Rose's Rapture: Lords of the Night, Book Two (3 page)

Abigail rushed forward. She greeted her friend. Fear must have shadowed Rose’s features because Abigail gave her a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. Rose forced a smile, giving a quick nod of thanks. She took a deep breath then entered the fray.

Magnificent tapestries hung from the walls, depicting Scottish history. Rose marveled at the sheer opulence of the fabric. Curious glances darted her way. Rose did her best to ignore them. She realized as she continued deeper into the masses that they meant no malicious intent. It wasn’t their fault that she was on edge, terrified someone from her old life might recognize her.

Rose’s senses whirled as she inhaled, catching a cacophony of perfume and the scent of roasting meat. She brought a gloved hand to her cheeks, feeling their warmth beneath her covered fingertips. She couldn’t breathe.

The press of the crowd only made the sensation worse. She rose to her toes in search of a nearby door, any place to escape. Rose needed to get out of the ballroom, if only for a moment. Faces blurred in front of her as panic set in. Her chest squeezed, threatening to crush her heart.

Spotting open French doors on the far side of the room, Rose feigned casualness she did not feel and made her way toward them, slipping out onto a small terrace. She took a shuddering breath, inhaling the sweet grass filled air into her lungs. She strode along the balustrade, running her fingers over the flat stone slabs.

Something about this mysterious wild land soothed her, a healing balm to her shattered soul. Never in her life had she imagined that she’d end up in Scotland. Truth be told, Rose thought she’d die in the brothel from consumption. Sure, she’d dreamed of leaving, but hadn’t actually thought Richard, Lord Lyon would settle down. Rose had promised him that she’d stay in the brothel until he found his blood-mate, so she could supply him with blood and she’d kept her word. Unlike the men from her past, Rose
never
went back on a vow.

She strolled deeper into the darkness, allowing it to envelop her, calm her, hide her from prying eyes. Coming here was a bad idea. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t know if she’d ever be prepared to face good society again.

Rose had almost calmed her racing heart when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She swung around, her reticule raised above her head ready to strike. A man stepped out of the shadows, so dark in coloring that it was as if he’d brought them with him into the light. Rose gasped, staggering back as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face.

“You startled me.” Her hand went protectively to her throat. “I thought I was alone.”

The man’s eyes glowed red until the candlelight reached his face, dispersing the glom. He reminded her of a hungry fox thrown amongst a pen of chicks. She took a deep breath, trying to rein in her suddenly scattered wits. She had far too much experience to be so easily swept away.

She took in his features. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe his rugged beauty. Something about him reminded her of the untamed land. Rose’s pulse fluttered in her throat and her mouth went dry as he neared. His eyes, the color of the windswept moors, assessed her with a mixture of curiosity and…was that
apprehension
?

Rose almost laughed at the thought. Given his massive size, she saw no need for caution on his part. If anything, she should be concerned. With no effort at all he could easily overpower her. Laughter filtered out of the ballroom carried on the wind, reminding her that they weren’t in the brothel. They were on a terrace near a ballroom full of people. She had nothing to fear. He slowed, stopping within arms-length.

“I see you had the same idea as I.” His Scottish burr trickled over her skin like warm honey, leaving her pleasantly warm.

Rose suppressed a quiver. “I-It was rather stuffy inside. The crowd,” she added absently with a swish of her hand. The temperature outside had suddenly risen, too. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“Not at all.” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name, lass?” His gaze sought her red hair, before slowly lowering inch by excruciating inch down the length of her body.

The act was as intimate as a lover’s caress and just as devastating to Rose’s heightened senses. She swallowed hard. “I’m new to the area. My name is Rose Carlson. Lady Rose Carlson,” she added, realizing she’d made another social blunder. How many could she make before tongues began to wag?

“My Lady.” He bowed over her gloved hand, placing a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. “I’m Hamish MacDougall. Laird Hamish MacDougall,” he said, mirroring her words, an amused smile teasing his lips.

Rose felt the contact all the way to her toes, hot, searing, strangely intoxicating—and completely out of character for her.

