Bite Me, Your Grace

by Ann, Brooklyn

  Burke brought a decanter of brandy with an enormous stack of correspondence. Ian frowned at the pile. Likely she ran up a mountain of bills for dresses and frippery in a girlish pique. If she thinks that trying to spend all of my money will get a rise out of me, she is in for a long wait.

  “Thank you, Burke,” Ian said, despising the way the butler’s hands shook as he poured a glass from the decanter. “You have been invaluable to me.”

  Ian tossed back a swig of brandy, reveling in the heat blooming in his belly. He wished that he could enjoy more than a few swallows without becoming ill. Then, at least, he could numb the pain his bride had caused. He retrieved the first envelope from the stack and broke the wax seal with his thumbnail. The correspondence was an invitation to a ball held more than three weeks ago. The next envelope also contained an invitation, as did the next, and the next after that.

  Ian’s brow creased. He knew she was spending a lot of time at home, but he had no idea that she was leaving important invitations unanswered, an act which would surely offend many of the ton’s most influential members. Angelica was dangerously close to committing social suicide. He took a small sip of brandy and wondered if she was unaware of the consequences of her actions, and why he should care either way.

  A few of the letters were not invitations. The envelopes were shabbier, and the contents gave him pause.

  Your Grace, The Duchess of Burnrath:

  You have our heartfelt thanks for your miraculous donation. Because of your kindness, the children are now able to have meat every day. There was even enough money left to purchase a few toys. I am certain that there is a special place in heaven reserved just for you.

  Sincerely,

  Adam Westland

  Overseer of St. Jude’s Orphan Asylum

  The next one read:

  Your Grace, The Duchess of Burnrath:

  Thank you for your generous donation. The new women’s wing should be completed next spring, God willing, and we hope you will attend the opening ceremony. We have also taken into consideration your recommendation of opening a school for nursing and midwifery. I am pleased to inform you that we have found two qualified candidates to serve as instructors. We will inform you of our progress.

  Regards,

  James Everson

  Altherbury Hospital

  Ian opened the next one with a sigh. Apparently his wife had become quite the philanthropist. This wasn’t at all what he had expected, and for some reason, her actions unnerved him.

  Dearest Duchess of Burnrath,

  I am pleased to inform you that I have made good use of your contribution and have heeded your recommendations. I have now been able to hire two more men to assist me in the heavy task of combating crime in the city. You have my eternal gratitude.

  Sincerely,

  Constable Frederick Nelson

  Ian set down the last letter and took another swig of brandy, wincing as his stomach protested. Angelica must have been affected deeply when those men attacked her in Soho. He cursed as guilt once again washed over him for leaving her unprotected that night, though she had taken matters into her own hands and fought off her attackers like a rampant lioness. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Now she was taking charge with her sponsorship of women, orphans, and the city’s feeble attempt at law enforcement.

  As he neared the library, he heard Angelica’s voice. “If you don’t mind, Anderson, I would much prefer it if you smoked outside. I have just recently quit the habit, you see, and I would like to avoid temptation, if possible. Thank you.”

  How terribly ironic, he thought bitterly. I had longed to encourage her to cease such a loathsome practice, and here she has done so on her own. Reluctant admiration surged through him, along with a tinge of regret. Perhaps she would be just fine without him.

  The cheerful atmosphere of the gathering evaporated the moment he stepped into the library. The shabby, genteel company looked at him with wide eyes and whispered nervously to each other.

  “Is there something you require, Your Grace?” Angelica asked with an accusing frown.

  Ian’s eyes strayed to the bodice of her gown, noting the almost imperceptible heave of her bosom that revealed her agitation. Her gypsy eyes flashed brilliantly.

  “I took the time to open the mail that you have neglected, Your Grace.” He struggled to sound indifferent as he handed her the letters of thanks. “There are people eagerly awaiting your response, if such is any concern of yours.”

