The attention she paid also meant it was impossible for him to dance with any of her lovely ladies. Wicked, sweet queen of his heart.
He woke the next morning with the cut on his throat throbbing and the fragments of a dream scraping through his mind. Elizabeth had visited him in his bed, and made love to him by sucking on his wound. She writhed and shivered, shuddered and cried out, all without ever taking him into her body.
He knew he gave his dream Elizabeth great pleasure and by the stickiness of his nightdress, he’d enjoyed the dream as well. Rox sat up and rubbed his head. It had felt so real, but then, didn’t all fantasies? Too bad Lady Morecambe hadn’t joined them. Her tongue was even more skilled than Lady Delilah’s.
As if on cue, a knock on the door sounded and Delilah entered, carrying a tray with bread, beef, and beer. She set the tray down and slowly removed her gown, gyrating her hips as she did. It was seductive and sultry, and he’d all but forgotten his dream of Elizabeth by the time she crawled atop him.
Delilah, it turned out, also liked it like a bitch.
The next three days followed the same pattern: he would wake aching for his Elizabeth after having dreamt of her, and Delilah would enter his rooms soon after. They’d spend the morning fucking and the rest of the day frolicking in the snow, playing games that the Master of Revels had set up, or chasing each other through the orchard. At some point, the other ladies would join him and Delilah for mischief, and in the afternoon, Elizabeth would come down from her pavilion to make merry.
Despite her bright smile, he saw worry in her eyes. Lady Morecambe had yet to return to court, and each day Rox saw his queen become more agitated. On the eve of the start of the new year, Rox retired to his rooms early in the afternoon to make preparations for the following day. They would celebrate the Feast of the Circumcision and exchange their gifts. He’d brought with him a stunning pair of pearl and ruby drop earrings that were commissioned specifically for her by his father before his untimely death.
Rox wrapped the gift carefully in a fold of cream-colored silk fabric and tied it with a ribbon of crimson. It reminded him of the velvet choker Lady Morecambe wore, and he rubbed a thumb over the silkiness, wishing it was her throat he caressed.
He knew it was dangerous to think of Morecambe as such, but she’d burrowed into his heart right beside Elizabeth. Granted, she garnered affection from him, but Elizabeth owned his love wholly and completely.
Gift secured, he spoiled himself with a hot bath. By the time he was due to meet the queen, he was groomed to perfection and smelled of bergamot and spice. Dressed in his finest black silk and crimson velvet doublet with gold embroidery and buttons, he looked every inch a duke. He tossed a short cape over his shoulders and sauntered to the queen’s rooms, ready for an evening of merriment.
Elizabeth greeted him with a curtsey and extended her hand for him to hold as they promenaded to the great hall. Courtiers whispered as they passed, remarking on what a handsome couple they made. Rox beamed with pride as he strolled beside his queen. It was his eighth time in as many nights escorting her to the great hall and he was just as excited and nervous as his first time.
Wine poured freely and sumptuous meats littered the tables. Sweets weighed down two long sideboards. It was a feast to outshine all others, with laughter and dancing and fornicating filling the hall. As with the previous nights, Rox sat beside his queen, increasingly worried for her behavior. She did not dance. She barely ate, and she did not drink the mulled wine of which she was so fond.
“You will come to my room tomorrow after luncheon,” she said suddenly, surprising Rox out of his stupor.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He’d not been invited to her rooms yet and knew this was a great honor. A stepping up of his position, so to speak. “Shall I bring your gift then, or to the hall with the others?”
She grinned and looked at him with softened cheeks. “You brought me a gift? That’s very sweet of you. Please tell me it’s not another pair of ruby and pearl earrings. Your father, bless him, had terrible taste in jewelry.”
Rox’s heart sank to the pit of his belly, and he swallowed the bile that rose to his throat. “Of course not, ma’am. This is a gift unlike any you’ve ever received.”
