Bite Me, Your Grace

Fourteen


Ian called upon the Winthrops the very evening that Angelica and her mother returned from Pendlebur Park. He was surprised to discover just how much he had missed his bride-to-be. He was so busy trying to solve the mystery of the disappearance of one of his vampires that he shouldn’t have had time for such whimsical thoughts. Still, Angelica haunted his memory with her impish smile, gypsy eyes, and irreverent remarks.

“I have something to tell you, Your Grace,” Angelica said as soon as they were alone in the drawing room for their designated five minutes.

“Oh?” He tried to hide his amusement at her serious demeanor even as he wondered if it was possible for her to have grown even more beautiful in the short time she’d been away.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I wanted to let you to know that I agree to the match and I will marry you.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at her regal demeanor. “Well, I should certainly hope so as our engagement is a foregone conclusion. The contracts have already been drawn up.” Ian reached to touch her silken hair, unable to resist her.

Her eyes narrowed as she rose from her seat. “I would have you know, Your Grace, that it was not a ‘foregone conclusion.’ In fact, I was not going to marry you at all! I have been doing everything I can to avoid becoming leg-shackled to you and I was going to run away!”

His jaw clenched. Ian had hoped to dispel her feelings that he was a monster and apparently had failed far worse than he had ever anticipated.

“And just where were you planning to run to?” he asked icily, unwilling to acknowledge the pain in his heart.

Angelica did not flinch at his tone. Her skirts rustled as she paced the room. “I would have used the money I made from my stories to rent a flat somewhere in the city and support myself with short stories until I finished a novel. I heard that the lady who wrote Pride and Prejudice made one hundred forty pounds.”

“That would not be enough to buy your pretty gowns,” he mocked, his temper rising at her sheer ignorance and ingratitude.

“Gowns can go to the devil!” she retorted, cheeks growing pink in indignation. She looked down at her pale-blue satin opera gown as if offended by the shimmering elegance adorning her exquisite form. “Besides, they are not sensible garb for an author, I should say.”

The way Angelica glibly spoke of living in squalor and subjecting herself to the sordid dangers of London rather than being his duchess made him clench his fists. Did she really think he was a fate worse than death? Or was she truly that naive?

“What play are we going to see?” she asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

Ian did not intend to let her off that easily. Inspiration struck him. Oh, he would take her to a “play” for certain. A play that she would never forget.

“Something pitiful and tragic,” he said with an evil smile. It was high time his bride received a taste of reality. “I think you will be quite affected.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at his tone but she nodded in assent, ever displaying her indomitable courage. “I will get my cape.”

“Put on a sensible pair of boots as well.” Ian’s heart twisted with bitterness. He would show her a fate worse than death.

***

Angelica peeked at the duke, nervous about his cold demeanor. He was angry about something. His eyes seemed to shoot sparks, and his jaw was clenched so tightly she could see a nerve pulsing. She shivered. She felt like she was locked in a cage with a hungry wolf. Lifting the curtain, she peered out the carriage window.

“The theater district is in the opposite direction.” She couldn’t keep the alarm from creeping into her voice. “Where are you taking me?” Surely he wasn’t going to bite her.

He smiled, but his eyes held no warmth. “I want to show you something.”

Within moments, a foul odor was creeping into the coach. Her nose wrinkled. “What is that awful stench?”

“Humanity.” The carriage stopped and the groom handed her down. The driver looked around at their squalid surroundings, his nostrils pinched in disapproval.

“Drive twice around the block, and keep your pistol out and at the ready,” Ian commanded before taking Angelica’s arm and leading her away from the carriage.

They were somewhere on the outskirts of the district of Soho. Angelica clung to his arm with one hand and pressed a handkerchief to her nose with the other. The reek of the place was unbearable. Her boots squelched sickeningly in the quagmire of mud and excrement that covered the rutted street.

Even at this late hour, the streets were filled with people. Scantily clad women with faces covered with rouge and sores beckoned to gentlemen from doorways to ramshackle buildings and crooked alleys. Some even lifted their skirts, calling out lewd invitations that she only half understood. Little boys ran barefoot with runny noses, trying to catch rats. There were even people lying in the gutters. Whether they were drunk, sleeping, or dead, Angelica couldn’t tell.

One of the bodies nearby suddenly sat up. “Spare me a coin ’er two, milady? Please, take pity on a dying man.” His grimy fingers clutched the hem of her dress, and she could smell his rancid breath through the handkerchief. His nose was a gaping hole of rotten flesh.

