In the Heat of the Bite (12 page)

Rhi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Cait would get the same version she planned to bandy about Town and nothing more. “Well, it appears as though his lordship plans ta court me.”

Cait’s pretty blue eyes twinkled. “Well, of course he plans ta court ye. Blodswell is as smart as he is old. But do ye like him, Rhi? Tell me ye do.”

In that Rhi didn’t have to fabricate her answer. She nodded. “I do like him, Cait, and ye doona ken how surprised I am by that.”

Cait threw her arms around Rhiannon’s neck. “This is so wonderful.”

Rhi pulled herself from her friend’s embrace. “I fear I smell a bit like Blodswell’s grays. Do ye mind if I change my dress and then meet ye in the parlor?”

Cait grinned as widely as Rhi had ever seen. “Of course, take yer time, and then ye’ll tell me all about yer ride?”

Rhi stepped toward her chamber. “Aye, I’ll tell ye all about the Duchess of Hythe who has requested our attendance at her soiree sometime at the end of this week. And she said ta bring ye and Eynsford.”

Cait giggled. “Oh, I canna wait ta tell Dash!” Then she started back toward the staircase.

Rhiannon escaped into her chamber and tugged on the bellpull for her maid. Then she sank onto her bed and unfolded the letter she’d been hiding from her friend.

Eternally yours? His eternity was certainly not in question. But the rest of his existence was. Rhi wanted desperately to talk with him. But, of course, he couldn’t present himself at Thorpe House, not with Caitrin there. Or Eynsford, but that was another matter all together. Alec’s plan did seem the best.

She bolted from her bed to the small writing desk in the corner of the room to jot off a quick response to her old friend. Hopefully, Cait would honor her word and keep from poking her meddling nose into Rhi’s future.

Dear God, what a day! If Rhiannon Sinclair wasn’t occupying his mind, then trying to locate his errant charge was. MacQuarrie moved faster than Matthew could even track him. He’d started at
Brysi
, only to learn that Alec had recently left for parts unknown. Getting a sense of the Scot’s location, Matthew arrived at Tattersall’s, only to find the Scot has just departed.

He’d then made his way to Gentleman Jackson’s, only to discover that MacQuarrie had vanished once again. He even spent a good part of his day waiting at Alec’s bachelor lodgings, thinking the man would have to show his face at some point, but to no avail.

Back at
Brysi
, Matthew had finally dropped into an overstuffed leather chair and sighed heavily. Of course, he didn’t need the deep breath, since his heart didn’t beat, but those very human actions made him feel normal, more like a man and less like a creature of the night.

With that as a goal, he
should
have gone to White’s instead of the vampyre haven, but some habits were hard to break. He could have at least pretended to nurse a whiskey over on St. James, played cards with gentlemen, debated whether or not Lord Elgin was a vandal or a hero, and appeared to the world as the
respectable
Earl of Blodswell. Instead, he’d hied off to his usual destination and found himself subjected to dozens of brazen women, in various stages of dress, who wanted nothing more than to share their bodies with him.

A lovely young Cyprian touched his shoulder. He looked up into the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “May I make myself available to you, my lord?” she asked quietly. Her hand shook slightly on his shoulder. She was obviously new to the club, as he’d never seen her before.

A few days ago, there would have been no question to his answer. He could make her entry into the world of pleasure better than she’d ever dreamed. Yet when he looked at her now, he felt… nothing. Well, he felt something. He felt sadness at the way she was offering herself up to him as a way to survive when she was obviously worth more than a tup and a drink.

He took her hand in his and tugged gently, bringing her around the chair and into his lap. She may as well have been his younger sister, considering the lack of lust he felt for her. “May we talk?” he asked quietly. She shivered in his lap, so he gave her hand a brief squeeze. She nodded. “Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”

“T-tillie,” she stuttered and avoided his gaze entirely.

“Are you afraid of me, Tillie?” He wasn’t that terrifying, was he? She did approach him, after all. And she was in
Brysi
of her own free will. At least he thought she was.

“N-not really afraid, sir.” She squirmed in his lap. But that had no effect on him at all. He felt nothing at having the chit in such close proximity to his nether regions, aside from annoyance at her twittering.

