Bite Me, Your Grace (5 page)

By the time the task was complete, the hunter was gasping for breath. He pulled a flask of good Irish whiskey from his pocket and settled back against a tombstone to watch God's light do its work.

Contrary to the legends, a vampire did not burst into flames the moment the body came into contact with the sun's rays. The body's pale visage pinkened as if embarrassed by its predicament, then slowly darkened to a red not unlike that of a boiled lobster. Steam rose from the corpse with a hiss, emphasizing the comparison.

Ben chuckled and raised his flask in a toast to the sun before taking a deep drink. This was his favorite part. The vampire's crimson flesh now began to blacken and crackle. Tendrils of acrid smoke curled up and out of the body. Moments later, the first flames flickered out of the melting eyeballs as well as the thing's nostrils.

Once the body was engulfed in flames, Ben retrieved two large jugs of holy water from his bag. The first he poured out in a circle around the corpse to keep the flames from spreading. The second he would use when the creature had been reduced to ashes.

While he waited, the hunter logged the details of the kill in his journal. His count was now fourteen, one of the highest of all hunters. He was not as pleased with those accomplishments as another might be, however. This vampire, as well as the other that he had destroyed in Windsor, had been a disappointment, no older or craftier than his last thirteen kills. Since he had failed at attaining the priesthood, Ben Flannigan was determined to excel at this profession and it was past time for more challenging quarry.

He rummaged in his pack until he found his tattered copy of “The Vampyre” by John Polidori. Ever since he had read the story, a question had invaded his mind and refused to be ignored. Could a vampire truly pose as a member of the nobility?

The more he thought about it, the more he concluded such a thing was indeed possible. He'd read that those in the ranks of high society engaged in mindless revelry until dawn and then slept the day away during the social season. The rest of their time they spent sequestered on their country estates. A vampire could do very well in such an environment if it were very powerful and extremely clever.

The last line of the story was a whispered echo in the back of his mind, filling him with an odd mixture of dread and predatory titillation: “The guardians hastened to protect Miss Aubrey; but when they arrived, it was too late. Lord Ruthven had disappeared, and Aubrey's sister had glutted the thirst of a VAMPYRE!”

Ah, to face such a clever enemy, to cast off its mask and expose its deception to all before dispatching the abomination back to hell. The thought warmed Ben like the flames of a Yule log. He longed to try his hand at such prey.

Aside from the fact that travel to London, not to mention lodgings, would be costly, Ben had put off his decision to go there for well over a year. After all, facing an ancient vampire would be nothing like the younglings he had slain. His teacher, God rest his soul, had told him such stories.

But now, after fourteen kills, nine of those in the last year, Ben was ready. He could feel it down to the marrow of his very bones.

Angelica blinked in joyous disbelief as she watched the last servant leave Burnrath House for the evening. The maid had left the door ajar! Fate must be smiling down upon her this day. She sent a silent prayer heavenward in thanks for the duke's eccentric policy of leaving his house unstaffed after the day's chores were finished.

Today she would finally get inside the place that had held her imagination in thrall for years. She scooped up her pocket watch from the bureau and checked the time. Liza would be up to wake her from her nap at dark. That would give Angelica nearly two hours to explore the house safely.

With desperate speed, she changed into her men's clothing and packed writing paper and a quill into a sturdy bag. After a few failed attempts with the neckcloth, she cast the linen aside. Not having time for the tiewig, she tucked her hair into a cap. She slowly worked her window open, wincing as the wood frame creaked. Holding her breath, she placed one foot on the rose trellis, then the other, clinging to the window frame for support. She carefully made her way down the trellis, cursing under her breath as the rose thorns poked through and caught at her clothes.

Once she reached the ground, she scanned Rosemead Street through the gate for passersby. Satisfied that the street was empty, she scrambled over the fence, grateful that she wasn't wearing skirts to hamper her already fumbling progress. Angelica straightened her disguise, lifted her chin, and crossed Rosemead to Number 6, Burnrath House, trying to appear casual. Her heart pounded in her ears as she made her way up the cobblestone walkway, forcing every vestige of her will to maintain her casual stride and keep her from breaking into a run.

The Elizabethan mansion looked ominous and imposing even in the waning daylight. Gray clouds overhead made the chimneys cast strange-moving shadows. Carved of sandstone and roofed with slate, the house was in the shape of an enormous letter E turned on its side. Angelica wondered if the design was intended as a tribute to the virgin queen, or if it was merely a sign of the death of the enclosed courtyard structure that had been favored in medieval times.

