Fighting to maintain her composure, she explained, “As I told you at the Wentworth ball, I have always wanted to be a writer.”
“Ah, so I am looking at the next Duchess of Devonshire?” His indulgent tone seemed mocking.
Angelica bristled at the assumption. “Just because I am female does not mean I write thinly veiled gossip like The Sylph. I desire to be a gothic authoress, like Mary Shelley.”
His brow rose. “I imagine your mother doesn’t approve.”
She was about to retort, but there seemed to be a glint of sympathetic understanding in his eyes. “Yes, I have to hide my stories from her. However,” she added with a lift to her chin, “my father does not object and Liza, my maid, is my most faithful reader.”
“Have you been published yet?” the duke asked with what seemed to be genuine interest.
Angelica nodded. “Yes, though that at first posed a trifle of a challenge, for ‘Angelica Winthrop’ was laughed out of the offices of The New Monthly Magazine. However, they were quick to welcome ‘Allan Winthrop.’” She smoothed the lapels of her waistcoat and laughed, though she couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her feigned mirth.
“Ah, so the reason behind your disguise is becoming clear.” The vampire nodded, eyeing her intently. “But what were you doing in my home?”
Angelica grinned. “Now we come to the amusing part of my tale, Your Grace. I have been fascinated with Burnrath House for many years. With all the odd sounds and coming and goings in the night, as well as the conspicuous absence of servants at such hours, I could only reach one conclusion.”
The duke leaned forward, silver eyes glittering ominously. “And that conclusion was?”
“I believed your house was haunted,” she explained with burning cheeks. “I never imagined this place was haven to a vampire.”
Burnrath’s sharp crack of laughter resounded through the chamber.
“So,” Angelica continued, chuckling. “When Colburn offered me double if I could finish another story, I was determined to write one about this house.”
For some reason she left out the part about needing the money to run away to avoid marriage. Though Burnrath was a vampire, he was still a nobleman and would no doubt disapprove of her shirking what he would see as her duty. “And when your maid left the front door ajar,” she explained, “I thought it was the only opportunity I would receive to see the inside of the famous Burnrath House.”
The duke’s brow rose. “Your interest in my tomb of a home and things that stalk the night is peculiar. I should think a pretty young thing such as you would be more suited to picking flowers in a sunny meadow.”
Angelica smiled and quoted,
“Sing to me no songs of daylight
For the sun is the enemy of lovers.
Sing instead of shadows and darkness
And memories of midnight.”
“That was Sappho, correct?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I—”
“You are not in the slightest bit afraid of me, are you?” he interrupted, staring at her as if she were an exotic animal.
She regarded him with a measure of surprise, realizing that she was not. “Should I be?” she reasoned aloud. “You are not the soulless creature the myths portray.”
“What makes you say that?” He seemed to be genuinely curious, as if what she thought mattered to him.
Angelica shrugged, unused to a man taking her seriously. “Well, you have a reflection, for one thing.”
The vampire’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “A stone has no soul, but if you hold one before a mirror, will it not cast its reflection?”
Angelica’s eyes widened in astonishment at his logic and she nodded quickly. Her shoulders hunched as fury radiated within. Of course! Even a fool would realize that!
“You are angry and ashamed.” He sounded surprised. “Why?”
Her voice was ragged with self-contempt that she could not conceal. “I should have known that. The logic is stupidly apparent.”
“I do not believe I have ever seen a woman react in such a way over her ignorance.” The duke peered at her like she was an odd curiosity displayed for his entertainment.
His musing tone fueled the conflagration. A small measure of the contempt in her gaze was now directed at him. “Perhaps they hide it better than I do.”
Burnrath did not reply and instead continued to stare at her as if he could peer into her soul. Angelica shivered and brought the conversation to a more comfortable topic.
“All that aside, I do think it is now too late to fear you.” She forced an airy lilt to her tone. “After all, I should think if you had meant to kill me by now, you would have.”
