Bite Me, Your Grace

“I did not intend to kill him,” Ian said ruefully. “But the thought of his filthy hands touching her… I lost control. Will they convict me when it goes to trial, do you think?”

 

 

The constable shook his head. With his preternatural gift, Ian could almost read the man’s thoughts. He had no desire to arrest such a prominent peer of the realm, and to confirm his thinking, it was well known that the Duchess of Burnrath had donated a large sum to London’s law keepers. How could he repay her generosity by arresting her husband when the man was only defending her virtue and had possibly even saved her life?

 

“I do not think a trial will be necessary, Your Grace.” The constable cleared his throat. “The assailant matches the description of a man who has committed several similar crimes,” he said, every nuance of his tone and gestures revealing the lie. “This is obviously a case of self-defense. I think it would be best to be discreet about this matter. I will take the body and file a report at my office. Due to the scandal your involvement would bring, I think we would be most prudent to keep your name out of it. Do you agree?”

 

Ian nodded solemnly. “Absolutely, sir. I bow to your wise recommendation.”

 

The constable stood and replaced his hat. “Very well, I shall be off. I trust Her Grace will benefit from the doctor’s treatment, and with your care, God willing, she may recover from this terrible trauma.”

 

He sketched a hasty bow to each before taking his leave.

 

Doctor Sampson arrived soon after and dismissed the servants as he examined Angelica. He diagnosed her as being weak from shock. He dosed her with laudanum, despite her objections, and ordered her to have a week’s bed rest.

 

“A week?” Angelica giggled in giddiness from the laudanum. “I hardly think I could stay cooped up for a whole day.”

 

Ian raised a brow. “Even if I am in bed with you?”

 

She grinned as her cheeks turned bright pink. “Oh. Well, that changes matters entirely!”

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty-eight

 

 

Angelica was able to stand five days of bed rest before she found herself on the brink of insanity. Ian noticed and announced that he would take her to the opera the next evening. That morning, a jewel case was left at her bedside. It contained a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg. She smiled, knowing just the ensemble that would go with the gorgeous pendant.

 

As the sun was plunging beneath the horizon, Angelica dressed in a scarlet taffeta gown beaded with jet. The low, square-cut bodice made a perfect setting to frame her new ruby necklace. Elbow-length gloves hid the worst of her fading bruises from her fight with the vampire hunter. Underneath she wore black silk stockings fastened with saucy red garters. Liza arranged her hair in elaborate curls, threaded through with scarlet ribbon. Ruby teardrop earrings completed the picture.

 

“How do I look?” she asked, twirling before the mirror and admiring the way a black-clad ankle occasionally peeked through.

 

“Um… er… very striking,” Liza said. “Wherever did you acquire that gown? It is almost too daring.”

 

Angelica laughed. “I had Madame Dupuis make it. I’d intended the dress to be a surprise for the duke before we had our… altercation.”

 

Liza raised a brow, eyeing the revealing bodice nervously. “Well, I do say he will certainly be surprised.”

 

Angelica applied a touch of lip rouge and a dusting of pink powder to her cheeks before dabbing her pulse points with perfume. The smell of wildflowers wafted through the room. “Fetch my black satin cape. What a shame I don’t have a red one. And Liza? Has there been any mail today?”

 

Liza shook her head. “Not since the last time you asked, and the time before that. I wish I knew what news you are so anxious to hear.”

 

“I submitted a novel to a few prominent publishers,” Angelica lied, hiding her disappointment that the Elders’ response had not arrived.

 

Really, she was being ridiculously impatient. It was doubtful they’d even received Ian’s petition. If she kept jumping for news every hour, Liza was bound to grow suspicious. The sound of Burke greeting her husband in the parlor pulled her from her reverie.

 

Ian’s appreciative smile as she sauntered down the stairs was well worth the effort. Just wait until I remove the cape. A secret smile played across her lips. She kept a modest distance between herself and the duke in the coach—despite his efforts to lessen it—and did not remove the cape until they were seated in their private opera box, just before the lights dimmed.