Bite Me, Your Grace (10 page)

The duke took a deep breath and continued. “The Scots vampire fled and my rescuer Changed me. He taught me what I needed to know about being a vampire. He then told me to return to my home and live among the mortals. King Henry thought that I had been taken prisoner and escaped. He was so impressed with my ‘bravery' that he made me the Duke of Burnrath the moment I finished my lie. I became Lord of London only fifty years ago. So, there you have it.”

“That is amazing,” Angelica breathed. He painted such a vivid picture that she could easily see the knights in gleaming helms, blood-drenched battlefields, and mighty warhorses. “I only have one more question. Well, perhaps two.”

Burnrath chuckled at her temerity before giving her a patient smile. “Very well, I will try to indulge you.”

“Do you kill people?” She swallowed, nearly choking on the question. A trickle of fear dripped down her spine. Vampire kills in stories were tantalizing, but this was reality. Would he have killed her if he hadn't discovered her identity the night she snuck into his home?

His hair brushed her cheek as he shook his head. “No, there is too much blood in a human's body to consume in one sitting. Also, killing is forbidden under most circumstances, for dead bodies drained of blood would put us in jeopardy of discovery. And your other question?”

Angelica let out breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Do you drink only blood? Or can you eat food as well?”

“We cannot digest solid food very well any longer, but many of us miss the taste of our favorite dishes and indulge in a few bites. I still enjoy meat pasties and fine brandy.” His white teeth flashed as he grinned.

The quaint image brought a giggle to her lips. “You are not really an animated corpse, are you?”

Burnrath laughed. “No, our condition is more like a sickness in the blood that we can pass on to others. Our legends say it is magic spread from the first vampires, who were demons cast out of hell because they weren't evil enough to suit his dark majesty.” His gaze turned serious as he leaned closer and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I assure you I am quite alive, my sweet.”

She wanted to ask more, but Liza poked her head out the door. “I was told to look in on you, miss.”

“We will be in after I kiss her good night.” The duke's rakish smile had the maid simpering.

Angelica smiled in reluctant admiration of his seemingly limitless charm. Perhaps vampires
were
magic.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Liza bobbed a curtsy and left them alone.

Angelica's breath caught as the vampire took her into his arms, ready to be overcome with his passion. Instead, his lips brushed whisper-soft against hers for a tortuously brief moment. Then he released her and stepped back.

“Good night, Angel,” he whispered and tipped his hat before leaving her trembling with longings she didn't understand.

Angelica bit back a moan of frustration. She would have to steel all of her will and senses to resist him, and when she escaped this engagement, it would not be a moment too soon.

The Duke of Burnrath resembled a wolf among sheep next to the pastel-garbed assembly at Almack's. He frowned down at his black satin knee breeches then actually scowled at her. Angelica smiled at his painfully obvious display of how he hated every minute of being at this place.

She'd almost panicked when Lady Jersey nearly refused him because he didn't have a voucher, but Lady Cowper overrode her decision and handed him a “Stranger Ticket,” not bothering to hide her glee at the appearance of London's biggest subject of gossip.

“I cannot believe you do not have a voucher to Almack's!” Angelica exclaimed with mock outrage.

“Careful, minx, or I shall think you dragged me to this silly place just to irritate me.” A muscle in his jaw ticked.

She plied her fan, feigning innocence. “Would I do that?”

He laughed as he led her to the dance floor. “I imagine you would. In fact, I am quite certain that you despise this place as much as I already do.”

“I…” She raised the fan to hide her expression. Could he be aware of her plan to annoy him out of the engagement?

“Please, Miss Winthrop, do not exert yourself by indulging in further falsehoods.” he whispered through clenched teeth. “The truth is written all over your face. Now tell me, why are you trying to vex me?” The vampire loomed over her like the fierce blood drinker he was.

The young ladies and gentlemen around them had abandoned even the slightest pretense of dancing and were now watching the discussion with avid interest. Claire Belmont gripped Lord Makepeace's sleeve and dragged him closer. The audience seemed to salivate over the possibility of scandal.

Angelica resisted the urge to glare at Claire. “People are staring at us.”

“Let them,” Burnrath said curtly. “This is not the first time we've garnered attention, and from the pattern of our discourse, it will not be the last.”

“Fine,” she muttered and confessed the truth. “I had thought if I irritated you enough, you would not wish to marry me.”

“Angel…” His voice grew tender and his grip tightened on her waist as they waltzed. “Nothing will make me change my mind. I have told you time and again that you have no reason to fear me. What will it take to make you believe me?”

