One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  Lydia’s breath remained trapped in her throat as she put away her cue. She could still feel the brief, intense contact his body had made. And the fire in his gaze seared her soul.

  “Well.” Miss Hobson yawned and fetched a candelabrum. “It is past time we retire.”

  Lydia followed the chaperone like a puppet, her mind continuing her fixation on the earl and his quicksilver change in mood. “Whatever came over him?” she murmured.

  “His lordship merely appreciates his solitude,” Miss Hobson said as she held the candelabrum aloft, illuminating the dark stairway. Her voice gentled. “I’m certain he didn’t mean to frighten you. It is likely the effect of being awake at this ungodly hour.”

  “What do you presume he does on those walks? Does he have a mistress?” Envy curdled her insides at the thought.

  “No, his clothing is always in order when he returns, and he does not smell like perfume,” Miss Hobson replied distractedly. She spun to face Lydia, eyes wide with outrage. “A lady does not speak of such things…and a maiden should not even know of them.”

  Lydia chuckled. Were English girls so cosseted? “Perhaps he gambles?”

  The chaperone shook her head. “His demeanor remains unchanged. No sign of joy from winnings or dismay at losses. Really, this conversation is unseemly.”

  “Perhaps he’s smuggling? Visiting an illegitimate family? Practicing witchcraft?” Lydia rushed on, undaunted. “Come now, you cannot tell me you are not curious.”

  Miss Hobson sighed as they reached Lydia’s chamber. She glanced left and right for eavesdropping servants before ushering her inside and closing the door. “Very well, I admit one cannot refrain from a bit of curiosity at such odd behavior.”

  “What do you suppose he does?”

  “I can see from your impish expression that you think he’s involved in something scandalous,” Miss Hobson scolded. “I regret I must disabuse you of such a notion. From all I’ve observed, his lordship shows no sign of tawdry behavior. Therefore, it is my belief that he goes on his nighttime walks merely because his headaches prevent him from doing so during the day.” She lit the lantern and rang for Emma. “Or, it is a mental compulsion of some sort.”

  “Mental compulsion?” Lydia asked, intrigued.

  Miss Hobson nodded. “I’ve seen such an occurrence. There was a duke who felt the need to wash his hands every hour. It was odd, though harmless. Otherwise, he was sound of mind.”

  “Ah, so Deveril is cracked?” Lydia whispered. That could explain his odd shifts in mood.

  Before Miss Hobson could respond, Emma entered the chamber. “All Deverils are mad,” she whispered loudly. “Every single one! My mother says—”

  “That it is rude to eavesdrop?” Miss Hobson cut in with an arched brow.

  Emma flinched. “No, miss. I was only answering your summons and overheard.”

  The chaperone nodded. “Prepare Miss Price for bed…and do not wake her until noon. His lordship wants us all to adopt London hours in preparation for the Season.”

  Emma curtsied, visibly relieved to have avoided a scolding. Miss Hobson bade them both a good night and retired to her chamber.

  As the maid helped her out of her gown, Lydia whispered, “What did your mother say about the Deverils?”

  She felt Emma stiffen. “It’s really nothing, miss. J-just silly gossip. Miss Hobson will have me out of the house if I repeat it.”

  “She doesn’t have to know,” Lydia wheedled, curious about her enigmatic guardian.

  Emma opened her mouth then shut it with a shake of her head as she hung up Lydia’s dress. “I must not say anything, other than his lordship has been kind to me.” Lifting her chin, she added, “And he has been kind to you as well.”

  Lydia flushed with guilt at her speculation. Deveril had been kind to her. “All right, Emma, I’ll not pester you.” She climbed into bed. “Unless Deveril does something truly mad.”

  Emma nodded. “If he does, I will happily leave my position.”

  Despite the late hour and warm fire, sleep failed to entice Lydia into its embrace. Her flesh continued to tingle at the memory of Deveril’s hands on her arms and the heat of his breath on her ear.

