Bite Me, Your Grace (22 page)

Needing her kiss as much as he needed blood to survive, he pressed his lips to hers. “I beg of you, wake. Please, my precious Angel,” he prayed as he held her in his arms. “Wake so I can tell you how sorry I am, and how much I love you. God, I love you.” He couldn't say the words enough. “I love you. I love you.” He repeated the litany over and over again until exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep, still clinging to her with a vow never to let her go again.

Angelica was having the most wonderful dream. It began to fade as consciousness beckoned her senses and she fought to stay within the dream's dark folds. She could feel Ian holding her, his voice echoed through her body, saying over and over again, “I love you.”

Happiness infused every cell of her being at his words. She didn't want to wake up. She wanted to stay in the dream and continue to hear him say it for the rest of eternity. “I love you… I love you.”

Her treacherous eyes opened and she gasped with wonder as she beheld her beloved's sleeping face. The pallor of death had vanished, and his breathing was steady.
Ian
was
alive!
She looked down at his chest. He'd used her dress to make a bandage and, thank God, the wound was no longer bleeding.

He held her in his arms, just like in the dream. A line between his brows said that he would be very irate if made to let her go. But Angelica had no intention of leaving the safe haven of Ian's embrace. She sighed happily and snuggled against him, mindful of his wound and breathed in his long-missed scent.

“Angel, are you awake?” he whispered, his voice cracking with worry.

She tilted her head to look into his bright silver eyes, joy filling her soul that he was alive and didn't hate her. “Yes.”

He squeezed her tighter, though his features were wracked with pain. “Thank God. I was afraid I was going to lose you.”

His words made her wonder if her dream had been real, but she was too afraid to ask. Instead she whispered, “I thought I was going to lose
you
.”

He chuckled weakly. “With the heroic efforts of my avenging Angel to defend my life? I should say not.”

Angelica met his gaze, a playful smile upon her lips. “Well, actually, Loki saved you. He woke me up and led me here just as that horrible man—” She sobered immediately as the memory of the gruesome fight overtook her. “How is your wound?”

“I am healing,” he said evasively.

She frowned. “Really, how bad is it? How close did you come to… to…” She broke off, unable to say the words aloud.

“I came very close,” Ian answered levelly. “The damage to my heart was quite severe. If you hadn't immediately given me your blood, I would have perished.”

Gently, Angelica lifted the bandage to reveal his chest. The wound had shrunk to half its size and the bleeding was reduced to an intermittent trickle. Though heartened at the speed with which he was healing, she didn't want to take any chances and pressed the crumpled ruin of her dress tightly against the hole.

Ian covered her hand with his. “Careful, or the wound will heal around the cloth.” Shaking his head slightly, he added, “Angel, I don't deserve your tender nursing.”

At his gentle words, a lump formed in her throat which was already raw from screaming. “Don't you dare say such an awful thing! If I had published that book, there would have been swarms of hunters after you. I know that now,” she choked, sick with guilt. “You could have been killed and it would have been entirely my fault! I didn't realize the danger. Oh, Ian, I am so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt. Please forgive me.”

“No, Angel. Don't say that. The fault is mine. I never should have burned your book. You didn't intend to ruin me with your writing. It is I who should be demanding your forgiveness.” With excruciating gentleness, he cupped her chin, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw.

She couldn't stop her tears. “Does that mean you are not angry with me anymore?”

“Yes. I was a fool.” The naked pain etched on his features was almost too much to bear.

“Ian, does that mean you won't leave me now, like you did with your other wives?” Long forgotten hope rekindled.

His brows creased in confusion. “Other wives? What other wives?”

“The night of our first ball I heard you talking to Rafe.” Her voice shook in agony at the memory. “Y-you told him you'd leave me and return as your own heir fifty years later… as usual.”

Ian shook his head. “It is usual for me to leave the city and return as my heir every half century, but I assure you I have never had a wife. You are the first, the only.” He kissed her tenderly. “I'll never let you go, Angel. What can I do to atone for the pain I caused you?”

Warm, exquisite relief flooded her at his words. She swallowed and took a deep breath. It was now or never.