  She looked so achingly beautiful in her regal gown of dark blue, with elegant upswept hair and irresistible parted lips. Ian’s fists clenched with the painful effort of fighting the lust that rose up at the sight of her. His wife’s beauty taunted him with the temptation to throw her over his shoulder, carry her into their bedchamber, toss her on the bed, and spend the rest of the evening ravishing her.

  However, more than lust, he was overcome with longing for the closeness they used to share. A spear of agony pierced him at the thought of never seeing her smile at him again, never hearing another outrageous account of Angelica’s latest scandalous escapade.

  Ian avoided her eyes and bowed stiffly. “I am off to my club, so I shan’t see you until tomorrow.”

  He spun on his heel and left, wincing as she called after him, “I do not care in the slightest where you go!”

  Damn it, she was still under his skin and he would have to work like the devil to wrest her from his heart.

  Twenty-five

  Ben Flannigan smiled as he caressed the smooth sides of the stake he carried, hewn from finely carved ash. When he’d first arrived at Burnrath House, he had been tempted to give up, take the money, and seek easier quarry, for the duke spent his daylight hours in a seemingly impenetrable fortress. The entire upper floor of the imposing Elizabethan mansion was boarded up tightly, not allowing the slightest bit of light, and the house was filled with vigilant servants. If that wasn’t enough to deter him, callers dropped by unexpectedly and with steady frequency, despite the nearing conclusion of the season.

  But when he saw the ethereal creature that was the duke’s human bride, dressed in a fetching bottle-green carriage dress and with a winsome smile playing across her lush lips, he rethought his position. Surely this innocent woman deserved to be liberated from the monster’s clutches. Feeling rather like a knight of old rescuing a damsel in distress, he resigned himself to more chilly nights in the abandoned gatehouse.

  When he heard the faint, but unmistakable sound of a violent quarrel, he longed to rush to the lady’s defense. The vampire’s enraged roars seemed to shake the house, and if he could hear them from outside, he knew that the poor woman was being subjected to a most terrible wrath. The duke strode out of the house in inhuman, ground-devouring steps, and for one panic-stricken moment, Ben feared discovery. He huddled deep in the prickly bushes, clutching his crucifix until its sharp edges bit into his palm and drew blood, mouthing frantic prayers. As he hid and prayed, he could swear that he heard the duchess sobbing her heart out.

  To his delight, the next day, he overheard the gardeners gossiping about the quarrel. The previous night, the duke had ordered the duchess from his bedchamber. Though Ben still had no plan as to how he could steal into the house undetected, things had been made much easier if the vampire was sleeping alone. At night, when the monster departed to satisfy his blasphemous hunger, Ben scouted the house as carefully as he could, trying to find a way in. Unfortunately, he found nothing before the creature returned.

  But near dawn, his vigilance granted him another boon. The vampire left the house once more. There was only one reason a vampire would leave an area so close to daylight. He must be resting in a different location! He followed the duke but lost sight of him in the rear gardens, close to the mausoleum. Ben had suspected the mausoleum from the very first, but after examining every inch of the marble structure, he had determined t
hat it had been sealed for centuries.

  For days and days he searched for the vampire’s lair, only stopping to go to town for food and baths. He grew more dejected as each sunset graced the world, unleashing the evil blood drinker to prey upon innocent people yet again. But still Ben remained, resolved to pursue his noble cause.

  As darkness crept in, Ben found himself in the rear garden, ready to face the vampire in combat if necessary. A heavy scraping sound came from behind him. He whirled around to see the rear of the mausoleum moving. Quickly he dove into the bushes before the vampire emerged from a secret door on the back. Ben cursed himself for being a negligent fool. Apparently he hadn’t examined that area with sufficient scrutiny.

  When he was certain the vampire was gone, Ben rushed to the mausoleum and inspected every inch of the structure. Two hours later, he figured out how to operate the mechanism to open the hidden door. Smiling with satisfaction, he returned to the gatehouse to await the dawn.

