One Bite Per Night (21 page)

Mind racing from her interrogation by Rafe and the duchess and its following revelations, Lydia numbly followed her chaperone. Even after the door had closed behind them, her heightened hearing caught Rafe's next words to the duchess.

“So Deveril
did
intend to wed her in the first place. That
is
interesting.”

Alternating waves of joy and despair washed over her as she washed her hands and changed her gown. Vincent had wanted her after all. Yet because of her foolishness, the man she loved could be dead in a fortnight, thus destroying any chance of them being together.

“
He
hates
himself
,” Rafe had said.

Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought. She couldn't let Vincent die thinking he was a loathsome monster. There had to be something she could do.

***

Angelica's smile lit up the music room as she introduced Lydia to the literary circle. Lydia recognized a few of the women right away. The Duchess of Wentworth kissed her on both cheeks. Angelica then introduced her to the Countess of Blessington, the subject of the painting Lawrence had commissioned her to finish. As Lydia sought a closer observation of Lady Blessington's eye color, Lady Rosslyn favored her with a welcoming smile.

“I am pleased to see you again, Miss Price. I have heard much of your skill with a paintbrush. I do hope you will be willing to show me your work at the earliest opportunity.”

“You flatter me, my lady.” Lydia warmed at the praise. Rafe was mad. Lady Rosslyn was
not
a nuisance, and Lydia hoped she
would
become a doctor. They sipped their wine and chatted excitedly in anticipation of the phantasmagoria.

Angelica clinked her wineglass for attention. “Ladies, it is time. Let us adjourn to the music room.”

Lydia followed the group and jumped when someone cried out, “What in the name of heaven is that thing?”

Expecting something horrifying, she was almost disappointed to see the odd object. Concave glass segments, vaguely resembling bowls, were mounted on a shaft upon a small, narrow table. Every section was progressively smaller, making the whole look like a rounded icicle. The smallest end was fastened to a wheel.

“It is a
hydrodaktulopsychicharmonica
,” Lady Rosslyn stated smoothly.

Of
course
, thought Lydia wryly.
Common
knowledge.

Angelica chuckled and explained. “What Cassandra means to say is that it is a glass harmonica. A charming instrument, invented in America.” She grinned at Lydia. “By your own Benjamin Franklin, I believe. It shall play an important part in tonight's performance.”

Lady Rosslyn nodded in agreement. “Precisely. Now if you will all be seated, we may commence.” She gestured to a group of chairs that were neatly arranged facing a black curtain, which hung wall to wall at the east end of the room, obscuring the fireplace from view.

Lydia glimpsed the shoes of two footmen behind the curtain, and her curiosity rose.

All lights in the room were then extinguished. An ominous red glow from the fireplace beneath the curtain was the only source of illumination. The footmen behind the curtain rattled a sheet of tin to sound like thunder. Blue light flickered to imitate lightning, eliciting gasps from the audience.

An eerie melody, high-pitched as birdsong, filled the air. All turned their heads toward the source. In the darkness, Angelica's form was barely visible as her fingers played across the glass harmonica.

Lydia caught a movement in the corner of her eye. She turned slightly to see Rafe leaning on the door frame hidden in the shadows. The vampire was watching Lady Rosslyn intently. She turned away before he could see her grin.
And
he
called
Cassandra
a
nuisance.

Angelica's voice rang out above the music, recapturing Lydia's attention. “An unnatural storm raged during the night that Death came to claim the true love of Mary Scofield.”

The artificial thunder roared once more, and an image of a cloaked skeleton grinning at a maiden appeared. Lady Pemberly shrieked. Lydia squinted at the image. It was a painting… She could see the brushstrokes… How had it appeared in this manner?

A murmur of appreciation escaped her lips as she figured it out.

While they'd been distracted by the glass harmonica, a transparent screen had been lowered halfway between the ladies and the black curtain, further adding to its illusion of invisibility. It was upon this surface that the images were being produced by… Lydia turned around once more. The Countess of Rosslyn was operating a strange boxed lantern, which somehow had the ability to magnify and project tiny images painted on squares of glass. As Cassandra moved the lantern up and down, the pictures moved on the screen.

