THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

leave as quickly as she could without actually appearing to flee. Oh, man, what an idiot she was. A minute later, she was safely in her own rooms, where she could castigate herself in private.
    Why hadn’t she thought about the possibility that the woman in the photo could be his wife?
    Well, duh, because she was old and he was young.
    Except he wasn’t young. Not really. Vampires didn’t age, he’d told her, or not perceptibly. Dammit, she’d even speculated about his possible age while she’d waited for him to waken tonight, but she’d been too caught up in her own anger to dwell on it much.
    How old was he? Judging by that dress his wife wore — God, why hadn’t she read more historical novels? — she’d say that photo was early 20th century. Like, way early. So give him close to a hundred years.
    And his wife was probably younger than him when they married, maybe significantly younger. At least, that was the way of it in the romance novels, wasn’t it? So give him another … what? Forty years? So conservative estimate, he was probably 140.
    A hundred-and-freaking-forty years old!
    Of course, given her poor grasp of the history of fashion, that could easily be 150, 160. Who knew? Maybe 200.
    God, that was so weird. He looked like a man in his prime. No, he was a man in his prime.
    She peeled off her clothes and reached for the man’s shirt Eli had furnished earlier, tugging it on for sleepwear.
    Lord, she must be tired. She should have figured this all out. It’s not like she hadn’t had time, having studied that woman’s picture for a good twenty minutes. But somehow, she hadn’t thought about Delano in connection with family, or at least not in the context of a continuing relationship. She’d presumed that after he’d been infected, he would have fled not just the light of day, but a society that reviled him.
    But she was certain now that he had to have been the man behind the lens of the camera that captured that woman’s picture. She harbored still less doubt that he’d put that all-knowing expression in her eyes and that Mona Lisa smile on her lips. Envy, sharp and surprising, twisted in her gut.
    Oh, God, Ainsley, could you be any more of a jerk? She buttoned the shirt’s buttons swiftly. Begrudge the poor man a conjugal relationship with his own wife. A long-dead relationship.
    She raked her hair back. What had it been like for him, to watch his wife age while he himself stayed vigorous and youthful? And what heartache it must have been for her.
    Did he think of her still? Miss her? How long could a heart ache?
    She thought of the woman in the photograph, with her mysterious smile. And she thought of Delano, the way he held himself so still. The way his eyes lost their focus sometimes, as though he were looking at something across a great distance.
    A long time, she decided.
    A very long time.
    Sighing, she drew the heavy curtains across the bedroom’s window to shield against the coming daylight and crawled into bed.
    Take heart, she counseled herself. Tomorrow’s another … well … night.
     
     

 
    Chapter 9
     
    AINSLEY SLID the final ruby-red tube of blood into the last available slot in her specimen container and closed the insulated case’s lid. Another night, another thirty vamp venipunctures.
    “All set, Ms. Crawford?”
    She glanced up at the young man who’d been assigned to shadow her this past week. He looked just as fresh as he had four hours ago. She hadn’t checked a mirror lately, but she was willing to bet she looked considerably more wilted than he did. Of course, she had a few years on her young bodyguard. With that boyish face, he looked more like a junior executive than the highly-seasoned professional Eli assured her he was. She reached for her sweater. “Ready, Freddy.”
    For about a millisecond, he looked as though he might smile, but he conquered the impulse. Man, there was just no fun to be had since Eli had flown back to St. Cloud to take care of business and Delano had locked himself in the lab on the floor below the penthouse.
    Not that she felt abandoned.
    She understood Eli had to get the reconstruction effort going back in St. Cloud, not to mention re-establishing a ready blood supply for the donors who’d become dependant on the clinic there. God only knew what other business Delano had charged him with.
    Delano had accompanied her the first night to this new clinic, making sure she was comfortable with the clientele, so she had no