Wynter's Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 5)

by Brooklyn Ann

  “I thought I would return the favor and loan you a book,” she said shyly, pulling a thick volume from her reticule.

  Justus couldn’t help himself.

  He pulled her small, warm body against his and claimed her lips in a fiery kiss that warmed him all the way down to the soles of his feet. She kissed him back eagerly, her soft mouth exploring his with innocent discovery. Just as he pressed his arousal to her soft belly, his sense returned with the realization of what he was doing.

  Quickly, he released her before someone spied them. “I apologize once again. We should not do this.”

  “Why not?” she whispered, her delectable breasts heaving beneath her gown of azure watered silk.

  “Because…” He sighed. She had a point. If he weren’t a vampire, there would be nothing wrong with him paying court to her, kissing her, bedding her once she was his bride. “It’s not proper,” he explained lamely. “Now let us return to the crush before a gossip spies us.”

  Her pink lips parted as if in protest, but then she nodded. The rest of the evening, Justus barely had a chance to speak a word to her, for Bethany’s mother was relentless in thrusting her before every unmarried male between the ages of fifteen and eighty. All except for Justus, as Lady Wickshire clearly disliked him.

  As he watched a golden-haired Adonis partner Bethany in the waltz, envy boiled his blood.

  It was then that he realized that he loved Bethany Mead, and he could not allow her to be given to another man.

  Unfortunately, that meant he would have to tell her the truth about what he was and what that meant for his suit. And then he would have to confess all to Gavin.

  But first he would speak to Bethany, for she deserved to learn the truth before anyone else.

  Chapter Eight

  Bethany searched the Tennyson’s ballroom for Justus. She’d had the most ghastly day entertaining their neighbor, Lord Tench. He’d stayed for afternoon tea and then bade Bethany to escort him through the garden, walking slowly as he leaned on his cane and sometimes having her support him. The man was older than her grandfather, with liver spotted hands that managed to touch her breasts and bum when she walked with him.

  Now she needed Justus to cheer her up and banish the day’s ordeal from her mind. He’d said he was almost finished reading The Song of Roland and she greatly looked forward to his thoughts on the epic poem, almost as much as she anticipated the dance he’d promised her.

  Her mother bent to her ear, advising her on the best way to secure a dance with Lord Willoughby’s heir and how to engage Sir Hubert Huxtable in conversation at supper. Bethany sighed. Mother’s matchmaking furor had risen to feverish heights over the past few days. Bethany could not fathom why Mother was in such a rush. She wasn’t even due to make her official come out until next Spring. There was plenty of time to secure a match.

  Though if Justus offered for her, she would gladly accept. Not only would that put an end to Mother’s irksome way of throwing her at every unwed male in their path, but it would also guarantee Bethany a future with someone she was fond of.

  More than fond. If Bethany was to be honest with herself, she must resign herself to the fact that she was head over heels in love with Justus. His kiss last night had haunted her dreams even more than the previous one.

  Why hadn’t Mother pushed her towards Justus? Surely Viscount de Wynter was a good match. He was titled, held land, and clearly had enough income to be able to afford his fine clothes. Unless he was on credit, common sense reminded her. But even if he was up to his ears in debt, Bethany would love him all the same. Certainly her parents would not object to his suit.

  But did he have any interest in marrying her? He’d told her that he was unable to call upon her during the day, yet the way he sought her out every evening felt like a courtship. Not to mention the kisses he’d stolen, and the way he held her when they danced.

  Yet he hadn’t said a word about matrimony.

  Before she plunged into doldrums, Bethany glimpsed Justus across the room. His eyes gleamed with naked joy to see her as he favored her with a brilliant smile.

  Murmuring some excuse to her mother, she slipped away and planned the best way to weave through the crush without making it obvious that she was going to him. Not for the first time she wondered why Justus insisted on keeping their friendship a secret. Was he, as a rake, perhaps ashamed to call a debutante friend? Or was it because he had no intention of marrying her and did not want people to speculate?

