In the Heat of the Bite (28 page)

Callista laughed. “Good for her. I knew she had it in her. I should love to pay her a visit sometime.”

Matthew scrubbed a hand across his face. Why did she torture him like this? She knew paying a visit to her old nemesis would be disastrous. He didn’t believe she would actually go through with her threat. She just did these things to put him on edge. “Go home, Callista. Please do not make this evening any more difficult.”

A rustling in the nearby hedges caught both Matthew and Callista’s attention. “Who’s there?” his maker called.

A soft patter of slippers headed toward the main house. Dear God. Who had been spying on them? And what had she heard? Matthew started in the direction of the sound at the same time that he tossed, “Go home, I beg you,” over his shoulder to his maker.

In a matter of seconds, he caught up to a dark-haired girl just as she reached the door leading back into the ballroom. Before she could escape to the safety of society’s ever-watchful eyes, Matthew grasped her shoulder to spin the chit around to face him. But she slipped out of his hands and into the crowd before he could even see her face.

A shower of little pebbles rained against Rhiannon’s bedchamber window. If she had been asleep, the sound most certainly would have woken her up, but she’d already been awake, wondering at the strange events of the last few hours. Lord Radbourne rushing her and Caitrin from Lady Hythe’s soiree. The anxious expression Archer and Gray Hadley had exchanged in the short carriage ride. The fact that Eynsford hadn’t escorted them home and she hadn’t seen the marquess ever since their return to Thorpe House. The fact that her inquiries had all gone unanswered.

Another stream of pebbles hit the window before Rhiannon could pull back the drapes. She wrenched the fabric back and pressed her face against the cold pane. Standing beneath her window, Ginny shivered in a long coat with a blue-and-green Sinclair plaid wrapped around her neck. Rhiannon unlatched the window and yanked it heavenward.

“Ginny!” She nearly fell out of the window. “What’s wrong? What are ye doin’ here?”

Her sister shook her head. “I escaped Aunt Greer’s because I need ta speak with ye.”

Rhiannon released her hold on the drapes and raced from her chamber, down the steps, and to the front door. She tugged on the handle only to find it locked. Poor Price had already gone to bed at this late hour.

Rhi leaned toward the handle and whispered, “
Fosgail
.” A satisfying click came from within the door, and Rhiannon hauled it open.

Ginny raced inside and threw her arms around Rhiannon’s neck. “Oh, I’m so glad ta see ye,” her sister gushed.

Rhiannon tightened her hold around Ginny, not remembering the last time she’d been able to embrace her sister in such a fashion. “I’m glad ta see ye, too. What are ye doin’ out at night like this? Aunt Greer’ll have yer head.” She pulled back slightly to see her sister’s face.

“Oh, Rhi, there’s so much ta tell ye that I doona even ken where ta begin.”

Rhiannon didn’t even care. They were together with no evil aunt waiting in the wings to pull them apart. Ginny could start wherever she wanted and talk all night. “Come ta my room, and ye’ll have ta just tell me everythin’.”

Ginny allowed Rhiannon to tow her up the flight of stairs and then down the corridor to her chambers. Once safely behind the door, Rhi took her sister’s coat and plaid, then gestured to the bed. “Sit there, like we used ta.”

Ginny obeyed the request, falling in a heap on Rhi’s bed. “Aunt Greer. Mr. Finchley. Lord Steven Patterdale. And, and the garden. And Lord Blodswell. And some woman. The duchess. And my stupid gown, and—”

Rhiannon couldn’t make any sense of her sister’s ramblings. Though she did pick up on a few names she was quite familiar with. “Gin, just start at the beginnin’. There’s no rush.”

Her sister gulped and sat up straight. “Aunt Greer kept tryin’ ta get me out on the balcony with Mr. Finchley. But I doona like Mr. Finchley. He’s nice enough, I suppose, or at least I thought he was; but he smells a bit like the inside of Papa’s slippers and now I doona even think he’s nice.” She made a sour face. “But Aunt Greer got heated in the ballroom and dragged me outside ta get a breath of fresh air. Then I turned around and she was gone, but Mr. Finchley was there.” She sucked in a steadying breath.

