One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  The duchess eyed her sympathetically. “You poor thing, you’ve been through so much this week. First, with the marriage noose tightening around your neck, then your cousin’s vulgar display with Lord Deveril, and finally being snubbed by your own grandmother.”

  Lydia raised a brow. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, I’m afraid you’re doing a poor job of it.”

  “Would you like to have an adventure?” Angelica whispered with such secretive enthusiasm, impossible to resist.

  She blinked. “Of course I would. What do you have in mind?”

  The duchess grinned mischievously. “Take down your hair and give me your pins.”

  Full of curiosity, Lydia complied. Angelica sat next to her on the plush seat and braided her hair, pinning it in a tight crown on her head, and then did the same with her own before the coach stopped at Burnrath House.

  Once the footman escorted them into the house, Angelica took her hand, and they raced up the stairs to the duchess’s bedchamber. An ornate mahogany wardrobe stood in the corner of the small room. Angelica threw it open and tossed Lydia a hat and various articles of clothing—men’s clothing.

  “The trousers may be too short. The boots ought to conceal the fact.” Her voice echoed from the depths of the wardrobe.

  “Where are we going?” Lydia could not hide her excitement as she tried on the hat.

  Angelica set her disguise on her escritoire and began unfastening Lydia’s gown. “We are going to see parts of the city forbidden to decent ladies such as ourselves.”

  The trousers were indeed too short, and the boots too large. Angelica stuffed the toes with handkerchiefs, and they were comfortable enough. The hat hid Lydia’s hair perfectly, and her bosom was concealed by a thick woolen coat. The duchess allowed her one quick glance in the mirror before they crept outside, using the servant’s entrance. She looked like a young man, ready to abandon his mother’s apron strings and cavort about town.

  “I can’t believe you do this!” Lydia said as they walked down the cobblestoned street.

  “Even a duchess needs freedom,” Angelica replied, waving down a hackney coach. “Besides, it gives me inspiration for my writing. Where would you like to go?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.” Lydia shook her head at the duchess’s insatiable energy. “Other than I would prefer our destination to be somewhat…reckless, with a hint of danger.”

  “In this city, that hardly narrows our choices.” Angelica grinned. “Cutthroats, thieves, and fallen women are a stone’s throw in any direction.”

  A thought crossed Lydia’s mind, and she held back a gasp at her own daring. “Do you recall that pugilist whom your husband sponsors? Rafael Villar?”

  Angelica’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

  Lydia took a deep breath and fixed her with a firm gaze. “I would like to see him box.”

  The duchess was silent for the longest time. The horses’ hoofs clattered as the coach rolled down the street. “Well, you are correct on that account. That would be most dangerous.”

  “So we will not go?” Lydia tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  “Oh, we shall go,” Angelica announced with an impish smile. “Only we must be careful that Don Villar does not see us.”

  Nineteen

  Ian sipped his brandy and frowned as Vincent narrated the incident with Georgiana. “This is very bad, my friend.”

  “Your wife handled the matter.” Vincent shuffled the cards. “Though I cannot say I approved of her mesmerizing the girl in front of Lydia. At least I am certain Miss Georgiana will not pursue me again.”

  “But what scheme will Lady Morley attempt next?” Ian raised a brow. “And more important, how many other young ladies will employ less than savory methods in an attempt to trap you into marriage?”

  Vincent’s hand paused in dealing the cards. His shoulders slumped. “This endeavor is more complex than I’d anticipated.”

  The duke lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Yes, and it is growing more dangerous every night you remain here. You must see Miss Price married soon. Then you must return to Cornwall immediately afterward. You are drawing far too much attention.”

  “I know, and I told her the time has come for her to choose among her suitors.” His chest grew painfully tight at the words.

  “Well, let us hope the man she chooses desires a brief engagement.”

  Vincent suppressed a growl. Ian was only speaking the truth.

  The club manager approached their table with an envelope. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but there is a message for you.”

  Ian took the note and read it after the man departed. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That little imp,” he muttered. “It seems Angelica has invited Lydia to share in one of her unladylike pursuits.”

