One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  “My ward requires a wardrobe for her debut this Season,” Vincent ventured cautiously. “I wonder if you ladies would be up to the task.”

  Sally’s eyes lit with immediate interest, and she reached for a magazine of fashion plates. “My lord! We would be honored. When may we come to the castle and—”

  “We require a price,” Maria interjected, folding her arms across her chest.

  Vincent sighed. “I will not bring you to London.”

  “For a wardrobe of that size, along with the inevitable repairs needed, you have little choice in such a short time frame. Besides, we can paint up our faces and disguise ourselves beyond recognition. We grew up in the theater, don’t you recall?”

  Sally rallied behind her sister. “And I feel we have the right to look in on our mother. She is in her dotage, and it would break our hearts not to see her before she dies. Please, my lord, show us some mercy.”

  In the face of Maria’s logical argument and Sally’s emotional appeal, Vincent’s resolve crumbled despite his better judgment. “Very well. I will ask the Lord of London for permission for you to accompany me, which he may very well refuse. If he consents, you must remain out of sight as much as possible. And, by all that is holy, you will stay away from that infernal painter.”

  Maria’s green eyes hardened. “Will you look in on him for us, and tell us how he fares?”

  He sighed, willing patience. “No good can come from bothering Lawrence. It won’t help you forget him.”

  “We don’t want to forget, not until we see him dead.”

  “Killing humans is illegal,” he replied for the thousandth time. “However, he will die eventually. Like all mortals, he grows older every day. I’ve seen many people perish from age. It is a more torturous death than you could imagine. Can’t you take comfort from that?”

  Sally gave her sister a hard look. “If you will see him and tell us of his suffering.”

  “I hope he’s bald and his teeth have rotted black and pain him daily,” Maria grumbled.

  Vincent chuckled. “All right. I’ll take a peek at the sod. Perhaps he has gout. Now will you help me outfit my ward?”

  “She will shine like a diamond of the first water, and all other debutantes will chew their livers in envy.” Sally smiled sweetly. “That is, if you supply us with the fabric, thread, and all other accoutrements we request.”

  He returned the smile, pleased to see genuine enthusiasm light her usually bleak countenance. “You will have everything you ask for, along with my eternal gratitude.”

  After he and Emrys took their leave, his second shook his head. “Are you certain it is wise to bring that pair to Castle Deveril and expose them to your pet mortal and servants, much less bring them to London?”

  “They’ve done well by the woman who comes to clean, and have not caused trouble with the mortals in town when they venture out.” Mention of his pet mortal brought an inexplicable urge to see her once more. “The night grows late. We’ll discuss it later.” Vincent took off toward his castle…and his ward.

  Miss Hobson accosted him the moment he returned. “We must discuss Miss Price.”

  “Allow me to divest myself of my wet coat, and I shall meet you in the solar,” he replied over his shoulder, already shrugging out of the sodden garment.

  Pausing in the doorway to the solar, he observed the stern woman. On the surface, she appeared to be as snobbish and cold as Lady Morley. He had been assured that Miss Hobson was the best, and though she might be strict, females under her charge constantly defied the worst of odds to emerge as winners in the marriage game. Lydia Price needed a chaperone of that caliber.

  “Would you care for some brandy, Miss Hobson?” He removed a decanter and two snifters from the sideboard.

  “A lady does not drink strong spirits, my lord.” Contrary to the prim decline, her eyes gleamed at the smoky liquid.

  Vincent smirked and filled both glasses. “Come now, who is here to judge you? I believe after your arduous journey, you have earned a robust drink.”

  Finally, a genuine smile crossed her thin lips. “Very well, my lord, if you insist.”

  Vincent handed her a glass and added another log to the fireplace before settling in a burgundy velvet wing-backed chair across from the chaperone. They shared a brief companionable silence, sipping their smuggled brandy.

  He set down his snifter with regret. Too much would upset his digestion. “You wished to discuss Miss Price. What is your impression of her?”

