One Bite Per Night (20 page)

“I didn't have the opportunity before they took it upon themselves to inform you.” He couldn't hide the irritation from his voice. He was sick to death of the matter. The pair of vindictive lady vampires should have stayed in Cornwall and he should have found other means of securing Lydia's wardrobe. And why did Lawrence have to be Lydia's hero and teacher? Why couldn't it have been someone less scandalous and meddlesome, such as Reynolds or Gainsborough?

“I do not understand why you are so vexed.” She crossed her arms.

He grasped her shoulders. “I am not vexed. I am concerned. You don't understand what a dangerous thing you and Angelica have done. It is forbidden for mortals to know what we are. And if the Elders get wind of what Sally and Maria are up to, we could be in far deeper trouble than we already are.”

“But Angelica and I were careful to convince their mother it was a dream.”

“That doesn't work all the time. A few humans are immune to our power. And even for those who are susceptible, the effect can diminish. If Sarah Siddons sees Sally and Maria too often, she very well could descend into madness from the fractured memories.”

Lydia paled. “My God, I had no idea.”

“That's precisely my point.” Vincent's fingers tightened on her flesh, longing to pull her into a protective embrace. “You're a youngling, and so is Angelica, for that matter. Neither of you are in a position to make decisions that interfere with a Lord Vampire's decree.”

She pouted. “We're not children.”

“Compared to vampires older and more powerful, you are.” To prove his point, he slid his hands down her arms, holding her immobile. Lowering his head, he grazed his fangs across her neck and whispered, “I could drink you down where you stand.” However, that wasn't what he wanted to do with her.

The heat of her body, coupled with her intoxicating scent, was a bouquet of temptation. Before he succumbed and gave in to his desire, he released her—a little more abruptly than he intended.

“If I catch you meddling with the Siddons sisters again, you will be forbidden from participating in the Royal Exhibition.”

She flinched as if he had struck her. “I-I understand.”

Vincent thrust his hands in his pockets and turned away to avoid hauling her into his arms and kissing away her hurt.

As he left the house and walked through the dark, foggy streets, he reminded himself that he had to be firm to keep her out of trouble.
Then
why
do
I
feel
like
a
villain?

Lydia swirled the mixture of colors on her palette, considering how her heightened senses had improved her work. Already she'd finished two paintings for Sir Thomas Lawrence: one a landscape that really did need only finishing touches, the other a portrait of the Duke of Wentworth that not only needed a backdrop, but the man's entire waistcoat painted.

The last was to be the Countess of Blessington, and all he'd provided were sketches and a rudimentary outline on canvas. She practically had to paint the whole thing. Thank heavens the woman was a member of Angelica's literary circle.

Angelica had been thrilled when Lydia told her she would be painting Lady Blessington. “An extraordinary woman! She wrote
Conversations
with
Lord
Byron
. I can talk with her for hours. You'll meet her soon at my next literary circle.”

Lydia looked forward to it, but now she wanted to focus more on the subject for
her
painting for the Exhibition.

The portrait of Vincent seemed to be alive on the canvas, on the verge of walking out and taking her into his arms. She gazed into his stormy eyes, chest tight as she dabbed her brush in a pot of linseed oil. If only she could paint a new world and walk into it. A world where Vincent was safe and loved her, and they could be happy together.

For now, all she could do was to continue creating illusions and pretending her heart wasn't breaking. Vincent hadn't spoken to her since the night he caught her and Angelica helping the Siddons sisters. Shame crawled through her like an ugly worm. She hadn't known they were putting him at risk. If only she could apologize and take it back.

Angelica entered the studio, pulling her attention from the painting. “Lydia?”

“Yes?” She fought back a growl at the unwelcome intrusion of reality.

The duchess didn't reply at first. Instead, she stared at the canvas, transfixed. “Your talent is amazing.”

Lydia warmed at the compliment. “Thank you.” She wished she were alone, but she did not want to offend her friend. She forced a congenial smile. “Ah, was there something you wanted?”

“I had noticed that you seem to be melancholy of late, so I have arranged a diverting evening to take your mind off of…” Angelica shrugged helplessly. “Well, you know.”

Neither dared to speak of Vincent's upcoming investigation, as if their silence would keep the dreaded event and its impending verdict at bay.

A pang of guilt niggled in Lydia's belly for her resentful thoughts about her time at Burnrath House. Indeed, she was grateful for Angelica's kindness and unfailing aid with everything, from her seduction of Vincent to her adjustment to her new nocturnal existence. If she had not had such a friend to confide in, she would long since have perished from despair.

Giving Angelica a warm smile, she asked with genuine enthusiasm, “What is this diversion?” The duchess was always good for an adventure.

