One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  Melancholic music played on the instrument as the next vision appeared of the young woman weeping as two coffins were loaded into a funeral hack. Vincent gasped as the realization struck. This story was about Lydia.

  As if confirming the thought, Lydia continued. “She was sent on a long journey across the ocean to live with her relatives.”

  The next picture showed the woman on the deck of a ship, her black skirts blowing in the wind as she faced a terrifying gale.

  “Once she arrived in the strange new land, she discovered that her family did not want her. Instead, they had decreed that she was to live with a monster in a haunted castle.” Lydia’s voice wavered then, and she glanced at Vincent with a wide, unreadable gaze.

  The music became eerie as a new image came into focus. The “monster” loomed over Lydia’s form, and though he was mostly cast in shadow, Vincent could recognize his own eyes as they reflected the lightning in the background over his castle.

  Agonizing pain pierced Vincent’s heart at Lydia’s description of him as a monster, both in words and in her skilled artistic rendering. He attempted to rise, to charge out of the room and this house, never to return. Ian clamped a hand on his shoulder and forced him back to his seat.

  Vincent tensed as Lydia took a shaky breath and continued the tale. “The monster did not want her either, so he did his best to be frightening. But the woman was not afraid.”

  Angelica played a playful tune on her strange instrument as the next picture was revealed. Vincent recognized the west hill with its great oak, where Lydia had liked to paint. This time, she had depicted him from the back, posing in a caricature of some sort of sinister beast, arms raised and hands reaching out like claws. Lydia’s likeness, however, was undaunted. A wide smile shone on her face, and she appeared to be on the verge of joyful applause.

  Lydia pressed on. “So the monster thought hard on how to get rid of her. He consulted a witch as well as two other monsters. It was decided that she should be taken to the great city, where many young women were sent to find homes.”

  A mournful note played as the picture depicted a dour Miss Hobson and a gleeful Vincent, holding up ball gowns and pointing their fingers in command. Vincent heard the real Miss Hobson sniff, offended at being called a witch. His brows drew together in confusion. Where was Lydia going with this?

  “The woman did not want to go to the city. She loved the haunted castle and, unbeknownst to herself, had begun to love the monster as well. Since she knew he did not want her, she obeyed him.”

  The music grew yet more tragic as a heartbroken Lydia was revealed, reaching out to a seemingly indifferent Vincent.

  No, I loved you from the start! Vincent opened his mouth to shout. Then the next part of the story choked off his words.

  “She met her family in the great city. She learned that her grandmother was the true monster, and the rest of her family bowed down to her as slaves. The monster she’d been sent to live with was indeed no monster at all. He was an angel. And the witch was in truth a saint.”

  Miss Hobson nodded in satisfaction as a haunting melody played. The next picture revealed a grotesque caricature of Lady Morley wielding a whip and Vincent holding Lydia in his arms, shielding her with gossamer wings.

  “The woman longed to prove her love to her guardian angel.” Lydia’s voice was filled with passion. “She pondered long and hard on the matter. Nothing would truly be worthy, yet perhaps if she showed him what was in her heart when she thought of him, he would feel it too.”

  And then the sun rose over a verdant meadow. From delicate pink to brightest gold, it filled the chamber with the glory of the dawn. Lydia gave him a sunrise so realistically portrayed that Vincent could feel its warmth upon his face and smell the wildflowers blooming in the field. Her sun did not burn him.

  The warm breeze stirred his hair, and Vincent realized that this detail was indeed real. Reluctantly pulling his gaze from Lydia’s miraculous creation, he noticed a pair of footmen wafting fans over steaming pots of perfumed water while Angelica used her odd instrument to duplicate birdsong.

  Hot liquid trailed down his cheeks. It was not a trick of the production. It was Vincent’s own tears of joy.

  His heart cried out in protest as the sunrise faded, taking with it the trilling birdsong. The gas lamps were once again lit, and the curtains parted. Ian, Vincent, and Miss Hobson stood and applauded.

  Miss Hobson interrupted with a frown. “How does the tale end?”

