In the Heat of the Bite (10 page)

The vampyre at her side tipped his hat in greeting. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“And just who are you?” Aunt Greer snapped.

Rhiannon closed her eyes out of mortification, and a strong wind whipped through the park. Lord Blodswell gently squeezed her hand again, and the wind receded. Rhi opened her eyes to regard her aunt with a scathing glare.

“Lord Blodswell, may I present my aunt, Greer Cooper, and my sister, Miss Ginessa Sinclair.” She smiled weakly at the dragon of a duchess. “I’m afraid I’ve yet ta make yer acquaintance, ma’am.”

The duchess’ shrewd gaze narrowed on Lord Blodswell. “You.” She pointed a bejeweled finger at the earl. “I knew your grandfather, young man.”

“Did you, Your Grace?” It looked as though he was trying to smother an amused grin.

The duchess leaned toward Blodswell’s curricle. “I did, and I’m certain he would not have approved of your behavior last night. Your title is one of the oldest and most respectable in the kingdom.”

Aunt Greer’s expression softened as she eyed the earl. What was that about? Rhi had never known her aunt’s opinion to change once she’d decided to dislike something or someone.

The duchess turned her icy eyes on Rhiannon. “And, you, Miss Sinclair, I am glad to make your acquaintance. The chits these days are too free with their favors. Back in my day, women behaved with a bit more decorum. I don’t know what the bounder said to you, but I’m certain he deserved it. Has he behaved himself today?”

Rhiannon blinked at the duchess and managed a nod. “Perfect gentleman.”

The old woman smiled wryly. “Just as I suspected. Men are like dogs, Miss Sinclair. They need to know their boundaries. I commend you on training yours so well.”

Rhiannon choked, and again Lord Blodswell gently squeezed her hand. “He’s not
mine
, Your Grace,” Rhiannon protested, but the earl cut her off.

“I am hers to command,” the earl returned.

The duchess ignored him and kept her light blue eyes leveled on Rhiannon. “You are staying with the Marquess of Eynsford and his wife, are you not?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Rhi said quietly.

“Splendid. I am hosting a soiree at the end of the week, and I’d like you to be my special guest. Bring Eynsford and his wife with you.”

Rhiannon nodded. “Thank ye. I’m certain they’ll be delighted.” At least Cait would be, anyway.

The duchess glanced back at the earl. “And you’ll be there, Blodswell. I want to see how well trained you really are.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’ll be happy to escort Miss Sinclair, if she’ll allow it,” he said as he smiled down at Rhi, his eyebrows arched in question. Finally, she allowed herself to look into his dark eyes. The obsidian depths held nothing that scared her. In fact, his black eyes twinkled at her, if that was possible. “Miss Sinclair?” he prompted, one corner of his mouth lifting.

She nodded, forcing herself to close her mouth. She must look like the worst sort of fool, staring into the man’s eyes with her mouth hanging open.

Ginny clapped and giggled. “Wonderful! I canna wait ta see ye there!” She gasped and reached for her bonnet as her barouche moved forward. Ginny leaned over the side of the open carriage and called, “See ye at the end of the week!” as she waved frantically.

“Wait!” Rhiannon called. But the conveyance didn’t slow or stop. She sighed deeply. Two minutes with her sister? Was that all she would be allowed?

“In a bit of a hurry, are they?” the earl asked as he stared down at her. A drop of rain landed on the sleeve of his jacket with a wet plop. He looked up at the sky. “There wasn’t a cloud to be seen when we left Eynsford’s,” he lamented.

Rhiannon sniffed and forced her spine to stiffen. “My apologies.”

“And what are you apologizing for?” His eyebrows arched in question.

She motioned to the air around her. “The weather, my lord,” she whispered. “I canna always control it. But I’ll try no’ ta drench us both.”

He chuckled. “I rather liked the last storm.”

“The one here in the park? Or the one at the ball?” Rhi covered her face in shame. “That was a terrible day. I’m very sorry ye had ta see either of them.”

“Your storms? Why on earth would you be sorry I saw them? I thought they were splendid.” He looked down at her as though she’d lost her mind.

“The incident in Hyde Park was a temper tantrum,” she admitted. “I was frustrated beyond reason over my sister. My Aunt Greer willna even allow me ta see her. My very presence would impede Ginny’s successful launch into society, my aunt said. So I took out my frustration in the only way I ken how. I made a storm of epic proportions.” She sniffed again. “I still feel badly about it.”

