The White Lily (Vampire Blood series)
Page 12
“I am barren, Your Grace.” She waited for some strong reaction, a look of pity or disgust. None came, so she went on. “Elliott wanted children of his own. When it was obvious after two years and not one pregnancy that I couldn’t conceive, I suggested we adopt. In Korinth, there was an orphanage where we could’ve done good. But Elliott didn’t want to raise children that were not of his blood, as he told me. Then one afternoon, he didn’t return home from the courthouse where he served as barrister.” She remembered the day where a cold stone of dread lodged in her chest when they told her he’d left that morning after cleaning out his desk and turning in his resignation effective immediately. “He’d left that day. Resigned and left without a word to me. I thought maybe he’d come home after a time. But eventually”—she let out a bitter laugh—“I realized he didn’t want me. A wife who could not bear him children. Only half a woman.”
Friedrich swept his hands down to her neck, cradling her, his thumbs pressing gently up on her jaw, forcing her head up. He edged closer. “Look at me, Brennalyn.” His voice trembled with anger, not unlike how she’d heard him today when he’d pinned her in the snow. “You are a whole woman.” His mouth firmed against hers, insisting she pay attention. She did. He deepened the kiss, penetrating with his tongue, all heat and strength, much like the man. He broke the kiss to skate down the side of her neck, nipping with teeth but not breaking the skin. “All woman.”
A breathy moan escaped her lips, for the beautiful things he said and did with his lovely mouth. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him closer, her blood humming hot and fast through her veins. He dipped to her ear and licked the lobe, whispering, “My woman.”
Returning to her lips, he made love to her mouth. Nipping, sucking, thrusting his tongue inside her wet warmth. He banded her waist with one arm as the hand of his other palmed one cheek of her bottom, squeezed, and lifted her against him. She gasped, but he wouldn’t let her break the kiss, demanding she pay attention to what he was trying to tell her with his glorious mouth.
Keeping her molded to his, his other hand roamed, up to her hip, squeezing, gliding higher to her breast, unbound by a corset. He broke the kiss suddenly, his thumb rasping over the taut nipple, evident even through her chemise and frock.
“No corset,” he murmured.
She shook her head. She hadn’t bothered after her bath. There was only dinner, then she’d return to undress for bed. Or so she thought.
His gazed drifted down, watching while he worked her nipple through the fabric, pinching softly, teasing the taut peak. She bit her bottom lip, barely concealing her moan. His eyes lit to hers then he devoured her mouth, her breast filling his hand as he squeezed. He kissed a hot line down her throat, sliding his hand to the high scooped neck, his fingers curling in as if he’d rip it, but then released.
“I hate this fucking dress,” he growled into her throat. At the moment, so did she.
He bent his head low and opened his mouth over the visibly puckered nipple, grazing with teeth. The sensation heated her blood, pooling to the apex between her legs. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him there as his rough attentions pulled a throaty moan from her parted lips.
Growling, he found her mouth again, his thrusting tongue implying what he wanted to do to her. What she longed to have him do to her. Just as she felt the hem of her gown hiking higher, a soft voice called from the doorway.
“Mimi? I can’t fall asleep.”
She jerked away. The duke stared down, eyes blazing with carnal need. He closed his eyes with a ragged exhale and turned. Brenna half hid behind him with an arm across her chest to hide the wet spot he’d made with his tongue.
“Izzy, darling. You should be in bed.”
She’d somehow wandered from the Pearl Tower and found his parlor. Leave it to Izzy to find her like a lost bee to her queen. Sleepy-eyed, she stood in her white nightgown and bare feet, blonde ringlets a messy halo around her head.
“I’m scared. Can I sleep in your bed with you?”
“I was going to ask the same thing,” murmured Friedrich under his breath.
She arched a look at him then marched for the door. He followed. Lifting Izzy in her arms, she realized the poor children must be going through their own trauma with the burning of the home they shared together then thrust in this great big castle.
“Of course,” she assured her.
Izzy caught sight of Friedrich, her blue eyes brightening as she reached out a tiny arm and chubby hand. “Will you cawwy me to bed?”
“Oh, darling. The duke doesn’t want—”
Izzy was plucked from her arms, then the duke carried her on his hip out the door.
“You know, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be afraid of in my castle.”
She’d looped her little arms around his neck. “There’s not?”
“I have the fiercest guards in all the kingdoms, did you know that?”
She shook her head, ringlets bouncing. Brenna followed alongside in silence, watching the two. A tender warmth settled around her heart.
“They watch all night. If even the hint of danger would come near, they’d smite their enemy so fast the intruder would never know what happened. They are the fastest and the strongest of any vampires I’ve ever known.”
“Weally?”
They climbed the staircase to the Pearl Tower.
“Oh, yes. And do you know what else? They have a weakness.”
“What?”
He whispered conspiratorially. “They love little girls most of all. Especially little blonde ones. Melts their tough vampire hearts into mush.”
She giggled with the brightest smile. “You’re teasing me.”
“Absolutely not. Cross my heart.”
