by Brooklyn Ann
Mouth dry with desire, Lydia longed to free him from his elegant clothes. When he assisted her into the Burnrath carriage, she had to bite back a moan of lust at his touch. In the close quarters of the coach, his masculine scent was enough to drive her mad.
The glittering splendor of the Wentworth ball, and the warm, pulsing crowd of attendees were an assault on Lydia’s senses. Taking a deep breath, she forced her heightened perception to dim to a tolerable level. The scent of blood, countless founts of fresh prey, tantalized her nostrils. Saliva nearly filled her mouth, and she said a silent prayer of relief that she had fed. Still, her predatory instincts forced her muscles to tense and stiffen in the receiving line. Angelica greeted the hostess with kisses on both cheeks, showing no sign of wanting to bite the woman. Lydia vowed to behave with the same control.
“Miss Price, how lovely it is to see you this evening.” The Duchess of Wentworth greeted her with a dazzling smile. “I wanted to felicitate you sooner on your engagement, but I heard you’d been ill. I am pleased to see you’re now blooming with health.”
Lydia curtsied and returned the smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. It was only a slight cold. It happens every spring.”
As she made her way to the ballroom, a few other people inquired about her illness and engagement. Some gave her skeptical looks, as if they didn’t believe her explanation. Lydia shook her head. Likely some assumed that Vincent had compromised her. Her lips twisted in ill humor. In truth, she had compromised him.
Playing the dutiful debutante proved more difficult than she’d anticipated, especially since she had to constantly fight the urge to sink her fangs into the men’s throats and drain their life force drop by drop. Once she finished placating the last affronted suitor, Lydia quit the floor.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned to see her grandmother approaching her.
The old woman’s lips pulled back in a rictus of a smile. “My dear child, I am pleased that your common blood did not prevail, and you have made a match that brings honor to our family.”
Lydia froze in shock. First she was an embarrassment; now she brought the family honor?
Lady Morley continued merrily. “It is as if it were destined. Lord Deveril’s ancestor was betrothed to ours before he had a terrible accident, you know.”
“Hmm,” was all she could manage.
“Please, come to tea tomorrow afternoon.” Her grandmother reached out to pat her shoulder.
Lydia stepped away. “No thank you, Grandmother,” she said coolly and turned her back on the dowager, giving her the cut direct.
Immediately, whispers erupted all around her. Some people looked shocked; many nodded in approval. Angelica beamed at her from across the ballroom.
From the refreshment table, she observed the glittering throng. Sparkling jewels and the rainbow of rich fabrics made her think of plumage on birds of paradise. She longed to get away from it all. Her heart ached with desperation to be back in Cornwall in the peaceful solitude of Vincent’s castle, to abandon London Society and all of its oppressive trappings.
The beloved scent of sea breezes and masculine spices pulled her from her reverie as the musicians struck up a waltz.
“Will you dance with me, Lydia?” Vincent’s soft voice resonated low in her body.
His hand was warm and strong in hers as he led her to the dance floor.
For a while, she merely savored the feel of being in his arms as they moved silently to the music. She looked up at him, increasingly frustrated with his unreadable countenance. If only she could tell what he was thinking! Her breath caught as she remembered that some vampires could read minds.
Looking deep into his eyes, she concentrated.
It won’t work, Lydia. His voice spoke in her mind, tinged with amusement. No vampire worth their salt will succumb to an invasion.
He laughed aloud at her astonished gasp. Regaining composure, she concentrated on him once more. We can communicate this way?
Yes, it is quite useful at times.
Lydia chuckled, feeling deliciously wicked with their secret conversation. Half the ton would give their eyeteeth for an ability such as this.
She was about to ask him about the Siddons sisters, but then he continued. How are you handling the evening? Is the hunger becoming unbearable?
He sounded so concerned that she couldn’t bear the idea of increasing his worry. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but I have gained control of it. Forcing a smile, she whispered an attempt at humor. “I’ve been to many parties, and never before was tempted to bite the hostess.”
Vincent did not laugh. Instead, his hand tightened on her waist, voice laden with remorse. “I am sorry, Lydia.”
His pity stung like nettles. She didn’t want his sympathy; she wanted his love. It wasn’t your fault, she protested silently. If I had not left your home in a foolish pique…or at least if I’d had my pistol, you wouldn’t be facing a death sentence, and I would be engaged to whomever you selected to take me off your hands.
A fresh spurt of agony burst in her chest at the thought of his previous fervent attempts to get rid of her.
The music stopped, and he bowed before leading her off the floor. His brows drew together in a stern frown before his voice once more penetrated her mind, rife with demand.
What exactly was it that upset you so much you ran out into the night unarmed and unescorted?
“It isn’t important.” There was no way in hell she was going to subject herself to the humiliation of confessing how his rejection had crushed her heart. Instead, she led him back to the dance floor as the musicians began another tune, and changed the subject. “Sir Thomas Lawrence is allowing me to display my work in the Royal Exhibition.”
