Rhys Berwyn clutched the jeweled comb tight in his gloved hands, hoping a few of the young woman’s mahogany tresses remained between the silver teeth. Although his haul from this robbery was shamefully meager—only the comb and a few pence and shillings from the driver—it was the most memorable encounter he’d had. Rhys had encountered armed carriage drivers and gentleman passengers countless times, but never had he met resistance in the form of a man disguised as a woman, nor an actual woman.

When he’d disarmed the Molly, the attack from the young beauty caught him off guard. Admiration brought a smile to Rhys’s lips. It had been ages since anyone had unbalanced him so handily. The young lady was very good for a novice. Her Coup d'arrêt and Raddoppio were completely flawless. He hadn’t been able to help himself from slowing himself down and dragging out the duel just to see what she was capable of.

He couldn’t remember having a better time. For those few minutes when Rhys and the beauty danced with their swords, Rhys forgot all about his multitude of troubles, always being a hairsbreadth away from death, and the people who would suffer if he met his end before accomplishing his goal.

For those blissful moments, none of that mattered. The only things that existed were his feet on the grass, matching the beauty’s step for step, the flush blooming in her full cheeks, the sparkle of excitement in her eyes, and then her kiss.

And oh, what a kiss. Though Rhys often claimed kisses from the beautiful women of whom he divested of coins and jewels, tonight’s kiss had been so much more. Somehow, in that dark-haired beauty’s embrace, he’d been transported to paradise.

And that was dangerous. He couldn’t lose himself for a second, lest he risk getting caught. For if he were taken—

Rhys shook his head, unwilling to think about such dismal prospects. Before he reached the seaside cave where he hid during the day, he stopped and scented the air for any sign of pursuers.

When he was certain no one was lurking in wait, Rhys climbed down the cliff face and swung into the cave through an entrance that most would never find. The first few meters were treacherous, with up-thrusting rock and stalagmites. Then it smoothed to a sandy path.

At last, Rhys reached the door to his sanctuary, a door he’d carved himself to seal the tunnel, and outfitted with a heavy lock. He unlocked the door, lit the lantern on a stone shelf and looked upon his meager furnishings with a degree of comfort. He’d worked hard over the decades, carving all these shelves, and constructing bunks for when other rogue vampires took refuge with him.

Placing the beauty’s comb on the shelf containing his cache of stolen jewelry, Rhys then moved to a crevasse in the cave wall and withdrew the sack of coins he’d been accumulating. He reached in his pocket and added the shillings he’d taken from the beauty’s coachman.

He tied the sack to his belt and left the cave. As he rushed to his next destination, several miles north and across a river, Rhys prayed he’d brought enough money.

The once prosperous farm sprawled before him. The stable roof was patched with crude wattle and daub. The hole in the barn roof had grown larger, the wind moaning through it as if mourning the slow death of the structure. An owl flew out of the hole, hooting as if reprimanding Rhys for his late arrival.

Rhys squared his shoulders and crossed the weed-choked field, where grain and barley had once turned the land gold. With no one to plow it, it had gone fallow.

He passed collapsed tenant cottages and ramshackle stables before he reached the main house. At least the roof was still intact, though the moss covering the shingles and the chipped paint on the walls gave the once noble structure a despairing appearance, like an aging courtesan.

Rhys fought off his melancholy and walked up the creaking steps, wondering how long the rotting wood would hold. He grasped the rusty knocker and rapped the solid oak door that would likely outlast the rest of the house.

A few moments later, he heard shuffling footsteps from inside the house, followed by the heavy clatter of metal as the locks were unfastened. The door opened just a crack and the hollow copper eyes of a woman in her early-thirties peered out. Suspicion and worry vanished as she recognized him.

“Rhys!” Emily opened the door and embraced him. “It has been too long since you’ve last come. I’ve been so worried.”

He held one of his only remaining relatives and stroked her hair. “You should know by now that I’ll always return.”

“Don’t lie to me, Rhys.” She drew away and eyed him solemnly. “You could get caught any time. The newspaper says that there will be more patrols on the country roads.”

“I will be all right. I know what I am doing.” Though she was partly right. Although it wasn’t the constables he had to worry about, it was others. In time, they could discover his activities and trap him.

Not wanting to think of all the potential and death looming over him, Rhys, pulled the sack of coins from his pocket and pressed it into Emily’s work-roughened hands. “Has he been by yet?”

There was no need to specify who he was. The Viscount of Thornton loomed over them like a dark specter. Due to Emily’s late husband’s foolishness with money and love of gambling, Lord Thornton held the mortgage on the family farm. The husband had fallen behind on repayment long before he died, and Thornton was constantly sniffing about, trying to oust Emily and her children from the farm. Only Rhys’s contributions staved him off.

Emily took the sack with a nod. “He says that unless I have paid the hundred and fifty pounds in full by the end of the month, my children and I have to leave.”

“That black-hearted scoundrel! The month is nearly half gone!” Despair pooled in Rhys’s belly. He’d never be able to steal that much money so quickly. “I’ll think of something,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident. “Use the money I gave you for food.”