Brenna opened the door to her bedchamber. A maid had already turned down the counterpane. Friedrich carried Izzy to the bed and settled her sweet head on the pillow. He pulled up the coverlet and tucked it under her arms.
“So you see, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about. The Bloodguard would never let harm come to you.” He trailed his forefinger across her chubby cheek and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “And I wouldn’t, either. I promise you.”
Brenna’s insides melted into nothing. Izzy looked past him to her.
“Mimi, are you coming to bed, too?”
“Yes, darling. Let me say good night to His Grace.”
She followed him to the door. He braced an arm on the doorframe, facing her.
“That wasn’t exactly the female I imagined tucking into bed tonight.”
Brenna smiled, but a twinge of fear twisted in her bosom. “You were sweet to her.”
“It was easy. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Still. Thank you.”
He cupped her cheek, sliding his long fingers into her hair. “I told you. I’ll take care of you and your children. You just have to let me.”
She had no words to respond.
“It’s been a long day. And a long night,” he added. He leaned in and coaxed a slow, sultry kiss from her lips, sipping on her till that familiar spark ignited in her blood. Then he pulled away, dropping his hand. He nodded toward the bed. “Go to your girl. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he strode away down the corridor.
Brenna revisited the fear that had arisen the moment before. His overwhelming passion, she could handle. But his tenderness and genuine affection toward her children she could not. It made her long for something she couldn’t have. A happily-ever-after. She couldn’t accept him, couldn’t trust any man.
With bittersweet longing swirling in her breast, she closed the door, changed into her nightgown, and climbed into bed with little Izzy. Pulling her sweet form close, she relished her soft weight, reminding herself that this was where she must focus her tenderness. Her love. Her children would never abandon her. She finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, ignoring the hollow chasm in her heart she was sure would never be filled.
Chapter Fourteen
She pushed herself out of bed, having slept in her chemise. A fire crackled and warmed the room already. She glanced around for the muslin robe she’d left out after her bath. She’d undressed and laid her frock out on the wingback chair near her vanity. Neither were there. Something else in their place.
“Bloody hell!”
There, spread on the back of the chair was a lovely sapphire-blue silk dress. She padded closer on her bare feet, finding a new silk chemise, stockings, and corset folded neatly beside them on the vanity stool. A note on white parchment set atop the chemise. She picked it up and read the bold, slanting scrawl.
Good morning, beautiful.
Yes, I’ve burned that hideous gray frock. All of them, actually. Here’s one of many new gowns for you. Something more deserving to be flush against your perfect, alabaster skin. I’m envious of this blue silk garment, truth be told.
Till it’s me flush against your bare skin,
Friedrich
A heated blush crawled from the roots of her hair down to the tips of her toes. The man said the most inappropriate things. Inappropriate? That was putting it mildly.
“Bad man,” she murmured with a smile and lifted the lovely silken chemise. It was far more delicate and transparent than the one she usually wore. “Very bad man.”
She’d be having a conversation with him about him taking over her wardrobe without her permission, making decisions for her he had no right to. He wasn’t her husband. Stars above, he wasn’t even her lover. Not yet. But for now, she needed clothes to wear. Shimmying on the chemise and corset, she realized she couldn’t tighten the stays alone when in walked Sylvia with a breakfast tray.
“Well, well, well,” said Sylvia with an accusing grin. “Look who finally decided to wake.”
“Is it late?”
Sylvia laughed and set down the tray. “Yes. Near ten o’clock. Here, let me help you.” She walked to her and started tightening the laces.
“How could I sleep so late?” Even though she’d sent word to the town magistrate that there would be no school today because her house had burned down, she hadn’t wanted to sleep the day away.
“I expect because you’ve had a heap of worry and trouble. You needed it.” She cinched the last lace. “There now. Let’s get you in this new dress.”
While Sylvia unclasped the row of pearlescent buttons lining the back of the gown, Brenna slipped on the new stockings and clasped the top lace to the garter of the corset.
“I hope it fits,” said Brenna, stepping into it. “Thank you, Sylvia. I can button it up.” She didn’t like the idea of Sylvia waiting on her as if she were mistress of the house.
Realizing it fit absolutely perfectly, Brenna shook her head. “How did he know my size?”
“I’m not surprised. The duke knows everything.”
Brenna pinched a face. “Of course.” She turned and opened her arms for inspection. “Well?”
Sylvia’s eyes glazed. “I must say. The man knows what looks good on you. You look like a right princess, if I can say so.”
“You may not. This is too much for a village schoolteacher. What could he be thinking?”
Sylvia smirked, but made no reply.
Brenna sat at the vanity, grabbed a brush and untangled her hair, then began plaiting, while her mind set to thinking too much per usual. She wondered what last night meant, whether they should let their passion take them where they wanted to be, tangled in his bed. What would the children think if they suspected? She didn’t want to confuse them with any ideas of this being a permanent home. She must speak to him about how they would go on while they remained at Winter Hill.
“So the duke knows about your involvement with the Black Lily, does he?” asked Sylvia, tossing another log on the fire.
“Yes.” She used her hairpins she’d put in the vanity drawer to coil the braid in a crown atop her head.