For the first time since she was Changed, Vincent’s eyes brightened with genuine happiness. “That’s wonderful! I cannot think of anyone more deserving of the honor. You are a magnificent painter.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, throat tight at his praise. He truly meant it, yet he could never fathom what that meant to her. “Though Lawrence is doing this only because he wants me to finish some of his paintings for the Exhibition.”
He laughed so hard and suddenly that they missed their dance steps and made everyone stare. “He doesn’t finish his own work?”
She grinned up at him. “Not anymore. As president of the Royal Academy of Arts, he is too prestigious.”
They laughed together and continued dancing out of time with the others. For a moment, all their troubles fell away just as when they were back in Cornwall. Her heart cried for what could have been.
“What did the old termagant want from you?”
“Hmmm?” she murmured, captivated by the metallic gleam of his hair.
“I saw you speaking with Lady Morley.”
She recovered her composure and gave him a wry smile. “Oh, yes. My grandmother informed me that our engagement has brought honor to the family, and she invited me for afternoon tea. I gave her the cut direct, as they say here.”
“She didn’t!” He grinned and held her tighter for a moment. “You did well to give her a dram of her own tonic.”
Too soon the dance ended. Vincent’s carefree smile faded as he released her. Unable to bear dancing with another man, Lydia fled to Angelica’s side.
The duchess seemed to sense her depression. Immediately, she pulled her aside. “Would you like to leave the ball early and meet Sarah Siddons this evening?”
Twenty-seven
Vincent’s fists clenched at his sides as he watched Lydia leave the dance floor. Every ounce of his being demanded he go after her and pull her back into his arms. He strode to the refreshment table to fetch her a glass of punch. He would ask if she wanted to leave early and play a game of chess…and perhaps talk.
Lady Morley intercepted him by the punch bowl. Her mouth twisted i
n a querulous frown. He knew she must be stinging from Lydia’s rejection of her offer to reconcile.
“You must be very pleased with yourself, Deveril.”
“Yes, I am,” he said agreeably. Or I would be if I’d been able to propose to Lydia like a normal human man.
Her features contorted with hatred—hatred she clearly wanted to project on him because she didn’t want to admit it was for herself. “You were so determined to succeed in your hopeless plan to prove me wrong and secure a better match for her, that you took her yourself when no one else would have her.” She attempted a scornful laugh, and instead, a feeble cackle emerged. “You may make Lydia a countess, but thanks to my efforts with the Marquess of Stantonbury, my Georgiana shall be a marchioness.”
“This is not a competition to me.” Though God help him, it had been at the start. “And I’m sorry to correct you, madam. She received five proposals. I turned them down because I want her for myself. She is a joy to know. Pity you didn’t give her a chance to realize it.” Vincent discovered that he truly did pity her.
She flinched as if he had slapped her. Her lips disappeared in a thin white line, and she turned her back and slunk away, a crumpled paper tiger.
Vincent sighed and returned to the task at hand, filling a glass of punch for Lydia. Thanks to him, she could no longer drink the whole thing. Again, the memory of the night he Changed her nearly crippled him—the stunned betrayal in her eyes, the hurt in her voice when she’d said, “How could you?”
Yet, from the way she sought out his company, and the heat in her gaze when she looked at him, it seemed she didn’t despise him after all. Though he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, his heart warmed.
For the first time, Vincent allowed himself to hope that the Elders would be merciful. On the heels of that thought, a deeper hope emerged. Perhaps, given time, Lydia could learn to forgive him, and maybe even love him. If he did manage to escape a death sentence, he could have an eternity to convince her.
Taking care not to spill the punch, he weaved through the crowd, searching for his heart’s desire. His eyes scanned the throng for her black hair and lavender gown. He’d last seen her with the Duchess of Burnrath. What had Angelica been wearing?
He didn’t see either woman in the ballroom, or in the banquet area. A quick glance out the French doors told him they weren’t out in the garden, either. Unease trickled down his spine, magnifying to pure worry when he found Ian wandering through the masses, searching for his wife. Ian appeared more amused than perturbed. “You’re missing yours as well, I see.” The two Lord Vampires repaired to an alcove with a full view of the ballroom—and with identical frowns on their faces.
“Where could they have gone? Do you suppose Lydia lost control of her hunger?” Vincent asked.
With a light laugh, the Lord of London shook his head. “I doubt it. More likely my wife is up to some mischief and took Miss Price along with her. Let us ask the hostess if she knows what became of them.”
The Duchess of Wentworth peered at them strangely. “Miss Price was tired, so Her Grace took her home. I thought she had informed you, Your Grace.”
Ian feigned shame. “Oh yes, I do recall her telling me something, but I was so engrossed in my conversation with Deveril about our card game that I’m afraid I did not hear her.”
“Well, we had best leave now,” Vincent told Ian, hiding his mounting anxiety.
“Indeed,” the duchess chided. “Please inform me of Miss Price’s health and well-being.”
They took their coats and hats from the butler and strode outside.
The Burnrath carriage remained in the drive, vigilantly guarded by Felton, the driver.
“They must have left on foot,” Vincent observed.
Ian nodded. “Yes, this definitely smacks of mischief. Though, as they didn’t take the coach and have not had time to don disguises, it can’t be more than a trifle.”
