Ian sighed as everyone in the club doffed their caps and bowed. He preferred to remain anonymous in this part of town. From the gleam of Rafe’s amber eyes, the rogue knew it.
Grinning back at his second, he bowed. “Thank you, no. I fear you’d trounce me. Instead, may I persuade you to join me for a stroll?”
Rafe inclined his head in agreement as several banknotes were thrust in his hand by the proprietor. Both vampires knew he could not refuse the Lord of London. Still, worry creased the Spaniard’s brow, and though Ian wanted to reassure him nothing was amiss, he perversely remained silent until they were alone on the dark streets. It served Rafe right for announcing Ian’s title in such an inconvenient place.
“If this concerns Polidori, I apologize for not yet locating him.” Rafe pulled off the leather tie that held back his waist-length black hair, shaking out the mass to dry his sweat. “I believe the bastardo knows we seek him and is only venturing out in the day.”
“I am not concerned with Polidori,” Ian replied, gazing up at the fog-obscured moon. “In fact, I am considering calling off the search. His popularity is waning, and I’ve happened upon a more effective solution to keep society’s suspicions at bay.”
“What sort of solution?” Rafe eyed him warily.
“I shall marry,” Ian said calmly, bracing himself for the Spaniard’s outrage at the announcement.
Rafe snarled and let loose a string of Spanish expletives. “Dios mío! Why would you do such a thing?”
Ian sighed and related the tale of Angelica’s misguided foray into his home and its disastrous results. “And so, if I marry her, I may ensure that she keeps her silence about our kind as well as dissuade society from believing the rumors circulating about me.”
His second continued to curse. “Still, marriage? Have you gone loco? She could expose us all! Do you have any notion of the danger in which you are placing us?”
“Well, I can’t kill her,” Ian retorted.
Rafe nodded in reluctant agreement but stopped walking. His amber gaze turned speculative. “You could Change her.”
“No!” Ian growled, heart cringing at the thought of taking such an innocent away from family, friends, and daylight. “She is too innocent for this life and has such ambitious plans for her future. It would be monstrous to take that away from her.”
Rafe shook his head. “What shall you do with her, then? For one thing, she will not quicken with child, no matter how many times you lie with her, but the situation will grow far worse when she begins to age and you do not. At the prospect of such unhappiness, how do you expect her to hold her tongue?”
The Spaniard had a way of seeing the possible outcomes of any situation. It was one of the many reasons Ian had chosen Rafe to succeed him as Lord of London.
Ian suppressed curses of his own as he replied with feigned confidence, “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
Ten
“Pull the laces tighter, Liza!” Margaret commanded as she bustled back and forth, bumping into Angelica’s writing desk in her fluster. “And do be quick. His Grace will be here any minute.”
The victim of the clamping stays would have sighed if she had any breath remaining in her lungs. Every time Angelica tried to forget the nightmare of the Cavendish ball, her mother insisted on bringing the memory back in vivid clarity just by mentioning the Duke of Burnrath, a feat she’d accomplished at least a hundred times today.
To further add salt to the wound, Margaret punctuated nearly every sentence with “…and you will be the Duchess of Burnrath. Oh, my darling, I can hardly believe such a miracle has transpired!”
Angelica didn’t know which galled her more, the fact that she had been so close to attaining her goals and had them snatched away so quickly, or that His Grace expected her to swoon at his feet in undying gratitude when he only wanted her to save his reputation. He was using her.
She had to find a way out of this. And now that her reputation had been saved since the duke offered her marriage and announced to all and sundry that she was not in his house of her own free will, surely there was no real need to go through with this ridiculous farce… was there? Her stomach clenched in worry.
Between her mother’s strident commands as she flitted from room to room and the frantic racing of the servants in their efforts to ready the house for the duke’s arrival, Angelica managed to snatch enough precious minutes of quiet to formulate a shaky plan. Ironically, her mother unwittingly inspired the main point of her scheme.
During breakfast, Angelica had noted with grim amusement that her mother had likely slept less than she had. The layer of powder under her eyelids was so thick that it looked ready to topple from her face into her cup of chocolate at any moment.
“When the Duke of Burnrath calls upon you, you must show him your skills with the pianoforte. Gentlemen are pleased when a lady has musical talent. But”—Margaret’s eyes narrowed in warning—“you mustn’t play those scandalous songs you have written and do not sing under any circumstances! I have told you again and again, my dear, that our Lord did not gift you with a pleasant voice, as much as you seem to wish otherwise.” She set down her cup with a clatter, warming up to the lecture. “Oh, and do not discuss those gothic novels and their freakish notions you seem to adore and…”
I wonder what he would do if I did sing? Angelica crushed the biscuit on her plate with sadistic cheer. In fact, what would he do if I did everything Mother tells me not to? There it was. For once, she made an effort to listen to her mother’s advice, especially in regards to what not to do. There lay her way out of this predicament. She would do everything a “proper lady” would never do. In short, she thought with a grin, she would be herself.