“And he’s not tossing you to the crown, obviously.”
“Not at the moment.” Brenna grew silent. She didn’t like deceiving Sylvia, who was her only true friend, but she wasn’t sure if Friedrich would be happy with her for spilling his secret that he was in fact one of the Black Lily’s greatest allies. Even more so than she was. Brenna wanted a thorough discussion with him about the subject as soon as she tracked him down.
“There now.” She popped off the vanity and glanced in a long mirror on the wardrobe. The sweep of blue silk with delicate lace trimming the tight-fitted bodice was a far cry from her gray frock. She hardly recognized herself. She’d always dressed for expediency. No, that wasn’t true, either. She dressed to hide herself. After Elliott, she didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. It was better to keep her head down in her work and in caring for her children. And it had worked…until Friedrich took notice.
“I’d better get moving and check on the children.”
“Not before you eat something.” Sylvia nodded to the tray. “And I’d best get to my work,” she said, bustling out.
Brenna made quick work of a slice of buttered bread, a poached egg, sliced cheese, ham, and a few wedges of orange. She washed it down with a glass of warm honeyed tea then stood and took a breath with a hand on her abdomen, her corset restricting from inhaling too deeply. Her normal breakfast fare was toast and tea.
A maid servant dipped a curtsy as she passed her in the hall.
“Oh, good morning,” said Brenna with surprise, nodding to her. She was being treated like a lady, which put her on edge.
This notion that she was elevated somehow simply because the duke doted on her and had bought her a lady’s wardrobe racked her nerves. Other women had stayed at Winter Hill. She’d heard them brag about their overnight trysts as boldly as you please down at the baker’s or the milliner’s or wherever a gaggle of women gathered with one of his more recent lovers happened to be.
At the time, she’d scoffed and turned her nose up at those women, offering their blood for a night’s pleasure and a few favors from the duke. And how was she any different if she followed through with what he wanted of her? What she wanted as well.
Perhaps he’d shown special treatment by taking in all of her children. But it was temporary. And it was only necessary because he’d demanded she burn her house down. He couldn’t take the chance of her being found right under his nose, so close to his castle, which could throw his uncle’s suspicion in his direction once again. Especially after the whole town had seen him take an interest in her. He had to protect her and her family in order to keep from being associated with the White Lily.
She walked toward the girls’ room, wondering whether she’d done any good with her messages to the people. The power of words was like magic, persuading people toward good or evil, depending on the wielder of the mouthpiece. She learned this long ago when her father would sit her on his knee by the fire at night with a cup of his special brew of cinnamon tea and read to her of great men and women of the past. Brenna had fallen in love with history, with people, and with the written word. And later, in those final years when his illness weakened him, she’d sit across from him by the fire, a quilt draped over his lap, and read those stories of old back to him, loving the gentle smile on his kind, grizzled face. That was what she missed most when he died. When she married Elliott, hoping for happiness that never came.
To this day, the smell of woodsmoke, cinnamon, and dusty parchment still buoyed her, as if her father’s spirit might still be lingering nearby. Perhaps that is why when she moved away from Korinth in search of a new life in Terrington that she began writing her radical leaflets and signing them the White Lily. She had no desire to replace the one they called Arabelle, who led the resistance. Quite the opposite. She longed to aid her fellow sister of the revolu
tion. In any way possible. And here she’d landed in the hands of the vampire duke who was aiding the resistance all along. Perhaps fortune had intervened, casting them together like two fateful stars.
It was too quiet this late in the morning. The lot of her children were early risers. She heard rustling from the girls’ rooms. Stepping inside, she found Helena digging in the trunk of clothes.
“What have you lost, dear?” asked Brenna.
“I can’t find my cloak,” she said on a frustrated moan, half bent inside the trunk. “I don’t know where I left it.” She heaved a sigh and stood. “And now I’ll freeze to death.”
She stood to face Brenna, her eyes widening at the sight of her. “Oh, my.”
Brenna remembered her dress, glancing down. “It’s nothing. I was just tired of the gray and the duke had this one laying about.”
She was such a liar.
“You look so lovely, Mimi.”
“Do I?”
Helena beamed, meeting her at the door and touching the silk skirt. “Yes. He must truly adore you.”
“Helena,” she started in a grave tone. “You’re the oldest and of an age where you must understand that a man giving gifts to a woman doesn’t mean there is affection tied up in the gift. It just means…well, it means that…”
She frowned. She couldn’t well say that a man, especially a man like the duke, enjoyed bestowing gifts on his would-be lover. She cringed, feeling like a bought woman.
“Well? What does it mean?”
“All right. It may mean that he likes her. But that is a far cry from adoration as you put it.”
“What about love?” asked Helena.
Brenna shook her head, pitying sweet Helena so unspoiled from the bitter heartbreak of men. “No, my darling. A man giving a woman a dress does not mean anything like love. Don’t even mention that word again in regards to the duke. It will never happen.”
“But what if it did?”
Brenna let out a harsh laugh. “It won’t.” And yet a fluttering in her belly spun her nerves into a whirlwind. “Follow me.” She walked back to her bedchamber.