In the Heat of the Bite (8 page)

Of course, Radbourne had no knowledge of her storms; at least she didn’t think he did. So, the Lycan viscount must have thought she meant something entirely different than the storm cloud over their heads that threatened to erupt at any moment.

“
Havers!
” Rhiannon said as she fanned her face. “That wasna what I meant at all. Now the man will think I have feelings for ye.”

The Earl of Blodswell took her hand and placed it on his arm, and then graced her with his most winning smile. “Well, you do, don’t you?”

Rhiannon nearly tripped on her hem as his dark gaze momentarily disarmed her. The blasted vampyre shouldn’t go around smiling at women like that. The female half of London would throw themselves in his path to catch a glimpse of that smile. It was foolish of her to forget the enchanting power of vampyres. She quickly shook her head to clear her mind. She should never have looked into his eyes. She didn’t think he’d enchanted her, but one could never be too cautious when dealing with his kind.

“I suppose irritation and dislike
are
feelings, my lord.”

Blast him. He smiled again. Rhi refused to look at him. Smiles and enchanted gazes might work on some women, but not her. She knew what he was about, after all. She glanced across the crowded ballroom and spotted Ginny at the far end with Aunt Greer who was glaring daggers at her. For a moment Rhi wasn’t certain whose gaze was worse, Blodswell’s or Aunt Greer’s. But only for a moment. Aunt Greer, nasty as she was, didn’t have the power to drain someone of their own free will.

“And why do you dislike me so, Miss Sinclair?” The earl’s gentle, baritone voice brushed across her ear like a caress as they strolled the perimeter.

She kept her face focused on the couples dancing a few feet away, afraid to give him any opportunity to look in her eyes. “Do ye truly have ta ask that question? After what ye did ta Alec…”

“MacQuarrie aside, you didn’t know my connection to your friend last night when you fabricated a husband and bolted through Hyde Park as though the watch was after you.”

No, she hadn’t. She’d been terribly embarrassed to have been caught having a temper tantrum, and
then
she’d realized what he was. “The watch would have been preferable,” she grumbled.

Blodswell stopped walking and towed her closer to him. Rhiannon looked above his head to avoid eye contact, but she could tell he was frowning. “No one has ever taken an instant dislike toward me, Miss Sinclair. Not in hundreds of years. Pray tell me what I’ve done that offended you so terribly last night.”

Rhiannon let her gaze settle on the dimple in his chin. “Ye’re a vampyre,” she said beneath her breath. Heaven help her if anyone other than Blodswell heard her words.

“And you’re a witch,” he returned just as quietly, bending slightly to speak softly in her ear. The hair on her arms stood up. “I’ve known several of your kind over the years, Miss Sinclair, and we’ve always gotten along rather amiably.”

“Well, I’ve no’ had the same fortune with those of
yer
kind.” That was an understatement, but not something she wished to discuss with him. Rhi tugged her hand from the vampyre’s arm. “And I’d rather keep my distance from vampyres, if ye doona mind.”

“I’m afraid I mind very much. The Marquess of Eynsford has requested my presence in his home tomorrow, and I’ve given my word as a gentleman that I’ll attend.”

What did vampyres know about being gentlemen? The one in Edinburgh certainly hadn’t been one. “Why would he make such a foolish request?”

“To smooth over the blow you dealt my cheek, not to mention my honor, earlier this evening, I would imagine,” the earl explained as though she was a child.

Rhi begrudgingly had to admit that made sense, but she still didn’t like it. Besides, she wasn’t the only one in residence at Thorpe House. Rhiannon feigned a smile and curtseyed. “Well, then I hope ye and the marquess get along famously on the morrow. Good evenin’, my lord.”

Addled. Matthew couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt addled. But there wasn’t another word for it. Every time Rhiannon Sinclair escaped his company he was more bewildered than the time before. She’d run from him three times now. It was almost enough to deal a fatal blow to a fellow’s ego. By Saint George’s teeth, he had only tried to help the lady. Chivalry was not necessarily dead, but Rhiannon Sinclair wanted none of it.

