Chapter Five
“You run along with Helena, Izzy. I have some work left to do here.”
“But, Mimi,” she protested, using the affectionate name all her orphan children used. “Helena makes me do so many chores,” Izzy whined, her blond ringlets bobbing when she stomped her foot, only making her pouty face more precious. “And she acts like she’s the boss of me.”
Brennalyn smiled and knelt before her youngest child, lifting her chin so she could see her clear sky-blue gaze. “Helena is the oldest. With that comes great responsibilities. It is a difficult job to be in charge, Izzy. You must mind her when I’m not at home. One day, you’ll have a household of your own and you’ll understand.”
With a small sigh, she said, “All wight. But when I have my own household, I won’t be as hawd as Helena.”
“We shall see. Now run along.”
“Come on, Izzy!” came Helena’s stern voice from the schoolyard.
Izzy’s eyes narrowed and, with a huff, she shouldered her school pack and stomped out to meet her. Brennalyn followed, noting that Helena, now eighteen, held Caden and Emmett at arm’s length, giving the two a scolding for doing something wrong. Probably wrestling again. Those two couldn’t go five minutes without swordplay or an imaginary skirmish of some kind.
“Helena!” she called.
The pretty, dark-haired girl looked up and strode over with one more finger-wag at Caden. Brenna wondered if she was ruining the poor girl of ever having a life of her own. But then, Helena was a natural at running the household when Brenna wasn’t around to do it herself, taking to the job like a mother twice her age. Whatever man won her heart would be winning a gem. Of course, Helena had already given her heart to Reggie. A fact that dismayed Brenna, for there may be no future there.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I won’t be long, dear. Just a few papers I must see to before I head home. There’s a bit of venison left in cold storage. Beatrice can help you prepare it for dinner. She knows how.”
“Actually, I’ll be the one helping her,” she said lightly. “Beatrice knows more than I do about the kitchen, and she’s only twelve. How will I ever manage when I have a home of my own?”
“Oh, I think you will.” Brenna wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed as they made their way to the gate. “Truth be told,” she whispered low, “Beatrice is a better cook than I am.”
“Marjorie said a man won’t stay with you if you can’t cook a good meal. Says the way to his heart is through his stomach.”
Brenna inwardly cringed. These young girls knew nothing about what would keep a man. Or make him leave. She swallowed the bitterness swelling in her chest.
“Well, sweetheart, Marjorie is a fool. The man who catches you will never let you go.”
Brenna had thought the same of Elliott. But she was wrong.
“Don’t tell Marjorie I said so.” Brenna squeezed the girl closer. “I don’t want another conference with her overbearing mother.”
“I won’t.” Helena laughed, jarring her from her brief melancholy, just as a familiar carriage rolled up the lane toward the schoolhouse. “Oh, how lovely. I wonder who that could be.”
Brenna knew the carriage. If not, she certainly recognized the man escorting alongside—the grave vampire who was captain of the duke’s personal guard. He neared the gate just as she did.
“Good afternoon.” He nodded, sweeping his gaze to both Brennalyn and Helena.
“Good afternoon, Captain.” Brenna couldn’t help but look at the carriage door, waiting for the duke to step out. He didn’t.
“I’ve been asked to escort you back to Winter Hill, Miss Snow.”
“Pardon?”
He cinched in the reins, his sleek gray tossing her head. “His Grace has sent me to escort you back for your appointment.”
“You have an appointment with the duke at Winter Hill?” asked Helena, her hazel eyes growing wide. “At the castle?”
The children had never known she’d been there before. The duke was somewhat of a mystery. Unless you were delivering goods to the back door, no one in town ever ventured to the great castle atop the hill. That is, except for a lovely woman venturing to the Rose Courtyard. Or a spy for the underground resistance.
“I—well—he was supposed to come here,” stammered Brenna. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be shut up in his private parlor again where she’d nearly lost her head the other night and begged him to bite her. His magnetism was powerful. And though she was sensible, she was only a flesh-and-blood woman. “I’m sorry, Captain, but you’ll have to tell the duke I’m unable to attend.”
