Bite Me, Your Grace (19 page)

He walked into the bedchamber and inhaled the heady aroma of their recent lovemaking. At least he still had that part of her. Ian frowned. But for how long? How long before she followed the example of many a jaded society matron and took a lover? He clenched his fists at the thought of her delectable body entwined with another man's. For some reason, his agony increased at the thought of her laughing with another and sharing her delightful wit… of her gypsy eyes locked on another with all her passion.

He grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at the wall with such force that the soft object exploded. He would have that passion back. As feathers drifted around him like a blizzard, Ian vowed that he would give her nights that she wouldn't forget.

***

Angelica stepped back from Lord Ponsonby yet again—straight into a potted plant. The disgusting lecher had been chasing her around the Pemberlys' entire house, trying to peer down her bodice with his quizzing glass and making not-at-all subtle remarks about how he'd love to make an assignation with her. The raspy touch of the ferns at the back of her neck was infinitely preferable to that of his limpid hands.

“Here, let me assist you, Your Grace,” he drawled, practically panting in lust.

“No thank you.” She righted herself and deftly stepped out of his reach. “Oh, I see the Duchess of Wentworth. It has been ages since I have conversed with her. I must beg your leave.”

She picked up her skirts and dashed away from him before he could reply, not giving a damn what people would think of her unladylike behavior.

“I am flattered that you are in such a hurry to see me,” Jane teased.

“It was Lord Ponsonby,” Angelica said. “He was trying yet again to ‘pay homage' to my beauty, but the words coming out of his mouth sounded more like ribald limericks than poetry. Oh, Jane, the man is beyond loathsome! I have tried my best to dissuade him, but he won't take the hint.”

“Perhaps it is time to stop being polite and give him the cut direct,” the duchess suggested.

“If he were the only cad pestering me, I would, believe me.” Angelica sighed. “But every other gentleman I encounter seems bent on luring me out into the gardens in hopes of taking liberties. Does the fact that I am a married woman mean nothing to anyone?”

Jane laughed. “Oh, it means plenty, Your Grace.” At Angelica's questioning look she continued, whispering behind her fan. “It means that you are no longer a maiden and would perhaps welcome a discreet affair. Still, it is in bad taste that they do not wait until you've produced the requisite heir before they try to put horns on His Grace. But I'm sure that since you are having a quarrel, they consider you to be fair game.”

“We are doing quite well,” Angelica said through gritted teeth.

“If you say so.” Jane's voice was laced with skepticism. “But you should know that I have been married much longer than you, and I am aware of all the signs.”

Suddenly, the duchess's company was less than appealing. Angelica's gaze darted around the room, seeking escape. The balconies were more crowded than the dance floor, and she didn't dare seek refuge in the gardens, for Ponsonby or some other fool would surely accost her. “I think I should go freshen up,” she murmured, and fled from her friend's side.

Much like her home, the Pemberly mansion had its own water closet. Angelica scorned the wide-mirrored vanities that sported their own powders and perfumes for use by the guests and went into the water closet. She needed to hide. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of excrement mingled with the cloying perfumes that attempted to disguise it.

She put her face in her hands. She wished she'd never come to this ball. Angelica longed to be away from the stifling small talk and the hands and eyes of the lecherous “gentlemen.” More than anything, she longed to be back in her writing room. Her vampire story was taking form in her imagination, holding her enraptured and pulling her away from reality with its siren's song, just as a good story should. But instead of sitting in her haven, blissfully putting pen to paper, she was shut up in a stinking privy, hiding from her peers who drove her mad. She stood up, resolving to take her leave and begin her project straightaway.

The creak of the door opening, along with the trill of feminine laughter, announced that she wasn't alone. Angelica sat back down with a whispered curse.

“I cannot believe she came here alone yet again,” one voice said. “It is a disgrace!”

Another giggled. “Yes, but her actions provide endless amusement for the rest of us. I wonder how many days will pass before we hear of an affair.”

What
awful
vipers!
Angelica felt sorry for the unfortunate victim of the gossip.

“I feel bad for Her Grace,” the first woman said. “I could have sworn that they had a love match.”

Angelica held her breath, suspicion piercing her nerves.
Are
they
speaking
of
me?

“Perhaps it was a love match at first, but after that scandalous party she arranged and that vulgar music she played, who can blame His Grace if his affections turned the other way?”

The voices faded as the women left the room. Angelica emerged from the reeking water closet, cheeks burning. Could her party truly be the reason Ian intended to abandon her? She shook her head. He had not appeared at all displeased with her performance. No, he just didn't love her. Her hand closed around a tin of powder, squeezing the container until the sharp edges bit into her skin as she struggled to get her emotions under control.

It
doesn't matter what these people think. I don't belong with them anyway.

The minute she emerged, Lady Tavistock and Lady Wheaton approached her, along with a few other women. Victoria's lip was curled in an unpleasant smirk.

