Bitten By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book Two)

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Don’t be an arse.” He accepted a bottle of brandy as well as an empty snifter from a passing servant, but when a buxom red-haired woman caught his eye, he shook his head. “Obviously, yes, if I stumble upon crime while I’m out, I take care of it, but I do not actively search for people to rescue.”

  Not for worlds would he admit to lurking about such slums like the Dials, and only on the days when Elizabeth made her charitable deliveries. If someone attempted to molest her, then he’d interfere, but he normally watched from a discreet distance—her silent protector.

  And he’d done it since she’d begun her charity work, never once saying a word. If fate was kind, she would never know.

  “What exactly do you do the nights you have no societal commitments?” Mountgarret asked next. As he stared, he took a shot of his liquor and winced as he swallowed.

  “Read.” Rafe shrugged. “Cogitate.”

  Mountgarret snorted. “Obsess over a certain lady.”

  Rafe shot him a look designed to quell any more conversation along those lines, but Valentine had never been good at taking a hint. To stave off the inevitable, he said, “Where is Manchester tonight?” It seemed an age since the four of them had met in the club together, and he rather missed the comradery.

  “He chose not to venture out in the cold rain.” Mountgarret shrugged. “You know how dukes are.”

  “More like he’s tucked away in bed with his wife.” More than a hint of sarcasm threaded through the reply, but he couldn’t recall the words. The duke had not offered many details regarding how he’d won Alice, but it had to have been due to heroics. Had he struggled during the courtship phase? Perhaps angst was a normal part of it. “Where is Coventry?” He required the advice of an unmatched man.

  “Upstairs, dallying with some female or other, no doubt.” The viscount poured out another measure of whiskey. “Or else he’s locked himself away, for fear of becoming a rampaging dragon. He was rather lax on the details of his absence, but he did tell me a few days ago that his shifter half refused to be appeased.”

  When the beasts they all battled with gained the upper hand, the men were forced to hide away out of the public eye, lock themselves up for fear of harming those closest to them. It was how life would go unless they managed to break the curse.

  And time was running out.

  “Will he remove to his country estate as a precaution?”

  “Hard to say. Coventry has legendary control, and he is seldom distracted. His only weakness is his young son and his sister, but she’s safe and happy, so I rather doubt the threat is imminent.” Valentine snorted. “Of course, the beasts do have minds of their own at times.”

  “They do.” Rafe downed a measure of brandy, and the pain in his gums faded, but his mind wouldn’t stop fixating on Elizabeth. Did she still wish to dance with him, or had she said that yesterday as a pleasantry?

  “Must be two sheets to the wind if you cannot manage to attend me.” The viscount peered at him with interest in his expression, which brought Rafe out of his musings. “Since you’re here and appearing quite dejected—or distracted—can I assume that you’ve had no luck renewing your acquaintance with Lady Elizabeth?”

  Hearing her name on another man’s lips—even in passing—sent shards of both agony and excitement through him. Rafe straightened in his chair as his pulse quickened. “Very little.” He lapsed into silence once more, preferring to contemplate the contents of his snifter instead of opening himself up to his friend’s scrutiny or teasing. Lord knew they all joked with each other, yet it wasn’t a pleasant experience when it hit too close to home. But when the quiet grew unbearable and Valentine didn’t remove his gaze, Rafe sighed. “There has been movement in that arena.” He glanced at the viscount. “She kissed me.” In low tones, he told the brief tale.

  “Oh ho!” Mountgarret shoved his glass away and leaned forward. “Now we’re making progress.” His grin was decidedly wicked. “What happened after the kiss? Did you exchange words of love, or at the very least, affection? Did she give a reason? Did you spirit her off to a shadowy spot and indulge in a tryst?”

  “Hardly. We are not at that point yet.” He tapped a fingernail on the edge of the snifter glass. The ring of crystal met his ears. “However, last night was the first time in recent memory that she didn’t react to me with fear in her eyes.”

  “Even better.” The viscount nodded in encouragement.

