A rustle of fabric at the door made him spin around. Mrs. Eagan stepped into the room with the red-head in tow. “She has been asking after you, my lord,” the older woman said with amusement in her tone. “It seems Angelica has become quite fascinated with you.”
He snorted. “So have others, but the sentiment wears off when they realize what I am always destined to be.”
“Well, if you have need of me, just ring.” Then Mrs. Eagan left in a rustle of black bombazine skirting. She closed the door behind her.
Rafe assessed the tempting female who crossed the floor toward him. Self-loathing poured over him as he grabbed her in a rough embrace, intending to kiss her until she was senseless and until the image of brandy-hued eyes stopped haunting him, but the second his lips touched hers, he uttered an oath and thrust her away.
“Am I unpleasing to you tonight, my lord?” The valid question slammed into him with the force of a punch to the gut. “I will be anything you want in your bed.” She held out a slender hand. Her ivory skin nearly glowed in the candlelight; the rapid beat of her pulse a siren’s song to his hunger.
“While that may be so, you cannot change into the woman I need.” The woman I love.
Though her pout might have swayed him weeks before, it had no effect on him now. “Whoever this lady is, you must love her very much if you’re so loyal,” she stated in low tones.
Rafe clutched at his chest in an effort to stem the agony flooding his heart. “I love her with everything that I am.”
“She doesn’t feel the same way?” Her voice was a purr now. Perhaps she hoped to sway him into bed after all.
“Apparently not, for she would choose another over me, even though she and I shared…” He shook his head and forced a swallow into his tight throat. “It doesn’t matter.”
She traced her fingertips along his cheek and then tugged the tie away that held back his hair. “She doesn’t deserve you or your love.” With a smile designed to entice, she pulled on his cravat. “I can make you forget her. I shall be yours all night long. I can give you everything that she did not.”
“Except you are not her,” he responded, and with a flash of clarity he knew he couldn’t do this. “I only want her.”
Coming here with the express purpose of bedding a woman had been an insane decision. Lying with a female whom he didn’t love, let alone care for, wasn’t his style anymore, and the thought of doing so out of spite, out of hurt, soured his stomach.
He looked at the trembling woman before him, clad in sheer silk and lace, and then he turned away. Touching another woman was out of the question. Elizabeth was the one he wanted, and even if she didn’t return those affections, he refused to desecrate the memory of her by getting off his rocks with a doxy.
“I apologize for erroneously requesting your services tonight,” he managed to gasp out around a tight throat and his fangs. Though the need to feed grew stronger, he ignored it the best he could. Attempting to feed right now, on this bit of temptation, would lead him down a path he didn’t wish to tread. That cycle, once begun, was too difficult to break away from. “Feel free to linger in this apartment, but I cannot, in good conscience, remain.”
Rafe wrenched open the door. He didn’t look back at the red-head as he fled as if the devil himself were after him. Stumbling down the stairs, he’d barely reached his customary salon and fell into a chair before a black-clad servant set a bottle of brandy and a snifter on the polished table top.
Yes, drinking until oblivion claimed him was the far safer choice. When he grasped the bottle and attempted to pour out a measure, his hand shook so badly, he abandoned the idea and instead took a deep draught straight from the bottle. Then he laughed, and the bitterness of the sound rang in his ears. How uncouth he’d grown, how without manners.
No wonder Elizabeth refused me.
He took another swig and slumped further into his chair. A pity his friends were absent, for they still enjoyed the entertainment at Manchester’s ball, sadly none the wiser of what had occurred in the gardens. A grunt escaped him and he took another healthy drink. When the burn of the liquor hit his throat, his eyes watered. He didn’t care. Damn Donovan, anyway. The duke had everything good in his life now. Everything Rafe wanted for himself.
Oh, Lizzy, why couldn’t you just forget what I am and let yourself love me?