  “And that would be?” Vincent raised a brow.

  The duke sighed. “My wife enjoys gallivanting through less than savory parts of town disguised as a male.”

  “I can see Lydia taking to such an eccentric practice.” Then the rest of Ian’s words sank in. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘less than savory parts of town’? Where are they?”

  “I mean that as we speak, they are at Scallywag John’s, watching Rafe box.”

  The noise of the club dimmed to a furious buzz in Vincent’s ears. He sucked in a breath and stared at Ian, appalled. “Do you mean to tell me that right now, my ward is in an underground club, surrounded by ruffians, gambling on an illegal prizefight—which the constable could break up at any time?”

  Ian nodded. “Not to mention the fact that the crowd often becomes unruly after a particularly diverting match. Fisticuffs are guaranteed every night.” He rose from his seat and beckoned a servant to fetch their coats and top hats. “I suppose we ought to go fetch them now, shall we?”

  A haze of red encompassed Vincent’s sight as he donned his coat. “How can you be so calm about this? Our women are in danger!”

  “Nonsense.” Ian chuckled. “Angelica is capable of defending herself. Also, Rafe won’t let any physical harm come to them. However, I am concerned with the possibility of them being thrown into Newgate for breaking numerous laws just by being at that club.”

  The duke’s words faded as Vincent strode out of White’s, determined to snatch Lydia out of that hovel so fast her head would spin. He was just about to take off in a burst of preternatural speed when Ian clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “We must take a hackney.”

  “But—”

  Ian waved off Vincent’s protest. “For one thing, if a duke and an earl arrive without a coach, people will take notice. For another, you cannot use your speed to remove Lydia from the club without eliciting the same response. And it simply would not do to be seen walking back to our neighborhood with Miss Price slung over your shoulder like a sack of grain.”

  “Very well.” Vincent inclined his head in grudging acknowledgment of Ian’s logic.

  The duke nodded and flagged down a coach. “And remember, we must treat them as young men. We cannot risk revealing their identities, or they truly will be in danger.”

  Although Ian’s advice was sound, it became all the more difficult to heed once they entered the bowels of the illegal boxing club. The jostling, shouts, and bellows of the rabid crowd, coupled with the pervasive odors of blood and sweat, fed the fires of Vincent’s protective instincts. His gaze darted across the rickety building, searching for Lydia amidst the chaos.

  Rage filled him with every step. How dare the duchess bring his ward to this dangerous place? A feral growl trickled out of his clenched teeth, making a man in front of him step away in alarm. If Lydia had so much as a scratch on her beautiful skin, he would—

  There she was!

  The Mark between them pulsed just as the faint scent of gardenias teased his nostrils. Alt
hough her lustrous black hair was hidden beneath a shabby cap, the set of her shoulders and her unique poise beneath her homespun jacket and trousers was unmistakable.

  Lust, hot and immediate, rose up at the thought of the curve of her rounded backside. If that shabby jacket was lifted…

  Only Ian’s warning glance stopped him from hauling her into his arms. Vincent ground his teeth and remained still as Ian tapped his wife’s shoulder. “Mr. Winthrop! I had heard you were here, old chap.”

  Angelica spun around, eyes wide in astonishment—and a measure of guilt at being caught. “Your Grace!” she exclaimed in a surprisingly boyish voice. “I…that is, we…”

  “Are not where you are supposed to be?” Ian supplied in a helpful tone.

  The duchess’s gaze narrowed, and she turned around to glare at Rafe, who lounged near the edge of the ring, his match not yet due to commence. “You scoundrel! You tattled!”

  At Angelica’s shout, Lydia whipped around with a gasp, her eyes locking on Vincent’s.

  ***

  Vincent kept his eyes on Lydia, freezing her in place with his stormy gaze as he addressed Angelica. “Who is your friend, ah, ‘Mr. Winthrop’?” His voice was low, silky, and dangerous as he used the duchess’s pen name.

  Lydia struggled to find breath for a reply.

