One Bite Per Night (14 page)

Ian sipped his brandy and frowned as Vincent narrated the incident with Georgiana. “This is very bad, my friend.”

“Your wife handled the matter.” Vincent shuffled the cards. “Though I cannot say I approved of her mesmerizing the girl in front of Lydia. At least I am certain Miss Georgiana will not pursue me again.”

“But what scheme will Lady Morley attempt next?” Ian raised a brow. “And more important, how many other young ladies will employ less than savory methods in an attempt to trap you into marriage?”

Vincent's hand paused in dealing the cards. His shoulders slumped. “This endeavor is more complex than I'd anticipated.”

The duke lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Yes, and it is growing more dangerous every night you remain here. You must see Miss Price married soon. Then you must return to Cornwall immediately afterward. You are drawing far too much attention.”

“I know, and I told her the time has come for her to choose among her suitors.” His chest grew painfully tight at the words.

“Well, let us hope the man she chooses desires a brief engagement.”

Vincent suppressed a growl. Ian was only speaking the truth.

The club manager approached their table with an envelope. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but there is a message for you.”

Ian took the note and read it after the man departed. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That little imp,” he muttered. “It seems Angelica has invited Lydia to share in one of her unladylike pursuits.”

“And that would be?” Vincent raised a brow.

The duke sighed. “My wife enjoys gallivanting through less than savory parts of town disguised as a male.”

“I can see Lydia taking to such an eccentric practice.” Then the rest of Ian's words sank in. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘less than savory parts of town'? Where are they?”

“I mean that as we speak, they are at Scallywag John's, watching Rafe box.”

The noise of the club dimmed to a furious buzz in Vincent's ears. He sucked in a breath and stared at Ian, appalled. “Do you mean to tell me that right now, my ward is in an underground club, surrounded by ruffians, gambling on an illegal prizefight—which the constable could break up at any time?”

Ian nodded. “Not to mention the fact that the crowd often becomes unruly after a particularly diverting match. Fisticuffs are guaranteed every night.” He rose from his seat and beckoned a servant to fetch their coats and top hats. “I suppose we ought to go fetch them now, shall we?”

A haze of red encompassed Vincent's sight as he donned his coat. “How can you be so calm about this? Our women are in danger!”

“Nonsense.” Ian chuckled. “Angelica is capable of defending herself. Also, Rafe won't let any physical harm come to them. However, I
am
concerned with the possibility of them being thrown into Newgate for breaking numerous laws just by being at that club.”

The duke's words faded as Vincent strode out of White's, determined to snatch Lydia out of that hovel so fast her head would spin. He was just about to take off in a burst of preternatural speed when Ian clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“We must take a hackney.”

“But—”

Ian waved off Vincent's protest. “For one thing, if a duke and an earl arrive without a coach, people will take notice. For another, you cannot use your speed to remove Lydia from the club without eliciting the same response. And it simply would not do to be seen walking back to our neighborhood with Miss Price slung over your shoulder like a sack of grain.”

“Very well.” Vincent inclined his head in grudging acknowledgment of Ian's logic.

The duke nodded and flagged down a coach. “And remember, we must treat them as young men. We cannot risk revealing their identities, or they truly will be in danger.”

Although Ian's advice was sound, it became all the more difficult to heed once they entered the bowels of the illegal boxing club. The jostling, shouts, and bellows of the rabid crowd, coupled with the pervasive odors of blood and sweat, fed the fires of Vincent's protective instincts. His gaze darted across the rickety building, searching for Lydia amidst the chaos.

Rage filled him with every step. How dare the duchess bring his ward to this dangerous place? A feral growl trickled out of his clenched teeth, making a man in front of him step away in alarm. If Lydia had so much as a scratch on her beautiful skin, he would—

There
she
was!

The Mark between them pulsed just as the faint scent of gardenias teased his nostrils. Although her lustrous black hair was hidden beneath a shabby cap, the set of her shoulders and her unique poise beneath her homespun jacket and trousers was unmistakable.

Lust, hot and immediate, rose up at the thought of the curve of her rounded backside. If that shabby jacket was lifted…

Only Ian's warning glance stopped him from hauling her into his arms. Vincent ground his teeth and remained still as Ian tapped his wife's shoulder. “Mr. Winthrop! I had heard you were here, old chap.”

Angelica spun around, eyes wide in astonishment—and a measure of guilt at being caught. “Your Grace!” she exclaimed in a surprisingly boyish voice. “I…that is, we…”

“Are not where you are supposed to be?” Ian supplied in a helpful tone.