  Vincent stared intently at Lydia as he abandoned his seat and slowly approached her. “The guardian angel wept with joy at the woman’s creation, for she showed what had been in his heart all along.” Taking Lydia’s hand, he gently pulled her toward him. “As for the rest of the tale, we shall see.”

  He couldn’t bear waiting any longer. Reverently, he kissed Lydia’s knuckles. “There’s something I need to do. I shall return soon.”

  Vincent met the duke’s eyes. “Do not let her go anywhere.”

  Ian grinned wryly. “You may count on it, though don’t be too long, for Angelica and Lady Rosslyn shall likely want to toast the production’s success.”

  ***

  Two hours later, the drawing room had dissolved into an uncomfortable silence as everyone awaited Vincent’s return. The only ones seemingly complacent with the delay were Ian, Rafe, and Lady Rosslyn, the latter of whom was settled placidly near the fireplace, reading a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

  “I say, whatever can be keeping Lord Deveril?” Miss Hobson’s voice was full of annoyance as she wrapped one hand around her cup of untouched tea and waved off Rafe’s cigar smoke with the other. “I would hardly call this a quick errand.”

  Lydia and Angelica exchanged nervous glances. At first she’d assumed that Vincent had needed to feed, but Miss Hobson was right. It shouldn’t have taken this long if he meant to return soon. Panic crawled up her spine anew. Maybe he truly had been revolted by her story and had been too polite to say so in front of everyone. Her hands twisted restlessly in her lap.

  Just as her nerves were on the verge of collapse, the door knocker sounded, and she heard the butler say calmly, “Welcome back, my lord.”

  Moments later, Vincent’s tall form filled the doorway. Joy surged in Lydia’s being at his return. Another man followed behind him, appearing flustered and exhausted. Without bothering to introduce the stranger, Vincent crossed the room to Lydia.

  Taking her hands in his, he sank down to kneel before her. “I know we already are engaged, but I never went about it properly. Lydia Price, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  Gasps permeated the room as Vincent reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out a small jewel case. He flicked the box open to reveal a golden ring filigreed with Celtic knots and adorned with a large diamond surrounded by a rainbow of other jewels.

  Lydia’s heart lodged in her throat even as unmitigated happiness warmed her body.

  “When?” The word escaped aloud before she was aware.

  “Now.” From another pocket in his waistcoat, Vincent withdrew a small sheaf of papers. “I have with me a marriage contract and a special license. I’ve also managed to procure a parson at this late hour.”

  Everyone’s gazes flew to the stranger, whose identity was now revealed. The parson yawned as if in emphasis of the inconvenience. All eyes shifted to Lydia, awaiting her reply.

  Her knees quaked beneath her gown, threatening to give out and topple her.

  “Please, Lydia,” he said achingly. “I cannot bear another night of you not being mine.”

  “Yes.” The word escaped her lips past the joy swelling within.

  As if afraid she’d change her mind, Vincent quickly slipped the elaborate ring on her third finger and rose to his feet, retaining his grip on her hand. “You’ve made me the happiest of men,” he replied. “No
w let’s have done with these signatures, so Parson Matheson may perform his duty and return to his home.”

  Lydia followed him in a daze to the table as Angelica, grinning in encouragement, handed her a freshly dipped quill. Tears brimming in her eyes, Lydia signed the contract. The marriage license blurred in front of her as she signed that as well.

  The documents were then signed by all the witnesses, and the parson cleared his throat. “Where shall we have the ceremony?”

  “Right here,” Vincent commanded. “Right now.”

  Miss Hobson and Lady Rosslyn gasped. Rafe and Ian raised their brows.

  “Wait!” Angelica protested. “Let us at least procure some flowers.” Before anyone could reply, she grabbed Lady Rosslyn’s hand, and they headed off to the rear garden.

  Parson Matheson blinked sleepily. “And who shall give the bride away? I understand that she is an orphan and the groom is her guardian, so he cannot very well give her away to himself, for that would be”—he floundered—“quite odd…”

  “I will,” Ian announced, giving Lydia a warm smile.

