Bite Me, Your Grace (11 page)

Ben sighed as he mentally calculated his remaining funds. If things kept on the way they were, he would only have enough money left to remain in this decadent city for two more months, three perhaps, if he scrimped carefully. Surely he could get closer to his quarry by then. He had to, for the duke's wedding was in only three weeks.

As he doused the vampire's smoldering ashes with his remaining jug of holy water, Ben straightened his shoulders in determination. He was a vampire hunter, and by all that was holy, he would do his God-given duty with no further sniveling. A young lady's life—and soul—might very well depend on it.

Angelica groaned as the carriage lurched and bounced on the rutted country road. Pendlebur Park was only a two-hour drive from the city, yet already every part of her body felt bruised and battered. She sighed and flipped through a newspaper. Truly, this trip could not have come at a better time. Everyone and their servants had already heard about her incident at Almack's.

Lady Dranston had even had the gall to come calling at an uncivilized hour this morning to ask if the engagement had been called off. Angelica hid a smile as she remembered her mother's triumph in relating Ian's side of the story and her final thrust in telling Lady Dranston about their trip to inform the Earl of Pendlebur about the upcoming nuptials.

“Put down that newspaper,” Margaret admonished. “If you keep trying to read that rag with all this bouncing around, you will get the devil of a headache.”

Angelica heaved another sigh and reluctantly obeyed. The advertisements for rooms for rent were blurring in her vision with every bump and sway of the carriage, and what she had managed to read was not encouraging. The cheapest rooms she could find were still far too expensive. Even with the average salary she could expect if she sold a new story every month, paying for food, clothing, and writing materials would be difficult.

A niggling voice in the back of her mind whispered that running away was a very bad idea. The cost of living in London, as portrayed in the newspaper advertisements, seemed to echo the warning. While the carriage rolled up the drive toward Pendlebur Park, her optimism sank as memories of previous visits to this cold place and its chilly owner came back to her.

Margaret retrieved her hand mirror and began making adjustments to her gown and coiffure. Her shoulders lifted and her already perfect posture became almost grotesquely straight as she forced her body to an angle that looked agonizing and impossible.

Angelica sighed and straightened her spine just as her mother seized her shoulders and forced her into the same uncomfortable position. This was only the beginning of the ritual torture that a visit to Grandfather's house entailed.

“Lift your chin a little higher,” Margaret commanded, panic creeping into her voice. “And stop pouting. A future duchess does not pout.”

Every time she and her mother visited the Earl of Pendlebur, who may as well have been the King of England for all the fuss involved, Angelica felt as if she were being picked apart and crushed at the same time. Her mother heaped more than the already unbearable pressure upon her to be a perfect lady, and Angelica could taste the tension between Margaret and the earl as he scrutinized seemingly every hair on Angelica's head in an effort to detect the “common blood” that tainted her and barred her from perfection.

Every time, Angelica broke under the oppressive conditions, either by saying the wrong thing—meaning whatever was really on her mind—or by being caught reading something deemed “inappropriate” in the earl's library. Thus, the visits were always mercifully short.

“I wish Papa could have come with us,” she said despondently.

Margaret sighed. “You know how your grandfather feels about him, Angelica.” Then, she brightened. “Of, course, now that we have made such a brilliant match for you, there could be a chance that your grandfather will soften and give your father an opportunity to get on his good side!”

Angelica managed a wan smile, her feelings warring between hope of reconciliation between her father and the earl, and sickly guilt for her potential role in dashing those hopes when she ran away.

They alighted from the carriage and the butler escorted them to the drawing room. Angelica beheld the grandfather she only saw once a year. Was she mistaken, or were his blue eyes icier, his posture even more ramrod straight, his silver hair more impeccable, and were his weathered features harder and more unyielding? She felt a twinge of pity for her mother. It was hard to imagine her as a little girl, growing up under the stern eye of this cold, implacable widower.

“Margaret,” he said, his voice stern and gravelly. “You are looking well.”

