My Lady's Choosing

by Kitty Curran

  “Do go at once, Vange. I do not want you to witness anything you can testify to in a court of law.” Benedict climbs into the carriage, hellfire blazing in his gaze. You are startled to find that the unbroken, if angry, eye contact is causing your own hellfire to blaze…in your loins.

  “Oh, the dramatics, Benny,” Lady Evangeline says. “You know what? Hugo will take you two back home to Kent. I will take your carriage, Benny. The seats are much nicer. Have a grand time, you two.” She tosses you a wink before exiting, leaving you and a very angry, very handsome, very fancy man staring at each other in a well-appointed carriage. Alone.

  “Well?” you say as the vehicle begins its rumble toward the country. Your eyes are low but expectant, missing not a single elegantly enraged angle of his frustrating, frustrated body. “Are you going to ask me what I know or sit there and huff vaguely for a while?”

  “You know, woman, since we have no witnesses and a long ride before us, I will say…I have often wondered what it would be like to get you alone for an evening.” His eyes eat up the sight of you leaning casually on the bench. Despite yourself, you flush wildly, everywhere, and Benedict smirks immediately. “Never once, though, did I think that the pretext would include you attempting to ruin my family.”

  “Ruin your family?” You are exasperated. “The delicate information I learned this night can only help you, as you know it anyway. If you’d only let me tell you—”

  “Tell me what? That my father’s first wife was the truly bigamous one and that her first and only legal husband is clawing at the walls of Bedlam this very instant?” He leans over to your side of the carriage, gripping you by the shoulders as he speaks. And while you do not comprehend that he has seemingly known this entire time that Rafe’s claim is illegitimate, you do comprehend quite clearly that he is as aroused by your proximity as you are by his.

  “What? I do not understand.” You truly don’t. It’s hard to understand anything with his mouth, his shoulders, his entire vital, glorious mind and body just inches from your own. You reach up to pull him onto the seat with you, propriety be damned.

  For a single moment you are nervous that this was the wrong move. Your worry is instantly erased when he responds to your boldness by nuzzling his gorgeous face deep in your hair. “Mmmm, of course you do not understand,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, letting his barely parted lips run down the line of your throat to the forbidden edge of the neckline of your dress. “You are a fool.”

  “A fool in like company, then,” you say, irritated, and arrange your body so that he can press the length of his to yours more comfortably. You both silently grind against each other for a forbidden moment. You kiss softly, with the slow, secret urgency of lovers on the edge of reason. You know you have already gone too far, but to go much further would truly mean ruin for you both. “Why did you not tell me?” you say as his mouth travels the topography of your ears, your neck, your chest.

  “Tell you what?” He kisses you more urgently, anxiously, as he speaks. “That the woman my father found more irresistible than his marriage vows couldn’t wait to haul her first husband off to the asylum once he no longer proved of use to her? That Rafe holds me hostage by using the fate of my half sister as bait?”

  You arch your body to meet Benedict’s. He shudders from the contact, and you burn with the knowledge that you can create such an undignified response in such a composed man. “Henrietta may not want what fate has destined for her,” you whisper.

  Almost as soon as you utter the words, you feel Benedict stiffen—and not in a good way. “Henrietta is too young to know what she wants.”

  “She knows her heart,” you hear yourself saying with more ferocity than even you thought yourself capable of.

  “Our hearts all want things they shouldn’t. Things that would ruin them, if given in to entirely.” Benedict shifts away and sits across from you again. You cannot believe him.

  “You allow your arrogance more control over your actions than your heart, I see,” you say.

  “You are quite observant,” he retorts, his voice pure acid. “I suppose that is an excellent quality to possess, as a lady’s companion.”

  You shake your head in disbelief. He clearly wants you, longs for you, respects you—but apparently he also thinks you are dirt.

  “I may be low of station,” you say, “but you are low now. Very low.” You are unable to keep your sudden anger—and a quiver of heartbreak—from your voice.