The duchess's gaze narrowed, and she turned around to glare at Rafe, who lounged near the edge of the ring, his match not yet due to commence. “You scoundrel! You tattled!”

At Angelica's shout, Lydia whipped around with a gasp, her eyes locking on Vincent's.

***

Vincent kept his eyes on Lydia, freezing her in place with his stormy gaze as he addressed Angelica. “Who is your friend, ah, ‘Mr. Winthrop'?” His voice was low, silky, and dangerous as he used the duchess's pen name.

Lydia struggled to find breath for a reply.

“This is my mate, Lyle.” Angelica's cheery voice seemed oblivious to Vincent's rage. “I thought the lad could use some diversion to take his mind off a very stressful few weeks.”

Lydia opened her mouth to warn Angelica to bite her tongue, before Ian stepped in, laughing. “I believe you and ‘Lyle' have something to discuss with us in private.”

The duchess grinned at her husband. “I imagine we do.”

“Are you going to come quietly, or do I need to haul you out of here by the scruff of your neck like a recalcitrant schoolboy?” Vincent hissed at Lydia.

She looked to the duke and duchess for aid. They seemed amused by the earl's ire.

Lydia's fists clenched at her sides. She didn't want to go quietly to anything. Vincent seemed to sense her reluctance and seized her arm with bruising force, following the duke as he dragged Angelica from the despicable hovel. She glanced back at Rafael Villar, and he favored her with a smirk before his amber gaze flicked to Vincent, and he nodded as if in approval. Angelica had been right; he was a scoundrel! How had he been able to notify Ian and Vincent of their whereabouts?

A sodden bear of a man grabbed her. “Don't be a spoilsport, guv'nor. Let the lad stay.”

Vincent's fist slammed into the man's face, dropping him like a stone. Lydia gasped. She had never seen him this angry. He appeared to be fully capable of dispatching everyone else in the club with little effort.
What
did
that
bode
for
her?
The rest of the crowd parted like the Red Sea, and Lydia, along with Angelica, was pulled out of the building with no further incident.

The waiting coach crouched like a sinister beast in the shadows. Lydia tried to pull away.

“Struggle one more time, and I will throw you over my shoulder and haul you into the carriage myself,” Vincent growled. His eyes glowed, looking feral in the moonlight.

She swallowed a protest and climbed inside, shivering at the feel of his hand on her back.

“Well, that was most diverting,” Angelica said drily.

“To Burnrath House,” the duke declared, ignoring his wife. He turned to Vincent. “As we do not want to risk your servants gossiping about your ward's attire, perhaps it would be wise for you both to spend the night with us.”

“What of your servants?”

Ian shook his head. “I will ensure their discretion.”

Vincent nodded, and the rest of the ride passed in tense silence.

Once at Burnrath House, he fixed his intent gaze on Lydia, gripping her waist tightly as he lifted her from the carriage.

He remained silent until they were inside the house, then he leaned down, voice rough with command. “I want the smell of Cheapside washed from your flesh, and for you to be clothed as a woman before we speak again.”

Overwhelmed by Vincent's harshness, Lydia shrugged out of her shabby frock coat. Angelica took Lydia's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “I'll ring for a bath.” Heading up the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “Come, Lydia, we must find a clean gown. Your walking dress is unsuitable for the hour, though I'm afraid everything I have will be too short…”

The duke bowed and gave Lydia a strange smile, as if he knew something she didn't. Vincent swept her with a heated stare, making her feel warm from head to toe. She gave him what she hoped was a coquettish smile.

“Meet me in the library when you are finished,” he commanded before following the duke out of the room.

Lydia watched Vincent as he stalked away. Then, reaching for nonexistent skirts, she followed Angelica up the stairs and into her bedchamber.

The duchess had already thrown open an enormous mahogany wardrobe, revealing a sumptuous array of gowns. After a few minutes of rummaging, Angelica smiled in satisfaction, pulling out the most alluring gown Lydia had ever seen. “Lord Deveril wants you dressed as a woman. Well, he shall get what he asked for.”

Lydia gasped, eyeing the scarlet taffeta creation. The bodice was scandalously low, and jet beads glimmered all over the fabric, making the dress shine like a dark ruby. “It's so…”

“Provocative? Indecent?” Angelica supplied helpfully. “You
want
him, do you not?”

Desire flooded Lydia's body at the question.
Oh
yes
, she wanted him. So much that her desire was a constant ache between her thighs. Swallowing, she nodded.

