My Lady Vampire

by Sahara Kelly

  But he’d never reckoned on the disturbing effect of somebody like Kitty Edgeworth. Never imagined that he could be overwhelmed to the point of madness by the scent of a woman or the way her eyes slid from his when she lied.

  And she had lied. There was no doubt in Adrian’s mind.

  Why she lied was secondary to him at this moment. More frustrating was the knowledge that she dared to hide something from him. Him. The one person with whom she could have no secrets at all. The one person to whom she shouldn’t even think of lying.

  The one person…who was going to take her and fuck her until she begged for mercy and who was then going to make her beg for more.

  The inevitability of their bedding settled on Adrian’s shoulders like a mantle. It fit, comfortably, and although he knew not when or where, he now knew who. Or whom. He grinned into the darkness as he pondered the semantics.

  Discussion of anything else would be futile at this point, given the strength of his conviction.

  Kitty Edgeworth was his.

  Chapter Seven

  The woman herself was confused, aching and rather irritated at life in general when she awoke the next morning.

  Stretching was painful, she needed to empty her bladder, the fire was out and rain pelted noisily against the closed windows. She also wanted to cough, but that urge was overridden by the fear that so doing might well rupture her ribs or something crucial thereabouts.

  Hell and devil confound it, I hurt.

  Then thoughts of Jessie filtered into her mind and her hurts faded to unimportance. Jessie was no more. She--Katherine--was alive. All else would heal with time. She blinked tears away as a footstep sounded outside and the door opened to reveal a motherly woman holding a most-welcome sight--a tea tray.

  “Oh good, you poor dear. You’re awake. I hoped you might rouse yourself this mornin’. I’ve brought tea. Nothing like a nice cuppa to set you back on the right road, I always say.”

  Katherine blinked as she eased herself painfully up on the pillow. There was nothing menacing about this woman--obviously the housekeeper--nor were there any dark-eyed men with fire in their gaze lurking in the room.

  Other than the fact she was missing her night robe, she might have been in any country house anywhere in the country. She carefully cleared her throat. “Where am I?”

  The woman bustled about, calling for a maid to relight the fire and placing tea things on a low table. “You’re at St. Chesswell, dearie. The home of Sir Sidney Chesswell and his son Adrian. You’re quite safe now.”

  Remembering those eyes, most likely belonging to his son Adrian, Katherine wondered if that statement was wholly accurate. A sensual shiver crossed her skin and she repressed it.

  The sound of tea being poured also made her shiver, but for a different reason. She gathered a sheet around her. “I must…I need to use…” She glanced about the room as she slipped her legs from the bed.

  “Oh my goodness, of course you do. There’s a screen. The necessary is behind it.” The woman smiled as she nodded across the bed to a shadowy corner where an ornate screen hid the chamber pot.

  Gratefully, Katherine stumbled behind it and relieved her overflowing bladder. As she reemerged, she glanced down at herself. “I seem to have nothing but the sheet, Mrs.…er…” She paused.

  “Tooting, dear. Mrs. Tooting. I’m Sir Sidney’s housekeeper and don’t worry, a maid is bringing you something now you’re awake. To be honest--” She looked a little embarrassed. “We wasn’t sure you was going to survive your injuries. Sir Sidney said to leave you be ‘til we knew you’d make it.”

  The woman tapped her head with one finger. “Nasty things, them head injuries, so Sir Sidney said.”

  “Ahh.” Katherine nodded in agreement. Sir Sidney clearly had some sense about him, since his words bore out what Katherine knew to be true. Head wounds were very nasty things. She was a very lucky woman to have gotten off with just bruises and a bump on her scalp.

  A knock heralded a maid bearing a fluffy armful and Mrs. Tooting took it with a smile, dismissing the girl and shutting the door on her wide-eyed curiosity. “Oh good. Here’s something for you to wear. It’s a bit out of date, since there hasn’t been a lady in residence in a good many years, but it should do you for the time being.”