Her eyes narrowed at the darkening sky.
I
pray
the
rain
holds
back
until
I
return
home. I don't know how I'd explain wet hair to Mother.

After what seemed an eternity, she cautiously opened the front door, holding her breath as she waited to hear a voice cry out, “Intruder!”

The house was silent, dark, and empty. Mouth dry, she closed the door behind her, wishing she'd brought a candle. She let out the breath she was holding and started forward, skin tingling in anticipation.
I
am
inside
Burnrath
House
at
last!
She smiled.
I
wonder
if
I'll encounter any ghosts.
The thought didn't bring as much cheer as anticipated, now that she was within the setting of her fantasies. Instead, tiny shivers raced up and down her arms and legs.

Plush Aubusson carpets covered nearly every inch of the smooth hardwood floors. Ornate furniture from the Renaissance graced the place like somber skeletons. No modern Oriental items for this stately home; however, the duke had gone to the astounding expense of installing gas lamps throughout the place.

Angelica stared at the iron and glass devices in awe. She'd never seen gas lamps outside of the theaters and Pall Mall. They must make the rooms as bright as day. Her fingers trembled with the urge to light one, but she hadn't the slightest idea how to do so. She shook her head, realizing that if she had known, she wouldn't dare, for someone may see her through the large windows.

All stories and legends of haunted houses took place on the upper floors, so with a nervous smile, Angelica darted up the stairs. The long corridor was dark and abandoned, apart from tasteful paintings decorating the walls. Her heart leaped into her throat with every door she opened, then fell in a mixture of relief and disappointment when she saw the empty rooms with sheet-draped furniture. Cobwebs clung to every angle and corner. The stale, musty odors tickled her nose. Still, her eager imagination conjured up howling specters rising out from the fireplaces, angry at having their rest disturbed. The writer in her demanded a story for these ghosts, and while she explored, she named them and constructed the tales of their gruesome murders.

Her imaginary constable was just collapsing into a faint after seeing the blood-drenched ceiling when she found the library.

“Oh my…” Her breath caught suddenly, and a thrill rushed through her body at the vast array of books in the mammoth chamber. The meager light from the windows gleamed on the high shelves and wheeled ladder. Gas lamps stood in every corner of the room, and two overstuffed wingback chairs sat companionably before an elaborate carved marble fireplace. With such light, one could read all night long if she desired. Angelica let out her breath in a reverent sigh. Burnrath's library was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. Like the main room, the library seemed immaculately clean. There was not a cobweb in sight, and the chamber smelled of fresh polish.

The duke must spend all of his time here, she mused, having greater respect for the man, given his obvious love of the written word. She tiptoed to the shelves to see what captured his fancy.

Her eyes squinted in the darkness, but try as she might, she couldn't read the titles. To her dismay, dusk was quickly closing in. She needed to hurry home. With a reluctant sigh, she hurried out of the library, closing the door softly behind her.

As she made her way down the thickly carpeted stairs, she glanced at the paintings of the previous dukes of Burnrath. Something about the paintings gave her pause. There were no portraits of the wives or children. In fact, the pictures were painted when the men were the same age. No doubt another eccentric family tradition, Angelica thought with a snort. Then her brow furrowed in contemplation as she leaned closer to examine each one. Despite the differences in artists' styles and the subjects' clothing, she could almost believe that they were all of the same man.

“How very odd…” she whispered aloud.

Something squeaked and brushed past her ankle. Angelica shrieked and jumped, losing her footing on the stairs. As she tumbled down, pain jarring her from multiple impacts, she saw a small rat scurry away. Shame washed over her for acting like such a ninny. Then everything went black.

***

Ian's eyes snapped open as he heard a thump. There was an intruder in his house.
Who
would
dare?
He lurched to his feet. The blood hunger tinged his vision with red and he grinned.
No
matter, I have an easy meal
. He threw on a pair of black trousers and hurriedly fastened the first few buttons on a white lawn shirt, scorning his boots. He yanked open the secret door and ran up the cellar stairs, licking his fangs in anticipation.

With the silence only a nocturnal hunter could muster, he stalked on quiet feet through the kitchen and into the drawing room. The staircase came into view and so did his culprit, a young, slim boy who had apparently taken a spill and was struggling to sit up. The absence of a stake and the presence of a satchel indicated that this was a common thief who'd invaded his sanctuary, rather than a vexing vampire hunter.