“Then tonight may be your only opportunity. For one thing, you finally have a night without a chaperone. For another, he obviously does not have the temperament of a gentleman right now.” Angelica looked around and lowered her voice. “Since your mother is gone, I think it is my duty to explain to you what goes on between men and women in the bedchamber.”

Lydia raised a brow at the sudden shift in topic. “Are you referring to sexual intercourse? I am already aware of the mechanics behind that.”

Angelica's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned crimson. “Do you mean you're not…”

“A virgin?” Lydia chuckled as she pulled off her woolen cap and yanked the pins from her hair. “Of course I am. My maid explained everything to me when I first became a woman. Then my mother explained it again before I attended my first ball in New Orleans.”

“Bloody hell!” Angelica exclaimed. “You cannot fathom how much I envy you. My mother told me nothing.”

Lydia gasped. “Do you mean you had no idea?”

Angelica shook her head with a rueful smile. “Not until my wedding night.”

“Good God, why is it an English custom to keep women as ignorant as children?”

“I don't think this occurs only in England.” Angelica held up the red dress. “Back to the matter at hand. Do you want Lord Deveril in that way?”

“Yes,” Lydia stated firmly, though her knees weakened at the thought. “Even if it is only for tonight.”

The duchess nodded. “Well, let us hope you will be more successful than that.” She raised a finger to her lips as footsteps sounded on the stairs. “I'd better put this dress out of sight for now. Mustn't start any more gossip than necessary.”

Yawning servants entered with steaming buckets of hot water, and poured it into a large bronze tub; then they withdrew discreetly at a sign from Angelica.

Angelica chuckled as she poured perfumed bath salts into the water. “Deveril looked as if he wanted to devour you.”

“I want him to.” Lydia removed her boots and unfastened her trousers, shivering as wicked fantasies flitted through her mind.

The duchess smiled knowingly. “When I'm finished with you, he won't be able to resist.”

***

Ian frowned as he followed Angelica out of the house for their evening hunt. “Let me clarify this situation. You encouraged Miss Price to seduce Vincent?”

Angelica nodded cheerfully. Her steps were brisk on the cobblestone drive. “I am certain this is the best opportunity she will have. I loaned her my red dress.”

From the widening of his eyes, it was apparent he knew to which dress she was referring. “Good God, woman! Vincent's control is tenuous around Miss Price at best. That dress…he might ravage her!”

“I certainly hope so.”

Ian raised a brow. “And did you stop in your scheming for a moment to consider that he has not fed tonight?”

“He won't hurt her.” Angelica was confident. “He loves her. And you believe that too, or you would have stopped my ‘scheming,' as you like to call it. I much prefer the term ‘matchmaking.' That is, after all, part of my job.”

Vincent paced the Burnrath's library like a caged lion. The sight of Lydia's curves in those trousers, so boldly displayed when she'd removed her coat, had driven him to the brink of madness. He thanked the fates the duchess would be able to put her in a proper gown. The scent of gardenias heralded her approach. In a futile attempt to collect himself, he turned to face the fireplace. The dancing flames seemed to echo his raging desire…and blood thirst.

Damn
it.
He should have fed while she was bathing.

“I am here, my lord.” Her voice was like rough velvet. “I hope my attire is pleasing.”

“As long as you are out of those trousers, I do not care what—” He turned around, and the breath left his body.

Lydia had transformed into a dark temptress. Her hair tumbled in a midnight cascade past her shoulders, framing her exquisite face and tempting figure. Angelica had indeed dressed Lydia as a woman. Her selection surely was meant to torment him.

And it succeeded. Made of crimson taffeta beaded with jet, the gown accentuated Lydia's lush body. The low, square-cut bodice exposed her breasts nearly to her nipples, serving up opulent flesh like a forbidden banquet. The shimmering fabric encased her trim waist and hugged her rounded hips tighter than the trousers had. Also, the gown was too short, revealing shapely ankles encased in sinfully decadent silk stockings. Apparently, the duchess had been unable to provide shoes, for Lydia's delicate toes teased him from beneath the thin material.

“Dear God,” he breathed.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them with seductive, graceful steps. The scent of her arousal was an intoxicating drug, taunting him to lay claim to what should be his. She moved until their bodies touched and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

“Do I look like a woman, my lord?” Her southern American drawl dripped over his senses like warm honey, filling his loins with hot desire.

Vincent wanted to pull her into his arms, grasp that tight bottom and bring her hips closer to his. Instead, he forced himself to grasp her upper arms, unable to push her away.