Her eyes twinkled and her lips quirked in a grin. “Oh? Then I shall count the minutes until I see what you’ve brought. Now go dance. You’ve moped at my side for far too long. I have many ladies who are bored watching the others enjoy their Christmas.”
Reluctantly, he left her side and bowed in front of Delilah. They danced the volte, but he found no pleasure in it. What could he give the woman who had everything? He was doomed.
On the second pavane of the evening, he scanned the hall for Morecambe, but didn’t see her. Perhaps if the lady returned, his queen wouldn’t notice that Rox had no gift for her. Honoré stood to the side, her gaze roving over the crowd and stopping at Lord Ramsey’s scowl. Rox kept up with the dance, casting furtive glances to the pair with each turn. An unspoken conversation happened between Honoré and Ramsey, ending with him scratching his nose. It was meant to be subtle, but he held two fingers alongside his cheek, and Rox suspected foul play.
Honoré nodded and left the hall by a side door. Rox flicked a glance to his queen, but she was chatting with several other nobles. It was none of his business what Honoré and Ramsey did. Perhaps they were lovers. Perhaps not. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the fight Morecambe had with Honoré and her subsequent absence since.
He bowed to his partner, an attractive redhead whose name he couldn’t remember. There had been too many ladies in quick procession for him to recall them all. She curtseyed sweetly and smiled hopefully, but he left her at the edge of the dancers with a mumbled apology.
With a last glance to his queen, who was still engrossed in her conversation, he ducked out the same door Honoré had used a few minutes earlier. In the dimly lit corridor, he hesitated. What was he doing? Honoré had already marked him with her blade. She would leave more than just a cut if she caught him following her.
He didn’t care. If she was up to something that involved Elizabeth or her lover, he would find out. Bolstering his resolve with the love he had for his queen, he took off down the corridor at a near run. He checked the chapel first, but it was empty. Next, he stalked the hallways where the queen stayed, but again, empty. His rooms as well. On his way out the door, he grabbed the dagger his mother had given him as a gift just before he left for the queen’s court.
After searching the entire palace, he stood at the top of the stairs that led to the front courtyard. It was damn cold to be out this late, but perhaps Honoré had counted on that and planned to meet someone. He hurried down the steps and out the arched entryway to the courtyard with King Henry’s famous fountain. What a ridiculous, vain thing to have installed. A fountain that dispensed wine instead of water. Elizabeth’s father was too arrogant by half.
He kept his treasonous thoughts to himself as he hurried across the slick cobblestones to the kitchens, where he hoped to find a warm hearth to thaw his frozen hands. In his rush, he’d forgotten to grab a heavy cloak. But then, he hadn’t really thought his quarry would take him outside. For the umpteenth time, he debated the wisdom of his exploits.
Servants rushed to avoid him as he strode down the hallway that separated the kitchens from the palace proper. One young lad even tried to press himself into the wall to avoid the duke, but Rox saw the lad and swung ’round to corner him.
“Did you see a woman pass by here? Golden hair, pretty.”
His eyes went huge and even though he shook his head, his eyes darted to his right. Rox fished a coin out of his purse and handed it to him before he took off toward the cellars. The first was full of beer masters moving huge casks of ale from the cellar to the great hall. The second was where they stored wine and was equally busy.
Three more cellars had him swearing in frustration. He stood at the intersection of two wide corridors, debating his sanity, his l
ife choices, and where the hell Honoré might’ve gone. To his left, away from the palace and other cellars, he saw a shadow cross the corridor and snagged a torch from the wall before following. He came to another junction and paused, listening.
Clattering from the kitchens echoed down the empty corridors. In the direction he saw the figure skulk, there was only silence. Then, gentle as a summer rain, he heard soft moans coming from behind a heavy oak door.
Armed with only his charm, good looks, and a dagger, he slowly opened the door. His heart beat in his throat and every nerve ending fired jolts of apprehension through his veins. For his queen, he reminded himself. For the love of his Elizabeth, he was searching a pitch-black cellar for a known spy.