  Miss Hobson sighed before taking another fortifying drink. “As I told you before, securing a match for the young lady will not be easy. Aside from the scandal surrounding her birth, the fact that Lady Morley refuses to receive her will discourage Society from acknowledging her.” She lowered her voice. “And I have a feeling that Lady Morley will endeavor to make things worse when Miss Price is presented. That woman will stop at nothing.”

  Although the news was bleak, Vincent felt a measure of encouragement at Miss Hobson’s animosity toward Lady Morley. He would need a strong ally in this game. “Very well, may we now discuss the young lady’s assets?”

  The chaperone nodded. “Her appearance is satisfactory, though her accent is unfortunate.”

  She is beautiful, Vincent thought, calling to mind Lydia’s tawny eyes and luxurious hair. And her southern American drawl was like warm honey.

  “She has many accomplishments, though not all are ladylike,” Miss Hobson continued. “I will encourage her to hide the latter while I work on nurturing the former.”

  As the chaperone droned on, Vincent took another drink, letting the brandy roll across his tongue, and speculated on the taste of Lydia’s smooth flesh. Perhaps she would taste as sweet as she sounded… He shook off the thought, alarmed at the intensity of his desire. Good Lord, what is happening to me? Has my solitude driven me mad in truth?

  Miss Hobson remained oblivious to his sinful musings as she finished her inventory. “Finally, Miss Price seems to be quick-witted and very brave. These things will ensure her survival and possibly garner respect among the ton.”

  He nodded. “Yes, she does seem to possess ample courage.”

  Pride filled him. Lydia’s gaze had been bold as she faced him, without a glimpse of terror at the prospect of being placed at the mercy of a stranger.

  “Given that she’s an American and has been rejected by her family, this will be the biggest challenge of my career.” Miss Hobson sighed, pulling him back to the matter at hand. “Though I believe I may carry it off.”

  “That is why I hired you,” Vincent replied blandly. “I was informed you are the best.”

  “Yes,” she replied without arrogance. “Also, her substantial dowry will help matters considerably. However did you wrangle such a sum from the Morley purse?”

  “I required Lady Morley to double the existing dowry in exchange for my taking on the responsibility. Then I doubled the amount yet again from my own coffers.”

  A strange snort that may have been a laugh came from Miss Hobson at the last. “The dowager countess will not be pleased to hear that.” Taking a sip of her drink, she leaned forward. “It is rumored that the Deverils have always been a miserly lot.”

  He smiled over his glass of brandy. “Well, their frugality has been enough that it shall be no trouble for me to break the tradition.” It was astounding the fortune one could amass in two centuries. The bitter rub was that he’d had nothing or no one to spend it on…until now.

  “That is excellent news. You will need it for this endeavor to succeed.”

  Miss Hobson then filled his ears with talk of tutors, dresses, fans, and other such frippery. Vincent only half listened as he mulled over other more serious challenges: the first being that a Lord Vampire needed permission before entering another’s territory. Typically, that would not be of great concern, as he was on good terms with t
he Lord Vampire of London. However, Ian was due to depart soon on an extended wedding trip, and his second in command would rule London for the next half century.

  Vincent was not well acquainted with Rafael Villar, though if the dour expression on Villar’s scarred face was any indication, relations between London and Cornwall would become less amicable. Likely Rafael would refuse Vincent’s request to bring Lydia to London for the Season, as he had vocally disapproved of Ian’s marriage to a mortal.

  Hell, Ian might refuse if he was still in charge. He’d involved himself with a human out of necessity, and solved the conflict eventually by Changing his bride. Vincent’s involvement was voluntary…and hell would freeze over before he destroyed such a vivid life as Lydia’s.

  As soon as Miss Hobson retired, Vincent headed up to the chamber he’d prepared for Lydia. He wondered momentarily at his sense of urgency. I am only doing my duty in seeing that she’s settled in properly.

  He paused at her door long enough to reach out with his senses and verify that she was asleep before stealing silently into the room. It wouldn’t do to frighten her.

