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

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Good evening Rafe,” she practically purred while he swept into an exaggerated bow from the waist. “I hadn’t seen you yet tonight and feared you wouldn’t come.” Her dulcet tones poured over him, sank deep enough to awaken his member.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss a chance to partner you in a waltz, no matter if Donovan sees us.” Behind him, the dance came to an end and the five-piece string ensemble prepared for the next. He held out his hand. “I believe this is ours.”

  She nodded, and the candlelight winked off an oval sapphire attached to a black velvet choker about her neck. “I’ve waited all evening to return to your arms,” she whispered, and as a blush raged in her cheeks, he escorted her onto the dance floor.

  Excitement twisted up his spine. This new Elizabeth, the woman he’d fallen for, would ever glimmer before him as she was this most important of nights. “You are stunning, Lizzy. I wish I was a painter, for I would capture you exactly as you are right now.” It was more than the ball gown or the jewelry that made her so arresting. Her eyes sparkled. Her kissable lips wore a grin that seemed meant exclusively for him. Her whole attitude had changed as if she floated a few inches above the floor, and she looked only at him.

  “Thank you.” She moved the fingers resting on his shoulder in a tiny caress that had his blood catching fire. “But you are by far more resplendent than I.” Her gaze dropped to his cravat, glanced over the stickpin she’d given him years ago before returning to his, and the brandy depths darkened with the same need coursing through him. “I adore your jacket, and your wont to revisit the more elegant past. It sets you apart from the other men here in a spectacular way.” She lowered her voice so that he had to lean to close to hear her as the first strains of the waltz floated upon the air. “I am beginning to see that being different is quite a favorable character trait.”

  “Much more of that and we might find ourselves in a shadowy corner,” he responded, glad he’d worn a longer jacket that hid the evidence of his regard for her.

  The blush in her cheeks intensified, but she smiled as they glided into the steps of the waltz with the ease of familiarity. “Do you want me again so soon after our last tryst?” she whispered and followed the inquiry with the most adorable giggle he’d ever heard.

  “My dear lady, there is never a time when I don’t want you, in whatever capacity you’ll give.” He tightened his gloved fingers at the small of her back and reeled her closer a fraction of an inch. No sooner had they completed one turn of the ball room when he caught the eye of Donovan. Rafe grinned at the duke, but his steps never faltered. “Your brother isn’t best pleased to see me with you.”

  Elizabeth glanced about until she, too, found the duke. She laughed and gave Rafe’s fingers a squeeze. “Donovan can go hang,” she said in a cheerful voice that bellied the subject matter. “I intend to enjoy my life whether he wishes me to or not.”

  For the first time in what seemed ages, Rafe laughed. Oh, but it felt wonderful to indulge in an emotion that wasn’t despair or depression.

  Then he gave himself over to the dance.

  Her scent of roses teased his nostrils. Not the modern-day blooms so popular in lover’s floral tributes, but the smaller, old-fashioned flowers found in the country like the ones his mother used to favor. The strength of her hands on his person infused him with courage for what was to come. Her warmth fed his own. Desire grew, of course it did, but also another, stronger emotion swelled. Oh, he loved this woman, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—start a life with her. When she smiled, murmured something he couldn’t quite hear, he fell into the dark pools of her eyes and would happily drown, lost to her smile.

  Lost in her.

  “Rafe.” His name upon her lips sounded as sweet as an angel’s whisper. She moved her hand from his shoulder to curl into his lapel. “Meet me in the gardens in ten minutes. At Donovan’s favorite fountain.” She smiled up at him. “Perhaps the curse will break and your dreams will come true.”

  The only dream I want is you. But he nodded, not trusting himself to voice those most intimate of thoughts. “I shall be there.”

  All too soon, the waltz ended, and Rafe escorted Elizabeth to the edge of the dance floor. He ended their set with a kiss to the back of her hand. Lord Rockingham hovered not far off. The marquess glared at Rafe, frowned at her and then left the room with long, angry strides that had the tails of his coat quivering. Elizabeth exited the ballroom by way of a different door.

