My Lady Vampire - Book Three (8 page)

Katherine smiled. “I’m Kitty Edgeworth.
Mrs
. Kitty Edgeworth.”

“And is there someplace we should notify Mr. Edgeworth that his wife is here, safe and sound?”

Kitty swallowed a sip of tea and composed her words carefully. “There is no Mr. Edgeworth anymore. I’m a widow. My…husband was killed several years ago. Recently I was companion to Mrs. Byerly, the lady who unfortunately lost her life in the accident.”

Tears filled Katherine’s eyes as she remembered Jessie--so flighty, so silly and yet such
fun
. She would have lasted all of a month at Byerly Grange, Katherine knew that. Had they not fled, she’d be alive.

Had they not fled, Katherine would be once again alone. Or worse.

She gulped down the tea, thankful for the heat that warmed a chill around her heart. “I’m sorry. I seem to be very emotional.” She passed the empty teacup back to the woman with a grateful smile.

Mrs. Tooting stretched out a comforting hand and brushed Katherine’s flyaway hair off her forehead. “You just rest now and get well. Nothing else to worry about for the time being.” The woman looked a little self-conscious. “Sir Sidney had me put a couple of drops of laudanum in your tea. He wants you to sleep as much as possible right now. The best thing for you, he says…”

Katherine nodded sleepily. She’d heard as much from others, but never realized how strong the drug’s effects might be when taken on an empty stomach.

She half-smiled as she slid lower in the bed. “I think I can obey that instruction, Mrs. Tooting.” A yawn creased her face. “Without any difficulty at all…”

“That’s good, dearie. Very good. Time enough to worry about all the other nonsense later.”

Katherine struggled. “What nonsense?”

“All that red-headed curse nonsense. Tales for children, I’ve always said.”

The words meant nothing to Katherine. She was sliding into the shadows of unconsciousness too quickly to retain more than a fleeting impression of some silliness about her hair…

She never heard the clatter of teacups or the removal of her tray. She was asleep before Mrs. Tooting left the room.

- - - -

As the rain settled down over Southern England, getting comfortable and ready for one of those long stays that drove everybody slightly crazy after a few days, St. Chesswell fell silent.

As was their routine, the servants worked quietly around the house, since their master and his son had this odd habit of being up all hours of the night like bats. It was a mixed blessing, since they could do what needed to be done during the day, and were seldom required to be awake at night with the Master, but even so, it was thought by many--
eccentric
.

However, nobody complained. The wages were fair, Sir Sidney was held to be a good employer, and St. Chesswell’s had been around so long it was considered quite a coup to be numbered amongst its household. It did wonders for one’s prestige at the pub.

Sidney himself was contentedly snoring amongst his pillows, a book lying half open across his knees. He muttered a little in his sleep, his brain still attempting to solve various puzzles and follow its own train of thought even at this time of rest.

Further down the corridor, in the darkest suite of St. Chesswell, a man lay still on his bed, nary a rise and fall of his chest betraying his presence.

Adrian, too, was sleeping.

But, unlike his father, Adrian was dreaming.

Early in their association, Sidney had warned Adrian that his dreams were probably not going to go away. That whatever had precipitated Adrian’s “condition”--a word they used in preference to his “death”--had manifested itself within Adrian’s subconscious mind as well as his body.

That his state of near-death had heightened his psychic facilities, forged an odd bond between him and his “maker”, and would create dreams real enough to make ordinary men scream and break out in a sweat.

Since Sidney had begun dosing him with the herbs and concoctions from his laboratory, Adrian had known his diagnosis was correct.

His body might be getting better, but his dreams were getting stronger. Almost as if the symptoms and habits he was working to cure while awake found a new outlet in his mind while he was asleep.

Several times he’d awoken to the last fingers of daylight, fangs loosened and ready, hungry to savage and feed on some unsuspecting dream prey. It had all receded as his mind surfaced to reality, but for a while the dream had been all the reality he could handle.