“Lydia,” he ground out against clenched teeth, his body aching with the effort in holding back from ravaging her. “You do not know what you are doing.”

“Yes,” she whispered and reached up, her fingers gentle torture against his chest as she began to unbutton his shirt. “I do.”

***

Vincent's chest hypnotized Lydia with every inch that was revealed. Then his hands seized hers, stopping her efforts to undress him.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was hoarse with desire. She recognized that now, for she heard the same need in her own.

Her reply echoed the same roughness. “I want you, Vincent.”

“Lydia…” The word came out a tortured groan.

She could sympathize, for the hot pulsing between her thighs was sweet agony. Before he could refuse her, she took a deep breath and forced herself to confess it again, to lay bare her passion for him.

“
I
want
you.
Please, if only for this one night.” Lydia stared deep into his intense blue eyes, begging him with her gaze as much as her words. “
Please
, before you make me go away.” Boldly she arched her hips against him. “I want my first time to be with you, not some strange man whom I do not lo—”

She stumbled back as he released her hands, a cry of pain lodged in her throat at his impending rejection. Then his arm caught her about the waist, pulling her against him, and his other hand plunged into her hair.

“Damn it,” he whispered before his lips came down upon hers with brutal force.

Her cry turned into a moan of pleasure as his tongue darted inside her mouth, entwining with hers in sweet rhapsody. He released his grip on her hair, and his hands slid down her body to grasp her hips.

Suddenly, he pulled her up so fast that she had to cling to his shoulders to avoid falling backward. Squeezing her hips tighter, he ground her pelvis against his. Another low moan escaped her as she felt his hardness pressing against her center. Lydia wanted more. She wanted, no,
needed
to feel him without any barriers.

He continued to torment her with his deep, spellbinding kisses, devouring her mouth like a man long starved. “We shouldn't be doing this,” he whispered between kisses.

Lydia tangled her hand in his hair, reveling in its silken texture as she writhed against him, savoring the feel of his hardness. Vincent broke the kiss, and with a low growl, he buried his face against her neck, sending electric currents of ecstasy shooting through her as he licked and nibbled her skin. One hand held her securely as the other pulled up her skirt. The feel of his fingers toying with the top of her stocking made her want to scream in excitement.

“Please,” she whimpered, reaching for the fastenings on his trousers. “Please, now!”

He stiffened in her arms and set her down. “No.”

Her heart plummeted. Before she could protest, he spoke once more. “Not here. I cannot have you naked in the duke's library.”

With that, he swept her back up in his arms and carried her from the room. Lydia sighed in delight and rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling his masculine scent of forbidden spices. “We shouldn't be doing this,” he muttered once more.

He carried her through the dark corridor and to the bedchamber the duchess had assigned to Lydia. Instead of opening the door and carrying her over the threshold like the bride she wished to be, Vincent carefully lowered her to her feet.

“Is this truly what you want, Lydia?” His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

In answer, she swept her hand under his shirt, marveling at the feel of his heated bare flesh and pounding heart. “Yes, Vincent. I want it to be you.”
And
only
you
, she added silently.

He towered over her, his gaze intent and predatory. “Say it again. Because if we enter this bedchamber, I do not know if I will be able to restrain myself should you change your mind.” His voice was savage with deadly promise.

“
Yes.
” A hint of trepidation coated her whispered reply.

This was really happening. Vincent was going to make love to her. Suddenly, Lydia regretted her worldly attitude with the duchess when the subject was introduced. She'd heard the first time was painful. How painful? Would she disappoint him in her lack of experience? Perhaps she should have asked Angelica a few questions.

Her mind spun as he guided her inside the bedchamber. The sound of him locking the door was loud and final. There was no going back now.

Then his mouth was on hers once more, chasing away every vestige of foreboding with his soul-searing kiss. Only one button remained on his shirt, and Lydia snapped it off in her eagerness to touch him.

As the button clattered on the floor, Vincent broke the kiss and raised a brow. “Impatient, are we?”

Lydia nodded, captivated by the sight of him as he shrugged out of his shirt. His hard, lean muscles brought to mind a feral jungle cat. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the firm, ridged plane of his stomach. He stopped her.

“It is my turn now. Grasp the bedpost.”

The rough command in his voice made her knees go weak, and her core became even wetter. With a shuddering breath, she obeyed.

In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of him looming over her like a dark archangel. His eyes glowed tempestuous blue-green, and his hair shone like a silvery nimbus in the lamplight. Then, he moved her hair over her shoulders, obscuring her vision with black sheaves.

