His Ruthless Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 4) (6 page)

Lenore clearly never wanted to touch a male ever again. Which made his inclinations towards her all the more ludicrous.

Satisfied that Elena and Lenore had things well in hand, he departed to seek his own meal.

***

Justus watched Rochester leave from spying upon the new youngling and Elena. For a moment, he’d thought that Gavin had sensed him when he’d nearly stumbled upon him in the forest, but Rochester had passed by, oblivious to his presence.

And that was bloody unnerving. Although Justus was relieved to have not been caught, he was also perplexed as to why that little whey-faced youngling held Rochester’s attention so thoroughly.

He hadn’t kept her in his home, so she wasn’t intended to be a servant or a bedmate. Her being with a vampire as old and powerful as Elena implied that the youngling was an orphan in need of a mentor, but the fact that she had been delivered by the Lord of London himself convinced Justus that there was more to the situation— Especially with Rochester keeping such a close eye on her.

And he was damned if he knew what.

One Week Later

Lenore’s hands trembled as Elena buttoned the back of her gown. Tonight they were going to the Haversham ball, where she would “meet” the Baron of Darkwood and their courtship would begin.

“Stop shaking, little mouse,” Elena scolded, albeit not unkindly. “You’ve learned the dances expected of you, we’ve practiced polite conversation until we both drooped in boredom, and we have the start of your wardrobe. By the by, where did you learn such fine stitching for those alterations?”

Lenore laughed and ran a hand down her sleeve of her white satin ball gown that used to be Elena’s. “Aside from the benefit of my improved eyesight, compared to the clothing I made when I was young, this was much easier.” She turned around and faced the other vampire. “Having a sharp needle helped immensely as well.”

“Yes,” Elena stroked her chin, eyeing her with what looked like admiration rather than scorn. “You
would
have made your own clothing…” Her words broke off as she cocked her head to the side. “This must be quite a change for you.”

“Indeed,” Lenore drawled in her best impression of an aristocrat, warming to the understanding in the older vampire’s voice. “Even more of a change than becoming a vampire, to be truthful.”

They both laughed as Elena wrapped Lenore in a cashmere shawl that warmed her almost as much as the vampire’s kindness.

To Lenore’s everlasting relief, Elena did not turn out to be the merciless dragon she had first perceived her to be. Throughout their lessons, the vampire was exceedingly patient and tempered her sharp tongued criticisms with witty jests. She seemed to take untold delight and amusement in turning a factory worker from the London East End into a grand lady.

Lenore, on the other hand, had begun to wonder why she had wanted to be a lady in the first place. There were so many rules with countless caveats, and she was supposed to behave like an insipid twit until she was wed.

Her chest grew tight beneath her stays. “You have only been teaching me for a week. What if I give myself away?”

Elena shrugged. “As you are posing as my poor relation, a slip or two will be forgivable. And between the two of us, we can wipe their memories of any significant gaffes.” She adjusted Lenore’s coiffure threaded with a strand of seed pearls. “Though I must say that you will be thoroughly loathed by the end of the evening, no matter how much we’ve polished you.”

Lenore frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “Why?”

“Because you’re about to catch the most coveted bachelor in this borough.” Elena placed her hand over her breasts with melodramatic flourish. “That, and since the Season began, all who remain here are baronets, knights, squires, and untitled gentry who cannot afford to leave for the London Season just yet, or at all. That seems to make them all snobbish and mean-spirited to newcomers who are lower-ranking than themselves.” Elena smirked, showing a glimpse of her fangs. “Just remember, if anyone treats you too shabbily, you can always bite them.”

Lenore’s lips curved in a smile. When she’d been Changed into a vampire, all she’d cared about was that she was no longer dying from consumption, that she had escaped the factory, and would no longer starve. She’d seen feeding as a necessary evil, one that filled her with remorse. Yet she could not deny that Elena’s perspective of preying upon mortals who wouldn’t hesitate to prey on them… and even the concept of a spot of revenge for those who slighted her had its appeal.

