One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  Pained regret slashed across the duke’s features. “I drank his blood to weaken him. Then I drugged him with laudanum so he would feel little pain.” Ian paused, eyes distant in remembrance. His voice shook and resumed. “I drove a stake through his heart, chopped off his head, and burned him in the hottest fire I could build.”

  ***

  Lydia stood awestruck in the garden, captivated by the beauty of the night. Every detail stood out in exquisite relief, from each tiny blossom on the lilac bushes to every dew-covered blade of grass beneath her bare feet. Her fingers itched to paint this miracle before her. She could imagine mixing just the right shade of blue to render the velvet night sky above…

  She stared at the moon, lips parted in rapt wonder. Its silver brilliance turned the garden into a world fit for a John Keats poem.

  Inspired, she whispered,

  “And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

  Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;

  But here there is no light,

  Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

  Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.”

  Quiet footsteps glided on the soft grass, and a heady male scent teased her senses. Vincent’s lyrical voice added music to the night.

  “I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

  Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs.

  But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

  Wherewith the Seasonable month endows

  The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

  White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

  Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;

  And mid-May’s eldest child,

  The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

  The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.”

  He came closer, flooding her awareness with his presence. “‘Ode to a Nightingale,’ yes?”

  She nodded, too overwhelmed by his intoxicating presence to form words. The last time Vincent recited poetry had been the first time he’d kissed her.

  Now, instead of claiming her mouth, his lips turned down in a concerned frown. “A melancholy poem. Are you feeling melancholy, Lydia?”

  She shook her head. “No, I am only overwhelmed. Please, tell me what you and the others discussed. What is to become of me now?” What is to become of us?

  “It is against the law to Change a mortal without permission from the Elders.” His voice was calm, though every line of his body appeared to vibrate with tension.

  Lydia swallowed, longing to touch him, to comfort him. “Who are the Elders?”

  Vincent looked up at the moon, yet didn’t seem to see it. “They are a council of twelve of the most powerful vampires in our world, who serve as our primary governing system. They make our laws and punish those who violate them.”

  Her heart froze in her breast as comprehension dawned. “And so you will be punished for Changing me?”

  His head dipped in assent, avoiding her gaze. “I could be, if my report does not satisfy them.”

  “This is what Rafael spoke of.” The chill in her heart spread through her body like hoarfrost. “Could you truly be sentenced to death for saving my life?” Please, look at me!

  Vincent closed his eyes. “Yes. I’ve already arranged for you to be in the care of the duke and duchess. There is no safer place for you to be than under the protection of the Vampire Lord of London. Angelica will teach you all you need to know.”

  “You mean you will not teach me?” Do you loathe the sight of me that much?

  He shook his head, oblivious to her bleeding heart. “I do not think it is best for you. Now I must go and see that your things are packed.” He took a deep breath, his features twisted into an agonized mask of what looked like regret. “There is one more thing. In light of current circumstances, we shall have to become engaged, another reason you must reside at Burnrath House.”

  “What?” Her breath came out in a whoosh, chest tightening and stomach sinking with warring joy at the prospect of winning her heart’s desire, and dread at his cold tone.

  “For one thing, the secrets of our kind must be protected at all costs, so you can no longer carry on with your mortal suitors. An engagement should allay some unpleasant gossip amongst the ton, though not all. For another, if we marry, the Elders may be more inclined to show mercy.”

  A cold weight plummeted in her belly. He didn’t want to marry her. She was a necessary obligation forced upon him for the sake of self-preservation. A burden. Guilt twisted through her being. She’d wanted him, but not like this.

  Blinking back tears, she nodded stiffly. “I understand.”

  Vincent cleared his throat, voice rasping. “I know this is difficult for you as well. If things were different…”

  Fear and desperation nearly brought her to her knees. Lydia grasped Vincent’s arm before he could turn away. “Please, don’t leave me!”

  For a moment she thought he’d pull back; then his strong arms enfolded her, momentarily shielding her from the horrors of the world. Closing her eyes, she savored his embrace.

  “I am so sorry, Lydia, for everything that has happened.” His hands moved up to grasp her shoulders, and he forced her to look up at him. “Now, listen to me very carefully. It is of vital importance that you do everything the duke and duchess tell you. Promise me.”

  The intensity of his gaze and the painful way his fingers dug into her flesh revealed the severity of the matter. There was something he wasn’t telling her; she knew it.

  “I promise,” she whispered shakily.

  Vincent bent down until they were face-to-face. His eyes glowed like lightning, and his lips hovered inches from hers. A choking sound escaped him, and in a flash, he was gone.

  Because of her, he was facing a death sentence. The weight of her remorse threatened to suffocate her. Lydia sank to her knees. “I’ve lost him.” The words emerged in a broken sob.

  ***

  A single tear trailed down Vincent’s cheek as he walked back to his town house. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell Lydia that she might be put to death as well. Not when she had every reason to hate him for what he had done to her. Not when every cell of his being longed to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. Not when, even now, he had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and make love to her where she stood.

  “How could you?” Her earlier words echoed in his mind.

