Desire by Blood (2 page)

Nicodemus Blackburn.

She turned to face him, her heart beating hard against her
breast. As blood rushed out of her head, she felt a bit lightheaded. Where the
viscount and his patrician features were attractive in a very English-gentry
way, Mr. Blackburn was dark and dangerous. If women sighed over the viscount,
they fainted when Blackburn gave them his attention. Cordelia wanted to be the
exception to that rule…but he was heady indeed.

“Yes, Mr. Blackburn?”

“I believe this is my dance.”

For a moment, she didn't respond. She couldn't. Her mind
simply could not formulate a reply. Blackburn, who rarely danced and had been
known for disdaining most of the
ton
,
had just asked her to dance. No. He lied and said she had promised him the
dance.

One black eyebrow rose as she said nothing. The curving of
his lips was enough to pull her out of her trance.

She offered him her hand and turned to Hurst. “If you will
excuse me, my lord.”

Hurst tossed Blackburn a nasty look before offering her a
pleasant smile. “Of course. Perhaps the next waltz?”

She merely smiled but said nothing. Cordelia would make sure
not to be in sight of the viscount again. Blackburn led her out to the floor
and pulled her closer, swinging her into the rhythm of the dance. She drew in a
deep breath. The scent of bay rum filled her senses. That lightheaded feeling
returned.

“A bit of advice, my lady.”

She looked up at Blackburn, trying to keep her wits about
her. Everyone sought information on this man, especially her editor who had
told her to dig into his character and find out just where he got his money.
There were more than a few rumors, one being he was a moneylender. And he was
here, like a ripe peach for the picking. She had a list of questions memorized.
Unfortunately, she found herself staring into his mesmerizing eyes and could
not gather her wits long enough to ask him anything.

It was Blackburn’s fault. His attractiveness did not come
from a trained valet who knew how to dress his employer. He possessed the most
remarkable gray-blue eyes and blacker than midnight hair—worn ruthlessly short
and not a strand out of place. He was put together well, solid. She could feel
his muscles flex as he guided her through the waltz, maneuvering around couples
with ease.

His attractiveness turned heads, but there was more to it
than that. It was the strength she sensed beneath the surface of the polished
veneer. Something about him, dangerous and male, seethed just beneath his
polite façade.
 
It almost made her giddy
to be this close to him.

“Lady Cordelia?”

She blinked. “Yes? Oh, you had advice.”

“You should stay away from the viscount.”

She nodded at his comment. No, not truly a comment. A
command. She didn’t know Blackburn, knew nothing of his family—and he only
could know of the gossip surrounding hers. But for some unknown reason, he felt
the need to tell her what to do. Of all the cheek!

“Whatever do you mean?”

His eyes flashed with irritation as they narrowed. “I mean
the man is trouble. I fear that he is after but one thing in his pursuit of
you.”

Where was the tact Blackburn was famous for? Everyone in the
ton
knew her situation, or thought
they knew. It was much worse than she let people know, otherwise she would
never be invited to these functions. And while everyone attending knew that her
brother was drinking away her inheritance, none of them knew she was so close
to living on the street.

People may gossip about her, but they did not do it in front
of her. Did Blackburn realize he insulted her? Looking at his serious
expression, she thought not. The man actually believed he was helping.

She adopted her most innocent look. “What would that be, Mr.
Blackburn?”

His expression blanked as he studied her. “I beg your
pardon. I was led to believe you were somewhat of a...”

“What, sir?”

Oh, he did not like being put in the corner, but she was
happy to shove the man there. The gall of him to insult her so. Granted, she
was positive Hurst was after her for the reason Blackburn implied, though even
that was odd because the viscount could have his choice of most women of the
ton
—married and unmarried. Why would he
want the Lady Fionna's bastard daughter, who had no dowry and a penchant for
books? His pursuit made little sense. But most men of the
ton
had little sense.

