Bite Me, Your Grace (13 page)

When Ian read the man's intentions to rape his intended bride, he had felt the urge to kill for the first time in almost two centuries. He released his victim with a growl, realizing that she had been watching him the whole time. Angelica stared at him, wide-eyed but silent. She wiped the mud from her cheek, smearing it on her satin glove. Her body heaved from its exertion as she continued to clutch his walking stick.

“I am quite sorry you had to see that,” Ian said as he approached her, carefully watching her face for any expression of disgust. Again he cursed himself for putting her in danger.

“I am just happy those men did not…” She trailed off as Ian withdrew his handkerchief and wiped the rest of the mud from her face. “Did you kill him?”

He raised a brow at her casual tone.
Would
she
ever
cease
to
surprise
him?
“No. He is merely unconscious.” Ian neglected to tell her that with the amount of blood he had taken, coupled with the man's poor health, the bastard wasn't likely to survive the night. “Now come, my bloodthirsty wench. We should leave this place and fabricate a story for your mother's benefit in regards to the dishevelment of your clothing and person.”

Once they were settled in the carriage, Angelica asked, “Was that
really
John Polidori, you were chasing?”

He sighed at her enthusiasm. She should be berating him for abandoning her. “Yes.”

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming in fascination. “Why were you chasing him?”

“He owes me some explanations for his writing.” Ian answered patiently, though he was growing exhausted with the subject.

She chewed her full lower lip. “I do hope you catch him next time. I would very much like to meet him. I think he is an excellent writer.”

Ian laughed. “I was afraid you might think so.”

Inside, he was seething with self-recrimination. His pursuit of Polidori had put Angelica in danger. Perhaps he should call off the search and leave the man alone. After all, now that he was to wed, his reputation should be saved. He paused, looking out the carriage window. On the other hand, Rosetta lived nearby. Once he saw his future duchess home safely, it couldn't hurt to call on her and request that she try to catch Polidori.

“My God, he almost had me!” John panted as he slammed the door behind him and bolted down the stone steps.

Rosetta's heart pounded in alarm. “What happened, John?” She hurried over to him, running her hands over his body, looking for any sign of injury.

“I was walking through the square and a vampire saw me.” John paused to catch his breath as she waited anxiously. “He knew my name and he gave chase with murder in his eyes. The bastard caught me and I thought I was done for, but then a woman screamed and he released me and headed back in her direction.” He fetched a bottle of wine from the table and poured a glass with shaky hands.

Terror for her beloved turned her heart to ice. “What did he look like?” If the vampire pursuing John was one of the duke's informants, she could handle it, but if it was
him
, the danger had escalated tenfold.

Polidori paced the room like an agitated cat, wine slopping over his glass onto the floor. “He was tall, well dressed, and possessed the most eerie silver eyes. I could swear that they glowed.”

“Oh God!” she gasped and took John into her arms. “Then he was the Duke of Burnrath, the Lord Vampire of London. Did he follow you?”

John shook his head. “No, I'm sure he did not. He was quite concerned with the lady who screamed.”

“What lady?” Rosetta demanded. She'd heard His Grace was to marry a mortal but hadn't believed the rumor until she saw the announcement in
The
Times
. But surely he did not bring his intended to this part of town.

“I don't know who she was. I didn't see her, but God, she screamed loud.” John shuddered, eyes full of compassion. “I think she was being attacked. But I am certain the vampire did not follow me,” he repeated.

Rosetta remained unconvinced. “I do not want you leaving this chamber after dark anymore unless I am with you. It is not safe.”

“But, Rosetta, if he sees you with me, he is sure to kill you for betraying him.” John's dark gaze captured hers with his implacable will.

He was right. She ran a hand through her hair in agitation. She hated the fact that in instances like this she was as helpless as a mortal woman. Her eyes grew moist. “It does not matter as long as you are safe, my love. I could not bear it if something happened to you. And you seem to forget that this trouble was my fault to begin with. Still, I will fight for you if I have to.”

She trembled in his arms. He kissed the tears from her face and whispered, “Oh, Rosetta, my avenging warrior.”

Her lips caressed his neck as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, eager to make love to him once more, for each time could be their last.

All of their worries fled into the night as their bodies joined. Each wished the passionate embrace could last forever.

“I love you, Rosetta,” John whispered as she sank her fangs in his neck.

There was a brisk knock at the door. Terror spiked through her like the sun's fatal rays. Swiftly she leaped from the bed and threw on a night rail. She closed the bed curtains and sent John a pleading look to be silent before she raced up the stone steps, struggling to compose herself.

Her fears were confirmed when she opened the door to see the Lord of London looking down at her in embarrassment at her disheveled state. She decided to use his discomfort to her advantage.

