by Brooklyn Ann
“You seem preoccupied.” The words seemed like an accusation.
Avoiding his lord’s gaze, Justus swigged one of the miniature champagne glasses, enjoying the tickle of the bubbles on his tongue. “My apologies, my lord. I’m still pondering a novel I finished. Kept me awake half the day. The Monk?” he inquired hopefully. Gavin had a large library that he constantly added to, but only read sporadically.
“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten around to it yet,” the Lord of Rochester said, scanning the room as if trying to spot a sign of discord. “I’ve been too occupied watching the Lord of London. Cecil brought back the most fascinating report.”
Justus rubbed the bridge of his nose. Did no one read anymore? “I thought I was to look in on London for you.”
“Burnrath is more watchful than usual. With your blazing hair, you’d stand out like a fox among hens.” Gavin shook his head. “Besides, with the increased rogue activity, you’re needed here.”
“Yes, my lord.” His logic was irrefutable. And yet, Justus was succumbing to an increasing sense of stagnation. There was something missing from his long life, but he had no notion as to what it could be. Before Gavin could catch wind of his doldrums, he bowed. “I’m off to the Medway for a bite and any morsels of news that might be of interest.”
Gavin clasped his shoulder. “You’re a good vampire, Justus. The best I have.”
“Thank you.” Justus’s stomach knotted. Lately he didn’t feel so very good.
And once he arrived at the Medway Inn, a cozy pub where gentleman of the upper classes drank, gambled, and avoided their wives, he felt even less honorable as he made his way towards Lord Wickshire, Bethany’s father.
“Lord de Wynter!” Wickshire said as he spotted him. “Come, have a dram of brandy with me.”
Justus inclined his head and joined him. He’d played a few card games with Lord Wickshire and spoken with him at multiple soirees, but until this summer, he’d had no idea that the man had a daughter. Of course, that wasn’t unusual. Female offspring did not exist until they were out in society, and once they were married off, they returned to their previous invisible existence.
As if reading his mind, Mead launched into a tangent bemoaning what a trial it was to have a daughter.
“The expense of all her gowns and other fripperies are enough to beggar me, I tell you.” Wickshire quaffed the remainder of his drink and gestured to a barmaid for another. “Not to mention the cost of her dowry. Would that I’d had a son instead.”
Justus concealed his frown with a sip of the glass of brandy the barmaid placed in front of him. “I understand that Miss Mead is witty and comely. Surely you won’t have too much trouble securing a respectable match.”
“Yes, she is as pretty as a daisy. But I confess, my spirits are low.” Mead’s brows drew together in consternation. “Silly chit always has her nose in a book. Mark my words, she’ll be cross eyed if she keeps it up. And she is sadly prone to fanciful notions. I sometimes worry about her mental state.”
Justus’s hands clenched into hard fists beneath the table. How could a man speak of his own child in such a way? “I rather appreciate a literate woman.”
Wickshire chuckled. “Yes, but I’m well aware of what sort of appreciation you have with women. See that you don’t extend it to my daughter.”
“Rest assured, despoiling maidens is not to my taste.” Justus rose from the table, suddenly not so proud of the reputation he’d carefully cultivated. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an important matter to discuss with Sir Henry over there.” He loathed Henry, for the chap was a pompous ass. However, that did not mean that the man didn’t have his uses.
To cheer himself up, he lured Sir Henry Swinton outside. As his fangs sank into Sir Henry’s neck, Justus gleaned a memory of him speaking with Bethany’s parents about a supper at Fosborough Manor tomorrow evening. A twinge of pity for the poor girl pierced his heart. The Fosborough’s entertainments were notoriously somber. Bethany would be bored out of her skull.
Releasing Sir Henry, he led the man back inside before circling the great room of the inn, listening to snatches of conversation. Unable to help himself, he paid extra close attention to every engagement the Meads would be attending.
Sure enough, there were several that he’d also received an invitation for. Well, he was invited to the Fosborough supper, but he had no intention of going to such a dismal affair.
