Bite Me, Your Grace

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?”

“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.”

As she settled herself gracefully on the bench before the piano, Ian noted with amusement that Margaret looked panic stricken and seemed to be trying to send her daughter discreet warning signals. What stunt is she trying to pull now, I wonder?

All thoughts ceased as she struck a haunting melody on the keys and began to sing. Ian had to agree with her mother that Angelica’s voice was not at all the light trilling or the ethereal whisper that one came to expect from accomplished singers of the petticoat line. But Angelica’s singing was not unpleasant. Instead her voice was rich, full bodied, and robust, like the finest burgundy.

The song was not the typical vapid nonsense smiled upon by society, but rather a song of a passionate woman, enraged and despairing of being seen for who she was. The piece was unlike anything he’d ever heard. She delivered the emotional dialogue of the lyrics with the drama one would usually find on Drury Lane, not in a modest music room.

When the song ended, Angelica turned from the instrument and fixed him with that challenging stare he had grown to love. Her chin lifted another fraction. “Did you enjoy the song, Your Grace?”

Ian cast an amused glance at Lady Margaret, who was fumbling for her smelling salts. He stood up, clapping heartily. “Bravo! That was the most captivating performance I have heard in ages.”

Angelica’s onyx eyes narrowed in fury. Apparently she’d expected him to be scandalized. “Would you like to hear another?”

“By all means, Miss Winthrop,” he said with a satisfied smile.

“Perhaps Your Grace would like to hear some Beethoven instead?” Jacob asked, casting worried looks at his wife’s pale face.

“I would love to play a Beethoven piece, Papa,” she replied, ignoring Ian.

Ian sighed, expecting to hear the “Moonlight Sonata” or something else he’d heard dozens of times, but he was shocked when Angelica plunged into Beethoven’s Appassionata. His surprise was not because the sonata was one of the most emotional and complex pieces ever to reach his ears, but because he doubted a slip of a girl could produce the intricate melodies through the work’s entire twenty-five minutes. Only concert pianists attempted this piece. Perhaps she meant to fail at the endeavor to deter him.

She played the sonata perfectly and with such a jaunty flair that he couldn’t keep an admiring chuckle from escaping. Margaret and Jacob’s eyes nearly bulged out of their heads. From the stunned expressions on her parents’ faces, Ian presumed they had never heard her perform this one. It seemed he would be wedding an incredibly talented woman.

***

Angelica wanted to scream in fury at the thunderous applause that the duke and her parents heaped upon her. A gentleman is always displeased when a lady shows herself to be more intelligent or talented than he is. Angelica noted the naked admiration in Burnrath’s eyes. Apparently Mother’s commandments were wrong yet again. In fact, everything she did to try to make him dislike her seemed to accomplish just the opposite.

She didn’t know how much longer she could withstand those lazy smiles he bestowed on her that made her heart turn over in her chest. Or pretend indifference to his kisses that left her feeling breathless. If his seduction continued, she would throw her freedom to the wind before long and joyfully become his duchess.

“Where would you like me to escort you tomorrow?” Burnrath asked as they strolled through the garden.

Angelica suppressed a tremor of anticipation for his impending kisses. Instead, she forced her attention on a wicked idea that niggled at her mind. Last week, she’d enjoyed seeing the opera and being swept under the music’s spell. And though she could tell he didn’t completely enjoy some of the balls he had escorted her to, the duke didn’t appear to despise them. There had to be something she could make him do that he would hate.

“Tomorrow is Wednesday. Could we go to Almack’s?” she asked, trying to imbue her tone with innocent enthusiasm.

Unless they were desperate for a young bride, the older, more urbane set would rather die than step into that dull establishment with its tepid tea, paltry gambling stakes, and carnivorous matchmaking mamas.

Burnrath raised his eyes heavenward as he tried—and failed—to mask his look of dismay. “Very well. If that is what you wish. I will pick you up at nine o’clock.”

She almost laughed at his ire, until she realized that she’d be punishing herself along with him. She hated Almack’s. The “fashionable” assembly hall had to be the stiffest, blandest, and most repressive place in the world. But, going there would be worth it to deter his suit.

She kicked a pebble on the ground and changed the subject. “How old are you?”

He gave her an odd look, almost as if the question embarrassed him. “Are you certain you wish to know?”

“Of course.” Angelica frowned in confusion at his reluctance. She knew he was older than she was, but he couldn’t be much more than thirty.

Avoiding her gaze, the duke replied, “I just had my two hundred and seventy-sixth birthday a few months back.”

All the breath fled from her body. He was two hundred and seventy-six years old? “H-how long do vampires usually live?”

He sat on the stone bench by the lilac bush and sighed. “We live for centuries. In fact, rumor has it that the oldest of us has been around since before Christ was born. Is this to be an interrogation?” He looked up at her sharply.