All her maker had cared about was survival. And look where that had gotten her.

Lenore shivered. She hadn’t thought of Blanche in months. And all of London had already forgotten her shortly after Blanche had vanished during the Duke of Burthrath’s reign.

The sound of horse hooves reverberated outside, interrupting her reverie.

“Time to begin our act.” Elena fastened Lenore’s ivory velvet cloak with a pearl-encrusted clasp. “You look lovely, little mouse. A delectable debutante sure to have Lord Darkwood smitten.” She winked at her jest.

“And you look like Queen Titania stepped out from the pages of
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
,” Lenore murmured.
And a much more suitable bride for Lord Darkwood
, she added silently as she studied Elena’s elaborately curled sunset tresses, glittering peridot eyes, and elegant gown of sea green brocade embroidered with silver thread.

Elena gave her a warm smile. “With such endearing charm, I would not be surprised if you won the cold heart of the Lord of Rochester in truth.”

The thought made Lenore’s belly turn over. She didn’t know if Elena was jesting again or not, so she remained silent as Elena led her out to the waiting barouche. The coachman tipped his hat and assisted them into the plush vehicle, which was nearly as fancy as the Lord of London’s.

Elena now posed as a widowed viscountess, taking impish delight in being higher-ranked than Gavin in the human world. In truth, she had been a French courtesan in her mortal years. Lenore had blushed to hear Elena’s confession… and her cheeks heated further on all the questions dancing in her mind that she didn’t dare ask.

Haversham House resembled a Grecian palace more than a country manor, with its wide columns that may have been real marble, and the wide pitched roof. As Elena and Lenore joined the receiving line, she saw that the inside was just as opulent, with plush carpets, ornate statues, and crystal chandeliers illuminated with hundreds of candles.

“Lady Broussant and Miss Graves,” the butler boomed, tapping his cane on the polished floor.

As they removed their carriage boots and donned their dancing slippers, Lenore sucked in a breath as all eyes swiveled to land upon her and Elena. Fans flicked open and Lenore’s preternatural hearing caught their whispers.

“She’s the daughter of a banker, I’d heard.”

“Well, she’d better stay away from my Andrew. Nothing less than a Squire’s daughter shall do for him.”

“She is rather plain… though I suppose she has nice eyes and good posture.”

A woman chuckled. “I wager ten quid that she’ll be a wallflower for the duration of her stay.”

“I’ll take that wager,” another man whispered to his companion. “Lady Broussant is a merry dame. Surely her cousin will succumb to her gaiety.”

“Just as half the men here already have?” A woman replied archly. “Did you hear that she…”

The conversation drifted away from Lenore, their curiosity ebbed in favor of a more delicious source of speculation.

Elena’s lips curved in an amused smile as she introduced Lenore to Lord and Lady Haversham. It wasn’t difficult to play the shy, demure maiden as the hostess’s gaze dissected her like one of Lady Villar’s surgical implements.

Lenore curtsied as she was taught. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, My Lady.”

“I’m certain I’m delighted,” Lady Haversham said absently and moved on to the next group of guests.

Indifference was certainly preferable to disapproval, Lenore thought as Elena introduced her to those who had already greeted the hostess. Elena had warned her that introductions were made as quickly as possible so that the dancing could commence. In fact, they proceeded so quickly that the names and faces swirled in her mind in a chaotic soup.

And then she saw him. Her breath froze. Gavin Drake, Baron of Darkwood, Lord Vampire of Rochester… her soon to be husband. No matter how many times Lenore pondered the latter, she still could not fathom it.

Unbidden, her lips parted as she took in his powerful frame, emphasized by his black tailcoat, burgundy waistcoat, and charcoal knee-breeches. His long, dark curly hair was tied back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his cheekbones. His harsh black eyes surveyed the assembly with a look of practiced boredom. When Lord Darkwood’s gaze flicked across hers, a jolt of lightning seemed to pierce her heart.