Rhiannon’s ire began to build, and thunder rolled in the distance. How dare their aunt put Ginny in that sort of situation? Of course she had been in the garden herself, in a most compromising position with Matthew, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Ginny’s breath constricted in her, though. “And he tried ta kiss me and wouldna let go of me. And I was pushin’ at his chest and then…” Ginny closed her eyes as a tiny smile graced her lips. “…he fell backwards. When I opened my eyes, Lord Steven stood over Mr. Finchley, and he was rubbin’ his knuckles as though he’d just sent the blackguard sprawlin’ across the balcony.”

Rhiannon hadn’t met Lord Steven, but he had suddenly become one of her most favorite people in London. “What happened, Gin?”

Her sister glanced down at her coat as though she was still in her ball gown. “My bodice was loose and my hem ripped, and I looked a mess, I’m sure.”

Thunder rumbled overhead. Mr. Finchley would be lucky to walk away from the lightning headed in his direction.

“Doona get angry, Rhi,” Ginny begged. “Lord Steven took care of me. We went farther inta the garden so no one would see and he helped me fix my hem.”

“And the bodice?”

Ginny turned scarlet. “I—well…”

Rhi rubbed her brow. “Oh, Ginny.” She released her breath, ignoring the little part of her conscience that screamed she knew exactly what being ravished in the garden felt like and she shouldn’t make judgments about her sister’s choices. But she
was
the older sister, and she
had
taken care of Ginny for so many years that it was too difficult to let that part of her fade away without a fight. “What if someone had seen ye? Ye canna go around kissin’ gentlemen in the garden.”

Ginny began to sob.

Rhiannon cursed herself for being the most hypocritical and caddish sister in existence. “I’m sorry, Gin, doona cry.”

Her sister shook her head. “Th-that was the worst part.” Ginny gulped for air. “I-I did see someone.”

Rhiannon’s heart sank. “
Havers!
Who was it? What did they see? Does Aunt Greer ken?”

Ginny would be ruined by morning.

“Lord Blodswell!” Ginny spit the name out.

Matthew? She must have misheard her sister. “Did you say Lord Blodswell?”

Had flames resided in Ginny’s eyes, they would have scorched Rhiannon, and her face was way too flush. If Ginny had seen her with Matthew, Rhi would die of mortification.

“I thought he liked ye, Rhi. The scoundrel.”

Havers!
She had seen. “He does like me.”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “I saw him, Rhi. In the garden and some woman kissed him right out in the open.”

Rhi’s blush refused to abate. “I-I,” she stammered hoping inspiration would fill in the rest of the sentence. It didn’t.

“Ye’re much prettier than she is,” her sister continued, defending her with every breath. “Which can only mean the man is blind. He ought ta be strung up over the Thames and dunked in the river hourly.”

Rhi sat back a little, staring at her sister. “Ye
saw
the woman Matthew was with?”

“Matthew?” Ginny blinked at her. “Oh, ye mean Lord Blodswell. Aye, I saw her. Fiery-haired witch.” She flushed a bright red. “I dinna mean that. Witch, I mean.”

Rhiannon shook the insult off. Ginny had apparently spent too many days under their aunt’s roof. But that was neither here nor there at the moment. Someone had kissed Matthew in the garden? And it wasn’t her. Well, it had been her. But there had been someone else, too? Rhi’s head began to throb. “Do ye ken who she is?”

Ginny shook her head. “I’ve never seen her before. But he kent her well. They were arguin’. I doona ken about what, and then she touched his face and kissed him.”

Had Thorpe House collapsed on top of her, Rhiannon would have been less surprised. “He’s supposed ta call on me in the mornin’.”

“My brother’s face is scarred!” Eynsford’s fist smashed down onto his desk, and Matthew heard a faint crack in the wood. He wouldn’t trust the furniture to handle the added weight of an ink pot.

Standing in the threshold of Eynsford’s study, Matthew clasped his hands behind his back. “Brother?”