By now, the other school children had gone home and her seven still in the yard had meandered to the gate, ogling the lovely carriage with silver wheels and a satin-coated finish that gleamed with the reflection of the snowy embankment. Izzy tucked herself by Brenna’s side. The captain dismounted and moved forward, pulling a note from his inside coat, then handed it across the fence. His expression remained passive while he waited.
Brenna unfolded the letter and read the neat, masculine scrawl.
Dearest Miss Snow,
I had a feeling you might reject my request to accompany Captain Mikhail back to Winter Hill for our appointment. Let me be quite clear. I know that you did not stumble into the Rose Courtyard to get my attention for a wood stove, though I have provided this for you and the children nevertheless. I require your presence. You will willingly get into the carriage and come to me now, or the captain will forcibly lift you and put you in the carriage himself. The choice is yours.
I look forward to seeing you soon.
Affectionately,
Friedrich
Heat flushed her cheeks halfway through the reading.
“Are you all right?” asked Helena, soft concern in her voice.
“Fine, sweetheart.” She forced a smile and folded the letter, tucking it in the pocket of her skirt. “You run along and take the others. I’d forgotten about my meeting.”
“You forgot?” asked Helena in disbelief.
No, she hadn’t forgotten, but she’d planned on meeting him here at the schoolhouse where she felt safe. And now the arrogant, presumptuous man had bullied her into going back to his castle where he could interrogate her more. Up close and personal.
Heavens. He knew she was lying about her reason of being there last time. She’d have to come up with something else quickly. If she refused to keep their appointment, it would only make her appear guiltier than she already did.
“Yes. The duke had all these renovations done to the schoolhouse and we must discuss other needs for the school.”
Lies. She hated lying, especially to Helena who was so trusting of her.
“Miss Snow,” said the captain, holding the gate open and gesturing toward the carriage.
“Come on, everyone,” Helena called. “Caden, stop pulling Emmett’s hair.” She sauntered through the gate and dipped a curtsy to the captain. “Thank you, Captain.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled and bowed his head as the children filed out after her like ducklings. His gaze followed them then swiveled back to Brenna. “They will be all right on their own?”
“Yes.” She smiled at his concern. “Helena is quite capable. And this meeting won’t take long. Let us be off, Captain.”
She hopped into the carriage. He shut the door and tapped the side, the carriage jerking into motion. The sooner she got there, the sooner she could leave.
Willingly get into the carriage and come to me. Who the devil does he think he is? Commanding her around like she was his servant. The damned duke, that’s who.
This was the problem with the caste system. If there was no separation by class, she could refuse his damnable summons without threat of repercussions. But as it stood, she must obey. Though she’d never heard of the Duke of Winter Hill jailing someone for disobedience, she hadn’t known anyone in Terrington to refuse the damn charming man anything. That was the problem. He seemed to get whatever he wanted.
And then signing his letter with affectionately. As if they were in a relationship of some intimate fashion.
“Pfft.” She rolled her eyes, but there was no one to benefit from her obvious rejection of that notion. The carriage rocked away as she felt the steady ascent of the great hill begin.
Then she remembered the way he’d played with her lock of hair. She’d worn it down that afternoon, thinking to only see Sylvia on her day off. Every small tug of her hair pulled on something she’d shut away long ago. Stirring a forgotten longing.
After Elliott, she’d decided she didn’t need a man for any reason. Any reason. In the three years since she’d made that vow to herself, burying herself in the school, in raising the orphans, and more recently in her pursuits for the Black Lily, she’d thought to have killed that instinct with lethal precision. But no. In one brief and breathtaking interrogation, an old yearning awoke and burned low in her belly. Even now as they neared the castle, her hands trembled in her lap.
Good Lord, Brennalyn. Pull yourself together.
She’d been spying on the royal vampire, or doing her best, for well over a month now. Ever since he’d caught Izzy painting the black lily, a symbol she’d seen at home, Brenna had feared he’d set the royal Legionnaires upon the schoolhouse and have her arrested.
