Her lips caressed his neck as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, eager to make love to him once more, for each time could be their last.
All of their worries fled into the night as their bodies joined. Each wished the passionate embrace could last forever.
“I love you, Rosetta,” John whispered as she sank her fangs in his neck.
There was a brisk knock at the door. Terror spiked through her like the sun’s fatal rays. Swiftly she leaped from the bed and threw on a night rail. She closed the bed curtains and sent John a pleading look to be silent before she raced up the stone steps, struggling to compose herself.
Her fears were confirmed when she opened the door to see the Lord of London looking down at her in embarrassment at her disheveled state. She decided to use his discomfort to her advantage.
“Rosetta, I am terribly sorry to have interrupted you.” He coughed awkwardly.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked, lacing her voice with the proper mixture of humiliation and impatience.
“John Polidori was seen near this area. I would like you to search for him when you are finished with your, ah, business. I have other matters demanding my attention at the moment and would greatly appreciate your assistance.” He paused and his expression became grave. “And please do keep your eyes and ears sharp for signs of Blanche. You remember her, don’t you? She’s small in stature and has long, pale blonde hair. She lives near Piccadilly. I still haven’t found her and I’m beginning to suspect the worst.”
Rosetta was flooded with guilt at the relief she felt upon another vampire’s disappearance providing a convenient distraction. She bowed meekly, avoiding his eyes. “Of course, my lord.” She turned to go back inside.
“I say, Rosetta,” his voice echoed behind her. She stiffened. “It’s not Thomas you’re dallying with, is it?” His voice was laced with amusement.
“No, my lord,” she answered honestly, suppressing a sneer. As if she would jeopardize her position by involving herself with a rival!
He chuckled. “Very well, I will leave you to your secrets. Be sure to inform me if you find anything.” The Lord of London turned to leave, and Rosetta’s pulse began to slow. Then he turned back around. “Perhaps Polidori has something to do with Blanche’s disappearance.”
“Oh no, my lord!” she said too quickly. “That is… Blanche seemed to me to be such a quiet, unhappy sort. Perhaps she decided to end her existence. I know that is a terrible thing to contemplate, but surely that explanation is more reasonable than any other alternative.”
He nodded. “Perhaps you are correct, though the thought pains me.” He pulled his watch from his pocket and frowned. “I must be going now. Thank you for your vigilance.”
Rosetta bowed meekly. “Yes, my lord.”
After he left, she slumped against the door frame. Something had to be done about His Grace. He was bound to discover her deception any night, with the way things were headed. Unfortunately the only way to get him off her trail was to turn in Polidori or kill her lord. She thought of fleeing London or even England, but quickly dismissed the idea. Burnrath would merely inform the Elders and they would put out a search warrant across the world.
“That was him, wasn’t it?” John whispered loudly from the bedchamber.
“Yes, but he is gone now. I do not think he believes you are here.” Again, shame filled her for the lies she had told her master.
She poured a glass of wine and sipped it pensively. Her deception was weaving a tighter and tighter trap, one whose jaws could close on her any minute.
Rosetta wasn’t powerful enough to kill the Lord of London, and even if she was, she didn’t know if she could bring herself to commit such a terrible act. But she would do anything for John. Her thoughts raced as she thought of ideas and then discarded them. She had to do something, but what?
Sixteen
The last three weeks of the engagement flew faster than Keats’s nightingale. Angelica’s mother was over the moon with the joy of preparing wedding invitations. Margaret chattered in an incessant stream to her daughter as she pored over a guest list, reading spectacles perched on her nose. She had succeeded in her crusade to get her daughter married off, and her happiness shone to the world.
Angelica was torn between amusement and relief that the nagging had abated slightly. But now that her mother had accomplished her goal and Angelica would be moving away, what would Margaret do with the rest of her life? The thought gave Angelica a strange pang of discomfort.
“Oh my, I almost forgot the Wheatons,” her mother said, interrupting her reverie. “They are related to the Prime Minister, so we cannot risk offending them.” Margaret pulled out a black invitation embossed with silver—the Burnrath colors—opened it, then dipped her quill in silver ink.