  As he waited, he checked over his arsenal of vampire-killing implements. His extensive travels made him an expert on local vampire legends all over Europe. He had two stakes carved of ash, though hopefully only one would be sufficient. His pack also held a large jug of holy water with which to drench the creature, an ax to sever its head, garlic cloves to stuff into its mouth, and an iron cross to place over the corpse. The bloodsucking demon would not rise again to ravish another mortal when the hunter was finished.

  Ben settled in for the long wait, alternately reciting the Lord’s Prayer and pleading for the duchess’s immortal soul. Perhaps when the deed was done he could tell her of his heroism and console her and help her to cleanse away her sins. He rested his arms behind his head and lay back while he envisioned her petite figure and angelic face, her round, upthrust breasts and luscious lips. He sighed in pleasure as he indulged in a fantasy of her in his arms, clinging to his strength and weeping delicate tears of gratitude.

  “Soon, my dear,” he whispered, “Soon you will be safe from that terrible monster, safe with me.”

  Twenty-six

  Angelica awakened to a strange mewling sound. She lifted her head from her desk and winced as the cramped muscles in her neck screamed in agony. She had fallen asleep writing again. She looked down at the crinkled paper she had used as a pillow, grimacing at the smudged words. I’ll have to rewrite this page all over again. She frowned as she rubbed her cheek and saw that her fingers came away stained with ink.

  Loki mewled again. She turned to see the cat on the windowsill, frantically pawing at the pane of glass that let in the early-morning light.

  “What is the matter, Loki?” she asked, blinking as her eyes adjusted. “Do you need to go outside and do your necessary?”

  The cat let out a plaintive wail. Her heart turned over in alarm. She had never seen the kitten behave in such an odd manner before.

  Angelica stood up and stretched, yawning as the bones in her spine popped. Her feet were numb and her legs tingled from being in an uncomfortable position for so long. Rubbing her eyes, she made her way to the window. She peered outside, expecting to see a bird or a squirrel or some other thing that would catch a feline’s fascination. Instead what she saw made her heart stop and her blood freeze. She clung to the window frame and gasped.

  A strange man had entered the rear garden. He was right below the window, creeping at a stealthy pace through the cropped grass, headed toward the mausoleum. Slung across his left shoulder was a bulging canvas bag with a piece of wood protruding out of it. In his right hand he carried a wooden stake, the tip sharpened to a deadly point. There was no doubt as to the stake’s purpose. Angelica bit back a moan of agony. Her heart felt as if it were being crushed in a vise.

  This is one of the vampire hunters Ian told me about. She put a hand to her throat to stop her pulse from exploding from her neck. And he’s going to kill Ian! Loki growled and leaped to the floor, darting to the door. Angelica fought for breath, fully comprehending his urgency, yet momentarily frozen in terror. Her mind screamed at her to take action, and she willed herself to move. After an agonizing battle, her panic abated slightly and the blood returned to her limbs.

  She spun from the window, eyes darting around the small room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. There, a sharp, silver letter opener. A small cry of triumph escaped her lips as she snatched the instrument from the lamp stand and ran out of the room. Loki sprinted ahead, barely staying in her view. Bright shafts of sunlight streamed in from the windows, illuminating the swirling dust motes. The servants were still abed. The house was silent and the only sound was her frantic heartbeat roaring in her ears.

  She flung open the rear door and choked back a small scream. The hunter had already found his way inside Ian’s marble lair. Frantic hope bloomed in her breast when she saw that he had left the door open. Her pulse raced almost as fast as her legs as she darted through the garden, oblivious to the sharp branches and brambles that tore at her gown and scraped her flesh.

  Angelica ran into the gaping mouth of the mausoleum. Ian, Ian! Her mind cried the desperate litany. She stumbled, almost pitching headfirst down the long stone steps that descended into a black, unknown void. Would he awaken? Could he defend himself from an assassin who knew a vampire’s weaknesses? Taking a deep breath, she lifted her skirts and plunged into the darkness, praying she’d get to her husband in time.

