One Bite Per Night (26 page)

The documents were then signed by all the witnesses, and the parson cleared his throat. “Where shall we have the ceremony?”

“Right here,” Vincent commanded. “Right now.”

Miss Hobson and Lady Rosslyn gasped. Rafe and Ian raised their brows.

“Wait!” Angelica protested. “Let us at least procure some flowers.” Before anyone could reply, she grabbed Lady Rosslyn's hand, and they headed off to the rear garden.

Parson Matheson blinked sleepily. “And who shall give the bride away? I understand that she is an orphan and the groom is her guardian, so he cannot very well give her away to himself, for that would be”—he floundered—“quite odd…”

“I will,” Ian announced, giving Lydia a warm smile.

“I daresay,” Miss Hobson finally said, “this is all
highly
irregular. Are you certain you cannot wait to do this properly? We haven't even held the engagement ball, and we should have the banns read, have Miss Price outfitted for a gown and trousseau, invite guests…” She spread her arms helplessly.

“No.” Vincent's handsome face was implacable.

Lydia hastened to reassure her chaperone. “All the guests I would have wanted are already here.” The truth of her statement warmed her all over.

“But people will talk!” the chaperone protested.

Ian shrugged. “They already
are
talking.”

Lady Rosslyn and Angelica returned with a bouquet of lilacs, gardenias, and red roses. As the flowers were placed in Lydia's hand, the parson cleared his throat and opened his prayer book, beginning the ceremony.

After Ian stepped forward and placed her hand in Vincent's, Lydia ceased to hear the parson's words. Instead, she stared up into the turbulent blue eyes of the Lord Vampire of Cornwall and allowed her happiness to carry her soul.

As if in a trance, she repeated her vows. And then it was finished. Parson Matheson pronounced them man and wife, signed the license, and departed without having a glass of champagne.

The celebration was small yet cozy. Everyone repeated their felicitations, and although Miss Hobson could not refrain from a few complaints about the rushed ceremony, the lack of preparation, and even the absence of traditional orange blossoms, her satisfaction was evident to all. Though the means were unconventional, in the end, her charge had secured one of the most brilliant matches of the Season.

Lady Rosslyn finished her champagne and stood. “I am afraid I must be going now. I have my own project to finish.” She turned to Vincent and Lydia with a bright smile. “Congratulations to you both. I was honored to witness such a romantic surprise.”

Rafe snorted. “Yes,
surprise
would be a very apt word indeed.”

The countess glared at the Spaniard, cheeks blazing crimson as her jade eyes sparked. “I don't think you could do any better.” With that, she spun on her heel and marched away.

Instead of scowling, Rafe continued to watch Lady Rosslyn's retreating form with a strange, almost hungry expression on his face. Lydia hoped he wasn't planning to bite her. Then Vincent swooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs, and all other thoughts disappeared.

The moment they entered the bedchamber, Vincent leaned down to kiss Lydia. The pensive look in her golden eyes stopped him short. Carefully, he set her down, reluctantly removing his hands from her.

“What is the matter?”
Oh
God, please don't let her already regret marrying me.

“Vincent?” Lydia's voice was surprisingly timid. “You didn't marry me just to save me from the scrutiny of mortals, did you?”

He laughed, overcome with relief. “Did you not read the date on the special license? I applied for it the night after we first made love—” He held up a hand at her suspicious gaze. “I didn't procure the license out of guilt. I did it because I couldn't bear another day or night without you in my arms. Anyhow, I didn't receive the blasted thing until a fortnight ago. They take time to acquire, you know.”

Her lush lips pouted. “Then why did you not tell me sooner?”

He closed his eyes at the painful memory. “I thought you hated me for Changing you.”

“No! I thought you were upset with me for causing you so much trouble.” She took a shaky breath. “I love you, Vincent. I think I have from the start. Do you…love me?”

He sighed and raised his gaze heavenward. Surely she knew the obvious. “Look at your ring, Lydia.”

As she looked down at the bauble, he listed the stones. “Diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz… Now what are the first letters of the jewels?”

She studied the ring further then looked up at him with wide eyes brimming with tears. “Dearest! It spells
dearest.
”

Warmth filled his heart at the passion in her voice. “Yes, Lydia,
dearest
. I love you. My life was bleak and miserable until you came to me and taught me the meaning of happiness. I thought it would never work for us, because I was afraid the Change would destroy your passion for life.”