But he didn’t. No, he’d actually dismissed his own Legionnaires and acquired a personal guard that he appointed himself. Vampire mercenaries of the Bloodguard, a secretive sect rumored to be elusive and deadly. While the captain had been more than polite, there was a keen intelligence behind those watchful eyes that put one slightly on edge. It was highly unconventional for a Varis descendant to hire men like that as a personal guard.
The carriage rolled to a stop then shifted as the footman hopped down and opened the door. “Miss Snow.”
Wrapping her shawl tightly around her, she stepped down and across the cobblestone steps. The butler held the door open.
“Right this way, miss.”
Rather than lead her upstairs to the private parlor where she’d met him last, he took her down the front corridor lined with family portraits and tall gilt-framed landscapes to the very last room on the left. It opened up to a surprisingly bright and welcoming room. The pastel fabrics and large windows bathed the room in a cheerfulness. Far different from the dark and masculine tones of the duke’s parlor.
“Good afternoon, Miss Snow.”
She gasped and spun to find him standing right behind her inside the doorway. The butler excused himself.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
“I’d prefer Friedrich, if you don’t mind.”
Something had changed from last they met. The duke always carried himself with poise and control. That remained the same. But there was a darker vibration in his voice—less seduction and more danger in his rolling timbre. Nevertheless, and though she wished otherwise, his presence put her body on full alert, her senses reveling in the dazzling sight and heady scent of him.
She took a step back. “I-I prefer to keep our relationship formal.”
His pensive brow smoothed and his wide mouth tipped up on both sides. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” He took a step forward.
“It isn’t?” Another step back.
“No. I have a feeling we are going to be the most intimate of friends, Miss Snow.”
That, she could not allow. No matter how her body reacted to him.
She turned and walked toward the window, noticing a tray of tea with two cups and a platter of sandwiches on the low serving table. This scene was set for the quaint domesticity of a lady, not for a blood-drinking, sexy-as-sin vampire.
“This parlor is very…pleasant.”
She noted the pale blue sheers draping the windows, which looked out to a tiered garden surrounding a fountain. At present, nothing grew and the bushes were layered in snow. The fountain was frozen, but the artistic symmetry of the stone benches and latticework where roses might climb in spring was still a lovely sight.
“It was my mother’s. I thought you might be more comfortable meeting here.”
She couldn’t help but look back at him in surprise. His smile widened.
“Come and have a seat with me, Miss Snow.”
Puzzled and relieved, she rounded the settee and sat, draping her shawl over the arm. He poured two cups of tea and layered sandwiches onto a plate. He passed her the plate, a serving of tea, and a napkin then settled opposite her in a rose-colored wingback. Though this bright room was less intimidating than his parlor, the man himself appeared no less formidable. Even with a teacup and saucer balancing on one knee as he sprawled in a pink chair.
She did not know the duke’s history. Not much anyway. Only that his parents were both long deceased. And some tragedy surrounded their deaths. From the look of the room, his mother must’ve been a lovely woman.
“What is it, Miss Snow? I can see the wheels turning in that lovely head of yours.”
He gave her one of his smiles that told her she was out of her depth. That was enough to remind her she was angry with him.
“First, I’d like to tell you that even though you are the Duke of Winter Hill, you have no right to intimidate me into your presence.”
He tapped his forefinger wearing the lion signet ring on his lap, amusement playing on his ridiculously gorgeous features. She sat even straighter.
“My dear Miss Snow, I certainly didn’t mean to intimidate you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Perhaps just a little.”
She spluttered on a sip of tea before setting it back in her lap and replied haughtily, “I do not believe the captain would’ve picked me up like a sack of wheat and put me into your carriage if I’d rejected your penned request.”
“No. The captain wouldn’t have laid a hand on you.”
She sighed relief and set her teacup and saucer down to take a bite of her sandwich. “I’m pleased to hear you’re not quite as barbaric as I thought.”
“That is, he wouldn’t have, but I would’ve taken great pleasure in riding into town and putting you on my mount to carry you back. Though that would’ve wasted an awful lot of time and energy just to start this delightful meeting.”