  “I daresay,” Miss Hobson finally said, “this is all highly irregular. Are you certain you cannot wait to do this properly? We haven’t even held the engagement ball, and we should have the banns read, have Miss Price outfitted for a gown and trousseau, invite guests…” She spread her arms helplessly.

  “No.” Vincent’s handsome face was implacable.

  Lydia hastened to reassure her chaperone. “All the guests I would have wanted are already here.” The truth of her statement warmed her all over.

  “But people will talk!” the chaperone protested.

  Ian shrugged. “They already are talking.”

  Lady Rosslyn and Angelica returned with a bouquet of lilacs, gardenias, and red roses. As the flowers were placed in Lydia’s hand, the parson cleared his throat and opened his prayer book, beginning the ceremony.

  After Ian stepped forward and placed her hand in Vincent’s, Lydia ceased to hear the parson’s words. Instead, she stared up into the turbulent blue eyes of the Lord Vampire of Cornwall and allowed her happiness to carry her soul.

  As if in a trance, she repeated her vows. And then it was finished. Parson Matheson pronounced them man and wife, signed the license, and departed without having a glass of champagne.

  The celebration was small yet cozy. Everyone repeated their felicitations, and although Miss Hobson could not refrain from a few complaints about the rushed ceremony, the lack of preparation, and even the absence of traditional orange blossoms, her satisfaction was evident to all. Though the means were unconventional, in the end, her charge had secured one of the most brilliant matches of the Season.

  Lady Rosslyn finished her champagne and stood. “I am afraid I must be going now. I have my own project to finish.” She turned to Vincent and Lydia with a bright smile. “Congratulations to you both. I was honored to witness such a romantic surprise.”

  Rafe snorted. “Yes, surprise would be a very apt word indeed.”

  The countess glared at the Spaniard, cheeks blazing crimson as her jade eyes sparked. “I don’t think you could do any better.” With that, she spun on her heel and marched away.

  Instead of scowling, Rafe continued to watch Lady Rosslyn’s retreating form with a strange, almost hungry expression on his face. Lydia hoped he wasn’t planning to bite her. Then Vincent swooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs, and all other thoughts disappeared.

  Thirty-six

  The moment they entered the bedchamber, Vincent leaned down to kiss Lydia. The pensive look in her golden eyes stopped him short. Carefully, he set her down, reluctantly removing his hands from her.

  “What is the matter?” Oh God, please don’t let her already regret marrying me.

  “Vincent?” Lydia’s voice was surprisingly timid. “You didn’t marry me just to save me from the scrutiny of mortals, did you?”

  He laughed, overcome with relief. “Did you not read the date on the special license? I applied for it the night after we first made love—” He held up a hand at her suspicious gaze. “I didn’t procure the license out of guilt. I did it because I couldn’t bear another day or night without you in my arms. Anyhow, I didn’t receive the blasted thing until a fortnight ago. They take time to acquire, you know.”

  Her lush lips pouted. “Then why did you not tell me sooner?”

  He closed his eyes at the painful memory. “I thought you hated me for Changing you.”

  “No! I thought you were upset with me for causing you so much trouble.” She took a shaky breath. “I love you, Vincent. I think I have from the start. Do you…love me?”

  He sighed and raised his gaze heavenward. Surely she knew the obvious. “Look at your ring, Lydia.”

  As she looked down at the bauble, he listed the stones. “Diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire, topaz… Now what are the first letters of the jewels?”

  She studied the ring further then looked up at him with wide eyes brimming with tears. “Dearest! It spells dearest.”

  Warmth filled his heart at the passion in her voice. “Yes, Lydia, dearest. I love you. My life was bleak and miserable until you came to me and taught me the meaning of happiness. I thought it would never work for us, because I was afraid the Change would destroy your passion for life.”

  Lydia laughed. “I have found more enjoyment in this life than I could ever imagine. And as for passion, I have discovered it in boundless amounts, for you are my passion, Vincent.”

  “Me?” Joy suffused him as he took in her words.

