One Bite Per Night (18 page)

“There is, however, one condition.”

Of course there was. She concealed her disappointment. “And what would that be?”

“Due to the time I've spent on your portrait and your lessons, I'm afraid I've fallen behind on a few of my own commissions for my patrons, as well as for the Exhibition. As president of the Academy, it simply would not do for me to have nothing to show for this sacred event.”

Lydia couldn't hide her suspicion. “What does that have to do with me?”

Lawrence gave her a sheepish look. “From time to time I allow my students to apply the finishing touches on my works. Given your astounding skill and speed, perhaps you could finish, say…five of my paintings?”

“Three.” Her spite at his treatment of the Siddons sisters and her denial of studying at the Academy compelled her to be merciless.

“A shrewd bargain. Very well, three. I shall bring what I have tomorrow evening.”

After he left, Lydia slumped in a chair, dazed. Laughter bubbled from her lips.

Miss Hobson raised a brow. “Are you quite all right, Miss Price?”

“He doesn't even finish his own paintings!” The shock and scorn for yet another transgression her hero had committed warred with elation at the prospect of taking part in creating another Lawrence portrait.

The chaperone smirked. “Yes, well he is a very busy man. Still, that seems less than honest to me.”

“At least I will be able to participate in the Royal Exhibition.” Joy at grasping one of her deepest dreams surpassed her disillusionment with her idol.

Lydia couldn't wait to tell Vincent about it. Her chest ached as she thought of the easy camaraderie they had known in Cornwall. Although he visited the house every night without fail to assess her progress, emotionally, he seemed farther away than ever.

Vincent folded his arms tightly against his evening coat as he walked to Burnrath House, chilled despite the warm spring evening. The envelope containing the missive from the Elders felt like a lead weight in his pocket. What crime had he committed to have the fates cause everything to go so terribly wrong? He'd had Lydia's affection; he'd been certain of it. Perhaps she would have become a vampire willingly, pleased to spend an eternity at his side.

Eternity.
The concept had been his downfall. After centuries of existence, Vincent had been confident that he had sufficient time to court Lydia and offer her his heart and immortality. Not for a moment had he considered that she did not have the same luxury, that death could snatch her from his arms at a whim.

Due to his foolish arrogance, her mortality, as well as his, had crashed down upon them both in one sound blow. The irony was thick enough to choke on. Lydia now had the possibility of centuries, while he likely had mere weeks to live.

Burke greeted him with a bow and took his hat and coat. “His Grace is expecting you in the study, my lord, along with Mr. Adair.”

Vincent felt a small measure of comfort that his summons had been responded to so quickly. “Thank you, Burke.”

Ian awaited him in the study, along with Rafe and Emrys. Vincent's second regarded him sympathetically.

“Emrys, thank you for arriving on such short notice.” Vincent clapped his second in command on the shoulder. “How fare the blood drinkers of Cornwall?”

His second bowed. “They are all safe and in good health, my lord.” He frowned. “Though all of us are dismayed to hear of your predicament.”

Vincent straightened his spine. “I did what I felt was necessary.”

“I would not expect otherwise, my lord.” Emrys nodded in understanding tinged with regret. “Which is why I came as soon as I could. A representative from the Elders has written me. She will be coming to Cornwall in a few weeks to question us on your character and leadership.”

Ian snorted behind them. “Well, that is certainly thorough of them.”

Emrys inclined his head respectfully toward the Lord of London before turning back to Vincent. “I wanted to assure you that your people stand behind you, and if there is a trial, I am willing to follow you to Amsterdam myself to testify on your behalf.”

Rafe chuckled and lit a cigar. “So no insurrections are being planned in Cornwall, then?”

Emrys glared at the Spaniard. “We are loyal to our Lord.”

As the seconds continued to stare each other down, Vincent shook his head. Why did the Spaniard insist on being so damn difficult? He turned back to his second. “I need you to remain in Cornwall and watch over my people until this ordeal is over.”

Emrys nodded. Rafe smoked his cigar in silence.

Vincent took a deep breath, fixing his second with an intent gaze before asking the dreaded but necessary question. “Emrys, if I am put to death, are you willing to take my place as Lord of Cornwall?”

Ever formal, Emrys dropped to one knee as if accepting a knighthood. “I am, and I vow to strive to look after our people as well as you have.”

“I shall express my recommendation to the Elders when they make their decision.” Vincent paused at the sound of footsteps and hushed feminine voices approaching.