  A kernel of hope bloomed in Rafe’s chest. Perhaps she had indeed handed him the chance he’d asked for. “We’d been talking about the curse and my hope that I might break it with her. She became maudlin and ordered me to pull over the vehicle.”

  Mountgarret cocked a red eyebrow. “A pity kiss?”

  “I don’t think so. Perhaps she felt guilty, but after that, conversation between us as we finished the drive was quite pleasant. We spoke on a variety of topics, none of which came close to the curse, or anything that had occurred between us in the past, or my being a vampire.” But not of their futures.

  “And you never once felt the urge to bury your fangs into her neck or your prick into her heat?” Valentine chuckled when he growled. “Sorry, chap, but I had to ask.”

  “I know.” Rafe allowed a small grin. “I was too shocked and surprised to feel much of anything, quite frankly.” He shrugged. “It was… refreshing.” Though, much could be said of a bracing argument that fired his blood and ramped his desire. Which brought up another thought entirely. Did her turnabout in attitude mean she no longer wanted him as a lover?

  “Then why the devil are you worried? I can see it in your eyes.”

  The ever-present black cloud of depression descended once more. “She will be with him, the perfect marquess, for the whole of this evening.”

  “It means nothing, and besides, she promised you a dance.” Valentine drew his glass closer. “Many delightful things can happen during a waltz, and if you are wise, you’ll make certain your dance is just that.” When Rafe didn’t comment, the viscount blew out a breath. “You share prior history with her.” He held up a hand. “Questionable history, perhaps, convoluted history, certainly, but that spark is still there, whether she wants to openly acknowledge it or not. It is more than Rockingham has.”

  “Perhaps.” He remained unconvinced.

  “From all reports, the marquess is a lukewarm lover at best. Looking like an Adonis doesn’t mean he is perfect.”

  A grin tugged at Rafe’s lips. “Now that is encouraging.”

  “Remember, not all females want a human as a mate.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain Lady Elizabeth does? Has she told you this specifically?”

  “No, but she’s hinted at it. Asked me if I wish to be fully human.” They’d talked of everything but what either of them truly wanted from life.

  “Again, that means nothing. Secrets and half-truths only.” Valentine sat back in his chair. “Has she definitively said that she prefers him to you?”

  “No. I assumed—”

  The other man snorted. “Then you are an arse, Rogue. It is a known fact that men know absolutely nothing about what a woman is thinking, and even if they did, she’d change her mind so quickly, we’d find ourselves at sea all over again.” He grinned and mischief twinkled in his nearly turquoise eyes. “Take the current momentum and use it to your advantage. If you wish to beat Rockingham in the courting game, do so. You’re intelligent, skilled, and have an edge he doesn’t.”

  “Thank you for that.” Feeling uplifted, Rafe leaned back in his chair and rested an ankle on his knee. “There may be hope yet.”

  “Always, my friend. Never lose that.”

  A companionable silence fell between them, and Rafe satisfied himself with watching the activity of the club beyond the private parlor. When he glanced again at the viscount, he frowned.

  “What ails you, Valentine? There’s a longing in you, a certain restlessness I haven’t seen before, or at least in a long while.” The closer he peered into the other man�
�s face, the more he saw the discontent.

  “That noticeable, eh?” When Rafe nodded, Mountgarret sighed. “I wish to leave London for the country or perhaps the sea. I haven’t decided.”

  “But?”

  “I want to find out what happens with you and your curse.” He waved a hand, as if it didn’t matter, when they both knew that it did.

  “Caught up in the drama, are you?” Rafe laughed. It felt good to do so, and would work well to send him off to St. Albans’ event in a good humor. “If that is the case, you’ll linger in Town through Manchester’s ball, on the night of the full moon?”

  “Perhaps.” He ran a fingertip around the edge of his whiskey glass, but his attention was elsewhere. Finally, the viscount heaved a sigh that said everything he didn’t utter aloud. “Time grows short this year, Rogue.” He lifted his gaze and held Rafe’s. “The opportunity for my curse to lift has expired. I am quite stuck for the next five years.”