“How very clever,” Lydia whispered in awe.

The music grew more ominous as Angelica continued her story. “Mary refused to allow her beloved to die. Instead of humbly stepping aside, she spit in the Reaper's cavernous eye socket. Captivated by her courage, Death offered her a challenge: if she could defeat seven demons, he would spare her lover's life.”

Horrid images were displayed as the duchess described Mary's battles with the demons. Many of the ladies cried out as the countess moved the box forward, giving the impression that the monsters were coming to maul the audience. Their eyes and mouths miraculously moved. Lydia saw that Lady Rosslyn was shifting sliders of some sort to achieve the effect.

Droplets of warm liquid struck Lydia, along with the other spectators. The substance would have been evocative of blood if she had been unable to smell that it was water. More footmen had crept behind them to aid in the performance. From the terrified shrieks of the others, the warm water was achieving the desired result. After a while, something thin and damp graced the back of her neck. Lydia glanced over her shoulder to see Emma grinning as she wielded a stick with several wet strings tied on its end. She also noticed Rafe smiling.

Genius!
She fought the urge to applaud.

As the duchess narrated, the heroine defeating each demon, the grotesque figures grew smaller in size, as if being carried away into the depths of the hell in which they'd been created. A burst of light signaled each victory, emphasized by ethereal notes on the glass harmonica.

“After the Gorgon was dispatched, Mary dropped her sword into the flames. ‘I have fulfilled your challenge and defeated all of the demons,' she declared as Death appeared once more before her. ‘Now release me so I may return to my beloved.'”

Angelica paused dramatically and played a long note of anticipation.

“The Reaper laughed. His mirth was the sound of windy tombs and rattling bones. ‘I promised only to spare your lover's life, never to release you. For I shall have you as my bride.' From the pocket of his unholy robes, he withdrew a ring carved from human bone. ‘Now hold out your hand, dear Mary, and be mine forever.'”

The music once more took on a melody of dread.

“Mary held out her hand, though not in obedience. In the blink of an eye, she snatched the Reaper's scythe and chopped off his head.”

With startling speed, the countess manipulated the slides to make the action seem frighteningly realistic. As a burst of blood exploded from the severed skull, the lurking footmen sprinkled more water over the spectators.

There were more shrieks and nervous giggles, and Lady Pemberly swooned, although no one seemed overly concerned at this development. Angelica played a happy tune. “Mary was transported back to her love, who awaited her with open arms. Since she'd defeated Death himself, they lived happily together for all eternity.”

The room filled with light as the servants lit the gas lamps, revealing the screen before them, along with the countess and her miraculous device behind them. Rafe chuckled lightly and disappeared from the room before anyone else noticed.

Lydia stood and applauded with gusto. The others slowly joined her, blinking and dazed.

“Amazing,” Lady Blessington breathed. “How did you do it?”

Lady Rosslyn held up her strange box. “This is called a magic lantern.” She frowned. “Though it is hardly magic. Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of light and its scientific applications can perceive how the device operates.”

Lady Pemberly roused from her faint. “So it was not real? I swear, I could have reached out and touched those monsters!”

“I want to make one!” Lydia declared, overcome with eagerness at the potential for artistic creation. “I wager I could paint even more horrifying creatures.”

Angelica grinned. “I wager you could as well.” She turned to the countess. “What do you think, Cassandra? Shall we create another display of horror and mayhem?”

Lady Rosslyn beamed. “I would be delighted.”

The ladies of the literary circle all eagerly chatted about the phantasmagoria for another hour before they departed. Most appeared awed and excited on their way out, except for Lady Pemberly, who looked to be rather traumatized. Lydia listened to Lady Blessington's tales of Lord Byron as she memorized the countess's features for her painting.

Cassandra donned her cloak and kissed Angelica on both cheeks before taking Lydia's hands. “I will see about acquiring some blank slides for you to paint as soon as possible. Meanwhile, you and Her Grace should devise another worthy tale.”

Miss Hobson yawned as soon as everyone was absent. “I daresay I've had enough excitement for the next year. I shall retire.” Turning to Angelica, she fixed her with an imperious stare. “I trust you'll ensure that Miss Price stays out of trouble for what is left of the evening?”