Angelica chose her words carefully. “I love you, Ian. Please, make me like you and take me with you wherever you go.” When he didn't immediately protest, she continued. “When we married, I had believed that you were going to Change me and keep me by your side forever. I was heartbroken when I overheard your conversation with your second.” She stopped as a choking sob escaped her lips.

Ian enfolded her in his arms. “Hush, darling, don't cry.”

She pulled away from him, determined to pour out the rest of her explanation. “I never meant to ruin you with my vampire story. I wanted to write a story that showed vampires can be heroes, and…” She drew a ragged breath and dared to speak the long-secret wish. “And perhaps give you the idea that it would be possible for us to have a happy life together.” She fell silent and looked down at her hands, fighting back tears.

The silence seemed to draw out for an eternity. Then he smiled. “How would a trip to Paris sound to a new vampire, my love?”

Fresh tears welled up in Angelica's eyes, but this time they were tears of joy. “Oh, Ian, do you truly mean it? When?”

Ian gathered her into his arms. “As soon as the Elders approve my petition to Change you. That could take anywhere from mere days to a few weeks.”

“Wonderful!” She clasped her hands in joy. “May we get out of this horrid place? I am cold and quite famished.”

Ian shook his head. “I am afraid we are trapped here until sunset.” Frowning, he added, “And you had better close the mausoleum door before the afternoon light makes its way to me.”

Angelica cursed herself for her foolishness. The sun would burn Ian if they left the mausoleum. She should have thought of that. Her head swam and her limbs were heavy and weak as she pulled herself from her husband and made her way back up the stairs. The journey seemed to take an eternity.

When she dragged herself back, her husband lifted her into his lap, easing her sore backside from the hard cold stone. “It won't be as bad as all that, Angel. This is the first uninterrupted time I've had with you in a long time. I am certain we can make the best of the situation.”

They talked until sundown, reconciling and laughing at their foolishness. “I'd thought you were sleeping with another,” Angelica said, fighting the ache the thought still invoked.

Ian raised a brow. “When my every waking thought was consumed by you? When you haunt my dreams every day?
Never.
Who did you think I'd been with?”

Angelica shook her head, wanting the conversation to return to its former coziness. “It's not important. Were you truly still thinking of me, even when you were angry?”

“Yes, always,” Ian said, pulling her closer and yawning. “Would you mind if we rested awhile? My wounds will heal better with the day sleep.”

They lay back down on the slab. Ian cushioning her from most of the stone surface. It seemed Angelica had barely closed her eyes before Ian woke her.

“We must leave now, Angel.” His eyes glowed with unholy hunger. “I need to feed soon, or you will not be safe around me.”

“How are we going to explain what happened to the servants?” Angelica asked worriedly. “They have likely been searching for me since morning.”

Ian frowned. “You are quite right, I fear. There is little hope of hiding the body, then. We will have to act very carefully.”

***

“But why can't
I
be the hero?” Angelica complained as they emerged from the mausoleum, determined to keep up a casual conversation.

Ian shook his head at her temerity. The sight of the vampire hunter's body had made her flinch and gag as the realization that she had killed a man sank in. Ian had shielded her from the corpse, but she was humiliated, thinking she had acted like a ninny. He thought she'd been unbelievably brave.

Angelica dragged the vampire hunter's heavy bag behind her. Ian had wanted to carry it, but she refused to let him since she was still worried about his injury. She'd stuffed her blood-soaked dress in the bag, having no notion how she would explain its condition. The servants would just have to put up with the scandalous sight of her wearing nothing but her underclothes. She winced at the sharp gravel poking her feet through the thin fabric of her house slippers. Ian wished he could carry her, but he lacked the strength.

Ian chuckled, looking up at the night sky. “Because there is no way anyone would believe that my tiny duchess could fight like such a lioness, or that a man of my size would be so vulnerable. Besides,” he added with a wink, “a man must protect his pride at all costs.”

She sighed and threw the bag down a dry well. “Very well, I suppose I must allow you to hold on to your tender pride.”

Ian slid the well's cover back in place, concealing the evidence.

