Bite Me, Your Grace (18 page)

Ian sighed. “I vowed never to condemn anyone to this life, especially without a choice, as happened to me. No matter how politely we behave, we are still fallen demons, as the legends say. I could never do that to her.”

Rafe's gaze softened. “Just because you were Changed without a choice does not mean it would be so bad for your duchess. Perhaps she wants to spend eternity at your side.”

Ian laughed as he pictured an eternity with the vexing, mischievous woman, then he sobered. “I do not think so. She fought with all her tiny being against marriage to me. She nearly ran away to avoid being shackled to my side.”

“I would not be so certain of this,” Rafe said softly. “Feelings change, after all.”

As Ian followed Rafe down to the cellar and through the secret door to the chamber in which they would hide from the daylight, he mulled over his friend's words. Could Angelica possibly love him? Would she want to spend untold centuries at his side? He hardly allowed to dream.

Perhaps he should redouble his courtship efforts. Angelica had never said she loved him, but sometimes there was such warmth in her eyes that he dared to hope. Perhaps in time, she would want to share eternity with him. Well, time was something he certainly had.

Angelica picked listlessly at her breakfast, wishing that the previous evening had been a dream. Perhaps if she didn't get out of bed… no, she had to face the truth. Ian was going to abandon her. And he had done so with others. She couldn't believe that she had been such a fool. She'd thought the only danger in marriage was losing her freedom. She'd never imagined she'd lose her heart.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Liza asked when Angelica set her fork aside.

“I am perfectly well,” she snapped, guilt striking her as the maid jumped in surprise at her tone.

Angelica's pain was so apparent that when Liza took away her tray full of uneaten food, she gave her mistress a look of such pity that Angelica's heart clenched in bitterness.

She climbed out of bed and straightened her spine. She wouldn't give anyone a chance to pity her. And never would she let Ian know that he had hurt her. No man would ever have that kind of power over her. She would live her life, and God help her, she would have her vampire duke exorcised from her heart by the time he left her. She yanked open her wardrobe and looked for an ensemble that would inspire confidence.

She pulled out a sophisticated black gown of watered silk. The dressmaker had protested vehemently against the color, but Angelica had put her foot down. Now the ensemble suited her emotional state perfectly. After Liza helped her dress, Angelica fixed her reflection with a stern glare.
I
need
not
wait
until
Ian's farce of a “death” to mourn him. My heart is dead now.

She had just finished her breakfast when the butler announced the arrival of her mother.

“Angelica, I must speak to you about your ball last night.” Margaret stormed in and was immediately attacked by Loki.

Angelica smiled wanly. Even the kitten's antics were not enough to bring her cheer. “Perhaps we should speak elsewhere.”

“Indeed, we shall.” Her mother lifted her nose in pious disapproval as she extracted the kitten from her skirts and followed her daughter into the blue salon.

Angelica sat in a wingback chair by the fireplace and endured her mother's blistering tirade about the ball with patience that went beyond admirable. In truth, anything was preferable to thinking about her own impending abandonment.

Margaret immediately noticed her daughter's abnormal lack of argument. “Whatever is the matter, Angelica? You look dreadfully pale.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think that you are carrying the Burnrath heir already?”

Angelica shook her head. Things would be so much easier if a mere pregnancy was the problem.

“Then what is wrong with you, dear?” The compassion in her mother's voice was genuine and irresistible in its sincerity.

Angelica longed to talk to another woman about her predicament, but her mother was the only married woman with whom she had more than a nodding acquaintance. Of course, there was the Duchess of Wentworth, but speaking with her was out of the question, not only because they did not know each other that well, but because her husband and Ian were such good friends. The Wentworths were unaware of Ian's secret, and Angelica was certain he wanted to keep it that way.

She nibbled her lower lip in indecision for what seemed an eternity before looking down at her slippers, face burning in shame. “I think my husband means to leave me.”

The silence was thicker than the morning fog. Angelica's gaze crept up to her mother's face against her will. Margaret's eyebrows were threatening to disappear into her hairline, and her mouth gaped.

Finally, she spoke. “Do you think he's upset about the ball?”

