Chapter Text
The Great War was over, and it was the perfect time to be a young man of means. Marcus de Clermont, twenty-something (at least in appearance) and restless, had slipped into a lively jazz club off Piccadilly hoping for some excitement. Instead, he found himself slouched at a corner table swirling a half-empty cocktail glass and looking, in the slang of the day, like a real flat tire.
The band played a jaunty Charleston tune, couples whirled on the tiny dance floor, and cigarette smoke hung in the amber light. Yet Marcus felt only boredom creeping in. There were plenty of pretty girls dripping in pearls and eager young men in tailored suits with more money than sense, but none of it held his attention tonight. A familiar voice with a lilting Scottish accent interrupted his gloom.
“This won’t do at all, cousin. What’s got you looking like such a wet blanket?”
Gallowglass dropped into the chair beside Marcus, his tall frame and broad shoulders dwarfing the delicate seat. With his tousled blond hair and roguish grin, Gallowglass always carried an aura of barely contained mischief.
“Gallowglass, I didn’t expect to see you back in London so soon.” Marcus greeted him with a wry smirk.
“Finished my business in Paris early,” Gallowglass said with a shrug, then motioned at Marcus’s drink. “But never mind that. Why do you look positively morose? This club not to your liking?”
“It’s not that.” Marcus sighed and glanced around the club. “The place is fine, I suppose. But I’ve danced with every gal in here. This whole scene is on its last legs.”
“Then perhaps it’s time we make our own fun?” Gallowglass’s blue eyes gleamed as he shot his cousin a conspiratorial wink.
Marcus arched an eyebrow. Whenever his cousin used that tone, trouble usually followed. Still, trouble often turned out to be fun. He leaned forward.
“I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”
Gallowglass propped an elbow on the table and lowered his voice as if sharing state secrets. “The Old Lodge. It’s been sitting empty for ages, hasn’t it? Perfect venue for a little weekend revelry.”
At the mention of his father’s country estate, Marcus couldn’t help but grin. The Old Lodge was a sprawling Tudor manor that had been in the de Clermont family for centuries. Officially it belonged to Marcus’s father, not that Matthew spent much time there. The grand house sat mostly unused, and Marcus had often thought it a shame not to put its luxurious amenities to good use. He drummed his fingers on the table, pretending to consider.
“You think we could get away with it?”
“Matthew’s tucked away in Amsterdam for the Brotherhood, and the staff at Old Lodge are loyal. I doubt anyone would tattle. A little party never hurt anyone.” Gallowglass gave his cousin a playful nudge. “What do you say? We invite the usual suspects, drive up on Friday, and have ourselves a good time?”
Marcus’s boredom evaporated, replaced by excitement. It was impulsive and a bit reckless. Matthew would never approve of an unauthorized gathering, but that was part of the appeal.
“All right,” Marcus agreed, raising his glass in a toast. “To a weekend at the Old Lodge.”
“There’s the spirit!” Gallowglass clinked his own glass to Marcus’s. “I’ll telephone the gang first thing in the morning. We’ll need a guest list.”
The “house party set,” as they were known in society pages, comprised Marcus and a circle of friends who had weathered the war and now devoted themselves to enjoying the peace that followed. Pretty young women in fringed dresses and feathered headbands, young men racing gleaming motorcars down country lanes, all trying to forget the horrors of a few years past. Marcus and Gallowglass quickly rattled off a list of names.
“Catherine Babbington and her brother Edward, for starters,” Marcus said. Katie was one of his favorite dance partners—and occasional partner in harmless crime. She had a talent for turning any gathering into an adventure. Her younger brother Edward, a university student, was shy but amiable; Marcus didn’t know him well, but Katie liked to keep an eye on him. “We’ll invite them both.”
“What about Bunny Prescott?” Gallowglass suggested with a smirk. “I hear she can’t stop talking about you these days.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. Bunny Prescott was a school friend of Catherine’s, a pretty brunette with a quick laugh who had nursed a rather obvious crush on Marcus for months. She was fun at parties, if a bit heavy-handed with the gin.
“Bunny’s harmless,” Marcus said lightly. “Sure, she’s in.”