Brenna froze, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. She tried to rid her mind of the image of him swooping her onto his black steed and galloping away with her. Her cheeks flushed with heat and she knew they were as pink as the chair he sat upon. All the while, he smiled like the devil he was. Narrowing her eyes, she refused to be lured into a verbal battle with him.
She inhaled a deep breath and took a bite of her sandwich before setting it back on the plate. Demurely, she sipped her tea, reciting in her head a favorite sonnet to calm her nerves. If he thought he could play games, so could she. She’d thought of another reason besides the wood stove and was ready to lay it on him.
“Your letter mentioned that you didn’t believe that I’d come to your castle to request the renovations for the schoolhouse.”
He set his teacup to the side, untouched, and dipped his strong chin in ascent, giving her his full attention.
“Well, you were quite right. The woodstove was a rather feeble excuse, now that I think of it.”
She laughed, a forced, mechanical sound. He didn’t say a word. Or move a muscle. His expression holding that lion-like stillness, the predator watching his prey with calm and ease, but with a keen eye. Reveling in his capability to play with his quarry before he pounced.
Smoothing her skirt over her lap with a raised brow, she said with an amazingly steady voice, “I will be quite honest with you, Your Grace. I did need a little extra coin for the children. I know that your bleeders often receive favor for the, er, exchange. And, you see, I—I’ve been much enamored with you, as all the young ladies in town are, and I’ve always been curious what a vampire’s bite feels like. What it’s really like, not what the rumors say. Feminine curiosity, you see. So I thought, why not? Throw a little caution to the wind and go to the duke’s Rose Courtyard. And in exchange, I’m sure you’d bestow the coin I need for the children.”
She’d given this entire rambling speech to her lap and finished with a lighthearted chuckle. When she heard no movement or response of any kind, she finally chanced a look to the very quiet vampire sitting across from her.
And wished she hadn’t.
His eyes, half-lidded and dark as the deep of the ocean, were so intense and fixed on her that her breath hitched. His gaze fell to her parted lips. She’d never had a man look at her with such open lust and hunger. She was quite sure if she didn’t amend his train of thought quickly, he’d have her pinned beneath him on the settee in about two seconds. And if that didn’t get her heartbeat tripping faster, the single, slow rise and fall of his ring finger certainly did.
“But, you see, I realized as soon as I stepped into your parlor”—she wiped her moist palms on her lap, her tongue flicking across dry lips—“that I couldn’t do such a thing. As the schoolteacher of Terrington, I have a certain reputation to uphold.” She stood and rounded the settee, toward the window. “It wouldn’t be proper to indulge in such fancies, and so I changed my mind.”
A rush of wind, and she was pressed to the front of his tall, hard frame, his arm wrapped completely across her back, his fingers curling at her ribcage. His other hand covered her nape, his thumb pressing below her ear. She sucked in a sudden breath.
“Come now, Miss Snow. We both know that’s a lie.” He forced her gaze upward, his fingers slipping into her hair against her scalp, loosening her bun. A pin popped and fell to the floor. He dipped his head low, lips hovering close. “You want to indulge.”
This was not at all the reaction she’d expected, her wits scattering to the wind. She’d thought to tease him with something like the truth in order to explain away her folly with the Rose Courtyard. But she quickly realized there was no playing with a man like the duke. Then he drifted even closer and slipped his tongue along her lower lip, his clutch tightening her to him with fierce strength, his large and obvious erection pressing against her belly. Her knees turned to jelly. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she’d be a sagging heap on the floor.
“Your Grace,” she whispered on a breath, trying to find some elegant and safe way out of this. Did she really want out? She knew the feverish look in his eyes was indeed quite dangerous, which unwittingly sent a zing of pleasure down her body. She pressed her hands to his shoulders, curling her fingers and holding on rather than pushing him away.
“Oh, kitten.” He licked again, a languorous slide of his tongue. “You know you want to give me a good taste.”
She glared at him. “Quite sure of yourself, aren’t you, Your Grace.”