Angelica grinned. “My literary circle will be presenting a phantasmagoria.”

The alien word piqued Lydia's curiosity. “What is that?”

Angelica clasped her hands together like a young girl receiving her first pony. “It is so wonderful I cannot describe it. You shall see. First”—she looked down at the carpet, suddenly appearing nervous—“is everything all right between you and Lord Deveril?”

Lydia bit her lip, reluctant to divulge her heartbreak and humiliation.

“Although you are now practically immortal, you do
not
have eternity to confide in me.” The duchess put her hands on her hips and fixed her with a merciless gaze.

A shuddering sigh escaped Lydia's lips before everything poured out in a torrent, like draining poison from a wound. “He can hardly look at me anymore, because he feels guilty for Changing me. He shouldn't! If I had not lost my temper and wandered out on the dangerous streets alone, Vincent would not be facing a death sentence.” Her throat tightened. “He should hate me.”

Another voice, richly accented, intruded. “He could
never
hate you.” Rafael Villar stepped into the room, shrinking the space with his powerful presence. “He is far too occupied with hating himself.”

Deafening silence greeted his announcement.

Lydia recovered from her shock, eyes widening as his words became clear. “What do you mean?”

“Some of our kind feel that we are monsters. Deveril is one of those,” Rafe explained with a shrug. “Like you, he was also Changed without being given a choice, which does not help matters.”

Lydia gasped as the implication dawned. “Does he think
I'm
a monster, then?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” The Spaniard's scornful tone made the truth of his words apparent.

Angelica nodded emphatically. “If he did, he would not be working so hard to save your life.” Her cat leaped up into her arms.

“Save my life?” Confusion filled Lydia at the declaration. “I was under the impression that Vincent was the only one facing a death sentence.”

Rafe scoffed. “He wanted to protect you from that knowledge as well.”

“It is
highly
unlikely that the Elders will have you executed, especially when you've adapted so well to our ways.” Angelica's warm gaze was reassuring as she stroked Loki's fur. “Such a sentence is usually applied only to the ones who go mad from the change.”

Lydia's mind raced, cataloging Vincent's behavior with Rafe's explanation. A memory teased her mind of the night he'd told her the story of the girl and the wolf.

“
She
should
get
away
,” he had said. She'd thought he'd been referring to the girl and the wolf, and perhaps he was…only he thought of
Lydia
as the girl and of
himself
as the wolf. Longing, deep and piercing, thrummed through her being. If only he were here right now. Then she'd pull him into her arms and assure him that he was wrong.

“So he is afraid that
I
now think that I am a monster and resent him for Changing me?” she ventured. Vincent was no monster. He was her guardian angel, her protector.

Rafe nodded, and his voice pulsed with sarcasm. “Your powers of deduction are astounding.”

Lydia bristled, fighting the urge to pummel him. “There is no need to be rude.”

Undaunted, the Spaniard raised a brow. “Do you see how emotions can overrun your logic? Think
very
carefully about that before the inquest.”

Angelica chuckled. “Let us see how well that advice aids you when
you
fall in love.”

Rafe's scars puckered as he sneered at the duchess. “I am quite certain my circumstances keep me safe from falling victim to such a malady.” To illustrate his point, he shrugged his shoulder, allowing his bad arm to rise an inch, only to fall limp and useless at his side.

There was no regret in his words, only hard practicality. Lydia's heart ached for the Spaniard. She remembered the night of her come-out ball, and how the other debutantes laughed at him and whispered that he was ugly. With his preternatural senses, he must have heard them.

“Lady Rosslyn was quite intrigued with you,” she said, hoping to comfort him.

His amber gaze narrowed as a multitude of emotions played across his scarred face. “Morbid curiosity is
not
admiration. That woman is nothing more than a nuisance. I think her widowhood has driven her mad.”

“Cassandra is not mad!” Angelica huffed. “She is the most brilliant woman I have ever met. She wants to be a doctor. Isn't that delightful?”

Lydia nodded as Rafe scowled. “A woman doctor? Impossible. The wench will make herself a laughingstock if she isn't careful.”

The duchess slapped him on the arm with her fan. “Don't be so cynical. And she's coming here tonight, so you had better behave yourself.”

For a moment his eyes gleamed with what looked like excitement. Then he shook his head and turned to Lydia, changing the subject. “I am not here to talk about eccentric widows. Time grows short. What made you so upset that you ran out of the safety of Deveril's house and put yourself in the path of a cutthroat?”

Lydia's cheeks burned. To confess her petty and insipid behavior that night to this cold, powerful vampire was unthinkable. Why couldn't they continue discussing Lady Rosslyn?

“Yes,” Angelica prodded. “What happened that night?”

