Every evening she spent absent from the Ian’s side fanned the flames of gossip that the couple was estranged. People recalled her ball the previous month and then speculated that the duke had disapproved of her arrangements and performance. With her current habits of associating with writers and artists and other objectionable company, along with the now public knowledge that she had been thrown out of Almack’s, the Duchess of Burnrath was decreed to be “fast” and shunned by many a leading society matron. Unmarried females were forbidden to associate with her by their chaperones and mothers. Naturally, with much of the primmer company absent, Angelica’s parties grew more raucous.
The fast set immediately accepted the Duchess of Burnrath due to her lofty rank, but when she revealed herself to be the gothic author, Allan Winthrop, they welcomed her with open arms. The day she arrived at the offices of The New Monthly Magazine, dressed in her male attire and armed with a new submission, made the papers. After Colburn accepted her latest story, Angelica whipped off her tiewig, shaking out her ebony tresses.
“Who are you?” the publisher demanded, eyes wide in outrage.
“My real name is Angelica Ashton, Duchess of Burnrath.” She smiled, regarding him with a challenging stare.
“Your Grace!” he gasped, continuing to stare at her as if she were an exotic animal. “It is such an honor. I cannot believe you wrote these!”
“Does this mean you won’t publish my work anymore?” she asked worriedly.
Colburn laughed. “Surely you jest, madam. Now that you have revealed your identity, my sales will increase tenfold!” He handed her a forty-pound note. “Could you perchance write a vampire story? They are all the rage now.”
She pocketed the money, intent on donating it to a charity, and formed an evasive reply. “I shall take the matter under consideration.”
A vampire story… Angelica thought on the ride home. Well, she was certainly in a position to write one. However, doing so would undo all that Ian had accomplished in trying to safeguard his reputation. In fact, because she was his wife, she would do twice the damage to his name that Polidori had with his story.
But what if I could make a different sort of tale… She settled against the velvet squabs of her coach. What if I made the vampire the hero of the story? And what if I put the characters in a different time period? What if I made the piece a romance? She choked back a bitter laugh. Before Ian cast his spell on her, she had no respect for romantic novels. Now love seemed to be all that haunted her mind.
And love is the ultimate fodder for fiction, Angelica thought as the carriage arrived home. Immediately she called for Liza to help her dress for the Pemberly ball. She did not wish to go anywhere this evening, but she was feeling very melancholy and it wouldn’t do for her husband to catch her in such a vulnerable state. Too easily, she could imagine breaking down and tearfully begging for him not to leave her.
***
When Ian returned from his evening hunt, he was informed that the duchess was at yet another party. For some inexplicable reason, they seemed to be little more than virtual strangers now, except in the bedroom, where the heat of Angelica’s embraces was so fierce he felt scalded. Outside of their bed, she rarely spoke to him, and only with cool civility. Her adoration appeared to have been feigned, for now she even refused to let him feed from her anymore. Ian wished he had abandoned his morals just once and read her thoughts when he’d had the opportunity. Perhaps then his passion for her could have been avoided.
He cursed himself for allowing a mortal woman to get under his skin, beautiful and intriguing as she was. Perhaps she was a scheming, spoiled opportunist who wanted nothing from him but to secure her position in society and enjoy the fame and fortune of his name. She’d certainly taken the reins of power as his duchess with haste, and now she appeared to be enjoying her new position in all possible ways. Still, his heart cried for an explanation of her cooled demeanor.
He walked into the bedchamber and inhaled the heady aroma of their recent lovemaking. At least he still had that part of her. Ian frowned. But for how long? How long before she followed the example of many a jaded society matron and took a lover? He clenched his fists at the thought of her delectable body entwined with another man’s. For some reason, his agony increased at the thought of her laughing with another and sharing her delightful wit… of her gypsy eyes locked on another with all her passion.
He grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at the wall with such force that the soft object exploded. He would have that passion back. As feathers drifted around him like a blizzard, Ian vowed that he would give her nights that she wouldn’t forget.
***
Angelica stepped back from Lord Ponsonby yet again—straight into a potted plant. The disgusting lecher had been chasing her around the Pemberlys’ entire house, trying to peer down her bodice with his quizzing glass and making not-at-all subtle remarks about how he’d love to make an assignation with her. The raspy touch of the ferns at the back of her neck was infinitely preferable to that of his limpid hands.
“Here, let me assist you, Your Grace,” he drawled, practically panting in lust.
“No thank you.” She righted herself and deftly stepped out of his reach. “Oh, I see the Duchess of Wentworth. It has been ages since I have conversed with her. I must beg your leave.”