  “This is my mate, Lyle.” Angelica’s cheery voice seemed oblivious to Vincent’s rage. “I thought the lad could use some diversion to take his mind off a very stressful few weeks.”

  Lydia opened her mouth to warn Angelica to bite her tongue, before Ian stepped in, laughing. “I believe you and ‘Lyle’ have something to discuss with us in private.”

  The duchess grinned at her husband. “I imagine we do.”

  “Are you going to come quietly, or do I need to haul you out of here by the scruff of your neck like a recalcitrant schoolboy?” Vincent hissed at Lydia.

  She looked to the duke and duchess for aid. They seemed amused by the earl’s ire.

  Lydia’s fists clenched at her sides. She didn’t want to go quietly to anything. Vincent seemed to sense her reluctance and seized her arm with bruising force, following the duke as he dragged Angelica from the despicable hovel. She glanced back at Rafael Villar, and he favored her with a smirk before his amber gaze flicked to Vincent, and he nodded as if in approval. Angelica had been right; he was a scoundrel! How had he been able to notify Ian and Vincent of their whereabouts?

  A sodden bear of a man grabbed her. “Don’t be a spoilsport, guv’nor. Let the lad stay.”

  Vincent’s fist slammed into the man’s face, dropping him like a stone. Lydia gasped. She had never seen him this angry. He appeared to be fully capable of dispatching everyone else in the club with little effort. What did that bode for her? The rest of the crowd parted like the Red Sea, and Lydia, along with Angelica, was pulled out of the building with no further incident.

  The waiting coach crouched like a sinister beast in the shadows. Lydia tried to pull away.

  “Struggle one more time, and I will throw you over my shoulder and haul you into the carriage myself,” Vincent growled. His eyes glowed, looking feral in the moonlight.

  She swallowed a protest and climbed inside, shivering at the feel of his hand on her back.

  “Well, that was most diverting,” Angelica said drily.

  “To Burnrath House,” the duke declared, ignoring his wife. He turned to Vincent. “As we do not want to risk your servants gossiping about your ward’s attire, perhaps it would be wise for you both to spend the night with us.”

  “What of your servants?”

  Ian shook his head. “I will ensure their discretion.”

  Vincent nodded, and the rest of the ride passed in tense silence.

  Once at Burnrath House, he fixed his intent gaze on Lydia, gripping her waist tightly as he lifted her from the carriage.

  He remained silent until they were inside the house, then he leaned down, voice rough with command. “I want the smell of Cheapside washed from your flesh, and for you to be clothed as a woman before we speak again.”

  Overwhelmed by Vincent’s harshness, Lydia shrugged out of her shabby frock coat. Angelica took Lydia’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “I’ll ring for a bath.” Heading up the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “Come, Lydia, we must find a clean gown. Your walking dress is unsuitable for the hour, though I’m afraid everything I have will be too short…”

  The duke bowed and gave Lydia a strange smile, as if he knew something she didn’t. Vincent swept her with a heated stare, making her feel warm from head to toe. She gave him what she hoped was a coquettish smile.

  “Meet me in the library when you are finished,” he commanded before following the duke out of the room.

  Lydia watched Vincent as he stalked away. Then, reaching for nonexistent skirts, she followed Angelica up the stairs and into her bedchamber.

  The duchess had already thrown open an enormous mahogany wardrobe, revealing a sumptuous array of gowns. After a few minutes of rummaging, Angelica smiled in satisfaction, pulling out the most alluring gown Lydia had ever seen. “Lord Deveril wants you dressed as a woman. Well, he shall get what he asked for.”

  Lydia gasped, eyeing the scarlet taffeta creation. The bodice was scandalously low, and jet beads glimmered all over the fabric, making the dress shine like a dark ruby. “It’s so…”

  “Provocative? Indecent?” Angelica supplied helpfully. “You want him, do you not?”

  Desire flooded Lydia’s body at the question. Oh yes, she wanted him. So much that her desire was a constant ache between her thighs. Swallowing, she nodded.