She reached into her reticule and tossed him a guinea, trying not to shriek in revulsion. Unbidden, her eyes strayed back to the doxies. From what she overheard from the servants, these women earned their living by satisfying men’s “baser desires,” whatever those were. The ones she observed looked pitiful and brittle. Angelica looked down at her fine clothes and shuddered.

I have been such a spoilt fool! Her stomach churned in self-disgust. Here I was, throwing a childish tantrum to escape marriage to a beautiful man… a beautiful titled man, no less, and a life of luxury and ease. And these half-starved women have to degrade themselves every evening just to stay alive.

“Tell, me Angelica,” Ian said coldly, leaning on a jeweled walking stick. “Is this squalor what you would prefer to being wed to a monster?”

“No!” she cried, choking on the word as she realized what he was doing. Oh God, I hurt him. He thinks I’m afraid of him. That’s what this is all about. “Ian, you are not a monster.” She walked closer, reaching for him to prove her point.

He closed his eyes, digesting her words. “Then why were you afraid to marry me, if not in fear of what I am?”

She clutched his coat sleeves and looked up at him, willing him to see the truth in her eyes. “I wasn’t afraid of what you are at all. Well, I was afraid because you are a man. I was terrified of losing my freedom.”

Doubt and confusion filled his gaze, but there was a glimmer of something else. Was it hope? “What do you mean?”

Angelica took a deep breath and explained. “My mother told me that a man would never countenance his wife writing gothic novels. I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear giving up writing, especially not to dedicate my life as an ornament for your arm and a ‘perfect’ hostess. Besides,” she added with narrowed eyes. “I’ve read The Sylph, so I know how miserable life as a duchess can truly be.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. She struggled not to drown in his glowing silver eyes. “What made you change your mind?”

She faltered, looking down at the slimy cobblestones beneath her feet. “Well, my family has convinced me that my duty is to marry, and our engagement is healing rifts between my grandfather and my mother and father. And, well… you are not really a fate worse than death.”

“Indeed?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Oh, yes. In fact, you are very handsome and…” She resisted the urge to place her hands against her burning cheeks. “Quite nice!”

The tender smile that she loved returned to his face. “Oh, Angel, truly, you will have more freedom with me than you had in your home. After all, a duchess may do as she pleases.”

“Even write?” she breathed, daring to hope.

He nodded, and caressed her cheek. “Even write.”

Pleasure curled through her, all the way down to her toes, until she saw a large rat skitter by, reminding her of something else. “In that case, Your Grace, may I request a wedding present?”

“Anything,” he said indulgently.

“May I have a cat?” Her lips curved as she voiced a long-denied wish. Her mother would never allow animals in her home.

“A cat?” He chuckled at the odd request. “Surely you would prefer a little lapdog like the other ladies?” He smiled and his voice turned teasing. “Or perhaps you would enjoy having a monkey like those that belong to the more eccentric matrons?”

“Certainly not,” she scoffed. “Dogs are useless and monkeys belong in the jungle. Your house has rats. The one that startled me so I tripped down your stairs was monstrous! Besides, Mother never let me have any pets, and I shall be quite lonely during the daytime when you are… asleep.”

“Very well, a feline it is, along with anything else your heart desires.” He took her arm, pulling her close. “Let us leave now. I am sorry I brought you here.”

“Oh, please do not be sorry!” Angelica protested, clinging to him. “I always knew that London had unsavory districts, but I hadn’t the slightest notion of how bad it could be. You have opened my eyes, Your Grace. I fear many others are unaware of the pitiful living conditions here. Perhaps I could write numerous articles on the subject. I believe I shall want to come back and gather more information about these sorts of sections of the city.”

“As long as you never venture here alone.” Ian’s voice was stern. “Such a foolish action would be extremely dangerous. Truly, I should never have brought you. I was not thinking clearly.”

Angelica hid a smile. It seemed he truly did care for her. “But what if I wear a disguise?” she teased.

“No disguises,” he countered roughly. “After all, they did not protect you from me.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered solemnly.

He reached up and stroked her hair. “Please, call me Ian.”

Her heart warmed at his soft tone. “Very well… Ian. May we go home now?” She shivered as the dampness of her gown seemed to seep into her bones.

Again, agonized guilt slashed across his features before he managed a light smile. “Of course, my Angel.”

Angelica sighed and leaned into him as they headed back in the direction of the carriage. Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones behind her, but she barely heard them. Suddenly Ian stopped.

“Polidori!” he growled, and thrust her away from him so roughly that she almost fell.