  Sharp tears shine in his cruel, slate-colored eyes.

  “Tell that to my aunt the next time you monogram her handkerchiefs.”

  You suffer the rest of the ride to Derbyshire in an icy silence. When you arrive at his estate, Benedict flings himself from the carriage, and for the moment you are alone.

  The nerve of the man! You have a good mind to abandon your sleuthing in favor of those who would appreciate it! And yet…there is something about the insufferable fool that you just cannot quite let go of.

  Do you dig in your heels and keep on your track to right wrongs, uncover truths, and save this handsome fool from ruin even if it kills you? (It might, quite frankly.) If so, turn to this page.

  Or do you decide that enough is enough? If this handsome fool wants to be ruined, let him. You will find adventure, and perhaps love, somewhere else. On to this page.

  “No, Evangeline!” you scream across the desert sands.

  The two most beautiful women you have ever seen—not to mention, the only two women you’ve seen who maybe truly love each other although one threatens to kill the other, who has set an elaborate trap for the first amid intrigue and adventure in Egypt—snap their heads in your direction.

  “Delphine has done all of this to see you again,” you say, working yourself up with the romance of the situation. “All of this—this madness to speak to you. She deserves more than to be put out to pasture like an old dog—”

  “Well—” Delphine tries to interrupt.

  “Or an old cow—”

  “I—”

  “Or a very old camel with a broken leg that cannot bear to walk unassisted!”

  “Ferme ta bouche, nom de Dieu!” Delphine’s pale features turn scarlet. You smile to yourself. Not only are you helping what could possibly be true love to bloom, you have also managed to annoy Delphine.

  “I suppose she isn’t entirely wrong. About you deserving your say,” says Lady Evangeline, returning her gaze to Delphine.

  “Then I suppose you should lower your pistol,” Delphine says, arching a perfect eyebrow at Lady Evangeline.

  “I will lower my pistol but not my guard. I will speak with you, Delphine, but you know why I haven’t until now. You sold secrets I told you, secrets spoken in the confidence of our bed—”

  As she speaks these words, you die, but you live, but you die.

  “You took English secrets and sold them to the French,” Evangeline continues. “To Napoleon’s people. You made me forsake my husband, forsake my country and king, and now you look at me with your moon-cat eyes and expect what from me? Impunity? Trust? Love?” Evangeline spits in the sand. You think you might hear Fabien swoon the tiniest bit. You can’t be sure over the sound of your own swooning. You definitely can’t hear him over Delphine’s capital-S swoon, though hers is edged in hot, long-held anger.

  “I did sell secrets, yes. And I have no shame for doing so. You told me things your late husband told you, and in turn I told them to certain friends with deep pockets.” Delphine seems so cool, so careless, but you know and she knows and even Fabien knows everything is riding on this one moment.

  “Friends with deep pockets who were also friends with Napoleon.” Evangeline says, her voice pure icy fire. A chill spreads across this little patch of desert.

  “They could have been friends with the devil himself, and I still would have done it! The money from that commerce helped my father recover.”

&nbs
p; “That commerce,” Evangeline spits, “imperiled my husband’s reputation in his dying days.”

  Now it is Delphine’s turn to spit. “Your husband! That was a marriage of convenience. He had no interest in you! He only had interest in other men!”

  “So?” Evangeline laughs. “We were loyal to each other. We helped each other. Do you have any idea how hard it was to heal the rift your betrayal created between us? We were friends, Delphine.”

  “So?” Bitter tears now glitter in Delphine’s eyes, like jeweled scarabs in the sand. “We were lovers. Lovers forgive each other, always. True lovers do. And if you had done the same to me, I would have forgiven you. I loved you. I love you. Love forgives.”

  “Love betrays!” Evangeline’s golden pistol slips from her hand into the sand. Tears slip down her cheeks in hot pursuit of the gun.

  “Love is sorry.” Delphine drops to her knees.