  “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to say, for every Cursed Lord knew the risks and had reconciled themselves to the lifestyle thrust upon them, one not of their own choosing. “I am nearly there myself.” Lizzy didn’t love him, but perhaps such a state could happen in a week. Yet… He sobered. The likelihood of that happening was slim. “Bloody hell. We have put off the business of courting too long once again.”

  The viscount raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. He wrapped his slim fingers around the whiskey glass, and in the candlelight, the flash of blue-green scales along his knuckles was evident. “Will you lose yourself if the curse remains after Manchester’s ball?”

  Rafe stared at the bottle of smuggled brandy from France. “No, for Lizzy is what I truly want, even if it means the curse is mine for a lifetime.” Shock moved through his chest as he met Valentine’s eyes. “She has been my quest all these years. Rarely have I thought of breaking the curse… unless she brought it up.”

  “At least the love you hold for her hasn’t wavered.” A tiny grin tugged at the viscount’s lips. “You are perhaps wiser than me.”

  “Why?” The urge to leave the club and remove to St. Albans’ ball grew strong. He shouldn’t waste any more time where Elizabeth was concerned.

  “I do not wish for either, my friend. I don’t want the curse and neither do I want a woman.” He shrugged. Exhaustion lined his face. Despair reflected in his eyes, for what Rafe had no idea. “I simply wish to be left in peace. This life in London, dealing with my nieces and sister, constantly aware that I’m different from most in the city and have been ostracized for it grows… taxing at best.”

  “It does wear on the nerves after a while.” Rafe clapped a hand on the viscount’s shoulder. “I hope you find happiness wherever you end up, Valentine. Sometimes, the only choice we have is to make the best of what fate has given us. Otherwise, we’ll go mad with what we don’t have.”

  “Indeed.” But Mountgarret’s attention shifted yet again. This time he stared at the doorway, a frown pulling at his lips.

  Rafe stood and shifted to better follow his friend’s line of vision. “Who is that?” A petite blonde trailed after Mrs. Eagan. She was striking, to be sure. Pleasantly plump, enough curves to entice a saint with an air of tragic vulnerability about her. She nodded when the other woman said something to her, and Rafe caught the flash of green in her eyes, and then they both moved out of sight beyond the salon’s doorway.

  “A new hire.” Valentine grunted, but the light of interest briefly flared in his expression before vanishing with his next blink. “Coventry signed off on a handful of new staff members two days ago. Bête Noire is enjoying a steady business. The need for additional help is required.”

  “Is she to fill a courtesan spot?” If so, gentlemen would request her services merely based on her looks. A woman like her didn’t need skills, for men would find release merely by gazing upon her.

  “I rather doubt it. Coventry told me we didn’t need any more doxies. I shall have to ask what her position will be.” His attention lingered at the doorway for long moments.

  Interesting, that. “Perhaps you should reserve her for whatever… services you need. I’m sure Coventry will understand. And we do have clout as founders.”

  Valentine rolled his eyes. “I meant what I said, Rogue. I am not looking for a woman—temporary or otherwise. Not every man wishes for a match. Such a thing would prove rather problematic once I remove to the sea.”

  “Fair enough.” Rafe pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket. After checking the time, he returned the jewelry to its resting place. “I must away.”

  “Might I remind you to make copious use of any mistletoe you might find?”

  “I will indeed.” His stomach muscles clenched at the thought of plying Elizabeth with tender kisses under the guise of the Yuletide plant, as he’d once done in their faraway past.

  The viscount shook himself out of the fog he’d apparently fallen into. “Good luck at the ball tonight.”

  “Will you attend?”

  “No.” Valentine clambered to his feet. “I wish to walk in the rain. I need the water on my skin. It has been an age since I’ve shifted, and the beast grows restless.” He headed toward the doorway. “Perhaps I shall indulge in an illicit midnight swim in the Serpentine.”

  Rafe chuckled. “May the odds of remaining unseen be in your favor. I don’t relish reading about a sea serpent or man-fish in the gossip sheets tomorrow.”

  On his way out, Valentine made a crude gesture that set Rafe to laughing once more.