“Timothy Dickson?” added Gallowglass. “Timmy would love a weekend out of London.”
Marcus nodded. Tim was a nice fellow, if somewhat awkward. Marcus suspected Tim held a torch for Catherine—unrequited, unfortunately, since Catherine tended to leave a trail of admirers in her wake. Still, Tim could be counted on for decent piano playing and good manners.
“Yes, invite Tim. And Margaret Jones,” Marcus said, thinking of the gentle, soft-spoken Peggy.
She was often in their circle, though Marcus felt a twinge of guilt recalling a recent prank he and Catherine had played on her. They’d playfully joked that Tim was madly in love with Peggy, which led to a rather embarrassing misunderstanding. Peggy had been cross with them for weeks. Perhaps a weekend of fun would mend fences.
“We’ll have to be on our best behavior with Peggy after that little stunt we pulled,” he admitted with a chuckle.
“Splendid. Catherine and Edward Babbington, Bunny Prescott, Timothy Dickson, Peggy Jones, plus the two of us. That makes seven young souls ready for trouble.” Gallowglass grinned broadly and slapped the table with enthusiasm. “I’ll ring them up first thing tomorrow. By Friday, the Old Lodge won’t know what hit it.”
Marcus downed the last of his drink, a spark returning to his blue eyes. “Just one thing,” he said, more softly. “Matthew doesn’t get wind of this. If my father finds out I’m throwing a party in his house without so much as a by-your-leave…” Marcus didn’t finish the sentence. Both he and Gallowglass shared an involuntary shudder at the thought of Matthew’s likely reaction.
“Mum’s the word,” Gallowglass promised. “We’ll leave Matthew out of it.” He stood, straightening his tweed jacket. “Now, I’ll leave you to whatever’s left of this sorry club while I go make preparations. See you Friday, if not sooner.”
The big Gael strode out of the hazy jazz club, as Marcus’s heart pounded with anticipation. A secret weekend at the Old Lodge with dear friends, endless champagne, music, and maybe a midnight adventure or two. What could possibly go wrong?
By Friday afternoon, two gleaming motorcars wound their way up the long drive to the Old Lodge, trailing dust under a bright summer sun. Gabled roofs and ivy-covered walls gave it a storybook charm, but the real draw for Marcus and his friends was what lay inside: spacious rooms for revelry and, most importantly, an exceptionally well-stocked wine cellar.
Marcus arrived early with Gallowglass to make sure everything was in order. Jenkins, the aging butler, met them at the door with a courteous bow, his expression neutral as ever. Marcus half-expected a scolding from the man. The de Clermont’s staff were famously tight-lipped but not blind.
Instead, Jenkins merely inquired, “How many rooms shall I prepare, Master Marcus?” in his steady baritone.
“Five guest rooms, please, Jenkins. We’ll be having some friends up for the weekend.” Marcus gave the man a dazzling smile. He tried to sound nonchalant, as if this were all pre-approved and ordinary.
“Very good, sir,” Jenkins replied without so much as a lifted eyebrow. Several generations of service to the de Clermont family had made the butler adept at anticipating whims and ignoring impropriety. If Jenkins harbored any disapproval about this sudden house party, he showed no sign. With quiet efficiency, he set about readying the rooms.
The Old Lodge ran with a skeleton staff these days. Matthew rarely stayed here, preferring his London residence or the family’s chateau in France, so only a few servants tended the manor. Besides Jenkins, there was Mrs. Toombs, the stout housekeeper who doubled as cook when needed, and a groundskeeper named Evan Craddock who lived in a cottage by the woods. Fewer staff meant fewer witnesses which was something Marcus and Gallowglass appreciated. The last thing they needed was gossip reaching Matthew’s ears.
By the time the first car pulled up, Marcus and Gallowglass had already changed into light summer attire. Marcus even ventured into Matthew’s prized wine cellar to retrieve a case of champagne, reasoning that the truly rare vintages were safely locked away elsewhere. He handed off the dusty bottles to Jenkins to chill just as the crunch of tires on gravel signaled the arrival of their guests.
