January 1, 1858
Simon stood inshock and utter darkness, along with the rest of Lady Cheshire’s guests, as her footmen scrambled to relight the candelabras.
What just happened? And where is Sophie?
She was no longer in his arms. It was as though she’d been ripped away from him. He moved blindly about the room, straining his eyes in the darkness to see. But it was no use. The room was in chaos. People were bumping into each other, crying out, “Not again!” and “Let there be light!”
Suddenly, a great clap and thundering boom sounded, and the sky outside the large sash windows lit up. Streaks of green, blue, red, and white shot through the air.
“Happy New Year!” someone shouted.
The guests broke out into applause and made for the garden, bellowing, “Happy New Year!” as they went. Everyone appeared joyous, but Simon felt something was intrinsically wrong. The first time the light had suddenly died that night, the aura in the room had been different—playful, even mischievous. The second time they’d been extinguished by an icy wind—one that had chilled him to the bone. Evil had been present in the room, and his gut told him that Sophie had been caught up in it somehow.
The light in the now mostly empty ballroom gradually returned as the standing candelabras were relit. But Sophie was nowhere to be seen. Simon moved frantically through the ballroom, searching. He approached the French doors that led to the garden, intending to continue his search outside, but Miss Waterford accosted him before he could step onto the patio.
“Lord Rodwell! There you are. Happy New Year to you,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead and swaying slightly as though she might swoon. “I was almost frightened out of my wits when those fireworks started.”
“Happy New Year,” Simon said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “Have you seen the young lady with whom I was dancing?”
“Do you mean mad Miss Spencer?” She dropped her hand from her forehead and gave him a scathing look.
“Don’t call her that,” Simon said.
“And why shouldn’t I? Sheismad. It is well known she talks to ghosts.”
“Gossip doesn’t become you, Miss Waterford,” Simon said, and the lady scowled. But something about her words rang true. Simon frowned, remembering seeing Miss Spencer at the cemetery and then again on Oxford Street right before the high winds struck. And now, there was yet another strange incident. He did not believe in ghosts or the supernatural. That was the stuff of fairytales. Still, he could not shake the feeling that Sophie was in trouble.
Chapter Seven
Sophie crouched inthe darkness on the bare floor of the cold stone vault and wished for her velvet cloak. It had been left behind at Lady Cheshire’s. Perhaps Miss Waterford will reclaim it,she thought wryly.Perhaps I deserve this.She ran her hand over her pink satin dress.Stealing is a terrible crime after all.
Oh, Aunt Mildred, Aunt Agnes, where are you? You must know by now that Alexi has snatched me.It wouldn’t be long before they came to find her. But they’d be no match for Alexi. Ghosts had advantages over vampires. They could make themselves invisible, and they could enter and exit buildings through the walls, but they wouldn’t be able to compete with a vampire’s speed and strength. If Alexi wanted to kill her, he could do so within seconds, and her aunts wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.
Sophie shrank back as the door to the vault opened, and the vampire stepped inside carrying a flaming torch. She gasped. His fangs were out, and his mouth was stained with blood. He was a frightening sight indeed, but he was not Alexi. To be sure, he was as tall and pale as Alexi, but his hair was white-blond and his eyes deep gold.
Sophie trembled as he stepped toward her, certain he was going to kill her.
“This is to keep you warm,” he said, fixing the blazing torch to a sconce on the wall.
“Please let me go,” Sophie said. “My aunts will be searching for me.”
He nodded. “No doubt.”
Sophie’s stomach knotted. He clearly did not see her aunts as a threat. “What do you want from me?” she asked. “And what have you done with Alexi?”
The vampire fixed his golden eyes on her and gave her a long, hard stare. “You are so like your papa,” he said.
“My papa?” Sophie straightened. “What do you know of my papa? Is he alive?”
“That remains to be seen,” he said. Then he turned and walked to an open casket that lay in the center of the vault, climbed inside, and closed the lid.
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief when he was out of sight. Grateful for the light he’d given her, she stood, determined to find a way out of her prison.But first, I must get rid of my crinoline.The enormous cage that was the fashion for women was cumbersome and would hinder her escape, so it had to go.
Glancing at the coffin to check it was still closed, she lifted the skirt of her dress, untied the cotton ties that held up her crinoline at the waist, and let it drop to the floor.
Good riddance, she thought, as she stepped out of the cage and then kicked it into the corner. Sophie then removed the torch from the sconce and held it up, scanning the vault’s walls. As expected, there were no windows. She walked around the structure, pressing against the walls and checking for any weak spots. There were none. The door, too, was securely fastened shut. There was no way out.
*
