His Ruthless Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 4) (12 page)

“Miss Graves,” Gavin bowed. “You look enchanting this evening. Would you do the honor of partnering me in the waltz?”

She curtsied and took his hand, still fighting off the sense that she was dreaming. Gavin had played the role of a smitten suitor so convincingly that Lenore constantly had to remind herself that his romantic words and gestures were a ruse. And even then the only thing that kept her from falling under his spell was the image of poor Myrtle being hauled off to a dungeon, pleading for mercy beneath her lord’s cold eyes.

Lenore wanted to ask him what had become of the blonde vampire, but couldn’t muster the courage. Elena had assured her that Myrtle hadn’t been killed, but other than that, there was no information. The thought of the poor vampire being locked away made Lenore shudder, even if Gavin was only adhering to the law.

And yet she couldn’t stop her pulse from rising at his mischievous smiles or heat spreading through her limbs when his lips touched hers in chaste kisses that surpassed her most fervent imaginings.

Now, as they turned on the dance floor in front of what felt like a hundred eyes, Lenore’s belly fluttered with exhilaration at the admiration in his dark gaze, the warmth of his hand on her waist, and the way they moved seamlessly together in the most romantic dance of the century.

The music stopped, breaking the enchantment. As Gavin escorted her back to Elena, he accepted two glasses of champagne from a passing footman and handed her one. “Would you care to take a turn through the garden with me? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was it time already? Feeling suddenly faint, she nodded. “Yes, my lord. That is if my dear cousin agrees to accompany us.”

“Of course, darling coz.” Elena rose and smoothed her skirts. “A bit of fresh air sounds like just the thing.”

Hundreds of eyes bored into Lenore’s back as they exited the French doors and walked to the garden. Naturally no less than ten other guests decided to take in the night air as well.

Perhaps she should be relieved that since their courtship was coming to the end, so would this incessant scrutiny. Yet though that would be a blessed relief, she couldn’t help but wish she could enjoy Gavin’s smiles, compliments, and gentle touches for a little longer. Some part of her even wished this was real. That he wanted her to be his wife because he loved her.

Don’t be foolish
, she scolded herself.
You cannot be a proper wife anyway. Not after what happened
.

Rage, fiery and black, welled through her in a sudden flood. If Clayton’s rogues hadn’t raped her, perhaps she could have had a chance at marital relations. Perhaps she might have even taken pleasure in it. Some women did. Elena definitely did. She’d told Lenore some tales that made her blush. Could Lenore have enjoyed sharing a man’s bed?

Closing her eyes, she tried to picture sharing a bed with Gavin, but her mind wouldn’t allow it. Instead she remembered him kissing her at the cathedral. The firm, yet soft feel of his lips against hers, the way he held her in his arms, much closer than when they’d danced.

And she’d liked it. If she enjoyed his kisses, then perhaps there was hope for more.

The thought excited and alarmed her all at once.

“Are you well, Lenore?” Gavin asked softly.

Her chest tightened at the warm note of concern in his voice. But was that false as well?

“Yes,” she lied. “A goose walked over my grave, that’s all.”

His dark eyes narrowed with skepticism before he shrugged and spoke in a much louder tone, a gift to those eavesdropping. “I will be leaving for London tonight. I would like to pay a call on your father, if you do not think me too presumptuous.”

Her father had been dead for years. Still, the image of the elegant, urbane Baron of Darkwood in the same room with the haggard chimney sweep made Lenore dizzy. Would Papa have approved? Doubtless he would be overjoyed that not only would there be one less mouth to feed, but perhaps better financial and social connections. He had been pragmatic, not one to care about something so frivolous as love.

Behind them, gasps and whispers erupted from the veranda. “He is going to propose!” Lady Haversham whispered loudly.

Rochester’s lips twitched in amusement as he pretended not to hear.

Lenore was so captivated with his smile that she nearly forgot his question. “Yes, my lord. And if you could deliver him a note, I would be forever grateful.”
Must keep up the pretense. Make everything look proper.