  “Yes. Now I am your bride, so claim this passion before I perish from longing.” She reached up, and her fingers caressed his hair in a gesture as delicate as a whisper.

  Vincent smiled. Her words were as melodramatic as a gothic novel, yet somehow fitting. Especially with her large golden eyes and lush lips parted in desire for his kiss. “Well, we cannot have that, Lady Deveril.”

  Her new title was sweet on his tongue, though not as delectable as her mouth when he bent down to claim it. He savored her taste, pulling her closer, marveling at how right she felt in his arms, as if he were at last complete.

  Lydia rose up on tiptoe, tangling her hands in his hair as she kissed him back hungrily. Her tongue darted between his fangs, an eager moan building in her throat. Vincent bit back a groan. If she kept this up, it would be mere seconds before he ravaged her.

  Gently, Vincent withdrew. “Not so fast. Now that you are truly mine at last, I want to savor you.”

  Slowly, he sank to his knees and unfastened her gown, kissing her shoulders once they were bared. When the gown pooled at her feet, he breathed a silent thanks that she wore no stays. However, he did not continue undressing her. Instead, he caressed her lithe form through her chemise, delighting at the sight of her tight nipples puckering beneath the thin fabric. He toyed with her garters before he ran his hands down her legs, enjoying her heat through the silk stockings.

  With gentle care, he lifted her leg and kissed his way from the top of her thigh down to her trim ankle before he removed her satin slipper. As he moved to her other leg, Lydia’s breathing came in quick, sharp pants. Vincent smiled. He had only just begun.

  Rising to his feet, he meticulously removed her hair pins, caressing each ebony lock as it was freed. When her silken tresses tumbled down her back, he plunged his hands into the thick mass, breathing in her scent before he took her mouth in another languorous kiss. Still stroking her hair, he broke the kiss to trail others across her cheek, down her jawline and up her neck just under her delicate ears.

  “I love you,” he whispered again.

  Lydia quivered beneath his lips. Vincent was merciless in his ministrations. Inch by inch, he slid down her chemise, kissing and licking every bit of flesh he uncovered. Once she was naked before him, he removed his own shirt, taking untold p
leasure in the way she looked at him.

  “Now lie on the bed…on your stomach,” he commanded.

  Though she blinked at him questioningly, Lydia obeyed. Vincent removed his boots and trousers before he knelt on the bed beside her. He lifted her hair and draped it to the side, exposing her smooth back. Carefully he moved to straddle her hips, hissing in sharp lust as his hardness pressed against her luscious buttocks. That would have to wait.

  Sliding his hands up her soft flesh, he massaged her shoulders and neck. Lydia moaned in bliss, and her hips squirmed beneath him, compounding the sweet torture. Vincent then moved to massage her back in slow, tantalizing motions, trailing his fingers across her rib cage to brush across the sides of her breasts.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  Gradually, he moved lower. A small whimper escaped her lips as he caressed her backside, growing louder as his fingers slid lower to trail across her inner thighs.

  Again she wiggled helplessly under him. He could feel the heat radiating from her wet center and taste the potent scent of her arousal. Yet he refrained from touching that sweet treasure. Instead, he progressed lower to reverently stroke her legs and shapely calves.

  Up and down, he massaged and caressed every exposed inch of Lydia’s flesh, except for the source of her desire. When she was limp and trembling, Vincent bent down to repeat the attentions with his lips, taking care to linger on her inner thighs, just a breath from her core.

  When he’d kissed every silken place in reach, he bade her to turn over. “Now I must attend to the rest of you.”

  Lydia gasped and cried out as his mouth covered every inch of her breasts. She giggled when he reached her smooth belly and squealed when he kissed the tender place above her hip.

  “Vincent, please,” she panted. “Take me now.”

  Unable to bear the intoxicating torment any longer, Vincent needed no further encouragement. Gripping his shaft, he knelt between her thighs and flicked the tip of his erection across her throbbing clit. Lydia moaned and bucked her hips. He slid his hardness lower, swirling it around her entrance in slow, teasing circles. She squirmed beneath him, gyrating in a frenzy to guide him deeper.