Shock roiled through her at the abrupt change in his mood. “Ian, what—”

He didn’t hear her. The duke was staring at a handsome Italian man who had stumbled into the square.

Could this be the Polidori, the one who wrote “The Vampyre”? She didn’t have time to ask, for Polidori’s dark eyes met Ian’s glowing gaze, then widened in terror as Ian bared his fangs. Polidori turned and fled, and Ian bolted in pursuit. His walking stick clattered to the ground, forgotten.

Angelica watched in stunned silence as the normally composed duke disappeared around the corner, running like a madman.

“Oh-ho, this be our lucky day!” a voice chortled, and she was seized from behind.

As she struggled against her captor, a scruffy man came out of the shadows. His toothless grin chilled Angelica to the bone. It was the same grin that graced little boys’ faces while they pulled the wings off butterflies. One quick glance at the empty street told her that the coach had not yet arrived. Not only that, but the square was now suddenly deserted, as if everyone were happy to leave her to her fate.

“Aye, I see the gov’ner has left his fancy piece for us.” The scruffy man’s filthy hand reached for her bodice.

The man who held her tugged her backward. “’Tis my turn first!” he growled.

His sour stench made her eyes water. She was not going to wait long enough to find out what these ruffians had in store for her. She raised her knee and kicked back and upward, her boot slamming into the man’s groin.

He released her immediately, his breath whistling out of him in a pitiful squeal. She rushed forward to freedom… and her skirts tangled around her boot. Angelica plummeted face-first into the filth on the street. An enormous ruby winked at her from the mud and her eyes widened at its incongruity before she noticed the length of polished wood to which the jewel was affixed.

“Methinks it’s my turn now,” the other man chuckled, approaching her and unfastening his grimy trousers. “I like it when they fight; ’tis exciting.”

Angelica’s hand closed around Ian’s walking stick, and she scrambled to her feet with a scream of fury tearing from her throat.

***

Ian’s hand closed around Polidori’s arm just as he heard Angelica scream. All thoughts of interrogating the writer ceased. What had he been thinking?

“Another time, Doctor,” he said, releasing the man.

Choking with guilt and terror, Ian ran back to the square where he had left his intended bride.

Ian sucked in a breath at the sight before him. One man was crumpled on the ground, blood dripping from a wound on the side of his head. Angelica fended the other off with Ian’s walking stick, oblivious to the mud dripping from her face and hair. Apparently she had not discovered that the walking stick concealed a blade, for she was merely bludgeoning her enemy with the length of wood. Admiration for her courage warred with guilt for putting her in danger. His protective instincts rose to a frenzied pitch and the scent of blood teased his nostrils. With a roar, he seized Angelica’s attacker and sank his fangs into his throat.

When Ian read the man’s intentions to rape his intended bride, he had felt the urge to kill for the first time in almost two centuries. He released his victim with a growl, realizing that she had been watching him the whole time. Angelica stared at him, wide-eyed but silent. She wiped the mud from her cheek, smearing it on her satin glove. Her body heaved from its exertion as she continued to clutch his walking stick.

“I am quite sorry you had to see that,” Ian said as he approached her, carefully watching her face for any expression of disgust. Again he cursed himself for putting her in danger.

“I am just happy those men did not…” She trailed off as Ian withdrew his handkerchief and wiped the rest of the mud from her face. “Did you kill him?”

He raised a brow at her casual tone. Would she ever cease to surprise him? “No. He is merely unconscious.” Ian neglected to tell her that with the amount of blood he had taken, coupled with the man’s poor health, the bastard wasn’t likely to survive the night. “Now come, my bloodthirsty wench. We should leave this place and fabricate a story for your mother’s benefit in regards to the dishevelment of your clothing and person.”

Once they were settled in the carriage, Angelica asked, “Was that really John Polidori, you were chasing?”

He sighed at her enthusiasm. She should be berating him for abandoning her. “Yes.”

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming in fascination. “Why were you chasing him?”

“He owes me some explanations for his writing.” Ian answered patiently, though he was growing exhausted with the subject.

She chewed her full lower lip. “I do hope you catch him next time. I would very much like to meet him. I think he is an excellent writer.”

Ian laughed. “I was afraid you might think so.”

Inside, he was seething with self-recrimination. His pursuit of Polidori had put Angelica in danger. Perhaps he should call off the search and leave the man alone. After all, now that he was to wed, his reputation should be saved. He paused, looking out the carriage window. On the other hand, Rosetta lived nearby. Once he saw his future duchess home safely, it couldn’t hurt to call on her and request that she try to catch Polidori.