  “Love is foolish.” Evangeline drops to her knees as well.

  “Love waits. Love returns. Love grows.” Delphine and Evangeline are like twinned obelisks, serving as markers to the gates of heaven. Fabien and you tremble at the sight of them.

  “Love—”

  But whatever Evangeline is about to say is lost in a rush of silken kisses that have been waiting an eternity to rule again.

  You slump against Fabien’s body, much relieved, and a little saddened. You know you should be happy to have reunited these two lovers, after so much space and time, but—

  “You feel used,” Fabien whispers to you. You blink a tear from your eye and shake your head.

  “Not used, but—”

  “The sidekick. The unchosen.” Fabien’s voice aches with desire for you, and you can feel it course through him—and yourself—like royal blood, or the waters of the Nile, strange, dark, and true. “I wish for you not to feel this way, my lady. I wish for you to feel the full height of your power. The full scope of my desire. I wish to choose you. I wish to choose pleasure. I wish you to choose yourself. Choose your joy. If even for this small speck of sand in the hourglass of all eternity, shall we choose to celebrate our bodies, and each other?”

  The man drives a rock-hard bargain.

  If you take Fabien up on his offer, turn to this page.

  If you’re really just not in the mood, turn to this page.

  “You are a monster!” you say. The Reverend Loveday pauses and narrows his eyes. You grab his beautiful face.

  “I love monsters.” And with that you pull him to you to consummate your union of sin.

  After some frenzied lovemaking, the two of you lie among the tombstones of the eldritch garden, your passion spent. Lazily running your fingers through his hair, which glows silvery gold in the moonlight, you coo into his ear. “It must have been hard, being the poor relation so close to inheriting a fortune, were it not for a couple of fools who do not know their good fortune.”

  Reverend Loveday chuckles under his breath. “Ah, my dear, there is more to it than that.” He runs his fingers down your face. They are ice-cold, even after your exertions, and send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

  “You see, the real Simon Loveday Craven, third in line to inherit, died in Venice on his Grand Tour…I might have helped with that. And, as he was an orphan with few friends and no close family, I simply took his place.”

  You startle and gaze into his cool blue eyes.

  “Then who are you?” you ask. He smiles, his mouth fully open for the first time. How had you never noticed before now that he had only smiled with his mouth closed? Sharp white fangs glint in the moonlight.

  “I am Raven de Craven, the original Craven who came over with William the Conqueror,” he says. “Hopesend was my home in the beginning, and it shall be my home once more!”

  “How can this be?!” you say, shocked. He strokes your face with his hands as cold as marble.

  “Don’t you see? I am one who stalks in the darkness—a creature of the night!” He wraps you in his strong arms and together you float into the sky. You moan in ecstasy and cling to him for dear life.

  “Let me sire you…let me make you my queen!” he cries as you dance among the treetops of the eldritch garden. In answer, you lift your throat to his hungry mouth and moan in pain and pleasure as his sharp teeth pierce your flesh.

  As you walk back to the house, the world has changed. You feel deep in your veins that you could accomplish anything, take on anything.

  Still, you feel some lingering affections for the Cravens and so you decide against killing them. Instead, you slink into the house, a sweet smile on your face, and use your lady vampire glamour to convince Craven and Alexander that the best thing would be to fake their own deaths and start a new life with new names in America. With glazed expressions, they rush out of the house intent on staging a boating accident.

  You and Raven laugh at their departure and then make love so violent in every room that the servants all move out. You do not mind, for humans are always replaceable. You and your vampire love rule over Hopesend under different guises—and still do to this day!

  The End

  Leaving Cad in a bruised heap upon the ground, you and Benedict hurry out a side exit of the labyrinth and into the servants’ quarters. The housekeeper, a fine woman, finds you a pitcher of water, some cloths and bandages, and a spare room. She then leaves you there in privacy.

