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The lock clicked, and the book fell open
in Pascoe's hands.
Lord Blakely's invitation fluttered to
his feet. He scooped it up and started to hand it to her, then stopped.
He stared at it for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the Blakely coat of
arms.
He looked up, his pale eyes wide. "You've
received correspondence from Lord Blakely?"
"Oh. No. Well, rather, I suppose." Flan
shrugged and reached for the parchment. "It's merely an invitation. To a
late supper. Nothing of significance."
Pascoe pulled the invitation away.
"You're not thinking of going?"
Flan raised her chin. "Yes, actually."
She plucked the parchment from his fingers. "I am."
The lace handkerchief slipped from the
parchment, and Flan snatched it from the counter.
Pascoe frowned. "What is that?"
She shrugged. "Only a handkerchief."
"From Lord Blakely?" Pascoe's face grew
dark. "He sent you"--he reached out to touch the slip of fabric in her
hand--"he sent you a lace handkerchief? Flan." He looked up. "Please.
You can't go."
Something about the way he said her
name--and the way he looked at her with such alarm in his eyes--disarmed
her for a moment.
But only for a moment. "I can," she said.
"I've been invited to supper. There's no reason I shouldn't go."
"There every reason you shouldn't
go."
"Such as?"
"Such as--" Pascoe swallowed. "It's not
fitting."
"Not fitting?"
"Not safe. A young woman like you
shouldn't be venturing out alone. There are things going on here, Flan.
Things you know little about."
"Is that so? Well, Mr. Pascoe
Christopher." She raised her chin. "Perhaps I know more than you think.
Perhaps I know that a vampire walks among us, and perhaps I know who he
is. Perhaps that is my very intent in going to Blakely Manor."
"Your intent?" Pascoe stopped. "So you
think--you believe--Lord Blakely . . . ?"
She took a breath. "It seems ludicrous
when I say it out loud. The Blakelys are vampire hunters, not
vampires themselves. And yet"--she studied the invitation in her
hand--"there's the holly, and the lilies, and the kitchen garden with
all the herbs. Anything that could prove toxic to a vampire. He took
those out. And the stream." She looked up. "He damned the stream."
Pascoe nodded. "A vampire cannot cross
running water."
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