Lydia laughed. “I have found more enjoyment in this life than I could ever imagine. And as for passion, I have discovered it in boundless amounts, for
you
are my passion, Vincent.”

“
Me?
” Joy suffused him as he took in her words.

“Yes. Now I am your bride, so claim this passion before I perish from longing.” She reached up, and her fingers caressed his hair in a gesture as delicate as a whisper.

Vincent smiled. Her words were as melodramatic as a gothic novel, yet somehow fitting. Especially with her large golden eyes and lush lips parted in desire for his kiss. “Well, we cannot have that, Lady Deveril.”

Her new title was sweet on his tongue, though not as delectable as her mouth when he bent down to claim it. He savored her taste, pulling her closer, marveling at how right she felt in his arms, as if he were at last complete.

Lydia rose up on tiptoe, tangling her hands in his hair as she kissed him back hungrily. Her tongue darted between his fangs, an eager moan building in her throat. Vincent bit back a groan. If she kept this up, it would be mere seconds before he ravaged her.

Gently, Vincent withdrew. “Not so fast. Now that you are truly mine at last, I want to savor you.”

Slowly, he sank to his knees and unfastened her gown, kissing her shoulders once they were bared. When the gown pooled at her feet, he breathed a silent thanks that she wore no stays. However, he did not continue undressing her. Instead, he caressed her lithe form through her chemise, delighting at the sight of her tight nipples puckering beneath the thin fabric. He toyed with her garters before he ran his hands down her legs, enjoying her heat through the silk stockings.

With gentle care, he lifted her leg and kissed his way from the top of her thigh down to her trim ankle before he removed her satin slipper. As he moved to her other leg, Lydia's breathing came in quick, sharp pants. Vincent smiled. He had only just begun.

Rising to his feet, he meticulously removed her hair pins, caressing each ebony lock as it was freed. When her silken tresses tumbled down her back, he plunged his hands into the thick mass, breathing in her scent before he took her mouth in another languorous kiss. Still stroking her hair, he broke the kiss to trail others across her cheek, down her jawline and up her neck just under her delicate ears.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

Lydia quivered beneath his lips. Vincent was merciless in his ministrations. Inch by inch, he slid down her chemise, kissing and licking every bit of flesh he uncovered. Once she was naked before him, he removed his own shirt, taking untold pleasure in the way she looked at him.

“Now lie on the bed…on your stomach,” he commanded.

Though she blinked at him questioningly, Lydia obeyed. Vincent removed his boots and trousers before he knelt on the bed beside her. He lifted her hair and draped it to the side, exposing her smooth back. Carefully he moved to straddle her hips, hissing in sharp lust as his hardness pressed against her luscious buttocks. That would have to wait.

Sliding his hands up her soft flesh, he massaged her shoulders and neck. Lydia moaned in bliss, and her hips squirmed beneath him, compounding the sweet torture. Vincent then moved to massage her back in slow, tantalizing motions, trailing his fingers across her rib cage to brush across the sides of her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

Gradually, he moved lower. A small whimper escaped her lips as he caressed her backside, growing louder as his fingers slid lower to trail across her inner thighs.

Again she wiggled helplessly under him. He could feel the heat radiating from her wet center and taste the potent scent of her arousal. Yet he refrained from touching that sweet treasure. Instead, he progressed lower to reverently stroke her legs and shapely calves.

Up and down, he massaged and caressed every exposed inch of Lydia's flesh, except for the source of her desire. When she was limp and trembling, Vincent bent down to repeat the attentions with his lips, taking care to linger on her inner thighs, just a breath from her core.

When he'd kissed every silken place in reach, he bade her to turn over. “Now I must attend to the rest of you.”

Lydia gasped and cried out as his mouth covered every inch of her breasts. She giggled when he reached her smooth belly and squealed when he kissed the tender place above her hip.

“Vincent, please,” she panted. “Take me now.”

Unable to bear the intoxicating torment any longer, Vincent needed no further encouragement. Gripping his shaft, he knelt between her thighs and flicked the tip of his erection across her throbbing clit. Lydia moaned and bucked her hips. He slid his hardness lower, swirling it around her entrance in slow, teasing circles. She squirmed beneath him, gyrating in a frenzy to guide him deeper.

