After several moments of silence, he said, “You.”
Elizabeth turned her head to stare at him. In profile, he was attractive in a rugged way she’d not noticed before. “Me? Why?” She allowed her gaze to linger along the cut of his strong jaw, the curve of his clean-shaven cheek, the hints of silver at his temple, the crinkle of the delicate skin at the corner of his eye when he grinned. Nothing about him betrayed the fact he was a vampire.
“Honestly?” he asked and glanced her way. Amusement twinkled in his eyes, along with self-loathing deep in the depths. When she nodded, he continued. “I couldn’t trust myself not to call upon you, and with Donovan out of pocket, there was no excuse to merely drop by.”
She faced front once more, glad that the sides of the bonnet hid her face from his view. “You considered calling upon me a horrible task?”
“Quite the contrary. In fact, I’ve wanted to find myself in your presence for the longest time.”
“But?” The word felt pulled from her. “You feared you would lose control, like last time?” Why did speaking such things aloud both thrill and terrify her?
“I did fear I would lose control, but not like the last time you and I came together.” His tone was so low she had to lean closer to hear him. “I hold you in too high of regard to commit such a trespass again.”
Butterfly wings brushed through her belly. “Yet you feared to call upon me.” It didn’t make sense. Yet… perhaps it did, for she’d acted the shrew when they happened upon each other. She’d outright refused him, bordered on being rude.
“You made it readily obvious you wouldn’t welcome such an overture.” He didn’t try to soften the accusation, even though his tone of voice didn’t change. She knew it and so did he. “But I cannot forget you, Lizzy. Something in you calls out to something in me. It’s grown stronger since I returned to London.” Rafe turned his head and met her gaze. “Do you feel it too?”
Trembles played up and down her spine. If she admitted such a thing to him, would that shift the dynamics between them? Did she want it to? “I’m… not certain. Our meetings recently have been fraught with anger and—”
“Fear,” he finished for her in a quiet voice. “You are afraid of me, and I don’t expect that to change any time soon.” He sighed and flicked the reins as the horses made the turn into Hyde Park. “It saddens me, for you’ve known what I was for more years than our history together.”
Perhaps she’d never thought to consider how the situation or their alienation would affect him; she’d only sought to protect herself—from him, from what she couldn’t help craving. Thus chastised and with a tight chest, Elizabeth turned her face away to stare at the park around them as they joined the scant vehicular traffic.
“I’m so sorry, Rafe. I can see now that my responses have been exacerbated.”
He didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t need to.
Eventually, the silence between them grew too much to bear. She faced him once more. “Have you eaten today? Or more specifically, have you fed?” The need to know far outweighed the fear of knowing, and after all, this was Rafe. As long as she couldn’t see his fangs or feel his bite, she would be fine.
Please God let it be so.
His hands tightened on the reins. A muscle ticked in his cheek, but when he spoke, he was as even-toned as ever. “Hunger for blood won’t come upon me until the sun sets, but if you wish to stop for tea or a sweet, I wouldn’t tell you no.”
“I’d rather remain here with you.” Not because she didn’t want to show up at popular places with him, but she enjoyed being near him, their arms brushing with every movement. It reminded her of how things used to be, before she’d witnessed his beast.
“That is an encouraging development,” he murmured but didn’t make an attempt to touch her or otherwise push his suit.
And still she burned to know more. “When you feed, what does the blood… taste like?” Then she berated herself. How gauche of her to ask. Never had she questioned Donovan about the intricate details of his beast. She merely knew that he struggled with the curse.
“That depends on the donor.” Rafe shrugged but he kept his focus on the pathway ahead. “It is as different as each person.”
The admission was both fascinating and horrible. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what she’d tasted like, but then she thought the better of it. Perhaps I don’t want to know. Instead, she posed a different question. “Are you doing well in your life? Every time I’ve seen you this week, you seem driven, haunted perhaps. Does your beast trouble you?”