Timothy Dickson’s red roadster was first, with Tim at the wheel and Peggy Jones beside him in a gauzy floral frock and wide-brimmed hat. Right behind them came a forest-green Bentley carrying Catherine Babbington, her younger brother Edward, and Bunny Prescott. The moment the cars rolled to a stop, cheerful greetings and laughter immediately ensued.
“Welcome to the Old Lodge!” Marcus announced, striding out to meet them.
He was every inch the charming host, keeping his nervousness well hidden. After hugs and handshakes all around, Jenkins and Mrs. Toombs carried the guests’ luggage inside.
Catherine Babbington was radiant as always. The fashionable cloche hat pinned over her auburn bobbed hair accentuated her mischievous hazel eyes. She surveyed the manor’s linenfold paneling with an appreciative whistle.
“Marcus, darling, this place is divine! I feel like we’ve stepped into a Jane Austen novel.”
“Just wait till you see the pool,” Gallowglass interjected with a grin. “Marcus’s father had one installed ages ago. It’s fed by a spring and absolutely the bee’s knees on a hot day.”
Bunny looped her arm through Marcus’s, possessively. “A pool! How marvelous. I didn’t even know you had a country house, Marcus.” Bunny’s tone was light, but Marcus detected a slight edge. She was gazing up at him with a proprietary gleam in her eye, as if this grand estate were somehow hers by association.
Marcus gently extricated himself under the guise of playing host. “Well, it’s Father’s house, technically. He’s just been kind enough to let me use it.” That wasn’t strictly true—Matthew had no idea they were here—but the little white lie smoothed things over.
They all changed quickly into swimwear and reconvened at the pool. It was an elegant, oval-shaped basin lined with mosaic tiles, half-shaded by willows, and indeed fed by a small natural spring. The water was cool and clear, perfect for an afternoon dip. But swimming was secondary; the priority was the party. Marcus produced a gramophone and a stack of jazz records, and soon brassy music wafted over the gardens.
Peggy, modest in a one-piece striped bathing suit, stretched out on a chaise lounge with a parasol and a novel. Tim volunteered to play bartender, mixing gin fizzes at a small bar cart. Catherine and Marcus danced a silly Charleston on the pool’s wading shelf, their feet kicking up splashes of water.
Gallowglass cannonballed straight into the deep end with a roar of delight, drenching Bunny and eliciting a shriek. Everyone dissolved into laughter. Even Edward, who had been shyly hovering at the edge, joined in the aquatic fun after some cajoling from his sister.
For a few golden hours, the group of friends felt gloriously removed from all cares. They floated lazily, sipped cocktails, and traded stories. Katie and Bunny recounted a scandalous anecdote from their finishing school days that had everyone howling. Gallowglass teased Tim about his terrible aim at last month’s grouse hunt, to which Tim blushed and protested that the sun had been in his eyes.
Marcus, meanwhile, found himself frequently flanked by Catherine on one side and Bunny on the other. The two young women couldn’t have been more different. Katie was bold and vivacious, while Bunny was sweet-faced but with an anxious energy beneath. Whenever Katie’s laughter rang out at one of Marcus’s jokes, Bunny’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly.
As late afternoon sun slanted in golden hues across the lawn, the friends toweled off and retired to their rooms to dress for dinner. The evening promised even more delights. Marcus’s heart thrummed with contentment as he donned a crisp dinner jacket. He only hoped Matthew truly wouldn’t find out, because this was shaping up to be the best weekend he’d had in ages.
Dinner on Friday evening was a lively affair in the Old Lodge’s oak-paneled dining room. Mrs. Toombs had prepared a simple but hearty meal of roast chicken, seasonal vegetables, and a trifle for dessert. The young friends, famished from their afternoon of swimming and cocktails, ate with gusto. Under the soft glow of candelabras, laughter and conversation flowed as freely as the wine.
“To the Old Lodge!” Catherine declared, lifting her champagne coupe in a toast. Her cheeks were flushed with merriment. “And to Marcus, for having the brilliant idea to bring us all here.”
