Elizabeth woke up with a start. She shot bolt upright, her back ramrod straight, sweat pouring over her and causing her silken night dress to stick to her skin. Her heart pounded so wildly she pressed a hand over that organ and gasped with the memory of the nightmare she’d just had.
Rafe is a vampire, and nothing can ever come from being with him, no matter that I desire him still.
She hadn’t dreamed about Rafe for a few months and had, perhaps stupidly, thought the nightmares and vivid dreams had ceased. Oh, how wrong she’d been. This most recent one had residual lethargy and repletion rolling through her body, fading now, but so deliciously real.
In her mind’s eye, she remembered that night when she’d been all of twenty and Rafe had snuck into the balcony doors in this very room. She’d greeted him with enthusiasm, of course she had. Back then she’d fallen hard for the earl, thought he was everything she’d always wanted despite his cursed state, kissed him, welcomed him with innocent desire, for him sneaking into her bedchamber as he’d had was the height of romantic. They’d joked he would have climbed her hair had she been the storybook character, for there wasn’t a challenge he wouldn’t undertake to be with her.
Oh, back then he’d been the ideal fairytale hero.
Until he’d bitten her and took what she would never have consented to give had she not been enthralled, had she not been swept away by his charm and had been floating on post-coitus bliss, had she been in her right mind…
Gingerly, Elizabeth fingered her neck where she swore she could still feel the rasp of his fangs over her skin, the prick as he’d driven those teeth into her neck, down, down, down, puncturing her vein as the blood poured forth, the pull as he sucked the thick liquid from her body.
From that moment on, her memories, her thoughts, every beat of her heart recalled Rafe and what he was. It blocked out everything else. The horror that had encapsulated her that night never left, and each time she came into the earl’s gravitational pull, everything rushed back in sharp relief.
But she couldn’t forget how his body had felt against hers, couldn’t dismiss the pleasure he’d given when he’d lain with her—her first lover—could never block out the way his lips had cradled hers or the way he’d whispered her name in the dark.
Why? Dear God, why couldn’t she let him go so that she could move forward? For that matter, why did she continue to crave him as much as she feared what he was?
As her heartbeat calmed, Elizabeth threw back the bedclothes. She slipped from the bed and quickly lit the candle on her bedside with shaking hands. The bouquet of flowers the marquess had sent yesterday caught her eye from its resting place on top of her bureau. She smiled as she padded across the hardwood toward them and brushed a fingertip along one velvet petal of the pink lily. A tiny smile curved her lips. The Marquess of Rockingham—Oliver—was everything a gentleman should be. He would never make her heart pound in fear.
For that matter, it wouldn’t pound with excitement either.
Perhaps that was for the best. She put her face near the bouquet and inhaled the floral aroma. Oliver would never hurt her. Elizabeth’s pulse kicked up as the earl’s visage danced through her head. Neither would Rafe, when he remained in his right mind. The Earl of Devon was charming, and his laughter never failed to cajole her into a better mood. He was solicitous and handsome, but…
…when he wasn’t himself and the beast he was took control? A shiver washed over her and she gave into it. When Rafe is the vampire, he is terrifying.
She couldn’t live with that for a lifetime.
Could I?
And what of the dead maid from Viscount Mountgarret’s rout? Had Rafe made those bite marks on her neck? She fingered her neck where his fangs had been so long ago. Had he killed the woman? After all, he was the only vampire she was aware of in the ton.
Oh, this is impossible.
Needing a distraction, Elizabeth moved to the balcony doors, which were still firmly closed. She threw them open and stepped out on the shallow, curved alcove, just wide enough for one person to stand there and look out over the back gardens, bare and now gilded with silvery frost that sparkled in the dim light. Lazy snow flurries filled the inky darkness, and she shivered but didn’t retreat. The cold worked to banish the lingering heat brought on by the vivid dream.
