“Still, you have put your life in danger to save mine,” he whispered, caressing her hair. “‘No poet’s dream e’er show’d a form so fair; no heav’nly gleam of prophet’s fire could paint e’en Virtue’s grace with hues so chaste, though bright, as deck’d her face.’ I wrote that about you after we met.”
Rosetta’s lips parted in awe. “You did? That poem is one of my favorites.”
He leaned closer to her. “Rosetta, I offer you my blood, my body, my life.”
His mouth slanted across hers as passion consumed them. The candles flickered as they collapsed onto the bed.
After the most passionate bout of lovemaking either had ever experienced, the pair lay entwined in each other’s arms, still panting for breath as they talked. Sometimes their laughter mingled like a beautiful dream as they discovered things they had in common. Other times they fell into a blissful silence as their gazes locked, overcome with emotions too potent for words. They spoke of everything from vampires to poetry to medicine. They spoke of anything but the danger they were in.
Tonight was not for fearful thoughts. Tonight was for the rosy glow and vivid light of new love. For each had found the other half of their souls.
***
Ian stared in disbelief at the latest entry in White’s betting book. “The bet paid off?”
The duke of Wentworth nodded. “Well, of course the bet paid off. Lady Cavendish heard it from her maid who heard it from your coachman. Everyone knows you’ve had her.” He toyed with his quizzing glass, eyes narrowed against the smoke saturating the club.
Ian shook his head as Wentworth narrated the week’s gossip. His fists clenched in desire to strangle the coachman. Albert would be dismissed at the earliest opportunity.
“Of course, I must say I don’t at all approve, Burnrath,” Wentworth continued, oblivious to Ian’s rage as they returned to their table. “The girl and her family will not be able to show their faces in society again after tonight. Speaking of, I must depart for the Cavendish ball.”
“Why tonight?” Ian snapped, resisting the urge to bare his fangs. “Did I not ‘have’ her last week?”
His friend sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, the girl was safely ensconced in her home with an injured ankle, so nobody has had the chance to cut her yet. You know how traditionally vicious we are. It must be made official, tonight, as I understand the Winthrops will be attending the ball. Lady Cavendish will reserve first right, I suppose.”
More than ever, Ian was sickened at the cruelty the ton seemed to thrive on. All of his predatory instincts raged at him to fly to Cavendish House and turn the ball into a massacre. He fought to keep his voice level. “I do not suppose anyone would believe I didn’t touch her?”
Wentworth shook his head and sipped his glass of aged bourbon. “Not for a moment. The gossip even says you were partially undressed. Are you saying you didn’t bed her?”
“I was barefoot, not undressed.” Ian paused as the severity of the matter became clear. “And no, I did not bed her.” Guilt and self-loathing sucked at his soul. Damn it. Because of him, the poor girl’s life was ruined.
Before, all he had to worry about was whether Angelica would reveal his secret to her peers. Now, she would have none. His hands clenched the felt-covered table until he heard the wood squeal in protest. Then again, she may yet be able to open her mouth to someone. There must be a way to silence her and also repair the damage he’d done.
A mad notion whispered in the back of his head. The more he thought about it, the more attractive the idea became. If the plan proved successful, not only could he ensure that Angelica kept her mouth shut, but she would be welcomed back into society and pampered more than ever. And, hopefully, the rest of the speculations about his nocturnal proclivities should cease as well.
Ian smiled as he handed Wentworth the quill and gestured to the betting book. “You are about to make a tidy profit, my friend.”
“Why is that?” His friend blinked in confusion at the abrupt change in mood.
“I will bed the Winthrop heiress,” Ian said with a wry grin. “However, it shall be after I wed her.”
Eight
The moment the Winthrops were announced by the Cavendish butler, Angelica knew something was wrong. The throng abruptly fell silent as the Winthrops took their place in the receiving line. Icy stares and amused glances pelted her and her parents before the ballroom erupted in whispers and mocking laughter. When her mother led them to greet the hostess, Lady Cavendish cut her dead.