  Once she worked her way to Justus’s side by pretending interest in Mr. Fenton’s talk of a cricket match, Bethany met his gaze and the happiness she saw in his eyes made her happy to be his friend, no matter what.

  Another gentleman overheard Mr. Fenton’s remarks about a certain player and launched an ardent debate, freeing Bethany.

  Justus bowed as if he only just noticed her standing beside him. “Miss Mead, you are a vision this evening. Would you do me the honor of partnering me in the next waltz?”

  Bethany’s breath fled her lungs. He never waltzed with her, except for the night they’d first met. Such a dance implied romance. Justus raised a brow at her silence and she curtsied. “I would enjoy that above all things.”

  He stepped closer to her, taking her gloved hands in his. She blinked. Aside from dancing, he also never touched her in front of anyone. Could he have changed his mind about courting her? “I shall count the minutes,” he said before pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

  The musicians struck up a tune for the first quadrille and Bethany reluctantly left him as a gentleman she’d promised the first dance to came to collect her. She too found herself counting the minutes to their waltz, sighing in disappointment that Justus didn’t deign to join this dance so she could spend a few moments in his arms.

  When the dance ended, she bit back a groan of despair as her dancing partner escorted her back to her mother.

  Lady Wickshire favored her with a stern frown. “I saw you speaking with Lord de Wynter again. I do not approve.”

  “Why not?” Bethany said. “He’s unmarried and a viscount.”

  Cecily’s nostrils looked pinched. “And a notorious rake. If you’d heard half the gossip, you’d faint.”

  “I already promised him a waltz,” Bethany said. “He’s never asked me before. Perhaps his intentions are honorable.”

  Her mother’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Lord Tench was going to ask for the waltz.”

  Bethany snorted indelicately. “He can barely walk. How is he supposed to dance?” Before Lady Mead could embark on a lecture, she fabricated an excuse. “I must retreat to the retiring room.”

  She spent the next hour hiding from her mother before it was time for the waltz. Justus met her the moment the first sweet note trilled on the violins, and when he took her into his arms, the rest of the world fell away.

  They twirled and swayed together as if they were one, and Bethany’s heart pounded with excitement at the feel of his firm shoulder beneath her hand and the solid heat of his grip on her waist. Their faces were so close she could see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. His deep, green eyes remained locked on hers, seeming to communicate with her in a new and magical language.

  When he bent down and a silken lock of his hair caressed her cheek, Bethany gasped, at first thinking he would kiss her again right there in front of everyone.

  Instead, Justus whispered, “Are you able to escape your room without detection tonight?”

  A tremor of fear and excitement shivered up her spine, along with a pang of disappointment. “Are you suggesting a tryst?” Perhaps he was as much of a rake as people said.

  “No. I would never dishonor you that way.” His hand stroked her back beneath her hair soothing motion. “But I must speak to you in absolute secrecy, for the matter is of utmost importance.”

  The intensity of his gaze made her heart leap in her throat. He looked afraid, yet somehow elated all at once, as if h
e was on the verge of unloading a great burden. Bethany decided to trust him. Or perhaps she really did not find the prospect of a tryst to be a bad thing. If his kisses were so potent, what would it be like to experience more?

  Rising up on tiptoes, she spoke softly. “There’s a tree by my window. I can shimmy down it. I used to do it all the time when I was a girl.”

  He nodded. “Meet me in your orchard at midnight.”

  The music faded and he bowed before walking away from the dance floor as if indifferent to their waltz. Bethany struggled to breathe as her stays seemed suddenly tight. Did she truly agree to meet Justus alone in the dark tonight? All the gothic novels she’d read implied that such a thing was a very unwise notion. What if he planned to abduct her?

  She shook her head. No. Justus was her friend. He’d never do anything to harm her.