Occasionally, Thérèse visited him, and these were the hardest times of all. In more ways than one.

She knew how to tantalize, to tease, to arouse his hunger and his sexual desire and how to take both to fever pitch, leaving both unfulfilled. Her tongue felt like an insubstantial wraith as it swirled around his cock--yet swirl it did, leaving heat and moisture in its wake.

He would have to watch as she fucked--or was fucked--her sexual ingenuity seemingly endless, and her enjoyment of his discomfort evident. She would take him to the edge, over and over, only to leave him there, hanging. Literally.

Thanks to Sidney’s medications, Adrian could now masturbate his anguish away, exploding into his sheets with violence in a frenzy of unfulfilled lust. It was his only release from Thérèse’s nocturnal torture.

And although it eased his balls and softened his cock, it left his hunger unsated.

Almost
all
his dreams aroused his hunger but left it unsated. He could experience all the pains and pleasures of sexual desire, but
never
did he feed in his dreams.

He wanted to, but couldn’t, wouldn’t--didn’t. His fangs would emerge, his guts would harden in readiness, but somehow something would distract him, pull him from the fantasy before he could feed.

It would send his hand to his cock once more, seeking the insubstantial release that would give him a measure of comfort, of relief.

Adrian Chesswell couldn’t really decide if sleeping was a good thing for him or not. Whether his dream world was hell or heaven or something in between. And there were times when he wondered if
that
was his true reality--if his life as the newly-found son of Sir Sidney was the dream, and his existence in the dark and shadowed half-world of unfulfilled desire was actually his destiny for eternity.

It was confusing, to say the least, and gave him much food for thought. Usually he was clear-headed enough to work things through for himself, but since his momentous visit to Kitty Edgeworth, Adrian’s brain had been notably unclear.

As unclear as his cock was hard.

He’d developed one serious case of lust for this appealing woman, and she was uppermost in his thoughts as he slid from wakefulness into the little death that routinely claimed him each sunrise.

He wondered, just for a fleeting moment before sleep took his brain away, just how strong his psychic powers were.

Both he
and
Kitty were about to find out.

- - - -

She was nearly nude, the heat of the fire behind her sending warm caresses over her buttocks through the filmy silk. Her nipples hardened to taut peaks of their own accord, a response to the delightful feel of the flames as they crackled and danced in the fireplace.

She rested a hand on the mantel, waiting.

He would come to her, she knew. Striding towards her, his body dappled by firelight and glistening with the moisture from the rain outside.

He loved to ride in just his breeches, to sit astride and let the kiss of the night and movement of his horse begin his arousal. By the time he came to her he was already hard, smelling a little of the outdoors and horse and man--a fragrance that never failed to start the honeyed juices flowing between her thighs. Sometimes he’d bathe first, and there would be lingering traces of sandalwood mixed in with his unique scent.

She didn’t care. She just knew he’d come to claim her once more.

And once again she’d try to refuse him, to play their game to its inevitable conclusion. It was what they both enjoyed, this denial, this mock-war between them that heightened their passions and their desires.

The line between raw need and hatred was a thin one. For them it was occasionally non-existent, and yet the anger made the loving all the sweeter.

All these thoughts swept through her mind on a hot wind as she stood waiting. Why this should seem so familiar, she knew not. Only that it was. That
he
was. That this was meant to be.

His hands would reach for her, roughly taking what he needed and what she would not offer. His eyes would burn, searing her as she allowed herself to plummet into their depths.

His cock would be cool, hard--a ridged instrument that would seek out her heat and plunge deep, more deeply than anyone ever had--or ever could again.

All these thoughts ran through her mind as she waited, shifting a little to accommodate the liquids dampening the soft skin inside her thighs.

Her pussy throbbed, tingling at the mere thought of what was to come.

It was a rare delight, this thrill of arousal. She, Katherine Edgeworth, was waiting to be fucked. Eagerly anticipating the harshly wonderful mating act that would spread her thighs wide and welcome the intrusion of a hard and demanding cock into her body.