“Surely she cannot still be upset that I won her ruby earrings last month,” Margaret whispered. Her cheeks flamed scarlet. “It’s not my fault that she is a dreadful whist player!”
As they made their way to the refreshment table, Baron Osgoode approached them and retracted his offer of marriage.
“I am certain you understand,” he said, favoring her with a stiff, mocking bow.
“Though I am happy to be relieved of your suit, I do not understand,” Angelica replied, voice laden with deliberate scorn at his rudeness.
Osgoode swept her with a scathing glare. “Come off the act, little miss. Everyone knows what happened between you and the Duke of Burnrath.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” her mother’s voice quavered in indignation, “that you are refusing her simply because she danced with His Grace at the Wentworth ball?”
Osgoode sneered. “So, she lied to you as well. I assure you, madam, that she has done more than dance with him.” With another mocking bow, he left to lead a blonde beauty onto the dance floor. He whispered in her ear, and they both glanced at the Winthrops and smirked.
“Explain yourself immediately!” Margaret hissed.
Angelica swallowed. Suddenly the glitter of the chandeliers and the bejeweled nobles around her was overwhelming to the point of nausea. “When I sprained my ankle, the duke found me, not the coachman. His Grace sent his coachman for the doctor. He did not touch me other than to carry me to his couch and check for broken bones.” She did not dare confess that he also drank her blood… and nearly kissed her.
“You mean to tell me that you were inside his home with him alone?” her mother panted, appearing to be close to an attack of the vapors. “Do you know what you’ve done? We’re ruined! No man will have you now, and my father will cut us off from every shilling of my inheritance!”
Ruined. It had finally happened. She was free. She opened her mouth to say, I told you I did not wish to wed, but the sight of her mother’s pallor and the heartbroken look on her father’s face gave her pause. In that moment, she knew that not only did her parents love each other, but they also both loved her and honestly believed a marriage would be best for her. Her belly knotted with something that felt suspiciously like guilt. I never wanted to hurt them. As if her intentions would make everything well again.
“We had better leave,” Margaret said, practically tugging Angelica’s father along. The richly garbed crowd of spectators resembled a malevolent rainbow sea.
“The Duke and Duchess of Wentworth!” The Cavendish butler pounded his cane as he announced the latest arrivals.
Her mother paled further and Angelica winced at the realization that more of their friends were arriving to hear of her family’s disgrace. The duke and duchess greeted their hostess and then approached the Winthrops with friendly smiles.
“They must not have heard yet,” Papa muttered, staring at the polished floor.
“That makes this disaster all the more humiliating!” Mother wailed, clinging to his arm.
I will atone for this somehow, Angelica vowed. I shall stay with them and give them the money I earn from my stories. Perhaps I will even write romantic novels if I have to. I hear they turn a higher profit. Somehow, I will earn their forgiveness. Yet, despite her remorse, she couldn’t help but feel liberated from this false society and its perverse way of auctioning wo
men off to the highest bidder.
“The Duke of Burnrath!” the butler boomed. The thud of the cane now sounded more like a judge’s gavel.
“Oh my Lord, I think I’m going to faint,” her mother gasped, swaying on her feet. The Duchess of Wentworth hurried to her side. The duke grinned at her father as if everything was playing out to a satisfactory conclusion. Angelica wondered if perhaps the man was cracked.
Angelica steadied her mother and craned her neck to see the vampire stroll in, impeccable in his evening finery. Her heart thudded in her chest at the sight of his beautiful but dangerous visage. Unbidden, her hand went up to her neck, which tingled in remembrance of his bite.
The whispers echoed through the ballroom like sinister wings of bats.
“That blackguard!” her father growled. His narrow frame shook with fury. “I am going to call him out.”
“Jacob, please!” her mother pleaded, her face was as white as Angelica’s ball gown. “Do not do such a thing. You will only throw more fire on this dreadful scandal!”
