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

“Yes, my lord.” Her cockney accent vanished, though her voice still held a tremor. Gavin wondered who’d taught her to speak like a Lady in the first place. Elena would be able to help her polish up her graces.

“Please, call me Gavin.” He bowed and extended his arm.

Pink tinged her pale cheeks like a wallflower at a ball. “Yes… Gavin,” she said in a breathy whisper that made a shiver run all the way down to his toes.

He took her arm to escort her back to the receiving room and she flinched again. Damn those rogues. Still Gavin did not release her, though he stroked her sleeve in gentle, soothing circles. She needed to learn to trust him.

Lord Villar and his wife rose from their seats the moment Gavin and Lenore returned, gazes roving over their former charge like protective mother hens. Gavin resisted the urge to growl at them and carry Lenore off away from their accusing eyes.

“Well, Lenore,” Rafe said, though his blazing amber gaze remained fixed on Gavin. “What have you decided?”

Lenore met her former lord’s gaze, face now crimson. “I have agreed to marry Rochester… ah, Lord Darkwood— in
name
only.” She stressed the last.

“And he did not coerce you?” the Lord of London asked sharply.

Lenore shook her head vigorously. “No. He needs a bride to avoid undue gossip from the villagers. And I will have the opportunity to start a new life where no one knows about…” She looked down at her feet. “My past.”

Rafael scowled, but Cassandra nodded in comprehension. She flicked a glance at Gavin and her emerald gaze softened. “May I look in on her from time to time? She is my patient, after all.”

“You may attend the wedding, but other than that, no.”

Cassandra frowned. “Why not?”

“I cannot have another Lord Vampire or his consort traipsing onto my territory with such frequency.” Besides, something about the hot-tempered Spaniard irritated Gavin, no matter the fact that he held a grudging respect for him.

Rafael nodded in reluctant understanding. If a Lord Vampire was making constant visits to another’s territory, others would speculate that the two were planning some sort of illegal coup… or worse, that a vampire was too weak to hold his territory and needed the assistance of another. Gavin would die before he allowed that misconception to flower.

Lady Villar gave Gavin a pointed look. “But if we leave Lenore here alone under your roof, surely that will cause the very gossip you are trying to avoid.”

“She will not reside here until we are wed. I will take her to stay with another of my vampires who will pose as Miss Graves’s cousin and educate her in her duties as my Baroness before I arrange for us to meet and begin our courtship.” Gavin waved an impatient hand. “All preparations have been made.”

Rafael inclined his head in a curt nod. “Very well, we shall take our leave then.” Lady Villar took his arm and together, they strode over to Lenore.

Gavin stepped back and allowed them to say their farewells, fighting back his irritation as he overheard them reassure her that if she was unhappy, they would do their utmost to bring her back to London. Treating their bargain as if it were a frivolous thing.

Gavin ground his teeth. Lenore was
his
now. She would not be going back, not until she’d served the half century he asked of her.

And they were all going to have to become accustomed to that.

Five rogues stood downwind as they watched the interim Lord Vampire of London and his wife drive away in their carriage.

Rolfe, a rogue who’d been banished from Dartford for stealing money from his lord’s third in command, looked at their leader. “They left the youngling behind. I wonder why?”

Justus shook his head. “Perhaps the Spaniard has installed a spy in Rochester’s household.”

Will, the third rogue, frowned in confusion. “But Rochester aided the Lord of London in battle only months ago. Why would he want to spy on him?”

“I cannot fathom, though I know Rochester and Villar have long shared a misliking for each other.” Justus’s eyes narrowed against the dust of the departing carriage before turning back to glare at the manor. “If Villar is planning something against Rochester, he bloody well better wait.” He bared his fangs. “Damn it all, it is
our
turn for vengeance.”

It had been eight years since Rochester exiled him. Justus had been Gavin’s second in command, hell, his best friend. And now, thanks to Gavin’s heartlessness, he was nothing but a rogue, living on the fringes of towns and villages, always on the run and subject to scorn and violence from any vampire who encountered him.

Justus quickly learned that the only way to survive was to join up with other rogues. Before he knew it, he found himself the leader of a small band. At first their only focus was finding safe places to hunt and spend their day rest, but once the burning haze of pain and betrayal eased, anger at Gavin’s exiling him— and making the woman he loved vanish— gnawed like a cankerous sore.

Before long, Justus found himself resuming one of his old duties as Rochester’s second in command. Though now instead of spying
for
him, he spied
on
him.

One night soon he would find the key to ruin Rochester.

One night soon, Rochester would learn what it was like to be cast out, to be humiliated and to lose all he held dear. To suffer as Justus had suffered.

***

After Lord and Lady Villar departed, Lenore’s flesh tingled with awareness that she was alone with the Lord of Rochester. That soon he would be her husband. Even if the marriage was a farce, playing the part would surely result in more intimacy than she’d ever experienced.

He’d promised that the marriage would be in name only. Unbidden, his words whispered in her thoughts. “
Unless, you change your mind...”

As always, memories of her captors’ brutal assault battered her in a sickening deluge. But then, the flashback suddenly faded to a vision of lying in Rochester’s bed, the chains and stone walls that had imprisoned her now replaced with a downy mattress, fluffy pillows, and silken sheets. Instead of reliving painful, pinching fingers and slobbering mouths, she found herself imagining Gavin’s gentle hands on her upper arms when he’d held her earlier, the softness in his voice when he assured her he wouldn’t hurt her.

Then the rogues invaded her mind again. Those endless hours of torment and pain.