***
The following evening, Justus found himself handing his coat and hat to the Fosborough’s butler, still wondering why he’d bothered to come. But the Medway Inn had been deserted, Gavin was occupied meeting with vampires who had private concerns, and no other parties or card games were occurring this night.
When he joined the guests in the drawing room, his gaze lit on Miss Mead. She looked especially fetching tonight, with a lavender gown and silk ribbons threaded through her upswept hair. She gave him an inappropriately broad smile that he couldn’t help returning. Her mother looked down her nose at him and ushered her off to speak with another gentleman.
Justus turned and greeted Lord Bromley, dutifully listening to his talk of a wager on a horse.
“You should attend the race, de Wynter.” Bromley clapped him on the shoulder. “You could win a tidy sum and, at the least, imbibe a spot of sunlight.”
A spot of sunlight would sear him like a side of beef. Justus flinched and quickly forced his grimace into a smile. “As diverting as that sounds, I’m sorry to say that I’ll be hunting boar in Maidstone that day.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue.
Once more, his attention shifted to Miss Mead, the sight of her crown of curls and the sway of her hips making his mouth water. Had she started reading The Faerie Queene yet? Closing his eyes, he pictured her lying in bed, propped up on her elbows reading. That golden hair of hers gleaming in the candlelight and hanging free to frame her face. A faraway look in those bright blue eyes, those lips curving in a soft smile at the flowing prose. Or maybe she leaned on her pillow, one little hand curled under her chin. The lace of her nightgown…
Before he could dwell too much on what Miss Mead wore to bed, the hostess announced that it was time to sup. Justus found himself all at once relieved and disappointed that he was seated at the opposite end of the table from the beautiful, bookish woman who’d captured his attention.
Desolation won the inner battle as he was subjected to tepid conversation and bland food. Although vampires were unable to eat more than a few nibbles of solid food, he appreciated delicious courses and was depressed that there were none to be had.
Responding to his seatmate’s chatter with equally banal remarks, Justus watched Miss Mead from the corner of his eye. She appeared to be just as bored as he was. He wagered that just like him, she’d rather be discussing books, or perhaps Medieval history. Once more he remembered their conversation the first night they met. How did she develop an interest in Chaucer? Furthermore, how did she learn to read Old English?
“Will you be at the Willoughbys’ garden party on Friday?” Lady Vance interrupted his musings. “There is to be a glorious fireworks display at nightfall.”
The Willoughbys. Justus remembered that was one of the parties that the Meads were attending. Fireworks were a wonder that held everyone in thrall. Distracted. Easy for one to slip away from the others.
He gave Lady Vance a genuine smile. “Yes, I shall be in attendance, though I’m sorry to say that I will be late.” An idea formed in his mind. “I do indeed find myself quite looking forward to the occasion.”
When at last the meal came to an end, Justus rose with the other men while the ladies retired to the drawing room.
As Miss Mead passed him, Justus dropped his napkin in her path. They both bent to retrieve it.
“Look for me at the Willoughbys’ affair,” he whispered. “We can discuss the book I loaned you while everyone watches the fireworks. In private.”
Her gloved fingers touched his briefly as she handed him the napk
in. Her little chin dipped in a subtle nod as she curtsied.
“Thank you, Miss Mead,” he said for the benefit of those watching. “I apologize for my clumsiness.”
He drank in the sight of her pink cheeks and licked his lips. This was a dangerous game he was playing.
And yet he could not stop.
Chapter Six
Bethany searched the Willoughbys’ drawing room, clutching her reticule so tightly her knuckles went white. Lord de Wynter said he would be here and tonight they would discuss the book… in private. She couldn’t help but tremble at the thought of being alone with him, perhaps anticipating that more than the prospect of literary discourse.
The setting sun shone through the glass of the French doors, casting a tinge of gold to everything, reminding Bethany of her imaginings of the faerie kingdom of Gloriana… though she knew who that character was truly supposed to represent. Still, Spenser’s epic held so much whimsy that she couldn’t help but imagine a truly fey monarch. She kept both the book and that sentiment hidden from her father.