Angelica's mother dropped into a curtsy more suited to the throne room than a country manor. “Thank you, Father. I trust that you are in good health?”

He grunted in what seemed to be assent then turned to Angelica, the ice melting from his eyes and the ghost of a smile hovering on his thin lips. “Ah, here is my lovely granddaughter. I hear your beauty has taken London by storm. I cannot say I am surprised. You are the very image of your sainted grandmother.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” she murmured and curtsied, hiding her ire that he refused to acknowledge that she looked like her father.

This time his smile was unmistakable, and his blue eyes twinkled down at her. “I have also heard that you are to be the Duchess of Burnrath. I am proud of you, my dear. You bring honor to the Pendlebur name. Come, give your grandfather a kiss, and we shall have tea and refreshments once you've changed out of your traveling costumes.”

Her knees shook as she pressed her lips to his parchment cheek. She had never seen the strict Earl of Pendlebur in such good spirits before and found it to be almost unnerving.

As they dined, Angelica wanted to squirm in discomfort as her grandfather regaled them with details of the Duke of Burnrath's lavish estates and vast wealth. “They say he is as rich as Croesus. Everyone expected him to wed outside the country as all the previous dukes of Burnrath have. How ever did you nab him, my dear?”

“I-I do not really know, Grandfather,” she murmured weakly.

“What a pleasing display of modesty, Angelica,” her mother said with a tight smile. She then gave a vastly edited account of the past few weeks' events.

The earl laughed and pounded his cane on the floor. “Whoever would have thought that the Duke of Burnrath would have such a weakness for a damsel in distress? Good show, my dear! Good show!”

Angelica wished she could sink through the floor as she watched her mother and grandfather speaking more companionably than they had in years. For the first time, she could see the girl Margaret used to be, rather than the strict, yet fearful woman who had raised her.

“May I choose one of your horses and take a short ride, Father?” her mother asked after tea. Horses were one of Margaret's passions… yet another difference that widened the chasm between her and Angelica.

“Of course, my dear. I just purchased the most beautiful sorrel mare that I am sure will take your fancy. You may name her, if you wish.” He cleared his throat. “And while you are gone, Angelica and I can have a pleasant little chat about her new beau.”

Her mother and grandfather exchanged a conspiratorial glance before Margaret departed for the stables. The back of Angelica's neck prickled with suspicion. They had planned something. She had no idea how this could be, but somehow they had planned something.

The earl turned to her. “I will wait for you in the library.” He bowed and walked away with brisk strides before she could reply.

Angelica wondered what the earl wanted to “chat” about. She could think of nothing except that perhaps he would lecture her about getting thrown out of Almack's. Oh well, she thought. I may as well endure this ordeal now. She straightened her shoulders and went to the library, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Her grandfather was seated in a plush burgundy wingback chair by the fireplace, with another chair set companionably near his.

“Come in, my dearest,” he said cheerfully, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. “It has been so long since we visited, but that is soon to change.”

“Whatever do you mean, Grandfather?” she said, looking at the gorgeous array of books adorning the shelves, which, at any other time, she would be perusing with the excitement of a child in a sweet shop on Bond Street.

He followed her gaze. “I am leaving you my entire collection, you know.”

Normally she would have jumped up and down at such news. Instead, she merely inclined her head and thanked him quietly.

He nodded in approval at her manners, oblivious to her suspicion. “Yes, I have not forgotten that my library seems to be your favorite place in the world,” the earl continued gruffly. “I am also signing over two of my estates, the dowager cottage in Sherwood for your mother, and for you I will deed my castle in Herefordshire. Because of you and your brilliant match, your mother and I have at last mended fences. Though I was terribly disappointed when she defied me and married a banker, it seems that mixing common blood did not impede you from making wiser choices.”

Angelica bit her tongue to curb an angry retort for the infuriating slur on her father. Her gaze strayed to a letter on the table beside him. She was too far away to read the words but close enough to recognize her mother's handwriting. The earl followed her gaze and frowned.