He was mad. There was no other reason he could think of that he should be alone in the dark, freezing his balls off. The door closed with a thunk behind him, and he held the torch aloft to traverse the slippery stairs.
At the edge of the torch’s circle of light, he saw the shimmering of something dark and oozing. He held the torch in front of him and recoiled at the sight of Lady Morecambe’s brutalized body. Her glassy eyes stared straight at him with unnerving consistency. Instead of looking away, he stepped around a small pool of blood to her side.
Her once rosy cheeks had taken on a bluish hue and were cold to the touch. He placed his hand in front of her mouth and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the faintest breath on his fingertips.
“Lady Morecambe, it’s Roxy. I need to find help, but I’ll leave the torch here to warm you.” He moved to go, and she grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.
“Don’t leave me.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. In fact, he might’ve squeaked a tiny bit. And possibly pissed himself.
“You’re injured. You need a physician.”
“I need blood.”
“What?” Surely he’d misheard.
He looked at the little puddle and frowned. Seven slashes were evident on her bodice—if even half of those pierced her skin, there should be more blood than present.
“How can I help?”
She turned her marble-like eyes to him and grinned. “You’re too good for this court. Perhaps your kindness will save me after all.”
He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but she lifted his wrist to her lips and flicked her tongue across the soft underside where the skin was sensitive.
“May I?”
He nodded dumbly, unsure what she meant, but entranced all the same. That magical tongue danced across his wrist, and her lips opened to kiss his exposed skin. Too late, he saw her incisors extend. When her teeth tore his flesh, he flinched and swore, but she held him fast.
A moment later, his curses turned to moans. This was his dream, only better—he was awake for this seduction. Lady Morecambe sucked his blood, feeding from him while he writhed beside her. The touch of her hot mouth on him, her tongue lapping up his life-force, was more sensual and erotic than anything he’d ever experienced. It was taboo, sure to lose him the queen’s favor, but he just couldn’t stop. And he wanted more.
Lady Morecambe lay back, her cheeks pink and lips stained red. Light-headed from the encounter, Rox leaned forward and covered her lips with his. He sucked her into his mouth, craving more of her touch, yearning for her taste. As if understanding what he needed, she bit her tongue and fed him their commingled blood.
The nerves that only moments ago were firing through his blood sparked anew, but with a fierceness he struggled to contain. Thoughts roared through his mind too fast to comprehend and sounds came to him—small things that crept in the night, and remarkably, Elizabeth’s laughter from the great hall.
Fear razed his conscience, but he didn’t care. Lady Morecambe kept their lips clamped tight until she’d had her fill of him and had filled him completely. When she withdrew, it was with a long, low moan.
“She will not be pleased with me, but you saved my life tonight.”
“We must tell her about Honoré. It is she who did this to you, is it not?”
Morecambe sat up and the pool of blood seeped beneath her skirts. “It was. She does not approve of what I am.”
Rox licked his lips, already suffering the loss of her taste. “And what are you?”
She smiled sadly and wiped her thumb across his cheek. “I am a monster, a lover, a walker of the night. Some call me vampire. I prefer to be called Penelope.”
Her attempt at a jest did not alleviate the seriousness of the situation. In truth, he did not fully comprehend what a vampire was. He’d heard tales of the undead, but always thought they were stories meant to frighten children. As he sat beside Penelope and watched the steady rise and fall of her breasts, he refused to believe she was not of the living.
“Honoré must be stopped, and you, darling Roxy, are the one to do it.” She removed the velvet choker from around her neck, and he gasped at the many tiny incisions that dotted her throat. “Give this to the queen. She will understand what it means. Tell her we will meet again in the spring, where the lavender blooms.”
“What about you? Surely you’ll come with me to see the queen?”
“She is in grave danger, Roxy. If I stay, I will only complicate matters.” She waved a hand in the darkened cellar. “I let down my guard, and Honoré took advantage. Now she will stop at nothing to finish what she started.”
“What do you mean?” Rox worried the choker between his fingers.