  ***

  An hour before dawn, Vincent strode back to his castle in a foul mood. Bronn, his third in command, had reported another rogue, or perhaps the same one who’d been sighted the previous week. Rogue vampires, those who had been Changed without sanction, or who’d been exiled or left their lord’s territory without leave, were always a problem. His vampires were usually able to defend themselves from such cretins, but Lydia was not…and she’d been out alone after dark.

  As he headed up to his chamber, he cursed himself for a fool. How could he have failed to consider the danger she could have been in? He needed to Mark her. He should have done so the first night she came here. He needed to be able to know where she was at all times, and Marking made that possible. If the Siddons sisters had enticed rogues, Lydia would be even more tempting. After all, she had tempted him.

  Memories of her husky laugh and warm smile assaulted him with a savage desire that grew more crippling when he entered her chamber and caught her sweet scent. Oh yes, she had tempted him. His fingers curled at his sides as he stood over her bed, resisting the urge to touch her once more. Not for me.

  The thought sobered him, bringing his duty back to mind. He had set himself on this course of action, and he would carry it out to the best of his ability. Lydia would remain safe under his care, even from his own kind. His eyes narrowed as he bit his index finger, drawing blood. Especially from his own kind.

  A shudder wracked his body as his finger touched Lydia’s silken lips. So warm…so soft. Her unique aroma of gardenias and woman’s musk taunted him even more than the sweet scent of her blood. Gritting his teeth, he forced his mind back to his task and began the ritual.

  As his blood dripped into her mouth, he whispered, “I, Vincent Tremayne, Earl of Deveril and Lord of Cornwall, Mark this mortal, Lydia Price, as mine and mine alone. With this Mark I give Lydia my undying protection. Let all others, immortal and mortal alike, who cross her path sense my Mark and know that to act against her is to act against myself and thus set forth my wrath, as I will avenge what is mine.”

  A hot tremor engulfed his flesh as the preternatural magic took effect. Lydia moaned in her slumber. Reflexively, he caressed her black tresses in reassurance as he willed her to remain asleep. “It is all right, my dear.”

  Her pink tongue licked her lush lips. Vincent bent down to kiss her and froze. No, she is not mine. Rigid with arousal and self-loathing, he hurried out of her room, vowing never again to cross this threshold until she left his castle. The sooner that happened, the better.

  ***

  Sleep came with difficulty to Sarah Hobson. Scorning her bed, she sat in the rocking chair before the fire. As she rocked, her mind raced. The ton hailed her as the best chaperone in all of England. So skilled was she at ensuring successful matches for her charges, Society matrons actually bid for her services as if it were an auction. The highest bidder had been the Dowager Countess of Morley for Lady Georgiana—until the Earl of Deveril doubled the offer.

  At first she was willing to chalk it up to the famed Deveril madness, but when she arrived at the castle and saw the furnishings—from Aubusson carpets and Chippendale chairs to beeswax candles, rather than tallow, she suspected the earl possessed deeper pockets than she’d anticipated. Her suspicions were confirmed when he did not blink at the cost of Lydia’s debut, and most importantly, doubled her dowry.

  It was Deveril’s goal to arrange a more successful marriage for Lydia than Lady Morley would for Georgiana. It was Sarah’s duty to ensure Miss Price made the best match of the Season. A titled gentleman with ample wealth was imperative…and the Earl of Deveril met these requirements. When they arrived in London, he would be the b
iggest catch of the Season.

  However, Sarah was reluctant to encourage such a match on those factors alone. It did no good to push a girl into the arms of a man for greed. She preferred for there to be at least a measure of amiability between both parties, lest scandal erupt mere months after the wedding.

  In the case of Miss Price, Sarah had further incentive to encourage a harmonious match. Orphaned and scorned by her remaining family, the poor child had no one. A good husband could help heal that hurt…and include a dower house and funds for her in his will. Normally Sarah did not think much on these matters. However, she liked Lydia. The girl had wit and spirit.

  Lydia possessed many eccentricities, and Deveril was eccentric in his own right. It was apparent from the start that he admired Lydia for her unique qualities, that he would nurture her, rather than attempt to snuff the flame of her spirit. Sarah remembered how Deveril had smiled at Lydia, and how he could not refrain from touching her…and she hadn’t missed the stars in Lydia’s eyes when she looked at his lordship.