“No more than usual,” he responded and humor threaded through his voice. When he glanced at her, his eyes were more brown than green, the red ring around his irises faint. “But am I well? Not exactly.”
Elizabeth’s heartbeat accelerated. “Are you ill?” As of yet, the ancient curse hadn’t killed any of the Cursed Lords, and if it had, that news hadn’t reached her ears. And he looked too pale…
“No.” He gathered the reins into his right hand and patted her hand with his left. “Calm yourself. I merely speak on upcoming events. The last full moon is coming next week. I fear the curse will linger for me.”
Hot guilt snaked through her gut. “I’m sorry.” Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of loving him so fiercely that such an emotion alone would free him from those unseen chains, and they would have lived as if in a fairytale. Fate had had other plans.
“I would break the damned curse myself if it meant you would look at me differently.”
“How am I looking at you?” she whispered, her fingers clasped tightly together in her lap. The fleeting warmth he’d imparted from his touch gone.
“With pity and sorrow and perhaps a touch of guilt,” he answered in a matching tone. “And deep down, you still fear what I am. That fear never leaves, does it?”
“No.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She blinked the moisture away. “Though you might see such things, I do feel more for you.” It was folly to admit anything to this man, for then everything would change.
“Oh?”
She nodded. “You are how you’ve always been. How I’ve always known you.” Elizabeth paused, unsure how to continue. “Without the fangs, you are merely Rafe, the man I was once infatuated with.” Yet why couldn’t she stop thinking of him with dread or fear? And why the deuce wouldn’t the intense desire for him fade?
Rafe snorted. “Once. What a depressing word.” He was silent for a few minutes, then, “But if I were fully human, Lizzy?”
“You wouldn’t be you.” That was God’s honest truth. As much as she’d thought of him without the curse weighing him down, if he didn’t possess his beastly half, he wouldn’t be the man she’d fallen for once upon a time. When she’d been a stupid young woman who hadn’t realized the horror such a man could truly be. When he’d claimed her body with a strength and authority and finesse she couldn’t forget.
Silence reigned between them while Elizabeth focused on the winter-bare trees in the park. When a faint breeze blew into the vehicle, she shivered, hoping that it would cool her blazing cheeks.
“I had hoped you and I might reconcile in time to lift the curse, but—”
“Stop, Rafe.” Daring much, she put her hand on his and squeezed. A cloud of sadness dropped over her to combine with the ever-present guilt. “I feel as though I’ve failed you. It’s too sad.”
“Agreed.” He didn’t move his hand. Neither did she. “If only circumstances were different.”
A life filled with “if onlys” was an empty life indeed. “Act human now. You tell me I have nothing to fear from you, but I need you to show that in your actions. Perhaps if you ignored the urge to feed…”
“You know as well as I that such a thing is impossible. If I didn’t feed, I would die.”
Yes, she did. It was a horrible notion—both of them—and living with the beast wasn’t his fault. He’d never asked for the curse. But neither had she. “Oh, Rafe, I am so sorry.” Perhaps her experience with that
side of him had colored her outlook for him as a man. Had she done him a disservice by breaking their friendship, yet how could such a thing continue after what he’d done? What he would always need to do? For no matter if he fell in love, he would still need to feed. If that were to happen to me, how the devil could I handle the reality? Confliction raged within her breast to further fed her confusion. “Don’t be what people expect from you.”
“Ha.” He yanked his hand from hers and she mourned his warmth. “How can I not? I will forever be the beast until it kills me or old age does.” Bitterness clung to those words and worked to further break her heart. “Perhaps that is the best option, for then my title will remain empty, and my part in the curse will finally end. I will no longer burden anyone with it.”
Her chest tightened so badly she feared she couldn’t breathe. “Stop the carriage,” she ordered in a barely-there whisper as an insane idea came over her. The panting breaths she took did little to quiet the racing of her pulse.