  Despite that firm truth, her mind still raced to devise his motives for such a covert liaison. Had he contracted a fatal illness and only trusted her with the tragic news? Heavens, she hoped not.

  Another thought made her knees go weak. What if he wished to elope?

  Although the notion was incredibly romantic, she could not fathom why he wouldn’t simply court her and ask her father for her hand like a normal gentleman.

  A humorous smile tugged her lips. Justus de Wynter was anything but normal. His hair was red as autumn leaves, he was more well-read than anyone she’d ever met, he did not go anywhere during the day, and no one of her acquaintance had ever been inside his manor house by the river. All that aside, there was an aura of power and mystery about him that set her imagination to flight.

  As she reached the punch bowl, Bethany searched the room for him, hoping to glimpse a hint of his intentions in his eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, she sat next to a group of wallflowers and made polite conversation until Lord Tench asked her to dance.

  After enduring his wandering hands and clinging to her person all for the excuse of maintaining his balance— which she suspected wasn’t nearly as impaired as he wanted her to believe— Bethany sought out her mother and pleaded exhaustion.

  “Oh, but it is not even ten o’clock,” Lady Wickshire protested.

  “I know, but I did not sleep well last night and I do not wish to have circles under my eyes.” Bethany appealed to her mother’s obsession with her appearance. If she could be home by eleven, that would give her enough time to bathe and ready herself for her assignation with Justus.

  Lady Mead’s countenance softened. “Very well, I’ll ask your father to have the carriage brought ’round.”

  Bethany hid a smile behind her fan as she saw the relief in Father’s eyes as Mother requested that they depart. He had grown progressively fatigued with the social whirlwind they’d plunged into to secure Bethany a match. Lord Wickshire was much more comfortable in his overstuffed chair in the study, reading a book by the fire. If not for their opposing preferences, Bethany and her father would have been kindred spirits. Alas, Father disdained poetry and novels. He preferred memoirs and accounts of historical battles, which made Bethany’s eyes glaze over. However, if it weren’t for him taking her upon his lap and having her read some of those battle stories with him when she was young, Bethany never would have learned to read Old English and thus never would have had the opportunity to fall in love with Chaucer. It was a shame Father now disdained her love of novels. Not for the first time, she wondered what made him so apprehensive of anything in the realm of fiction. He often behaved as if he feared she wouldn’t be able to discern a story from fact.

  When they were settled in the carriage, Bethany silently implored the horses to go faster while also praying that one did not turn an ankle or pick up a stone so they would not be delayed. Then, once they arrived at home, she fabricated a story about a popular debutante advising her of the beautifying powers of bathing with lavender in order to persuade her mother to have a bath drawn despite the late hour. There was no way Bethany would meet Justus smelling of Lord Tench’s putrid odor of old sweat and fermented cologne.

  Taking extra time on cleaning her hair and scrubbing her skin, Bethany breathed a sigh of relief when her mother came in to bid her goodnight and she already heard her father snoring in the next room. Mother always retired minutes after father, so she should have time to change into suitable garb and steal away in time for her rendezvous.

  The moment Mother closed her bedroom door, Bethany tiptoed to her wardrobe and searched for something fetching, yet practical for climbing up and down the tree. She settled on a navy blue riding habit that had breeches instead of a skirt, along with her best riding boots.

  Darting glances at the small clock on her vanity, she brushed her hair for one hundred strokes before gathering it in a loose plait so it wouldn’t catch on the tree branches. Then she touched up her face with a smattering of powder and a bit of rouge that mother gave her last Christmas. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as she reached for her jewel box to fetch her lucky necklace.

  No matter what Justus had to say to her, she wanted him to know that he’d chiseled a permanent place deep in her heart and that his friendship meant the world to her. After lifting her favorite necklace, a small watch on a gold chain that had belonged to her great, great grandmother, Bethany’s gaze lit upon another trinket.

