by Brooklyn Ann
“Yes.” Rhys continued to avoid her gaze and sipped his tea. “If the subject hasn’t spent too long mired in our world, a vampire as old and powerful as the Lord of Blackpool should be able to make a person forget all about our kind. Few humans are immune to our influence.”
“And if it’s been too long?” Vivian set her tea aside and clenched her fists. Anger and fear suffused her soul. “Or if Madame Renarde is immune?”
Rhys sighed. “I do not know.”
A red haze of fury fell like a curtain over her vision. Vivian launched across the few feet separating them and grasped the lapels of his coat. Hot tea sloshed all over their clothes, but she barely felt the scalding liquid.
“Damn you!” Her fists beat at his chest. “You put my only friend’s life at risk on a pile of unknown assumptions? You are a monster. I thought you returned Madame Renarde to my uncle so that she wouldn’t die from her illness, not so she could face a death sentence for something that is not her fault.”
Rhys grasped her wrists as she struggled and cursed. “I apologize, but you must calm yourself.” His grip was unyielding as iron manacles, but Vivian thrashed against him, blind with rage.
“Calm?” A hysterical laugh bubbled from her lips. “How can I be calm when you’ve told me that you may have sentenced my friend to death?”
She tried to kick him, but he was too quick. He pulled her closer to him and rolled so that he lay atop her, pinning her with his weight. “Be still!”
The shock of this new position knocked the breath from her body. She tried to buck beneath him, but only succeeded in becoming more aware of his solid frame.
“Why did you tell us what you are?” She fought for mental clarity under the dizzying sensation of his body pressed so intimately against hers. “You already held me as a hostage. Why risk our lives?”
Rhys closed his eyes in silent concentration before opening them to meet her gaze. “As I’d told you and Madame Renarde before, your uncle thought he was dealing with a mortal man. Now that he knows his opponent is another vampire, perhaps he’ll take the threat of you being in my care more seriously, especially now that you lack a chaperone.”
“You could have released her without divulging knowledge that endangered us!” Vivian shifted once more, trapped beneath his weight and iron grip on her shoulders. “What would be the difference between the threat of my being ravaged by a man or by vampire?”
She squirmed beneath him once more, then froze as she became aware of his hard length pressed between her thighs. Madame Renarde had told her that men’s members grew large and firm when they were ready for the marital act.
Rhys seemed aware of it too, for he spoke through gritted teeth as if her movement had pained him. “Do not speak of my ravaging you. Not when you’re... not now.”
Was he not going to...? Some strange recklessness overtook her. “Answer my question,” she demanded.
“The difference is that a vampire cannot marry you. Not unless he Changes you into a vampire as well.” Rhys panted with ragged breaths as if he’d been the one struggling rather than her. “And either way, a vampire cannot give you children.”
She frowned in confusion as his erection pulsed between them. “But you’re not... ah... impotent.”
He growled, and his eyes took on that eerie amber glow once more, yet Vivian wasn’t afraid, even when he bared his fangs as he spoke. “Our bodies are capable, but our seed does not take root.” He muttered what sounded like a curse in some foreign language. “You are making it very difficult for me to focus on the point.” His lips brushed against hers so quickly she could have imagined it before he shifted off her and pulled them both back up to a sitting position. “If I release you, will you refrain from trying to pummel me?”
She nodded. Only when he set her beside him and moved his hands from her shoulders did she realize that the bodice of her dress was soaked with spilled tea. Rhys’s shirt was also drenched. She could see the outline of his nipple through the damp fabric.
He turned slightly to conceal the bulge in his trousers and cleared his throat. “As I was saying, your uncle should be concerned that I may take it into my head to make you a vampire.”
“Why, if he will have to turn me into one anyway?” The circular reasoning escaped her. The distraction of his presence had her mind at sixes and sevens. Her gaze narrowed on his face as she tried to avoid looking at his lap. Tried to avoid thinking of the effect their closeness had on him.