Rafe leaned on the door frame as if to block her escape. “As the duchess so wisely declared, you do not have eternity to confide in her. This information could be useful in Lord Deveril's investigation.”

“It was so foolish of me,” she began in a low voice, turning away to clean her brushes and palette. “I had gone to Vincent's study to announce my intentions never to marry—”

“Why not?” Rafe interrupted sharply. “It was your duty, and you seemed resigned to it.”

Her cheeks flamed further when Angelica explained, “Vincent had
taken
her the night before.” She turned back to Lydia. “And so you knew you could not bear to be with anyone else,” she whispered with aching sympathy.

Lydia nodded, eyes burning with unshed tears.

A string of Spanish curses echoed in the room. “Foolish man,” he growled. “What the devil was he thinking?”

“It was my fault entirely.” Lydia pulled off her painter's smock. “
I
seduced
him
.”

“I helped,” Angelica added, scratching Loki behind his ears, ignoring Rafe's mutterings of disapproval. “What happened then? Did you quarrel?”

Lydia shook her head. “He was speaking with Miss Hobson. Apparently, he'd been in a competition with Lady Morley on which of her grandchildren would secure the better match.” Her voice broke. “I was just a game piece to him.”

“Surely that must have changed after the other night,” Angelica said softly.

“No. In fact he was telling Miss Hobson that he had reconsidered one of the possible suitors Miss Hobson had suggested.” Her fists clenched at her sides. “He sounded damn happy about it!”

To her astonishment, Rafe burst out laughing. “Perhaps you should fetch the chaperone, Your Grace. I am certain she can cast some light on this matter.”

A strange smile curved Angelica's lips as she met the Spaniard's gaze. “Yes, I think I shall.” With that, she deposited Loki in Lydia's arms and left her alone with Rafe.

Rafe lit a cigar and leaned back against the wall, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts. Lydia sighed and settled into the duchess's chintz seat and stroked Loki. The soft rumble of the feline's purr helped in calming her ragged nerves.

Weary of the awkward silence, she dared to ask, “Do you think the Elders will allow Vincent to live?”

He blew out a cloud of smoke. “To be truthful, I do not know. Vampires rarely violate the cardinal laws. The only one I know of to have committed Vincent's crime was quickly sentenced to death without a trial. Ian carried out the punishment himself.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “The youngling was allowed to live, though.”

Lydia shuddered at the image of the regal Duke of Burnrath killing someone in cold blood. Yet she made note to ask him about the incident and glean further details. “Does it bode well that Vincent will receive an inquiry?”

The Spaniard shook his head. “No, that is the usual protocol for a Lord.”

Before he could say more, Angelica returned with Miss Hobson in tow. The chaperone gave Lydia a quelling stare of disapproval for being alone with a man as she turned to the Spaniard.

“You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Villar?” She looked down her nose at Rafe in indignation.

Doing little to mask his amusement, Rafe inclined his head mockingly. “I would like to know exactly
which
of your recommended suitors Lord Deveril had decided to accept for Miss Price's hand in marriage before he changed his mind.”

Miss Hobson stiffened and turned swiftly to Angelica. “I cannot perceive why this would be any concern of
his
, Your Grace.”

“Please, Miss Hobson.” Angelica's voice was solid with authority. “This is important.”

The chaperone sighed and favored Rafe with a scowl that rivaled his own. “The earl and I had decided that the winning contender for Miss Price's hand was Lord Deveril himself.”

Angelica shared a conspiratorial smirk with Rafe. “I am not at all surprised.”

The floor seemed to sink under Lydia's feet, and her heart turned over in her rib cage. “What about the competition with my grandmother?”

“You had been eavesdropping for that part, then?” Miss Hobson wagged a scolding finger. “So
that
is why you left in a huff. You might as well have stayed to hear the rest of the conversation.” Her gaze narrowed. “I cannot help but observe that things do not appear to be going as smoothly as I had planned. You haven't even decided upon a date yet.”

“
You
planned?” Angelica's laughter deepened. “I was under the impression that the match was my idea.”

Miss Hobson contemplated the duchess for the longest time before her normally solemn features broke in a wide smile. “Well, Your Grace, it seems we should have made an alliance sooner.” She turned back to Lydia, and the stern frown returned. “Would you care to explain yourself, Miss Price?”

Lydia could have danced with joy.
He
wanted
to
marry
her!
She fought to keep her voice level and demure. “There has been a misunderstanding, and I am hopeful it will be solved.”

Miss Hobson nodded. “That is good to hear. Now let us get you dressed for Her Grace's literary salon. The guests are due to arrive within the hour, and you cannot be in such company with paint on your hem.”