“Why not? All is lost anyway. I intend to give them something else to talk about. It is my duty to demand satisfaction and defend my daughter’s honor.” He squeezed Angelica’s hand and approached the duke, likely to the Quality’s everlasting amusement.
Angelica clutched her mother’s arm with numb fingers, silently praying. Please, do not let him hurt my papa. The Wentworths remained silent. Perhaps they had heard the gossip after all. If so, she owed them her eternal gratitude for their kindness.
A crowd gathered around and drowned out her father’s angry tirade with excited murmurs. To the disappointment of their audience, the two men went out the doors side by side, their backs straight as pikestaffs. Their figures were barely visible under the meager light of the lanterns strung over the lawn.
“Surely they do not intend to duel here?” Lady Cavendish put a shaky hand to her throat at such a momentous breach of propriety. However, Angelica swore she could see a glint of excitement in her eyes.
“Of course not, my lady,” the Duke of Wentworth drawled. “Rapiers and pistols were not part of the recommended dress, after all. The worst they can do is engage in fisticuffs.”
Lady Cavendish shrieked at a passing servant to fetch her some hartshorn.
“Oh, I wish I could see what is happening.” Margaret’s voice was shrill with panic.
“It would take a shipman’s winch to lift the crowd out of the way,” Angelica replied drily, trying to hide her panic.
The Duchess of Wentworth chuckled as she fanned Margaret. “I admire a woman whose wit can hold up to any situation.”
In a surprisingly short time, her father and the duke returned. Burnrath possessed a satisfied expression, while Angelica’s father appeared stunned. What had happened outside?
“Dear God, he’s coming this way,” her mother gasped, retrieving her own fan. “Hasn’t he done enough damage?”
The crowd parted like the Red Sea as the Duke of Burnrath approached her. His gaze locked on Angelica while his lips curved in an enigmatic smile. Her chin lifted in attempt to deny her weak knees.
The whole world seemed to hold its breath as he bent to one knee and placed a hand over his heart.
Angelica frowned as her mind swam in confusion. What in the blazes is he doing? Surely he doesn’t think an apology will repair matters in the slightest.
“Miss Winthrop,” the vampire began, holding her motionless with his compelling husky voice. “Ever since I first saw you, I have been enchanted. And when I found you injured outside in front of my house and had the opportunity to speak with you, my heart was touched. I have not been able to rid you from my thoughts since. Would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
The gasps from all around hurt Angelica’s ears as they nearly shook the large chamber. Her stays became a cruel vise, forbidding the slightest breath of air into her lungs. The blood roared in her ears. Black and white spots danced in her vision.
“Of course she will,” Margaret announced cheerfully, then immediately fainted into Papa’s arms. The Duchess of Wentworth rummaged in her reticule for smelling salts. Lady Cavendish elbowed her way through the masses for a better look.
“But… you are a vampire,” Angelica blurted out. Good God, is this truly happening?
Titters and guffaws broke out. “Surely you do not believe that nonsense, my dear,” the Duke of Wentworth said, his brow creasing with worry.
Angelica blushed as she realized she’d spoken aloud. Burnrath laughed, but there was a warning glint in his eye.
“I was only jesting, Your Grace,” she said faintly and reached out to help him to his feet. He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
“I believe I have further things to discuss with your father,” he said softly. “Please save a dance for me upon my return.”
The Duke of Burnrath bowed and left her. Immediately Angelica was swarmed by an array of ladies, all congratulating her as if they had not given her the cut direct only minutes ago. This cannot be happening! A silent scream caught in her throat as the situation finally dawned on her. I was ruined, then in the blink of an eye I have become the toast of the beau monde. All because a vampire wants to marry me! Everyone thought her tears and laughter were from joy. No one had the slightest idea that she was dangerously close to hysterics.
As the women cooed at her and exclaimed over the duke’s proposal, all Angelica could think was: I did not say “Yes.”