“He may be able to avoid turning you.” Rhys handed her a handkerchief to blot at her damp bodice. “But if he did Change you, then you would be a legitimate vampire, under his authority and protection. Whereas, if I did so, you would be a rogue vampire.”
His ominous tone made her shiver. “What is a rogue vampire?”
“Madame Renarde aptly read me,” Rhys said, his face drawn as if confessing something heinous. “A rogue is an outcast among our kind. One who was banished by his lord for committing a crime not deemed severe enough for an immediate death sentence. But in a way, it is still a death sentence for many, because rogues are hunted and killed by most legitimate vampires. Sometimes, they are given a trial by a lord of a territory and even more rarely, granted legitimacy under the new lord. But those who were Changed by rogues do not have that good fortune. They are perceived as worse than bastards, for their Change was not sanctioned by a Lord Vampire.”
Dizziness threatened to overtake her at this influx of information about this society of creatures she’d only just learned about. “What crime did you commit, to be banished by your lord?”
“I continued to disobey him and leave his territory without permission,” Rhys said. “A vampire must always have a writ of passage from his lord before he travels out of a territory. But my former lord would not grant me leave to see my family. He firmly believed that vampires should abandon their mortal descendants. Emily and the children needed me. I had no choice but to go to their aid.”
Vivian’s heart constricted with sympathy. “Your lord exiled you for seeing your family? That is so cruel!”
“Many could see it that way.” Rhys leaned forward, elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his hands. “However, it can also be regarded as pragmatic. Vampires are discouraged from maintaining connections to their human relations because the risk of our secrets being revealed is heightened and brings danger to both the vampire and their kin.” His voice lowered. “Just as I’ve endangered you.”
“And Madame Renarde,” Vivian reminded him sharply. She was still furious and terrified to learn about the implications of that situation even though her companion could have died had she remained in the cave. Then something else niggled in her mind. “But my uncle is a Lord Vampire and he took me under his roof when I created a scandal during my London Season. A Season that he paid for when my last one failed to bring a match.” In fact, she suspected that Uncle had paid for her previous failed Season as well. “Clearly, it is not an anomaly for vampires to care for their families.”
Rhys shrugged. “Not an anomaly, but most certainly a privilege few can afford.”
Undaunted by his cynicism, she pressed for solutions to his problem. “Are vampires permitted to move? To seek another lord?”
“In theory, yes.” His mirthless laugh gave her chills. “But first one’s lord must permit a vampire to seek a new territory. Then the vampire must apply to the lord of the place he wishes to move to and pray for acceptance. Do you think I would not have tried doing so before becoming an outlaw?”
Vivian flinched at his bitter tone. “Your lord refused to allow you to petition to move?”
“Oh, he allowed me to apply.” Again, that bitter laugh erupted. “Yet he refused to provide me with a reference. The vampire who made me gave me one, but it wasn’t good enough. Blackpool and all neighboring Lord Vampires denied my applications with alacrity.”
She sucked in a breath at his words. He’d tried to appeal to Uncle Aldric the honorable way first, but had been turned a
way. Much as she wished she could disapprove of him turning criminal, she could understand his motives. “References? You are like servants!”
“Serfs, more like.” Rhys spat in the fire. “Servants have more rights.”
His anger, justified as it was, alarmed her. Vivian tried to shift the topic. “Tell me about your family.”
As she asked the question, she realized that she was honestly curious about these people who’d inspired such devotion from this vampire.
Rhys’s furious countenance softened at the very mention of his family. “Emily is the strongest, most hard-working woman I know. Sadly, she is also the most soft-hearted, as well. She fell for a scheming ne’er do well who cleaned out her meager dowry and mortgaged her farm before having the good graces to get himself shot for cheating at cards. Yet while he did his utmost to neglect her and drain the farm dry, she has managed the farm on her own and kept up with the payments until a bad harvest set her back. All while raising her children to be honest, honorable, and as industrious as herself.”
