by Brooklyn Ann
Tears blinded her when she rushed past Aubert, nearly knocking him over as she charged out the front door into the pouring rain, breaking into a run. Her skirts tangled around her legs, tripping her. Lydia tumbled face-first into a mud puddle.
A tortured sob escaped her lips while she wiped the grime from her face and struggled to her feet. Hiking up the cumbersome, sodden fabric, Lydia wished she had kept the trousers Angelica had loaned her. She ran as if she could outrace the pain of her shattered heart.
***
“My lord, are you saying that you will marry Lydia?” Miss Hobson asked with wide eyes as Vincent poured them each a glass of brandy.
“Good God, woman. One would think this was your goal all along.” He shook his head and hid a smile at the chaperone’s inappropriate enthusiasm for such a scandalous idea. “I am saying that I will consider it. There would be many difficulties if such a thing were to happen.”
“Such as?” Miss Hobson arched her brow.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, deciding to be as truthful as possible. “For one thing, we would live out our lives in Cornwall. I cannot abide the city.” Also, he could not encroach on another Lord Vampire’s territory for much longer or leave his own land unsupervised.
“I do not see that as being much of an obstacle,” Miss Hobson commented. “Miss Price seemed much happier in the country. I do believe she misses it.”
Vincent took a deep drink before voicing one of his larger concerns. “I am also unable to give her children.”
The chaperone gasped and turned an alarming shade of crimson. “Oh! I see…” Dismay filled her voice as she looked away.
He ran a hand through his hair as irritation roiled within. There was no way to explain that vampires were sterile, yet capable of lovemaking. Instead, he focused on the matter at hand. “I do not know how Lydia feels about motherhood. Either way, it will be painful for her when Society decides she is barren and mocks her for it.”
Raw sympathy filled Miss Hobson’s eyes. “Yes, they always blame the woman.” She pursed her lips and took a small sip of her brandy. “People are already talking about the Duchess of Burnrath…” Her eyes widened and she obviously wondered if the duke was also impotent.
A knock on the door interrupted the awkward conversation. “My lord—”
“Not now, Aubert,” Vincent snapped more harshly than he intended. He could not risk the servants learning that he was considering a match with Lydia. Unless he planned carefully, the gossip could ruin her.
Miss Hobson also saw the urgent need for discretion and dropped her voice to a whisper. “And how do you plan on ascertaining Lydia’s opinions on…well, that concern?”
“I do not know.” His jaw tightened in frustration. “I do not even know how to properly court her without the ton thinking I’ve been dallying with her all along.”
“Yes, that would be a terrible shame, especially since you cannot dally,” Miss Hobson mused aloud.
Vincent silenced her with a glare. “I had forgotten brandy makes you loquacious.”
She flinched, chastened at his icy tone, and stood. “I apologize, my lord. Perhaps you should see what Aubert wanted, and I’ll speak with Lydia and attempt to discern her feelings?”
“Yes, that shall do for now. In the meantime, would you see about having this delivered tomorrow morning?” He handed her an application for a special license.
Vincent knew Lydia’s feelings. What he didn’t know was whether they would change when she discovered he was a monster. Miss Hobson would be unable to help with that, yet it would be useful to see what she could glean as to other matters.
He rose and crossed the room to open the door for her, pride stinging at the false assumption that he was incapable of pleasuring a woman. I pleasured Lydia last night, he reminded himself. And if fate is kind, I will pleasure her many more times.
Vincent cursed as he discovered Aubert in the hallway, wringing his liver-spotted hands. “I would have thought you were too well trained to eavesdrop.”
The butler held his ground. “It is Miss Price, my lord. She’s run off. Nearly knocked me over on her way out the door, she did.”
“Run off?” Vincent paused and allowed that information to sink in. Torrential rain pattered against the windows. “You mean on foot?”