  She slipped the froth of fine lace over Katherine’s head. Katherine couldn’t have cared if it was sackcloth ripped from a hay wain, she just wanted something to cover her nakedness. To hide from those eyes.

  “My clothes?” Katherine returned to the bed and sank thankfully against the pillows.

  “Your trunk was smashed open and much of what was in it got muddied and soaked. I’ve got some servants working on it, dear, but I don’t know how much they’re goin’ to be able to salvage.” She passed a cup of steaming tea to Katherine. “I would like to know what to call you…”

  Katherine smiled. “I’m Kitty Edgeworth. Mrs. Kitty Edgeworth.”

  “And is there someplace we should notify Mr. Edgeworth that his wife is here, safe and sound?”

  Kitty swallowed a sip of tea and composed her words carefully. “There is no Mr. Edgeworth anymore. I’m a widow. My…husband was killed several years ago. Recently I was companion to Mrs. Byerly, the lady who unfortunately lost her life in the accident.”

  Tears filled Katherine’s eyes as she remembered Jessie--so flighty, so silly and yet such fun. She would have lasted all of a month at Byerly Grange, Katherine knew that. Had they not fled, she’d be alive.

  Had they not fled, Katherine would be once again alone. Or worse.

  She gulped down the tea, thankful for the heat that warmed a chill around her heart. “I’m sorry. I seem to be very emotional.” She passed the empty teacup back to the woman with a grateful smile.

  Mrs. Tooting stretched out a comforting hand and brushed Katherine’s flyaway hair off her forehead. “You just rest now and get well. Nothing else to worry about for the time being.” The woman looked a little self-conscious. “Sir Sidney had me put a couple of drops of laudanum in your tea. He wants you to sleep as much as possible right now. The best thing for you, he says…”

  Katherine nodded sleepily. She’d heard as much from others, but never realized how strong the drug’s effects might be when taken on an empty stomach.

  She half-smiled as she slid lower in the bed. “I think I can obey that instruction, Mrs. Tooting.” A yawn creased her face. “Without any difficulty at all…”

  “That’s good, dearie. Very good. Time enough to worry about all the other nonsense later.”

  Katherine struggled. “What nonsense?”

  “All that red-headed curse nonsense. Tales for children, I’ve always said.”

  The words meant nothing to Katherine. She was sliding into the shadows of unconsciousness too quickly to retain more than a fleeting impression of some silliness about her hair…

  She never heard the clatter of teacups or the removal of her tray. She was asleep before Mrs. Tooting left the room.

  - - - -

  As the rain settled down over Southern England, getting comfortable and ready for one of those long stays that drove everybody slightly crazy after a few days, St. Chesswell fell silent.

  As was their routine, the servants worked quietly around the house, since their master and his son had this odd habit of being up all hours of the night like bats. It was a mixed blessing, since they could do what needed to be done during the day, and were seldom required to be awake at night with the Master, but even so, it was thought by many--eccentric.

  However, nobody complained. The wages were fair, Sir Sidney was held to be a good employer, and St. Chesswell’s had been around so long it was considered quite a coup to be numbered amongst its household. It did wonders for one’s prestige at the pub.

  Sidney himself was contentedly snoring amongst his pillows, a book lying half open across his knees. He muttered a little in his sleep, his brain still attempting to solve various puzzles and follow its own train of thought
even at this time of rest.

  Further down the corridor, in the darkest suite of St. Chesswell, a man lay still on his bed, nary a rise and fall of his chest betraying his presence.

  Adrian, too, was sleeping.

  But, unlike his father, Adrian was dreaming.

  Early in their association, Sidney had warned Adrian that his dreams were probably not going to go away. That whatever had precipitated Adrian’s “condition”--a word they used in preference to his “death”--had manifested itself within Adrian’s subconscious mind as well as his body.

  That his state of near-death had heightened his psychic facilities, forged an odd bond between him and his “maker”, and would create dreams real enough to make ordinary men scream and break out in a sweat.

  Since Sidney had begun dosing him with the herbs and concoctions from his laboratory, Adrian had known his diagnosis was correct.