Angelica thought no such thing, but the real reasons were impossible to reveal. She nodded.

Her mother's voice was heartbreaking in its disappointment. “I have told you time and again that a married woman, especially a duchess, is held to certain standards of conduct. It is past time for you to let go of your eccentricities.”

“But that is who I am!” Angelica protested. “He knew from the start that I didn't fit in the mold of propriety. If he takes umbrage with the fact, he should not have married me!”

Margaret held up a hand. “I am finished arguing with you on the matter. Lord knows we never get anywhere with this subject. As for your marriage, I am certain the situation may be salvaged. I'm sure you know that your father and I did not always have the most amiable relationship.”

Angelica's unladylike snort echoed into her teacup. Now
that
was the understatement of the century. Margaret's rapier glare quelled most of her mirth.

“But our marriage has survived, despite its trials,” Margaret declared. “I am certain the same will work for yours. After all, His Grace seems quite fond of you, despite your early efforts to make that otherwise. Don't think for a moment that I did not notice.”

A faint tremor of hope arose. “Perhaps you are right, Mother. Maybe if I just speak to him about—”

“No!” Margaret cried. “Do not consider such a thing. Your quarrelsome disposition will only increase his ire.”

Angelica sighed. Perhaps her mother was right. She did have a tendency to be quarrelsome, and Ian would surely leave her sooner if she aggravated him. “Then what should I do?”

“To begin with, you must pretend that nothing is amiss,” Margaret began. “And you must be gracious and obedient to him in all things.”

“That will be difficult,” Angelica replied bitterly. “I'm afraid I'm a terrible liar.”

Her mother set down her teacup with such force that liquid slopped over the rim. “You must. Even if you have to avoid his presence, you must behave as if nothing is wrong.” She leaned back in her seat and tapped her chin.

“Come to think of it, that is not a bad idea. If you rattle around this place like you did at home, one would not be at all surprised if he tires of you so soon. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Go to the shops, make social calls, and for goodness sake, make some friends! You are entirely too much alone, my dear.”

Angelica nodded. Perhaps Ian was taking her for granted already. The thought of him being tired of her made her feel chilled and queasy. And if she were to pull off behaving as if everything was perfect between them, she would have to avoid him as much as possible. Perhaps her absence would incite him to miss her and maybe, just maybe, goad him into reconsidering his decision to abandon her.

“Thank you for the advice, Mother,” she said as she stood. “I will try to heed your words.”

Margaret followed her from the room. “I do hope I was able to help. Now what were you thinking when you decided to play your infernal music at the ball?”

Angelica chuckled. Her mother would never change, it seemed. Anything out of the ordinary was anathema to her.

Angelica spent the rest of the day receiving callers and answering invitations. The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth arrived for supper just as Ian rose for the night. She avoided his gaze throughout the meal, knowing her heartbreak was pouring from her eyes. Instead, she focused all her energy on entertaining her guests. Her heart leaped in her throat as he approached her the moment the Wentworths departed.

“It seems we are now alone,” Ian said, his silver eyes gleaming. “How fortuitous.” He bent to kiss her.

How can he behave as if nothing is wrong?
Angelica thought with an ache in her heart. “Ian—”

“Hush. I want to taste you.” Before she could protest further, his lips crushed hers in a hypnotic, drugging kiss.

She tried to remain numb and unaffected by his attentions, but her traitorous body melted in his arms and her wayward hands found themselves tangled in his hair. A sigh of pleasure, rather than a word of protest, passed her lips when he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bedchamber.

When his magnificent body was bared to her, she was lost.
At
least
I
will
have
his
lovemaking; I will at least have this part of him for as long as I can.
Her eyes devoured him even as her heart cried,
Oh
Ian, why must you leave me?

She plunged herself into the hot fires of their joining, savoring each moment as if it were the last, and indeed it could be. She had no idea when he planned to abandon her, and to ask would kill her, lest his decision change from a few years to a few days. When their passion peaked to its poignant conclusion, her eyes burned with tears. She rolled from the bed and threw on her dressing gown.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked with a raised brow.

“I-I have an idea for a story,” she murmured. “I must begin writing before I forget.”