“Rosetta, I am terribly sorry to have interrupted you.” He coughed awkwardly.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked, lacing her voice with the proper mixture of humiliation and impatience.

“John Polidori was seen near this area. I would like you to search for him when you are finished with your, ah, business. I have other matters demanding my attention at the moment and would greatly appreciate your assistance.” He paused and his expression became grave. “And please do keep your eyes and ears sharp for signs of Blanche. You remember her, don't you? She's small in stature and has long, pale blonde hair. She lives near Piccadilly. I still haven't found her and I'm beginning to suspect the worst.”

Rosetta was flooded with guilt at the relief she felt upon another vampire's disappearance providing a convenient distraction. She bowed meekly, avoiding his eyes. “Of course, my lord.” She turned to go back inside.

“I say, Rosetta,” his voice echoed behind her. She stiffened. “It's not Thomas you're dallying with, is it?” His voice was laced with amusement.

“No, my lord,” she answered honestly, suppressing a sneer. As if she would jeopardize her position by involving herself with a rival!

He chuckled. “Very well, I will leave you to your secrets. Be sure to inform me if you find anything.” The Lord of London turned to leave, and Rosetta's pulse began to slow. Then he turned back around. “Perhaps Polidori has something to do with Blanche's disappearance.”

“Oh no, my lord!” she said too quickly. “That is… Blanche seemed to me to be such a quiet, unhappy sort. Perhaps she decided to end her existence. I know that is a terrible thing to contemplate, but surely that explanation is more reasonable than any other alternative.”

He nodded. “Perhaps you are correct, though the thought pains me.” He pulled his watch from his pocket and frowned. “I must be going now. Thank you for your vigilance.”

Rosetta bowed meekly. “Yes, my lord.”

After he left, she slumped against the door frame. Something had to be done about His Grace. He was bound to discover her deception any night, with the way things were headed. Unfortunately the only way to get him off her trail was to turn in Polidori or kill her lord. She thought of fleeing London or even England, but quickly dismissed the idea. Burnrath would merely inform the Elders and they would put out a search warrant across the world.

“That was him, wasn't it?” John whispered loudly from the bedchamber.

“Yes, but he is gone now. I do not think he believes you are here.” Again, shame filled her for the lies she had told her master.

She poured a glass of wine and sipped it pensively. Her deception was weaving a tighter and tighter trap, one whose jaws could close on her any minute.

Rosetta wasn't powerful enough to kill the Lord of London, and even if she was, she didn't know if she could bring herself to commit such a terrible act. But she would do anything for John. Her thoughts raced as she thought of ideas and then discarded them. She had to do something, but what?

The last three weeks of the engagement flew faster than Keats's nightingale. Angelica's mother was over the moon with the joy of preparing wedding invitations. Margaret chattered in an incessant stream to her daughter as she pored over a guest list, reading spectacles perched on her nose. She had succeeded in her crusade to get her daughter married off, and her happiness shone to the world.

Angelica was torn between amusement and relief that the nagging had abated slightly. But now that her mother had accomplished her goal and Angelica would be moving away, what would Margaret do with the rest of her life? The thought gave Angelica a strange pang of discomfort.

“Oh my, I almost forgot the Wheatons,” her mother said, interrupting her reverie. “They are related to the Prime Minister, so we cannot risk offending them.” Margaret pulled out a black invitation embossed with silver—the Burnrath colors—opened it, then dipped her quill in silver ink.

Angelica watched her mother, happily engrossed with her work, and a frightening suspicion overtook her. “Mother, what do you plan to do when I'm gone?”

“Whatever do you mean, dearest?” Margaret asked. “You are not going far. I will still visit you often. After all, you will still need my help planning balls and musicales and other such things. And there will be the grandchildren to think of, of course. Why, it shall be as if you never left!”

“I see,” Angelica said with dawning horror. However would she get any writing done with her mother constantly pestering her? Not to mention the tirade that would come when she failed to get pregnant.

Margaret raised a brow. “I see the prospect doesn't exactly delight you,” she said dryly. Her voice softened. “I know we've never seen eye to eye, but you must believe that I love you. After all, you are my only child and I'm afraid my heart would be broken if we became estranged after your marriage. I hope you can find it in your heart to permit me to remain a part of your life and perhaps lend my help and advice when you so require. I promise to try not to push you so much.”

Angelica blinked at her mother's impassioned—and unexpected—speech. She was beginning to recognize that not all of their disagreements were entirely Margaret's fault. When her mother said “white,” it was practically a reflex for her to say “black.” A childish impulse, she realized uncomfortably, and now was high time she grew out of it. After all, she was to be a duchess soon. She knew that they would never agree with each other on much, but the least she could do was make an effort to compromise.