  His body might be getting better, but his dreams were getting stronger. Almost as if the symptoms and habits he was working to cure while awake found a new outlet in his mind while he was asleep.

  Several times he’d awoken to the last fingers of daylight, fangs loosened and ready, hungry to savage and feed on some unsuspecting dream prey. It had all receded as his mind surfaced to reality, but for a while the dream had been all the reality he could handle.

  Occasionally, Thérèse visited him, and these were the hardest times of all. In more ways than one.

  She knew how to tantalize, to tease, to arouse his hunger and his sexual desire and how to take both to fever pitch, leaving both unfulfilled. Her tongue felt like an insubstantial wraith as it swirled around his cock--yet swirl it did, leaving heat and moisture in its wake.

  He would have to watch as she fucked--or was fucked--her sexual ingenuity seemingly endless, and her enjoyment of his discomfort evident. She would take him to the edge, over and over, only to leave him there, hanging. Literally.

  Thanks to Sidney’s medications, Adrian could now masturbate his anguish away, exploding into his sheets with violence in a frenzy of unfulfilled lust. It was his only release from Thérèse’s nocturnal torture.

  And although it eased his balls and softened his cock, it left his hunger unsated.

  Almost all his dreams aroused his hunger but left it unsated. He could experience all the pains and pleasures of sexual desire, but never did he feed in his dreams.

  He wanted to, but couldn’t, wouldn’t--didn’t. His fangs would emerge, his guts would harden in readiness, but somehow something would distract him, pull him from the fantasy before he could feed.

  It would send his hand to his cock once more, seeking the insubstantial release that would give him a measure of comfort, of relief.

  Adrian Chesswell couldn’t really decide if sleeping was a good thing for him or not. Whether his dream world was hell or heaven or something in between. And there were times when he wondered if that was his true reality--if his life as the newly-found son of Sir Sidney was the dream, and his existence in the dark and shadowed half-world of unfulfilled desire was actually his destiny for eternity.

  It was confusing, to say the least, and gave him much food for thought. Usually he was clear-headed enough to work things through for himself, but since his momentous visit to Kitty Edgeworth, Adrian’s brain had been notably unclear.

  As unclear as his cock was hard.

  He’d developed one serious case of lust for this appealing woman, and she was uppermost in his thoughts as he slid from wakefulness into the little death that routinely claimed him each sunrise.

  He wondered, just for a fleeting moment before sleep took his brain away, just how strong his psychic powers were.

  Both he and Kitty were about to find out.

  - - - -

  She was nearly nude, the heat of the fire behind her sending warm caresses over her buttocks through the filmy silk. Her nipples hardened to taut peaks of their own accord, a response to the delightful feel of the flames as they crackled and danced in the fireplace.

  She rested a hand on the mantel, waiting.

  He would come to her, she knew. Striding towards her, his body dappled by firelight and glistening with the moisture from the rain outside.

  He loved to ride in just his breeches, to sit astride and let the kiss of the night and movement of his horse begin his arousal. By the time he came to her he was already hard, smelling a little of the outdoors and horse and man--a fragrance that never failed to start the honeyed juices flowing between her thighs. Sometimes he’d bathe first, and there would be lingering traces of sandalwood mixed in with his unique scent.

  She didn’t care. She just knew he’d come to claim her once more.

  And once again she’d try to refuse him, to play their game to its inevitable conclusion. It was what they both enjoyed, this denial, this mock-war between them that heightened their passions and their desires.

  The line between raw need and hatred was a thin one. For them it was occasionally non-existent, and yet the anger made the loving all the sweeter.

  All these thoughts swept through her mind on a hot wind as she stood waiting. Why this should seem so familiar, she knew not. Only that it was. That he was. That this was meant to be.

  His hands would reach for her, roughly taking what he needed and what she would not offer. His eyes would burn, searing her as she allowed herself to plummet into their depths.

  His cock would be cool, hard--a ridged instrument that would seek out her heat and plunge deep, more deeply than anyone ever had--or ever could again.