As she swayed in his arms, his handsome face and gentleness nearly shattered her resolve. “I do not know. I am so confused.”
Could
I
tell
him
I
am
afraid
of
losing
my
freedom? No, such an action would be ludicrous!

“Everything will be all right. I promise,” he whispered and her heart ached in longing to believe him.

The dance ended and Burnrath bent closer. “Well, thanks to your failed ploy, we are trapped in this insipid place for awhile, for if we depart now, tongues would surely wag.” He smirked. “Shall I fetch you some warm lemonade?”

“Don't you dare leave me!” she hissed, rising up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Viscount Branson is over there, just itching to dance with me, and his breath is so foul that I'm afraid I would be sick all over his ridiculous high-heeled shoes that were in fashion in my
grandfather's
day.”

The duke's brows rose in mock horror. “You may have a point. On the other side, I see four matrons and their daughters eyeing me as if I am a walking bank draft. If you leave
me
, they are sure to pounce. And you wondered why I never set foot in this hellish place.”

Angelica grinned in helpless mirth and placed a hand on his sleeve. “Oh, Your Grace, what have I gotten us into?”

In the end they decided to play cards. Angelica had always wanted to learn, for her mother was rumored to be an expert whist player but refused to teach her, saying gambling was “not a habit unmarried females should indulge in.” However, Angelica turned out to be a terrible player because her face gave away everything.

Just as Angelica was beginning to have a good time, Lady Jersey told her she must leave the establishment for “being too familiar with the duke.”

“But he is to be my husband!” Angelica protested, outraged at the ludicrousness of the patroness's censure.

“That is all the more reason for you to set a good example for the ladies who have not yet made matches.” Lady Jersey's brows drew together in consternation. “Your mother shall hear about this and your children will be lucky to secure vouchers.” She continued her tirade as the duke stood behind her, looking like he was torn between laughter and biting the woman.

Angelica glared at the patroness who was often called “Silence” for some absurd reason. The woman could barely pause in her speech long enough to take a breath.

“Piss on it, then!” Angelica muttered under her breath as she took Burnrath's arm and he escorted her out of the insipid club.

By the time they were settled in the duke's carriage, Angelica was overcome with gales of laughter. “I cannot believe I was just thrown out of Almack's!” she hiccupped, tears of hilarity streaming down her face. “And be-because I behaved as if I
liked
you too much!”

Burnrath laughed as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his handkerchief. “The irony
is
almost too much to bear. But you should calm down before your maid descends from the driver's perch and climbs inside, thinking you are having hysterics.”

She took a deep breath and then froze. “Oh God, my mother will be the one to have hysterics, I know it. Lady Jersey is going to tell her. She said my children would be lucky to get vouchers. I don't know if I'll be able to endure the nagging.”

The duke stiffened beside her. “I am quite certain that I will be able to placate your mother. And as for the other thing, you need not worry about it.”

Angelica looked up, curious about his change in tone. “Why not?”

“I am unable to give you children,” he said gruffly, avoiding her gaze to stare at his boots. “I am very sorry, Angel.”

“That is quite all right with me,” Angelica said, momentarily forgetting her intentions to escape marrying him. “Unlike most females, I never really gave motherhood much thought except for being outraged on behalf of those women who are subject to a husband's wrath if they fail to provide a male heir, especially since so many die in the effort. I would much rather avoid the whole ordeal.”

His features relaxed in obvious relief. “I had feared such news would disappoint you.”

The gentleness of his voice wove a spell over her. She struggled to regain her resolve. “May we discuss something else? Surely such a subject is inappropriate.”

The duke's laughter echoed in the closed carriage. “You now mention impropriety? Oh, Angel, never in almost three centuries of living have I encountered anyone like you. You are a treasure.” Suddenly, his gaze darkened. “I will show you impropriety.”

He pulled her onto his lap and brought his lips down on hers. Heat exploded within her as he crushed her body against his, and his tongue delved into her mouth to dance against hers, invoking electrifying sensations. She reached up and tangled her fingers in his long hair, surprised to find that the locks felt silkier than they appeared. His hand slid down to her breast, and even as she gasped in surprise, a tendril of warmth curled down from there to the tender place between her thighs.

The carriage halted and the duke growled a curse as Angelica leaped away from him with a tiny squeak of protest, seething with self-rage.
What
am
I
doing?
She was supposed to make him despise her, not cavort in his arms like a shameless wanton. Frantically, she adjusted her hair and gown before the door opened and the groom handed her down. The cool air was a relief against her heated face and form.

“I did not expect you to return so early,” her mother said, brows knitted in concern, when they came in.

“I apologize, Lady Margaret,” Burnrath said with a low bow. “There has been an incident at Almack's, and being that I was unfamiliar with the traditions of that hallowed establishment, all was completely my fault. Allow me to give you the true account of what transpired before you hear a distorted version from others.”