Yet she thought about Rafe. What is he doing at this moment? She stifled a sigh. Was he at his damned club, finding pleasure and solace in perfumed arms? Something akin to jealousy lanced through her and she ignored the implication. It wasn’t her affair what he did and with whom. Then she rolled her eyes.
Why do I care?
She blew out a breath that ruffled the curls on her forehead. For whatever reason, she did care, but the rub was, she didn’t know if she wished to.
In need of human interaction—and to jog her thoughts away from the earl—she turned from the balcony, closed the doors and then donned the matching wrapper. The additional layer of silk and lace wasn’t much of a barrier from the chill, so she threw on a heavier robe over her attire. She adored the delicate, slightly scandalous confections, and wore them for her own amusement and enjoyment. Even though she was firmly on the shelf and largely unwanted for marriage material—thanks to her brother’s blacklisted status within the ton—it didn’t mean she had to dress herself in virginal gowns.
It had nothing to do with the deeply buried hope that Rafe might make another clandestine, midnight visit.
Nothing at all.
The townhouse remained eerily quiet as she padded through it, her toes cold, for she’d forgotten slippers. Perhaps she should return to her room and build a fire, for it was unlikely she’d court slumber this night. There was a particular adventure novel she’d hope to find time to finish. That sounded like just the thing to keep her thoughts off the earl and their murky relationship.
As a long case clock in the drawing room chimed the two o’clock hour, Elizabeth spied a faint light beneath the closed door of Donovan’s study. What the devil was her brother doing up at this hour?
But it was even better than a book, so she knocked softly on the heavy oak panel, and when he bid her entry, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Am I interrupting?” A cheerful fire blazed in the hearth and the room was toasty warm.
Her brother glanced up from the papers on his desk with a grin. “Not at all.”
“I assumed you’d be loath to leave Alice,” she teased, for well she knew how much he adored his wife.
Was that a trace of a blush on his cheeks, or was it from the heat? “She’s exhausted from travel. Had some sickness on the passage across the Channel, but I expect she’ll be right as rain in a few days. So, since I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t wish to disturb her with tossing and turning.” He waved her inside and gestured to a leather chair. “I am glad you’re here.” When she sat and curled her legs beneath her, he continued. “I missed you while away.”
“I didn’t have the opportunity to talk with you yesterday upon your return.”
He nodded. “There have been pressing business concerns that couldn’t delay further.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?”
“Yes. Checking over my investments and such.”
“Ah.” Elizabeth peered at her only sibling. He looked happier than he had in a long time. His brandy eyes sparkled with merriment and a grin seemed to perpetually tug at his lips now. “Was the trip all you’d hoped it would be?”
“It was pleasantly surprising.” He tilted his head to one side. “I ran as the wolf through the Italian countryside, Elizabeth, through fields and vineyards and along narrow village streets. Alice prowled with me at times. Think of that. We toured grand places, ate fantastic foods, met interesting people, and the nights I didn’t spend as the wolf, well…” This time his neck colored above his cravat. He grinned and Elizabeth tamped the urge to roll her eyes.
“You are so much in love, brother. It’s quite refreshing.” Never had she thought it po
ssible that Donovan would wed much less find a woman who’d accept him—wolf and all—or that he’d still suffer the beast so long after those precious words were declared.
“I can scarcely believe it myself, and it’s been nearly three months.” His grin widened, and he held hints of the wolf that he was.
“Are you still the beast?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes.” He nodded and clasped his hands on his desk over the paperwork. “Alice and I are in a good place. We have come to terms with my wolf, and all is well. My beast adores her, which is highly annoying at times.” Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “However, I am throwing a ball on the sixteenth, which is the night of the full moon.”
“And the last one that can void the curse for the next five years,” Elizabeth mentioned while she tapped a finger on the armrest of her chair. Would Rafe come?
“I will bring the matter before my wife again that night, but I suspect her answer—and mine—will remain the same.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The springs creaked. “The other Cursed Lords will be in attendance. Perhaps if they wish to make use of my gardens, they can, and with my blessing. Each man must square with the curse in his own way.”