The thief saw him and his black eyes widened in shock. There was something familiar about the boy, but Ian's hunger chased away further speculation. All street urchins looked alike anyhow. He could hear the pounding of the lad's heart and taste the fear on his tongue. Ian inhaled deeply as the thirst within him surged in triumph to be so soon abated.

***

Terror coursed through Angelica as she saw the Duke of Burnrath approach. He seemed carved from shadows, and his eyes glowed molten silver like those of a ferocious beast as he moved ever closer with deadly fluid grace.

“You made a poor selection of a residence to rob, boy,” he whispered. His hair hung in his face, making him appear dangerous and rakish.

Relief flooded her with the realization that he didn't recognize her, and she struggled to gain her feet. Pain erupted in her ankle and Angelica collapsed, watching in helpless trepidation as he slowly stalked nearer. He seized her by her upper arms, and she whimpered at the pressure of his fingertips digging into her flesh. Those inhuman silver eyes locked onto hers, holding her spellbound.

“You will pay a price for your clumsiness, I am afraid.” His sculpted lips parted to reveal gleaming sharp fangs.

A scream caught in her throat as he bent his head toward her. His hair caressed her cheek, smelling of wild spices.

As he sank his teeth into her neck, Angelica's last rational thought before she fainted was:
My God, the duke really is a vampire! What a story that would make…

The second the blood touched his tongue and the delicate perfume of lilacs infused his senses, Ian knew his victim was female. As her life and emotions began to flash through his mind, he realized that he held Angelica Winthrop in his arms. But he could not stop drinking, for his hunger was too strong.
God
, she was sweet!

Out of respect and to avoid getting too close to her, he shut his mind off from hers, only taking her blood and allowing her incredible passion for living to feed him along with her vitality. When he was sated, he released her and bit his finger, using his blood to heal the puncture wounds at her delicate throat and feeling like a monster for touching that pure ivory skin. He hoped she was uninjured from her fall.

Ian scooped her up and carried her to the sitting room, marveling at how light and perfect she felt in his arms. Angelica's cap fell off, letting the dark silken tresses tumble out to caress his chest. The scent of spring flowers wafted from her shining locks. After he lit a lamp and laid his delicate burden on the sofa, his fingers combed through that lovely hair as he felt for lumps. He frowned when he found a small one at the base of her skull.

After he unbuttoned her frayed frock coat, still perplexed as to why she was dressed like a man, he felt for broken bones. Unbidden, his hands lingered on her breasts through her coarse linen shirt before continuing his examination. He felt her buttocks and thighs through her trousers, and his own grew tight as he stiffened with arousal. Ian shook his head to clear it and ran his hands down her calves. When he touched her swelling ankle, she gasped in pain and bolted upright. As her gaze met his and widened with fright, Ian cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten to erase her memory of him feeding on her.

***

Angelica fought to see past the white spots of agony pulsing up from her ankle. Her vision cleared, revealing the Duke of Burnrath poised above her. His silver eyes reflected the brilliant flame of the gas lamp, making him resemble an unholy specter. She opened her mouth to scream, but his hand clamped over her mouth. Her senses swam as his masculine scent enveloped her. She tried to struggle, but she was too weak from blood loss to manage more than a feeble squirm.

“Please, do not scream, Angel,” he said in an unbelievably gentle tone. “I promise not to hurt you. Now, if I let you go, will you be calm and explain what you were doing in my home?”

She nodded, believing him for now. Perhaps it was the sincerity in his voice, or the fact that he called her such a sweet endearment as “Angel.” After all, she could always scream later.

He held up his other hand and fixed her with an intense stare. “I will know if you lie.”

She believed that, too. He released her and she sat up. Her head swam with dizziness, but she remained upright, clinging to the arm of the sofa for support.

“You
bit
me!” she cried in frightened outrage. “You drank my blood!” She placed a hand against her neck, her eyes widening when she realized there was no wound.

To her disbelief, he looked ashamed. That put her at ease more than anything.

“I thought you were a burglar.” He ran his hand through his coal black hair, appearing nervous. “And I am hungry when I wake. Please believe me when I tell you, I never would have drunk from you if I had known your identity.” His brows drew together sternly. “Your clothing did not help matters. Would you be inclined to explain why you were in my house dressed as a male?”

