Bite Me, Your Grace (9 page)

As Angelica placed her hand on Ian's sleeve, she felt his arm flex much like the other young suitors did while always trying to impress her. She nibbled her lower lip and wondered how much of him was a man and how much was a vampire.

The garden glimmered with haunting beauty in the moonlight. Angelica inhaled the scent of early blooming lilacs and lifted her face to the cool evening air. As the duke walked silently beside her, she couldn't help but notice that the nocturnal surroundings fit him perfectly.

“The moonlight suits you, Angel.” His deep voice was a soft rumble against her ear.

She stiffened at the warm sensation his familiar address elicited and removed her hand from his arm and stepped back. “Your Grace, would it be possible for you to cry off this engagement?” She hurried on before he could reply. “I mean, now that everyone knows you are willing to marry, surely that is enough to save your reputation. We do not really have to go through with this, do we?”

“Alas, you are wrong.” His tone was cold, matter-of-fact. “They would never believe I am a normal man unless we see this through to the end. If we broke the engagement, both of our reputations would be worse off than they were before.” He walked toward her, not stopping until their bodies nearly touched.

Angelica couldn't keep the panic from rising in her voice at his proximity. “But—”

He cupped her chin in his hand, making her shiver at his touch. “As I promised you before, you do not need to be afraid of me. I will not hurt you. If you give yourself the chance to get to know me, you will see that I will be a generous husband.”

Angelica was
not
afraid of him, but she seized the excuse like a lifeline. She stepped back once more to plead her case. “Could you at least give me some time to get accustomed to the idea and get to know you before we are wed?”

He sighed and nodded with obvious reluctance. “Within reason.”

“One year?” she asked in the sweetest voice she could manage.

His silver gaze glinted as he frowned. “One month.”

“Six months?” she ventured, struggling to maintain her saccharine, imploring tone.

“One month,” he repeated. His arms crossed over his broad chest as his frown deepened.

“Four months?” Angelica begged, hating the desperation in her voice. But she needed time to devise a plan on how to get out of this predicament.

“
One
month.” His tone was firm, implacable, autocratic. And there was something unnerving about the way he looked at her, as if he knew she sought escape.

She sighed, exhausted with his refusal to yield. “You will negotiate with my father, but not with me. Some suitor you are!” Biting back her temper, she gentled her voice. “Six weeks,
please
?”

Burnrath nodded. “Very well, six weeks it is.” He smiled suddenly and a small dimple appeared in his cheek. “I suppose I should take the time to court you properly. Now, let's seal the bargain with a kiss.”

He grasped her shoulders, but Angelica stepped back. The idea of his lips on hers made her knees turn to water and her stomach leap around in the most alarming manner. “A-a handshake should suffice, I think.”

His rich laughter overwhelmed her senses. “Come now, you are to be my bride. No kiss, no bargain, my beauty,” he challenged. “Do not tell me you are afraid.”

Angelica lifted her chin. Hell if he would call her a coward! “Very well.” She stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek, shocked at the thrill rushing up her spine at that small contact. He smelled of exotic spices. “D-do we have a bargain then?” she asked, hating how her voice shook.

The vampire's eyes seemed to glow dangerously. With a low growl, he pulled her into his arms. She gasped at the feel of the warm steel bands holding her to his large, hard body. “That is not what I had in mind.”

Keeping his arm around her, he stroked her back as he tipped her chin up with his other hand to meet his smoldering silver gaze. With one finger, he lightly traced her cheek before tangling his fingers in her hair.

The vampire's breath was warm on her face as he whispered, “This is a kiss.”

His lips came down upon hers, feather soft at first then increasing in pressure as they molded to her mouth. Angelica pressed her hands against his chest, intending to push away from his grasp. But the feel of his hard, muscled form against her body and the light brush of his silken hair against her ear brought heat to her cheeks. Against her will, her fingers relinquished their objection. Frissons of sensation engulfed her, and her arms unconsciously crept up around him, clinging to him for support, for her legs had lost their strength. A low moan emerged from her throat and he captured it, his breath mingling with hers.

The tip of his tongue touched hers and one of his fangs grazed her lip. She jumped at the spark. The vampire released her, panting hoarsely. His eyes glowed with an unholy, silver light.

“
My
God
,” he said. “I'm sorry, Angel, I did not mean to take things so far.”

“I am quite all right,” she said, her mind swimming. “W-we should go back inside now.” Her legs trembled as she walked with him in silence back to the house.