“Of course, Mother,” Angelica whispered. “I would very much like for you to visit me. And,” she added, looking down at her lap. “I am sorry I couldn't have been a more normal daughter to you.”

Margaret smiled and opened her arms. Angelica rushed into her embrace, heart light at the reconciliation. They would still bicker, she was certain, but at least they had become closer.

“Now,” her mother said as she wiped a tear from her eye. “I must get back to work, else there will be no guests at your wedding.” Retrieving the quill, she glanced up at her daughter. “I nearly forgot to ask. Is there anyone in particular you would like to invite?”

“I do not have any friends,” Angelica said with downcast eyes. She never had anything in common with girls her age. She preferred cats to horses and books to fashion. Because of the estrangement between her mother and the Earl of Pendlebur, her family spent most summers in town rather than in the country with the rest of the peerage, contributing further to her isolation.

Her mother sighed. “Well, perhaps we can invite the daughters of some of my acquaintances.”

Angelica frowned at the thought of having a group of insipid girls she hardly knew attending such an important event in her life. A thought came to her, bringing a smile. “I think it would be a wonderful idea to invite a few of Father's nieces. I haven't seen my Winthrop cousins since I was a child.” She tried to keep a note of accusation out of her voice. Her mother had limited her contact with her husband's side of the family, thinking she was above them.

“But darling, they are nobodies.” Margaret didn't bother to hide the scorn in her voice.

“They are family,” Angelica insisted. “And besides, maybe they could meet eligible gentlemen at the reception. And this
is
my wedding.”

“Very well.” Her mother set aside her spectacles. “Perhaps that will convey the message that it will not pay to offend the Duchess of Burnrath. But at least invite a lady of Quality to attend. I hear the duke invited the Duke of Wentworth. His wife would be a very wise choice.”

“That is brilliant, Mother,” Angelica said, and meant it. She had not forgotten the kindness the Wentworths displayed toward her family during that fateful night at the Cavendish ball.

***

Saint George's Church was packed with nearly every member of the
haut
ton
, all come to witness the historical marriage of the Duke of Burnrath to Miss Angelica Winthrop, granddaughter of the Earl of Pendlebur. The event seemed to bring more talk than the recent death of Napoleon Bonaparte. George's Street was packed with carriages, their lanterns glowing in the night like stars and the fog curled up around the horses' legs, making the creatures appear as if they were perched on clouds. Angelica peered out at the whimsical scene one last time before turning back to the mirror.

The ivory silk bridal gown was overlaid with gold spangled lace, transforming her into a picture of elegance as well as making her look ethereal and innocent.
A
fit
bride
for
a
duke
, she thought with a wry smile, resisting the urge to lift her nose in the air in mocking imitation of her mother. Margaret knelt below her, toying with the arrangement of her skirts.

Angelica squirmed in impatience. “Mother, please stop fidgeting with my dress. The guests are all here, and if I do not make my appearance on the aisle soon, the duke will think I abandoned him.”

Margaret paused for a moment before returning to her frantic ministrations. “Just let me adjust your veil.”

Angelica bit back a curse. “Honestly, I do not see why I have to wear this silly thing. The confounded fabric itches and I cannot see through it very well.”

“This veil is the latest in Paris fashion and my daughter shall have nothing less.” Her mother was implacable.

“We are not in Paris,” Angelica grumbled under her breath as her mother poked and pulled at her further before handing her a bouquet of white roses and orange blossoms.

“There you are, a perfect duchess.” Her mother's eyes misted. “This day is even better than I had dreamed! I am so proud of you.”

Her father entered the room and gently closed the door behind him. “It is time for me to escort the bride down the aisle.” His voice was almost comically hushed in respect for their solemn surroundings.

“We are just about finished here,” her mother said with a wistful smile. “She looks lovely, does she not?”

Her father gazed down at Angelica, love shining in his eyes. “You are the most beautiful bride I have ever beheld, my dearest… aside from your mother, of course,” he added, and Margaret made a small pleased sound.

“Thank you, Papa.” Angelica beamed and wiped a tear from her cheek, as she looked at her happy parents. “I will miss you both.”

She felt a lump form in her throat at their obvious happiness. As she took her father's arm and prepared to march down the aisle, Margaret called, “Do not forget what I told you about tonight.”

How
could
I?
Angelica thought as her mother's lecture about the wedding night and the marriage bed flitted through her mind.

“There will be incredible pain the first time, darling,” Margaret had said. “And you might bleed. But you must submit to him without complaint until you are pregnant with his heir. After that, he should leave you alone for the most part and fulfill his baser desires on a mistress.”