The vampire leaned forward. “Death is not your only danger in being alone with me, little Angel.” He was so close that she could feel his breath on her lips, and her body, unbidden, began to tremble. He was going to kiss her! She closed her eyes and…
***
There was a knock at the door.
“Dammit!” Ian growled, leaping up from the sofa as the reality of the situation crashed upon him. “It is my coachman.”
He strode to the door, teeth clenched in irritation at the interruption.
“Your Grace?” Albert inquired, taking in the sight of Ian’s open shirt and bare feet. “I thought you were wanting me to take you to your club.”
“My plans have changed,” Ian said, prepared to dismiss the coachman. Then he remembered Angelica’s injuries. If she had not awakened so quickly, he could have healed her with his blood, but he didn’t dare frighten her further. “Would you be so kind as to fetch a doctor?”
“Why, are you unwell?” Albert asked anxiously.
“It is not for me.” He shut the door in the coachman’s face.
His foul mood faded as he returned to the beauty reclining on his sofa. He had never before met anyone as fascinating as Angelica Winthrop. Her passion for her writing humbled him even as the rich descriptions of her stories captivated him. His gaze caressed Angelica’s face and form, noting her fine-boned features and luscious lips that caused him to nearly forget himself and capture them in a devouring kiss.
“Is everything all right?” she asked nervously, her fists clenched in her lap.
“I sent for a doctor to see to your ankle, Miss Winthrop,” he said with forced formality even as he longed to return to their engaging conversation.
“Oh. Thank you.” Her long lashes swept her cheeks as if perhaps she regretted the return to propriety.
The cozy spell was broken and they spent the next half hour struggling with stilted small talk, not daring to meet each other’s gazes.
The doctor arrived, not batting an eye at the young lady in male garb.
“Miss Winthrop is a neighbor and dear friend of mine.” Ian had worked out a plausible lie. “She had a quarrel with her mother and sought a confidante. Unfortunately, she was so overwrought that she tripped on my doorstep.” He shook his head at the idea of such female silliness, ignoring Angelica’s snort of disgust.
“I want you to say she was found on the sidewalk,” Ian concluded. “She is well-bred and I do not want her compromised. You will be well compensated, naturally.”
Dr. Sampson nodded and patted his black medical bag. “Just the thing. Now I shall see to the little patient, and then we may get her home to her worried parents.”
Ian paced the hallway, hoping Angelica’s ankle wasn’t broken and that her foolish stunt wouldn’t get her into too much trouble. As his jaw clenched, he was disturbed about how much he cared, especially with the new concern that she’d reveal his secret. He frowned. Surely she couldn’t be so foolish. And if she was, what would he do then? He couldn’t kill her, and he sure as hell couldn’t Change her.
An hour later, the doctor brought Angelica to the foyer, half carrying her. “Hellloooo
again, Your Grace,” she slurred with a silly smile on her lush lips.
“The young lady’s ankle is not broken,” Dr. Sampson announced briskly. “But it is badly sprained. I’ve given her a dose of laudanum, and I will instruct her parents that she must stay off her feet for at least a week. She may have use of a crutch by tomorrow, God willing.” He inclined his head in gratitude as Ian handed him a banknote. “I will take her to the carriage now.”
“Good-bye, Miss Winthrop.” Ian kissed the back of her hand.
“I shall miss you, Your Grace,” Angelica giggled, swaying from the effects of the laudanum. “Even though you bit me.”
The doctor raised a brow, and Ian shrugged his shoulders as if he had no idea what she meant.
He watched as she was loaded into the waiting carriage. I think I will miss you too, Angel. Perhaps he would steal a dance when she was healed.
***
Albert, Burnrath’s coachman, was able to hold his silence for nearly twenty-four hours. But the news that a young lady of the Quality had been carried out of the duke’s house dressed like a boy and with a sprained ankle was too juicy a tidbit to hold in. Especially since the duke himself had been partially undressed. Albert told his current ladylove, who was the Cavendish’s parlor maid, while walking with her in the park on her day off.