Tears stung his eyes from more than just the burn of the liquor. They’d almost had everything, most especially love. It had been swept away with the snap of fate’s fingers. What the hell had happened? He hoped that he reached a foxed state soon, for only then would the perpetual ache in his heart cease.
Time passed, and with each hour, the hurt didn’t ease, so he ordered a second bottle and let fate do her worst.
Rafe came to at dawn.
An ache raged through his head that had more substance than merely being a victim of overconsumption of brandy. Gingerly, he explored the back of his skull, and when he pulled his fingers away, he squinted at the trace of blood staining his gloves. With a frown, he tried to blink away the fuzziness clinging to his brain. He struggled into a sitting position and cast a glance about him.
What the deuce happened to him?
No longer at Bête Noire, he shivered as awareness came over him and a deep chill sank into his body. He sat near a walking path in Hyde Park not far from the southern entrance. Frost had formed on his boots and clothing, so he’d been there long enough for nature to creep over him. Rafe gave into another shiver and sent his gaze about the immediate area. Where had his jacket gotten off to?
A chill raced down his spine unrelated to the winter weather. He blew out a breath that clouded in the dawn air as he focused on the body resting nearby. Bloody hell.
“Hello?” Perhaps he’d gone for a late night walk in the park and had been accosted. But if that were true, who was this woman and how did she come here as well?
Rafe shook the woman’s shoulder, for now that he looked closer, it was obvious the body was female and a lower class one at that, and she had his green brocade jacket about her shoulders. Clad in a dirty dress of gray wool, the skirts of said garment were rucked up to her waist, her legs spread open. Her glassy eyes stared at him, locked in death’s embrace, her mouth agape in perhaps an endless scream, but what drew his attention and sent horror into his gut were the dual puncture marks on her neck. Streaks of blood decorated her skin as if someone had tried to hurriedly wipe away the evidence of the bite.
“Oh, God.” He struggled to his feet and as he did so, he looked down at his shirt. The pristine white lawn was dotted with drops of dried blood. So was his cravat, that now hung loose around his neck. At some point during the night, all evidence of his vampire half had vanished, and as he drew his tongue along his bottom lip, he came away with the metallic taste of blood that held a bitter note. Yet, the hunger inside him still throbbed in urgency, so there was no way he had fed from this woman. “No, no, no.” Rafe snapped his gaze back to the dead body on the ground.
If I killed this woman, surely I would have remembered.
His mind spun, which aggravated the headache. “What the hell happened to me last night?” Every beat of his heart screamed Elizabeth’s name. Yes, he would seek her out. She’d know what to do and how to help him. And now that it was dawn, soon the park would stir with people—both horse riders and pedestrians. Not to mention once the body was found, someone would cry an alarm. The area constable and possibly Bow Street Runners would come.
They cannot find me here.
More adamant than ever he was innocent and brought to Hyde Park by force, Rafe staggered away from the woman’s body. Was this the work of the same person who’d killed the maid more than a week ago? His mind reeled; the aching in his head made clear thinking difficult. Fear, cold and slimy, snaked through his gut. Who hated him enough to make certain evidence pointed to him this time?
It hurt to think. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and his throat was dry. Perhaps he should return to t
he club. Perhaps, if he’d left with someone, he could procure a name. Yet, it would take too much effort to explain what had happened and why he wished to know. Again, the powerful urge to see Elizabeth overwhelmed him, and he willed himself to move quickly through the tree line toward Mayfair.
By the time he reached Manchester’s townhouse, a cold sweat had broken out over his body, which further worked to chill him. He whipped off his gloves and, being without his jacket or even his greatcoat, he threw the garments into the shrubbery to one side of the front door. As the first feeble rays of the sun hit that side of the street, Rafe pounded a fist upon the oaken panel. Lightheadedness assailed him and the need to feed asserted itself once more. Saliva filled his mouth, and he swallowed.
Now was not the time. There were more pressing issues that demanded his attention.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the door swung open and Griggs stood blocking entry. His graying hair, standing up in places, had the appearance of being finger-combed, and his livery looked somewhat hastily donned.