“Do you wish to jump out and walk back to St. James Square?” The bitterness deepened. “Has your disgust of me colored everything else?”
“No.” For the first time, she didn’t feel like running from him. In fact, that pull he’d spoken about was as strong as ever, and for the moment she didn’t wish to escape. When he did as she asked and maneuvered the carriage out of the sparse line of traffic, and he parked beneath a grouping of oak trees, he looked at her, anger roiling through his eyes. “Now what?”
“This.” Quickly, before her nerve left and common sense returned, Elizabeth grabbed hold of his cravat and reeled him close. Surprise came over his features, but then she pressed her lips to his. She kissed him, and as she did so, she noted that his fangs weren’t present. The feel of his mouth, his lips, both hard and soft, beneath hers was oh so pleasant, so drugging, and when she pulled away, she stared into his eyes. The red ring about his irises didn’t glow as intently as it had all those years ago. It gave her hope that he could, indeed, control his beast. “Forgive me. It was something I had to do.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Rafe smiled, and there were no fangs in evidence. “But I must say, a man could become used to such surprises.”
Did that mean he no longer desired her if the fangs weren’t out or the red ring faded? She released his cravat with a shuddering sigh and put a few inches of space between them while her pulse pounded and lovely warmth slid through her veins. The taste of him lingered on her lips, and God help her, she wanted more. “Good. I merely wished to—”
“Please, don’t dilute that kiss with empty explanations. I’d like to hope you felt something for me beyond pity to motivate the embrace.” Emotion graveled his voice and he set the horses into motion once more. “It is more headway than we’ve had before.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth didn’t know which statement she responded to. She nodded, and her lips still tingled from that brief contact. Too bad she couldn’t sort through the morass of feelings currently assaulting her and return to clear-headed thinking.
“Come with me to the St. Albans ball,” he said some minutes later.
Heat fired in her cheeks. “I have already accepted an invitation from Lord Rockingham.” When that air of sadness came over him again, she hastened to add, “But I would be delighted to set aside a dance for you.” What had happened to her reserve around him? When all was said and done, he was the beast, and what he did as the vampire still frightened her.
“I suppose if that is all you’ll give me, I should accept it and count myself happy.” Despair flickered through his eyes, gone with a blink, but he didn’t smile again. “Why won’t you give me a chance, Lizzy?” Pain wavered through the whisper, and her heart trembled at his use of the old nickname that belonged only to them. “What must I do to show you the depths of my regard, that I am not what you fear?”
Confusion ran riot and her eyes once more filled with tears. She knew with a woman’s intuition that if she refused him again, she would lose him forever. I cannot bear that, but I need more time. Elizabeth cupped his cheek and turned his head until he met her gaze. She smiled for his benefit. A tiny flame of hope ignited deep in those depths and the red ring flared. Flutters of need brushed low in her belly. “Come to the ball and dance with me. I shall know how to answer your question then.”
Please God give me the strength to follow through with that decision.
CHAPTER SEVEN
December 8, 1815
Rafe sat in a leather wing-backed chair in his suite of rooms at Bête Noire with a snifter of brandy in his hand. He dabbed at his lips with a pristine linen square and wiped away any trace of blood. Even so, the faint, sweet taste of it lingered on his palate, an undeniable reminder of what he was, and what he would remain if the curse wasn’t lifted in a week’s time.
Sleeping in the adjoining room was one of the club’s women, and like all of them, she’d chosen to dress herself in diaphanous lace and silk. He’d fed from the nameless sacrifice; it wouldn’t do to learn their names, for there was no relationship beyond the feedings. If he took the time to come to know them, the act would become too personal, and once feelings were involved, feeding would transform into something else entirely.
That couldn’t happen.
Tonight, he’d taken more than he should have, fed from the woman’s delicate neck until her skin tone had paled and she’d passed out from the blood loss. Oh, this one had tempted him beyond measure, for her charms were quite ample and her hair was just the shade of chocolate and caramel he favored. She was skilled in kissing and the attempt to separate him from his clothing.