  “Then tonight may be your only opportunity. For one thing, you finally have a night without a chaperone. For another, he obviously does not have the temperament of a gentleman right now.” Angelica looked around and lowered her voice. “Since your mother is gone, I think it is my duty to explain to you what goes on between men and women in the bedchamber.”

  Lydia raised a brow at the sudden shift in topic. “Are you referring to sexual intercourse? I am already aware of the mechanics behind that.”

  Angelica’s eyes widened, and her cheeks turned crimson. “Do you mean you’re not…”

  “A virgin?” Lydia chuckled as she pulled off her woolen cap and yanked the pins from her hair. “Of course I am. My maid explained everything to me when I first became a woman. Then my mother explained it again before I attended my first ball in New Orleans.”

  “Bloody hell!” Angelica exclaimed. “You cannot fathom how much I envy you. My mother told me nothing.”

  Lydia gasped. “Do you mean you had no idea?”

  Angelica shook her head with a rueful smile. “Not until my wedding night.”

  “Good God, why is it an English custom to keep women as ignorant as children?”

  “I don’t think this occurs only in England.” Angelica held up the red dress. “Back to the matter at hand. Do you want Lord Deveril in that way?”

  “Yes,” Lydia stated firmly, though her knees weakened at the thought. “Even if it is only for tonight.”

  The duchess nodded. “Well, let us hope you will be more successful than that.” She raised a finger to her lips as footsteps sounded on the stairs. “I’d better put this dress out of sight for now. Mustn’t start any more gossip than necessary.”

  Yawning servants entered with steaming buckets of hot water, and poured it into a large bronze tub; then they withdrew discreetly at a sign from Angelica.

  Angelica chuckled as she poured perfumed bath salts into the water. “Deveril looked as if he wanted to devour you.”

  “I want him to.” Lydia removed her boots and unfastened her trousers, shivering as wicked fantasies flitted through her mind.

  The duchess smiled knowingly. “When I’m finished with you, he won’t be able to resist.”

 
; ***

  Ian frowned as he followed Angelica out of the house for their evening hunt. “Let me clarify this situation. You encouraged Miss Price to seduce Vincent?”

  Angelica nodded cheerfully. Her steps were brisk on the cobblestone drive. “I am certain this is the best opportunity she will have. I loaned her my red dress.”

  From the widening of his eyes, it was apparent he knew to which dress she was referring. “Good God, woman! Vincent’s control is tenuous around Miss Price at best. That dress…he might ravage her!”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Ian raised a brow. “And did you stop in your scheming for a moment to consider that he has not fed tonight?”

  “He won’t hurt her.” Angelica was confident. “He loves her. And you believe that too, or you would have stopped my ‘scheming,’ as you like to call it. I much prefer the term ‘matchmaking.’ That is, after all, part of my job.”

  Twenty

  Vincent paced the Burnrath’s library like a caged lion. The sight of Lydia’s curves in those trousers, so boldly displayed when she’d removed her coat, had driven him to the brink of madness. He thanked the fates the duchess would be able to put her in a proper gown. The scent of gardenias heralded her approach. In a futile attempt to collect himself, he turned to face the fireplace. The dancing flames seemed to echo his raging desire…and blood thirst.

  Damn it. He should have fed while she was bathing.

  “I am here, my lord.” Her voice was like rough velvet. “I hope my attire is pleasing.”

  “As long as you are out of those trousers, I do not care what—” He turned around, and the breath left his body.

  Lydia had transformed into a dark temptress. Her hair tumbled in a midnight cascade past her shoulders, framing her exquisite face and tempting figure. Angelica had indeed dressed Lydia as a woman. Her selection surely was meant to torment him.

  And it succeeded. Made of crimson taffeta beaded with jet, the gown accentuated Lydia’s lush body. The low, square-cut bodice exposed her breasts nearly to her nipples, serving up opulent flesh like a forbidden banquet. The shimmering fabric encased her trim waist and hugged her rounded hips tighter than the trousers had. Also, the gown was too short, revealing shapely ankles encased in sinfully decadent silk stockings. Apparently, the duchess had been unable to provide shoes, for Lydia’s delicate toes teased him from beneath the thin material.