Oh, she could not wait to talk to Lord de Wynter about the book. He’d understand.
As darkness fell and people around her chattered in anticipation of the fireworks, Bethany’s mother dragged her hither and thither through the assemblage, introducing her to every affluent gentleman in attendance.
None of them were interested in spending longer than necessary in her company, and that was quite agreeable with Bethany. There was only one man she whose company she wished to share this evening. Yet the bustling room palpably lacked his presence.
Was it possible that he’d found some other diversion? She’d heard that he spent a lot of time at the Medway Inn, playing cards and dice, as well as attending certain more raucous parties hosted by less reputable members of Society. Why should he decline such amusing pursuits to be with her?
Yes, he’d probably changed his mind about coming. Lord Darkwood’s manor was nearby and would have nearly as good a view of the fireworks. So perhaps de Wynter had—
There he was! Bethany’s heart surged in response to see Lord de Wynter’s lithe form stalking around the masses, pausing to exchange a polite greeting when necessary, while he was clearly making his way towards her. Every other step, he flashed her a conspiratorial glance, as if they shared a huge secret. A delicious thrill tremored through her body.
When he reached her side, Bethany withdrew the book from her reticule and handed it to him. Pleasure curled her toes as once more their fingers grazed each other. “Thank you for loaning me the book, my lord.”
“It was my pleasure.” His eyes swept over her face and form, seeming to caress her with an invisible tongue of flame.
Just then, Lady Willoughby announced that it was time to gather on the front lawn to view the illuminations. Those who were elderly or infirm watched from the balconies, where comfortable chairs had been set out for them.
“Follow my lead,” de Wynter whispered with an impish smile.
With that, he wove through the masses with unobtrusive slowness, excusing himself with a quiet mutter that made people let him pass without truly noticing him. Bethany did her best to imitate him, though for her, avoiding attention was much easier, being a wallflower ever since her first ball.
She caught a glimpse of Rebecca and her friends with their beaux. The group had ignored her ever since she’d told them about her dance with Lord de Wynter. At first, Bethany thought they were merely preoccupied, now she was beginning to suspect that they didn’t like her.
But as she followed de Wynter, casting a shamefully pleasing glance at his backside, snugly encased in buff trousers, Bethany decided she didn’t care what they thought of her.
While everyone else made their way to the front lawn, de Wynter strode off into the azalea garden. After a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain no one was watching, Bethany ducked under a leafy bower behind him. Anticipation flooded her being, making even the air feel alive on her skin.
He sat on a stone bench and patted the marble surface beside him. Bethany joined him, legs suddenly turned to custard. It was so dark in here that they were veritably blanketed in shadows, the intimacy palpable and warm. Even in the darkness, his hair glinted like banked coals. Her fingers twisted in her lap in effort to resist touching those fiery tresses.
To break up the heavy silence, Bethany shakily began the conversation. “I am grateful that you arranged for us to discuss the book, my lord. I finished it only yesterday.”
His arched lips curved with a pleased smile that warmed her to her toes. “Please, call me Justus.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Heat flooded her face at the sound of his name. There was something so beautiful, so noble about it. “My mother would have the vapors if she heard me call a man by his Christian name.”
He nodded in understanding. “At least when we are alone then.”
“Very well, Justus.” Her belly tilted at the sound of his name. “Then in such cases, you may call me Bethany.” The words tumbled out, improper as they were.
“Good. Now that we have that settled, Bethany,” he said, “what did you think of the book?”
“At first, I thought I wouldn’t care for it,” she admitted, shivering slightly at that masculine voice uttering her name. “The incessant and undisguised praise for Queen Elizabeth grew tiresome.”
Justus quirked a brow. “Caught that, did you?” Impatient shouts echoed from the lawn outside their bower as Lord Willoughby’s servants prepared the fireworks.