  Deveril could be the perfect match for Lydia if he were not so fixated on his competition with Lady Morley that he missed the possibility that was right before him. Typical male. She yawned. It would be a tricky plan to carry out. These things must be done delicately. She must ensure that Miss Price and Lord Deveril had opportunities alone for their romance to bloom without the earl catching on to her meddling. And she must take care that things between them didn’t venture into impropriety, for if that happened, then Miss Price would not be the only one with a ruined reputation.

  Six

  I am a fool. Vincent sighed as he healed the doxy’s wound and cleared her memory of his feeding. Though his blood thirst was slaked, the desires of his body remained as rampant and unquenched as they had been since his ward arrived. He could have made use of the whore’s body along with her throat, but Lydia’s large eyes sprang up in his mind, killing his inclination to make do with a substitute. Only Lydia would suffice. Yet he could not have her.

  His teeth clenched so hard his fangs pricked the inside of his lower lip. Vincent growled, tasting blood, and loathing himself for wishing it was hers.

  He cursed under his breath as he strode back to the castle, head bent against the rain. What was it about her that captured his fancy? She was beautiful, yet he’d seen hundreds of beauties in his near two centuries of life. She was not demure or ladylike. Hell, she’d pointed a gun at him on their second encounter.

  Yawning, he returned home. Evenings in the company of Lydia Price were exhausting. He should pity her future husband, rather than possess an unreasonable urge to strangle the nonexistent sod.

  Aubert took his soaked coat with a frown. “I see another storm has arrived, my lord.”

  For years, the butler had tried to dissuade him from his nightly walks, especially during inclement weather. He wondered how Aubert would react if he knew those walks kept Vincent from feeding on the servants. Doubtless it would be quite a scene. “I’ll wear my cloak the next time I venture out.”

  Aubert’s brows creased in disapproval, and Vincent changed the subject. “Miss Price must be upset that she was unable to work on her painting.”

  “Not at all, my lord. She’s been tucked away in the library all day with a book and hot chocolate.” Aubert hung the coat near the fire. “Reading seems to be another of her favorite pastimes. I daresay she is quite content.”

  It was obvious to Vincent that the servants genuinely liked Lydia. At first he presumed their solicitous behavior toward her was borne from pity for her circumstances, and perhaps relief to have someone relatively normal to look after. The butler’s warm smile revealed that she had charmed them as well. Likely they would miss her when she was married off and gone.

  For some reason the thought irritated him. “Well, I hope all that chocolate has not spoiled her supper,” he muttered and headed for the library.

  She wasn’t there. Sighing, Vincent headed up the stairs to look. As her guardian, he should know where she was.

  Emma gave a startled squeak as his shadow passed over the bed she and the housekeeper were turning down.

  “I beg your pardon. I was looking for Miss Price.”

  The maid composed herself. “She’s in the library.”

  Could no one keep track of his recalcitrant ward? Vincent sighed and closed his eyes, opening the Mark between them. Immediately, the connection he had forged with his blood sang in his marrow. Just as potent as her gardenia scent, he felt her presence, sweet and delectable. She was in the south wing…in his bedchamber. He shook his head and headed in that direction. Hadn’t Aubert told her to stay away from that part of the castle?

  Once he reached his room, he stood in the doorway, watching her, curious as to what she was doing in his room. Candlelight gleamed on her hair. Her hands were folded demurely behind her back as she walked slowly through the chamber, peering at the furnishing and tapestries with avid interest. When Lydia approached the large bed built to accommodate his height, she paused and reached out a tentative hand to touch the coverlet.

  The innocent gesture made his blood boil with lust. Curious about my bed, are you? I don’t sleep in that one, though I could show you— He broke off the dangerous thought, holding his breath as she passed the bed, still looking around.