  From the top of the room, the tinkle of a bell rang. Conversation died and every head swiveled to where Donovan and Alice waited. The ducal couple was radiant in evening clothes—the duke in black while Alice wore a gown of deep crimson trimmed with white rabbit fur. They both had matching grins.

  “If I could have your attention,” Donovan commanded. His voice rang with authority. “Lord Rockingham has an announcement, but that is for later in the night. My own message takes precedence at the moment.” He sent a glance about the room and when his gaze landed on the marquess, he nodded. Rockingham returned the gesture. “As you know, I have been recently wedded, and that day was the happiest of my life.” When Donovan looked at his wife, there was no mistaking the pride and adoration in his gaze. “This ball is not only to usher in the Christmastide season, but it’s also to mark yet another momentous occasion in our lives.” He beamed as he encompassed the assemblage in his gaze. “The duchess is enceinte, and now that her sickness is over, she’s given me permission to tell all of you, and I must say I couldn’t wait to make the announcement even though speaking about such things in public are frowned upon.”

  Immediately, the room erupted into well-wishes and congratulations. The throng surged forward to gather about the happy ducal couple.

  As servants passed around flutes of champagne, Rafe escaped the heated room for the terrace beyond. As pleased as he was for his best friend—or his former best friend, depending—he was anxious to usher in his own happiness.

  The winter-bare gardens were beautiful in the light of the full moon, and the cloudless sky made certain he’d have the illumination’s full effect when he told Elizabeth how he felt.

  With a lightness in his step, Rafe hurried past an evergreen hedge. He turned a corner, knowing exactly where the pre-arranged meeting place was, and when he was nearly there, he stumbled to a halt so quickly the heels of his dress shoes kicked up a spurt of crushed gravel.

  Elizabeth stood near the fountain, drawing abstract designs on the semi-frozen water in the fountain’s basin with a gloved fingertip. Snowflakes fluttered on the air, lending the whole area another layer of romance. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, she was enchanting, as if she’d fallen from a star and lingered there, waiting.

  His heart constricted, and he laid a hand over that rapidly beating organ. She is here, waiting for me. Of her own volition.

  The snap of a twig rang in the stillness, and both he and she caught a communal breath. Rafe looked across the path toward the sound, as did Elizabeth. She smiled, but then Rockingham joined her from the opposite direction.

  What the devil is he doing here? Surely she hadn’t arranged that.

  Ready to take the steps that would lead him to her, Rafe paused as her smile faded. No, she wasn’t best pleased to see the marquess, for her gaze flashed in the moonlight, and the man would do well to heed that warning.

  But the marquess came closer with an attitude of arrogance. He said something and she responded, but their tones were too low for Rafe to hear from his location. It was not a docile conversation, for the heat and anger in their voices rose and fell on the frosty air. What the subject was, Rafe had no idea, but it kept on, and with every word that fell from Rockingham’s mouth, Elizabeth grew more incensed, her cheeks reddened, her eyes shot daggers. She raised her hand, presumably to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist and held her still.

  Rafe stiffened from the harsh treatment. How dare he touch her in such a manner. He took a step forward, but halted once more when Elizabeth snappe
d her gaze to the marquess’ face, her gaze wide. The color drained from her face and she wilted in Rockingham’s hold, her posture defeated.

  Why?

  The marquess continued to talk, in lower tones, but the authority was there nonetheless. Elizabeth was despondent. She barely nodded. Neither did she respond when Rockingham lifted her chin with a finger and dropped a kiss upon her lips. He took his leave, a smug smile on his face, but Elizabeth remained. Silvery tears tracked down her cheeks, falling upon her midnight gown.

  Nearly unhinged with anger and worry, Rafe rushed from his spot. When he reached her, he grabbed one of her hands. Even through the gloves, her fingers were frozen. “Lizzy? Is all well? What has happened?”