But she wasn’t Elizabeth and never would be, so he’d taken the gift of her blood and left her body alone. After several hours of restorative sleep, she would be right as rain, but since he wasn’t a monster, he would have the in-house physician examine her to make certain.
And through it all, thoughts of Elizabeth danced through his head—the woman he wanted beyond all measure.
She kissed me.
Unprovoked, unbidden, and unexpected, the lady had kissed him. The gesture had been so incredibly sweet that it had caught him by surprise before he could react or take her into his arms. Even now, as he sipped his brandy, he could still feel the warmth of her lips pressing against his. Borne of guilt, perhaps, he liked to think that she felt something beyond that for him.
So why the devil had she done it?
He certainly didn’t know, but her questions about his beast had given him hope that he could win her back. Never had she wished to learn before. He would begin the campaign to court her in just under two hours, when he was due to arrive at the St. Albans’ ball. And if it was in his power, he’d pour on the charm in order to romance her like he should have done before he’d bitten her, before he’d taken her innocence. If he’d controlled his beast and his impulses, perhaps they would even now enjoy married life, have a couple of children.
His length shuddered to life at the thought. Is that what he wished for both of them now? Perhaps. He wasn’t growing younger, but winning Elizabeth’s heart was first and foremost. Nothing else mattered if he couldn’t gain her trust and devotion. He tossed the handkerchief to the floor; a few smears of scarlet blood marred the white surface.
If only she wasn’t attending the ball with that bastard Rockingham. His gums throbbed the longer he allowed his mind to dwell on his rival, the man he wished to tear limb from limb. Get hold of yourself, Rafe. You are not a murderer.
Draining his glass, he set the snifter upon a small marble-inlaid table at his elbow. The fact he wasn’t a killer brought little comfort, for if he couldn’t bring his beastly tendencies under control when in that man’s company, he’d very well be presumed guilty. As he drew in a few deep breaths and encouraged calm throughout his being, he sighed. He could hold his own with the marquess. The thought of meeting the fellow at dawn somewhere in Hyde Park gripped his mind. How was the man’s aim? Rafe grinned as his gums throbbed. His own was fairly decent,
not that he actively went about practicing it, for his fangs were his weapon of choice if he didn’t have a blade.
Given the opportunity, would he sink those lengthened incisors into the man’s neck and drink away his life? He snorted and launched from the chair. Only with an iron-clad reason or if there truly was no other choice. Peace and calm were difficult companions this night. He meant what he told Elizabeth—he didn’t kill people. And so far, nothing had come up during a prod into Lord Rockingham’s background. The man appeared as perfect as she undoubtedly thought.
Damn him.
How exactly did Elizabeth feel about Rockingham? If she was in love with the man, she certainly wouldn’t have kissed him during a drive, and in Hyde Park with eyes everywhere, no less.
A slow smile curved his lips. For the moment, it seemed they were both on an even playing field. That was all to the good, for it gave him time. Needing to talk over the coil with his friends, Rafe made his way downstairs and to his customary table. The only man occupying a chair there was Mountgarret. At least the duke wasn’t in attendance. That would have made the situation worse.
He slumped into a chair with a muttered greeting.
“I’d wondered when you’d make an appearance, Devon,” his friend said as he glanced up from his whiskey glass. “And in such striking evening attire. What’s the occasion? Surely you didn’t dress up for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m headed to St. Albans’ ball.” Really, the amount of ton events he’d been obliged to attend was alarming, especially since the Christmastide season kept the glittering offerings alive and well through the New Year.
The viscount snorted. “I’m surprised you’re going. Don’t you usually spend your time stalking the dark streets?” Apparently, a thought had him on the edge of hilarity. “Don’t tell me you keep London safe from predators lower brow than you. Or perhaps you aim to save the unfortunates among us from various vices their chosen lifestyles bring?”
Bitten By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book Two) Page 9