With an aggravated sigh, he maneuvered them through the
French doors and out onto the patio. Light from the ballroom spilled over them
as the cool night air hit her skin, chilling her anger and desire.

Blackburn hesitated, then released her. The dark night
surrounded them, the tension in the air rising. She walked away from him to the
edge of the terrace. “Why ever are we out here?”

When he did not answer, she turned to face him. He placed a
hand on each of his hips and frowned at her. Again. “Stop playing the
simpleton.”

She blinked. “Playing?”

“Lord Hurst is not a well man.”

That was not what she expected to hear. She dropped all pretenses.
“Not well?”

He hesitated. “There have been rumors about him.”

“Indeed. There are rumors about almost every eligible man
here tonight, including you.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “He has certain...tastes that
would shock you.”

“Do you mean he frequents the House of Rod?”

That had his eyebrows rising. “You know of that?”

“Why do you think I accepted your dance? I didn't have to.
After eight years in the
ton
, I am
well aware of how men behave. I know there is something wrong with the
viscount.”

His gaze sharpened. “You do?”

His intense study suddenly made her very wary. It was as if
she were a specimen he was trying to decipher. Blackburn’s attention filled her
with an unusual flash of warmth.

“Y-yes. He...well, he was acting just a bit strange.” She
could not come up with another way to describe it.

“Strange?”

She nodded. “Quite.”

He sighed. “Well, thank goodness you have some sense. Most
women swoon over him.”

“Yes, but as you said, he isn't after my hand in marriage.
Many ladies have set their cap for him.
I
am not one of them.”

“Indeed. I do apologize for my insensitivity.”

She waved it away. “You are not the first, and you will not
be the last.”

With a smile, he offered her his arm. “If you would allow me
to walk you back into the ballroom?”

“Before you do, could you answer one question?”

He dropped his arm as his brow furrowed. “That depends.”

“I understand you are in the shipping business?”

“Yes.”

She bit back an irritated sigh. He was not going to make
this an easy task. “There have been some questions about the nature of the
shipments.”

His expression darkened, his eyes narrowing again as he
studied her. His gaze moved over her face, but she did not allow her own to
waver. Breath clogged her throat; her pulse doubled.

“I import many things, Lady Cordelia.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Blackburn
stepped closer. He towered over her, but she did not feel threatened as when
other men did it. She felt…hot. Her whole body shimmered with heat.

“My company is known for its fine silks. I understand they
are in demand by many ladies. Have you ever felt truly fine silk?”

She could not answer. His voice had dipped lower, caressing
her like the fine silk he spoke of. Cordelia knew she should step back, but she
could not make her feet move. He inched closer, his legs now brushing the front
of her dress.

When she did not answer, Blackburn continued, leaning down
to place his hand on the stone wall behind her. He was now much closer than
propriety allowed, and her heart threatened to beat from her chest.

“Fine silk slides against flesh,” he murmured.

His breath heated her earlobe. Cordelia inhaled deeply,
trying to regain her wits. But her breasts brushed against his chest and
tingles shot through her body like shooting stars.

She shook her head. Other questions swirled in her brain,
and she knew that Blackburn was trying to divert her attention. Her body did
not care. Need coursed through her veins, urging her to move closer, into
Blackburn’s heat.

At that moment, a group of younger people came out laughing
and talking, their excitement of the season easily heard in their voices.
Blackburn’s head whipped around, and a growl rumbled in his chest. For a
moment, she thought he might attack them.

“Mr. Blackburn.”

She whispered the words as not to gain the others attention.
He hesitated, then looked down at her. Fierce hunger darkened his eyes.
Cordelia was not sure he even heard her, but a moment later, the harsh lines of
his face smoothed. He drew in a deep breath then stepped back, the cool night
air replacing his heat. She shivered as goose bumps rose over her flesh.
Cordelia should be thankful he had pulled back in time. With her background,
she had to be careful. There was always a chance that she would step over the
line. And at that point, her invitations would stop, and she needed them to
earn money.