  All these thoughts ran through her mind as she waited, shifting a little to accommodate the liquids dampening the soft skin inside her thighs.

  Her pussy throbbed, tingling at the mere thought of what was to come.

  It was a rare delight, this thrill of arousal. She, Katherine Edgeworth, was waiting to be fucked. Eagerly anticipating the harshly wonderful mating act that would spread her thighs wide and welcome the intrusion of a hard and demanding cock into her body.

  Would he dominate her tonight? Or would she force him down and straddle him, holding his wrists apart with every ounce of strength she possessed while she rode him?

  A brief flash of incredulity rocked her. What the hell was going on? Was this a dream? A nightmare?

  Then she heard his footsteps and forgot to breathe.

  Chapter Eight

  Adrian’s dream began as so many others had begun--with an erection. He tried to ignore it, but this time it refused to obey. He walked across a darkened room feeling it lying solidly against his leg, a weight that needed to find a home, a resting place. A weight that led him to the figure standing silhouetted by the firelight.

  He expected to find Thérèse waiting for him. His gut curdled at the thought of what she would put him through on this night. Of how she would tease and torture him, always denying him that which he desired the most.

  His step faltered as he took a good look at the woman standing proudly in front of him.

  It wasn’t Thérèse. It was Kitty Edgeworth.

  His cat was waiting to scratch him, to purr for him and to rub herself all over him. He couldn’t decide which he’d enjoy more.

  Her chin rose in defiance as he closed the distance between them, already scenting the arousal he knew was blooming at the juncture of her thighs. Her eyes were shadows in the pale oval of her face, but he knew they’d be shining blue with excitement, her pupils dilated as her body readied itself for his possession.

  He stopped short. “Come here.”

  She lifted her nose. “No. I come at no man’s command.”

  “You will come at mine.” His lips curved at the double-entendre.

  “Only if I choose to.”

  Once again she defied him, tilting her head to stare at him, unafraid of the consequences. And yet her body betrayed her. Hard nipples pushed through the flimsy gown, a pulse beat alluringly at the base of her neck and Adrian could hear her heart thundering within her breast.

  She wa
nted him. As much, if not more, than he wanted her.

  It was this mutual fire that would consume them both.

  He waved a hand and their clothes melted away to vapor. There was nothing between his gaze and her flesh, and for his part he knew her eyes were drinking in the sight of his cock as it jutted rigidly from its nest of dark hair.

  His balls hardened at the thought and as if in answer she reached for him, grasping him firmly in the way he liked so much.

  “You come here. To me.” She tugged.

  He followed, a willing prisoner of her grasp, stopping just as her breasts grazed his chest. He rubbed himself into her, bringing a sigh of pleasure to her throat. “Hello little cat.”

  Her fingers tightened a little around his cock, and he leaned forwards, running his tongue along the muscle of her neck. “Mmm.” It was a definite purr.

  “Open your legs for me.” He pushed against her, rocking her as she stood and forcing her nearer to the fire.

  She shook her head.

  “Me or the flames, my Kat. Do as I say or you’ll burn more than you expect.” He nipped her shoulder, quickly licking at the little hurt.

  She parted her thighs, widening her stance, but refusing to let go of his cock. “Is this what you want?” Her tone was challenging, saucily teasing him as her pussy thrust toward him on a sway of her hips.

  He groaned and reached for her, cupping her swollen flesh, flicking his way through the wet folds to her little pearl of pleasure and finally plunging two fingers deep inside her, making her gasp.

  “Yes. This is what I want. This is mine.”

  Her hand released him and she clung to his shoulders, rocking herself on his intrusion, pressing forwards now, urgently seeking his touch all over her body. “Yes. It’s yours. Take it. Take me. Fuck me, Adrian Chesswell. I want your cock in me. I want to come with you inside me. I want to boil around you, squeeze your balls dry. Suck all you have and more from you.” She hissed the words through lips squeezed tight with desire. “Fuck me, damn you. Just fuck me.”