“Yes, my lord. I daresay she appeared to be quite upset.” Aubert blinked up at him. “I tried to inform you—”
Vincent was already out the front door, opening his Mark with Lydia. Her pain washed over him in agonizing waves, overwhelming him to the point that he was almost unable to sense her location. Guilt clawed at his conscience for how coldly he had left her last night, and his callousness in failing to greet her this evening. She must think the worst of him right now.
At last, he sensed her direction. She was to the southeast, nearing an unsavory district. He saw her slight form in the distance. How had she gotten this far so quickly? Vincent tensed his muscles to use his preternatural speed to catch up to her. Then a shadow caught his eye. Damn, there were other mortals about.
He quickened his pace, barely maintaining a normal human speed. Rain blurred his vision. The shadow moved closer to Lydia, and he growled. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as all of his instincts told him the other human was a threat.
Lydia continued wandering, too enveloped in sadness to notice her pursuer, who was rapidly closing in on her.
Vincent roared and darted forward, slipping on the muddy cobblestones. He recovered his footing. The man reached her an instant before he did. Lydia’s shoulders tensed, and she turned around, eyes wide. She opened her mouth to scream.
Moonlight glinted on a knife blade just as it slit Lydia’s throat.
Twenty-two
In a blur of speed, Vincent broke the attacker’s neck and caught Lydia before she hit the ground. The scent of her blood was thick enough to drown him.
Vincent didn’t hesitate. His mouth closed over the wound, drinking down her life force as it poured from her throat. He closed his eyes in pure bliss at her taste. Guilt panged him for enjoying it so much, yet he did not stop until Lydia’s heartbeat slowed to a dull thrum.
Quickly, he bit his tongue and laved the knife wound, healing it with his blood.
“Forgive me, Lydia,” he whispered. “I cannot let you go.” With that, he lifted his wrist and tore his own flesh with his fangs.
Ignoring the pain, Vincent pressed the gaping wound to Lydia’s mouth. At first she was unresponsive, and his chest constricted in agony.
“Drink, dearest one,” he begged, pressing his wrist tighter to her lips. “Please, drink. Please live.” Lydia trembled in his arms as her mouth latched onto his wound, throat working as she drank the dark magic from his veins. His heart surged in triumph as her hands reached up to grasp his arm. “Yes! That’s it!”
He let her drink until white spots obscured his vision. Firmly, but gently, he extracted his wrist from her grip. “That’s enough.”
She whimpered for more before her eyelids fluttered shut and she went limp once more in his arms.
“Egad, what happened here?” a voice rang out.
Vincent stiffened as a drunkard stepped out of the fog, eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. With a dead man lying on the cobblestones and an unconscious woman in Vincent’s arms, he could very well imagine what the man thought.
Vincent seized the man, freezing him with his gaze and willing his mind to be as comatose as Lydia’s. With a whispered apology, he plunged his fangs into the man’s throat and drank enough blood to recover most of his strength. Then he released his victim, erasing the memory of the experience.
As he lifted Lydia in his arms, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. If it weren’t for the man’s blood, he doubted he’d have the strength to carry Lydia to safety. Vincent waited until the drunkard shambled out of sigh
t before taking off in a burst of preternatural speed, grateful for the thickening fog.
At Burnrath House, the butler uttered a cry of horror at the sight of Lydia, comatose and covered in blood and mud. Vincent captured his gaze before the man could flee. “Burke, you will retire for the night. You will not remember this incident.”
Hypnotized, Burke nodded like a puppet on strings. “Very good, my lord.”
Vincent waited for the butler to walk away before entering the house. In the blink of an eye, the Duke of Burnrath stood before him.
Ian’s eyes widened at the sight of Lydia’s huddled form in Vincent’s arms, then narrowed at the blood covering her dress. His nostrils flared at the scent, and Vincent growled in warning.
Respectfully, Ian stepped back. “What happened to her?”
“A man slit her throat.” He shook in fury that he had allowed the bastard to get so close to Lydia…that he’d failed to protect her.