He offered her his arm once again. “May I escort you back to
the ballroom, Lady Cordelia?” He pitched his voice just loud enough for the
group to hear.

She nodded, laying her hand on his arm. “I do thank you,
sir, for your help. Hurst is a nuisance, and I could have deflected him. Your
help just made it much easier.”

He guided her over to a group of matrons. “I trust you will
be able to avoid him in the future.”

It was not a question, but an order. Odd, because before
tonight, she had barely spoken to him. She sent him a sharp stare to tell the
man he had overstepped his bounds. Little shock that he ignored her.

Instead, he bowed. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Cordelia.”
His voice was loud enough for the group of nearby matrons to hear.

She had been in his company for the last five minutes and
had yet to ask him more than one question about his finances. As she stared at
him, that eyebrow of his rose again. Mr. Blackburn knew she had questions for
him…which was why he had avoided her for days. Now that he was dumping her with
the matrons, she had no way of asking anything else. She was stuck—and he knew
it.

She offered him a smile she reserved for the most vapid of
young misses. “You are most welcome, Mr. Blackburn.”

His lips twitched as if he repressed a smile. After a nod to
the matrons—watching the whole scene as if they were at the theater—he turned
and walked away.

And Cordelia cursed herself again. She still didn’t know if
the man earned his money legally or not. She thought back to the dance, the way
his body pressed against hers, the heat she saw in his eyes, and sighed. She
had to learn how to keep her wits about her the next time she encountered Mr.
Blackburn.

Her livelihood depended on it.

*
 
*
 
*
 
*

“You look ready to faint, Blackburn,” Grayson, Duke of
Queensbury, said, amusement threading his voice. “Done in by a little mouse of
a woman?”

Nico threw him what he hoped was a nasty look and grabbed a
drink as a waiter passed by. Bloody hell, his hand was shaking. “You are
treading on thin ice.”

“I've never known Lady Cordelia to have this effect on
anyone but Hurst, and seriously, I cannot understand why he is interested.”

Without knowing or caring what the drink was, Nico tossed
back the contents in one huge gulp, wincing as the warm lemonade slid down his
throat. God, he needed to get out of there, find a woman. The moment he thought
it, he caught sight of Lady Cordelia. His body responded as if he’d been struck
by lightning.

“So, tell me, how did Lady Cordelia ensnare you? Was it her
modest gown or her discussion on anything political?”

How could he explain it? Not once in society had he come so
close to losing control. How could one petite, blue-eyed miss have brought him
so close to the edge? Even now he had to grind his teeth together to keep his
incisors from descending. He had been moments from taking her, and she would
not have resisted. It was in her makeup to respond to him—even if she did not
understand. His plan to divert her attention had gone horribly awry. He could
remember the feel of her hardened nipples as they lightly brushed his chest.
The need to drink from her had doubled.

Damn! He pulled his attention away from Lady Cordelia and
back to Gray, who was now studying Nico with enjoyment.

“She's a Carrier.”

Gray's face lost all emotion, and his body turned to stone.
“You must be mistaken. I know every Born in the
ton
. She is not one.”

Nico glanced around, looking to see if anyone had overheard.
He quickly realized that the only attention they had was from a crowd of
eligible young women across the floor. With a sigh, he motioned with his head
and turned, not even waiting to see if Gray followed. Nico knew the duke would.
He found the library easily and was relieved to discover it empty. Gray shut
the door quietly and leaned against it.

“Do you really think she is a Carrier?”

“I don't think. I know. At age five hundred, I think I know
the difference between a Carrier and a normal human female.”

“She is not descended from any line I know. Her mother was
married to the Earl of Collingsworth.”

“He must not have been her birth father.”

The look of comprehension slid over Gray's face. “Of course.
Only the oldest is his, the son. The daughters were said to have different
fathers, all four.”

“Yes, and the youngest, Cordelia, is treated as an outcast
by the others.”