Blodswell bumped her shoulder gently with his. “I still thought it was beautiful.”

He thought what? “Beg yer pardon?”

“May I be quite frank with you, Miss Sinclair?”

She shrugged. “Of course.”

“I have been alive for more than six-and-a-half centuries. I have seen a lot in those years. And done a lot. And left very few stones unturned. After a time, it does become a bit of a boring lifestyle. So, when I saw you here in the park, I was the one enchanted for once.” He tweaked her nose with a crooked finger. “Thoroughly.”

Certainly the man was simply trying to salvage her feelings. That raindrop must have made him feel incredibly sorry for her, for him to say such ludicrous things. No one liked a storm. No one liked things beyond their control. No one liked
her
. Aside from her coven, that was. “It’s kind of ye ta say so.”

“No, it’s wrong of me to say so.”

“I doona ken what ye mean.” He was speaking in riddles, which was incredibly frustrating.

“Never mind,” he said as he flicked his wrist and set his grays to moving.

It was wrong of him to have thoughts such as he was about Miss Sinclair. Completely and horridly wrong. But she smelled of gardenia blossoms and sat close enough that his thigh touched hers in a most inappropriate way. In a most thrilling way. By anyone’s standards, he was too old for the likes of her. Too jaded. Too much of a vampyre.

Matthew knew, deep down in his soul, that he had nothing to give to an innocent lass like the lovely lady who sat beside him. In fact, all he could think about was taking
from
her. He could hear the thrilling thrum of her pulse within her veins and could even see it beating beneath the thin skin at the base of her neck. He wanted more than anything to draw her to him and take from her. How on earth had they gone from an innocent ride to an all-out disaster within moments? Perhaps chaos simply followed her. Absurdly, he wanted to follow her, too.

“Are ye all right, my lord?” she asked quietly.

“Quite,” he replied cryptically, although he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all. He was experiencing a hunger unlike any he’d had for centuries. In fact, his incisors picked that very moment to descend. It typically only happened when he was hungry or highly aroused. At that moment, he was both. He forced his lips into a grim line.

She leaned forward to look at his face. He allowed a half smile to twist his lips.

“Oh,” she said quietly as she sat up taller and crossed her slender hands in her lap.

What the devil did “oh” mean? “Miss Sinclair,” he began, about to tell her he would be returning her to Eynsford’s with haste. He needed to set her at least ten paces from him. And do it quickly. He hadn’t felt so out of control since he’d cut his vampyre teeth all those centuries ago.

The lady grimaced and cut him off before he could continue. She lifted her hand to her mouth, where she put the heel of that hand beside her lips, flatted her palm, and then blew a slow breath out of her perfectly formed lips. He shifted in his seat.

What made matters worse was that the horses suddenly had a mind of their own. A gentle wind lifted their manes and made their ears twitch, and soon they were moving off the well-worn carriage path in the middle of Hyde Park and across the green into the shelter of nearby trees. He tugged at the ribbons to no avail.

“No need ta fight it,” she said quietly. “I have their heads.” She blew another breath, and his pair stopped. Before he could even tell what she was about, Miss Sinclair vaulted from the curricle and landed in a tangle of skirts on the ground beside it.

“Why do I suddenly feel as though I’ve been manhandled?” he asked. He wasn’t at all accustomed to losing control of any situation, much less one with a lady.

“Perhaps it’s because ye have,” she chirped. Then she walked away.

Where the devil was she going?

“Miss Sinclair!” he called to her retreating backside as he climbed down and followed her. And what a lovely backside it was. He caught up with her in three long strides. She couldn’t outrun him. If he truly wanted to catch her, he could, he told himself. Then he grimaced. He truly wanted to catch her. “May I ask where you’re going?”

She turned quickly to face him and tugged her bonnet free, dropping it to the green grass at her feet. “Do ye want ta drink my blood, my lord?” she asked blandly. Then she tilted her pretty little head to the side. “If so, let’s just get it over with so I can stop bein’ afraid of ye.” She made a come-hither motion with her hand and pointed to her neck. “How bad can it possibly be? I’m certain Blaire allowed Kettering ta do it. I heard whispers about it on the wind.”