Angelica watched in awe as the duke manipulated her mother with his eloquent speech, rendering her as malleable as fine clay. By the time he was finished, it was obvious that Margaret was ready to nominate the vampire as a candidate for sainthood. Angelica was torn between admiration and envy for his diplomatic skill.

After the duke finished explaining to her mother and bid her good night, Angelica realized with a pang of sadness that she might never see him again. The next day she and her mother were to visit her grandfather, where she would thankfully have a little time to form a plan of escape.

***

She
is
like
an
angel
in
repose.
Ian stood over Angelica, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing. Her hair cascaded across her pillow and coverlet like an ebony waterfall, glistening in the moonlight. Her full lips were still plump and rosy from his kisses in the carriage.

Flying into her room had been frighteningly easy after the family fell asleep and all the lights of the surrounding houses were extinguished. So easy that it reinforced his resolve for what he was about to do.

Ian bit his right index finger, watching in fascination as the dark ruby drop of blood welled and bloomed out of his skin. Gently, he coaxed Angelica's lips open with the fingers of his left hand and let his blood drip into her mouth.

With a barely audible whisper, Ian whispered the ancient words of the ritual that would bind her to him. “I, Ian Ashton, Duke of Burnrath and Lord of London, Mark this mortal, Angelica Winthrop, as mine and mine alone. With this Mark I give Angelica my undying protection. Let all others, immortal and mortal alike, who cross her path sense my Mark and know that to act against her is to act against myself and thus set forth my wrath as I will avenge what is mine.”

A tremor ran through his body as the Mark flared between them. Angelica moaned in her sleep, and Ian had to clutch the bedpost for support. No one had told him that the effect of Marking a mortal would be so strong.
What
did
this
mean?
The only thing he knew was that her mind would now be closed to him any time he fed on her. But since he didn't care to eavesdrop on mortals' thoughts when he drank from them, this meant little to him. Furthermore, he did not intend to feed on Angelica without her permission.

When he regained his composure, he brushed his lips against hers, savoring her taste. Soon, she would be sleeping in his bed. For a moment he wished he was a mortal man again so he might wake beside her in the morning light, instead of retreating to his lair to flee the sun. Then he cursed himself for thinking like an ungrateful wretch. Fate had smiled down on him at last, granting him a few years to spend with a sweet and beautiful woman. He vowed to appreciate every moment.

Ian quietly opened her window and flew out into the night. He would have to dash off a quick note to the Elders regarding his actions. He doubted they would object; however, a few of his subordinate vampires might take offense, especially Rafe. No matter. He was lord of this city and his word was law, even to his second in command. Still, perhaps he would delay presenting her to them until after he wed her. After all, he did not wish to frighten her off.

***

Ben watched the vampire's body burn with less than his usual enthusiasm. The creature was a young female with blonde angelic beauty, a perfect foil for her demonic core.

“If I hadn't needed the coin, I wouldn't have bothered,” he muttered, then immediately crossed himself.

“I didn't mean to utter such blasphemous words, Lord!” Ben gazed up at the sky, filled with shame at such a sacrilegious thought. “I know it is my duty to rid the world of these minions of hell. Please forgive me.”

But still his pride warred within, scorning him for his failure to slay an ancient vampire. Ben bowed his head and retrieved his rosary, feeling the reassuring smoothness of the wooden beads.

He knew his hunt in London would not be easy, yet things were progressing far worse than he had imagined. The Duke of Burnrath was proving to be a most elusive quarry. So much so that Ben was not even certain that the man
was
a vampire. The gossip articles were full of conflicting and contradictory information. In fact, if the latest issue of
The
Times
was to be believed, the duke was to wed a young heiress within the month, a very unusual action for a monster.

Unless
… Ben paused as he recalled the caricature of the Duke and his betrothed.
What
if
the
monster
intended
to
transform
the
innocent
girl
into
a
vampire
as
well?

His gut roiled in terror at the thought. The scenario was too similar to Polidori's tale to be a mere coincidence. Perhaps that was how the ancients operated… and if that were the case, his time was limited, for another soul was in jeopardy.

To his everlasting frustration, Ben couldn't get close enough to the duke or to his social circle to discover the truth, one way or another. He was barred from entry to every gathering and every club, no matter how fashionable his attire. The hunter grimaced as he recalled the fancy waistcoats and cravats he had purchased for his hunt. Damned waste of money they were! It was as though those paragons of high society had an uncanny extra sense about them, as though they could actually
smell
that he was nothing but the son of a poor Irish baron… and
Catholic
at that.