“Who could miss such sycophantic symbolism? Queen Gloriana?” She chuckled. “I understand that her patronage was needed, but at least Shakespeare managed better subtlety.”
Lord de Wynter nodded. “As well as the love of the commons.” He leaned forward, so close that she could almost make out the vivid green of his eyes. Inwardly, she cursed the darkness even as she knew the shadows kept them hidden. “But you said you thought you wouldn’t care for it.”
Bethany nodded, praying he couldn’t see how his proximity was making her blush. “I greatly enjoyed the magic and the fact that there was always something happening. And the romance…” Heat rose to her cheeks and she quickly changed the subject before he thought she sounded like a silly girl. “Although I confess I felt bad for that blind girl and her mother living alone. I understand why they could not afford to shelter Una and her companions. I was even sad that the church robber was killed by the lion. Although stealing is wrong, that was their only source of support. What?” she broke off as Justus’s shoulders shook with laughter.
“That scene, the whole book in fact, was an allegory. In those days, the Catholic church was the biggest thief of all. Of course, I wasn’t around back then, but my— He broke off suddenly with a frown, then recovered his thoughts with a quick shake of his head. “I’ve read much about the time period.”
“Of course!” Bethany breathed, feeling like the biggest hen-wit. “After what Elizabeth’s sister, Mary, put the people through with her persecution of Anglicans, no wonder Catholics would be painted as villains. You must think me a fool.”
“Not at all,” Justus placed his hand over hers, impossibly warm in the cool of the garden. “I confess that it is a joy to speak with someone who can read a story as a story, not picking it apart for every little symbol and entrenched bias.” He leaned forward on the bench and reached up to cup her cheek. “You are a remarkable person, Bethany.”
“So are you,” she whispered, captivated by his fey beauty and husky voice. The first explosion made her jump and gasp as the sky above them erupted with a halo of red light. Justus pulled her closer and she laughed in embarrassment as cheers echoed from the lawn.
Her heart pounded in her throat as his head dipped lower and his lips brushed across hers.
Heat exploded in her belly at the chaste kiss, every nerve ending singing with pleasure. Head swimming with dizziness, Bethany grasped his shoulders to keep from toppling off of the bench. Justus’s arms wrapped aroun
d her, pulling her against his firm chest, his lips caressing hers with intoxicating fervor.
When he drew back, Bethany felt as if something vital had been snatched away from her. Another firework lit up the sky with a boom and Justus’s eyes glowed like green embers as he suddenly leaned towards her once more. Her breath caught in her throat, a shiver of primal alarm crawling up her spine. But instead of kissing her again, his mouth lightly touched her neck.
She gasped at the sparking sensation and Justus drew back as if burned. His long red hair hung unfashionably loose, hiding his face. His broad shoulders moved up and down with his deep breathing as if he were struggling to tame something savage within.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “That was extremely ungentlemanly of me. Can you forgive me?”
When he raised his imploring eyes to hers, she saw that they weren’t glowing at all. They must have been reflecting the fireworks. What a ninny she was for momentarily thinking otherwise.
“Of course I forgive you,” she whispered. “It is not as if I have been behaving in the most ladylike manner. Besides, I have always wondered what it is like to be kissed.” She snapped her mouth closed at such an outrageous confession, but it was too late.
“And?” he whispered back.
She frowned. “And what?”
His lips arched in a wicked smile. “How was the experience?”
“Incredible,” she couldn’t stop herself from answering. “So much more than what the novels depict.”
His grin broadened, tempting beyond reason. “That tempts me to do it again.”
She leaned toward him and he chuckled low.
“No, I must remain honorable.” He rose from the bench. “I will go out that way, you go the way we came in and immerse yourself with the crowd. With luck, no one will have discovered you missing.” Taking her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. The feel of his mouth through the satin of her gloves a poor substitute to his previous kiss. “I will see you again soon.”
Before she could reply, he vanished deeper into the garden with nary a rustle.