Perhaps her mind was still fuzzy from the blood loss, or perhaps it was the way he'd changed from a frightening monster to a gentleman in mere moments. Her fear abated. As Angelica searched for the right words, the situation suddenly seemed comical and she erupted into giggles. Ian's perplexed expression made her laugh harder.

When she at last composed herself, she said, “You will probably find this to be amusing.”

“I am certain I will be delighted,” he said dryly.

The sight of him lounging back against the sofa cushion with his shirt open sobered her. She had never seen a man's bare chest before, and this glimpse of Burnrath's made her breath catch. Vampire or not, he appeared even more handsome barefoot and disheveled, his lips curved in casual humor.

Fighting to maintain her composure, she explained, “As I told you at the Wentworth ball, I have always wanted to be a writer.”

“Ah, so I am looking at the next Duchess of Devonshire?” His indulgent tone seemed mocking.

Angelica bristled at the assumption. “Just because I am female does not mean I write thinly veiled gossip like
The
Sylph
. I desire to be a gothic authoress, like Mary Shelley.”

His brow rose. “I imagine your mother doesn't approve.”

She was about to retort, but there seemed to be a glint of sympathetic understanding in his eyes. “Yes, I have to hide my stories from her. However,” she added with a lift to her chin, “my father does not object and Liza, my maid, is my most faithful reader.”

“Have you been published yet?” the duke asked with what seemed to be genuine interest.

Angelica nodded. “Yes, though that at first posed a trifle of a challenge, for ‘Angelica Winthrop' was laughed out of the offices of
The
New
Monthly
Magazine
. However, they were quick to welcome ‘Allan Winthrop.'” She smoothed the lapels of her waistcoat and laughed, though she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her feigned mirth.

“Ah, so the reason behind your disguise is becoming clear.” The vampire nodded, eyeing her intently. “But what were you doing in my home?”

Angelica grinned. “Now we come to the amusing part of my tale, Your Grace. I have been fascinated with Burnrath House for many years. With all the odd sounds and coming and goings in the night, as well as the conspicuous absence of servants at such hours, I could only reach one conclusion.”

The duke leaned forward, silver eyes glittering ominously. “And that conclusion was?”

“I believed your house was haunted,” she explained with burning cheeks. “I never imagined this place was haven to a vampire.”

Burnrath's sharp crack of laughter resounded through the chamber.

“So,” Angelica continued, chuckling. “When Colburn offered me double if I could finish another story, I was determined to write one about this house.”

For some reason she left out the part about needing the money to run away to avoid marriage. Though Burnrath was a vampire, he was still a nobleman and would no doubt disapprove of her shirking what he would see as her duty. “And when your maid left the front door ajar,” she explained, “I thought it was the only opportunity I would receive to see the inside of the famous Burnrath House.”

The duke's brow rose. “Your interest in my tomb of a home and things that stalk the night is peculiar. I should think a pretty young thing such as you would be more suited to picking flowers in a sunny meadow.”

Angelica smiled and quoted,

“Sing to me no songs of daylight

For the sun is the enemy of lovers.

Sing instead of shadows and darkness

And memories of midnight.”

“That was Sappho, correct?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I—”

“You are not in the slightest bit afraid of me, are you?” he interrupted, staring at her as if she were an exotic animal.

She regarded him with a measure of surprise, realizing that she was not. “Should I be?” she reasoned aloud. “You are not the soulless creature the myths portray.”

“What makes you say that?” He seemed to be genuinely curious, as if what she thought mattered to him.

Angelica shrugged, unused to a man taking her seriously. “Well, you have a reflection, for one thing.”

The vampire's lips twisted in a wry smile. “A stone has no soul, but if you hold one before a mirror, will it not cast its reflection?”

Angelica's eyes widened in astonishment at his logic and she nodded quickly. Her shoulders hunched as fury radiated within.
Of
course! Even a fool would realize that!

“You are angry and ashamed.” He sounded surprised. “Why?”

Her voice was ragged with self-contempt that she could not conceal. “I should have known that. The logic is stupidly apparent.”

“I do not believe I have ever seen a woman react in such a way over her ignorance.” The duke peered at her like she was an odd curiosity displayed for his entertainment.

His musing tone fueled the conflagration. A small measure of the contempt in her gaze was now directed at him. “Perhaps
they
hide it better than I do.”

Burnrath did not reply and instead continued to stare at her as if he could peer into her soul. Angelica shivered and brought the conversation to a more comfortable topic.

“All that aside, I do think it is now too late to fear you.” She forced an airy lilt to her tone. “After all, I should think if you had meant to kill me by now, you would have.”

