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

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Do you wish for company or protection?” When she stood, so did Donovan.

  “I do not. If someone has nefarious deeds on his mind, I dare him to accost me, for he will find himself in the gutter in short order. That is how I am feeling just now.” Elizabeth patted her brother’s shoulder as she passed. “Thank you for the offer.”

  He nodded. “Lords Coventry and Mountgarret are scheduled to stop by soon. In light of what happened to Rogue, we decided to conduct our usual meetings here instead of the club.” He assumed a rueful expression. “It is not the same without him, you see.”

  “You have forgiven him,” she said from the doorway, and for the first time since Rafe went missing, she smiled. “That will make him happy, for he took your defection to heart.” When Donovan remained silent, Elizabeth hurried from the dining room.

  She had barely reached the entry hall when an insistent knocking rained upon the front door. Griggs, two steps ahead of her, opened the panel with great dignity. Lord Mountgarret stood on the stoop, his ruddy locks slicked back and wet, but it wasn’t raining. In fact, gentle snowflakes fell from the inky skies to dot the shoulders of his black greatcoat. “Lord Mountgarret, my brother is expecting you.”

  “I am aware,” he said as he stepped inside the house. “I have come to speak with you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. The earl trusted you above all others, especially in light of the current feud between him and your brother.”

  Elizabeth glanced at Griggs. “Set an additional plate for the viscount, if you please.”

  “Very good, my lady.” The butler left on silent feet.

  “Have you found Rafe?” she asked in low tones the second Griggs had vanished around a corner. Excitement buzzed at the base of her spine. “Please tell me you have.”

  “I have.” He rested his turquoise gaze on her, and for one moment she was reminded of the sea. “This evening, once the sun set, I slipped into Hyde Park, for I desired to swim in the Serpentine.”

  Her lower jaw dropped before she remembered herself and closed it with an audible snap. “I beg your pardon, did you say swim in the Serpentine?” She’d never known anyone to do that. Bathe, most definitely, especially if it was a fine summer’s day, but now, in the chill of a December winter’s night?

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of the viscount’s lips. “Yes, but it is quite a long story, best told another time.” Then he sobered. “I saw Rogue, for it could only have been him. His eyes glowed red.”

  Her heart stuttered to a halt to know he still lived, and as she grasped at the viscount’s gloved hand, that organ came back to life with the fiercest of aches. “Where? He’s been missing for four days. We’ve searched everywhere.”

  “The lower east quadrant of Hyde Park, away from bridle or walking paths, near the Serpentine. There is a particular curve of the river that reaches a clearing there. Rogue was with Lord Rockingham.”

  Sour bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it down and hoped her stomach wouldn’t send up what little dinner she’d eaten. “Were they alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long ago?”

  He shrugged. “Not long. When I saw them, I came straight here.”

  Urgency slipped through her veins. “Were they fighting?”

  “Honestly, it seemed as if they were talking, but the earl was on his knees, weakened it appeared.”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t have the sense to approach or even bring Rafe back here?”

  Lord Mountgarret’s eyes rounded. A trace of humor lined his face. “I am not armed, my lady. Lord Rockingham was, and would you have me come out of the Serpentine, needing to transform into my human form, naked and vulnerable for the marquess to either kill or capture?”

  What sort of being was the viscount? Donovan had never let the secret slip. “Forgive me. It has been rather tense around here.” She glanced beyond his shoulder at the wintery night where his carriage waited at the curb, and she held her shawl closer about her shoulders. This is my moment. “I must go to him.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, I cannot allow it. You are not dressed for the weather, you do not have a weapon, and there is most assuredly danger afoot.” When he reached for her hand, she sidestepped him.

  “Take it up with my brother, for Rafe needs me, and I no longer answer to men who don’t ‘allow’ me to do things. I shall procure a weapon somehow, and if I cannot, I can throw a decent upper cut.” Elizabeth gained the stoop and looked over her shoulder at him as he gawked, respect and worry lining his features. “And while you do, tell Donovan to meet me there, but I have to do this.” She moved forward a step. “Also, I am taking your carriage, Lord Mountgarret. Thank you for its loan.”

  Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth alighted at one of the more popular gates of Hyde Park. She sent the carriage back to Donovan’s residence. From there, she snuck into the tree line, and placed her steps carefully so as not to make too much noise with her passage. The darkness and shadows hid her quite handily, as did the fact the new moon didn’t provide much illumination. Swiftly falling snow muffled her footsteps, but her foolish satin slippers didn’t protect her feet from the cold.

  It couldn’t be helped. If she was able to rescue Rafe in a timely manner, she would return home to a cheerful fire and copious amounts of tea once her brother joined her. The earl’s life was worth more than frozen toes.

  All around her, soft stirrings of animals, the scratch of bare tree branches, an occasional cough met her ears. The certainty of footpads, thieves, or murderers chilled the blood in her veins, but she shoved the terror they represented to the back of her mind.

  Nothing was as important as reaching Rafe.

  The breeze pulled at her skirts and sent snowflakes hissing against her face and chest. It clawed at her hair, but she continued on. Occasionally, she paused and tilted her head as she listened, but the damned wind snatched at every tiny sound, and the velvety darkness hid whatever else lurked in the park besides her.

  Bang!

  The sound of a gunshot drifted to her and kept her frozen in place with her heart in her throat.

  “Get up, Lord Devon, for I refuse to put a ball in your chest without you mounting some sort of attack.” Lord Rockingham’s still-polite tones dripped with sarcasm. “That wouldn’t be sporting of me.”

  “So then shooting me in the shoulder is a necessary evil?” Rafe’s voice rasped into the darkness tinged with pain.

  “I need the scene of your demise to look the part.”

  Rafe’s snort blended with a gasp. “Why not plunge a stake into my heart to ensure I don’t get up? Isn’t that the popular thinking to kill a vampire?” When the marquess didn’t answer, he continued. “Ah, but that is only a story put forth by superstitious people. I can die the same as you, for I am half-human.”

  Elizabeth crept closer, spurred on by urgency. Rafe lived even if he was injured.

  “You are nothing like me,” the marquess spat out, his tone full of malice.

  “Oh, don’t I know it.” When the earl laughed weakly, her heart constricted. His skin was far too pale. Dark red blood spread over his shirt from a wound in his left shoulder. He wore the same buff-colored breeches he had the night of the ball, but his upper half was clad now in a billowing black shirt and an equally black leather jacket. Given him, no doubt, by the marquess. With his right hand, he tried to stem the flow, but it eased out between his pale, slender fingers. “Ah, so even with my murder you intend to lie and charm your way through.”

  “What is there to lie about? You attacked. I had no choice, and I couldn’t quell the loss of blood.” The sound of a fist hitting flesh drifted to Elizabeth’s location, followed by a moan that sent her heartbeat pounding out a frantic rhythm. “Who do you think the Runners will believe—me, an upstanding member of the upper ten thousand, or you, a demented, desperate creature of the night?”

  Dear Lord, had Oliver planned this all along? Elizabeth crept forward another few feet. A lan
tern rested near Lord Rockingham’s feet, and it cast eerie shadows in the shallow clearing where the marquess stood and Rafe knelt.

  “If killing me was your ultimate goal, why did you wait this long?” Rafe’s voice was low, halting, shaking. His unbound hair caught in the breeze and danced about his shoulders. A trickle of blood ran down his chin from a broken bottom lip. “Not that I didn’t enjoy those few days of regular beatings in that horrid room,” he said with sarcasm clear in his voice. “Or the glass of goat’s blood every night.”

  “No reason other than to see how long you’d last without ridding the Dials of a few of its leeches.” The marquess advanced upon him, as stealthy as a jungle cat. “But you didn’t become the nightmare I’d hoped.”

  “Nightmare is a subjective term, don’t you think?” Rafe snorted. When he raised a hand to brush at his hair, claws were clearly in evidence, as were his fangs. The red ring around his irises gleamed with an intensity Elizabeth had only seen once—when he’d attacked her. What must it cost him now not to spring at the other man? “Dumping me into the worst sort of tavern in the Dials was a calculated risk, I’ll admit.”

