The Taming of the Thief (33 page)

 
   
Cordelia has always been an outcast, even in
her own family. She has forged her way in the world with her ability to write,
and Nico Blackburn is the focus of her next article. Before she can obtain any
information about the mysterious man, she is pulled headlong into a
scandal that leaves her with no choice but to marry Nico—a man with
dangerous secrets.  

 
   
A passion that consumes them both
.

 
   
Thrust into a world she knows nothing of,
Cordelia finds herself falling in love with a man who claims to be a vampire.
As their passion grows, so does the danger around them and Nico will have to
call on all of his powers to protect the one thing he has realized he cannot
live without: his opinionated, infuriating, and thoroughly delectable
wife.

Prologue

Late
in Queen Victoria’s Reign

 
   
“He was
Made
?”
Malik asked.

 
   
Nicodemus Blackburn did not look at his
friend, but nodded and continued to clean the blood from beneath his
fingernails. The only sound in the dank room was the splashing of water.

 
   
“How old?”

 
   
"I would say less than two months.
Definitely not completely transitioned."

 
   
Silence.
When Malik
didn't respond, Nico glanced at him. His friend’s face passive, his eyes cold.
They had learned long ago Malik would be the whipping boy for every damned Made
vampire. 

 
   
"He was completely out of control. The
woman..." Nico closed his eyes and swallowed back the fresh wave of nausea
that threatened to bubble up. In five hundred years, he had never seen anything
so brutal, so bestial. He had killed Mades before, but never happened upon one
of their kills. He opened his eyes to find his friend with a knowing look on
his face. "She did not die easily."

 
   
If possible, Malik's expression grew colder.
"Meaning he raped her to death."

 
   
There was nothing to be said, for nothing
would stop what was going to happen, what was already happening. Nico grabbed a
linen cloth and started to dry his hands.

 
   
"We need to find out what the bloody
hell is happening. This one had no connection to family. There has to be a
reason for the Made vampires to be popping up all over the countryside"

 
   
Malik nodded. "I've heard more rumbling
amongst the Borns. Not to mention the Carrier woman they found dead in London
two nights ago. There might be trouble for my kind again."

 
   
Nico shrugged and retrieved another shirt.
"I don't think you need to worry."

 
   
"Don't lie."

 
   
"You are always exempt from these witch
hunts. You trace your roots back further than mine. Anyone who has made it
through transition has no problem. They never lose control."

 
   
A cynical smile curved Malik's lips.
"True. And so I shouldn't have to worry at all. But the youngest
generation doesn't remember the Inquisition...they don't remember how many of
us fought on your side. They will be out for blood."

 
   
Nico faced him. Irritation and worry gripped
his stomach in a cold, hard fist. What Malik said was true. Before the
Inquisition, the Borns regularly hunted for Mades, killing them before they
gained control of their new powers. He could not defend what had happened in
the past, only work to fix the present.

 
   
But, that would come later. Nico could still
smell the corpse’s blood on his body. If he closed his eyes he could remember
everything.
The mutilation of the Carrier woman, the
sickening feel of shoving a piece of wood into the vampire’s flesh.
The
word Suprema still echoed in his ears.

 
   
It was worse than it had been almost four
hundred years ago. God, he did not want to do that ever again. But he
would...he knew that down to his core. There was no way to avoid it. If he
allowed someone else to lead the hunt, it would become a massacre of every Made
vampire in England.

 
   
 
He
opened his eyes and looked at his best friend. They had seen the worst mankind
could throw at them and the worst. Nico feared they were about to see things
neither of them were prepared for.

 
   
“The trail leads to London,” Malik said.

 
   
“Yes. My father agrees.”

 
   
“Your father is the only family leader with
any intelligence.”

 
   
 
True,
for he was the oldest of the four family patriarchs that comprised the vampire
clans of England and Scotland.

 
   
“In father’s mind, he is the only one who
matters. But, in this case he is correct. London would be easier…the maker
could resort to the lower classes and it would not attract any attention.”

 
   
“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

 
   
Nico shook his head. “Not a clue. All I know
is the sightings in the country have dwindled and those we have found all lead
to London.”

 
   
“I hate London.”

 
   
Nico smiled at his friend’s irritation. Both
of them hated London, the ton and all of their idiocy. But his father had asked
him to go, and Nico could not refuse. "We go to London."

 
   
Malik studied him for a moment, and then
nodded. "We go to London.”

Chapter One

 
   
He was avoiding her again.

 
   
Lady Cordelia Collingsworth searched through
the milling crowd in the Smyth’s ballroom as irritation shot through her blood.
This was the third night in a row he had lost her. The mysterious man was
making it impossible to discover anything about him...or his shady businesses.

 
   
“Lady Cordelia.”