Marcus chuckled and inclined his glass. He caught Gallowglass’s eye across the table. His cousin hid a grin behind his drink, likely amused that Catherine assumed this escapade was Marcus’s idea alone. In truth, it was as much Gallowglass’s doing, but Marcus was happy to take the credit, at least among his friends. The real challenge would be avoiding credit when it came to his father.
“Hear, hear!” cried Tim, raising his own glass a bit unsteadily. Tim had been sampling the champagne liberally and wore a dreamy, unguarded smile. “To our host and his splendid estate.”
His adoring gaze at Marcus quickly flickered toward Catherine, who sat beside Marcus, her arm brushing Marcus’s every so often. If Catherine noticed Tim’s attention, she gave no sign.
“Yes, thank you, Marcus dear. It’s not every day a girl gets to play in a private country manor as luxurious as this. We’ll simply have to do this more often.” Bunny leaned forward, her dark curls bobbing as she fixed a bright smile on Marcus.
Beneath her effusive tone, there was something that raised the vampire’s hackles. Marcus felt Bunny’s foot nudging against his under the table in what she likely intended as a flirtatious gesture. He gently moved his leg away, focusing instead on carving another slice of chicken.
At the far end of the table, Edward fidgeted with his fork. “Katie, did you hear from Mother before we left? I think she wanted you to ring Lady Crawley about that—”
Catherine silenced her younger brother’s mention of their mother with a swift kick to his ankle under the table. Marcus could tell by Edward’s sudden wince.
“Honestly, Eddie, let’s not bring our dreary family obligations into this weekend,” she scolded lightly. “We’re here to have fun, not to fret about Mother’s matchmaking.”
Edward flushed and muttered an apology. Marcus recalled that Catherine’s parents, Lord and Lady Babbington, were facing some financial troubles of late. Rumor had it they were keen to marry Catherine off to a wealthy, well-connected husband to infuse fresh funds into the family coffers. Catherine seldom spoke of it, but Marcus knew it irked her. She was a free spirit, not eager to be auctioned off like a prized filly. Marcus shot her a sympathetic smile, which Catherine returned with grateful eyes.
After dinner, the friends migrated to the parlour, a grand room with a piano, cozy settees, and French doors opening onto a moonlit terrace. Marcus switched on another gramophone, and soon a jazzy foxtrot tune filled the air. Gallowglass persuaded Tim, Peggy, and Bunny to join him in a round of bridge at a card table, while Marcus and Catherine slipped out through the open terrace doors, unnoticed by the others.
Outside, the summer night was cool and fragrant with lavender. Catherine let out a delighted sigh as she gazed up at the blanket of stars above.
“It’s so beautiful out here. London never lets you see this many stars.”
Marcus took her hand and led her along the stone balustrade, away from the glow of the parlor. In the darkness, they were just two silhouettes among the shadows of the garden. His heart drummed faster. Katie had that effect on him. She was vivacious and daring, a match for his own adventurous spirit. Marcus knew theirs was a flirtation with no strings attached. She was destined for an arranged marriage someday and he… well, his circumstances were far from ordinary. But for now, she was warm and willing in his arms.
As if in response to his unspoken thoughts, Katie sighed deeply. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders, bunching it in small, impatient gathers, as if she could pull him nearer by sheer force of want. Marcus’s palm rose to cup the side of her face, his thumb tracing the hinge of her jaw with a slow, grounding stroke that felt both tender and possessive.
“You look too innocent out here,” she murmured, glancing up at him through her lashes. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Marcus gave a soft laugh, but it caught in his throat when she stepped closer. Her pearls, slightly askew from dancing earlier, pressed against the hollow of her throat when she turned to glance up at him—eyes bright, mouth curved like she’d just thought of something wicked and delightful. Marcus’s senses, always sharper than they ought to be, took in too much at once: the faint bite of champagne on her breath, the silk-soft rasp of her dress against his trousers when she moved, the whisper of her pulse under the lace at her wrist when his fingers slid there.
“If I look innocent,” he said, low enough that the night swallowed most of it, “that’s entirely your fault for encouraging the lie.”