Angelica was reeling from the information, so she almost didn’t notice the flicker of warmth in his eyes when she sat down next to him. “No—yes… perhaps. I am merely curious.”

His gaze softened as he nodded. “Well, I suppose you have the right to know. Ask your questions about me and my brethren, and I’ll answer what I can.”

“How many vampires are there?” She couldn’t hide her rapt fascination.

Burnrath shrugged. “In the world? I haven’t the faintest notion. In London there are one hundred and thirty-five.”

Angelica’s eyes widened at the exact tally. “Do you know all of them?”

“Of course I do. I am their lord.” He smiled down at her, displaying that charming dimple. “I am afraid that you are in more illustrious company than you first supposed. In the mortal world, I am merely the Duke of Burnrath and the owner of four estates. In the vampire world, I own all of London. Every vampire who lives in this city has sworn fealty to me.”

She was stunned silent by his words. The idea that vampires had their own social structure and politics had never crossed her mind. She had always pictured them as solitary creatures, skulking in the shadows. Her mind raced with multitudes of questions that she couldn’t quite put into words. His eyes seemed to glitter with impatience, so she quickly fumbled for another question.

“How did you become a vampire?” She turned away from his piercing gaze and bent to pluck a blade of new grass from the ground.

He was silent for a long moment before at last he replied, “I was a knight in King Henry’s army, and I fell on the field during what is now known as the Battle of Ancrum Moor in the year 1545, during the ‘rough wooing.’ Do you know much about it?”

“That was back when Henry the Eighth was attacking Scotland in an effort to force them to make an alliance with England.” Angelica sneered. “What a tyrant! I am glad the Scots won.”

The duke chuckled. “Careful, my sweet, you come close to speaking treason.”

She blushed as she realized that he had been fighting on Henry’s side. “I did not mean—”

“You are right, Angel,” he said, still laughing. “He was a tyrant, indeed. Anyway, my horse was hit with an arrow, and I was thrown and knocked unconscious. When I awoke, night had fallen, and a lone Scotsman approached me. I thought he was a soldier until I saw his glowing green eyes and bared fangs. In a trice, he was upon me, tearing my throat with his fangs and gulping my blood. I would have died if another vampire had not stopped him.”

The duke took a deep breath and continued. “The Scots vampire fled and my rescuer Changed me. He taught me what I needed to know about being a vampire. He then told me to return to my home and live among the mortals. King Henry thought that I had been taken prisoner and escaped. He was so impressed with my ‘bravery’ that he made me the Duke of Burnrath the moment I finished my lie. I became Lord of London only fifty years ago. So, there you have it.”

“That is amazing,” Angelica breathed. He painted such a vivid picture that she could easily see the knights in gleaming helms, blood-drenched battlefields, and mighty warhorses. “I only have one more question. Well, perhaps two.”

Burnrath chuckled at her temerity before giving her a patient smile. “Very well, I will try to indulge you.”

“Do you kill people?” She swallowed, nearly choking on the question. A trickle of fear dripped down her spine. Vampire kills in stories were tantalizing, but this was reality. Would he have killed her if he hadn’t discovered her identity the night she snuck into his home?

His hair brushed her cheek as he shook his head. “No, there is too much blood in a human’s body to consume in one sitting. Also, killing is forbidden under most circumstances, for dead bodies drained of blood would put us in jeopardy of discovery. And your other question?”

Angelica let out breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Do you drink only blood? Or can you eat food as well?”

“We cannot digest solid food very well any longer, but many of us miss the taste of our favorite dishes and indulge in a few bites. I still enjoy meat pasties and fine brandy.” His white teeth flashed as he grinned.

The quaint image brought a giggle to her lips. “You are not really an animated corpse, are you?”

Burnrath laughed. “No, our condition is more like a sickness in the blood that we can pass on to others. Our legends say it is magic spread from the first vampires, who were demons cast out of hell because they weren’t evil enough to suit his dark majesty.” His gaze turned serious as he leaned closer and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I assure you I am quite alive, my sweet.”

She wanted to ask more, but Liza poked her head out the door. “I was told to look in on you, miss.”

“We will be in after I kiss her good night.” The duke’s rakish smile had the maid simpering.

Angelica smiled in reluctant admiration of his seemingly limitless charm. Perhaps vampires were magic.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Liza bobbed a curtsy and left them alone.

Angelica’s breath caught as the vampire took her into his arms, ready to be overcome with his passion. Instead, his lips brushed whisper-soft against hers for a tortuously brief moment. Then he released her and stepped back.

“Good night, Angel,” he whispered and tipped his hat before leaving her trembling with longings she didn’t understand.

Angelica bit back a moan of frustration. She would have to steel all of her will and senses to resist him, and when she escaped this engagement, it would not be a moment too soon.