“I need to speak with Lizzy immediately,” Rafe demanded, his voice ringing with all the authority of the earl he could muster.
The butler peered down his hawkish nose at him. “The duke and duchess, as well as Lady Elizabeth, are still abed. The party last night went on into the wee hours of the morning.”
No, no, no! He shook his head and pretended Griggs wasn’t staring at the bloodstains on his clothing or noting the lack of his jacket. “You don’t understand; this is a matter of some urgency. I must see her.” He rubbed a hand over his stubble-shadowed jaw. God, I must look a fright.
“Come back during proper visiting hours, Lord Devon, when you have yourself in hand.” The butler started to close the door.
“No!” Rafe caught the wooden panel and pushed his way into the house around the protesting butler. “I will wait until she rouses. As I mentioned before, this is a time-sensitive issue that requires her assistance.” Before the man could do much more than mutter, Rafe strode through the house and showed himself into the Gold Parlor.
At the door, Griggs sniffed. “Do you wish for refreshments, my lord?”
I wish to know what the bloody hell happened. But he turned an exhausted gaze to the other man. “Coffee, if you please. Nothing else.” He raked the fingers of one hand through his tangled, blood-matted hair. Dried leaves and debris came away and he brushed them to the floor.
A quarter hour later, Griggs brought in a silver tray with a fresh, fragrant pot of coffee, and Rafe gladly fell upon it. After a cup and a half of the strong brew—which only helped slightly—he leaned back on the chair he’d appropriated and willed the headache away so he could think clearly. Thanks to his supernatural powers, he would heal, but he needed to give it time, and not having fed for so long would delay the process.
He launched from the chair as desperation set in, and that had more to do with the state of his heart than the alleged crime. Elizabeth had to take pity on him one last time. If she didn’t wish to see him, if she truly wanted the marquess, he’d walk out of her life and leave her to it as long as she was happy.
Yet he needed her help first, for his Lizzy always knew what to do. He’d long admired the way her mind worked in a crisis, the way she cultivated calm. Hadn’t she remained level-headed when her brother’s marriage had skidded sideways?
An hour later, he was still alone in the parlor, but now the urge to feed had reached near critical levels. He hadn’t taken sustenance last night before the ball due to anticipation of seeing Elizabeth and the hopes that the curse would break, freeing him from that cycle. It had been a grievous error in judgment, for soon the beast would demand blood.
Finally, she joined him and her rose scent wafted through the air to wrap itself around him. The rustle of her moss green satin skirts filled his ears. “Rafe, what happened to you?” she immediately inquired. Elizabeth hurried over the floor, the thick Aubusson carpeting muffling her foot falls. She stopped short of touching him as she raked her gaze up and down his form. “Were you in a fight?”
“I am not certain.” Oh, it was good to see her, but his heart ached in time to his head. “I was hit, I think.” He pointed to the back of his skull.
“You look horrible,” she continued, her eyes wide with concern. “And you’re still in last night’s clothes, or part of them.” A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Where is your jacket?”
Damn it all. He’d left it behind in his daze. “In Hyde Park.” Who the deuce took it from him and wrapped it about that woman?
“You have blood on your shirt.” She peered more closely at him. “Did you feed?”
“No.” He couldn’t speak in more than a whisper as the horrendous nature of what he found himself in flowed over him. “Not since the night before last.”
“Then what…?”
He shook his head. “I’m in a spot of bother.” Rafe took possession of her hands. His shook, no doubt a result of his hunger as well as the building fear.
“Tell me.” When she squeezed his fingers, the rising sunlight streaming in through the windows glimmered on the blood red ruby and diamond ring on her left fourth finger.
Despair closed long, cold bands around him. She’d made her choice, and his stomach revolted with the need to retch. He pushed that from his mind. “I went into the garden last night to meet you as we’d planned.” Pain rose in his chest. “Before I could reach you, Rockingham came, and you met him with a smile.” Just speaking the words raked sharp claws over his consciousness and did nothing for his headache.