Catherine leaned in with a devilish smile, not asking. Her gloved fingertips brushed his lapel as if to steady herself, and Marcus had a vivid, absurd thought about how polite she looked even when she was being utterly improper.
He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her lips. Catherine responded eagerly, sliding her arms around his neck. The first taste was champagne and sugar, the second was Catherine: bright and warm and a little daring. Marcus’s hand slid to her waist, pressing against her through the thin fabric of her dress. He felt the shape of her beneath it, the curve of her hip, the slight tremor that went through her when he pulled her closer.
In the moonlight, her eyes sparkled with mischief as the kiss broke.
“We’ll give those society gossips something real to talk about one of these days,” she teased.
Marcus leaned in like he’d been thinking about it for hours, like the space between them had been an argument neither of them wanted to win anymore.
He laughed softly.
“Let’s hope not. I prefer our secrets to remain secret.”
He stole another kiss and pulled her close. Catherine hitched one leg up, curling it around his thigh playfully as she deepened their embrace. His hands slid down her ribcage, pausing to grip her hip bones, grinding his hips into hers, before slipping his hands behind her and playfully grabbing her rear, pulling her closer into him.
“Catherine,” he warned softly, and it came out rougher than he meant.
Her mouth curved against his cheek, a smile he felt more than saw. “Marcus,” she returned, in the exact same tone—mocking, affectionate, and entirely unrepentant.
They kissed again, slower and more deeply now. He caught the back of her raised leg carefully, gently drawing his hand from her backside down her thigh. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath the stocking. Catherine’s hands slid into his hair, fingertips sifting through the strands as if she were testing whether it was as soft as it looked. Marcus had the fleeting thought that if he let her, she’d unravel him the way she unraveled everyone, laughing while she did it, leaving chaos in her wake.
He wasn’t sure he minded.
Neither noticed a pair of watchful eyes observing from the shadows by the French doors. Gallowglass had come outside on the pretext of fetching more champagne from the cellar. Ever the protective cousin, he’d wanted to make sure Marcus was safe, only to find Marcus and Catherine engaged in a passionate embrace against the stone wall. Gallowglass smirked to himself and retreated quietly, leaving the two lovebirds to their privacy.
From inside the house, a burst of laughter rose and fell, and the gramophone needle crackled faintly as the record shifted. It reminded Marcus that they weren’t alone in the world, just briefly apart from it.
Catherine drew back a fraction, her breath warm against his lips. In the moonlight, her eyes were bright and a little glassy from champagne, but her gaze was sharp.
“We should go back before someone notices,” she said, as if she hadn’t been the one to make discretion impossible.
Marcus’s thumb traced a small, absent circle at her waist. “And deprive them of their wholesome illusion that we’re all behaving?”
“Exactly.” Catherine’s smile turned wicked.
She kissed him once more—quickly and decisively, the kind of kiss that promised trouble later—and then lowered her leg with a smoothness that made it look like she was simply adjusting her stance. She straightened her pearls, patted his lapel into place with a conspiratorial little touch, and stepped back as if they’d merely been admiring the stars.
Eventually, Marcus and Catherine rejoined the others, Catherine’s hair slightly mussed and Marcus’s bowtie just a tad askew. Bunny looked up from her cards with a sharp glance.
“There you two are! We were about to send a search party,” she joked, though a flicker of something in her eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely amused.
“Just getting some fresh air,” Marcus replied easily, pouring himself a fresh drink to avoid Bunny’s gaze.
If the others suspected any illicit moonlight rendezvous, they kindly didn’t mention it. Gallowglass winked subtly at Marcus, and Katie hid a sly smile behind the rim of her glass.
The night wore on in a haze of music and liquor. Bunny, Peggy, and Katie took turns coaxing Tim to play popular songs on the piano. Tim’s renditions of Cole Porter tunes had everyone clapping and singing along. Gallowglass tried teaching Edward how to dance the Charleston, which had both the young man and the vampire stumbling over their own feet and everyone else in stitches. By the time the mantel clock chimed midnight, the group was thoroughly exhausted and exhilarated. One by one they drifted off to bed, bidding sleepy goodnights in the hallway.