“I… uh…” If possible, the marquess’ face grew even more purple, which did not bode well for his health. “You heard me. Shut the damn door.”

Matthew closed the heavy door behind him and leaned against it, not anxious to take a seat across from Eynsford when he looked so enraged.

“Weston should have healed,” Eynsford growled. Then he traced a path from his ear to his mouth with his finger as he continued, “But he’s got a scar from here to here.”

Matthew nodded in understanding. “I’m sure he does.” In fact, he’d have been surprised if Weston Hadley
hadn’t
been left with a scar after his encounter with Callista. “Your bodies do not react well to interactions with ours. The mark may fade a bit.”

“Who the devil was that monster?”

Matthew shrugged. What else could he do? “She told you the truth of it. Callista found me dying in a heap with other dead knights and she saved me.”

The marquess scoffed. “I can’t imagine her saving anyone.”

“She does take a bit of getting used to. She, uh, can be formidable and doesn’t appreciate anyone questioning the superiority of vampyres.”

“She’s a malevolent bitch.”

Matthew agreed with a nod of his head. “She can be.” He sighed. “I
am
sorry about your, uh, brother. It was too late before I realized what she meant to do.”

Eynsford scowled at him. “I didn’t mean to reveal that bit. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that information in your confidence.”

That the Hadley men were his brothers? Matthew had suspected the truth, but he would never tarnish the marquess’ name. At least he assumed the marquess’ name would be blackened by the truth. “Your father…?”

Eynsford sighed. “Which one? The bitter old marquess who raised a bastard son he detested or the dissolute viscount who allowed him to do so?” He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t even know I had brothers until a few months ago. Cait sought them out.”

Yet the camaraderie among the four men was unmistakable. “You seem as though you all grew up side by side.”

“The bonds are tighter than I ever could have imagined.”

Matthew smiled. He was familiar with that feeling. He shared it with Kettering and MacQuarrie. He even had it with Callista, though he thought it wise not to mention his maker at the moment.

Eynsford raked a hand through his golden hair. “So Wes is permanently scarred? His mother is going to kill me.”

“It should lighten some,” Matthew offered again, though he knew that wasn’t the answer the marquess was hoping for.

“Enough about my relations.” The Lycan sat up straight in his chair. “Did you really return from Scotland yesterday?”

Matthew answered with a nod. “I met with Mr. Sinclair. He gave me his blessing to marry his daughter. And Benjamin Westfield promised to have their vicar read the banns.”

“You said Westfield gave you notice. What did you mean by that?”

“I suppose most would interpret it as a threat.”

Eynsford threw his head back and laughed. He laughed until tears streamed down his face. Then he wiped them from his cheeks and gestured to the overstuffed leather chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

“I am not certain what is so amusing,” Matthew said as he dropped gingerly into a chair.

Eynsford shook his head. “They do like to hand out threats. Don’t take it personally. I’ve been on the receiving end of more threats from Westfield men than I can count.”

Somewhere in the back of Matthew’s mind, he thought it might just be possible that Eynsford deserved each and every threat he’d ever received. “He just wanted to make sure I would take care of Rhiannon and MacQuarrie.”

The smile vanished from Eynsford’s face. “MacQuarrie,” he grumbled under his breath. Then he heaved a sigh. “I suppose I should tell Rhiannon you’re here, but you know what often happens to the messenger.”

“He gets shot?” Matthew supplied, not following the marquess at all.

Eynsford nodded as the tinkle of feminine voices rose up from the corridor to meet them. “There they are now.” The marquess winced. “I should warn you,” he began, but Matthew was already up and walking toward the door.

Matthew stopped briefly. “Warn me about?” he asked.

The Lycan scratched his head. “Never mind,” he grunted. Then he said something beneath his breath that sounded like, “You’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

Matthew opened the door quickly and stepped into the path of the oncoming ladies. Rhiannon, her sister, and Eynsford’s wife all stopped short and regarded him with disdainful expressions that would have felled a lesser man.

“God be with you,” Eynsford said from behind him.