Bite Me, Your Grace

“Not for a second!” Her Grace declared. “Burnrath is a close friend of my husband, and you know my dear Alex takes utmost care about whom he associates with.”

 

 

“Perhaps they are true.” Lady Crenshaw ignored the duchess and turned to Lady Pillsbury. “I wonder that we never see them driving through Hyde Park in the mornings or attending any other function during the day.”

 

The duchess sighed in exasperation. “He has a dreadful skin condition that prevents him from exposure to the sun. My husband heard it from the duke himself.”

 

“Or maybe he is a vampire.” Lady Crenshaw set down her teacup with a clatter, fixing them all with a fierce glare. “I hear that even the wedding will be held at night.”

 

“The groom can hardly appear before the bride with a skin eruption,” Lady Pillsbury put in as she nibbled a biscuit. “Still, a nighttime wedding… whoever heard of such a thing? There will hardly be time for the ball, and… well…” She trailed off, cheeks burning as she realized she had come close to discussing the bedding.

 

“Oh, I am quite certain they had time for that already,” Lady Crenshaw said scathingly as she opened her fan. “The wedding is to be performed in only six weeks. Scandalous! And of all the girls that were available to him, he had to settle on that strange baggage. If we had known that he was going to defy tradition and select an English bride, why, he could have had the pick of the finest blood in the country! After all, my daughter—”

 

“But surely you are relieved that she is safe from the attentions of a vampire?” Lady Pillsbury asked, perplexed.

 

Lady Crenshaw snorted. “At the cost of the loss of such a lofty title? Are you mad?” She shook her head. “You only have a son, so you could never understand what a trial one endures in trying to make a good match for a daughter.”

 

The Duchess of Wentworth smirked at the woman’s contradictory behavior, motivated by greed. Lady Crenshaw could not hide her venomous envy that her daughter had failed to nab the title of Duchess of Burnrath.

 

***

 

Ian smiled with triumph as he looked upon the betting book at White’s. Most of the wagers against him had been retracted. After Angelica became his bride, he had every confidence that the rumors that the Duke of Burnrath was a bloodsucking fiend would be regarded as a silly jest.

 

“I say, Burnrath, care to join us in a game of piquet?” Baron Wheaton asked, carefully pointing his gaze away from the betting book.

 

Ian hid a smile, wondering which of the vampire wagers had been penned by the baron. “I’m afraid I do not have the time. I only stopped in to place a wager on Wentworth’s horse before I must leave to call on Miss Winthrop.” He turned away, eager to leave the club. He had only decided to come because his first meal for the evening had been nearby.

 

Wheaton clapped him on the shoulder. “I say, old chap, we never believed you would ever become leg-shackled, but I think you made a good choice. She is a stunning beauty, and the Pendlebur estate is not too shabby, either.” The naked greed on his face was almost laughable in its lack of subtlety.

 

Ian pretended not to hear the baron and left the club with only a curt nod to his acquaintances. He’d learned what he needed and had no desire to linger and socialize, for in minutes he would be in the company of his soon-to-be bride.

 

He took a deep breath of the early spring air, a relief from the smoke-ridden atmosphere of White’s. Ian found that he enjoyed courting a beautiful young lady. Angelica was an engaging companion whose droll wit and heady vitality made him feel like a mortal man again. Her captivating combination of naivety and curiosity endeared her more to him with each encounter. And every kiss he stole from her made him burn and long for more. His body grew stiff and uncomfortable just thinking about her, and he knew that he would have to exercise utmost caution and restraint to not fall upon her like a ravening beast when he finally bedded her.

 

At the Winthrop’s town house that evening, his fiancée pouted when he immediately adjourned to Jacob Winthrop’s study for brandy and cigars after dinner. Ian hid a smile. Perhaps she would miss him.

 

Maybe her fear of him was slowly abating. But he could sense she was still holding something back from him, and Ian was damned if he could figure out what was going on in her captivating mind.

 

“Shall you play me a song?” Ian asked as he and Jacob rejoined Angelica and her mother in the music salon.

 

Angelica’s face lit up with an impish grin. “Certainly, Your Grace.”