  She scrubbed at the tears with her free hand. “I am fine.” Her gaze remained downcast, her voice broken.

  “My dear, you never were a good liar.” He squeezed her fingers. “What did Rockingham say to you?”

  Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “You saw him here?”

  “Yes.” The rapid beat of his heart would kill him if she didn’t get on with it. “You argued?”

  “It is of no consequence.” She grabbed his other hand and raised her gaze. Tears still glimmered in her eyes, tears that had the power to make him come undone. “Kiss me, Rafe. Make me forget. Make me remember—you alone.”

  Confusion poured through his chest. He frowned. Something was very wrong. Why wouldn’t she tell him? “Dance with me first,” he whispered and pulled her close by tugging on the silver sash at her waist. Perhaps he could cajole her into a better mood before he attempted to break the curse.

  As he hummed the strains of her favorite waltz, the same one Alice had played for them, and barely moved them in a gentle circle, Elizabeth clung to him. Her soft sobs cut to his soul, for he couldn’t comfort her if he didn’t know what had brought her to this pass.

  “I wish you would let me help you through this valley, let me help carry your burden, for that is what a man does for the woman he loves.” His gums throbbed from the excess of emotion cycling through him. Everything that he was had culminated into this moment. Not knowing what else to do when faced with her obvious grief, he cupped her cheek and kissed her as tenderly as he knew how. Gypsy witch, deliver me from your foul curse, for I believe I have met the requirements.

  When he pulled slightly away and nothing had changed, he shook his head. Rafe didn’t care that the curse hadn’t broken; he hadn’t expected it to. He was more concerned with Elizabeth’s well-being and what the devil had happened to her since their dance in the ballroom ended. What had become of the hope they’d both left with? He searched her face, her gaze, shocked by the desolation in her dark depths.

  “What did Rockingham say to you that has taken the sparkle from your entire person?” Anxiety clawed at his insides. Had he won her love but had those feelings dashed away by the marquess’ untimely intrusion?

  “Oh, Rafe. I wish I could say.” A crystalline tear fell to her cheek as she backed out of his arms. “Please understand.”

  What the deuce? “How can I understand if you refuse to tell me?” His voice rose as his confusion deepened. “I’m concerned for you, wanting to make it right and yet you close yourself off from me.” His chest ached as the disappointment of the night finally sank in. “You don’t love me.” That was why the curse hadn’t lifted. After everything, she didn’t love him. The knowledge stabbed into his chest like the sharpest of daggers.

  She bit back a sob and took another few steps away from him. “I am so sorry. Truly, I am, for you wanted this so much.”

  He shook his head. The bewilderment was tinged with annoyance now, and once more he was out to sea with Elizabeth, almost as if they’d never made progress. “In truth, for the last few years, breaking the curse hasn’t been the relentless force in my life.” He heaved a sigh. Then the enormity of what the night had wrought plowed into him.

  Without being fully human… I will never have what I want most—you.

  But she deserved to hear what he’d come to say; he deserved to tell it, had waited so long to do so. “I love you, Elizabeth.” He took a step toward her, but her whole body froze as if he would pounce. “Even when I trespassed on what you and I shared all those years ago, I loved you, but I didn’t realize it until much later, when I couldn’t have you.”

  Her wide eyes reflected the moon’s light, illuminated grief and panic. A few tears fell to her cheeks, and with every drop, he died a little more inside, for she slipped farther and farther away from him.

  What the devil had that bastard said to her? Or had she truly not conquered her fear? Rafe rushed to continue, for mayhap additional words would unlock her silence. “It is time for you to decide what it is, exactly, that you feel for me, for I cannot keep living like this, with you bouncing between me and Rockingham.” He paused, rubbed a hand along his jaw as he considered what else he would say. “Life is oftentimes messy.” She sobbed, but he didn’t stop—couldn’t. Not after he’d been so certain he’d finally won her heart at the museum. “You have to take both the wonderful and the horrible that makes up a person, stand by their side and support them, work through the dreck with them until the way is clear and you can see joy once more.”