“Why are you here?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back, and then looked down his nose at her. She carried the scent of the sea with her. Perhaps she was from the docks.

“Because you pulled me into your lap,” she said quickly as she made a move to get up.

He stalled her movements with a harsh glance. “I don’t mean
here
. I mean at
Brysi
. How did you come to be at
Brysi
, dear?”

“Oh, I walked.” She pulled her dress to the side to show him her well-worn shoes.

“From…” he prompted.

“From…?” Her eyebrows rose as though she waited for him to finish the sentence.

Matthew heaved a sigh. Her mind was as vacant as an empty cupboard. He’d been afraid of that.

Tillie continued, “I have a cousin who lives here. And she sent word that there might be work for me.” She smiled softly.

“And had you an idea before you arrived of the sort of
work
you’d be doing?”

She whispered her next comment, “My cousin says it’s not really work. That it’s much easier than the work I was doing at Madame Lefèvre’s.”

So she wasn’t an innocent, no matter that she looked like one or shuddered like a frightened waif. “Your goal was to move up in the world, then?” Talking to the girl was like speaking into a cave and then waiting for the sound to echo back.

“Actually,” she began as she blushed furiously, “I’d hoped to get a bit of pleasure out of it.”

Matthew’s mouth fell open. He probably looked like an idiot at her confession. He’d not doubt it at all.

“I never enjoyed it before. You know…
it
?” She waited for him to acknowledge his understanding with a nod. “But my cousin, she said there’s a great deal of pleasure with your kind. And I’d like to experience it.” She began to swing her legs like a child on a park bench.

He pressed on her skirts to keep her legs in place. “Don’t do that,” he grunted. If it was pleasure the chit wanted, he’d give her pleasure.

Matthew bent to sniff the side of her neck. And that scent of the sea wafted up to meet his nose again. She didn’t smell like gardenias. She didn’t smell like a storm-laden night. She didn’t have hazel eyes that sparkled at him. She wasn’t Rhiannon Sinclair. She wouldn’t do at all.

“They said to ask you to take me first. Because you’re the best,” she breathed quietly as she ran one practiced finger down the side of his jaw. He wanted to bat her away like a fly, but he just gritted his teeth instead.

“They?” Who the devil were
they
?

“The other girls,” she explained. “They say you’re better than the rest. They said sessions with you are remarkable and unforgettable.”

He’d had no idea
they
felt that way. “Would you care to elaborate?” To him, their encounters simply provided him with a meal and a warm body. And not always in that order. Of course, he took great care with them. Perhaps that made the difference?

“They say the pleasure is the greatest with you. That you care if the woman you’re with is happy. That you are powerful and consuming.” She crossed her dainty little hands in her lap. “And I want to be consumed.” Then she giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Be careful who you say that to,” he grunted, displeased with the gruffness he heard in his own voice.

“I’ve only said it to you.” She pouted. “You do want me, don’t you?”

Bloody hell! That was the second time he’d been asked that today. Matthew was absolutely starving. He could feel the need throughout his body. His teeth ached with the very thought of sinking them into a warm and willing body. Yet his incisors hadn’t even descended when the chit sat down in his lap. He could typically make them come and go at will, unless he was overly aroused, as he’d been with Miss Sinclair. However, in
that
situation, he hadn’t been able to make them recede. Neither his teeth nor his erection. Yet he couldn’t even make them descend for this girl.

He nodded quickly. He should want her. He did want her. Or at least he wanted to want her.

She brushed her hair off her neck and leaned to the side. “You can have me,” she said.

The image called to mind another girl in the park with the same offer. Matthew heaved another sigh. He couldn’t take from Tillie. He couldn’t have her at all. And not because of some gentlemanly honor, but because his blasted teeth wouldn’t work.

She began to work at the buttons at the front of her gown. He grabbed her hands to stop her. “What are you doing?”

“Disrobing, my lord. You said you wanted me.”

But, regrettably, he didn’t want her at all.

“You may keep your clothes on, Tillie,” he instructed. She moved to lift her skirts and straddle him instead. Matthew picked her up and set her on her feet. “No,” he said, plainly and simply.

