Be Mine Tonight (9 page)

It was after midnight. The house was relatively quiet. Servants bustled in all corners. Some occupants were already snoring in their beds, living their lives on country hours.

Prudence was not one of them. Centering himself, Chapel weeded through the other sounds of the house, searching for her. She was with one of her sisters and they were laughing with such joy that it brought a smile to his own lips. He would not eavesdrop on their conversation. To know that she was happy was enough.

She must have been disappointed with the delay in their dig, but thank God for it. If they had broken through…if she had been there when Temple rose…

His stomach churned at the thought. Perhaps Grey wouldn’t have been foolish enough to put her at risk, but how could he stop her? Prudence was nothing if not the direct opposite of her name.

The fact that he might have to destroy his old friend weighed heavy on him, but he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy Temple or Marcus Grey if one of them hurt Pru. She was good and pure and sweet—everything that had been taken from him when he had been cursed. He would do anything to preserve her, even give Grey the information he sought.

When he entered the library, a maid was there, stoking the fire. It never ceased to amaze him, the
dampness that could permeate an English house, even in the summer.

She bobbed a curtsy at him as he entered. “Begging your pardon, sir. I’ll be but a moment.”

He waved away her concern. “No matter. Take your time.”

And the little peach of a girl did just that. In fact, she seemed to take much more time than he would have thought necessary to make the room a comfortable temperature. And why did she keep looking at him?

Then, as she straightened herself, he realized what was going on. Mixed in with the scent of burning coal was the soft, unmistakable fragrance of female. The heat of the embers warmed her flesh—her blood—with a gentle flush.

This peach wanted to be plucked, and from the way she was eyeing him, Chapel knew she expected him to do the plucking.

Merde.
Averting his face, he turned his eyes heavenward. What was this, a test? Was this whole journey meant to test his resolve, to tempt him beyond reason?

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” Temptation came closer. He could feel her standing behind him.

He turned, trying to force a smile. “No, thank you.”

She was obviously not prepared to take no for an answer—either that or she thought him a little slow on the uptake.

A young, strong hand slipped up his arm in a
very forward manner. “Are you sure of that? It would be my pleasure to
serve
you.”

He smiled kindly. “I’m certain the pleasure would be all mine, but no.”

The maid’s pink lips slipped into a pout and she dipped her head so that her honeyed ringlets bobbed becomingly around her face. “Am I not pretty enough for you, sir?”

How could he do anything but chuckle at such absurdity? “My dear girl, you are as tempting as a summer peach, but I am not the man you are looking for. I will not be satiated with just one bite.”

His metaphor did nothing to dissuade her. In fact, it made her try harder. She moved closer, pressing her full breasts against his chest as her eyelashes lowered coyly. “Take as many bites as you like. I don’t mind being eaten.”

He’d wager she didn’t at that. His fangs ached to put her claim to the test, just to take a little taste. He wouldn’t have to sink them in all the way, and he could always pull out if the urge became too strong.

Heat burst behind his eyes as she tilted her head back, offering her throat and breasts to him as his head lowered of its own volition. His canines slid from the sheath of his gums, extending to their full length.

Please, God. Don’t let me do this.
It was all the hope he had, as his own will seemed to have deserted him.

And at that second, his prayers were answered.

“Mr. Chapel? I—Oh, pardon me!”

Slumping back, Chapel drew a deep breath as
the fire in his blood cooled and his fangs receded. There was a God.

Then he looked at his savior.
Merde
again. God had an awful sense of humor. His savior was none other than Pru.

And she was looking at him as though he had just ripped her heart from her chest.

S
he should turn away. She should leave, go to her room and try not to think about what she had just seen. It was none of her business what he did, or with whom he did it.

Did he make a habit of trying to kiss women in libraries? She should be angry—and she was—but she felt foolish as well. Foolish for thinking that she might mean something to him. Foolish for taking his feelings into consideration when she contemplated having a relationship with him.

Yes, she should leave, but she wasn’t going to.

“You may go now.” The look she bestowed upon the maid was one she rarely used on anyone, let alone household staff. She refused to feel guilty about it either, as the maid looked far too eager to take whatever Chapel had to offer. She wouldn’t
have the girl dismissed, that would be too cruel, but she just might have a chat with the housekeeper about her.

Bobbing in a quick curtsy, her eyes averted, the girl gathered up her things and made a hasty exit. Pru waited until she was gone to turn her attention back to Chapel.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to look embarrassed or penitant.

Damn him.

“Pru, I can explain.”

She laughed—a shaky, vulnerable sound that grated on her nerves. “There is no need. Thankfully I wasn’t a few minutes later or I might have had to wait for the maid to dress before she could leave the room.”

Now he looked affronted. “
That
never would have happened.”

He didn’t truly think she’d believe that? “Oh, you would have simply tossed up her skirts and removed as little as possible, is that it?”

Worse yet, he didn’t seem the least bit shocked by her language. That he might expect such talk from her only added to her anger.

“I mean I wouldn’t have had sex with her.”

She ignored that strange—and probably false—statement. “How many other women have you tried to kiss since your arrival?” It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care, but she did.