He watched as Lady Eynsford and her pack of wolves circled around the lady in question. She clearly didn’t want any part of him or his help. What should it matter to him? He didn’t know her. He didn’t owe her anything. Yet as the bloody Viscount Radbourne pressed his lips to Miss Sinclair’s fingers, Matthew had to stop himself from flying across the room and crashing his fist into the fortune hunter’s face. But that was hardly gentlemanly…

Radbourne
was
a fortune hunter, wasn’t he? Or so Sir Ralph had claimed. And why would Sir Ralph malign Radbourne if there was no truth behind it? If Miss Sinclair
was
in the possession of a fortune, he should make certain the
fortune hunter of questionable character
kept his distance from the lady. After all, Eynsford and his wife seemed to be blind to Radbourne’s character flaws. The two men were most definitely related somehow. Matthew only wished he knew the particulars.

If Eynsford couldn’t be trusted to ensure Miss Sinclair’s best interests, Matthew probably should keep the lass in his sights. Besides, who better than a knight to rescue a damsel in distress, even if the damsel didn’t know it?

“And you say
I’m
stubborn,” Alec MacQuarrie muttered at his side.

Matthew hadn’t even noticed the reborn Scot approaching him. He didn’t even bother to glance at MacQuarrie, as his eyes were still trained on Miss Sinclair. “What are you going on about?”

“I specifically asked you to stay away from Rhiannon, and you ignored me completely.”

At that, Matthew scoffed and finally did look his charge in the eyes. “I believe you have assumed a role unbefitting our relationship, Alec,” Matthew scolded. He said the words low enough that the Scot was the only one who could hear them. He was certain he’d hit his mark when MacQuarrie’s face colored.

Matthew softened his expression. The lady was an old friend of Alec’s. He should be happy the Scot cared about
something
, considering the way he carried on with little regard for feelings or emotions now that he was a vampyre. “You should have seen her last night. She was so sad. And now…”

“And now what?” MacQuarrie glanced across the room at Eynsford’s corner, toward the weather-disturbing witch and her friends, and winced when he saw Lady Eynsford.

Would the poor man ever get over the loss of the marchioness? Matthew doubted he would. He’d seen other vampyres suffer loss, and it simply made for centuries of anguish. He suddenly realized how fortunate he was to have never loved someone he would have inevitably lost in the end.

“And now what?” MacQuarrie repeated with more than an irritated edge to his voice.

Matthew shook away his maudlin thoughts and refocused his attention on the beguiling witch at whom Radbourne grinned wolfishly. How strange to be asking his charge for advice. But the man had socialized in these circles before his untimely death. “What do you know of Radbourne?”

MacQuarrie shrugged as he regarded the man in question. “I’ve bumped into him a few times in the past, but never in a ballroom. He doesn’t frequent the upscale venues. Or consort with
ladies
as a norm.”

“I hear he has pockets to let. Though he doesn’t look impoverished at the moment.” Matthew scratched his chin. Secretly, a small part of him wanted to find something to dislike about the man. Should he feel bad about that? He certainly hated the way Rhiannon Sinclair’s gaze sought out the viscount. She wouldn’t even look Matthew in the eye.

“No, but he is, if rumor is true, and it usually is.” Then MacQuarrie frowned, his gaze intensified on Radbourne. “He looks amazingly similar to Eynsford, does he not?”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“I’ve never seen them together before,” the Scot muttered. “I’ve never heard of any connection between the two families. But they could pass as brothers.” He spit out the last as though the idea was distasteful to him.

“They’re beasts of the same variety,” Matthew explained. “There must be some familial ties somewhere down the line.”

“Beasts?” Alec’s head snapped in his direction. “What do you mean beasts?”

Matthew heaved a sigh. Why had he let that slip? “Not here. I’ll explain about Lycans later.”

“What the devil is a Lycan?”

“This isn’t the place.”

Alec grabbed a handful of Matthew’s jacket. “You’ll tell me here and now!” he hissed. “If Caitrin’s in danger—”

“She’s not,” Matthew growled, extricating himself from the Scot’s hold. “Do try to remember you’re in public, Alec.”

