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After all of his objections, scorn, and general lack of helpfulness during Vincent’s ordeal with Lydia, the surly Spaniard not only needed his help to maintain control over his territory, but also was asking for assistance with a situation involving a mortal woman. The irony was too rich.

“Oh, hell.” His laughter increased into full-blown hilarity.

* * *

Clayton threw down the letter from the Lord of Farnborough with a curse. “Lily-livered jackanapes,” he growled.

“Hmm?” Hamish blinked at him over the rim of his glass of whisky.

Clayton answered, though he was mostly talking to himself. “Farnborough agrees to stand with us, but just like Grimsby and Liverpool, he refuses to enter London until the day of the battle.” He shifted on the sofa, hissing in pain as his bullet wound protested. Burn wounds took so much longer to heal. “Cowardly sods.”

To add further salt to the wound, the Lord of Blackpool, one of Villar’s allies, had entered London and was now settled in a town house far more luxurious than Clayton’s.

One consolation, however, was that thus far Blackpool seemed to be the only ally that Villar was able to muster. Clayton smiled, not surprised that he wasn’t the only vampire who despised the pernicious, disfigured Spaniard.

“I still cannot believe he appointed Elizabeth as his new third-in-command. She’s an uppity wench.” Clayton shook his head. “The real farce is Villar promoting Anthony to be his second. I’ve never met a more foolish vampire. That buffoon cannot take anything seriously.” Despite the pain of his wound, a slow smile spread across Clayton’s lips. “However, his greatest folly is in allowing his little countess to live.”

It was time to notify the Elders of what Villar had been up to behind their backs. “Hamish, fetch me parchment and quill.”

The vampire heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Can’t Paul or Francis do it? I only now became comfortable.”

In a flash, Clayton launched from his seat and seized Hamish by the throat. Lifting him off the settee, Clayton leaned in and growled. “Never refute my orders in such an insolent manner!”

Hamish’s skin went chalk white. “Y-yes, my lord,” he choked out.

“The next time you do so will be your last.” Clayton threw Hamish to the floor. “Now do as I bid and then fetch me a harlot. You’ve aggravated my wound.”

The vampire scurried away and Clayton sighed, rubbing his temples. He must take a firmer hand with his people. He could not be as lax in his reign as Rafael had been. All would obey him without question or suffer the consequences.

When Hamish returned with the writing implements and departed with a much more subservient demeanor, Clayton managed a smile. The smile broadened as he dipped his quill and composed a scathing report, cataloging all of Rafael Villar’s transgressions.

Folding the letter, he absently rubbed his healing bullet wound. He still couldn’t believe the bastard had shot him. Trust a cripple to use such cowardly methods. Villar would pay for that insult as well as all the others.

After sealing the envelope, Clayton ordered Hamish to place it in the hands of a trusted messenger. He congratulated himself on his ingenious timing. The Elders should arrive in London just when he would need them.

Twenty-four

30 October 1823

Cassandra watched Rafe staring out the library window with concern. The night was so foggy that it was doubtful he could see anything, even with superior sight.

“Are you all right, Rafe?” she dared to ask.

He sighed and pulled a cigar from his breast pocket. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Who? Rochester or Deveril?” She tried to keep her voice casual, though inside she was aching for him. She had a fairly good guess of whom he was referring to. How could they abandon him in his time of need?

Rafe lit his cigar and turned to face her. “I was referring to Deveril…though I suppose it very well could be both, since one never knows with Rochester.”

“Well, at least the Lord of Blackpool is here,” she ventured with a cautious note of optimism, though her stomach churned with worry. What if Rafe lost the battle with Clayton?

He saw right through her feigned hope. “Things are not as bleak as they seem, Querida. Half of London’s vampires still remain loyal to me, and my meeting this evening went well. Blackpool and I—”

A knock sounded at the door before Anthony poked his head in. “The Lord of Cornwall is here, my lord, and—”

“Send him in,” Rafe said with barely disguised urgency.

Anthony obeyed with a quick bow and Cassandra breathed a silent prayer of thanks.