In his own way. What did Rafe wish for his life? She’d never thought to ask him, could not look past what he was to know. I am almost as bad as he.
For one second, Elizabeth allowed cold jealousy to cycle through her body before she banished it as unfair, yet Donovan’s life was so idyllic, while hers was… complicated. With very little effort, she’d fall into a brown study, and then where would she be? She couldn’t shut herself away from life, for remembering Rafe would tear her apart.
Softly, Donovan cleared his throat. He focused the full power of his gaze on her. “What troubles you, Elizabeth?” When she remained silent, he said, “It’s something and you’re never discomfited or even maudlin. Why now?”
What could she say, when she didn’t fully understand for herself? But her brother’s eyes were so kind and full of compassion. Alice had done that; she’d made him into a better version of himself even though he remained afflicted. Elizabeth sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“One of my friends once told me nothing is that complicated. It is us who make matters so.” He chuckled and leaned forward, once more clasping his hands on his desktop. “Does it have anything to do with the floral tribute of yesterday?”
Heat slapped at her cheeks. “No, it does not.” At least that was the truth.
He raised an eyebrow. “If you wish for my blessing upon the match between you and Rockingham, you have it. He is everything I want for your husband.”
“Oh, Donovan. I am not at a point in my life where I want a husband.” Elizabeth shook her head. Did she even want a match with the marquess? At this point, she didn’t know. His attention was all too new. “I’m sure the marquess is wonderful, but my thoughts are occupied by another.” She didn’t know how the clue managed to slip out, but there it was.
“Who?” Her brother’s expression lost some of the happy teasing of earlier. His eyes went on alert, almost glowing amber like his wolf’s.
Slowly, she shook her head.
“I will find out even if you don’t tell me. We both know it will go better if you disclose the gentleman’s name now.”
This was only too true. His reach as a duke and as the wolf was long. She stared at him while her stomach muscles tightened. “Rafe.”
“Rogue? You’re thinking about Rogue?” His tone sound incredulous and rose with each word. He shot himself up ramrod straight in his chair. “Why?”
Heaven help me with this confession. “Years ago, he and I…” She clasped her hands in her lap to still their shaking. “We were together.”
“As in courtship?”
“Not exactly.” Her cheeks burned. “We were… intimate. I had just turned twenty, and we saw each other when you were away.” He didn’t need to know that the carnal act wasn’t gentle or conducted out of love, at least not on Rafe’s part. It had been borne of mutual need and desire. Nor did he need to know that Rafe had fed upon her without her permission. It would only cause friction between the two men, and she refused to destroy a long standing friendship.
“The devil you say!” Donovan surged to his feet as his exclamation rang in the room. “Where was I, for if I’d known about it, you could be damned certain I would have put a stop to it, my best friend or not.”
Which was the exact reason you never found out. She huffed out a frustrated breath and unfolded herself from the chair to set her bare feet on the floor. “Spending years as the wolf? Sulking? Keeping your head in your arse? Using up mistresses?” She shrugged. “Take your pick, brother dear.”
“Your attempt at humor is misplaced.” He sent her a withering glance, but didn’t resume his seat. Instead, he narrowed his gaze. “What are you to Rogue now?”
Such a question, but how to answer? Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids and she blinked them away. “We are nothing. Friends, perhaps.” Were they even that since her behavior toward him? “We rarely see each other now.” But she needed her brother’s counsel. “I cannot forget Rafe.” She refused to call him by his ridiculous nickname. “His beastly side frightens me. Terrifies me, really.” The words felt tugged from her tight throat. The remembered pain of those fangs danced through her mind. Dear God, but she wanted him still. “Yet, I—”
“Absolutely not,” Donovan said, interrupting her. His ducal scowl would put fear into the hearts of most people. “I forbid it. You will not see Rogue in any capacity outside of ton events.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. A hot swath of anger built within her chest. “That is not for you to say.” He might be her brother, but he had overstepped his authority. “I won’t stand for such highhandedness on your part, Your Grace.” She intentionally made jest of his title, for it annoyed him.
