His rich laughter overwhelmed her senses. “Come now, you are to be my bride. No kiss, no bargain, my beauty,” he challenged. “Do not tell me you are afraid.”
Angelica lifted her chin. Hell if he would call her a coward! “Very well.” She stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek, shocked at the thrill rushing up her spine at that small contact. He smelled of exotic spices. “D-do we have a bargain then?” she asked, hating how her voice shook.
The vampire’s eyes seemed to glow dangerously. With a low growl, he pulled her into his arms. She gasped at the feel of the warm steel bands holding her to his large, hard body. “That is not what I had in mind.”
Keeping his arm around her, he stroked her back as he tipped her chin up with his other hand to meet his smoldering silver gaze. With one finger, he lightly traced her cheek before tangling his fingers in her hair.
The vampire’s breath was warm on her face as he whispered, “This is a kiss.”
His lips came down upon hers, feather soft at first then increasing in pressure as they molded to her mouth. Angelica pressed her hands against his chest, intending to push away from his grasp. But the feel of his hard, muscled form against her body and the light brush of his silken hair against her ear brought heat to her cheeks. Against her will, her fingers relinquished their objection. Frissons of sensation engulfed her, and her arms unconsciously crept up around him, clinging to him for support, for her legs had lost their strength. A low moan emerged from her throat and he captured it, his breath mingling with hers.
The tip of his tongue touched hers and one of his fangs grazed her lip. She jumped at the spark. The vampire released her, panting hoarsely. His eyes glowed with an unholy, silver light.
“My God,” he said. “I’m sorry, Angel, I did not mean to take things so far.”
“I am quite all right,” she said, her mind swimming. “W-we should go back inside now.” Her legs trembled as she walked with him in silence back to the house.
The duke straightened his cravat before opening the door. “I will tell your father the wedding will be in six weeks. Tomorrow I will escort you to the opera. Be ready at seven o’clock.”
He bowed and left her standing at the foot of the stairs with trembling limbs and tingling lips. As the sound of muted voices drifted down from the study, her mother came in from the salon to see Angelica standing silent in the dark.
“Are you all right, dear?” The words were nearly obscured by the thudding of her heart.
“I think so.” Angelica met her mother’s concerned gaze and couldn’t help pouring out a little of her frustration. “This is all happening so fast.”
Margaret smiled and enfolded her daughter in her arms. “I am so proud of you, dear heart. My own daughter, a duchess! It is a dream come true.”
Angelica blinked at the outpouring of affection and warmth. Still, her mother’s uncharacteristic behavior was preferable to questions about her time alone with the duke. “He is taking me to the opera tomorrow,” she said with a forced smile.
“That is wonderful!” Margaret clasped her hands together. “Now, you had best get to bed. I do not want to see any dark circles under your eyes.”
As Angelica headed upstairs, absently touching her swollen lips, she realized that she had forgotten to ask the duke about vampires.
“Damn,” she muttered bitterly as a thousand questions sprang to her mind. “Well, at least I have six weeks to do so.”
And in the meantime she would do everything in her power to forget the intensity of his kiss.
Eleven
The Duke of Burnrath’s whirlwind courtship with the Winthrop heiress treated the haut ton to the most delicious gossip of the season. Like vultures with fresh carrion, they savored each tidbit more fervently than the last. A group of society’s most titled matrons gathered at Lady Crenshaw’s town house for afternoon tea and to discuss the engagement… and the latest caricature of His Grace, which had begun circulating only that morning.
The caption read: “The vampyre pursues his prey.” Though Burnrath and his bride-to-be were not identified, the artist, who was nearly as skilled as Cruikshank himself, had done an amusing job depicting the duke’s unconventional long hair and piercing silver eyes.
The figure towered over the tiny caricature of Miss Winthrop. Comical daggerlike fangs protruded from the duke’s mouth, and the words, “What big teeth you have, Your Grace,” were drawn bubbling out from Angelica’s lips.
The Duchess of Wentworth thrust the drawing away when the lampoon came to her. “I haven’t seen anything in poorer taste since Rowlandson mocked poor Queen Caroline.” Her nose turned up in disgust.
Lady Pillsbury looked at the picture and shuddered. “Those teeth are ghastly. Do you suppose the rumors could be true?”