorry."
He squeezed her hand. "Only a few know my story. I hate to even remember how pathetic I was."
"I felt pathetic, too, that I let everyone boss me around. But you know, we're not pathetic at all. We're conquerors. We have both struggled to change our lives for the better." She winced inwardly. She'd just admitted his life as a vampire was an improvement.
"I won't lie to you, chérie. The vampire world is just as violent as the mortal one. The Malcontents are growing an army, and another war could break out. That would be a disaster for us all. Such a war could not escape notice. The media would be all over it."
She took a deep breath. "Your secret would be out."
He nodded. "Exactly."
And there would be people determined to hunt down all vampires and kill them. "That would be a disaster." She withdrew her hand and leaned back in her chair. The vampire world was a dangerous one. How could she drag her daughter into it?
He stood and wandered to the window overlooking the showroom. "I need to warn you about the runway show a week from Saturday. I thought about canceling it, since it gives Lui an opportunity to attack you. But we decided to go ahead with it."
She gulped. "So I'm going to be a sitting duck?"
He turned to face her. "I will be by your side the entire evening. We will be well prepared. It is better this way. Better to draw him here where we can control the situation. And better for it to happen at night when all the Vamps are awake and able to protect you."
She nodded slowly. "Better to get it over with, too." She didn't want to live with the threat of Louie any longer than necessary. "But we have to keep my daughter and Fidelia safe. I won't let you put them in danger."
"Agreed." He paced over to his worktable. "Now you know what I fear the most. I hate being powerless. Being a vampire has given me many powers, super strength and speed, and so on, but it also has one terrible weakness. I am totally powerless during the day."
She rose to her feet. "You have your guards to keep you safe."
He shook his head and picked up a swatch of green silk. "It is not my safety that worries me. Every morning at sunrise, when I slip into my death-sleep, I am gripped with a terrible fear that something will happen to you while I lie there powerless to help you." He crushed the fabric in his fist. "I could not bear it."
"It'll be all right." She rushed to the table. "I have Phil and Ian, and Fidelia with her guns. And I'm not totally helpless myself." She touched his arm. "We all have fears that plague us."
"And are you still afraid of me? Of what I am?" He dropped the fabric on the table. "How can I convince you that it changes nothing? I will still love you no matter what. I will always love you."
Tears stung her eyes, and she turned away. "It's not that I don't - I think you're a wonderful man."
He picked up a peacock feather and dragged the soft fronds up her bare arm. "I'm trying so hard not to touch you."
Her arm tingled. Her heart ached with a need to comfort him. He so needed to be loved. He deserved all the love that a good life should have, the love he'd never had.
With a small cry, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. "You're a good man, Jean-Luc. A beautiful man."
"Heather." He held her lightly as if trying to retain control. "I want you so." His hand skimmed up and down her back, inciting delicious little tingles.
She needed to back away, but he was so solid. So easy to lean on. She felt his chin rub against her hair. His lips brushed against her brow. The familiar tug of desire spread through her.
His arms tightened. "Let me court you." He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear, "Let me love you."
She glanced at his face, and her breath stuck in her throat. The light blue irises in his eyes were changing. "Your eyes are turning red."
He smoothed her hair back from her brow. "It's a problem I keep having whenever I'm around you."
"Why? Do I make you hungry?"
"You make me ache with desire. My eyes are merely a reflection of the passion burning inside me."
"You mean they turn red when you're...turned on?"
"Yes." He smiled slowly. "You could help me alleviate the problem. But I'm afraid it would continue to arise, over and over again."
Oh God, would that be such a bad way to spend the rest of her life? A seed of panic rose in her stomach. She wasn't ready to commit to such a different life for her and her daughter. "I - I need to go." She stepped back.
He released her. "As you wish, chérie."
She left and slipped inside her dark bedroom. Good Lord, what should she do? She had no doubt that Phineas was correct, and being a vampire didn't change a person's character. Jean-Luc was just as noble and honorable as he'd been when alive. Maybe even more so. His additional years of existence had given him a wisdom and maturity that Heather found very appealing. And of course, he was very sexy. He was wonderful with Bethany, kind and generous to Fidelia. He was perfect in every way but one. He was a vampire.
But being a vampire hadn't changed Jean-Luc, and it wasn't changing how she felt about him. Now that she was over the initial shock, she realized she was still attracted to him, still in love with him. And that scared her more than his pointed teeth ever had. For she was seriously considering a relationship with him.
Part of her told her that was crazy. She'd known Jean-Luc a week now. How could she make a decision that would affect her entire life? And Bethany's, too. How could she explain to her daughter that Mommy's new boyfriend was dead during the day? How could she burden a young child with such secrets? But the alternative, keeping the truth from her daughter, would make Heather feel dishonest and guilty.
Overall, it was a difficult situation. She would age, and Jean-Luc wouldn't. She would be dragging her daughter into a bizarre world. On the other hand, she might be giving her daughter a wonderful and loving stepfather.
But he would be dead during the day. Heather's mind flipped back and forth between the pros and cons. It was enough to give her a major headache. She fumbled across the room in the dark to the bathroom, then she closed the door and turned on the light.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Fidelia had told her to follow her heart. Her heart longed for Jean-Luc, but her head urged caution. If Jean-Luc became part of her family and it didn't work out, she wouldn't be the only one with a broken heart. Bethany would suffer, too.
Heather sighed. She was at war with fear, but in this particular battle, fear was winning. The safest course of action was retreat. She should pull back before her love for Jean-Luc overwhelmed her.
Heather worked hard Friday, trying not to think about Jean-Luc. That night, he asked if she'd like to talk in his office, and she declined. The sad look in his eyes pierced her heart, and she hurried to her bedroom. Fidelia asked what was wrong, but she could only shake her head with a lump in her throat.