The maid told Lady Cavendish at her first opportunity. The countess often shared her chocolate bonbons when presented with titillating news. By the next evening, the ton was speculating on just who the young lady was. When callers were turned away from the Winthrop house due to Angelica being abed with a sprained ankle, gossip raged through the nobility like wildfire. Since the last news one usually heard was about oneself, the Winthrops and their household were blissfully unaware of their slaughtered reputations.
Seven
Angelica hummed a merry tune as she wrote “The End” at the bottom of the last page of her story, “The Haunting of Rathton Manor.” When Liza returned, she would have her deliver the manuscript to Colburn and return with her twelve pounds. “The Ghost of the Highwayman” had already been published and had received excellent reviews to her delight and her father’s pride. Her mother, for once, had kept her lips pursed in silence, only muttering her disapproval in the background. Now that she’d confessed her writing success to her parents, Angelica had renewed her hope that she could convince her father to let her use her dowry for her writing career instead of marriage.
For the tenth time this afternoon, she peered out her window at Burnrath House. The mansion loomed behind the budding hawthorn trees in silent vigilance, guarding a vampire during his day rest… a vampire who had drunk her blood then apologized for it… a vampire who had nearly kissed her and probably would have apologized for that as well. Instead of a horrid monster who slaughtered innocents, he had been a gentleman who’d summoned a doctor, seen that her injuries were treated, and sent her safely home.
Angelica smiled as she thought back to that night, five days ago, when the doctor had helped her out of the carriage and into the arms of her frantic parents. The look on her mother’s face as she took in Angelica’s masculine attire had been so comical that her face had burned with the effort of suppressing the giggles. She had dozed on and off as she was hauled into the house, muzzy-headed from the medicine the doctor forced down her throat and only half hearing her mother’s tirade.
Papa had looked so frightened and concerned that she had longed to tell him some good news. On a flight of inspiration, she had informed them about the publication of her first story as if the happy event had occurred that very day.
“You will be a published author?” Papa’s eyes had lit up once they were settled in the drawing room. “Well done, my dearest!”
“Do not encourage her!” Margaret shrieked, doubtless on the verge of hysterics. “If anyone knows she penned that story, she will be ruined beyond all hope.”
Angelica’s head had nodded back and forth in slow motion. It seemed that she could see everything in double. She feared she would fall out of her chair. She gripped the sides of her seat in a futile effort to stop the swaying.
Dr. Sampson must have noticed, for he’d interrupted the discussion. “The young lady has had a very trying day. I have given her a healthy dose of laudanum and I recommend that she be put to bed immediately. I will check on her tomorrow and bring a crutch with me.”
The following days were paradise for Angelica. She spent nearly the entire time writing, with no Almack’s, no balls, no callers, no suitors, and no lectures from Margaret to take her away from her muse. When she wasn’t writing, she enjoyed meals in bed and reading her favorite novels, taking every available opportunity to look out the window at the Burnrath mansion and daydream about her encounter with the vampire. Over and over she replayed her adventure with him in her mind, relishing the tingle that ran up her spine with each remembered detail.
Angelica shook her head and fought to remain practical. She would miss having the duke as a neighbor when she moved to a modest flat and embarked on her career. Perhaps she could call on him sometime when her career was more established. Then maybe she could ask him about vampires… and maybe he would kiss her! She frowned. Practical, she must be practical. And yet her belly fluttered as she imagined his lips on hers… and the sight of his bare chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt.
To be truthful, her ankle had felt fine since the day before. She merely wanted more time to finish her story and enjoy her peace away from the social whirlwind.
Only moments after Liza departed with her letter and manuscript, Margaret marched into Angelica’s bedchamber with Dr. Sampson. It was time for another examination. Unfortunately, this time he pronounced her healed. Angelica bit back an unladylike curse.