“I’d considered buying a calf.” Emily sighed. “But it could not grow enough in a month to be worth the investment.”

More footsteps clattered on the stairs as Emily’s children raced down in their night shirts. “Cousin Rhys!” they shouted. “You’ve come back!”

Rhys embraced the boy and girl, amazed that even in little over a fortnight, they seemed to have grown. “Jacob, Alice, it is a joy to see you.”

“Stay this time,” five-year-old Alice pleaded. “You always leave.”

Rhys shook his head. “I have to leave, Poppet. There is important work to be done.” Such as coming up with a hundred and fifty pounds by month’s end. “But I can stay for an hour or so.”

Emily regarded her children with a weary look. “I’ll make tea.”

Once settled with his family at the polished maple dining table, the cloth long since sold, Emily told him about the farm. She and the children had managed to grow some herbs and vegetables and sell them at the market along with several bushels of apples from the orchard. They’d found a cache of coins her husband had hidden behind the barn after the cat had another litter of kittens. It had been enough to buy salted beef and fish to tide them over for winter and more importantly, an ox to pull the plow in the north field and seed to plant corn next Spring.

This news should have filled him with joy, but Lord Thornton had taken it away. Just as Emily, a young woman alone with small children, was bringing the farm back to life, the blackguard was going to foreclose it anyway.

Rhys did his best to conceal his grim disposition and focus on the children’s smiles as he gave them sweets, and the comfort of the house, warmed by the fire he started. After tea, he rose from the table.

“I’m afraid I must go.” Regret imbued his words.

“Must you?” Emily circled the table to meet him while the children echoed similar protests. “Surely it is safer for you if you stay here.”

Rhys shook his head. “I cannot be traced to you.” He took her arms and met her gaze. “I will find a way to either produce that money, or to persuade Thornton to give you more time.”

“Be careful, Rhys,” Emily whispered.

“Always.”

Once outside, Rhys gathered firewood. From the look of the diminishing pile, he would have to return to the farm soon to chop more.

Then again, if Lord Thornton was going to take the farm, perhaps he shouldn’t bother. The thought filled him with impotent fury. That nabob had plenty of land and money of his own. He didn’t need any more.

Instead of heading straight back to his cave, Rhys dashed to the outskirts of Thornton’s property. Making certain he stayed downwind, Rhys glared balefully at the stately manor house, with its elegant columns, covered veranda, and French doors. How could one have so much and others so few?

He didn’t know what drew him here, putting himself in danger like this. If Thornton’s guards caught wind of him, he’d be taken in an instant.

Then he heard the clatter of hooves and the roll of carriage wheels off in the distance. Who was this? Thornton wasn’t one to have visitors.

When the conveyance drew closer, Rhys’s jaw dropped as he recognized it. The beauty he’d robbed earlier in the evening was inside.

The front door of Thornton Manor opened, and his lordship stepped out to meet the carriage.

After the driver opened the door, Thornton handed the girl down.

Her voice was barely audible, but Rhys still heard one word as she addressed the viscount. “Uncle.”

Rhys covered his gaping mouth to hide his gasp. The viscount had a niece? On the heels of his shock came a plan. He’d have leverage.

The fencing master disguised as a lady’s companion exited the carriage next. From the abrupt stiffening of the viscount’s shoulders, it appeared that Thornton couldn’t tell what to make of the odd person either.

The mystery captivated Rhys like nothing else. What kind of woman travelled with a fencing master? And did her father know about the companion’s identity? The disguise was very well done, as if the man had been playing the part for decades. But Rhys and Viscount Thornton had their own ways of seeing through such subterfuge, no matter how clever.

“Vivian,” Thornton’s voice carried in the wind. “Come with me to my study. There is something we must discuss in private.”

Oh, how Rhys wished he could be privy to that discussion. But now the beauty had a name. Vivian.

Before he risked being seen, Rhys melted back into the shadows and quickly made his way back to his haven. His mind spun with all he learned. His plan would be the most dangerous endeavor of his long life, but worth it if all went right. But the danger could not be ignored. Not only was Aldric Cadell the Viscount of Thornton, he was also the Lord Vampire of Blackpool.

Rhys licked his fangs and shivered. And he’d come so close to feeding on Blackpool’s niece. If he’d succumbed to temptation, the Lord Vampire would have had Rhys’s scent, and all would be lost.

When he returned to the seaside cliffs concealing his cave, Rhys paused and scented the air once more for signs of vampires from either Preston or Southport. Yes, his hiding place was a no-man’s land, but legitimized vampires often did not care about such scruples. To them, rogue vampires had no rights even for a moment’s safety.

But if Rhys pursued the madcap plan forming in his mind, he’d forsake all rights to safety of any kind. He would be committing the worst of crimes under vampire law. All chances of eventually becoming a legitimate citizen would turn to ash.

The tired eyes of his cousin Emily—in truth she was his great-great-great grandniece—and the wan faces of her children flashed in his mind. If Rhys succeeded with his plan, his family would be saved. And that was all that mattered.

Once the safety of his kin was assured, Rhys no longer had a reason to live anymore.