  Straightening his spine, he wiped his face and regained his composure. What was done was done. He had written his confession to the Elders, and Ian had already summoned a runner to dispatch it. All he could do was to await his fate and do his best to ensure Lydia’s safety.

  Just as expected, lanterns glowed from the windows of his town house, and Miss Hobson awaited him in the drawing room, hands twisting nervously in her lap.

  “Where is Miss Price?” she asked sharply.

  Vincent took a deep breath and forced a jubilant tone. “Miss Price shall stay at Burnrath House for the remainder of the Season, because it will not be proper to have my fiancée under my roof.”

  The chaperone’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “You proposed already? How wonderful!”

  “Indeed,” Vincent said stiffly, struggling to hide his misery. “If you would be so kind as to have a notice printed in The Times, I would be much obliged.”

  Lydia had almost been his. Then cruel fate had snatched her from his grasp. Though he had a solid excuse to visit Burnrath House frequently to see her, to make sure she remained safe, it would be torture to pretend that his dreams were coming true.

  “Will I be joining Miss Price at Burnrath House?” Miss Hobson pursed her lips as if sensing he wanted to refuse. “Things will appear out of sorts if I do not. And what shall we do about Sir Thomas Lawrence? He delivered her por
trait shortly after you both stormed out of the house. Also, she has another lesson with him tomorrow. And we must plan an engagement ball, plan the wedding, have her dress and trousseau made, and—”

  Vincent held back a curse. He hadn’t considered any of these vexing details. The painter would be easy to handle, but Miss Hobson’s presence would cause problems when Lydia’s control was so tenuous. “I will decide what to do about Lawrence later. The duchess will be a sufficient chaperone for a few days while you plan the engagement ball and attend to all those other necessities. In the meantime, I’ll meet with her suitors and reject their offers.”

  The chaperone nodded. “An excellent plan, my lord. It will appear much better for Miss Price’s reputation if her suitors are deterred first and it becomes known that she is not residing under your roof. Much more honorable, in fact.”

  Turning away before she could see his pained grimace, Vincent headed for the door. “I must have a few of her things packed. The duchess’s gowns will not fit Lydia well.”

  Miss Hobson halted him. “I almost forgot to offer my felicitations, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” Vincent suppressed a sigh. The woman couldn’t possibly know she was rubbing salt in an already throbbing wound.

  Her cheery tone was enough to drive him mad. “I had the portrait placed in your study, by the way.”

  He strode out the door and closed it before she could say more. What were they going to do with Miss Hobson if the Elders summoned him to stand trial? He frowned as he headed up to his study. That would have to wait.

  Vincent’s breath caught as he beheld Lawrence’s portrait of Lydia, already hung behind his desk. The painter had rendered her perfectly. A lump formed in his throat as he gazed upon the gleaming black tresses and sparkling tawny eyes that appeared to reflect the sunlight in the parlor. His eyes traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the flush of youthful mortality in her unblemished skin. God, he loved her.

  What would happen to her if he was executed? He had no doubt that Ian and Angelica would look after her, but for how long would she be comfortable with such an arrangement? Lydia despised city life as much as he did.

  He would draw up a will and leave her Castle Deveril. Remembering Lydia’s love for the ancient fortress, he felt it only right that it should go to her. Perhaps it could serve as an apology as well as a declaration of his love for her.

  A measure of the crushing weight of despair lifted at the decision. He would meet with a solicitor tomorrow evening, right before he attended to the welcome task of rejecting Lydia’s suitors. A slow smile crept to his lips as he left the room to collect Lydia’s trunks. Oh, he would enjoy that chore very much indeed.

  Twenty-five

  Lydia bit down on her finger with practiced efficiency, wincing at the pain as she trailed her blood across her victim’s wound.

  “Very good,” Angelica commented behind her. “I can’t believe how neatly you made the puncture sites. It took me over a month to do it right. They heal so much more quickly that way. Now wake him up.”

  Lydia broke her hold on the man’s mind. She could hear an audible snap in her skull.

  Her victim blinked once and continued speaking as if nothing happened. “If ye take that road and turn left after the Hog’s Head, that’ll take ye straight to Great Pulteney Street.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Lydia favored the man with a curtsy, struggling with guilt for using a stranger for a meal.

  The man tipped his hat and went on his way, displaying no ill effects from losing a pint or two of blood.

  Rafael Villar stepped out of the shadows, his ink-black hair shrouding him like a sinister shadow. Approval gleamed in his amber eyes. “You have mastered the hunt quickly, youngling.”

  Lydia’s jaw dropped. Taking a shaky breath, she gave him a friendly smile. “Thank you, Mr. Villar, you flatter me.”

  His angular lips curled into a sneer. Immediately, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

  “I never speak to flatter,” Rafe nearly spat the word. “I speak only the truth.”

  This seemed to be higher praise. Friendliness seemed to repel him, so Lydia straightened her spine and inclined her head with cool regality.

  The gesture seemed to satisfy him, for he nodded in return. “It is time we return.”

  The moment he turned away, Angelica gave her a wink. “I think he likes you,” she mouthed so the other vampire could not hear.