He bowed and kissed her hand so tenderly that she felt the heat of his lips through the satin of her gloves. “I would be honored. And upon my return, I would like to invite you to Darkwood Manor.”

She didn’t have to feign a blush as she fanned her cheeks despite the cool night air. Though she’d already been to the manor twice, there was something about this particular invitation that warmed her belly. It reminded her of a romantic novel.

“You honor me, my lord.” Her voice came out more breathless than expected.

His fingers continued to graze her knuckles, a forbidden caress. “Now that I’ve made my intentions clear, would you indulge me in a third dance?”

The fabled third dance. The one that was tantamount to announcing an engagement. Or ruin a maiden’s reputation. “Shouldn’t that wait until after…” she trailed off. “I mean, would it be proper?”

Those sin-black eyes danced with wickedness. “We could do with some impropriety.”

Her belly fluttered. This sort of impropriety she would welcome.

And when they danced that third dance, she didn’t even mind the flurry of gossip around her. All that mattered was the dreamy strains of the music and the feel of being in his arms. Every time she had to move to another partner, her soul protested. To her surprise, Lenore found herself anticipating the ride home in his carriage. Gavin had taken to holding her hand for the entire journey. Later, when certain no mortals were watching, he would return to Elena’s to show her more of the countryside and run and hunt. And before he brought her back to her mentor, he’d kiss her, whisper soft, yet oh so warm. There were no witnesses for those stolen kisses, so Lenore dared hope that he did it out of genuine affection for her.

Would he kiss her when she was his wife? Part of her hoped he would. She did so enjoy his kisses. However, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that a man, especially one as old and urbane as the Lord Vampire of Rochester would be content with only that.

It would only be a matter of time before he came to expect more.

But was Lenore capable of giving him more?

Justus laughed as his eyes scanned the
Medway Chronicle
. “So that explains Rochester’s overabundant attentions to the little waif. He danced three dances with her at the Chatterton ball.”

“So?” Charlie asked.

“So that means he intends to wed the chit,” he explained impatiently. “She’s his candidate for his half century of leg-shackling. I wonder why Elena was not his choice this time. Though she can be a bit shrewish, she is far more comely.”

His shoes clattered on the stone floor of the castle ruins as he paced the underground chamber and pondered the riddle. To be honest, the youngling was a very odd selection indeed. And why wed a youngling to begin with? Why import one from London? Rochester barely tolerated the true Lord of London and liked the interim one even less. Justus had met the scarred Spaniard when he’d served as the Duke of Burnrath’s second in command and had nearly had his head torn off when he’d speculated that perhaps the reason for Gavin’s dislike of Villar was because they shared a similar temperament.

What was so special about this Lenore?

As if reading his mind, Rolfe spoke. “She would be an odd choice for a mortal baron, if the talk I’ve heard is to be believed. To them, she’s Elena’s poor relation. The daughter of a mere clerk. Some of the more malicious ones claim to detect a trace of Cockney in her accent. They say it’s a love match.” He rolled his eyes.

Love?
The word filled Justus’s eyes in a haze of red. Rochester was the last man alive to deserve love. Not after what he’d done.

Bethany…
he almost whispered, but the name caught in his throat, receding to the aching pit where his heart used to be.

Justs still didn’t know the manner in which he would orchestrate Rochester’s downfall, but he did know one thing.

Somehow Rochester’s bride would be the key.

***

Cornwall

Gavin looked out at the ocean waves crashing along the cliffs of the Cornish coast. “What a fantastic place you have here.”
And what a nuisance that you insisted I come all the way here before giving me a straight yes or no as to my request.

Vincent Tremayne, Earl of Deveril and Lord Vampire of Cornwall, stood beside him and nodded. “It will always be my home.” He swiped his windblown silvery gold hair from his eyes. “However, managing such a large territory can be a trial, with my people being so spread out.”

Gavin chuckled. “Not to mention your penchant for taking in misfits and miscreants.” For a vampire so tall and so quick with a sword, Vincent was certainly soft at times.

The vampire shrugged. “Someone has to.”