The vampire leaned forward. “Death is not your only danger in being alone with me, little Angel.” He was so close that she could feel his breath on her lips, and her body, unbidden, began to tremble. He was going to kiss her! She closed her eyes and…

***

There was a knock at the door.

“Dammit!” Ian growled, leaping up from the sofa as the reality of the situation crashed upon him. “It is my coachman.”

He strode to the door, teeth clenched in irritation at the interruption.

“Your Grace?” Albert inquired, taking in the sight of Ian's open shirt and bare feet. “I thought you were wanting me to take you to your club.”

“My plans have changed,” Ian said, prepared to dismiss the coachman. Then he remembered Angelica's injuries. If she had not awakened so quickly, he could have healed her with his blood, but he didn't dare frighten her further. “Would you be so kind as to fetch a doctor?”

“Why, are you unwell?” Albert asked anxiously.

“It is not for me.” He shut the door in the coachman's face.

His foul mood faded as he returned to the beauty reclining on his sofa. He had never before met anyone as fascinating as Angelica Winthrop. Her passion for her writing humbled him even as the rich descriptions of her stories captivated him. His gaze caressed Angelica's face and form, noting her fine-boned features and luscious lips that caused him to nearly forget himself and capture them in a devouring kiss.

“Is everything all right?” she asked nervously, her fists clenched in her lap.

“I sent for a doctor to see to your ankle, Miss Winthrop,” he said with forced formality even as he longed to return to their engaging conversation.

“Oh. Thank you.” Her long lashes swept her cheeks as if perhaps she regretted the return to propriety.

The cozy spell was broken and they spent the next half hour struggling with stilted small talk, not daring to meet each other's gazes.

The doctor arrived, not batting an eye at the young lady in male garb.

“Miss Winthrop is a neighbor and dear friend of mine.” Ian had worked out a plausible lie. “She had a quarrel with her mother and sought a confidante. Unfortunately, she was so overwrought that she tripped on my doorstep.” He shook his head at the idea of such female silliness, ignoring Angelica's snort of disgust.

“I want you to say she was found on the sidewalk,” Ian concluded. “She is well-bred and I do not want her compromised. You will be well compensated, naturally.”

Dr. Sampson nodded and patted his black medical bag. “Just the thing. Now I shall see to the little patient, and then we may get her home to her worried parents.”

Ian paced the hallway, hoping Angelica's ankle wasn't broken and that her foolish stunt wouldn't get her into too much trouble. As his jaw clenched, he was disturbed about how much he cared, especially with the new concern that she'd reveal his secret. He frowned. Surely she couldn't be so foolish. And if she was, what would he do then? He couldn't kill her, and he sure as hell couldn't Change her.

An hour later, the doctor brought Angelica to the foyer, half carrying her. “Hellloooo again, Your Grace,” she slurred with a silly smile on her lush lips.

“The young lady's ankle is not broken,” Dr. Sampson announced briskly. “But it is badly sprained. I've given her a dose of laudanum, and I will instruct her parents that she must stay off her feet for at least a week. She may have use of a crutch by tomorrow, God willing.” He inclined his head in gratitude as Ian handed him a banknote. “I will take her to the carriage now.”

“Good-bye, Miss Winthrop.” Ian kissed the back of her hand.

“I shall miss you, Your Grace,” Angelica giggled, swaying from the effects of the laudanum. “Even though you bit me.”

The doctor raised a brow, and Ian shrugged his shoulders as if he had no idea what she meant.

He watched as she was loaded into the waiting carriage.
I
think
I
will
miss
you
too, Angel.
Perhaps he would steal a dance when she was healed.

***

Albert, Burnrath's coachman, was able to hold his silence for nearly twenty-four hours. But the news that a young lady of the Quality had been carried out of the duke's house dressed like a boy and with a sprained ankle was too juicy a tidbit to hold in. Especially since the duke himself had been partially undressed. Albert told his current ladylove, who was the Cavendish's parlor maid, while walking with her in the park on her day off.

The maid told Lady Cavendish at her first opportunity. The countess often shared her chocolate bonbons when presented with titillating news. By the next evening, the
ton
was speculating on just who the young lady was. When callers were turned away from the Winthrop house due to Angelica being abed with a sprained ankle, gossip raged through the nobility like wildfire. Since the last news one usually heard was about oneself, the Winthrops and their household were blissfully unaware of their slaughtered reputations.