“Slit her throat,” Ian repeated blankly, eyes roving over the unconscious woman. His eyes bulged as the implication became clear. “You Changed her! Without permission from the Elders? Bloody hell, they’re going to—”
“I couldn’t just let her die!” Vincent countered, unwilling yet to face the consequences of his actions. “Now, may I bring her inside, or do you want someone to see us and further complicate this situation?”
Ian opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded, eyes wide with worry.
The moment they entered the house, the duchess rushed up to them. “What happened to Lydia?” Angelica froze, and her jaw dropped as she sensed the truth. “You Changed her! Good Lord! Why—”
The duke cut her off. “He can explain later. Ready the red suite, and put the servants to sleep. I am going to secure Miss Price her first meal, and God help us all.”
Vincent followed Angelica up the stairs, keeping his mind focused on one thing. Lydia was alive. Her heartbeat pulsed against his chest, thawing his earlier icy terror. Everything else was insignificant in comparison.
“It’s going to be all right, my love,” he whispered as he laid her on the bed they had shared the previous night.
Lydia’s lashes fluttered, and an agonized moan escaped her lips. Her golden eyes met his. “How could you?” she whispered. Her voice was weak and piercing with accusation.
Vincent’s heart sank. It was as he had feared. She hated him.
***
How could he use me and cast me aside? Lydia’s heart clenched as a fresh spasm of betrayal tore through its depths. Her whole body ached as memories of Vincent’s lovemaking flashed in her mind, punctuated with a piercing lash every time his conversation with Miss Hobson echoed in her head.
Another memory oozed into her consciousness, gripping her with nightmarish tentacles. Walking in the dark London streets, throat tight…eyes burning with unshed tears, a dark shadow leaping from the fog, the burning slash of a knife…
Her throat tightened with a silent scream, and a fresh spurt of agony contorted her body. Suddenly she realized her pain was a real, physical thing, gnawing at her like a ravenous wolf. Light infused the darkness with awareness as her eyes opened once more.
Vincent and Angelica stood over her, their faces mirror images of worry. Lydia felt a pillow cradling her head and her hands clawing at the plush bedspread. A quick glance over the gas lamps and ornate furnishings verified that she was back at Burnrath House…in the same bed in which Vincent had made love to her last night. She frowned in confusion as she struggled to remember how she came to be here.
Another burst of pain drilled through her skull. This time, she screamed. Vincent’s eyes filled with tender worry, and his fingers gently stroked her hair. “It will be all right, Lydia, I promise.”
Momentarily forgetting his callous betrayal, Lydia seized his other hand. “It hurts!”
He squeezed her hand. “I know. The pain will end, I promise.”
“It will,” Angelica echoed sympathetically, lacing her fingers with Lydia’s other hand.
At first, a measure of the pain dissipated as she clung to them, taking in their supportive presence like an elixir. Then, her skull seemed to explode as a fresh spurt of agony burst from her teeth. What had happened to her mouth?
“Almost over.” Vincent’s voice was steady and soothing, a lifeline amidst the chaos coursing through her body.
Wishing she could curl up in his lap and cry, she squeezed his hand with enough force to shatter his bones. “Vincent, what is happening to me?”
His blue eyes were an ocean of mixed emotions. One of them was pity. “You’re Changing.”
“Changing? What do you—” Lydia broke off as a new ache roared through her stomach. An alien hunger tormented her like the fires of hell. It felt as though she hadn’t eaten in days. Her mouth filled with saliva as she craved fulfillment.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs moments before the door opened.
“How is she?” The duke’s voice permeated the room, holding a new, yet familiar richness.
Before she could wonder about it, a tantalizing scent teased the air, coupled with a delicious, pulsing rhythm. Lydia licked her lips and made a small sound of longing.
“You are just in time,” Vincent said, stroking her wrist with his thumb. “Lydia, close your eyes.”
She obeyed, sighing as that exquisite smell came closer, filling her nostrils. Something soft pressed against her mouth, and a delicious liquid dripped onto her tongue. She needed no further prompting.