  “Yet you didn’t perform as expected. Otherwise, I would have shot you there and told everyone of your foul secret, how I had to do it to prevent further terrorization—after you’d killed several of the indigent, how I had no choice except to act the hero. But you thwarted me.”

  “I am not that man. Even at the end of my control, the beast recognized the area. He knew the people, for I have visited with Elizabeth. They are innocent. Not there by choice.”

  “People of that class give London a black eye. They deserve to die, to find themselves purged, and you failed in that simple task.” Hatred shook the marquess’ voice. How had she not seen through his façade before?

  “You are not one to make that call. Lower class, upper class, vampire, and human, none are better. We are equal, and we all have our trials to struggle through, to rise above. We are all trying to be better, and we all make up the fabric that is London.” Rafe shook his head. “Though I was in agony with the need to feed, those people are infinitely more good than you. And I refuse to kill.”

  Oliver tossed away the spent revolver. It thudded to the ground and lay like a tribute to his ire. “Why? You cannot help it from what I understand of your kind.” His upper lip curled in a sneer. “I’ve followed you around enough to know the truth.”

  “My kind. My truth. You know nothing of either, and you will never understand.” Rafe pushed out a sigh. “Once a being like me kills for sport, kills to cull, kills for the hell of it, he will never again regain his humanity. I won’t take that risk. It means too much to me. And that makes the difference.”

  “Humanity, ha!” Lord Rockingham shook his head. A maniacal light lit his eyes. “You are a disgrace to anything human. You will never be that.”

  Still hidden, Elizabeth pressed cold fingers to her lips. He’d thwarted the marquess’ plan despite the cost, for he had a noble, hero’s heart. He had been that all along, and she hadn’t seen it, refused to look past his beast, couldn’t shove away her fear. In that, she was little better than the marquess. Oh, Rafe. I am so sorry.

  Oliver kicked out and the toe of his boot caught Rafe in the chin. The earl sailed backward, landing heavily on his left side. His moan of pain clutched at her heart. He didn’t attempt to right himself. Was this the end? As the other man loomed over him, he said, “Elizabeth is too good for the likes of you.”

  “From that measurement, she’s entirely too good for you.” A hint of humor hung on the words, and they enraged the marquess.

  “Bastard.” He kicked again, catching Rafe in the ribs. A distinct snap echoed in the midnight silence. The earl didn’t attempt to defend himself. Had he already given up? “You aren’t even human. You’re a blight on society, thinking you can mingle with the rest of us, hiding your true nature, daring to court a lady of the ton. You and the men like you taint society, and I’ve made it my mission to see you all hunted and put down. Befriending Manchester was only the beginning, for the group of men who believe like I do, are growing in numbers, and we will hunt each and every one of you.”

  Dear God, what sort of horror is the marquess? Elizabeth trembled with rage and indignation. Who was Oliver to play God? Please, Rafe, go after him. Tear out his black heart. She slipped closer, fully prepared to take on the marquess herself, but she wanted to hear the rest of his arrogant confession.

  “Regardless of what I am, at least I didn’t coerce her into an engagement. She doesn’t love you.”

  “What does love have to do with connections or a marriage? I want her for far more than that, the least of which is keeping her from you.”

  “Fool. Love is everything.” Rafe struggled to his knees. His breathing was labored, one eye swollen and closing, the bloodstain on his shirt growing. In the harsh lantern light, he appeared haggard and menacing, the direct opposite of what he truly was. “What will you do with her, lock her away so no one can talk to her, forbid her friends and family from seeing her? For your ego is that large, and you have surely adopted a god complex.”