Blast his responsive body. His teeth ached at the very thought. He turned to stare off in the opposite direction. “You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he said slowly. What was bad was that he was starving. He hadn’t dined at
Brysi
or anywhere else since the moment he’d met her. For some reason, he wasn’t thinking about blood. He was thinking about
her
blood.

“I’m askin’ for ye ta help me.”

He couldn’t help himself; he looked at her again.

“And I’m fully willin’ ta repay ye in kind. Ye do want me, do ye no’?” She tilted her lovely head and appraised him, her lashes slowly brushing her cheeks with each blink of her fetching hazel eyes.

He couldn’t. Could he? No. He most definitely could not. “I couldn’t, Miss Sinclair,” he began. He’d love to, but he’d be the worst sort of cad if he did so.

“I’m no’ good enough for ye, either?” A gust of wind blew against him, hard enough to get his attention.

Matthew shoved his hands into his pockets. It was that or grab her with them. The little witch dared to use his powers against him. That made him smile. “You are too good for the likes of someone like me.” Blast it, but he heard Alec MacQuarrie’s voice in the back of his mind with that admission.

“Oh, do that again,” she chirped as she walked closer to him.

“Do what?” Gads, this was painful.

“Smile.” She waited patiently, staring at his mouth. Then she made a face at him, sticking out her pointy little tongue. She looked so blasted ridiculous that he couldn’t keep from smiling. From laughing out loud.

“Oh, nice,” she crooned. Then she reached one hand up to brush the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “Do they hurt?”

“They positively ache right now,” he admitted.

“Why right now?” she asked, a most dumbfounded look on her face. Had she no idea? She’d offered herself up to him like a lamb on a sacrificial platter. Yet he couldn’t have her. He could only want her with a single-minded purpose.

Her hand still hovered, cupping his cheek. He turned his face, unable to avoid nuzzling her gloved palm. At least there was fabric between the fragile pulse that beat at her wrist and his most hungry teeth. Not that it would stop him. He inhaled deeply at the base of her hand, taking in the gardenias and the scent that was hers alone. She made him want to peel back her glove and sink his teeth into the delicate skin of her wrist, but that would be highly improper.

“Ye dinna answer me,” she reminded him, her voice soft. She giggled lightly as his lips walked down the fabric of her glove toward her elbow. She moved to pull back, but he trapped her arm within his grasp and refused to allow it. Her mouth dropped open as she watched the path his lips traveled.

“They ache, Miss Sinclair, because I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.” He took a step, which brought her breasts close to his chest. If he moved one more inch, he would feel her clothing against his. Her heat against his. Her heartbeat against his lack of one. He took a step back.

“I propose a trade, Blodswell,” she said.

“You will not
trade
anything, young lady.” He frowned at her. Really what could she be thinking?

“Oh, posh,” she scoffed. “We could do wonderful things for one another.”

He had no doubt of it. That was the problem.

“No one kens what ye are, correct? Ye’re out in society and no one is the wiser?”

“Until you, yes,” he admitted. Well, and Lady Eynsford, but that went without saying.

She giggled. “Doona I feel special?” Her laughter was nearly contagious, and he found himself wanting to join her. She laid her hand flat on his chest and looked up into his eyes.

“You
are
special, dearest. Never think otherwise.”

“I need ye,” she breathed on a sigh. Naked, unadulterated, unfulfilled lust unlike any he’d ever known swamped him. He all but fell to his knees. God, this slip of a girl could undo him. “Ta be respectable.”

He forced some of the lust from the forefront of his mind and leaned back to look at her more fully. “I am quite respectable, thank you very much.” Or at least he had been until she’d slapped him the night before.

“No,” she griped, swatting at him playfully. “I need ye ta make
me
respectable.”

He wanted to do no such thing. He wanted to make her as unrespectable as possible. Matthew sighed. “You seem quite respectable already.” Aside from the temper tantrums and the storm clouds that hung over her head like an omen at times.

“No’ ta my aunt. She hates me. And she willna allow me ta even see my sister. Because of the
taint
I bring with me simply because of what I am.”

He could see the sorrow that statement caused within her in the way she avoided his eyes and with her downturned lips. “Your aunt is bound for Bedlam, dearest. She must be the most idiotic woman who ever lived. And I have met some spectacularly foolish people in all my lifetimes.”