  Just before they’d arrived at their country manor, Bethany’s mother had commissioned to have a miniature of her painted and then placed in a locket. The necklace was meant to be given to her future intended as a token of affection.

  Affection… Bethany turned the word over in her mind before lifting the locket from the box. Every vestige of her heart, mind, and soul knew that she would only feel affection for Justus. It was only right that he have it. Recalling another romantic tradition, Bethany quietly slid her drawer open and pulled out a tiny pair of sewing shears. She then lifted her braid, snipped off a lock of hair at the end, and placed it inside the locket before placing the necklace in her pocket.

  With that accomplished, Bethany took three deep breaths before carefully working her window open. The branch she used to leap to seemed further away than she remembered. She shook her head. That was silly. If anything, the branch would be closer, as the tree had to have grown over the years. Sure enough, once she stretched her leg out, while maintaining a tight grip on the window frame, her boot easily found the solid surface of the branch. The next step was trickier, as she had to reach out and grasp another branch to fully begin her descent. With her childhood memory guiding her, she easily found the correct branch and reflexively crouched to push the window shut.

  Slowly, Bethany worked her way down the tree, not releasing her pent-up breath until her feet were safely on the ground. Checking her little watch, her heart stuttered as she saw that it was already a quarter to midnight. Looking around to make certain no one was up and about, she took off running at a very unladylike pace, only slowing when she neared the orchard.

  Even as she walked, she maintained a brisk pace while smoothing tendrils of hair that escaped her plait beneath her ears. Despite her best efforts, it seemed she would look a fright when she met with Justus after all.

  But the moment she spotted a vague, masculine outline leaning against a cherry tree, Bethany forgot all about her appearance as her heart threatened to beat itself out from under her ribs. She could scarcely fathom that she was actually doing this, meeting a man alone beneath the cover of darkness.

  “I thought you would not come.” His deep voice rumbled in the night, seeming to make the leaves around them tremble.

  “You said this was important,” she said, hugging her arms as a sudden chill overcame her.

  “Come closer.” His tone was rife with urgency and command that she’d never heard from him before.

  A shiver ran up the back of her neck, as she took several shaky steps towards him, even as some primal instinct urged her to flee in the opposite direction. Though that same instinct was also certain he’d catch her anyway. A chill wi
nd made the leaves above them whisper.

  Bethany shoved aside her trepidation. Justus was her friend.

  As if reaffirming that fact, he reached out and took her hands. “Before I tell you why I asked you to meet me, I want you to trust that I will never hurt you.”

  “I know.” Though the fact that he felt he needed to make such a statement filled her with alarm.

  “The next thing I wish to say is that I love you, Bethany Mead.” Her name sounded sweet and velvety coming from his lips. “In all my long years of life, I have never met a woman as beautiful, as intelligent, courageous and sweet as you. You’ve warmed my heart that I’d long since thought barren.”

  “I love you as well, Justus.” Bethany’s heart soared to finally voice that sentiment aloud. But then something he’d said gave her pause. “What do you mean, ‘in your long years?’ How old are you exactly?”

  “Older than I look.” He chuckled drily. Then his features turned tender as he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. Her skin warmed as she realized he wasn’t wearing gloves. He studied her, intent and solemn. “Do you love me truly? Enough to keep a momentous secret if I reveal it?”

  She nodded and leaned closer to him. “I do.”

  “I wish I could pay proper courtship to you. I want you to be my wife, for us to spend the rest our nights together. But such a thing may be impossible if you find my secret repugnant.” Unbelievably, he shivered and looked at his boots with an aching, morose frown.

  Bethany frowned, joy at his saying words she’d longed to hear since their first kiss warring with grief at the agony in his voice. “I don’t think it possible for me to find anything about you repugnant.”

  “Do not be so certain.” His brows lowered, his mouth forming a grave line. “Do you believe in mythical creatures?”

  The question was so startling, she giggled. “Do you mean like fairies? Are you a fey prince like Oberon?”