  She was so full of life. Vincent watched Lydia’s sleeping form with awe. Her hair spread across the pillow like a midnight waterfall. He longed to touch it as he had earlier. No, more.

  He remembered how her large eyes had sparkled despite the dark circles of fatigue beneath them. Yet she had seemed concerned for him. An odd ache pierced his chest at the memory.

  Her hair whispered beneath his fingers like satin. Vincent snatched back his hand and left the room, guilt roiling through him for touching something so pure.

  Four

  Lydia awoke to the aroma of bacon and freshly baked bread. She smiled at Emma, who was carrying a heaping breakfast tray. “That smells heavenly.”

  Emma nodded and placed the tray on the table near the bed. “Cook was pleased to prepare a nice meal. His lordship rarely dines at home.”

  “Why not?” Lydia reached for the food, stomach rumbling. A pang of disappointment struck her at the maid’s words. She’d looked forward to dining with her fascinating guardian.

  The maid shook her head. “It seems to be a custom among bachelors.”

  “Well, it’s a terrible custom.” She bit into a piece of crisp bacon. “The man is much too thin.” That hadn’t stopped him from haunting her dreams last night. He’d been caressing her hair as though she was something cherished. Her cheeks heated, and her pulse quickened.

  Oh no. Her fork fell from nerveless fingers. She knew this feeling. It was the same sensation she’d experienced when she’d first seen the dashing Monsieur Delacroix at the opera last year. She’d yearned for the better part of a month until her maid had informed her that the man was engaged to a planter’s daughter, and he also had a quadroon mistress tucked away in the French Quarter.

  Now I’m attracted to my own guardian. Her lips curled in a self-deprecating frown. Was she destined to always pine over the wrong man? A guardian was supposed to be a figure of familial authority, like an exalted uncle. Unfortunately, Lord Deveril was too damned handsome to be anyone’s uncle.

  Unaware of Lydia’s plight, Emma opened the curtains and tended the fire. Lydia buttered her bread and looked around the chamber. Far from a gothic horror scene, the room epitomized luxury, with its plush rugs covering the stone floor, elegant tapestries, and cheery fireplace. Lydia didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. At least there were no cobwebs. She abhorred spiders.

  After she finished eating and completing her morning ablutions, Emma helped her into a gown of black muslin trimmed in lace.

  “Is the earl about this morning?” Lydia ventured curiously.

  “No, he remains abed during the day. The sunlight gives him a terrible sick headache.”

  “The poor man!” Lydia’s heart clenched with sympathy. “How is he to enjoy himself? Much less look after his estate?” Or me? “What is he like?”

  Emma paled and glanced around as if expecting to see Deveril over her shoulder. “I cannot say, miss. I have not been long in his employ.”

  It seemed her maid was afraid of the earl. Was the man a tyrant? She wouldn’t be able to abide that for a moment. Though if he’s strict, my silly infatuation should abate.

  Miss Hobson awaited her in the solar with a pair of fans in hand. The chaperone looked pale. “Good morning, Miss Price. We must begin cultivating your manners so you are ready for the London Season.”

  “London?” Lydia’s heart raced. “I only now came here.”

  “We won’t be leaving for another month.”

  Lydia nodded. At least she had time to become acquainted with this wild, sea-kissed land. Although admittedly, the prospect of seeing England’s capital was exciting. Her dream of meeting Sir Thomas Lawrence might yet be possible. “Do you suppose Lord Deveril may take me to see the Royal Academy of Arts?”

  Unaffected by her excitement, Miss Hobson handed her a fan. “He may, though we must make you presentable in time. Now show me how you learned to open a fan.”

  Just like that, her lessons began. Lydia’s instructors in America seemed not to have been good enough, for Miss Hobson drilled her in things she’d thought she’d mastered years ago. After an hour with the fan, they spent even more time on walking, and yet a longer period on sitting. By the time they finished luncheon, Lydia was twitching with boredom…and Miss Hobson had paled further.