***
Ian carefully pulled away from Lady Margaret’s grasping hands again. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the overbearing woman was on the verge of kissing his feet in gratitude. Smoothing things over with Angelica’s father had been a simple matter, for wealth and a lofty title could accomplish practically anything in these greedy, corrupt times. Mr. Winthrop had agreed that Ian would call upon the Winthrops the following evening to hammer out the betrothal contract and set a date for the wedding.
“If I may be so bold, Your Grace,” Jacob Winthrop began, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I would feel much more secure if the nuptials were performed as soon as possible. My daughter is rather… er, spirited… and I believe there could be risk of her, ah… proclivities leading her into further danger without a firmer hand than mine taking the reins at the earliest convenience.” He held up his hands defensively. “It is not that I am a weak man, but Angelica is my only child, you see, and I fear I have indulged her shamelessly.”
Ian chuckled. Many a suitor would not want to wed a girl after hearing such talk, but he wasn’t such a man. Especially since an early wedding suited his plans just fine. “If I could have her as my bride tonight, Mr. Winthrop, I would.”
Angelica’s father nearly choked on his brandy, a horrified look warping his strong features. “Good God, man. I did not mean that soon! Even if we could procure a special license at this hour, it would not at all be the thing. Imagine what people would say!”
“I was only jesting, Mr. Winthrop.” Ian was quickly tiring of the conversation. All he wanted was to feel his Angelica in his arms once more. “Now, shall we return to the ladies? I believe I owe the lovely Miss Winthrop a dance.” Without waiting for a reply, he set down his untouched glass and headed out of the room without a backward glance.
Ian’s heart clenched when the crowd surrounding his intended bride moved enough for him to see her face. She looked pale as death and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Poor little Angel, she has been through a lot this night.
Her hand felt icy as he wrapped his fingers around hers and led her to the center of the ballroom as the musicians struck up a waltz. He almost lost his step as he saw the seething fury burning in her gypsy eyes.
“Pray tell me, whatever is the matter, my dear? But please smile so as not to incite the gossip mill again,” Ian said pleasantly, as if they were exchanging small talk.
Her teeth clenched in a hideous parody of a grin and she hissed, “Why are you doing this? You can’t possibly need my dowry, and I am certain as bloody hell that you do not love me.”
In truth, he hadn’t completely expected Angelica to fly into his arms and squeal in joy at his suit, but her degree of hostility came as an unpleasant surprise. “Such language is quite unseemly, Angel.” He smiled down at her but tightened his grip on her hand. “Though I do admire that you are astute enough to know I have plenty of wealth in my own right, surely you were raised to expect that love is hardly a necessary ingredient to a successful marriage.”
Angelica’s laughter mocked him. “I am breathless with your flattery. Pray continue.”
Ian was torn between amusement at her daring and anger because she was forcing him to muddle through this awkward explanation. She should be more grateful than her mother had been for saving her and her family from social death. Leaning down as if to smell her perfume, he lowered his voice.
“Spare me from your wrath, Angel. Since you insist upon knowing, I will tell you that your reputation was not the only one in danger. Thanks to that upstart, John Polidori, and his story taking the Continent by storm, people have become suspicious of me.”
“Ah, the rumors that you are a vampire,” she replied with a smirk. “Surely you do not believe anyone took them seriously. You heard their laughter earlier.”
Ian suppressed a growl and whispered against her ear. “Enough have taken it seriously. In fact, due to a substantial wager that I am indeed a vampire, my silk waistcoat and neckcloth were soaked with holy water last week by none other than your former suitor, Baron Osgoode.”
Her skin was like satin against his lips. Her scent was heady and overwhelmed him with the temptation to taste her once more. Ian drew back before he gave in to temptation and plunged his fangs into her right then and there.
Heedless to her danger, Angelica smiled, her lips twitching with mirth over the incident with Osgoode. Ian didn’t know whether to kiss her or take her over his knee for such impudence. The couples surrounding them had given up all pretense of dancing and were watching them with avid interest. He fixed them with an icy stare and they backed slowly away.
Bite Me, Your Grace Page 7