With purposeful steps, the Prince approached.
Mrs. Emerson’s eyes flickered to his and for a moment, the Prince toyed with the idea of exerting mind control over her.
When he was within touching distance of the glass case, the Emersons shuffled to the side, giving way to him.
Inexplicably, the professor placed his wife behind him, blocking her from the Prince’s view.
The two males locked eyes.
The Prince had to restrain himself from smiling. The professor had no idea of the extent of his adversary’s power. Or his rage.
“Good evening.” The Prince addressed them in English, bowing formally.
“Evening,” Gabriel clipped, his palm sliding down his wife’s wrist in order to grasp her hand.
The Prince watched the path of Gabriel’s hand and indulged himself in a small smile.
“A remarkable evening.” He gestured magnanimously to the room.
“Quite,” said Gabriel, gripping Julia’s hand a little too tightly.
“It’s generous of you to share your illustrations.” The Prince spoke ironically. “How fortunate for you that you acquired them in secret and not on the open market.”
He waited for the professor’s reaction, inhaling surreptitiously for the purpose of analyzing the Emersons’ scents.
The professor’s scent was unremarkable. From it, the Prince divined that the man was healthy and more than a little arrogant, the virtues in his life not yet fully formed.
It was clear he had a protective streak. Both the sharpness of his blood and his body language indicated that he would give his life for the young woman standing behind him.
The mere idea was provocative.
Having read the professor’s character through the aromas of his body and blood, the Prince turned his attention to the charitable Mrs. Emerson.
Initially, she smelled of virtue—of compassion and generosity. The Prince found the perfume of her goodness surprising and most pleasing. As if it were a reflex, his eyes moved to the drawing of Beatrice displayed nearby.
“Yes, I count myself lucky. Enjoy your evening.” With a stiff nod, Gabriel moved away, still gripping his wife’s hand.
The Prince remained where he was and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply once again. As Mrs. Emerson moved away, something unpleasant and downright wretched teased his nostrils.
The Prince opened his eyes at the stark realization that Mrs. Emerson was ill.
Her kindness and charity almost masked the unpleasant undertone to her scent, but there it was, lurking in the background like a serpent.
The Prince and his kind were adept at detecting various defects and diseases in human beings. Perhaps it was innate or a product of adaptation. But whatever the reason, the ability enabled his species to choose between desirable and distasteful food sources.
Through his skill, he could determine that Mrs. Emerson’s blood lacked iron. That much was certain. But there was something seriously wrong with her; something he’d not scented before, which made her repugnant to him.
However, her virtues were real enough. He was surprised to discover she was not the pampered society wife he’d thought she was.
The Prince’s gaze followed the Emersons to the opposite end of the hall where they huddled together, whispering furiously.
With one last conflicted look at Mrs. Emerson’s pretty face, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Chapter 2
Prudence was another of the Prince’s remaining virtues.
His anger had not been quenched. Of course, he’d been feeding it for over a century. It grew, like a fattened pig, every time his attempts at discovering the whereabouts of his precious Botticelli illustrations failed.
At the right time, he’d have his justice but not in a public place. Certainly not in the middle of a society event, amidst photographers and journalists.
No, he’d follow the Emersons and when they left the gala, he’d attack. But he’d spare Mrs. Emerson’s life.
The Prince retained some vestige of a moral code. Not because he believed good works would save him—he knew they wouldn’t. He possessed a moral code because he’d never been able to abandon aspects of the code he observed when he was human.
More specifically, he did not take goodness from the world. At least, not intentionally. This meant that Mrs. Emerson’s virtues must be preserved.
Besides, she was ill. It was more than likely her sickness, whatever it was, would mete out its own punishment and soon.
He would not pardon the professor, however.
Earlier that evening, Dottor Vitali delivered a speech in which he traced the provenance of the illustrations from the professor back to an unnamed Swiss family. The Prince had been surprised by this revelation.