“What an industrious authoress you are.” He smiled. “I will eagerly await your return.”

She fled the bedchamber and ran to her writing room. Only when the door shut behind her, did she allow the tears to flow.
I'll never let him see me cry, never!

***

Angelica threw herself into a full routine. Every hour was occupied—and every hour was empty. She spent her mornings in her writing room, her afternoons receiving callers, and evenings attending balls or soirees, or hosting small dinner parties to which she invited writers, artists, and musicians. She was utterly and completely free to do as she pleased, yet utterly and completely miserable except for the brief moments she spent enveloped in Ian's rapturous lovemaking. Only then did her excruciating heartache abate for a brief time.

Every evening she spent absent from the Ian's side fanned the flames of gossip that the couple was estranged. People recalled her ball the previous month and then speculated that the duke had disapproved of her arrangements and performance. With her current habits of associating with writers and artists and other objectionable company, along with the now public knowledge that she had been thrown out of Almack's, the Duchess of Burnrath was decreed to be “fast” and shunned by many a leading society matron. Unmarried females were forbidden to associate with her by their chaperones and mothers. Naturally, with much of the primmer company absent, Angelica's parties grew more raucous.

The fast set immediately accepted the Duchess of Burnrath due to her lofty rank, but when she revealed herself to be the gothic author, Allan Winthrop, they welcomed her with open arms. The day she arrived at the offices of
The
New
Monthly
Magazine
, dressed in her male attire and armed with a new submission, made the papers. After Colburn accepted her latest story, Angelica whipped off her tiewig, shaking out her ebony tresses.

“Who are you?” the publisher demanded, eyes wide in outrage.

“My real name is Angelica Ashton, Duchess of Burnrath.” She smiled, regarding him with a challenging stare.

“Your Grace!” he gasped, continuing to stare at her as if she were an exotic animal. “It is such an honor. I
cannot
believe you wrote these!”

“Does this mean you won't publish my work anymore?” she asked worriedly.

Colburn laughed. “Surely you jest, madam. Now that you have revealed your identity, my sales will increase tenfold!” He handed her a forty-pound note. “Could you perchance write a vampire story? They are all the rage now.”

She pocketed the money, intent on donating it to a charity, and formed an evasive reply. “I shall take the matter under consideration.”

A
vampire
story…
Angelica thought on the ride home. Well, she was certainly in a position to write one. However, doing so would undo all that Ian had accomplished in trying to safeguard his reputation. In fact, because she was his wife, she would do twice the damage to his name that Polidori had with his story.

But
what
if
I
could
make
a
different
sort
of
tale…
She settled against the velvet squabs of her coach.
What
if
I
made
the
vampire
the
hero
of
the
story? And what if I put the characters in a different time period? What if I made the piece a romance?
She choked back a bitter laugh. Before Ian cast his spell on her, she had no respect for romantic novels. Now love seemed to be all that haunted her mind.

And love is the ultimate fodder for fiction, Angelica thought as the carriage arrived home. Immediately she called for Liza to help her dress for the Pemberly ball. She did not wish to go anywhere this evening, but she was feeling very melancholy and it wouldn't do for her husband to catch her in such a vulnerable state. Too easily, she could imagine breaking down and tearfully begging for him not to leave her.

***

When Ian returned from his evening hunt, he was informed that the duchess was at yet another party. For some inexplicable reason, they seemed to be little more than virtual strangers now, except in the bedroom, where the heat of Angelica's embraces was so fierce he felt scalded. Outside of their bed, she rarely spoke to him, and only with cool civility. Her adoration appeared to have been feigned, for now she even refused to let him feed from her anymore. Ian wished he had abandoned his morals just once and read her thoughts when he'd had the opportunity. Perhaps then his passion for her could have been avoided.

He cursed himself for allowing a mortal woman to get under his skin, beautiful and intriguing as she was. Perhaps she was a scheming, spoiled opportunist who wanted nothing from him but to secure her position in society and enjoy the fame and fortune of his name. She'd certainly taken the reins of power as his duchess with haste, and now she appeared to be enjoying her new position in all possible ways. Still, his heart cried for an explanation of her cooled demeanor.