Her stomach roiled, her flesh went cold as if doused in ice water. Willing off another attack, Lenore forced her mind to other prospects of her impending nuptials. First she would be attending fancy country parties like the elegant debutante she’d daydreamed about being when she was a young girl. And just like those old fantasies, she’d be courted by a dark and dashing gentleman.

And then she would be a baroness, presiding over this opulent estate. Lenore closed her eyes and remembered playing with the dolls her mother had made out of discarded scraps of fabric, placing them around a broken barrel in the alley behind their flat, and presiding over them for tea. All she’d had for “tea” was one cracked cup that her father had found for her in a rubbish pile, but she’d treasured it all the same.

Oh, how Lenore had longed to be one of those grand ladies that she’d sold matches to in Covent Garden. She’d long admired their sweet smells, their vibrant gowns and elegant hats, their soft, dulcet voices that sounded like angels.

At first her mother had been perplexed when Lenore had tried to imitate the upper classes, but when she noticed that her young daughter had an aptitude for it, she pressed upon her husband, who had been the youngest son of a vicar, to teach Lenore to read.

Sometimes, her great aunt, a governess, would come visit and expand her lessons. Sometimes she’d even brought her a book.

It wasn’t until Lenore turned twelve that she learned she’d never be able to become a lady. Her mother had encouraged her because she’d thought Lenore could seek employment as a Lady’s maid. When she’d recovered from her dismay, Lenore had accepted that even that would be a vast improvement to her circumstances. And she would still get to live in a great house, dress hair, and handle fine silks and muslins. With a new, albeit more practical motivation, Lenore increased her efforts in improving her speech and mannerisms.

By the time she was sixteen, she could hide her cockney accent and had ramrod straight posture and perfected a curtsy fit for a drawing room. Alas, she could not style hair, for she was unable to secure pins, brushes, and irons. And she did not know how to dress a lady, for she did not know any to allow her to practice.

Alas, her efforts came to naught. All of the households she applied to wouldn’t even let her past the doors of the servant’s entrance, for she didn’t have any references.

Impotent frustration had welled in her being. How could she secure a reference if no one would give her an opportunity? The scorn of the housekeepers who’d impatiently listened to her application before turning her away had burned like acid. It was as if they could smell her inferiority.

Dejected, Lenore had leapt with muted joy when one finally offered her a situation as a scullery maid. Her parents had been so proud. Unfortunately, her employment did not last long and she then ended up in the same textile mill that ultimately claimed her mother’s life.

Lenore swallowed the lump in her throat and chased away the painful memories.

If someone had told that young dejected girl that she would become a baroness, she would have spit on the ground in derision at having her leg pulled.

And only God knew how she would have responded if she’d been told she’d become an immortal blood drinker.

A small noise that was part chuckle and part indelicate snort escaped her.

“May I be privy to the jest, Miss Graves?” Gavin’s deep voice rumbled behind her.

Heat infused her face. “‘Tis nothing, m’ lord.” She bit her lip as her studies came back to her.
My lord, not m’lord.
How many times had she slipped up on that crucial detail this night?

His brows drew together and he frowned a moment before his features smoothed. “Well, let me see you off to Elena’s.”

She took his proffered arm, relieved that she didn’t instinctively recoil this time. Already she’d grown to loathe the mingled look of pity in his gaze whenever she drew back from his touch. Just as much as she detested herself for her unreasonable response to such meager contact.

If Lenore was to gain anything from wedding Rochester, the very least she hoped for was an end to pitying glances.

Gavin donned a surprisingly shabby coat from a rack in the foyer and then led her out of the servants’ entrance to a plain carriage. When they passed the other carriage, lacquered and sporting the Darkwood crest, Lenore glanced down at Rochester’s rough spun coat in comprehension.

To protect her reputation, his carriage could not be seen driving her anywhere before they began their courtship. So he was disguising himself as a hackney driver. She’d pretended to be a Lady and now he was pretending to be a commoner. The juxtaposition brought forth another irrepressible chuckle.

Rochester halted and glanced down at her with overwhelming intensity. “Please let me in on the jest.”

Lenore managed a tremulous smile. “I don’t yet have the words, my lord, but I vow I will confide in you when I find them.”

A potent, inscrutable look filled his black eyes as he looked down at her. “I know this must be overwhelming for you, but I promise, everything will be better once we endure this bothersome courtship. And please, call me Gavin.”

For some reason the fact that he assumed her amusement came from nerves made her bite back full blown laughter. The irrational mirth sobered her. Perhaps he was right.

“You’ll find that things are not too different than they were for you in London. All the rules are the same. Do you remember the rules?”

Lenore recited them with a nod. “No Marking or Changing a mortal without permission. No Changing children, ever. No leaving your lord’s territory without a writ of passage. No killing mortals, or exposing them to our secrets. No feeding on other vampires without consent. No theft. And,” her eyes narrowed in fury. “No rape… mortals
or
vampires.” She nearly spat the last.

His dark gaze softened and his knuckles brushed her cheek. “Very good, Lenore.”

As Rochester assisted her into the carriage, Lenore saw that someone had already loaded her trunk and valise onto the conveyance. The sight proved that not only had he planned out this endeavor with meticulous detail, he also would have never allowed her to refuse his proposal.

She suppressed a shiver.

Rochester climbed up on the driver’s perch and flicked the reins. A weight settled in Lenore’s chest as she grasped the carriage strap, alone in its dark confines. Surely she wasn’t disappointed that His Lordship was not in here with her?

In what felt like mere minutes later, the carriage rolled to a halt in front of a cottage that was more like a small manor. Rochester—
Gavin
, she corrected herself— took her hand and helped her alight. His grip was strong and warm through the thin fabric of her gloves.