“Will you stroll with me?” His voice dropped in cadence and he didn’t wait for a response. Hamish tugged her hand gently until it rested upon his sleeve, while he led her deeper into the shadows.

Without thought, Rose found herself following, her mind curiously blank. Something told her she shouldn’t go with him, that something wasn’t right, but the words refused to leave her lips. Everything around her faded, including the sounds from the ball. She couldn’t seem to focus. Rose felt blissfully light and airy as if she floated between wake and sleep.

“Has anyone ever told you, you smell like the flower that holds your name?” Hamish asked, sliding closer.

“No.” It took some effort to shake her head.

He bent near her ear until his hot breath brushed the curls at the side of her head. His lips trailed lower following her hairline until he reached the side of her neck. He inhaled and Rose felt, rather than saw, him shudder. “Where do you live, lass?” he asked.

She quivered in anticipation. Of what, she did not know.  Rose tried to concentrate on his question. “I reside at Hyde Hall,” she murmured breathlessly.

Hamish jerked back as if he’d been slapped. His pointed gaze shot to her face, narrowing slightly. His posture grew rigid and he took a step away.

Rose blinked in confusion, her mind slowly clearing. She looked around. How had they gotten to this end of the terrace? What had they been discussing? She couldn’t recall much. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, trying to figure out what had happened.

His lip curled into what Rose thought was meant to be a smile, but looked more like a ghostly grimace. “No, of course not.” He gave her a curt nod, his social mask clearly back in place. “I was surprised by your answer. I didn’t know Hyde Hall was occupied. It’s been vacant for quite some time.”

“I moved in not long ago,” she said.

“I see,” Hamish said. His demeanor had gone from seductive to Artic from one breath to the next.

Rose frowned.

“May I escort you back inside?” he asked. “The dancing should be set to begin.”

“You dance?” She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but Rose had difficulty imagining Hamish MacDougall waltzing around the room.

He glowered. “No, I do not.”

Rose forced a polite smile and inclined her head. “Very well.” She wasn’t sure what had happened. Everything seemed a bit hazy. One minute they’d been conversing congenially, she thought, the next he was practically rushing her back inside. Her mind remained curiously blank. She wished she had a better grasp of social graces. Maybe then she’d be able to ask. She’d obviously done something wrong, something that offended the Scottish laird enough to try to rid himself of her company. Rose knew she shouldn’t care, but for some reason Hamish’s rejection stung.

* * * * *

Hamish had smelled her before she’d come into view, a subtle scent of warm woman, with a hint of flowers, and delicious blood. For a moment, he couldn’t place the rare delicacy that had wandered near. Then he’d spotted her.

Copper-colored hair framed her delicate face, while her emerald gown and matching jewels draped her lush curves like a second skin. His cock had thickened as blood rushed south. He licked his suddenly dry lips, realizing that he’d actually punctured the inside of his mouth with his fangs. He’d swallowed the blood with a growl. He hadn’t wanted his own essence, not when she was so near at hand.

A simple taste of her would’ve filled his senses and prevented the maddening smell of the crowd from crushing his defenses and triggering bloodlust. All he’d had to do was wait.

But instead, he’d found himself leaving the shadows and stepping forward to introduce himself?

The second his hand clasped hers, he knew she would be the perfect nectar to squelch his insatiable need. Or she would’ve been, had he not realized who she was after a moment of conversation. Like a ray of light dispersing the early morning fog, his plans for sustenance disappeared.

So this was the delicate flower Richard called friend. No wonder he’d asked him to watch out for her. She was a rich bloom ripe for the picking. Hamish shuddered at how close he’d come to being the one to do so.

He cursed under his breath. How long had it been since he’d found himself drawn to a woman deeply enough to lure him from the shadows? He searched his memory. His blood grew cold as they answer came to him.

Agnes.

How had Richard known this woman would tempt him? Hamish shook his head. He couldn’t have. It was simply the illicit thrill of knowing he could feed from her without any mind tricks that drew him to her.

Then why had you wanted her before you knew who she was?