“Other than you? None.”

Liar. “Does this maid not count as a person?”

He looked affronted. “She tried to kiss me.”

As though that would make a difference even if
she did believe it. She might have laughed were the words spoken by anyone else. “You did not seem to mind.”

He smirked—an expression that suited his handsome face far more than contrition would have. “And you seem jealous.”

She would have stomped her foot if she were not so sure it would make him even more smug. “I most certainly am not!” Now who was the liar?

“No?” Folding his arms across his broad chest, he took a lazy step toward her. “Then why so concerned with who I kiss?”

“I’m not.” She would not retreat. She would not. “I’m merely looking out for my servants.”

He stopped no more than a foot away from her. “Of course you are. You obviously had nothing but that maid’s best interests in mind when you asked if I was going to screw her.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She had practically given him permission to talk so bluntly. “You are very presumptuous.” He was also very right, but she was not going to admit that, not when he was coming toward her like a cat stalking a bird.

“I am many things.” He took another step and stopped mere inches from her. Pru knew she should retreat—every instinct demanded that she do just that, but to move would be to show fear, and she couldn’t do that.

Not because she was afraid he would kiss her, but because she was afraid he wouldn’t.

He hadn’t kissed her the other night when she had wanted him to. Would he leave her wanting tonight as well?

And was it wrong of her to want a kiss from a man who seemed to give them freely to everyone but her?

“I am many things,” he repeated, his fingers brushing her cheek, bringing a shiver to her flesh. “But a liar is not one of them. I did not kiss that maid.”

“Because I stopped you before you could.”

“True.”

Well, he had said that he wasn’t a liar.

“But I haven’t kissed a woman in a very long time, Pru. And if I had kissed that maid, it would have been because you would not allow me to kiss you.”

She met his gaze with as much hauteur as her trembling self would allow. “Oh? Is that my punishment for not kissing you?” He thought she didn’t want to kiss him? How could any woman not want to kiss a man who looked like him? How could she not want to kiss him when he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world whenever they were together?

And how could she think about kissing him when he said things that made her want to slap him at the same time?

“Not
your
punishment.” His strong fingers trailed down her throat. Could he feel the pulse pounding there? “Mine.”

“Yours?”

His hand was warm and gentle on the back of her neck. “Denying myself the taste of you has caused me more pain than you will ever know.”

How was she to respond to that? They had
known each other but a few days and already she was melting at his words, longing for his touch. It was madness, the desperation of a dying woman.

Then she would be as brazen as only a dying woman could be.

Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to his, letting him see the emotion there, the desire. “I would not want to cause you further discomfort.”

His golden eyes widened for a split second and then his head lowered. Pru closed her eyes and waited, her heart hammering.

Chapel’s lips were warm and firm against hers, the pressure of them insistent yet sweetly soft. It was electric, the connection between them, like lightning striking a barn, or a match to tinder.

Pru sighed against his mouth and felt his answering smile. She smiled as well, allowing him to tease her lips apart. As his tongue slid into her mouth, she jerked in surprise. Was that a chuckle she felt rumble in his chest?

Emboldened by his mirth, Pru stroked his tongue with her own, letting instinct guide her. What did it matter that she knew very little of kissing? She was going to take advantage of this moment, not waste it by worrying whether or not she was doing it right.

Obviously she did something right, because his arms went around her, hauling her tight against him. He was warm and solid, so much man and muscle. Her hips fit against his legs, the pressure of his thigh sending little tremors of delight low within her.

Good Lord, her legs were shaking! She clung to
his shoulders as they feasted on one another. He tasted like cloves—sweet and spicy. And he held her as though he never wanted to let her go.

Every woman should be held like this once in her life.

There was a growing hardness against her belly. He was as aroused as she was, and the knowledge thrilled her. She pressed herself against him, her hips slowly undulating. Sensation rippled through her. If only she could melt her body into his so she could feel him everywhere.

Chapel broke the kiss, gasping for breath.

“No,” Pru uttered. Her hands clutched at his neck and hair, trying to force his head down to hers once more.

“We have to end this.” Chapel’s voice was ragged and hoarse. “Pru, if we do not, this will quickly become more than just a kiss and I won’t have the strength to stop.”

She understood what he was saying. She didn’t like it, but she understood. Slowly, she nodded, stepping back gingerly so as to be certain her limbs would support her.

He would have taken the maid there, but he wouldn’t take her. Should she be flattered or insulted?

He released her and she, him. He watched her with a hunger that made her want to leap into his arms once more, and a sadness that made her want to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be all right.

“I should apologize,” he said, his eyes as bright as twin doubloons.

“Don’t you dare.” There was more of an edge to her tone than she’d intended.

He grinned. “I didn’t mean for the kiss. I meant for not taking it further.”

Her face had to be as red as a holly berry. “Oh. You may apologize, then.”

That edge of sorrow was back in his smile. “Do not think I don’t want you, Pru. God knows I do. But I’m not going to prove you right in thinking the worst of me this evening. I’m not a libertine. I just want you to know that.”