  Miss Hobson absently rubbed her temple. “Do ladies nap in America?”

  “We do when the heat is terrible. As it is much cooler here, I do not feel in the least tired. Perhaps Emma could give me a tour of the castle while you rest?” Lydia suggested gently. “I know I have been a trying pupil.”

  “No, no, not at all,” Miss Hobson assured. “However, your suggestion has merit. It is time you become acquainted with your new home. We shall continue your lessons at supper.”

  Finishing her tea, the chaperone departed, still rubbing her temples as though her headache was worsening. Perhaps the malady was a common reaction to the climate, since the earl suffered from them as well. Lydia prayed it was not so. Frequent headaches had plagued her when she’d had yellow fever.

  She forced the ugly memory away and stood, brightening at the new prospect before her. “Let us explore the castle.”

  Emma shivered as she secured the needle in her sampler. “I’ve not been here long enough to know this place well, miss. I fear we shall become lost.”

  Lydia chuckled. “What fun that would be.”

  “Fun?” The maid quavered in fear.

  Taking pity on the woman, Lydia sighed. “I’ll ask the butler to come along. I do not suppose this castle has many callers to tend.”

  At last, the maid giggled. “I suppose not.”

  Aubert proved to be an informative guide, navigating the corridors with ease as he explained the purpose of each room. Worn tapestries depicting pastoral landscapes covered nearly every inch of the walls in an attempt to block out the musty dampness. Lydia listened to Aubert’s descriptions, rapt with fascination as she pictured rushes adorning the stone floors and knights rushing off to battle, wearing their ladies’ favors for luck.

  Several renowned paintings also adorned the castle walls. Lydia gasped in delight as she spotted a Goya, a Lorraine, and even one by Thomas Lawrence. The earl appeared to be fond of landscapes. Lydia’s fingers itched to render her own images on canvas. Perhaps Miss Hobson would nap long enough for her to venture outside with her paints.

  “Miss Price.” Aubert’s voice turned sharp when she turned the corner to the south wing. “We cannot continue that way.”

  “Why not?” She peered down the corridor. The lack of lit wall sconces engulfed the area in shadows. Was there a dark secret? She’d read that castles contained secret passageways.

  “Those are his lordship’s quarters.” Aubert’s voice was hushed and
wary. “He must not be disturbed.”

  Lydia sighed at the depressingly commonplace explanation. “Very well. Are there dungeons?”

  The butler nodded. “Most of that area has been refurbished into a wine cellar.” As if sensing her need for further entertainment, he added, “A few old prisoner cells remain. Would you like to see them?”

  “Oh yes, I would be most obliged!” Lydia vowed she would search for secret passageways the moment she was alone.

  ***

  Vincent bit back a curse as he returned from his first hunt of the evening. Lydia had been under his care for less than twenty-four hours, and she’d already gone missing.

  “Where is she?” he demanded once more to no avail.

  The maid trembled and babbled incoherently.

  “What is amiss, my lord?” Miss Hobson’s voice was groggy as she entered the room.

  “My ward is missing.” He vowed to use a less heady vintage the next time he plotted with the chaperone.

  Aubert shuffled between them. “Miss Price is painting on the west hill, my lord. Miss Hobson was indisposed…” He squared his thin shoulders and continued. “Miss Price wanted to walk the grounds and paint. I saw no harm in her doing so, as we can see her from the window…”

  Vincent glared at the dark window.

  “Well,” the butler stammered. “We could see her before we began preparing for supper.”

  Miss Hobson flushed. “I shall fetch her straightaway!”

  “No,” Vincent countered. “Why don’t you…check on the supper?” He turned to the maid. “And you will…do whatever a maid does to prepare for a meal. I will collect Miss Price.”

  Utterly out of his element, he left the castle and hurried through the moonlit evening. Devouring the distance in long strides, he wished he could use his powerful speed and flash to the west hill in seconds. It wouldn’t do to frighten Lydia. He had to behave as a mortal man.