Vivian found it fascinating that he praised such qualities that he now lacked. Also, to her surprise, she experienced a pang of envy for his admiration of a widowed farm worker, someone of the lower classes that her father sometimes scorned. The memory of Father’s disdain filled her with distaste. What had she or her father done to earn a living? They may have more wealth than the working class, but that had been inherited. They lacked any noble titles and were considered poor relations by most of Society, which was one of the reasons Vivian had trouble finding a husband.
Perhaps this was the source of ghastly green jealousy fermenting in her belly for this Emily. It couldn’t be anything else. And yet... “How are you and Emily related?”
“She’s the great-great granddaughter of my brother,” Rhys said. “As I look too young to be an uncle, I merely introduced myself to her as my cousin when I attended her wedding. We’ve exchanged letters ever since.”
Vivian’s eyes widened at all the “greats” and she tried not to think about the fact that cousins often married, especially distant ones. “How old are you?”
“One hundred and twenty-six.” Rhys regarded her with a challenging stare as if he expected her to be appalled.
She wasn’t appalled, but she was astonished that he’d been on this earth for over a century. How many kings had he lived through? Three? Or was it four? “You must have seen much change in the world.”
“I have. But now all I wish to see are the insides of my eyelids. It is past dawn and I wish to get out of these wet clothes.” He yawned and stretched, his fangs glistening deadly sharp in the firelight. She thought of all the times he’d covered his mouth before, when laughing or yawning.
Rhys rose from the cot and unbuttoned his shirt. Vivian remained frozen, rapt as his broad, muscular chest was bared to her. A chest that had been pressed against hers not too long ago. She swallowed as her mouth went dry and he turned and cocked his eyebrow. “You are not planning on sleeping in a gown soaked with tea, are you?”
“Of course not!” she left his cot and pulled down the privacy curtain in front of her bed. She pulled her rumpled night shirt out of the trunk where Madame Renarde kept their clothes and immediately encountered a problem. “Ah, Rhys?”
“Yes?”
Heat flooded her face. “I... cannot reach the buttons on this gown.”
He cleared his throat. “Would you like for me to assist you?”
“Please.” Aside from being damp, the garment was too tight in the shoulders and bodice and dreadfully uncomfortable.
He came behind the curtain and she turned her back, not only so he could reach the buttons, but so he wouldn’t see her blush.
His breath was warm on the back of her neck as his fingers worked their way down the multitude of buttons. Though he unfastened the buttons briskly, making as little contact as possible, she shivered at every light touch of his fingers.
“That’s the last one,” he whispered, as he released a button at her lower back. “I’ll leave you to it and build up the fire.”
The moment he left, she felt the cold. Hurriedly, she struggled out of the gown and thanked the heavens that she didn’t have to wrestle with stays. Then she shrugged out of her shift, donned the night shirt, and climbed into the cot.
Wrong as it was, Vivian peered around the curtain to see if Rhys had removed his trousers, and fought back disappointment to see his shadow through the barrier, climbing into his own bed.
As she lay in her cot, watching the light and shadows play across the bamboo curtain and cave walls, she worried about Madame Renarde. Had her uncle fetched a doctor for her, or had he killed her? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, Vivian refused to believe Uncle Aldric would be so cruel, vampire or no. For another, Madame Renarde was exceedingly clever. She would have withheld information to preserve her life, if needed.
Still, Vivian worried. She also felt her companion’s absence in other ways. Without a chaperone, Rhys’s nearness was a palpable thing. In fact, all propriety that had been observed with Madame Renarde’s presence had been abandoned almost immediately. They’d embraced, then she’d tried to pummel him, gotten them both wet with tea, and then he’d been on top of her. He’d kissed her again too. She bit her lip as her lower body pulsed at the memory. And now he’d even helped her undress.
She was already beyond compromised. Yet she could not bring herself to regret it. In fact, she wanted more. Even his bite had been pleasurable.
