"Why, yes!" He beamed at her. "How did you know?"
"Well, the scene we walked into suggested you were. Er…" Terri's words became a surprised silence as a glance across the room showed the housekeeper was no longer swaying on her feet. In fact, she'd fainted dead away. Lucern was lifting her into his arms.
"Where is her room, Bastien?" he asked as the two men now turned to notice his predicament.
"Oh. I'll show—" Bastien stopped abruptly and turned an uncertain gaze back to Terri, as if he were reluctant to leave her alone with Vincent.
His brother solved the problem by saying, "Just tell me, and I'll go put her in bed."
"That hall, the last room on the right," Bastien indicated, gesturing to one of the two corridors that led off the large living room.
Terri shook her head and watched Lucern carry the woman out. The housekeeper really hadn't taken Vincent's playacting at all well. She was overreacting, and obviously fainthearted. Terri turned back to the actor. "As I was saying, the scene we walked in on said as much. So, you have to live your roles to make them feel real to you. You have to act them out?"
"Yeah." Vincent grinned. "I always live out my role. If I'm playing a bartender, I tend bar for a while. If I'm a salesman I get a job selling cars. Whatever. Fortunately, with this role I don't have to act mu—"
"Vinny!" Bastien's tone made both Terri and Vincent glance his way. His expression was forbidding, so much so that the actor didn't even bother to correct the name. In fact, he seemed to read more into the look than Terri, because after a moment of silence he arched his eyebrows. "She's not one of us?"
"No." Bastien's expression was icy. Terri was a little startled by the transformation. He had seemed attractive and friendly and not the least threatening until now, but this expression made him seem just a bit dangerous. In a good way, she decided, as her gaze slid over his broad shoulders and the cut of his slacks. He was a good-looking, well-built—
"You haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"
Bastien's cold query drew Terri from her itemization of his good points and back to the men.
Vincent answered, "I told you, I have the lead—"
"Fine," Bastien interrupted. "That explains why you're in New York. Now, why are you here? In my home?"
"Oh." Vincent gave a laugh. "You mean Aunt Marguerite's home, don't you? She said I could stay here until we see if the play is going to last any length of time, until I know if I need my own apartment in the city or not."
Bastien closed his eyes briefly and silently cursed his mother. She was such a tenderhearted person. Unfortunately, Vincent had it right. This really was her apartment. His father had purchased the building years ago and set up offices here. He'd designed this penthouse above, allowing a room for each of his children should they wish to visit. On his father's death, Bastien had taken to staying here when in New York, and had come to think of it as his own because he was the only one who usually did stay here. But, in truth, it was still his mother's apartment, and she had every right to allow whoever she wanted to stay here.
To be fair, Marguerite probably hadn't thought it would be a problem. It was a huge apartment and, with Vincent acting at night and Bastien working during the day, in the normal course of events it wouldn't have been a problem. He doubted the two of them would even have run into each other very often. But that was in the normal course of events. Today, nothing was normal. And Terri's presence caused something of a dilemma, because Vincent was a biter.
No, Vincent wasn't doing his normal method acting when they'd walked in—or perhaps he was, since he didn't usually walk around in a cape—but if so, it was only incidental to the fact that he had been feeding. And off the bloody housekeeper!"
Bastien scowled at his cousin. Vincent, and his father before him, couldn't survive on bagged blood. They needed a specific enzyme that died several moments after blood left the human body. It was a problem Bastien had his lab working on, but until they discovered how to fix the problem, Vincent, like his father, had to feed off the living. Still, the man knew better than to feed in Bastien's home. He'd been taught better than that.
"Sorry," Vincent said with a chagrined shrug, not even pretending he hadn't been reading Bastien's thoughts. "It was a long flight and I was hungry. No harm done, though."
Bastien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Fortunately, it appeared Vincent was right; there was no harm done. Terri assumed the man was a method actor, playacting. Which reminded Bastien of something Kate had once said when mentioning her maid of honor. Terri was a professor at the University of Leeds. She taught something to do with the media, but she spent a lot of time volunteering in community theater. Thank God for small favors. It had saved coming up with an explanation for what they had walked in on. Knowledgeable on plays and acting in general, she'd made the obvious assumption. At least, it was an assumption more obvious than thinking the truth; that Vincent—that all of them—were vampires.