“Do you have any guesses?”
“Knowing my Angel? Not in the slightest.”
Vincent gritted his teeth in impatience at Ian’s lack of concern. “Have there been any unusual visitors to the house recently?”
“Aside from a few members of Angelica’s literary circle, no.” The duke’s brow furrowed. “Although, the Siddons girls paid a call without an appointment the other night. I think they hoped to encounter Sir Thomas Lawrence, but Angelica saw them out after allowing them just a peek at the man. My wife was never fond of following rules.”
“What else did she allow them?” A sudden suspicion came over Vincent. Lydia must know that her dressmakers were vampires. She likely now knew who they really were and what had happened between them and Sir Thomas Lawrence. “Although Angelica may have obeyed your edict about the painter, she and Lydia may have decided to be remiss in another regard.” Vincent headed to the carriage. “I think I know where they went.”
Ian nodded. “Good, would mind fetching them alone? I need to feed and meet with Rafe and Clayton, my third in command. They don’t get along, but Rafe has agreed to make the man his second when he takes over.”
“You’re not concerned about your wife?”
“Oh, I’ll deal with her later. Be sure to send her to my study to explain herself.” The duke uttered a helpless laugh. “I’ve learned that my Angel is capable of taking care of herself for the most part, and that if I try to stop her mischief, things become woefully muddled. You may want to keep that in mind when it comes to your Lydia.”
“Under current circumstances, I can’t afford any trouble. And Lydia has been a vampire only for little more than a week. She could easily be in danger.” Vincent shook his head in disbelief as he stepped up into the carriage. “To Marylebone,” he clipped out to the driver.
Felton gave the duke a quizzical look, then snapped the reins when Ian nodded and walked away as if to return to the ball.
Minutes later, the carriage rolled to a halt in front of a modest but lovely house on Upper Baker Street. Lydia was there; he could sense it. So were three other vampires. He bared his fangs.
Though the neighborhood was better kept and wealthier than many districts in London, the thought of Lydia venturing out alone at night instantly transported Vincent back to the night in Cheapside when Lydia had run straight into a cutthroat’s path.
His possessive instincts roiled at the thought. Yes, she may be a vampire now and was accompanied by another, but she was far from impervious to the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
Only last year a vampire hunter had stalked this city. Rogues were always a concern as well. Humans weren’t their only victims.
Suppressing a growl, Vincent walked up the rutted drive and knocked on the door with more force than he had intended.
The door opened and an elderly butler blinked up at him owlishly. “Good heavens, that was loud enough to wake the dead! Whatever do you want at this ungodly hour?”
“I apologize. I am Vincent Tremayne, Earl of Deveril. I am looking for Miss Lydia Price.”
“She and the Duchess of Burnrath are visiting Mrs. Siddons, along with two other young ladies in the sitting room.” The butler hid a yawn. “I will show you the way.”
Vincent nodded and glanced at a pair of maids in sleeping caps peering at him from the top of the stairs. They blushed and ducked out of sight.
Had Lydia and her accomplices disrupted the entire household?
When they reached the sitting room, Vincent bowed quickly, then peered over the butler’s shoulder to meet the guilty gazes of Sarah Siddons’s guests.
The old actress blinked. “Another visitor? I daresay this dream has taken another strange turn. Do come and take a seat. I was just telling Her Grace and Miss Price about my role as Lady Macbeth.” She waved the butler away and he departed gratefully.
At least it seemed they’d remembered to mesmerize Sarah. Else she would be likely be having hys
terics at seeing her daughters alive.
Slightly mollified that the woman believed this was a dream, Vincent followed the aging actress into the house. Sally and Maria cringed back from him, making him feel like a brute. A girl of about thirteen, who bore a striking resemblance to Maria, clung to their hands.
Angelica met his gaze with a defiant glint in hers, while Lydia’s cheeks flared crimson.
Unaware of the tension between him and the four female vampires, Sarah Siddons turned to her eldest daughter. “Play that song again, dear Sally. Your music was always a balm to my soul.”
The young girl released Sally’s hand. “Yes, Cousin, please do!” She then led Maria to the sofa, and they sat next to Sarah.
Sally gave Vincent a cautious look as she approached the pianoforte. When he made no move to stop her, she sat on the bench and placed her fingers lightly upon the ivory keys.
An exquisite melody trilled from the instrument, somehow lilting and sorrowful at once. Vincent watched in astonishment. He knew she’d been an accomplished musician in her mortal years, but as far as he knew, she hadn’t played since she was Changed. It seemed she hadn’t lost the talent.
Maria took her mother’s hand and watched her sister, an expression of unadulterated joy lighting up her features like a ray of sunshine. This visit had done more to heal their tortured souls than anything he’d been able to do for them.
Though it didn’t change the fact that they had disobeyed him. Torn between compassion and duty, he waited for Sally to finish her song before turning to Sarah Siddons and the young girl, willing them to sleep.
When Sarah’s eyes drifted closed and the girl’s head fell to Maria’s shoulder, he regarded the Siddons sisters sternly. “I told you this was forbidden.”