The scent of gardenias teased his senses when the study door opened to reveal Lydia and Angelica. Both were dressed in male attire, and Vincent sucked in a breath at the agonizing temptation of the sight of Lydia's curved hips and long legs. What mischief had they been up to?

“What is going on here?” the duchess asked, practically quivering with curiosity.

Ian regarded his wife solemnly. “We are meeting with Vincent's second in command, Emrys Adair.”

Emrys bowed once more. “Your Grace.” He then turned his attention to Lydia, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Lord Deveril's unsanctioned fledgling, Miss Lydia Price,” Rafe supplied, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Miss Price.” Emrys took Lydia's hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles as Vincent fought the urge to kill him. “It is an honor.”

Rafe blew a smoke ring and looked on Vincent's ire with amusement.

“We were just finishing.” Ian eyed Angelica sternly. “We will join you ladies shortly.”

Rafe and Vincent tensed and exchanged glances. Ian's wife did not respond well to commands.

Angelica inclined her head in assent, though the glint in her dark eyes radiated impatience and curiosity. “Very well, we shall see you in the drawing room anon. Come, Lydia.”

When the females left, Emrys turned wide eyes to Vincent. “Good heavens, she is exquisite! Once the Elders set eyes upon your fledgling, surely they will understand and show mercy.”

Rafe snorted. “If comeliness were justification for violating the law, the world would be overrun with vampires.” He added, “On a more practical note, Miss Price has adapted to her new life with astonishing speed and courage. This could prove beneficial to Lord Deveril's case.”

Vincent searched the Spaniard's face for a hint of sarcasm and found none. It seemed Lydia had earned Rafe's respect…and perhaps Vincent had as well.

Ian cleared his throat. “Shall we adjourn this meeting?”

Rafe and Vincent nodded.

“I should be getting back to Cornwall.” Emrys squared his shoulders and gave Vincent a sympathetic gaze. “I will pray that all goes well for you, my lord.”

Vincent closed his eyes. “If God even listens to the prayers of monsters.”

***

With identical expressions of solemn dread on their faces, Ian and Vincent joined Lydia and Angelica in the drawing room.

“I received a letter from the Elders,” Vincent announced without preamble. His voice was empty and as soulless as a death knell.

“What did they say?” Lydia's knees quaked. How she longed to seek solace in his arms.

He closed his eyes, but not before she glimpsed an answering flicker of fear in his gaze. “I am to be investigated. One of the Elders will arrive on the third of May to question me and observe you.”

“But, that's so soon!” she protested.
Less
than
a
month
before
the
man
I
love
could
be
dead.
It wasn't fair.

Vincent continued as if he did not hear her. “I am to prepare my testimony and gather any witnesses willing to testify in my defense.”

“That would be everyone in this room.” Ian's brows drew together in sympathy. “I am afraid your reclusive ways have not done you good in this case.”

Rafael fixed Lydia with an intent stare. “They will also evaluate you, youngling. So you had best impress them with your adaptation to our ways, or else—”

Vincent slammed his fist on the mahogany table. The sound echoed like a gunshot. “We will discuss that later. It is time for us to prepare for the Wentworth ball.”

“A ball?” Lydia choked out. “How can we consider going to a party at a time like this?” All she wanted to do was take Vincent's hand and flee.

Angelica spoke at last. “We cannot handle problems with Society, in addition to this situation. If you don't appear before them triumphant and acknowledge the felicitations for your engagement, people will speculate the worst. And if scandal is attached to your name, the Elders will learn of it, and that will not bode well for Vincent's case.”

“Damn it,” Lydia muttered. If she hadn't before had a reason to loathe being a debutante, she now possessed them in abundance.

The duchess screwed her face into a mock expression of pious disapproval. “A lady does not use such language,” she said in an eerie imitation of Miss Hobson.

“Double
damn
it
!”

Soft laughter echoed around her, lessening the pall hanging over the room. Lydia swore Rafe even cracked a smile.

“Speaking of Miss Hobson, you had better wake her up, along with Emma,” Angelica told her husband before taking Lydia's hand to lead her up to the bedchamber.

Lydia glanced over her shoulder at Vincent. He had turned away once more. Rafe's amber gaze glittered enigmatically, and she jerked her face away.

Miss Hobson met them in the hallway, failing to stifle a yawn. “For heaven's sake, the odd hours of this house are enough to do me in. Either that, or it is the confounded lack of windows on this floor.”

Angelica ignored the jibe. “We must dress for the Wentworth ball. It is guaranteed to be a crush.” She gave the chaperone a wry grin. “It was at one of Jane's balls last year where I met my husband, you know.”