“It is a pleasure to see you, Your Grace,” Lady Tavistock said with artificial sweetness. “Did His Grace accompany you?”

The titters in the background made Angelica's fists clench. “My husband was unable to escort me this evening. He had a meeting with his business solicitor about one of his shipping ventures,” she lied. “He has been very busy of late. I will be sure to convey your regards to him when next we see one another.”

Victoria laughed. “Ah, an
evening
meeting, you say? Most solicitors are not open at this hour. He must be
very
busy indeed.”

The other women laughed and whispered behind their fans.
How
dare
they
imply
Ian
is
with
a
mistress!
Angelica's vision tinged with red and her hand rose of its own will, ready to slap the mocking smile off the venomous bitch's face.

“The Duke of Burnrath!” the butler announced.

Angelica's hand dropped as the ballroom went silent, all eyes focusing on Ian's tall form as he strode toward her. Her treacherous heart leaped in joy at his unwitting rescue. She suppressed the feeling and tried to behave as if it was nothing less than she expected. Yet, she couldn't help casting a triumphant grin at her audience.

Ian bowed low as he kissed her hand. “Would you care to dance, Your Grace?”

As he whirled her around the dance floor, Angelica was torn between anger and relief at his presence. After all, the only reason she came to these vapid balls was to avoid him. What good would it do if he followed her? And if she had to dance with him and endure his lazy smiles yet again, her resolve to close her heart off to him might just crumble.

“Are you enjoying your evening, Angel?” he asked, his gentle, deep voice pulling at her.

She sighed. “Not particularly.” There was so sense in lying.

“Then may I escort you home? I know another dance we could do.” His lips curved in a wicked smile. “But it is one best done in private.”

Her knees went weak as desire speared her. “Yes, Your Grace.”

She allowed him to lead her from the dance floor and said her good-byes. The false sincerity in people's voices as they wished them well rankled. Angelica decided she'd had enough of society for the time being. For now she would focus on her writing and her small literary gatherings.

On the ride home, her mind spun with ideas for her novel—that was, until Ian's head lowered to her bodice and his lips caressed the tops of her breasts. The writing would have to come later.

“My suspicions were correct!” the vampire hunter cried in elation. “The Duke of Burnrath
is
a vampire. But how did you come upon this knowledge, miss?”

Rosetta feigned a tragic sigh as she huddled in a dark corner so the lamplight would not reveal her pallor. “He bit me once when I worked as a maid in his household.”

His eyes widened. “How ever did you escape?”

“My husband, the coachman, rescued me,” she said, shivering and trying not to scratch at her blonde wig. The monstrosity itched terribly. “I never saw him after that.”

The hunter reached to pat her hand in false sympathy, unable to hide the predatory look in his muddy eyes. Rosetta got up and began to pace, avoiding his touch. This was a dangerous game she was playing. If he discovered who he was dealing with, the tables would turn on her with deadly swiftness. And if the Lord of London found out about her scheme, God help her.

The hunter's hand rested awkwardly on the table with nothing to grasp. “You need not fear for much longer, miss. I am experienced in these matters, and since his location is known, I do not need to waste time hunting him down. Certainly it will not take me long to dispatch him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Now as much as I would gladly rid the world of these unholy monsters without receiving compensation, I do need to eat. Do you have my fee?”

Rosetta resisted the urge to snarl at this sanctimonious cretin. She wondered how deluded a man had to be to consider himself “holy.” She tossed him a purse full of coins. “Here is five hundred pounds. I will give you the rest after you slay him.”

After Flannigan departed, Rosetta heated water for a bath, hoping to cleanse herself of the filth his presence had left on her. She wondered if this corruption was worth such a loathsome price. She lifted her chin as she poured boiling water into the tub.
For
the
safety
of
my
love, anything is worth the effort!
Still, she refrained from telling John. It wouldn't do to worry him.

***

As June neared its conclusion, the social season rose to a furious peak. All of the nobility was awash with preparations for King George's coronation, set for the nineteenth of July.

Angelica hardly noticed. She was engulfed in the plot of her novel. She worked night and day, dark smudges forming under her eyes from lack of sleep, and ink stains saturating her fingers. She declined all social invitations, not caring whether or not she offended anyone. Besides, all everyone talked about was the new act the King tried to have Parliament pass, which was in reality a petition to divorce from his wife, Caroline of Brunswick. Angelica was sick to death of the raging gossip, though she pitied the Queen. It was absolute hypocrisy that George—or Prinny, as he was so idiotically called—would accuse Queen Caroline of adultery when he flaunted his mistresses before the country and would likely mount anything that could accommodate his heavy form.

When Angelica took the carriage out, it was not for a new parasol or other such frippery, but to bookstores and libraries to research the time of King Henry VIII. She decided that such a setting for her book could be most potent without casting suspicion on her husband.