  He smiled at the sight of her futile tiptoeing. What was she so curious about? There was nothing in here except—

  Lydia paused at a wall sconce, reached up toward it…

  “Damn it,” he growled, crossing the distance between them and snatching back her hand.

  Lydia gasped and looked up at him, eyes wide with abashment and alarm. “My lord! I was ah…”

  Before she could stammer an excuse, Vincent grasped both her wrists and captured her gaze. She seemed to forget what she was saying. Repugnance tormented him at the act; with her it felt like a violation. Alas, it was necessary. She had almost found the entrance to his lair. She couldn’t discover what he was. As she stood mute and mesmerized, Vincent was suddenly aware of the pulsing vein in her throat that sang to him.

  Just a taste…his inner demon whispered. Slowly, he slid his hands up her arms, grazing his fingertips across her collarbone before bending down to inhale the sweet bouquet of her blood and humanity. His lips lightly caressed her neck, as lust and hunger warred within.

  He wanted more.

  His mouth slowly trailed along the column of her throat as his hands reached up to cradle her face. He moved to kiss her lips and froze at the lack of spark in her glazed eyes. No, not like this. Repulsed with himself, he drew back.

  “Your hair…” she murmured drowsily. “It’s so beautiful.” Slowly, she reached up and caressed his locks.

  Remorse washed over him at her gentle touch. Vincent released her mind.

  Lydia blinked at him and shook her head. “I was ah…”

  “You were what?” he prodded huskily. Would she lie?

  Her face turned rose red. “I was looking for secret passageways.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve read that every castle has at least one. I-I have a fondness for gothic novels.”

  Vincent sighed, almost undone by her innocent curiosity. Oh, if you knew, Lydia. “Well, there is one, but you must promise to keep your silence.” If he showed her another passage, perhaps she would stay away from his…and she deserved some sort of recompense for what he had done.

  “I vow to keep the secret, even under the pain of torture,” she declared with melodramatic flair.

  “Your loyalty is commendable.” Vincent laughed, taking the candelabrum from the table. He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Her scent engulfed him at once as her small hand curled around his bicep. He could feel her quivering with excitement.

  He led her out of the south wing and down a long corridor to a vacant room. Pressing a finger to his lips, he crossed the room and lifted a f
aded tapestry to reveal a wooden panel. When he pressed the panel’s well-worn corner, it opened with a bone-wincing creak. The hinges needed oiling again.

  Her enthusiasm was contagious. Feeling young for the first time in ages, he grinned at her. “Shall we explore it?”

  Lydia’s eyes danced with unabashed glee. “Oh, yes!”

  Fighting to maintain dignified composure in the face of her eagerness, he forced a stern tone. “This passage has not been used in a very long time, so you must stay near me in case it has fallen into disrepair.”

  She nodded solemnly and grasped his hand as he guided her inside. The darkness was musty, yet strangely intimate in her company. Their steps were muffled on the packed dirt floor. Vincent grimaced and lowered his head as cobwebs brushed his face. He drew Lydia closer, grateful the light was too meager to reveal them.

  “Where does it lead?” Her voice was suddenly shaky, whether from his proximity or fear of the dark, he could not tell. Little did she realize that he was the most dangerous thing here.

  Vincent brushed aside another cobweb. “It merges into a tunnel leading outside the castle grounds. The purpose was to enable the castle’s inhabitants to escape during a siege.”

  “How very fascinating—” She broke off suddenly. “What is that?” A dim light gleamed from a hole in the wall a few feet away.

  Vincent squeezed her hand as they drew closer. “Look and see.”

  Lydia peered through the hole and gasped. “I see a bedchamber…my view is so obscured, as if…the opening is hidden by a tapestry. These holes are for spying on people!” She turned to him, eyes burning in accusation. “Whose room is it?”

  “Emma’s, I believe.” Again, he concealed a chuckle, well aware of her indignant suspicions. “Though I cannot be certain. It has been a long time since I ventured here.”

  “Since you were a boy?” she asked.

  He avoided the question. “I do know your chamber is blocked by the wardrobe.”

  Her body relaxed next to his, and she looked up at him. “What about your chamber?”