“Ah yes, we had best get Miss Price looking her very best,” Miss Hobson replied briskly. “Come, Lydia.”

Lydia followed the chaperone to her room, where Emma waited with a beaded lavender satin ball gown that the Siddons sisters had recently finished.

The maid favored her with a saucy grin. “The Devil Earl will be pleased to see you in this creation.”

Lydia looked down before Emma could see her pain. If only a pretty ensemble was enough to win his love. As the maid helped her dress, Lydia remembered the scarlet gown she'd worn to seduce Vincent. She was tempted to try the scheme once more. Her body ached for his touch, and her heart wanted more.

An hour later, she met the others downstairs. Angelica was resplendent in a low-cut gown of sapphire watered silk. A diamond necklace sparkled at her throat. Ian appeared every inch the duke in his black evening clothes…yet Vincent held her full attention.

His midnight-blue jacket and breeches brought out the color of his turbulent eyes, and the silver embroidered waistcoat complemented the gleaming strands of his hair. His cravat was meticulously knotted, and his hair was impeccably pulled back in a queue, highlighting his sharp cheekbones. Despite the fine picture, Lydia preferred him bare-throated, with his long hair free and rakish, the way she had sketched him so often in Cornwall. From the agitated tapping of his polished Hessians, Vincent appeared to resent the confining attire as well.

Mouth dry with desire, Lydia longed to free him from his elegant clothes. When he assisted her into the Burnrath carriage, she had to bite back a moan of lust at his touch. In the close quarters of the coach, his masculine scent was enough to drive her mad.

The glittering splendor of the Wentworth ball, and the warm, pulsing crowd of attendees were an assault on Lydia's senses. Taking a deep breath, she forced her heightened perception to dim to a tolerable level. The scent of blood, countless founts of fresh prey, tantalized her nostrils. Saliva nearly filled her mouth, and she said a silent prayer of relief that she had fed. Still, her predatory instincts forced her muscles to tense and stiffen in the receiving line. Angelica greeted the hostess with kisses on both cheeks, showing no sign of wanting to bite the woman. Lydia vowed to behave with the same control.

“Miss Price, how lovely it is to see you this evening.” The Duchess of Wentworth greeted her with a dazzling smile. “I wanted to felicitate you sooner on your engagement, but I heard you'd been ill. I am pleased to see you're now blooming with health.”

Lydia curtsied and returned the smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. It was only a slight cold. It happens every spring.”

As she made her way to the ballroom, a few other people inquired about her illness and engagement. Some gave her skeptical looks, as if they didn't believe her explanation. Lydia shook her head. Likely some assumed that Vincent had compromised her. Her lips twisted in ill humor. In truth,
she
had compromised
him
.

Playing the dutiful debutante proved more difficult than she'd anticipated, especially since she had to constantly fight the urge to sink her fangs into the men's throats and drain their life force drop by drop. Once she finished placating the last affronted suitor, Lydia quit the floor.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned to see her grandmother approaching her.

The old woman's lips pulled back in a rictus of a smile. “My dear child, I am pleased that your common blood did not prevail, and you have made a match that brings honor to our family.”

Lydia froze in shock. First she was an embarrassment; now she brought the family
honor
?

Lady Morley continued merrily. “It is as if it were destined. Lord Deveril's ancestor was betrothed to ours before he had a terrible accident, you know.”

“Hmm,” was all she could manage.

“Please, come to tea tomorrow afternoon.” Her grandmother reached out to pat her shoulder.

Lydia stepped away. “No thank you, Grandmother,” she said coolly and turned her back on the dowager, giving her the cut direct.

Immediately, whispers erupted all around her. Some people looked shocked; many nodded in approval. Angelica beamed at her from across the ballroom.

From the refreshment table, she observed the glittering throng. Sparkling jewels and the rainbow of rich fabrics made her think of plumage on birds of paradise. She longed to get away from it all. Her heart ached with desperation to be back in Cornwall in the peaceful solitude of Vincent's castle, to abandon London Society and all of its oppressive trappings.

The beloved scent of sea breezes and masculine spices pulled her from her reverie as the musicians struck up a waltz.

“Will you dance with me, Lydia?” Vincent's soft voice resonated low in her body.

His hand was warm and strong in hers as he led her to the dance floor.

For a while, she merely savored the feel of being in his arms as they moved silently to the music. She looked up at him, increasingly frustrated with his unreadable countenance. If only she could tell what he was thinking! Her breath caught as she remembered that some vampires could read minds.