“Now,” he said with deceptive calm as Angelica braced herself for the forthcoming lecture. “I must speak with you of another matter. Your mother has informed me that you have behaved terribly over the past few months. To my everlasting shame, I hear that you have been gallivanting around in men's clothing and even had the gall to publish two horrid stories under a man's name.”

His eyes spat blue daggers at her. “Despite such crimes, you were fortunate enough to wring an offer of marriage from the country's most desired bachelor. But did you go down on your knees and thank the good Lord for your fortune and repent your disgraceful ways?”

Angelica stared in stunned silence. Why did her mother always conspire against her? She shouldn't be surprised, but her heart still stung from the betrayal. She had never guessed that Margaret would tell Grandfather about her writing.

“No,” the earl continued, giving her the feeling that things were about to get worse. “You did not. Instead I fear you have been doing everything your ungrateful little mind could think of to repel the Duke of Burnrath's suit—discussing unseemly topics and singing inappropriate songs. You even went as far as to get yourself thrown out of Almack's! Now, explain yourself immediately!”

Angelica blurted out without thinking, “I do not wish to wed.”

The earl's face turned a mottled red. “I will tolerate no more of this insolence!” He pounded his cane on the floor. “You
will
marry the duke, and you
will
obey him in everything. If you do
anything
to stop this match, I swear to God I will cut you and your mother off from every shilling I have, and
then
I will use my influence to be sure that your father loses his position at the bank, so you all shall be penniless and on the streets! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Grandfather,” she whispered through numb lips. This “pleasant little chat” had gone so much worse than she'd imagined.

“Now get out of my sight,” he snapped. “I do not wish to see or hear from you until you purge those scandalous thoughts out of your head. I am certain that you inherited them from your worthless father. Blood
always
tells.”

Unable to take anymore, Angelica fled to the guest room and fought the urge to cry. She collapsed on the bed, emotionally drained. All was lost. Even if she did have the means to support herself and run away, she couldn't bear the thought of her father losing his job at the bank. Her mother and the Earl of Pendlebur had won, although Angelica doubted Margaret knew that the earl would sink so low as to threaten his own daughter and her husband to get his way. Angelica could not bring herself to believe that. To think so would kill all the love she had for her mother.

Her fists clenched the rich fabric of her quilt in impotent rage. She was ten kinds of a fool to have thought she could escape. She would have to forget her aspirations of a writing career and wed Ian.

Angelica waited for the suffocating feeling of dread to come at the thought of marriage and was surprised when it didn't.
Ian…
A memory of his silver eyes and tender smile suddenly washed over her, accompanied by a feeling of longing to confide in him. The irony nearly bowled her over.
I
cannot
believe
I
want
comfort
from
the
very
man
whom
I
am
seeking
to
avoid
becoming
leg-shackled to!
A bubble of bitter laughter escaped her lips as she sat up and straightened her hair.

Perhaps
it
will
not
be
so
terrible.
She reached for her handkerchief. As she blew her nose, her head cleared of its panicked grief. She rose from the bed and began to pace the room like a caged tigress. For the first time, Angelica allowed herself to truly think about marrying Ian.

All the things that her mother and grandfather chastised her for had never seemed to bother him. If she married the duke, she would be out from under her mother's thumb and she'd never have to see her cruel grandfather again if she so chose. A rush of glee filled her at the thought. As Angelica circled the bedchamber, she imagined living with Ian at Burnrath House, being alone with him, laughing with him… kissing him…

Angelica lifted her chin and stared out the window, facing the setting sun.
I
will
do
it
.
I
will
marry
the
vampire
duke.
She smiled, overcome by a warm rush of relief that her strenuous inner conflict was at last settled.
Well, I have always been fascinated by Burnrath House.
Now
the
manor
will
be
mine, because I am marrying a vampire!
She giggled at the irony and shivered at the deliciousness of the thought.
I
am
marrying
a
vampire…
She remembered the gleam of his fangs, the feel of his powerful arms around her.