  Likes me? Lydia fought back an inelegant snort. For the past few nights, the Spaniard had been observing her progress and Angelica’s teaching methods, because Ian decided it would be good to have an unbiased witness to provide testimony to the Elders if they decided to put Vincent on trial. Rafael seemed to despise everyone, so perhaps in a way he was unbiased. Either way, his critical gaze on every move she made compelled her to excel at her training, if only to spite him.

  As Burnrath House came into view, her heart once more became heavy. The nightly hunts and training did much to distract her from Vincent’s impending verdict from the Elders…and his distant manner.

  To add salt to the wound, Miss Hobson had arrived only yesterday evening, with Emma in tow, practically glowing with giddy cheer. “Lord Deveril told me of your engagement. I am so pleased that you managed to land the biggest catch of the Season!”

  Lydia forced a pained smile as the chaperone prattled on about wedding plans.

  It had been agony to feign girlish enthusiasm in the face of the dreadful truth. A wedding was highly unlikely, even if Vincent had wanted to marry her. He could be dead in a matter of weeks. And if the Elders were merciful and allowed him to live, they might not allow her to return to Cornwall with him. She was a London vampire from the moment Vincent put her in Angelica’s hands. Rafe had made that clear.

  That also meant that once Rafe took over as Lord of London, he would be Lydia’s master. Though he had been fair in his observations of her training, she couldn’t help quavering in terror at the thought of being under the rule of such an ill-tempered man.

  With leaden steps, she followed the Spaniard and the duchess into the house. Only days ago Lydia would have been ecstatic at the prospect of planning her wedding to Vincent. Now she felt only an echoing chord of dread intermingled with guilt at trapping the man she loved.

  The butler took their coats and turned to Angelica with a cough. “A Miss Sally and Miss Maria Sidwell are here. They claim to have an appointment for a dress fitting for Miss Price, though I was uninformed of the fact. I placed them in the parlor.”

  Angelica and Rafe exchanged a pointed look. He scowled, and she shook her head. “Thank you, Burke. Come along, Lydia.”

  “Deveril will hear of this appointment,” Rafe grumbled and stalked up the stairs to Ian’s study.

  Puzzled, Lydia followed Angelica. What were her dressmakers doing here? She didn’t have a dress fitting scheduled until Wednesday.

  Once they entered the parlor, everything became clear. The seamstresses grinned at her, revealing their fangs.

  “Oh, my God,” Lydia gasped. “That is why you only did my fittings at night. Is everyone around me a vampire?”

  Maria nodded. “Yes, and when we heard that Lord Deveril Changed you, we had to come right away and see how you are faring.”

  “We read the engagement announcement in The Times as well,” Sally added. “We are so happy for you! Deveril is a good Lord Vampire. We’ll have to make you a wedding gown worthy of him.”

  “Thank you.” Lydia’s stomach churned in despair, more from their felicitations than from anyone else’s. They had been with her almost since she arrived in Cornwall and had been the first to learn of her infatuation with Vincent. Which made the fact that he was marrying her against his will all the more agonizing.

  Maria seemed to sense her reluctance and changed the subject. “How are you enduring the Change? I imagine with Deveri
l’s blood in your veins you are quite powerful. How long can you keep a mortal under your spell?”

  Lydia frowned, suspecting the question was more important than it seemed. “I’m not certain. I’ve held them only long enough to take sustenance. Angelica, I mean, Her Grace, is much better at that sort of thing. She used the trick on Miss Hobson and my cousin to brilliant advantage.”

  The sisters scrutinized her intently before exchanging glances.

  “Then we must beg a favor of Her Grace,” Maria declared, sinking into a respectful curtsy.

  Angelica eyed them curiously. “What would that be?”

  “We want to see our mother.”

  “I see.”

  Sally approached the duchess, lower lip trembling. “Please, Your Grace, we haven’t seen her since your husband sent us away from London, and now that she’s retired from the stage, who knows how much time she has left?”

  “Did you consider that I could be in trouble with my husband if I agreed?”

  “Yes, but from what we understand, you are not averse to trouble.”

  Angelica regarded them with an impish smile. “Yes, that is true. And I would so much like to meet the renowned Sarah Siddons.”

  Sarah Siddons…Sally and Maria Siddons… Lydia burst into laughter. There had been something to her suspicions after all. “Sidwell? Good heavens, Vincent could have come up with something better. No wonder you were so interested in Sir Thomas Lawrence.”

  Angelica chuckled. “So you’ve deduced who they really are.”

  “Yes, and this explains the painting of Sally at the Royal Academy.” She turned to Sally. “Tell me, what happened between you and Sir Thomas? Vincent said the tale was not fit for a young lady’s ears.”

  Maria nodded. “Deveril was correct on that account. Thomas, the cad, wooed my sister, then took advantage of my naïveté and betrayed her to court me, even going so far as to gain our father’s permission for my hand in marriage. Then, the moment I became ill with consumption, he forsook me and tried to regain Sally’s affections.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s terrible!” Angelica gasped.