Drawing out the moment, Vincent slid inside her tight, wet sheath with impossible slowness, biting back a growl of triumph with each inch of his entry. Once he'd penetrated his bride fully, he remained still, luxuriating in the feel of their joining, and resumed kissing her silken lips, just as he'd done when he'd taken her virginity.

Lydia trembled with the effort not to move. Her body clenched tighter around his cock, and he gave up the fight, rocking his hips with hers in an intoxicating rhythm. Needing her closeness more than anything in the world, he pulled her into his arms, feeling her heart pounding against his.

She cried out against his lips as her core tightened and pulsed around him. Vincent deepened his thrusts, triumph roaring through him as he rode the wave of her climax and his own began. Something primal within roared.
She
is
truly
mine
at
last.

For a second, their eyes met in savage hunger before, in tandem, they struck. Vincent plunged his fangs into Lydia's neck, and she claimed his throat with equal savagery. As he drank down her sweet nectar, his orgasm increased, feeding hers until he was nearly blinded in the conflagration. After an eternity of mind-bending ecstasy, Vincent collapsed on top of her.

“So,” Lydia gasped, heart hammering against his chest. “That is what you mean by savoring. May I do the same with you next?”

He licked his lips in anticipation. “Of course, but be warned. I'm not finished enjoying you. In fact, I intend to continue doing so every moment I'm with you, and when we are back in Cornwall…”

“Cornwall,” she breathed. “I cannot wait to be home again.” Her next words filled him with warmth. “Though I love Cornwall, you are my home.”

Christmas 1822

Lydia embraced the Siddons sisters as they took their leave. Sally and Maria kissed her cheeks and thanked her once more for the paintings of Vauxhall Gardens…as well as the humorous caricature of a balding Thomas Lawrence.

“Thank you for the lovely gowns…and the decadent undergarments,” she whispered.

She could not wait to surprise Vincent later with the naughty crimson underclothes.

She watched them climb into their sleigh, noticing that they looked much happier and more confident than when she'd first met them. The comforting time spent with their mother…and firsthand witness of Lawrence's eternal guilt and loneliness, had been a balm to their tortured souls. Now they seemed to revel in their work as seamstresses, outfitting the vampires of Cornwall as well as a few wealthy mortals.

With a satisfied sigh, she went back inside where Vincent waited with one last present.

Lydia opened the package and squealed with joy. “A magic lantern!”

“It is more a gift for myself.” Her husband grinned, fangs gleaming in the firelight of the Yule log. “I want you to make me more stories and more sunrises.”

“Only if we can first enjoy our new bed. I want to test the strength of those iron bedposts.” Lydia stopped and put a finger to her lips. “Hush. Listen…” Her preternatural hearing detected the chime of sleigh bells approaching.

Vincent raised a brow. “It seems we have visitors.”

Moments later, Aubert announced the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Burnrath.

The duchess shook snow from her ermine-trimmed cloak before pulling Lydia into an embrace. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas to you as well. What a wonderful surprise it is to see you!”

Angelica grinned. “We have just departed for our fifty-year sojourn. I am eager to travel the world, but we wanted to see how you two were getting on.”

Before she could answer, Lydia heard Ian comment to Vincent, “She just said her final good-byes to her family. I thought she could use some cheering up.”

“We are excessively happy,” she told the duchess. “How are you, really?”

Angelica managed a brave smile. “As I have had over a year to prepare, I feel I am handling it rather well. It pains me that I won't have the opportunity to see them again, but I am comforted by the fact that my mother and Papa will be too occupied with their new fortune to mourn me overmuch.”

Lydia's heart went out to her friend. She knew what it was like to lose family. For once she was grateful that she had no ties to her remaining kin.

In effort to maintain the light mood, she ventured, “What is the talk in London?”

“Georgiana and the marquess are already expecting a child. Lady Morley defected to her dower house after the wedding and has not been seen since.” Angelica lit a cheroot and gave her a wry grin. “People are saying she may have gone mad.”

Vincent laughed. “That certainly calls for a celebratory drink. Now tell me, has there been much talk about us?”