“I smiled, for I thought it was you.” Sadness pooled in her expressive eyes. “Oliver and I argued. He said things to me, threatened me.” The delicate tendons in her neck worked with a hard swallow. “Threatened you,” she ended on a whisper. “I couldn’t tell you last night because I was afraid he lurked there in the garden.”
“Me?” He could hardly look at her knowing she’d sealed her fate.
“Yes.” Elizabeth glanced around the room. Fear leapt into her expression. “You must leave. If he finds out you’re here…” A shiver wracked her shoulders.
What the deuce had the marquess done to her? Anger rose in his chest to collide with everything else he battled with. “I cannot.” Briefly, he told her of the events of last night, ending with waking up next to the dead female.
A gasp escaped her and she retreated a few steps. “You killed a woman, fed from her while you were in your cups?” Her eyebrows sailed into her hairline.
“If I fed, I would certainly know it. Since hunger bears down on me, that part of the tale is not true. Look.” He held out his hands. They shook more intensely. “It is one of the symptoms of hunger.” Even now his gums throbbed and he stared at the spot on her neck where her pulse frantically fluttered.
“Rafe, please.” Was the fear in her expression for him and his situation, or fear of him? Did it matter now? “You must leave.” Alarm threaded through her voice.
“Help me, Elizabeth.” He dropped his hands only to curl them into fists as his fingertips ached with the need to transform into claws. “Someone out there is trying to see me hung in Newgate for crimes I didn’t commit.”
“Who?”
“Hell if I know.” He shook his head, and tasting the dried blood on his lip, he scrubbed at his face in the attempt to make himself more presentable.
“I cannot see you anymore. You cannot be here.”
“Please!” Desperate and not knowing what else to do, he fell to his knees before her. “Please do this for me, for what you might have felt for me at one time. Please help me.” There was no shame in his plea, and it echoed in the sudden silence.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
December 17, 1815
Elizabeth stared down at Rafe. She focused on the blood drops marring his clothing, glanced over the smear of the same on his cheek. What have you gotten yourself into? When he’d run from her and the gardens the night before, she’d wanted to curl up on the
crushed gravel path and cry, for she would never have the chance to reconcile with him. She’d had no choice but to grievously hurt the earl, and she’d done it all to keep him safe.
He will never know the price I paid last night.
Tears filled her eyes but the fear racing through her veins kept her from touching him, and this time it wasn’t fear of him. In the face of Oliver’s threat, which he’d delivered in a succinct way, all with a smile and overly polite tones, and the engagement he’d forced her into, it was paramount that the vampire leave.
“You’re the one person who can help me,” Rafe whispered as he tilted his face upward to peer into hers. His hair, ragged and dirty, hung about his shoulders. Fear mixed with hunger in his eyes. The red ring around his irises glowed. “I’m… I’m frightened, and I don’t know—don’t remember—what happened last night.”
If only I can forget.
When the marquess had first laid down his ultimatum, she’d argued with him, tried to slap him, for she’d refused to let him manipulate her. Why couldn’t he understand that she’d chosen Rafe over him? But he wouldn’t hear any of it and he pressed his agenda. Not only did he order her to cease all contact with Rafe unless she wanted Oliver to out his secret to anyone who would listen—especially to Bow Street who still searched for the murderer of that maid—but he also made certain she would accept his suit.
When she’d hesitated, he went one step further. He intended to announce their betrothal that evening near the end of the ball, and she had better comply or else he would challenge Rafe to a duel and he wouldn’t hesitate to put a ball through his heart, rules and proper etiquette be damned.
“I’ll do London a favor by ridding the streets of one such as him,” Oliver had said with the grin of victory on his face and dancing in his expression. “If you wish for the earl to live, you will give him up. Permanently. I did warn you days ago.”
Bitten By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book Two) Page 23