The duke straightened his cravat before opening the door. “I will tell your father the wedding will be in six weeks. Tomorrow I will escort you to the opera. Be ready at seven o'clock.”

He bowed and left her standing at the foot of the stairs with trembling limbs and tingling lips. As the sound of muted voices drifted down from the study, her mother came in from the salon to see Angelica standing silent in the dark.

“Are you all right, dear?” The words were nearly obscured by the thudding of her heart.

“I think so.” Angelica met her mother's concerned gaze and couldn't help pouring out a little of her frustration. “This is all happening so fast.”

Margaret smiled and enfolded her daughter in her arms. “I am so proud of you, dear heart. My own daughter, a duchess! It is a dream come true.”

Angelica blinked at the outpouring of affection and warmth. Still, her mother's uncharacteristic behavior was preferable to questions about her time alone with the duke. “He is taking me to the opera tomorrow,” she said with a forced smile.

“That is wonderful!” Margaret clasped her hands together. “Now, you had best get to bed. I do not want to see any dark circles under your eyes.”

As Angelica headed upstairs, absently touching her swollen lips, she realized that she had forgotten to ask the duke about vampires.

“Damn,” she muttered bitterly as a thousand questions sprang to her mind. “Well, at least I have six weeks to do so.”

And in the meantime she would do everything in her power to forget the intensity of his kiss.

The Duke of Burnrath's whirlwind courtship with the Winthrop heiress treated the
haut
ton
to the most delicious gossip of the season. Like vultures with fresh carrion, they savored each tidbit more fervently than the last. A group of society's most titled matrons gathered at Lady Crenshaw's town house for afternoon tea and to discuss the engagement… and the latest caricature of His Grace, which had begun circulating only that morning.

The caption read: “The vampyre pursues his prey.” Though Burnrath and his bride-to-be were not identified, the artist, who was nearly as skilled as Cruikshank himself, had done an amusing job depicting the duke's unconventional long hair and piercing silver eyes.

The figure towered over the tiny caricature of Miss Winthrop. Comical daggerlike fangs protruded from the duke's mouth, and the words, “What big teeth you have, Your Grace,” were drawn bubbling out from Angelica's lips.

The Duchess of Wentworth thrust the drawing away when the lampoon came to her. “I haven't seen anything in poorer taste since Rowlandson mocked poor Queen Caroline.” Her nose turned up in disgust.

Lady Pillsbury looked at the picture and shuddered. “Those teeth are ghastly. Do you suppose the rumors could be true?”

“Not for a second!” Her Grace declared. “Burnrath is a close friend of my husband, and you know my dear Alex takes utmost care about whom he associates with.”

“Perhaps they are true.” Lady Crenshaw ignored the duchess and turned to Lady Pillsbury. “I wonder that we never see them driving through Hyde Park in the mornings or attending any other function during the day.”

The duchess sighed in exasperation. “He has a dreadful skin condition that prevents him from exposure to the sun. My husband heard it from the duke himself.”

“Or maybe he
is
a vampire.” Lady Crenshaw set down her teacup with a clatter, fixing them all with a fierce glare. “I hear that even the
wedding
will be held at night.”

“The groom can hardly appear before the bride with a skin eruption,” Lady Pillsbury put in as she nibbled a biscuit. “Still, a nighttime wedding… whoever heard of such a thing? There will hardly be time for the ball, and… well…” She trailed off, cheeks burning as she realized she had come close to discussing the bedding.

“Oh, I am quite certain they had time for
that
already,” Lady Crenshaw said scathingly as she opened her fan. “The wedding is to be performed in only six weeks. Scandalous! And of all the girls that were available to him, he had to settle on that strange baggage. If we had known that he was going to defy tradition and select an English bride, why, he could have had the pick of the finest blood in the country! After all, my daughter—”

“But surely you are relieved that she is safe from the attentions of a vampire?” Lady Pillsbury asked, perplexed.

Lady Crenshaw snorted. “At the cost of the loss of such a lofty title? Are you mad?” She shook her head. “You only have a son, so you could never understand what a trial one endures in trying to make a good match for a daughter.”

The Duchess of Wentworth smirked at the woman's contradictory behavior, motivated by greed. Lady Crenshaw could not hide her venomous envy that her daughter had failed to nab the title of Duchess of Burnrath.

***

Ian smiled with triumph as he looked upon the betting book at White's. Most of the wagers against him had been retracted. After Angelica became his bride, he had every confidence that the rumors that the Duke of Burnrath was a bloodsucking fiend would be regarded as a silly jest.