Elena touched her elbow. “Don’t stare.”

Quickly, Lenore directed her gaze elsewhere, though it was hardly necessary as all eyes were on Darkwood. Aside from his wealth and rank, surely they had to sense the aura of raw power that emanated from him. Perhaps even some primal instinct recognized that he was like a wolf among a herd of deer.

Her neck strained with the effort to not turn in his direction. She fanned her heated cheeks as her ears picked up the deep timbre of his voice when he greeted the hostess. Even his words dripped with authority.

And then he was before them. “Lady Broussant,” he said with a bow, “It is a delight to see you once more. I heard your cousin is visiting.” His gaze once more roved over Lenore as he let his words hang in expectation.

Elena curtsied. “Miss Lenore Graves, allow me to present to you, Lord Gavin Drake, Baron of Darkwood. Lord Darkwood, allow me to introduce you to my dear cousin, Miss Lenore Graves.”

Gavin bowed deeply. “Miss Graves, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. How are you enjoying your stay in Rochester so far?”

“It is very lovely, Lord Darkwood.” As Lenore curtsied, she realized she meant every word. Rochester was a beautiful borough, with its grassy hills, quaint cottages, and tall trees. The land seemed painted with green, so abundant were the flowers and foliage. Countless birds and animals she’d never before laid eyes on surprised her every time she ventured outdoors. The air smelled clean and fresh and best of all, it was quiet. At first the silence had alarmed her after the constant noise and bustle of London, but now the peace of the land settled over her like a downy blanket.

As his dark eyes met hers and his lips curved in a smile of approval and amusement at their farce, Lenore couldn’t help but wish they had truly met under these circumstances. Did he fancy her gown and painstaking styled hair? Or did he still see her bruised and battered, collapsed in the mud at his feet?

His words that night rang in her mind.
“Get up. I will decide whether or not you should fall to your knees in supplication…”

She shivered and forced a polite smile.

How savage and cruel he had been at first. Although he had gentled when he discovered the reason for her presence in his lands, Lenore couldn’t help but fear that she’d see that harshness once more.

Lord Darkwood inclined his head once more before asking Elena to partner him for the first set. He wouldn’t ask Lenore until the set before the supper, that way he could sit next to her while they dined. And then he wouldn’t dance with her until the end, when they played the waltz. When he escorted her and Elena to their carriage, he would ask permission to call on her tomorrow. Lenore hid a disbelieving smile behind her fan at how meticulously their feigned courtship had been planned.

Which meant she would be dancing with mortals at first. To her surprise, Lord Haversham partnered her in the first Cotillion. Straightening her spine, Lenore focused on executing the steps as Elena had taught her. Not too slow, not too fast… and only utilizing her vampiric speed to correct a wrong motion.

Thankfully, she did not make a cake of herself on the floor. And even more importantly, to her relief, her lessons had rewarded her. With her confidence in her appearance and concentration on all that she’d been taught, the proximity and light touch of the men dancing with her did not bring back her attacks of panic. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Elena for reminding her of her strength.

I could bite them all if they gave me offense. Tear open their throats and drain them dry.
Lenore smiled as she turned to meet her next partner in the line. Perhaps that was why Elena had not taken her to hunt before the ball.

She bit back a surprised gasp as Lord Darkwood took her hands and spun her in the reeling dance. “You seem to be adapting well, youngling,” he said too low for the other dancers to hear.

Lenore tried to ignore the heat creeping into her cheeks at his touch. “Elena says I am a quick learner.”

His lips twitched again. Was that pride in his eyes?

She didn’t have time to discern his expression as she was handed off to the next man, who was slightly clumsy, though she pretended not to notice. The floor rumbled with the rapid steps of the dancers, the strains of the orchestra competed with the animated chatter of the guests. The air was redolent with the scent of beeswax, perfume, sweat… and blood. The sound of countless heartbeats roared through her ears, amplifying the sudden onslaught of hunger.