  The marquess lashed out. How was it possible that two blond men, their hair gleaming in the weak lantern’s light, could be so different? He punched Rafe in his shoulder wound. The earl fell to his hands and knees, vomiting. “I intend to mold Elizabeth into the image of a proper ton wife. She will be an extension of me and what I want to accomplish. Together, we will forge a new direction society will take, make it fresh and new, only accepting those worthy.” Spittle clung to his lips as he talked in a fervor of madness. “With her knowledge of your contemporaries, of her brother’s, I will cleanse London of undesirables like you.”

  “You are insane. Beings of all kinds can live alongside one another, work together, and those very differences will make London stronger.” His whole body shook from strain, cold and no doubt shock.

  Oliver plunged a hand into the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew a second pistol. “I had wished to do away with you in a duel, but since I’ve already spent the ball in my gun…” With his free hand, he fisted Rafe’s hair and yanked him upward. “Get to your feet and fight. I tire of this night.”

  Finally, Elizabeth found her courage. She couldn’t remain hidden any longer, not when the man she loved was in such dire danger. Not anymore. With a cry of rage she had no idea from whence it came, she sprang from her spot and tore over the cold, snow-dotted ground. “The only man who will die this night is you, you lying bastard.”

  “Elizabeth, don’t!”

  She ignored Rafe’s cry, and she launched herself at the marquess.

  There was enough momentum and righteous indignation on her side that she took the man down. They tumbled to the earth in a jumble of limbs, but he still held the pistol. It was critical that she disarm him.

  “You had everyone in the ton fooled, you black-hearted piece of rubbish,” she panted in the effort to fight him off. He might have more weight on his side, but she was fueled with a power far greater than any he could summon from hatred. “Even me, and I do not take kindly being played for a laughingstock.”

  “It was for your own good. He is not worth it.” Oliver got off a punch that glanced against the side of her face and made her temporarily see stars.

  Not having a choice, she ignored the pain. “When will you men learn that women are capable of making decisions for themselves?”

  From the corner of her eye, Rafe struggled to his feet. He took a few steps toward her, but then he stumbled, swayed and finally collapsed onto the ground as the snow swirled and fell. Fear gripped her heart. Please don’t die. She renewed her fight with her opponent. “Did you kill those two women, make it look like Rafe bit them?”

  “Of course I did.” Pride and arrogance lined Oliver’s face. “It took a bit of planning, but I borrowed the jawbone of some sort of animal from a taxidermy friend. The fangs provided the necessary puncture wounds.”

  Elizabeth b
eat him about the head and neck with her fists. She didn’t let up as rage mounted. “You hoped Rafe would go to Newgate for murder. An easy way to dispose of him.”

  “And expose his true nature to everyone. Imagine ridding the prison of a handful or two of criminals. I’d be the hero.”

  “You can never be anything more than a villain.” Every thud of her heart screamed Rafe’s name, for if he expired, there was nothing left in life for her. She slapped the marquess’ cheek so hard her hand stung.

  “In time, you will come to see that my way of thinking is correct, and once the idiot sheep of the ton fall into line, nothing will stop my agenda.”

  “You killed two innocent people with the intent to frame another. Who is the real monster here?” Disgust and rage clung to her voice.

  “Fool.” Oliver tossed her off him. She landed hard upon her back. “Already, parliament is primed to make that change, to clean up the lower classes, remove them from London.”

  “Never. People like me, who truly care, will continue to fight. Parliament will debate that issue long and hard. Right will prevail.” Elizabeth wrenched herself to her feet. Once more she rushed at him while he attempted to stand. She knocked the marquess backward, and this time she grabbed his wrist in both hands. “When people stand together, they are much more powerful than a few men who wish for rule more than compassion, men with coin behind their names who intimidate.” She beat his hand against the cold, near-frozen ground over and over until the pistol fell from his fingers.

  “Elizabeth, just think. You and I can have a great life together,” Oliver said in cajoling tones. He dared to smile as he rose into a standing position, but the light of hatred still lit his eyes.

  “There is no life where love isn’t present, and I never loved you.” Frantic, with her pulse hammering hard in her ears, she wrapped her hands around the butt of the pistol and levelled it at him, the nose in alignment with his heart. “Cease this insanity or I will shoot.”