They leaned against each other and staggered toward the back door, both still weak with blood loss. When Ian managed to open the door, he stumbled and almost fell to the floor.

A parlor maid took in their blood-stained clothes and haggard countenances. Angelica's state of undress appeared to go quite unnoticed. A splintery scream escaped from the maid's bloodless lips before she collapsed into a dead faint. Her feather duster bounced from the floor and landed comically on her head.

The butler rushed into the room, followed by the other servants. “Your Graces!” he cried. “What happened?”

Ian trembled as he struggled to keep his footing and still support Angelica. “Fetch the constable,” he commanded Burke. “My wife has been assaulted.”

He handed his duchess off to the housekeeper and her maids, smiling as they cooed and clucked over her like mother hens. Apparently his wasn't the only heart she'd captured.

“Should I send for a doctor as well?” Burke asked, staring at their bloody clothes, his face lined with worry.

“Most of the blood is the assailant's,” Ian said impatiently as white spots appeared in his vision. If he didn't have blood soon… “He is inside the mausoleum, but under no circumstances is he to be moved until the constable is finished with his investigation. I want this horrid affair done and over with as soon as possible.”

He turned toward the stairs and stopped. “On second thought, perhaps a doctor wouldn't be amiss. Do send for one along with the constable, and please be quick about it.”

Once he reached his bedchamber, Ian summoned his valet and mesmerized him before sinking his fangs into the man's throat. He'd vowed never to feed from his servants but this was an emergency, for he would collapse if he didn't get sustenance as soon as possible.

When he had drunk his fill, he released his hold on the valet, noting with remorse that the poor chap was swaying on his feet.

“Are you all right?” Ian asked, afraid he'd taken too much blood. It would undo him if he harmed one under his protection.

“Yes, indeed, Your Grace,” Carson replied, eyes swimming in confusion. “Just a dizzy spell, I am afraid.”

Guilt prickled Ian and he gripped the valet's shoulders to keep him from falling. “Why don't you go to bed, Carson, and I shall finish dressing myself.”

“Are you quite certain, Your Grace?” The poor man looked as if he were on the verge of collapsing at Ian's feet.

Ian nodded. “Yes. I cannot have you falling ill. Take tomorrow off as well, and feel free to ring for anything you need.”

“Thank you very much, Your Grace,” Carson said, and turned toward the door. “It is very queer. I felt fine all day…”

By the time Ian had changed his clothes and returned downstairs, the maids had Angelica changed into a modest dressing robe and had tucked her in a quilt on the couch with a steaming cup of hot chocolate while she awaited the doctor. He noted the scratches and bruises covering her arms from her struggle with the vampire hunter and wished he had killed the bastard himself.

The constable arrived and inspected the body. When questioned, Angelica gave a stellar performance as she narrated the story they had fabricated. Ian could tell by the shocked faces of her captive audience that they believed every word.

“I took my cat, Loki, outside to… take care of his necessities,” she said with a delicate blush. “Then I was grabbed from behind and shoved into the mausoleum… it was a dreadful place!” She began to tremble theatrically as her voice rose in feigned panic. “The man tried to t-take my clothes off! I fought and fought and slashed at him with my letter opener to fend him off, but he took it away from me and held the blade to my throat, threatening to stab me if I did not let him… I thought I was done for!” she gasped. “But my dear husband heard my screams and pulled the beastly man off me. They fought and Ian cut his throat.”

The constable frowned. “But why did you have a letter opener with you?”

Angelica managed a weak smile. “I was reading my letters.”

“At five o'clock in the morning?” he asked doubtfully.

“Oh yes! Early morning is the best time for reading, for the house is so quiet without all the servants underfoot.” Angelica told him as if he were a fool not to grasp such logic.

Ian fought back a smile. Apparently his wife had missed her calling at Drury Lane.

The constable seemed satisfied, for he nodded and then questioned Ian, nodding more as his story corroborated Angelica's.

“I did not intend to kill him,” Ian said ruefully. “But the thought of his filthy hands touching her… I lost control. Will they convict me when it goes to trial, do you think?”