The vampire's lips twitched as she managed a solemn reply. “I always do.” After the chaperone left the room, her mischievous grin returned. “Well, Miss Price, if you do not hunt soon, I daresay you might indeed cause trouble.”

Once out in the cool night air, under the silvery moonlight, Angelica grinned at Lydia. “I knew Vincent wanted you. I only wish he hadn't resisted you for so long. One would think he'd be able to discern your feelings once he'd Marked you.”

“Marked?” Lydia's curiosity rose yet higher. “What do you mean, he Marked me? And when did he do so?”

Angelica lifted her gaze to the heavens and sighed. “I shall let Lord Deveril explain all of that to you, I think. Really, I shouldn't have to do all of his work for him.”

Guilt immediately washed over Lydia. “Oh, Your Grace, I'm sorry. I have been such a trial to you, I am sure.”

“Not at all!” Angelica said firmly. “It has been quite an enjoyable experience…though I would prefer my tutelage not to be for such dire reasons. Ooh, I see some drunken sods up ahead. Care to race?”

Later, as she worked on the portrait of Lady Blessington, Lydia closed her eyes and allowed the story Angelica had written for the phantasmagoria to replay in her mind. The heroine had defeated seven demons and Death himself to save the man she loved. Could Lydia do the same?

After his first hunt, Vincent went straight to Burnrath House, aching to see Lydia again. He savored every moment with her, knowing each time in her presence could be the last.

Ian waited for him outside the gates, fists thrust in his trouser pockets and a pensive frown marring his autocratic features.

“Is there anything amiss?” Vincent kept his tone level while a thousand worries assaulted him. Had Lydia run off again? Had someone hurt her? Or worst of all, had she decided to go out into the sun and end her existence?

Ian shook his head. “I know you want to see Lydia, and she is eager to speak to you as well, but there is something we must first discuss. I explained to you how I was required to execute a vampire who Changed a human without permission. I have thus far refrained from discussing the gory details with Lydia.”

Vincent nodded warily.

“Well, Rafe told Lydia what I had done, and she confronted me about the matter.”

“Rafe told her such a thing? How could he be so cruel?” Vincent growled, outraged. “She is frightened enough as it is.”

Ian shook his head. “I do not think he was trying to be cruel. He likely thought he was giving her a better understanding of the matter.”

Vincent gnashed his teeth.
How
very
helpful
of
him.
“What did she ask, and more importantly, what did you tell her of the incident?”

“First, I assured her that the circumstances between that upstart and your actions were completely different.”

“Did you tell Lydia how you carried out the sentence?”

“Good
God
, no!” Ian's voice was adamant. “It is not my intention to incite bad dreams. I told her only that I tried to make the vampire's death as quick and merciful as possible. It is difficult for creatures such as we, who are so resistant to being killed.”

With a measure of relief, he asked, “Why do you suppose Lydia asked you about this?”

“She doesn't want you to die, that much is obvious”—Ian shrugged—“and furthermore, she feels responsible for this whole situation.”

“That's ridiculous.” Vincent frowned. “If I had given in to my instincts and confessed the truth of what I am to her sooner, I would be holding an approved petition to Change her, rather than a notification of an inquest that could result in my death. Or if I had—”

Ian clapped his hand on Vincent's shoulder, halting the recriminations. “What's done is done, and we must face it. There's no time to dwell on the past. Lydia has some questions to ask you as well, so you had best go to her.” With that cryptic statement, the duke took to the air in flight, beginning his own hunt.

She
doesn't want me to die.
The thought lightened Vincent's footsteps as he approached the house.
What
does
she
want
to
tell
me?
In the tiniest of whispers, his heart dared to voice its hope:
Could
she
possibly
love
me, despite what I've done to her?

Lydia awaited him in the library. The scent of gardenias teased his senses, along with a new, tantalizing scent that made her even more irresistible. The firelight reflected from her silken hair, bringing out the gold in her eyes. Her cheeks pinkened delightfully as he entered the room.

“Good evening, my lord.” Was it his imagination, or did she appear happy to see him?