Angelica did not wish to be subjected to something that would make her bleed, but she had a feeling some of those “baser desires” involved kissing. The thought of Ian's lips on another woman's made her want to scream.
Thank
God
he
said
he
is
unable
to
give
me
children. That means I will not have to go through such unpleasantness! Also, in that case, he should have no need for a mistress!

Angelica walked down the aisle on her father's arm, trying to look proud and confident. The smell of candle wax, incense, flowers, and over-perfumed bodies created a cloying miasma, making breathing extremely difficult. Or perhaps just her nervousness was overwhelming. Everyone stared at her, and their whispers shook the rafters.

She took comfort in the sight of her grandfather, the Earl of Pendlebur, smiling his approval on her and her father. The two men had actually been civil to each other today, and she had reason to hope that the earl would at long last accept his son-in-law. She tamped down the anger at her grandfather for his cruel threats. Today was not meant for unpleasant feelings, and she would do her best to at least be polite to him.

There were a few unfamiliar faces about and she wondered if some of Ian's fellow vampires had come for the ceremony. The thought of vampires in church made her stifle a giggle. She longed to tell that Polidori fellow about it if she ever had the opportunity to meet him. Angelica took a deep breath and focused on putting one foot in front of the other and doing her best not to crush the bouquet of flowers in her nervous grip.

Her eyes locked on Ian, who stood at the altar waiting with a smile. He looked so dark and handsome that her knees almost buckled under her skirts. When her father placed her hand in Ian's, an electrical current seemed to spring between them. Only a flicker in his eyes revealed that he felt it too.

The parson's words droned on, just barely within her consciousness.
I
am
doing
it. I am actually marrying a vampire!
She wondered if he would change her into one as well. Too late, she realized that she'd never broached the subject, for she'd been too concerned with avoiding marriage. The thought of drinking blood gave her pause, but the thought of living forever, especially with a man like Ian by her side, would make it all worthwhile. And when he vowed to honor and cherish her, she felt a thrill of warmth down to her toes. She smiled up at him and said her vows, though she stumbled a bit on the word “obey.”

He slipped a wide gold band over her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee honor, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Her heart thrilled at the warmth in his voice.

After what seemed to be an eternity, they were pronounced man and wife. Stunned gasps erupted from the audience as Ian's mouth slanted across hers with such passion she feared the church would be set alight. When he lifted his head, he turned her to face the crowd. “I present to you Lady Angelica Ashton, Duchess of Burnrath.”

The cheers were deafening as they walked out of the church. Society's capricious speculations now leaned toward a love match, for all eyes had examined her midsection for a telltale bulge that would have revealed Angelica to have been physically compromised, and none was observed. Also, she had looked so innocent in her gown of virginal white that only the most hardened souls could believe she was anything but a virtuous young lady.

However, the adoration in the duke's eyes and the passion in their unexpected kiss led the wedding guests to concur that the duke and his new duchess were unfashionably in love. Still, a handful of fervent believers of Polidori's tale wondered if the new duchess would survive her wedding night. Despite the church's holy atmosphere, a few wagers were made.

***

Angelica could hardly believe the transformation of the Burnrath mansion. The ballroom glowed from the gaslit chandeliers, and the gilded mirrors sparkled. Not a speck of dust or ominous shadow was in sight. Menservants performed a stately march to and fro with silver trays bearing glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Musicians played lively melodies, to which the multitude of guests were happy to dance… at least, most of them were.

Two men held up pillars on opposite sides of the ballroom. Angelica recognized them from the wedding, but she had never seen them before that. The first man was impossibly tall, with shoulder-length hair the color of moonlight. He surveyed the merriment as if such joy was alien to him, but his stormy blue-gray eyes held the same trace of loneliness she often saw in Ian's gaze. Was this another vampire?

The second man had exotic, golden brown skin and startling amber eyes set off by a mane of waist-length black hair. His features were so striking that it took Angelica a moment to observe that the left side of his face was scarred and that his left arm hung awkwardly at his side, as if it had lost its function. At first she thought his scowl was due to anger that he couldn't dance, but then she followed the line of his sight and realized that he was glaring at the other man.

“I cannot believe the Mad Deveril is here!” the Duchess of Wentworth said quietly behind her.

“The Mad Deveril?” Angelica turned to her with a raised brow. “To whom are you referring, Your Grace?”

The duchess grinned. “Please, call me Jane, else we'll be ‘Your Grace-ing' one another all night.” She lifted her fan to whisper, “I was referring to the man you were staring at, the one with the striking hair and blue eyes. He's much more handsome than I'd heard, though so very tall and thin. You are not contemplating an affair already, are you?”

Angelica gasped in outrage. “Of course not!” At Jane's laughter, she realized the duchess was teasing her. Shifting her gaze back to the subject of their conversation, Angelica lifted her own fan to whisper, “Is he truly mad?”