Was he suffering from the same temptations as she was? Or was it only her blood he craved? Blood, she reminded herself. He was a vampire. He drank blood to survive. That prompted another thought.
“Rhys?”
“What?” he grumbled.
“Is it difficult for you, having me so close?”
She heard what sounded like his fist striking his pillow. “Difficult in what way?”
Her fingers tangled in the hem of her blanket. “Does it make you hungry?”
“Yes. In more ways than one. Now go to sleep, or I’ll bite you.” His bedcovers rustled as his shadow rolled over.
He would do no such thing. Vivian knew it. Unlike Lord Summerly and other so-called gentlemen that she’d known in her life, he would never hurt her, or try to ravage her against her will.
As her eyes closed, it occurred to her that it was a sad state of affairs when a vampire could be trusted more than most men to behave himself. And it was completely mad that she wasn’t so certain that she even wanted him to behave.
Chapter Eighteen
The next night, Rhys returned from his hunt in a less than satisfied state. Vivian’s words echoed in his mind as he slapped the newspaper against his hip.
“Is it difficult for you, having me so close? ...Does it make you hungry?”
His cock had hardened immediately when she’d asked those impudent questions and he’d licked his fangs in memory of the sweet taste of her blood. His thirst had been easy to tamp down, but his arousal had stubbornly remained throughout the morning, taunting him with memories of how her soft body had felt beneath his. The pounding of their hearts, the heat of her breath against his ear. The memories had turned to feverish imaginings of stripping off her gown, claiming her lush lips with his own, and their naked bodies entwined on his cot.
For all his admonishments for her to sleep, it had been an eternity before he’d been able to find his own slumber. Only to be tormented by erotic dreams.
By the time darkness had fallen, Rhys had to flee the cave lest he forget his vow to keep Vivian untouched. Slaking his bloodthirst on a tavern wench had only taken the edge off his feverish madness.
And now he had to return to the source of his hellish temptation. Some mad demon within looked forward to it. And to be truthful, Rhys had been lonely, such was the life of a rogue vampire. Having someone to converse with, to read with, and fence with had filled a void within him.
But it was all to end soon. If the Lord of Blackpool agreed to the te
rms of the ransom letter Rhys had sent with Madame Renarde, then Vivian would return home in four nights’ time. An ache burrowed deep in Rhys’s chest even as he cursed himself for the lowest of fools. He would miss her terribly.
When he returned to the cave, Vivian didn’t rush to him and clasp his hands as she had last night. He tried to tamp down disappointment even as his gaze roved over her captivating smile and blushing cheeks. She was pleased to see him. Yet he should not care.
Still, he returned her grin and held up the newspaper. “Guess what I’ve brought?”
Her blue eyes widened, and she clasped her hands together with girlish glee. “More ‘Two Hills?’”
He nodded and drew the paper back when she tried to snatch it from him. “I will only hand it over if you promise to read aloud while I prepare your breakfast. You are not the only one who wishes to know what happened to Constable Daleson.”
“I promise.” Vivian quivered with visible impatience. “Who do you suppose shot him? I think it was the Widow Josephine.”
“Preposterous,” Rhys snorted, though he always enjoyed her theories. Sometimes, she even guessed correctly. “She has no motive.”
“I think that she thinks she does,” Vivian argued. “But we shall see, won’t we?”
Under the spell of her enthusiasm, he handed her the paper and removed a heavy pack from his shoulders containing more food, fresh water, and fuel for the lanterns. As Vivian read, he prepared a breakfast of ham, eggs, and porridge.
She handed him the paper when he offered her the plate and he picked up reading where she left off. To their disappointment, the mystery was not solved in this issue. Instead, they were left with more questions.
“Who was that large apparition who visited the constable?” Vivian asked when he set the paper aside. “Do you suppose he was a dream, or could he be one of the fairy folk?”
They speculated for at least a quarter hour, and then spent even longer trying to parse the riddles the apparition had told the constable.