To resist striding across the room and pulling her into his arms, Vincent forced himself to sit beside her in one of the overstuffed chairs. “I understand you have something to ask me?”

Lydia nodded. Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lush lips. “Angelica told me you Marked me when I was a mortal. What exactly does that mean?”

“It means I created a bond between us that is sensed by all other vampires, conveying that you were my property, and to harm you was to incur my wrath.” He could not keep a note of possessiveness from his tone. “It also helped me be able to discern your location at all times.”

Lydia shivered, whether from disgust or desire, he could not tell. “When did you Mark me, and how was it done?”

“Soon after you arrived. I waited until you were asleep and fed you a drop of my blood, and then recited the ritual words, which you are not yet allowed to learn.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

Laughing at her pique, he explained. “The Elders decree that a vampire cannot perform a Mark until he or she has passed their first century, which is also the age one gains the power to Change a mortal. A vampire must be powerful enough to enforce their Mark.”

“Would a vampire Mark someone he disliked?” she asked tentatively.

Vincent nodded, hiding a smile at her worried expression. “Yes, though that is usually done only when a human needs to be watched to see if they are a threat to vampires. I assure you that such was not the case with you. I was fulfilling my responsibility as your guardian to the best of my ability. Rogue vampires had been chased off my lands, and I'd wanted to protect you.” He closed his eyes in self-recrimination. “Though I failed to protect you from your own kind.”

Lydia placed her hand on his. “I am alive. I hardly count that as a failure. You saved my life, Vincent, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. She understood why he'd had to Change her. He didn't deserve such forgiveness. “Lydia, there's something else you should know.”

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “That night you were snooping through my castle, looking for secret passageways, I caught you opening the door to my hidden lair.”

Her brow creased. “I didn't find anything… I—” Her eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “You mesmerized me, just like we do when we hunt! Did you…”

“No, I didn't take your blood, not then, but I wanted to… I should not have even thought about it…”

“You wanted to and did not—not then…” she mused aloud, rising from her chair. She slowly walked toward him, hips swaying with sensuous grace.

Guilt choked him. “I'm sorry. I—”

Lydia sat on his lap and laid her head on his shoulder. “Did you bite me the night we made love?” she whispered against his neck.

Lust, hot and immediate, pulsed through his being. “Yes.”

She shifted on his lap, making his hardness throb. “I wish you hadn't banished the memory. I would have asked you to do it again. Every night.”

Her words were too good to be true. “You're not angry?”

“Of course not.” She ran a hand through his hair. “Now I have more questions.”

With her on his lap, Vincent didn't know if he'd have the mental faculties to answer. “Yes?”

“Do I still belong to you now that I am Changed?” Her lower lip trembled, enticing him to madness.

Another frisson of desire ran through him at her words. If only she could truly belong to him. “In light of the current situation, it is complicated. If I had Changed you legally, then as my youngling, you would be my responsibility until your powers matured.” Vincent closed his eyes, despising the invasion of cold truth into their warm solitude. “However, since I violated the law, your care will be decided by the Elders after my verdict has been delivered. I've worked to ensure you will be placed under Ian's authority in the event of my death. The ultimate decision lies with the Elders.”

“And if you live?” Her hopeful tone proved the truth of Ian's words.

He dared to speak his ultimate wish. “Then you will likely be relinquished to me.”

“They had better let you live.” Her voice turned savage. “For you to be punished for something that was my fault is an injustice that defies comprehension!”

A growl built in his throat at her misplaced guilt. “Lydia, it was
not
your fault. If I had—”

“The duke and duchess will be taking us to Vauxhall Gardens tonight. Angelica says the place is a veritable banquet for our kind.” She looked into his eyes. “So I have a favor to beg of you.”

Mouth dry with desire, his voice came out in a rasp. “And what favor would that be?”

“Be my teacher tonight?” she murmured against his lips. He had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from kissing her. “The duchess has done a fine job, but I would much prefer to learn from you.”

“I would be pleased to instruct you tonight, Lydia.” Vincent licked his fangs. Oh, but there were other things in which he wanted to instruct her. Things that would be so much more pleasurable.