“Or we could just do away with the lot,” Gavin suggested. Truly, Vincent’s mercifulness could cause his own downfall one day.

Vincent frowned. “I’m beginning to understand why the moniker, ‘Ruthless Rochester’ was hung upon you.” His eyes narrowed with derision. “Is it true that you’ve executed over two dozen vampires in your lifetime?”

“Actually, only twenty three, and most of those were rogues,” Gavin answered, ignoring a twinge of distaste at the number of lives he’d taken… and anger at the judgment in Vincent’s voice. “But I’ve also been merciful and exiled ten.”

“Which only creates more rogues,” Vincent replied in an indecipherable tone. “Didn’t you exile your own second in command recently?”

Gavin bit back a growl as the old sadness and impotent frustration returned. “He told a
human
our secrets. By law I should have killed him, but due to his long years of loyalty, I spared his life.” Desperate to change the subject, he fixed the Lord of Cornwall with a piercing stare. “You escaped a potential death sentence for Changing a mortal without sanction. I hear you were only fined. So I’d think you’d have some appreciation for my judgment.”

“Lydia would have died if I hadn’t Changed her,” Vincent’s features twisted with clear remembrance and pain. “And I was not disapproving of your act of mercy, I was only commenting on the fact that you’ve created rogues of your own.” He sighed. “I wish there was some solution to the problem. We banish them, and they only run to cause trouble for someone else… until they’re chased off or killed.”

“I hear you
only
chase them off,” Gavin countered, “Which keeps them alive to cause more mischief.” He wondered if he should tell Vincent about the band of rogues now sniffing along his lands, but held back. Cornwall was too far away for him to be of any aid.

Vincent turned back to gaze at the sea. The moonlit rolling waves reflected in his blue-gray eyes. “Sometimes, if I do not take them in and make them legitimate citizens and thus keep them from causing further trouble.”

Those words made Gavin pause. “You haven’t taken in a red-haired rogue within the last eight years, have you?” If Justus was here, not only would he be safe, that would also mean he was not part of the band of rogues wandering his lands.

Vincent shook his head. “I would inform you immediately if I had.”

“And what would you do with him?” Gavin dared to ask.

“I would hear his side of the story. According to the crimes you’d reported, I would most likely take him in.” The Lord of Cornwall’s eyes narrowed with censure.

After fighting a pang of guilt, Gavin concealed his relief that there was hope for his old friend to find redemption. “One would think filling your kingdom with disreputable miscreants would be unwise.”

“Careful, Rochester,” Vincent said. “Have you forgotten that you’ve come for aid from two of my ‘miscreants’?”

“Not at all,” Gavin answered with a wry smile, warming to the reminder of his mission here. “I did not say that I wouldn’t benefit from your foolish penchant for softness.”

But the Lord of Cornwall wasn’t finished. “And have you forgotten that you’ve taken an orphan vampire yourself?” His lips twisted in a condescending frown. “I must say, I do not at all approve.”

Gavin bristled. Why did so many of the other Lord Vampires think it was their place to judge him? “Not that your opinion on how I rule my own lands matters in the slightest, I am curious as to your objection. I have been nothing but kind to Miss Graves. I am elevating her position to one of a great lady. Hell, I am here to order her a passel of the finest gowns and fripperies.”

“You’re going to wed her,” Vincent crossed his arms and gave him and accusing stare. “Knowing very well what happened to her. I do not know what possessed Lord Villar to agree to such a thing. If Ian had been there—”

“Ian never took notice of Lenore.” Gavin retorted, irritation welling up within him. “To him, she was nothing but a nameless lowly orphan vampire, regaled to sleep in the crypts. She was also beneath Lord Villar’s eyes until she saved him from the wrath of the Elders. And though he has rewarded her for her valiant deed, I do not think it was enough, which is part of why I requested her as my price for my aid in stopping Clayton’s rebellion. Which Villar could not refuse, first on the account that he gave his word that I could ask for anything aside from his lands or his bride, secondly, he would not want to risk a war with me.”