“Your disagreement is duly noted.” He parked a hip against the front of his desk and crossed his arms at his chest. “I am simply attempting to take care of you, perhaps shelter you from the ills of men.” Then his features softened slightly. “I don’t want that life for you.”
“And what sort of life is that?” She clenched her hands so tightly in her lap the knuckles turned white.
“A life like Mother had.”
A tiny wave of grief swept through her even after all this time. Her parents’ marriage had been a mockery, a farce even. Father lost himself to the curse and Mother died of a broken heart after years of being neglected, bound to the duke where no love was present. “I am different from her, and a fighter.” Yet, she wouldn’t use that pluck to fight for Rafe, only against him. Then she leveled a look at him that she hoped had him squirming inside. “Besides, Alice is handling you and your curse quite nicely. Why do you assume I couldn’t do the same if I chose to with Rafe?” Did she want that chance, and could she look past his beast?
A flush rose up from his neck to his cheeks. “That is entirely different.”
“It is not.” Tired of arguing when she didn’t know what she felt for certain beyond an overwhelming craving of what the earl could give her in bed, Elizabeth rose to her feet. “What I do with Rafe, what sort of relationship we have—if any—is my decision alone.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “I appreciate your protection, I do. But I must live my life on my own terms, find my own path. Even you should know this.”
“Dearest sister.” Donovan pushed off the desk, gathered her into his arms and hugged her. “Forget about Rogue. Encourage the marquess instead. With Rockingham, you will have a happy life, one without fear or heartache.” He held her hands and peered into her eyes. “Do you understand?”
She wrenched her hands from his hold. “Or what?”
“I will cheerfully and without regret send you to my country estate, where you will remain until you can come to your senses.”
When did he become such a bastard? Anger continued to bubble and she curled her hands into fi
sts. “Rather extreme, Manchester.” She narrowed her eyes. “I never thought you’d be so medieval.”
“I do what must be done to protect those I love.” His eyes darkened. “I will kill him if need be. Trust me on this.” A growl accompanied the words, and suddenly the fear gripping her heart wasn’t for her.
“You are impossible.” Before he could follow through on his threat, she would speak with her sister-in-law. If anyone could sway Donovan, Alice could.
A ghost of a smile tipped one side of his mouth. “Trust me. Rogue is not for you.”
“So says the man who wouldn’t have won his lady without my assistance, without me telling her to overlook your curse.” Elizabeth stormed to the door and yanked it open. “Listen to me closely, Donovan.” She glared at him from over her shoulder. “Do not presume to manage me, for I am not afraid of you, and if you interfere, I will have a leash fashioned for you.”
When she stormed into the corridor beyond, she sighed. If I am not afraid of my brother, the duke or his wolf, why am I so terrified of Rafe?
CHAPTER FIVE
December 5, 1815
Rafe stood in the shadows of yet another ballroom, after following Rockingham’s carriage when he’d picked Elizabeth up. The event at Lord and Lady Danforth’s Mayfair townhome had been easy enough to enter. Either the butler didn’t care he had no invitation or the gossip surrounding his name made waving him into the house all too tempting.
Not that it mattered. Rafe was here for one reason only: to watch over Elizabeth. He refused to lose her to the marquess without a fair competition. And to do that, he needed to gain her trust so that she’d see him as a rival to the marquess.
Since he’d arrived well after the opening hour, he missed the receiving line, and as such took himself off to the ballroom without needing to speak to anyone. The crush of attending guests was larger than Mountgarret’s affair, but that was to be expected, for Lord Danforth wasn’t a Lord of the Night and his reputation hadn’t been sullied centuries ago.
Bitten By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book Two) Page 6