She believed him. Not just because she wanted to, but because there was such an expression of sincerity on his lovely face. Besides, a libertine wouldn’t have stopped.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice low and rough.

He stared at her for a moment, his smile fading until nothing but regret remained. “Good night, Pru.”

And that was her cue to leave. She smiled. “Good night, Chapel. Sleep well.”

A brow rose sharply. “That’s unlikely.”

She should feel some remorse at that, some kind of shame, perhaps. Instead, Pru left him standing there with a smile on her face.

It was a good night indeed.

Was this punishment or reward?

Remembering Pru’s kiss, her lips hungry and moist beneath his, it was difficult for Chapel to think of such pleasure as anything but a blessing,
even though he had been terribly uncomfortable for some time afterward.

How long had it been since he’d wanted a woman without wanting her blood? For his kind, sex and feeding were often closely linked and went together like port and cigars. Marie had been the last. Even then, he’d been human. When he came to her after being cursed, he’d wanted her like a starving man wanted an eight-course meal.

Do not think about it.

He had come to her but two days after his change. It had been night, of course, and very late. He’d come into her room through the balcony—leaping up from the ground as though it were no more than a few inches rather than two floors. Of course, he and the others had just discovered their new abilities and used them without discretion, not caring if anyone saw them or not.

If they had been more careful, Marcus Grey probably would not have heard the rumors about his ancestor and his companions.

Marie had looked like an angel as she slept, her blond hair spread across her pillow like a fall of silk. Her skin was the color of fresh cream poured over ripe peaches and her lips were every bit as ripe and succulent. He found her even more alluring and beautiful than he had before becoming a vampire. She’d been weeping, a balled-up handkerchief in her hand. Word of his death had reached her already.

He’d smiled, thinking she’d be happy to be with
him again—that she would want to be with him forever.

He gave in to his hunger, dipping his head to the ivory swell of her breast, where a fragile trace of blue just beneath the surface beckoned. He hadn’t fed since the night before and the need gnawed at him, and she smelled as good as she looked.

Fangs slid easily from his gums, filling him with a surge of power. Invincible. He was invincible, immortal and so very, very powerful. There was nothing that he couldn’t do, nothing that could be denied him now.

Marie jerked awake with a cry as his teeth pierced her flesh. She was hot and sweet against his tongue, even as she screamed.

Her fear was what stopped him, slicing through the desire to feed. Fear had never been the aphrodisiac to him that it was to Saint, or even Bishop. Lifting his head, he allowed her to see that it was him. He smiled lovingly at her, heedless of the blood on his lips. The sooner she realized it was him, the sooner he could go back to feeding, and the sooner he could crawl into bed with her and claim her body as his own.

The sooner he could make her the same as him. Instinct told him how to do it. He knew how it was done just as his body had known how to make love the first time.

Blue eyes widened in horror as they stared at him. The perfect bow of her mouth fell open with a soul-splintering scream.

Chapel clamped a hand over her mouth, his fingers dark against her pale cheeks.

“Sssh,
ma petite. C’est moi.
”

Muffled sobs of panic and fear puffed against his palm. She knew who he was and she was terrified.

He tried to calm her, but the scent of her blood and the pounding of her heart were so distracting, so tempting. He would not be able to handle her properly while his hunger bated him. He lowered his head once more to her breast and fed until he was stated.

When he lifted his head again, there was madness in her eyes. The air was rank with her fear, sweat and urine.

Disgusted, his sensitive sense of smell offended, his heart horrified, Chapel backed away. What had he done?

Marie twitched as he stood, like a small animal faced with a predator. She glanced down at her exposed breast. Slowly, she drew her nightgown up to cover herself, her movements unnaturally slow.

“My love.”

At his voice, she looked up, a pale shadow of the girl he loved. “Severian?”

He nodded, a sigh of relief slipping from him. She was not mad. She knew him. All would be well.

“Oui.”

“They told me you were dead.” The pain in her soft voice cut through him like a blade.

“I have come back for you.”

Her gaze slipped back to her chest. Blood seeped through the virginal white linen.

She screamed again, shrill and long. His ears rang at the sound and he pressed his palms against them, trying to shut out the terror.

Marie bolted from her bed. He blocked the path to the door, thinking she would stop, but she twirled around instead and ran to the balcony doors.

He didn’t move fast enough, shock making him sluggish. Or perhaps he hadn’t truly believed that she would do anything to harm herself. He had been so certain that she would be happy to see him, that she would want to be as he was.

She threw herself over the balustrade a mere second before he reached it.

He leapt over the railing as the chamber door burst open behind him. He landed on his feet beside his fiancée’s prone form.

Marie lay on the ground, her nightgown bunched around her milky thighs, her eyes wide and sightless, her neck bent at an unnatural angle as a thin trickle of blood ran from the marks on her breast toward her collarbone.

Dead. She was dead, and it was all his fault.

Guilt, rage and pain flooded him, so much that he howled like a wolf at the moon with it. On the balcony, Marie’s father crossed himself as Chapel fell to his knees beside the body of the woman he loved.