Instantly, the sweetest nectar filled her mouth, warding off her pain like a magic potion. Lydia released Vincent’s and Angelica’s hands and seized the soft object. Clinging to the source of divine nourishment, she drank down the substance as life infused her body. Greedily, she sucked on the softness, coaxing more invigorating liquid from its orifices.
“Lydia, that’s enough,” Vincent’s voice prodded firmly.
She groaned in protest and sucked harder.
“No, Lydia!” he commanded. “You must stop now, or you’ll never forgive yourself.”
Heeding the urgency in his tone, she reluctantly tore her mouth away. With a satisfied sigh, she slowly opened her eyes to see what miracle had soothed her.
She held a woman’s arm in her hands. Blood continued to trickle from a deep gash in the wrist. Blood…she had been drinking blood. Lydia choked on a horrified gasp, terror magnified when her stomach did not roil in disgust. Instead, it seemed to growl for more.
Slowly, her gaze moved up to the woman’s face. The overly rouged cheeks and gaudy lip paint revealed her to be a prostitute. She stood over Lydia like a doll, eyes glazed and unaware. Mutely, she watched as Vincent gently eased the drab from her grasp. He raised a finger to his lips and pierced it with a long, white fang. Blood sprang to the puncture site, and he brushed it across the woman’s wound.
Lydia stared in rapt fascination as the gash knitted together and faded to smooth, unblemished skin.
The duke took the woman’s shoulders, guiding her away from Vincent as if she were a puppet. “You will remember nothing of this night, Maude.” His eyes glowed like moonlight reflecting off a mirror. His fangs glistened as he spoke.
Angelica leaned over Lydia. “How are you feeling?” Her maternal smile was at odds with her sharp fangs.
Lydia’s frantic gaze darted across the creatures surrounding her. With dreadful suspicion, she ran her tongue across her teeth, flinching in horror as she felt her own fangs.
Twenty-three
“Vampires,” Lydia whispered, heart pounding with shock. “You all are vampires.”
Vincent flinched as if it was an accusation.
“And you are now one as well,” the duke cut in, voice reverberating with regret. “He did it to save your life.” He eyed her sternly, as if daring her to protest.
She looked back at Vincent and swallowed a gasp a
t the intensity of his gaze. “I remember now.” Her voice came out shaky. “A man attacked me…and cut me with a knife.”
He nodded stiffly. “Angelica will explain the rest. I must go feed.”
Feed…he needs to drink blood. Her gaze shifted to the dead-eyed harlot. Just like I did.
“And I need to see this woman safely home,” Ian added, following her stare. “Do not worry, she will be all right and won’t remember a thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a banknote. “She’ll also be a hundred pounds richer.”
A measure of guilt eased from her conscience. Vincent approached her, and she drowned in his deep gaze, every cell of her being silently begging for comfort in his embrace. Instead, he regarded her with a pitying look she was growing to despise.
“I’m so sorry, Lydia. If there’d been another way…” He shook his head and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.
Despite her shock at the situation, warmth infused Lydia’s body at his touch. She reached out for him, but he’d already turned away and followed the duke out the door.
Angelica plopped on the bed next to her. The vampire duchess patted her hand. “I do hope you are not too angry with him. He couldn’t just let you die.”
“Of course…” Lydia’s breath halted as the reason for Vincent’s behavior came clear. “That’s why he did not want to marry me…and why he cannot go out during the day, and likely the explanation for all of his strange behaviors.”
Angelica nodded patiently, trailing her finger across the embroidered coverlet. “And what of my strange behaviors, or my husband’s?”
Lydia’s eyes widened, and a bubble of hysterical laughter escaped her lips. “I had wondered why you and His Grace found that vampire play so amusing.”
The duchess threw back her head and laughed. “We’ll have to see it again now that you are apprised of the joke.”
Lydia chuckled lightly, then frowned as reality once more intruded. “I do not understand why Vincent did not tell me.”