 
   
She grimaced before she could stop herself.
Viscount Hurst. He had been dogging her steps at every event for the last
fortnight. He always appeared at her side, a genial smile on his face, and
pretty compliments. Drat the man. She smoothed her expression and turned to
face the viscount.

 
   
Cordelia understood why he had been labeled
“The Catch” by the ladies of the ton early this season. Just thirty years old,
he sported a strong physique. Blonde hair and deep brown eyes had all the women
sighing, or so she had been told. He was pleasant enough with that square jaw
and all his proper manners, but there was something about him she did not like.
Something that made her blood
chill
every time she
came in contact with him. Even in the overwhelming heat of the ballroom, she
could not seem to keep herself warm in Hurst’s presence.

 
   
He smiled down at her and she fought the
shiver of dread that raced along her flesh.

 
   
“I hope you are enjoying yourself tonight.”

 
   
She forced her lips to curve into a
welcoming smile as she offered her hand. He bent over it. Even with her skin
protected by gloves, the top of her hand grew cold. Bile rose in her throat as
she watched him. Most women—especially women decidedly on the shelf and with no
dowry—would kill to be this close to him. The idea that she wanted to flee whenever
she spotted him made no sense.

 
   
“I always enjoy the Smyth’s ball. It is very
amusing.” She tugged on her hand, twisting it to free it from his grasp. “And
you, my lord?”

 
   
“I thought to ask for your hand in the next
dance.” The moment he said it, the first strains of a waltz filled the massive
ballroom. A sick ball of dread filled her stomach. “I assume you are free?”

 
   
His smirk told Cordelia he knew she did not
have one dance on her card. She rarely did. She was not on the marriage mart,
far too old and poor to grab attention—except from the Viscount. Now she
regretted not securing a dance partner for the first waltz.

 
   
“I--”

 
   
“Lady Cordelia.” A strong masculine voice
filled the air around her and sent a rush of heat along her nerve endings. Even
without turning she knew who stood behind her. The man she had been chasing for
three days straight. The man she was positive ran illegal businesses in London.
The subject of her now-due article.

 
   
Nicodemus Blackburn.

 
   
She turned to face him, her heart beating
hard against her breast. As blood rushed out of her head, she felt a bit
lightheaded. Where the viscount and his patrician features were attractive in a
very English
gentry
way, Mr. Blackburn was dark and
dangerous. If women sighed over the viscount, they fainted when Blackburn gave
them his attention. Cordelia wanted to be the exception to that rule…but he was
heady indeed.

 
   
“Yes, Mr. Blackburn?”

 
   
“I believe this is my dance.”

 
   
For a moment, she didn't respond. She
couldn't. Her mind simply could not formulate a reply. Blackburn, who rarely
danced and had been known for disdaining most of the ton, had just asked her to
dance. No. He lied and said she had promised him the dance.

 
   
One black eyebrow rose as she said nothing.
The curving of his lips was enough to pull her out of her trance.

 
   
She offered him her hand and said to Hurst,
“If you will excuse me, my lord.”

 
   
Hurst tossed Blackburn a nasty look before
offering her a pleasant smile.
“Of course.
Perhaps the next waltz?”

 
   
She merely smiled but said nothing. Cordelia
would make sure not to be in sight of the viscount. Blackburn led her out to
the floor and pulled her closer, swinging her into the rhythm of the dance. She
drew in a deep breath. The scent of bayrum filled her scenes. That lightheaded
feeling returned.

 
   
“A bit of advice, my
lady.”

 
   
She looked up at Blackburn trying to keep
her wits about her. Everyone sought information on this man, especially her
editor who had told her to dig into his character and find out just where he
got his money. And he was here, like a ripe peach for the picking. She had a
list of questions memorized. Unfortunately, she found herself staring into his
mesmerizing eyes and could not gather her wits long enough to ask him anything.

 
   
It was Blackburn’s fault. His attractiveness
did not come from a trained valet who knew how to dress his employer. He
possessed the most remarkable gray-blue eyes and blacker than midnight
hair—worn unfashionably long. He was put together well, solid. She could feel his
muscles flex as he guided her through the waltz, maneuvering around couples
with ease.

 
   
His attractiveness turned heads, but there
was more to it than that. It was the strength she sensed beneath the surface of
the polished veneer. Something about him, dangerous and male, seethed just
beneath his polite façade.  It almost made her giddy to be this close to
him.

 
   
“Lady Cordelia?”

 
   
She blinked. “Yes? Oh, you had advice.”

 
   
“You should stay away from the Viscount.”

 
   
She nodded at his comment.
No, not truly a comment.
A command.
She didn’t know Blackburn, knew nothing of his family—and he only could know of
the gossip surrounding hers. But, for some unknown reason he felt the need to
tell her what to do. Of all the cheek!