Before Lydia could ask what he was doing, his lips caressed the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “I need to see how to remove this gown.”

Every touch of his long fingers felt like a naughty caress as he gently unlaced the back of her dress. Slowly, he lowered the garment, kissing every newly exposed inch of her skin.

When the dress fell into a pool at her feet, he sucked in a breath. “You're not wearing a chemise or petticoats. Only this…” His hands swept across the flimsy black corset, sliding down her bare hips, and then to the tops of her black silk stockings.

Lydia felt the heat of his stare on her bare bottom as he fingered her red garters. “Does it please you, my lord?”

“Oh yes,” he growled into her neck. “Very much. And now I want to see all of you.”

With roughness that stole her breath, he jerked the laces of the corset, freeing her from the encasing material in astonishing speed. Gently, he turned her around to face him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze deep enough to drown in. “So beautiful.”

Vincent sank down on his knees as if in worship, though his intentions were far from reverent. As if asking for permission, his hands hovered inches in front of her breasts. Lydia leaned forward in assent, gasping at the rough sensation of his touch.

His eyes glittered up at her; his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

“I want to taste you…all over.” And then his mouth was on her breast, kissing, nibbling, and sucking until Lydia was panting in mindless need. Her hard nipples throbbed.

He lifted her onto the bed, rising up to claim her lips once more. Lydia gasped at his delicious weight on her, the feel of his bare chest against her sensitized breasts. Her hips writhed beneath him, grinding herself against his hardness. It wasn't enough. She reached down to tug at his trousers. Vincent dragged his mouth from hers.

“Not yet.” He licked her earlobe. “I said
all
over.”

With languorous slowness, his lips trailed down her body, kissing her neck, her breasts, her belly. Lydia sucked in a breath as he progressed downward.
Was
he…?
Then he unfastened her garter, sliding down her stocking to kiss her bare leg. She shuddered beneath him as he moved to give the other the same attention. Now she was completely naked.

Again Vincent's hands caressed her bare hips, then suddenly clamped down hard as his tongue plunged into her hot center.

Lydia cried out at the intense sensation and tried to struggle. Vincent's grip was like steel. She had no choice but to submit to his erotic ministrations, squirming beneath him as his lips and tongue explored her female secrets. Her core pulsed. Electric heat flared through her body, obliterating her senses until she could only moan and plead helplessly for release.

“Vincent, please…” Lydia begged. She wanted him inside her, needed it. She needed to become his, if only for this night.

After what seemed an eternity of his sweet torture, Vincent pulled away to unfasten his trousers. In mute awe, she stared as his erection sprang free. Then, his body covered hers once more. This time, there were no barriers, and she could feel his hot, hard length against her.

His eyes were like the turbulent sea as he whispered against her lips. “You are mine.”

The words weren't a question. “Yes.”

With a growl of triumph, Vincent plunged inside her in one smooth thrust, swallowing Lydia's surprised gasp with his kiss. A momentary pain ebbed as his arms encircled her.

The world vanished, leaving only the two of them, now one. She could feel him trembling in her arms, keeping his strength in check, allowing her body to accommodate him. She could feel his heart pounding in tandem with hers.

Unbidden, her hips moved, finding a rhythm. Primal instinct took over, and her back arched in pleasure as he moved within her. The pleasure built and built, ascending into heights that would surely drive her to madness.

“Yes, Lydia,” Vincent said roughly. “Let it come.”

He thrust even deeper, and suddenly her universe exploded into particles of undulating light. With a feral growl, he bit her neck, shuddering in her arms as he reached his own climax. The sharp pain nearly brought her back to reality…then the feel of him pulsing inside her sent her back over the edge.

For the longest time, they lay silent and trembling in each other's arms. Gently, Vincent kissed the place on her throat where he had bitten her, as if in apology. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at her, tracing her cheek with his finger.

“My God,” he whispered. It seemed he was going to say more, then he withdrew from her and rose from the bed to put his clothes back on.

Lydia wanted to beg him to remain with her, but she was too overwhelmed to speak. Mournfully, she watched him cover up his delicious body with his rumpled shirt and trousers.

The click of his boots on the wood floor was like a clock ticking away their final moments together.

“I will send Miss Hobson with the carriage to bring you home tomorrow afternoon.” He came back to the bed and gazed at her once more, as if committing the sight of her to memory. His lips claimed hers with finality, rife with passion.

Lydia moaned in protest as he broke away. She failed to sway him.

“You should sleep now.”

Her body obeyed his command. Against her will, her lids fell heavily as he walked out of the room. It was over.