  Indeed, the cursed men had to find peace with both sides of their selves somehow.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  December 9, 1815

  Elizabeth gazed about the St. Albans ballroom with a sense of wonder. She’d attended more than a few balls in her time, but they were especially wonderful during the holiday season. Fir swags rested over every doorway with tin bells, glass balls, clove-studded oranges, and red velvet ribbons tucked in the greenery. There was even the rumor of a mistletoe ball strung up at one of the parlors, but she’d yet to see evidence of it with her own eyes.

  All around her, the scents of Christmastide wafted through the air. Excited conversation and laughter echoed through the ballroom while she stood to one side with the marquess. It was lovely being among the ton and not under her brother’s shadow. Not that he hadn’t attempted to keep her at home. She grinned at the remembrance.

  Donovan had waylaid her in the upstairs hall as she prepared to meet Lord Rockingham in the foyer. “You are lovely tonight,” he’d said, but there was no softness about his expression or in his eyes, even has he raked his gaze up and down her figure, ending with her upswept hair. “The golden satin suits you.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been wanting to wear this gown, but haven’t had the opportunity.” If truth be known, she’d specifically worn the dress for Rafe’s benefit. Years ago, he’d complimented her on a gown of a similar shade, and she wished to see if it would still catch his eye. This one, complete with a fine gauze overskirt of ivory tulle, had amber glass beads around the hem and bodice. They also decorated her ivory silk wrap. It was pure vanity, of course, but she couldn’t help it, for she couldn’t forget the press of his lips against hers, however briefly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me? I don’t want to keep the marquess waiting.”

  Keep Rafe waiting, if he will actually show.

  “Ah, so that is where your heart is leading?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Don’t come the crab.” He’d clasped his hands behind his back, and his eyes gleamed. “You’ve made a smart match. I’m proud of you.”

  “You should be proud of me regardless of what I do.” She’d pulled on her gloves and tried once more to edge around him. If he insisted on playing the arse, she wouldn’t provide any more confidences to him.

  “True enough, and I always am, but I would also like to know that the right man remains in your affections.” Her brother had gripped her upper arm and stayed her
flight. He’d held her gaze, and she hadn’t backed down from his challenge. “If you go to this ball in an effort to see Rogue, I will lock you in your room.”

  “Ha! You only wish you had that power.”

  “As a duke, I do.”

  “Such old-fashioned bullying hidden in concern.” Elizabeth had rolled her eyes and wrenched her arm from his hold. “If Rafe attends, that is his own prerogative. I am not privy to his plans. And if I decide to dance with him that is mine.” She adjusted her wrap about her shoulders. “If you are so worried, why don’t you come with me?” Then she couldn’t help but add, “It’s not as if my virtue is at stake.”

  “That, my dear, is your own fault.” He glared, and then he’d growled. “Besides, I do not enjoy being out in society,” he’d grumbled.

  “Ah, then I cannot make this evening easier for you, for you have no choice but to stay here and stew while I enjoy myself.” She’d winked and then gained the highly polished staircase. “Do not worry, brother. Tonight, I’m hoping to make a decision I’ve grappled with for some time. It should clarify my immediate future.”

  “What does that mean?” Donovan stomped after her when she didn’t answer, catching her on the first landing. “Dammit, Elizabeth, I meant what I said. Stay away from Rogue. He’s not the one for you.” His eyes had flashed with ire, showing more beast than man.

  Before she could once more argue, Alice called to him at the foot of the stairs. “Donovan, would you join me in the music room? I’ve learned a new song that I’m anxious for you to hear.” The dulcet tones of her voice had floated up to their position, and immediately her brother had relaxed his posture.

  He snorted. “How fortunate my wife intervened,” he’d muttered and passed her on the stairs.

  “Indeed. She must know you require soothing.” Elizabeth had laughed, feeling more free than she had in a long time. “Savage beast and all of that.”

  “What has you smiling in such a fashion, Elizabeth?” The deep sound of Oliver’s voice broke into her thoughts and hauled her back to the present. All annoyance with Donovan was forgotten for the time being. “While I would like to think it is me, I am not that naïve.”