The Duke of Burnrath would never want to wed her if he truly knew her. He had said that “love was hardly a necessary ingredient for a successful marriage.” Angelica was well aware of that depressing truth, but she believed the reason for the alleged success of marriages within the peerage, aside from terror of the scandal attached to a divorce, was the fact that the two parties were virtual strangers. Surely no one would be able to bring themselves to marry someone if they knew all their flaws before the nuptials!
A glimmer of hope quickened Angelica’s pace up the stairs to her bedchamber. If getting to know her failed to deter the duke, she would run away and endeavor to support herself with her writing.
As Liza pulled an elegant emerald brocade gown over Angelica’s head, Angelica managed a genuine smile. Tonight she would defy one of Mother’s principal commands: Do not ask a man too many questions, for it implies that you doubt his character.
She would do just that, as well as twist this catechism in a different way. She was going to ask him about being a vampire. She hadn’t yet determined if what he was applied to her opinion of his character, but she was certain His Grace wouldn’t like her prying at his secret. It shall give him a taste of what to expect if he marries me. And if I fail, at least his answers will give me good material for a novel.
When the butler announced that His Grace, the Duke of Burnrath had arrived, Angelica couldn’t stop her pulse from accelerating at the sight of him. He towered over Morrison as he handed over his cape and hat, appearing utterly and completely like the sleek, dangerous creature that she knew him to be. She was suddenly very grateful that he only “liked” her, for if the duke had any deep feelings for her, she knew instinctively that he would never let anything dissuade him from pursuing his desires. A strange sensation of warmth curled through her lower belly at the thought.
“Good evening, Angel.” The vampire bowed low, taking her hand. His glittering silver eyes regarded her as he pressed cool, firm lips to her flesh, making her shiver.
There was a slight flush to his cheeks. Had he dined on someone’s blood recently? She shivered and unconsciously placed a hand on the side of her neck where his fangs had penetrated her flesh.
“Oh, Your Grace, do come in!” Margaret lifted her skirts in a ridiculously elaborate curtsy. “I trust you had a pleasant stroll around the block? Would you like a tour of our home?”
Thankfully, Angelica’s father interrupted Margaret as he entered the drawing room and greeted Ian with jovial but restrained civility. “It is wonderful to see you, Your Grace. I took the liberty of having supper provided before we begin preparing the contract, if that is all right with you.”
When the meal commenced, Angelica suppressed the urge to sink under the table as her mother turned herself inside out in her effort to please the duke. Angelica and Burnrath looked at each other with identical looks of amused embarrassment. She couldn’t hold back a smile as she remembered him laughing with her on his sofa when she told him about her ghost stories. Resolutely she pushed back the memories. It would not at all do to have warm feelings for this man. Vampire or no, he was still a man and as such he represented an end to her freedom.
She decided to begin the first phase of her plan. Mother says: a lady must always eat as daintily as a songbird. Angelica devoured the meager amount of food on her plate, looking up at him in mute challenge, waiting for him to object.
“I do so admire a woman with a healthy appetite,” he said with a wry smile as if he were aware of her strategy.
She flushed and looked down, noticing that the majority of his food remained untouched. She was completely distracted for a moment. Do vampires eat food, or do they only drink blood? She remembered the feel of his mouth locked on her neck and shivered as she realized the sensation hadn’t been an unpleasant one.
“Is the food to your liking, Your Grace?” her mother asked, twisting her napkin in her nervousness.
The duke took a bite of braised beef and chewed. “This is delicious, Lady Margaret. Unfortunately I dined earlier”—Angelica dropped her spoon, and he fixed her with a stern eye—“and I would not be able to manage another bite if this meal was not so exquisite.”
Margaret seemed pleased and Angelica searched her mind for another of her mother’s commandments. A lady does not ask a man too many questions.
“What are your interests, Your Grace?” Angelica asked, surprised at her genuine curiosity.
Burnrath’s smile gave her another unbidden shiver. “I enjoy playing cards, reading, attending the opera, and playing with investments in the market. What do you prefer, Miss Winthrop?”
Margaret paled at the duke’s blatant admission that he was involved in trade, but her father had a new gleam of interest in his eyes. As if His Grace held new value as a prospective son-in-law. She needed to do better.
“I enjoy reading, writing gothic stories, and”—Angelica floundered for the right words—“supporting the liberation of women!”
At her mother’s strangled gasp, she knew she’d scored a hit.
“I see,” Burnrath said, his lips twitching. “And how do you contribute to this cause?”
Angelica fixed him with an icy glare. How dare he be amused! “Well, I purchase all the literature I can on the subject, and I portray my heroines in my stories as strong, independent thinkers who have no need for a man. And the songs I write involve honest feelings rather than insipid yearnings.”
“You write songs as well?” The duke raised a brow, but his smile deepened. “I am overjoyed that I shall have a very talented bride. I would like to hear your compositions sometime.”
“I am certain you would not,” Margaret said stiffly, fixing her daughter with a warning glare. “I am quite afraid that my daughter’s singing is most… unconventional.”
Angelica’s heart surged with triumph as she embarked further. “What is your average profit from your investments on the ’Change, Your Grace?” This time, she heard a murmur of protest from her father. Surely this was dangerous ground. A lady was never to discuss matters of commerce.