“Stay with the queen tomorrow. Do not leave her even for a moment.”
The door whooshed open and his torch flickered. When he looked to Penelope, she was gone. He scrambled to his feet and searched the small area, but she’d left. Where there was once a puddle of blood, only dirt remained.
Rox woke with a thirst that would not be slaked by either beer or wine. He drank a full goblet of each and still was unsatisfied. When Delilah entered for her morning entertainment, he had no interest in her lovely curves and tight box.
She left with a pout, but Rox barely acknowledged it. He paced his room, unsure how he was going to tell his queen that her lover had left. Or what exactly had happened. Because he wasn’t sure himself, he decided to present her with the velvet choker and pray she didn’t think he stole it from Penelope. Lady Morecambe. It wouldn’t do to refer to her so casually.
At the appointed time he was to meet with the queen, Rox strode to her chamber with the choker tucked safely in the silk fabric and tied with the crimson ribbon. The pearl and ruby earrings were in his pocket, just in case the queen was not pleased with his message.
He bowed low to her and kissed her fingers, noting the coolness of her skin.
“Your Majesty. I trust you slept well.” Gods knew he did not.
“Where did you disappear to last night? I was quite vexed to hear you’d slipped out at an early hour. Were my ladies not entertaining enough?”
“I was pulled away on an urgent matter. I assure you, it grieved me to leave your side.”
Elizabeth sat on an overstuffed cushion, her brow raised. “What were you up to, Roxy?”
He cleared his throat and glanced at the half-dozen women in the room. “What I have to say might best be heard in private.”
She bit her lip a moment and then waved the others out. Once the room was cleared, she leaned forward. “I am not accustomed to being abandoned in my own hall. Where were you? I know it wasn’t with one of my ladies, so who was it?”
He swallowed a lump of nerves and breathed through his nose. A wave of Elizabeth’s odor hit him, but it wasn’t acrid or perfumed; it was the scent of rust. He blinked and swallowed again, his thirst making his mouth dry.
“I followed Honoré, Your Majesty. I did not have a good feeling about her, and when I saw her leave the feast, I followed.”
“And what did you find?” Elizabeth placed a long finger beneath his chin and pressed her nail into his skin.
He obediently looked up into her eyes. “I found Lady Morecambe, ma’am. Injured and bleeding.”
It was barely a whisper.
Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Dead?”
“No ma’am. Near enough. She—” He stopped himself to gather his thoughts. “She drank my blood and recovered.” He showed her the marks on his wrist and then pulled the silk parcel from his pocket. “She bade me give this to you with the message that she will see you in the spring, where the lavender blooms.”
“Beneath a full moon, we will dance in the meadows and be free at last.” Elizabeth murmured the words, but he heard them clearly. “Oh Penelope, my sweet, sweet love.”
Tears shimmered in her aged eyes and left streaks as they rolled through the heavy makeup she wore. He offered her a lace-trimmed kerchief and she sniffed into it before dabbing her cheeks.
“Thank you.”
Deep meaning was poured into those two words, and he swallowed the lump of emotion that he felt for her in that moment. Her love for Penelope spilled onto him, and he basked in her grace. She untied the ribbon and opened the silk to reveal the stunning choker. Fresh tears crested her lids, but did not spill over. She wiped them away with the cloth and held the velvet against her lips.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I tried to stop her.”
His queen laughed at that and stroked his forehead before burying her fingers in his curls. “Oh, Roxy. You couldn’t have stopped her with a dozen workhorses. She is a force of nature.” She held the choker to her nose and inhaled. “This is the best gift I’ve ever been given. Thank you.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means we only have a few months to prepare you for a life of duty. You’ll make a fine politician, Your Grace.”
“What about Honoré?”
“I will deal with her. Don’t worry your handsome head about it. Now, you must show me where you found her. Quickly now, for there is much to be done.”
Holidays Bite: A Limited Edition Collection of Holiday Vampire Tales Page 60