“I say, Burnrath, care to join us in a game of piquet?” Baron Wheaton asked, carefully pointing his gaze away from the betting book.

Ian hid a smile, wondering which of the vampire wagers had been penned by the baron. “I'm afraid I do not have the time. I only stopped in to place a wager on Wentworth's horse before I must leave to call on Miss Winthrop.” He turned away, eager to leave the club. He had only decided to come because his first meal for the evening had been nearby.

Wheaton clapped him on the shoulder. “I say, old chap, we never believed you would ever become leg-shackled, but I think you made a good choice. She is a stunning beauty, and the Pendlebur estate is not too shabby, either.” The naked greed on his face was almost laughable in its lack of subtlety.

Ian pretended not to hear the baron and left the club with only a curt nod to his acquaintances. He'd learned what he needed and had no desire to linger and socialize, for in minutes he would be in the company of his soon-to-be bride.

He took a deep breath of the early spring air, a relief from the smoke-ridden atmosphere of White's. Ian found that he enjoyed courting a beautiful young lady. Angelica was an engaging companion whose droll wit and heady vitality made him feel like a mortal man again. Her captivating combination of naivety and curiosity endeared her more to him with each encounter. And every kiss he stole from her made him burn and long for more. His body grew stiff and uncomfortable just thinking about her, and he knew that he would have to exercise utmost caution and restraint to not fall upon her like a ravening beast when he finally bedded her.

At the Winthrop's town house that evening, his fiancée pouted when he immediately adjourned to Jacob Winthrop's study for brandy and cigars after dinner. Ian hid a smile. Perhaps she would miss him.

Maybe her fear of him was slowly abating. But he could sense she was still holding something back from him, and Ian was damned if he could figure out what was going on in her captivating mind.

“Shall you play me a song?” Ian asked as he and Jacob rejoined Angelica and her mother in the music salon.

Angelica's face lit up with an impish grin. “Certainly, Your Grace.”

As she settled herself gracefully on the bench before the piano, Ian noted with amusement that Margaret looked panic stricken and seemed to be trying to send her daughter discreet warning signals.
What
stunt
is
she
trying
to
pull
now, I wonder?

All thoughts ceased as she struck a haunting melody on the keys and began to sing. Ian had to agree with her mother that Angelica's voice was not at all the light trilling or the ethereal whisper that one came to expect from accomplished singers of the petticoat line. But Angelica's singing was not unpleasant. Instead her voice was rich, full bodied, and robust, like the finest burgundy.

The song was not the typical vapid nonsense smiled upon by society, but rather a song of a passionate woman, enraged and despairing of being seen for who she was. The piece was unlike anything he'd ever heard. She delivered the emotional dialogue of the lyrics with the drama one would usually find on Drury Lane, not in a modest music room.

When the song ended, Angelica turned from the instrument and fixed him with that challenging stare he had grown to love. Her chin lifted another fraction. “Did you enjoy the song, Your Grace?”

Ian cast an amused glance at Lady Margaret, who was fumbling for her smelling salts. He stood up, clapping heartily. “Bravo! That was the most captivating performance I have heard in ages.”

Angelica's onyx eyes narrowed in fury. Apparently she'd expected him to be scandalized. “Would you like to hear another?”

“By all means, Miss Winthrop,” he said with a satisfied smile.

“Perhaps Your Grace would like to hear some Beethoven instead?” Jacob asked, casting worried looks at his wife's pale face.

“I would love to play a Beethoven piece, Papa,” she replied, ignoring Ian.

Ian sighed, expecting to hear the “Moonlight Sonata” or something else he'd heard dozens of times, but he was shocked when Angelica plunged into Beethoven's
Appassionata.
His surprise was not because the sonata was one of the most emotional and complex pieces ever to reach his ears, but because he doubted a slip of a girl could produce the intricate melodies through the work's entire twenty-five minutes. Only concert pianists attempted this piece. Perhaps she meant to fail at the endeavor to deter him.

She played the sonata perfectly and with such a jaunty flair that he couldn't keep an admiring chuckle from escaping. Margaret and Jacob's eyes nearly bulged out of their heads. From the stunned expressions on her parents' faces, Ian presumed they had never heard her perform this one. It seemed he would be wedding an incredibly talented woman.