To her disappointment, the duke did not seem chagrined in the slightest by her rude inquiry. “I have made anywhere between ten and ten thousand pounds on my speculations. And how much have you made from your writing?”
“Eighteen pounds, so far.” Angelica struggled to keep the defensiveness from her voice. “Of course, that was only from short stories. The profits from a novel will be much higher.”
“When you are the Duchess of Burnrath, you will likely make more,” her father said in a blatant attempt to placate her.
Angelica turned to her father, breath heaving shallowly. He’s supposed to be on my side! “I believe my work should stand on its own merits and the reception shouldn’t change because of my name.” Her gaze darted back to Burnrath. “And I do not see why I should have to change my name in the first place.”
The duke smiled. “That is what a lady does when she marries.”
Her fists clenched irritation. “Yes, but why? Why does a woman have to give up her name? Why don’t you change your name?”
Margaret’s face turned white with mortification. Her father seemed wracked with confusion as his mouth struggled to form a response.
The duke, however, was undaunted by her radical outburst. “Because that is the way things have always been done, Angel.”
Her father nodded in relieved agreement. “Yes, quite so, Your Grace.”
Angelica refused to take the bait and kept her reproving stare on the target of her ire. “I do not think that longtime tradition is a legitimate reason to throw away my identity. After all, for centuries we believed that the world was flat, but now we’ve come to our senses at last.”
Her parents gasped in mutual shock, but before her lips could curve in a triumphant smile, the scoundrel before her actually raised his glass to her in a toast.
“I applaud your sound logic, Miss Winthrop,” Burnrath said with another of his infuriating knowing smiles. “However, I do not believe English law will bow down before it. They move dreadfully slow, after all. But do not allow that to stop you from pursuing reform. Who knows, perhaps someday women will be allowed to sit in Parliament.”
“Are you mocking me, Your Grace?” Angelica asked in a low voice.
“Not at all,” he replied cheerfully. “I am enjoying myself immensely.
Angelica suppressed a groan of frustration. Her only consolation was that her parents appeared to be scandalized, exchanging helpless glances while she and the duke verbally dueled by asking each other questions that were unseemly for dinner conversation.
The sparring was cut short when the meal ended. Her father cleared his throat. “Shall we adjourn to my study to begin preparing the contract, Your Grace?”
A wave of disappointment washed over Angelica. To her surprise, she’d been having a good time. Then she remembered her mother crowing with triumph that His Grace wanted a short engagement. She felt as if she were suffocating and was certain her stays weren’t the only cause. She had to bargain for more time.
“Papa, wait!” she cried. “First may I take His Grace for a stroll through the garden? I would so like some fresh air.” She smiled and attempted to flutter her eyelashes the way the other debutantes did when attempting to cajole their papas to raise their allowances.
Her father gave her an odd look before comprehension dawned as his eyes lit on the couple. Angelica could see what he thought. Of course they would want some time alone together. Bloody hell, I’m doing this all wrong!
“I am certain that will be quite proper. Go on and enjoy yourselves,” he said with an indulgent wave of his hand, blushing as Margaret beamed at him. Angelica couldn’t remember the last time her mother had smiled at her father like that.
As Angelica placed her hand on Ian’s sleeve, she felt his arm flex much like the other young suitors did while always trying to impress her. She nibbled her lower lip and wondered how much of him was a man and how much was a vampire.
The garden glimmered with haunting beauty in the moonlight. Angelica inhaled t
he scent of early blooming lilacs and lifted her face to the cool evening air. As the duke walked silently beside her, she couldn’t help but notice that the nocturnal surroundings fit him perfectly.
“The moonlight suits you, Angel.” His deep voice was a soft rumble against her ear.
She stiffened at the warm sensation his familiar address elicited and removed her hand from his arm and stepped back. “Your Grace, would it be possible for you to cry off this engagement?” She hurried on before he could reply. “I mean, now that everyone knows you are willing to marry, surely that is enough to save your reputation. We do not really have to go through with this, do we?”
“Alas, you are wrong.” His tone was cold, matter-of-fact. “They would never believe I am a normal man unless we see this through to the end. If we broke the engagement, both of our reputations would be worse off than they were before.” He walked toward her, not stopping until their bodies nearly touched.
Angelica couldn’t keep the panic from rising in her voice at his proximity. “But—”
He cupped her chin in his hand, making her shiver at his touch. “As I promised you before, you do not need to be afraid of me. I will not hurt you. If you give yourself the chance to get to know me, you will see that I will be a generous husband.”
Angelica was not afraid of him, but she seized the excuse like a lifeline. She stepped back once more to plead her case. “Could you at least give me some time to get accustomed to the idea and get to know you before we are wed?”
He sighed and nodded with obvious reluctance. “Within reason.”
“One year?” she asked in the sweetest voice she could manage.
His silver gaze glinted as he frowned. “One month.”
“Six months?” she ventured, struggling to maintain her saccharine, imploring tone.
“One month,” he repeated. His arms crossed over his broad chest as his frown deepened.
“Four months?” Angelica begged, hating the desperation in her voice. But she needed time to devise a plan on how to get out of this predicament.
Bite Me, Your Grace Page 9