  “Allow me,” you say as you help a wincing Benedict out of his shirt. Your eyes lock with his silver-gray ones, which smolder at your touch. Running your hand over his powerful form, you try to keep your mind on the task at hand and ease him into a seat.

  You turn and soak one of the cloths, then wipe some of the dirt and blood from Benedict’s firm pectorals, biting your lip at the sight of his deeply masculine chest. It is dusted with dark hair that leads down in a trail from the V of his lower torso to his…

  Enough! You have a wounded man to tend to, not slobber over. “This might sting a little,” you murmur as you apply an astringent salve to grazes that lace his firmly muscled left shoulder. Benedict’s breath contracts with pain, but he remains still.

  “I—I must apologize to you, I think,” he says. His formerly arrogant eyes are awash with contrition.

  “I think I owe you an apology as well,” you admit. “I feel I went too far.”

  “You were trying to help. Even though you had every reason to despise me, you still tried to help,” he says in wonder. “That is not a thing to apologize for. It is a thing to be admired.” He chuckles under his breath. “It’s funny. All my life I have tried to avoid love—after witnessing the misery that was my parents’ marriage.” His expression takes on an intensity that makes you giddy. “After seeing how heartbroken my mother was when my father deserted her, I never really forgave him. Or trusted love.”

  “I see,” you say quietly, trying to hide your devastation at this confession. As you turn away slowly, he gently grabs your wrist.

  “But you don’t see!” he says in a voice so low you feel it travel down your spine. You turn back and stare at him for a few loaded moments as you watch this man, normally so composed, struggle to find words.

  “I—it—it is strange.”

  “Strange?” you say in a whisper.

  “Yes.” Benedict stands and gently brushes the hair out of your eyes. “Strange that at this moment, when everything I have has been taken from me, when I should be feeling entirely lost…I don’t.”

  You scarcely believe what you are hearing. He smiles at you, genuinely this time, his eyes darkened with desire.

  “No?” you manage to say. He shakes his head.

  “No. Instead, for the first time I finally feel complete.” And with that he sweeps you into an ardent embrace.

  Your knees buckle as you kiss him with a ferocity that is matched only by his own.

  “Oh, Benedict, you fool,” you sigh.

  You feel his mouth
smile against yours.

  “Indeed. It is just my luck that when I finally feel this way, it is with a woman who drives me to distraction.” You look up as laughter and desire dance in those steel-gray eyes.

  “Truly, we are the unluckiest pair that has ever lived,” you counter, “for the feeling is mutual.”

  “A tragedy, indeed,” he says as he kisses you again, and you both tumble onto a nearby settee.

  Benedict trails a stream of kisses from your mouth, down your neck, to your décolletage. Your back arches and you dig your fingers into his disheveled dark hair.

  “We really should stop now,” he murmurs, his mouth having reached the opening of your scandalously ripped bodice.

  “You’re probably right,” you say as he rips it open even further and exposes a heaving breast. His wicked mouth opens, and his tongue traces the outline of your silken rosebud nipple as you squirm against him.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he whispers as his hand travels slowly up your trembling legs to the petal-soft folds of your womanhood.

  “Indeed,” you cry, heat pooling deep within your secret center as he strokes the glistening pearl at the apex of your thighs. “Quite the worst idea we have ever had, really.”

  His head rises to meet yours as he looks into your eyes with questioning intensity. You hold his face with trembling hands, knowing that despite your passion, fate may yet tear you apart.

  Rafe’s claim to his fortune, however false, may not be disproved. Benedict may still misguidedly refuse to do anything about it, out of love for his sister. Poverty may force him to marry an heiress…of the sort you are far from being. A long and dreary life of tending to the Dowager Dragon and embroidering her undergarments may await.

  Regardless, this is hot. Do you throw caution to the wind and fornicate? Turn to this page.

  Or are you worried about your chances of happiness together in this cold and cruel world which conspires against your wishes, your desires, and your happiness? Is it, therefore, a better idea to just, ah, fool around? Turn to this page.