***

Angelica wanted to scream in fury at the thunderous applause that the duke and her parents heaped upon her.
A
gentleman
is
always
displeased
when
a
lady
shows
herself
to
be
more
intelligent
or
talented
than
he
is.
Angelica noted the naked admiration in Burnrath's eyes. Apparently Mother's commandments were wrong yet again. In fact, everything she did to try to make him dislike her seemed to accomplish just the opposite.

She didn't know how much longer she could withstand those lazy smiles he bestowed on her that made her heart turn over in her chest. Or pretend indifference to his kisses that left her feeling breathless. If his seduction continued, she would throw her freedom to the wind before long and joyfully become his duchess.

“Where would you like me to escort you tomorrow?” Burnrath asked as they strolled through the garden.

Angelica suppressed a tremor of anticipation for his impending kisses. Instead, she forced her attention on a wicked idea that niggled at her mind. Last week, she'd enjoyed seeing the opera and being swept under the music's spell. And though she could tell he didn't completely enjoy some of the balls he had escorted her to, the duke didn't appear to despise them. There had to be something she could make him do that he would hate.

“Tomorrow is Wednesday. Could we go to Almack's?” she asked, trying to imbue her tone with innocent enthusiasm.

Unless they were desperate for a young bride, the older, more urbane set would rather die than step into that dull establishment with its tepid tea, paltry gambling stakes, and carnivorous matchmaking mamas.

Burnrath raised his eyes heavenward as he tried—and failed—to mask his look of dismay. “Very well. If that is what you wish. I will pick you up at nine o'clock.”

She almost laughed at his ire, until she realized that she'd be punishing herself along with him. She
hated
Almack's. The “fashionable” assembly hall had to be the stiffest, blandest, and most repressive place in the world. But, going there would be worth it to deter his suit.

She kicked a pebble on the ground and changed the subject. “How old are you?”

He gave her an odd look, almost as if the question embarrassed him. “Are you certain you wish to know?”

“Of course.” Angelica frowned in confusion at his reluctance. She knew he was older than she was, but he couldn't be much more than thirty.

Avoiding her gaze, the duke replied, “I just had my two hundred and seventy-sixth birthday a few months back.”

All the breath fled from her body. He was
two
hundred
and
seventy-six
years old? “H-how long do vampires usually live?”

He sat on the stone bench by the lilac bush and sighed. “We live for centuries. In fact, rumor has it that the oldest of us has been around since before Christ was born. Is this to be an interrogation?” He looked up at her sharply.

Angelica was reeling from the information, so she almost didn't notice the flicker of warmth in his eyes when she sat down next to him. “No—yes… perhaps. I am merely curious.”

His gaze softened as he nodded. “Well, I suppose you have the right to know. Ask your questions about me and my brethren, and I'll answer what I can.”

“How many vampires are there?” She couldn't hide her rapt fascination.

Burnrath shrugged. “In the world? I haven't the faintest notion. In London there are one hundred and thirty-five.”

Angelica's eyes widened at the exact tally. “Do you
know
all of them?”

“Of course I do. I am their lord.” He smiled down at her, displaying that charming dimple. “I am afraid that you are in more illustrious company than you first supposed. In the mortal world, I am merely the Duke of Burnrath and the owner of four estates. In the vampire world, I own all of London. Every vampire who lives in this city has sworn fealty to me.”

She was stunned silent by his words. The idea that vampires had their own social structure and politics had never crossed her mind. She had always pictured them as solitary creatures, skulking in the shadows. Her mind raced with multitudes of questions that she couldn't quite put into words. His eyes seemed to glitter with impatience, so she quickly fumbled for another question.

“How did you become a vampire?” She turned away from his piercing gaze and bent to pluck a blade of new grass from the ground.

He was silent for a long moment before at last he replied, “I was a knight in King Henry's army, and I fell on the field during what is now known as the Battle of Ancrum Moor in the year 1545, during the ‘rough wooing.' Do you know much about it?”

“That was back when Henry the Eighth was attacking Scotland in an effort to force them to make an alliance with England.” Angelica sneered. “What a tyrant! I am glad the Scots won.”

The duke chuckled. “Careful, my sweet, you come close to speaking treason.”

She blushed as she realized that he had been fighting on Henry's side. “I did not mean—”

“You are right, Angel,” he said, still laughing. “He was a tyrant, indeed. Anyway, my horse was hit with an arrow, and I was thrown and knocked unconscious. When I awoke, night had fallen, and a lone Scotsman approached me. I thought he was a soldier until I saw his glowing green eyes and bared fangs. In a trice, he was upon me, tearing my throat with his fangs and gulping my blood. I would have died if another vampire had not stopped him.”