  She rounded a corner to see the hunter approach Ian’s unconscious form. He lay on a stone slab as still as if he were already dead. Her soul clenched at his beauty, and she knew she could never stop loving him. God, why have I realized this too late?

  A candle guttered in the small stone chamber, casting erratic shadows on the walls and across the hunter’s back. Her heart seized, her blood as thick as molasses, as the man held the stake to Ian’s chest with one hand and raised a hammer to pound it in with another.

  Ian’s eyes opened, widened in shock, then turned to meet hers. His face contorted into a mask of despair and accusation.

  “No!” Angelica screamed at Ian and the hunter. She charged forward, skirts tangling around her legs.

  She was too late.

  The hammer came down.

  Angelica groaned in agony as the stake buried itself halfway into Ian’s chest with a sickening crunch of bone. The man glanced at her, indifferent to her pain, and raised the hammer again. She went numb with shock, but then a white-hot rage boiled inside her and exploded from her being. This man would die.

  She leaped onto the hunter’s back and slashed at his face and throat with the letter opener, shrieking in a fury that bordered on insanity.

  “But lassie, I have saved you!” the hunter cried, which further fanned the flames of her wrath. “Lass, please stop! The monster is dead, or he will be soon if you’ll let me—”

  The man struggled to throw her off, but Angelica fought like a madwoman and clung tenaciously to her victim, hacking at him over and over with her small but lethal weapon as her hands grew more and more slippery with blood. She lost hold of the letter opener for a second and caught a ringing blow to the side of her head as she snatched the slender blade before it could fall.

  “You little bitch!” the hunter roared as she sliced open his cheek. He bucked like a raging bull, yet still Angelica managed to hold on.

  His fists struck her all over; his nails clawed at her arms. She shrieked as a hank of her hair was ripped from her skull, but still she fought. Angelica screamed like one possessed as she buried the point of the letter opener in the murderer’s throat. His hands ceased their assault and fluttered against his chest like wounded insects. A disgusting, gurgling sound escaped his throat. Blood bubbled from his thick lips.

  Finally, the hunter collapsed as his life’s blood continued to pour from his neck and face. Angelica didn’t spare him a second glance. She ran to Ian and pulled on the stake with all her might. As it slowly wrenched free, her heart
contracted as if the infernal object had pierced her breast as well. She threw the loathsome object as far away as she could and turned back to her love. Blood welled from his gaping wound at an alarming rate. But she could see that his heart still beat with a feeble pulse. A thrill of hope electrified her being.

  “Oh Ian, my love,” she whispered. “Please live, please.”

  She tore off her muslin day dress and rolled it up. With shaking hands, she stuffed the fabric into the wound and leaned on his chest with her elbow, hoping she could apply enough pressure to staunch the flow. He had already lost a great amount of blood, and his skin was as white as her chemise. Her fingers sought his throat once more. The pulse remained, but it was fading. Panic clawed at her, but she fought back the mindless fear, knowing that if she allowed it to incapacitate her, Ian would die. Her thoughts raced for something, anything to do next.

  He needs more blood, she realized. Angelica leaned over as far as she could, her fingertips reaching the letter opener. Slowly, she dragged the weapon closer. The scraping sound on the rough stone floor echoed loudly in the silent chamber. Her heartbeat and breathing roared in her ears as her incessant panic fought to gain a foothold over her mind. When she was able to fully grasp the weapon, she cried out in triumph. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the congealed blood of the vampire hunter already drying on the metal surface. With a deep breath and a whispered prayer, she sliced open her wrist, hissing at the sharp pain that raged through her arm like fire.

  She pressed her bleeding wrist to Ian’s mouth. As the blood began to flow down his chin, she used her other hand to force his lips wider apart, whispering, “Please, Ian, drink. Please live. Please. I love you, Ian. God, I love you. Please don’t die!”