Would he dominate her tonight? Or would she force him down and straddle him, holding his wrists apart with every ounce of strength she possessed while she rode him?

A brief flash of incredulity rocked her. What the
hell
was going on? Was this a dream? A nightmare?

Then she heard his footsteps and forgot to breathe.

Chapter Eight

Adrian’s dream began as so many others had begun--with an erection. He tried to ignore it, but this time it refused to obey. He walked across a darkened room feeling it lying solidly against his leg, a weight that needed to find a home, a resting place. A weight that led him to the figure standing silhouetted by the firelight.

He expected to find Thérèse waiting for him. His gut curdled at the thought of what she would put him through on this night. Of how she would tease and torture him, always denying him that which he desired the most.

His step faltered as he took a good look at the woman standing proudly in front of him.

It wasn’t Thérèse. It was Kitty Edgeworth.

His cat was waiting to scratch him, to purr for him and to rub herself all over him. He couldn’t decide which he’d enjoy more.

Her chin rose in defiance as he closed the distance between them, already scenting the arousal he knew was blooming at the juncture of her thighs. Her eyes were shadows in the pale oval of her face, but he knew they’d be shining blue with excitement, her pupils dilated as her body readied itself for his possession.

He stopped short. “Come here.”

She lifted her nose. “No. I come at no man’s command.”

“You will come at mine.” His lips curved at the double-entendre.

“Only if I choose to.”

Once again she defied him, tilting her head to stare at him, unafraid of the consequences. And yet her body betrayed her. Hard nipples pushed through the flimsy gown, a pulse beat alluringly at the base of her neck and Adrian could hear her heart thundering within her breast.

She wanted him. As much, if not more, than he wanted her.

It was this mutual fire that would consume them both.

He waved a hand and their clothes melted away to vapor. There was nothing between his gaze and her flesh, and for his part he knew her eyes were drinking in the sight of his cock as it jutted rigidly from its nest of dark hair.

His balls hardened at the thought and as if in answer she reached for him, grasping him firmly in the way he liked so much.

“You come here. To me.” She tugged.

He followed, a willing prisoner of her grasp, stopping just as her breasts grazed his chest. He rubbed himself into her, bringing a sigh of pleasure to her throat. “Hello little cat.”

Her fingers tightened a little around his cock, and he leaned forwards, running his tongue along the muscle of her neck.  “Mmm.” It was a definite purr.

“Open your legs for me.” He pushed against her, rocking her as she stood and forcing her nearer to the fire.

She shook her head.

“Me or the flames, my Kat. Do as I say or you’ll burn more than you expect.” He nipped her shoulder, quickly licking at the little hurt.

She parted her thighs, widening her stance, but refusing to let go of his cock. “Is this what you want?” Her tone was challenging, saucily teasing him as her pussy thrust toward him on a sway of her hips.

He groaned and reached for her, cupping her swollen flesh, flicking his way through the wet folds to her little pearl of pleasure and finally plunging two fingers deep inside her, making her gasp.

“Yes.
This
is what I want. This is
mine
.”

Her hand released him and she clung to his shoulders, rocking herself on his intrusion, pressing forwards now, urgently seeking his touch all over her body. “Yes. It’s yours. Take it. Take
me
. Fuck me, Adrian Chesswell. I want your cock in me. I want to come with you inside me. I want to boil around you, squeeze your balls dry. Suck all you have and more from you.” She hissed the words through lips squeezed tight with desire. “Fuck me, damn you. Just
fuck
me.”

Adrian’s brain fused into a lump of hunger, and his body followed suit. Hard enough to crack wood, his cock wept tears of anticipation, eager to bury itself in between those soft thighs, to find the darkness that awaited it with a bath of hot juices.

He seized her, lifting her off her feet and lowering her to the rug. He was on top of her before she’d had chance to breathe. Without fanfare he pushed her knees apart, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders and positioning the head of his cock between her pussy lips, letting her honey bathe him and mingle with his own drops of need.