Hamish ignored the insidious question that taunted him. It mattered not. Things hadn’t changed. Rose slipped her hand on the arm he’d offered her. Her fingers fluttered before settling. The subtle warmth of her body seeped into him, whirling his senses, firing his blood.

His cock twitched and lengthened, coming to full attention beneath his kilt. Luckily, the material was thick and could hide his unwelcome condition. Only a fool would deny wanting her, and Hamish was no fool. But he wouldn’t take her. Not now. Not ever.

Out of self-preservation, he would lead Rose around the room and introduce her to his friends, before making his excuses and taking his leave. She would catch the eye of many. It wouldn’t take long before she had her pick of suitors.

Hamish’s muscles tensed and his insides boiled at the thought of another man drinking in her fragrance, tasting her loveliness.
Where had those possessive feelings come from?
He wasn’t a jealous man...or hadn’t been until now.

He shook himself from the dangerous path his thoughts had traversed. That way laid folly. He would introduce her to her peers and be done with his part, having honored his vow to Richard. Unpleasantness behind him, he’d return to his solitary life.

Hamish glanced at Rose’s face. Her eyes glowed in the soft lighting. At some point she’d moistened her ripe lips. His gaze locked onto their fullness as he imagined what it would feel like to kiss her, drink from that mouth, smother her moans with his embrace.

His breath caught and he fought to keep from quaking. Hamish had a feeling touching Rose would be anything but unpleasant. He fisted his hands until his knuckles hurt to keep from touching her delectable skin. Suddenly, the thought of leading a solitary existence didn’t sit well with him.

Keeping detached and performing this favor was going to be harder than he’d anticipated. Hamish glowered. Damn Richard’s black soul for getting him into this confounded mess.

* * * * *

CHAPTER THREE

London...

Lord William Longfellow strutted into Caulfield’s gaming den and brothel in Covent Gardens.  It had taken two glasses of port and a precarious carriage ride to get him here, but he’d finally arrived at the place that held the woman who’d destroyed his life. Anger erupted inside him, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

A well-dressed doorman eyed him with suspicion as he approached, but let him pass without incident. William squinted, attempting to focus as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

Tobacco and brandy assaulted his nostrils. He used the oak paneling on the walls to get his bearings. The club’s foyer dripped with swathes of burgundy, reminding him of blood.  His stomach churned as he considered what he was about to do.  He straightened, shoring up his courage. William didn’t tend to get his hands dirty. He hired people when delicate jobs were needed, but revenge on Rose was different, and well worth the small risk.

Taking her virginity cost him everything and it hadn’t even been that memorable. It was only fair that he take her life in exchange for
his
ruination. Maybe he’d fuck her first for old times sake. She had to have gained experience working here. The death of a whore would never be reported. Not if this place wanted to stay in business. They’d simply scoop up the body and dump it near the docks. William strolled into the gaming area. He needed another drink. Eyes from around the room left their games long enough to focus on him. He scowled.

“Is there anything of interest I can help you with gentlemen?” he asked, noting the looks of disgust.

Several shook their heads and looked away with newfound interest on the cards in their hands. Others glowered and gave him their shoulders. These men were once his peers and would be again as soon as he took care of his little problem. It had been sheer luck that an acquaintance had mentioned Rose Carlson worked here.  Of course, she’d gone by the moniker ‘Red Rose’, but her appearance was much the same. Perhaps a little faded, but still containing the essence of the woman he’d once known or so he’d been told.

Her name, and the shock of hearing it, jolted William from his drunken stupor. He’d lost track of her over the years, but he had
never
forgotten that she’d sent Richard Stuart, the sixth Earl of Lyon after him...the demon that posed as a man. Yes, William knew Lord Lyon’s dark secret, his need for blood in order to survive. That first sight of the man’s fangs would haunt him to the grave. He shuddered.

Of course, no one would’ve believed him if he’d told them what he’d seen, but William knew. That’s why he was here. Perhaps if he destroyed Rose, her death would bring about the destruction of the demon. At least it made sense to his vengeance-filled mind.