Maggie Shayne - Weddings from Hell

She wasn't smiling right then.

"Why would you want to stop my wedding, Mr. Carr?" Her voice, soft as it was, was enough to make him want to drop to one knee and promise her the moon.

Several hundred reasons came to mind, but only one mattered at that moment. He raised a finger and pointed at Villiers. "He is the spawn of Satan." Not exactly accurate, but he didn't have time to get too detailed.

A collective gasp filled the room. Violet's jaw dropped and Henry colored up like a gin blossom on a drunk's nose. "You forget yourself, sir!"

Henry only called him "sir" when he was royally pissed. Payen turned an expressionless gaze toward him. "I assure you, my dear Lord Wolfram, I forget nothing."

His friend frowned, obviously realizing then, that he was deadly serious.

"I don't know who you are," Villiers info rmed him, stepping in front of Violet as though to shield her. "But you are fortunate, sir, that duels are illegal."

Payen raked the little miscreant with a bored gaze. "Indeed. I hate spilling blood."

The deeper meaning of his words was not lost on Violet, whose eyes widened as she peered around Villiers at him. Villiers, meanwhile, flushed a rich scarlet. "You do not know me, yet you insult me."

"Yes, that is badly done of me." Payen sketched a bow. "Payen Carr, Mr. Villiers." He reached out and snatched the other man's hand, lifting it to the light even as he tried to pull free. "And this is an insult to me." He was careful not to touch the silver that would burn his flesh like open flame.

Villiers scowled at the signet on his finger. "My ring insults you?"

"I am disgusted by what it stands for, and those who support it."

Henry, perhaps the only one who remembered they had an audience, came between them, forcibly breaking the grip Payen had on Villiers. "Gentlemen, perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private."

A disbelieving bark of laughter broke from Villiers' throat. "My lord, surely you don't believe this madman?"

Henry, God love him, sent the boy a grim look. "My study. Now."

Payen, Eliza, Violet, and Villiers fell into step behind him. Payen would rather not turn his back on the Silver Palm disciple but he trusted that the bastard would not risk exposing himself by attempting to cause Payen bodily harm.

He walked beside Eliza, ignoring the curious stares and whispers as they cut through the crowd. He glanced around the ballroom instead, noting the salmon color on the walls and the cream trim. "You've redecorated," he commented absently.

"Yes," Eliza replied. "Two years ago."

"I like it. Much easier on the eyes than that awful blue it was last time I was here."

"You have a lot of nerve returning this way, my friend," she murmured for his ears alone.

"She can't marry him, Eliza." He could tell from the startled light in her eyes that she knew he meant it—and that he would do everything in his power to keep the wedding from taking place.

"Oh dear."

Behind them, Payen could hear Violet and the miscreant talking. Their voices were low, but not so low that he couldn't listen in—selective hearing was one of the perks of vampirism. Most of the time he could keep the world out, but when he wanted, he could hear mice scurrying in the attic above.

"Who is this idiot?" Villiers demanded.

"He's a friend of Henry's," Violet replied. Payen might have smiled at her defensive tone, were it not for the fact that she hadn't argued the "idiot" remark.

"What is he to you?" Ahh, now this was interesting. Villiers was jealous—not as dumb as he looked, obviously. But Payen knew that looking dumb didn't exclude a man from being dangerous.

Violet sighed. "Right now, I'm not certain."

Fair enough. After all he shagged her and then walked out of her life five years ago and never once tried to get in touch, but that didn't stop his chest from pinching at her bewildered reply. Some part of him expected her to know that he was motivated by nothing more than a desire to protect her. He would rather walk out into the middle of Hyde Park on a Sunday afternoon and fry like an egg than see her influenced by the Order of the Silver Palm, a group who would think nothing of destroying a sweet thing like her.

Henry led them downstairs, to a back corner of the house where he kept his study. Years ago, when Henry and Eliza had barely made this house their own, Payen had christened that room Henry's sanctuary. It was far away from the dining room and the drawing room his wife liked to use for entertaining, and it was large enough to contain a billiards table, a sofa and several chairs, a card table, and a massive oak desk. This room, he was pleased to note, had not been redecorated.

And then, of course, he wondered inappropriately if Violet had changed anything about her bedroom, and if she still had that demure nightgown she'd worn that sweet, hot night.

This close to her, with the scent of her engulfing him like a face full of lilacs, it was so hard to keep the memory of that night at bay. Images of the two of them entwined, desperate and damp, tender and trembling, flooded his mind. His gums itched with fangs ready to extend, the urge to feed almost as strong as the urge to mate. He had done both with Violet, and that only whetted both appetites all the more.

Once they were all inside the study, each of them drifting away from Payen until he stood in the center of their haphazard circle, the questions began.

"What the devil do you mean, coming into my house and causing such a scene?" Henry demanded. "Deuce take it, Payen! I would expect better of you."

Payen gave him a quick nod. "You're right to have such expectations. I wouldn't have come at all were it not important." Was it his imagination, or did he see Violet wince out of the corner of his eye?

"Perhaps you should explain," Eliza suggested, when no one else seemed inclined to speak. They all just stood there, staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity and antagonism.

Payen focused on Henry, who he had known since he was a babe. Payen had been friends with his father, and his grandfather before that. A long time ago, a Rexley—Henry's family name—had been a Templar the same as Payen, and they had been friends. That relationship had led to a connection with the family that had followed almost every generation since. The Rexleys were the only people he ever revealed himself to, except for a handful of others over the countless decades.

Stephen Rexley had been killed by a man wearing a ring just like the one on Villiers' hand.

Remembering that made it easy for Payen to look Henry in the eye as he jerked his head in Villiers' direction. "He belongs to the Order of the Silver Palm."

Understanding drained the heightened color from Henry's dusky cheeks. "Are you certain?"

"His ring proves it."

"What the devil are you about?" Villiers demanded, breaking the circle by taking several angry steps forward. "How do you know about the Order? And what business is it of yours if I belong?"

Payen turned his head, stopping the young man dead in his tracks with a simple look. "I know more about the Silver Palm than I wager you do. It was your people who helped fuel King Philip's distrust of the Templars. The Order has been involved in every sinister plot known to man since Judas betrayed Christ."

Villiers stared at him, blue eyes wide with fear—and complete bafflement. How could he seem so innocent and wear that ring?

"You think Violet shouldn't marry me because of something that happened more than five centuries ago?"

De Molay had burned .

"Six," Payen corrected. "October thirteenth in the year of our Lord thirteen-hundred and seven." He remembered as though it was but a handful of years ago. "And no. I won't allow you to marry Violet because you are part of a vile organization that should have been slaughtered out of existence a long time ago."