“Then we may go to the Cavendish ball tonight?” Mother asked him, wringing her hands.
“Just so long as she limits her dancing,” he said, closing his medical bag.
Margaret beamed. Angelica groaned.
***
John Polidori awoke to the sound of a soft soprano singing a haunting melody. A blissful sigh escaped his lips when he felt the soothing sensation of a cold cloth bathing his forehead. He opened his eyes, and his blurred vision took in the sight of the figure before him. The cropped hair and masculine attire led him at first to believe that he was being tended by a young man. But the lilting voice and smooth luminous skin gave him pause. Was he being nursed by one of the famed castrati singers of his home country? The notion was dashed as he felt a pair of soft breasts pressing against his shoulder.
“John, you are awake.” Her voice was cultured and gentle as an angel’s.
“Where am I?” he croaked, forcing his heavy eyes to focus. “How long have I been asleep?”
She handed him a cup of water and he drank greedily. “I found you unconscious in the alley behind your usual club three nights ago.” Her full lips pouted as she ran a gentle hand through his hair. “I brought you to my home and have been caring for you since. I think you were sick from drink.”
He could see her clearly now. He knew this woman. How could he ever have mistaken her for a male? And how could he have forgotten her lovely voice? Her exquisite face had stayed in his memory for all time. Lord Byron and his friends had mocked him when he spent weeks searching the Swiss countryside for her. But if Byron had seen her, he would have stilled his wagging tongue.
The rich fabric of her waistcoat and cravat looked coarse against the silken glow of her face and hands. Her dark eyes were as large as a doe’s, fringed with lashes impossibly long and thick and framed with thin black brows. The lady’s fine-boned face was as delicate as porcelain, with ruby lips that made him groan with desire for a taste. John reached up and touched them with his finger to make sure she was real.
Excitement warred with dizziness. “It is you! Rosetta, my darling, what are you doing in England? I searched for you for months after we met
. I set your leg. Do you remember?”
She nodded, smiling. “I will never forget your kindness. My heart is filled with joy that you remember me.”
“But how did you find me?” he asked, frowning as he took in his surroundings. “And why is this chamber without windows?”
She ran a hand through his curls. “First you must eat while I heat water for your bath. I’ve brought you clean clothing. When you are comfortable, I will tell all.”
Once he was clean and his hunger was sated, John was afraid he’d have to fight the drowsy languor. But when Rosetta opened her mouth to reveal pearly white fangs as she told her story, he was stunned. Despite the fantastical creations that spilled from his pen, he was a realist. A physician and scientist had no room for fantasy in his beliefs. He never imagined that the creatures of myth that fired his imagination and populated his stories could possibly be real.
But another thing stirred him more than her amazing story. Rosetta loved him. The fact was clear with every word she spoke, and the way her eyes glowed with adoration whenever they rested upon him. The revelation struck a chord within him that he’d long since tried to kill. Though he had often loved, no one had ever truly loved him in return. Oh, George Gordon, Lord Byron, had claimed to, but it wasn’t until John’s heart was lost to the poet that he learned that Byron loved a new person every week.
Indeed, Lord Byron had been the man he sought to represent as the vampire, Lord Ruthven, not the Duke of Burnrath, who apparently was the Vampire Lord of London! The situation would be quite ridiculous if his life were not in such grave danger.
He stood up and walked across the carpeted floor toward Rosetta. Ah, his beautiful savior Rosetta! Already, he was losing his heart to her dark passion more than he had to her tender beauty four years ago. “I see that my thanks are necessary.”
“Not at all, John, I would save you all over again if I had to.” Those delicate cheeks pinkened once more as he drew near. “Besides, it was my fault that you published that story. If I had not whispered my encouragement to you every night, your life would not be at risk.”
Bite Me, Your Grace Page 6