“Are you saying Eynsford is a Lycan, whatever the devil they are?”

Matthew straightened his jacket. “We should head back to
Brysi
if you want to have this conversation now.”

“But Cait!” Alec pressed.

“Is married to the man. Look at her,” Matthew directed. “Does she seem unhappy? Does she look as though she’s been injured? They’ve been married for months, Alec. More than one moonful, and she still seems to adore the marquess. I know it’s painful for you, but it is the way of things.”

Anguish stained MacQuarrie’s face. “Promise me she’s safe.”

That was an easy promise to make. Eynsford treated his wife as though she was the most precious of treasures. “On my honor, I swear to you that Caitrin is safe with Eynsford.”

Alec nodded tightly. “Thank you.”

“I do believe we should take our leave, though.” Matthew’s gaze shot back across the room to land on Rhiannon Sinclair. What was it about her that intrigued him so? Hopefully, he’d find out tomorrow when he called on her at Thorpe House. Until then, he’d learn what he could about the insolvent Viscount Radbourne.

Thorpe House was a bit of a madhouse, or a doghouse, depending on one’s view. Rhiannon wasn’t quite certain what her view was at the moment. Shortly after breakfast, the Marquess of Eynsford had unceremoniously scooped Caitrin up in his arms, despite her halfhearted, giggly protests, and bounded for parts unknown. For a half second, Rhi had considered sending a shock to his hindquarters, the same way she had when he’d nearly mauled Cait at their wedding all those months ago. But as she was a guest in the man’s home, she decided it probably wasn’t the best idea.

She hadn’t seen either of them since.

Rhiannon was far from lonely, however. Caitrin had the right of it when she said Eynsford’s brothers were always underfoot. The twins, Grayson and Weston Hadley, bickered back and forth about one inane topic or another—from styles of cravats to the latest offerings at Tattersall’s. Watching them was vastly entertaining until Lord Radbourne, from his position near the window seat, suggested the pair hie off to Gentleman Jackson’s to settle their squabbles in more appropriate surroundings.

“And leave Miss Sinclair alone in
your
debauched presence?” Weston Hadley raised one dark eyebrow. “I think not.”

“I’m in complete agreement.” Grayson Hadley settled in beside Rhiannon on a dark green brocade settee. “I am sorry my younger brother’s ineptitude about cattle has kept the conversation from you, Miss Sinclair.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Lord Radbourne smiled wolfishly at her. “Apparently the only thing they agree on is thwarting me.”

“And I am
not
younger,” Weston Hadley insisted as he sank into a nearby high-backed chair, casting an irritated glance at his twin. “We’re the
same
age.”

“Ah, but I beat you by a whole five minutes.” Grayson Hadley leaned toward Rhiannon and whispered dramatically, “The runt of a litter typically is the weakest, both mentally and physically. You wouldn’t believe how many arguments we’ve had over
that
.”

Rhiannon couldn’t help herself, and she laughed at the pair. “Oh, I believe you, Mr. Hadley.”

“Mr. Hadley is so formal, and there are
two
of us. Please call me Gray instead.” He winked at her.

A strangled sound escaped his twin. “First names already? Well, then, Miss Sinclair, I insist you call me Wes.”

Gray chuckled. “Beat you again.”

“Only because I’m better mannered than you,” Wes returned.

Lord Radbourne rubbed his brow as though his siblings gave him a headache. “I am very sorry, sweetheart. I should have left them at home. In the nursery.” He shot them a quelling glance.

Wes snorted. “We could hardly allow you to keep Miss Sinclair to yourself.” Then he graced Rhiannon with a charming smile. “Cait has told us very little about you, Miss Sinclair.”

Including the fact that she was a witch. They didn’t know about Cait, either. Her friend had confided that bit after the ball last night. Fortunately, Lord Radbourne hadn’t noticed the cloud above them when Lord Blodswell intercepted them. That would have been difficult to explain. “There’s no’ much ta tell,” Rhiannon hedged.