The duke looked up from his inspection of the Christmas tree. “There was a whirlwind of gossip when you first departed, but it has since died down. Now the subject on everyone's tongues is our departure and, of course, Rafe. Since I leased him Burnrath House, he's been pestered by countless curious mortals. Furthermore, the Elders forbade him from boxing for the duration of his lordship, and he is chafing under the restriction.” He turned to Vincent. “I would appreciate it if you would visit London and look in on him sometime after I am gone.”

“I'd be glad to.” Vincent smiled. “Perhaps he can take his frustration out on the chessboard. Did he like Lydia's painting?”

“He did. In fact, he hung it up in his study.”

Lydia warmed at the honor.

“Rafe isn't the only subject of talk.” Angelica leaned forward, dark eyes serious. “Lady Rosslyn caused a bit of a scandal when she applied to medical school.” She sighed bitterly. “She was turned away flat…and only because she's a woman.”

Lydia's heart clenched in anger and sympathy. “That is completely unfair! Cassandra is the most intelligent person I've ever met. She would have made a fine doctor.”

“She assured me that she hasn't given up,” Angelica said with a hopeful smile. “Thus far she's retreated to her dower house, doubtless working on a plan.”

Ian nodded. “It would not surprise me if the countess found a way around such obstacles. The world is changing.”

Vincent nodded solemnly. “But I feel it will be changing faster than even we can imagine.”

“It doesn't matter.” Lydia rested her head on her husband's shoulder. “As long as we are together, we can face anything.”

***

Rafael Villar stood in the dark drawing room at Burnrath House, watching the snowfall blanketing the lawn. Warm light glowed from the windows of the neighboring houses where families were dining together and enjoying their exchanged gifts.

Far away in Spain, his mortal family was doing the same. Alejandro, his uncle and Maker, should send him a letter soon, letting him know if the presents he'd sent arrived on time. The thought of presents made him think of the ones he'd received, the first in centuries. Vincent's youngling had sent him a magnificent painting of a stormy sea, along with a jesting note saying that it reminded her of his temperament.

Anthony, his third in command, had gifted him with a tin of Turkish cigars. He'd also received a beautifully illustrated copy of
Don
Quixote
from Lady Rosslyn. Rafe stroked the cover and scowled.

After Ian and Angelica departed, Rafe had enjoyed his new peace at Burnrath House. No more irrepressible duchesses, no more chaperones looking down their noses at him, no more snobbish, mocking whispers and stares from the
ton
, and best of all, no more inconvenient and dangerous involvements with mortals.

Unfortunately, Lady Rosslyn seemed determined to disrupt that peace. He'd received several dinner invitations, and she'd even attempted to call upon him twice. Angelica's friend had harbored a pointed interest in him since their first encounter at Burnrath House. When she noticed his scars, she did not regard them with disgust or pity like everyone else. She only studied them with curiosity, an unspoken question in her eyes…eyes as bright blue-green as the Mediterranean Sea.

Rafe had rebuffed all of her attempts to further their acquaintance, ignoring her subtle inquiries as to his refusals. He could not tell her that he was the most powerful being in the city. He could not tell her that the longer she remained in his vicinity, the more he wanted to yank out all of the pins restraining her auburn hair, to send the coppery mass tumbling over her perfect shoulders before plunging his fangs in her throat and tasting the very essence of her life.

The front door opened, and a blast of winter air cooled his heated fantasy.

“You missed a jolly good party, my lord.” Anthony shook snow from his tousled brown hair. “The champagne flowed, and Madam Florence's girls were in a most generous spirit.”

One
glimpse
of
my
face
would
quickly
banish
their
generosity.
Rafe frowned and lit a cigar. “Did you look in on the East End before your revels, as I asked?”

His third sobered. “Yes, my lord. There is talk of humans roaming through the cemetery at night, though that seems to have stopped a few weeks ago. I told them to inform you straightaway if they see another one.”

“Do you think they were hunters?” Rafe fought back a growl. His burn scars seemed to flare with fresh pain.

Anthony shrugged. “I am not certain. If they were, I'd think they would have made a move by now.”

Rafe shook his head and took a deep draw on his cigar. Between a pertinacious countess and the possibility of vampire hunters skulking in his cemeteries, his reign was not commencing as peacefully as he'd intended.