The
Vampyre's Bride
was a tale in which a beautiful noblewoman sought an advantageous marriage to escape the king's lustful advances. When she spied a tall, dark, and handsome man, recently given an earldom by the king, she decided that he was the perfect quarry. After she tricked him into compromising her and thus being obliged to wed her, she discovered that he was a vampire. At first she was afraid of him, but she quickly learned that though he drank blood, he was no less of a gentleman. Awash with guilt about her trickery and charmed by her husband, she fell in love with him, despite his subtle attempts to get rid of her.

Had
this
vampire
also
had
numerous
wives
in
the
past?
Angelica frowned and shook her head vehemently. No, she couldn't bear the thought. This was her story and she would give it much more hope than her own.

Angelica poured out the lovers' struggle onto numerous pages. Although the plot and characters came easily, the historical details were difficult to fit in, and the books she found only revealed so much.

“If only I could ask Ian,” she groaned, grinding out another cheroot. Many of the writers and women of the fast set she associated with smoked. It hadn't been long before she picked up the habit.

She stood and stretched, wincing as her muscles screamed from being in the same position for hours. A wave of dizziness struck her, and she realized that she'd not only missed lunch, but teatime as well. As if to confirm her conclusion, her stomach growled. As much as she longed to continue writing, she needed to take a break and eat something. She cast one last mournful look at the pages of her work, resplendent in the lamplight, and left the smoky room.

The stairs made her dizzy again, and she swayed, clutching the banister.

“Are you all right, Angel?” Ian's voice, low and gentle, stirred her heart anew.

“I am quite all right,” she said, the hold on her composure around him turning more brittle every day. “I just had a small dizzy spell. I was so busy working on this story that I completely forgot luncheon.” She managed a self-deprecating smile.

He took her arm and helped her down the stairs. Angelica shivered at the contact even as her heart bled.
If
only
we
could
go
back
to
how
we
were
before. If only he really cared.

“Burke!” Ian roared, eyes glowing inhumanly.

The butler scurried in immediately. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Why didn't you inform the duchess that it was time for her luncheon?” His tone promised horrible retribution if the answer was not to his satisfaction.

Burke opened his mouth to answer, but Angelica interjected, “I
was
informed. I just ignored the notification.”

The duke seemed to calm a bit, though he still growled with suppressed rage. “Still, you should not have allowed her to neglect herself.”

She squeezed his arm. “Please, Your Grace, do not be upset with the servants. My orders were very firm that I was not to be disturbed. In fact, I was a veritable dragon about the whole thing. This book has captured all my attention. There is no one to blame for this but myself and my imagination.”

Ian nodded curtly. “Very well. I will join you for dinner.”

At first the meal was more awkward than usual. She hadn't dined with her husband in weeks and he was overly solicitous, insisting that she eat every bite. His paranoia that she would waste away before his eyes eventually became too much for her and she began to laugh.

“If I eat any more of this pudding, you'll have to roll me out of the room, Your Grace.” Her lips twitched in suppressed mirth. “The servants shall start calling us “the Sprats” behind our backs.”

He laughed. “We certainly cannot have that, for our notoriety would spread through the servants' chain of gossip. I can see the White's betting book now: ‘One hundred twenty pounds with two-to-one odds that the Duchess of Burnrath will outweigh her husband by Christmas.'”

“‘Three hundred pounds, five-to-one odds that Her Grace will crash through the floor of the Countess of Pembroke's drawing room,'” she chimed in, giddy with cheer.

Angelica hadn't felt this lighthearted since her ball. Laughing with her husband once more felt so wonderful. When the servants cleared away the dishes, Ian stood up and approached her, eyes smoldering with unmistakable desire.

“We must see if I can still manage to carry you up the stairs,” he whispered.

As they made their way up to their bedchamber, Ian held her with infinite gentleness. His fingers were whisper soft as he removed her dress and underclothes, covering each newly bared section of her flesh with tantalizing kisses. By the time they were naked, Angelica was panting with a half-mad need for him to take her.

But Ian was merciless, kissing and caressing every inch of her form until she practically sobbed to feel him inside her. Then, he entered her with torturous slowness, his thrusts timed perfectly to their mingled heartbeats.

As her passion rose to a furious peak, Angelica mouthed the words, “I love you.” She nearly said the words aloud but then Ian's climax hit, drowning the words to a muffled cry as her orgasm intensified.

“Good God,” Ian gasped as he gathered her into his arms.

She snuggled against his chest and wondered if she should tell him about the novel and perhaps declare her love.
I
will
wait
until
the
story
is
finished, and then I shall tell him
, she decided. Angelica had always been superstitious about sharing her unfinished work, but in this case her sense of caution was doubled. She didn't want to somehow curse the possibility of reconciliation. Her eyes closed and a contented smile played across her lips as she dreamed of him reading her story and falling in love with her, desiring a happy ending like her hero would receive.