She tilted her head to the side and regarded him with vacant confusion. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed. Because at the forefront of his mind was a lightning-throwing, storm-cloud-bearing, hazel-eyed witch. And until he had her, no one else would do. He might even have to take her up on her offer of payment.

Damn it to hell, he’d be the worst sort of cad if he did. But what choice did he have? He’d die of starvation if he didn’t take from her. He could take her blood without taking her innocence. But doing so would mark her forever. That thought made his hand tremble when he reached out to press a coin into Tillie’s hand. “Some other time.”

She harrumphed and thrust out her lower lip.

A tumbler made a clunking sound as it hit the side table next to him. “You’re looking a bit pale, Matthew,” Alec MacQuarrie said. He motioned toward the glass, which was full of dark red blood. “Drink up, my friend.”

“Where the devil have you been?” Matthew demanded.

But his charge ignored him completely as Tillie batted her pretty blue eyes at Alec. “He didn’t want me.”

Good Lord, he’d never hear the end of it from the Scot.

“Then he’s the worst sort of fool, miss.” MacQuarrie soothed her as he dropped an arm over her shoulders and whispered something in her ear that made her blush furiously.

Matthew reached over and picked up the tumbler, raising it to his nose. He took a whiff.
Sheep’s blood
. It wasn’t his favorite fare, not by a long shot. One didn’t drink sheep’s blood if one could help it. But as his incisors refused to descend, he’d have to make do. He was feeling quite weak and tired. And a bit dazed. In all his 650 years, he’d never been unable to feed. Or perform, as the case may be. Yet, all of a sudden, drinking the blood of some chit he didn’t even know made him feel a bit ill.

He downed the contents of the glass and motioned to a nearby footman for another. He couldn’t starve. But he couldn’t face the moral dilemma of taking from the innocent Miss Sinclair, either. He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

“Why don’t you take Tillie here abovestairs, Alec?” Matthew asked. Perhaps the younger man could perform. Matthew certainly couldn’t. He harrumphed to himself. Bloody hell, when had he gotten old? “Take care to see that she enjoys herself, will you?”

“I’d like nothing more, but I have an appointment with a lovely lass myself,” Alec chimed, much too jovially.

“I don’t mind sharing,” Tillie threw in for good measure, as she chewed on a fingernail.

“Ah, something to keep in mind for the future.” MacQuarrie chuckled. “But I’m afraid Miss Sinclair isn’t that sort of lass.”

“Miss Sinclair?” Matthew rose from his seat and glowered at the Scot. “
Why
are you seeing Miss Sinclair?” That damned note! Why the devil had he delivered Alec’s letter without scanning the contents himself? Foolish honorable tendencies.

“That would be my business, Matthew.” Alec MacQuarrie glowered back, his brows pushing together in annoyance.

How dare the damned Scot assume that posture with his elder? With his maker, for God’s sake? And what if Rhiannon offered her neck to Alec the same way she had to Matthew in the park?

Within seconds, Matthew had MacQuarrie pushed up against the wall, his arm thrust under the Scot’s neck. Alec’s boots dangled off the floor. “If you touch her…” Matthew snarled.

Of course, the manly posturing was for show, since MacQuarrie didn’t need to breathe air any more than he did. “Put me down, Blodswell,” MacQuarrie grunted. “Please, oh, please, mighty master, benevolent knight errant,” he added sarcastically.

Against his better judgment, Matthew released his hold on the infernal Scot.

Alec slid to the floor where he landed on his feet. “For the love of God. Rhi is an old friend.” He adjusted his clothing. “I had no idea you had developed such strong feelings for the good witch in so short a time,” Alec said low enough so only the two of them could hear.

“I don’t have
feelings
,” Matthew protested.

The Scot scoffed. “If those aren’t feelings hanging all over your sleeve like badges, then I don’t know what they are, Matt,” Alec grumbled. “Just keep in mind that Rhiannon Sinclair is one lass you can never, ever have.” Then Alec turned his back on Matthew, crossed back over to Tillie, tipped her chin up, and kissed her pouty pink lips quickly. “I’ll return soon. Save yourself for me?”