  I need you with me.

  “Please, don’t say anything else.” She shook her head, misery stark in her expression, as if someone flipped a switch inside her that killed her earlier happiness. “I cannot…”

  He was losing her and he didn’t know why. Rafe closed the distance and took her hand. “I need to know if you’re willing to walk into the future beside me, proud and fierce, to meet whatever fate throws at us, despite me being a vampire.”

  There, he’d laid his heart at her feet. The decision rested with her.

  “What we’ve shared, done, what we’ve been to one another since your courtship began has been lovely, but…” She took a shuddering breath, and the despair in her expression tore at his chest. “It is an impossible question for me to answer just now.”

  “I see.” He dropped her hand. Hot mortification rolled over him when tears stung his eyes. “If you truly loved me, impossibility wouldn’t feature into the equation.” The words were pulled from his tight throat. “Love removes all barriers.” At least he’d thought it would.

  Quickly, he turned away before she could see him cry. The tears on his cheeks were cold and the sensation of weeping so odd that he didn’t know what to do with himself. Nothing in preparing for his adult life had taught him this, so he returned to what he knew—being the beast. A red haze came over his vision; his gums throbbed in preparation for the fangs to elongate. He clenched his hands into fists when his fingertips throbbed with the urge to erupt into claws.

  “Oh, Rafe.” Elizabeth’s voice wavered. She laid a hand upon his back but then removed it as if just touching him briefly had tainted her. “I have no choice.”

  Rafe’s chest ached. “You always have a damn choice. Each and every day shows you this. You forge your own path because of it.” Every word he uttered scraped along his tight throat. His heart was raw and hurt as if she’d physically slashed it open. “Will you marry Rockingham, then?” He could hardly ask the question for the agony of rejection and unrequited love swirling through him.

  “He means to announce our betrothal tonight,” she finally gasped out, and the tears in her voice worked to further break him.

  He gave a curt nod, still refusing to look at her. He couldn’t. Not his Lizzy, the woman he loved and now had lost. “I hope the life you’ve chosen is a happy one. I’ve never wished you to have anything but that.”

  I cannot linger here any longer. I must put distance between us.

  Again, her words rang in his ears. “I am truly sorry. You don’t understand…”

  Rafe shook his head, and using the supernatural speed given to him from his beast, he removed himself from the gardens, running, not even telling her goodbye, tearing himself from her life for the last time.

  And the pain o
f that parting was excruciating.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Rafe was out of his mind with despair and anger. In the full guise of his vampire beast, he ran through the streets of Mayfair as the scene he’d left minutes ago played through his head over and over.

  I have to escape. I need to forget.

  With his heart trapped in an ache so desolate and harsh it stole his breath, he arrived at Bête Noire. He was hungry and hopeless, and in truth he didn’t care what might happen to him, but he must do something to banish the images of Elizabeth from his mind—his heart. No longer was she his. There was no more opportunity for him to win her. And he was destined to toil as the vampire for another five years.

  I need a woman in my bed.

  That was exactly the ticket. Perhaps if he mindlessly buried his prick in honeyed heat, gave himself over to perfumed arms, he could begin to heal, to forget the dreams that had crumbled down around him in Manchester’s winter garden.

  Warmth surrounded him as he entered the familiar club and quickly made his way upstairs using the back servants’ stairs. But his heart remained like a cold lump of coal without love infusing it with life. Elizabeth’s defection had left him a shell of himself, and he had no bloody idea how to go on.

  Once in his suite of rooms, he ordered Mrs. Eagan to fetch him the petite, red-haired bit with the buxom curves, the woman he’d fed upon numerous times before. The middle-aged woman had taken one look at his face—no doubt he looked like the nightmare he was—and she left his presence with alacrity, and while she was gone, Rafe paced about the confines of his receiving room. Urgency throbbed through his veins. Every beat of his heart cried out the agony he labored under.

  How had everything gone so terribly wrong? How had he lost the love of his life without explanation?