This was not going well. Rather than outwit the vampire duke with her teasing refusal, she’d provoked him into taking what he wanted. No, that wasn’t true. He had her body trapped against his in an unbreakable grip, but he wasn’t forcing her to do anything. At the moment, he was breaking her down with a sensual assault. The proper thing to do would be to push him away, perhaps give him a slap for good measure. But that was the farthest thing from her mind. All she knew was that her heart might burst from her chest if he pressed those beautiful lips to hers.
“You do. You want me to kiss you,” he murmured, nipping her bottom lip with a gentle tug. “And bite you.” His lips roved up her jaw to her ear. “Lick you.” He flicked her earlobe with his tongue then sucked it into his warm mouth, letting it slide out between his teeth without breaking the skin. His voice dropped to a low whisper caressing her skin. “Fuck you.”
A pulse of heat shot straight between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to stop the melting sensation unfurling from her middle outward.
“You are a vulgar, arrogant ass, Your Grace.” She tilted her chin away, giving him her cold profile. At least she hoped it appeared cold, for her body threatened spontaneous combustion should this encounter go on for much longer.
He chuckled. “Look at me, Brennalyn,” he commanded in a voice full of storm and midnight and wonderful, naughty things.
The sound of her name on his lips snapped her gaze to him. Then she regretted it. Captured in the deepest, darkest blue—like the inky night hovering near the shell of the moon—she couldn’t look away. His smile slid into something beautiful and wicked and devastating.
“I can smell your arousal.” His nostrils flared as if to prove he could indeed scent her. She squeezed her legs tighter. He only smiled wider. “Therefore, I know you want me to do everything I said.”
She curled her fingers into fists atop his chest to keep from sinking them into his shirt for a tighter hold.
“But I’m feeling merciful today. I don’t mind that you lied about the Rose Courtyard.” He paused, searching her face as if he could see the truth just by reading the lines of her face. She had indeed been lying, but because the truth would expose her work for the Black Lily.
“Merciful?” she asked on a breath.
“Yes, kitten.” He stroked his nose along hers. “I can see that you’re overwhelmed. I’ll let you off with just a kiss.”
“Overwhelmed indeed,” she said on a huff. Then lifted her gaze to his slowly. “Just a kiss?”
She said it halfway between a question and a statement, still unsure whether she was asking or offering permission. He smiled, flashing his long, sharp fangs. She sucked in a breath.
“Yes. A kiss. Our first of many.” He lowered again. “Say yes, kitten.”
She paused as he hovered, awaiting her answer. There was only one thing she could say. “Yes.”
Before his lips touched hers, he said in a low, gravelly voice, “But the next time I get you alone, I’m going to taste your blood and pleasure you while I’m doing it. So prepare yourself.”
Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding. She whimpered at the sudden intrusion of his tongue. He plundered like he had every right to take what he liked. Rather than make her stiff with defiance, she arched her neck, opened her mouth wider, and slid her tongue along his. His hold on her tightened, his fingers cupping the back of her skull, popping another pin loose. A deep growl rumbled from his chest against hers, her nipples puckering in response to the vibration.
She knew he was dangerous. She wasn’t a complete fool. But she’d never felt the force of his power until now. She’d known him to be the charming duke who lived on high at Winter Hill, who smiled amiably to the townspeople, who treated his tenants well, who casually enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. She’d even listened to the stories of other young maids in town who’d been in his bed, whispering of his playful and seductive touch. A man with a gentle, thorough hand who knew how to leave a woman satisfied.
This was neither playful or seductive. Or remotely gentle. This was rough and raw and demanding. A kiss to impress upon her some urgency he couldn’t say with words.
When he finally pulled away with a slow slide of his tongue along hers, they were both panting. Though his eyes held the same fixed, dark look of a man in control, his breathless whisper told her he wasn’t.
“The next time…” She wasn’t sure if he whispered his promise to himself or to her. He nipped her kiss-swollen bottom lip once more then soothed the sting with a warm lick. “Say yes.”
She frowned, not sure what he demanded she agree to—being his bleeder, letting him pleasure her, letting him do more? “I—”
He covered her mouth with his, stopping the protest she was about to give. She wasn’t a woman accustomed to obeying commands. And she’d sworn off the need for any man. But this man, this vampire duke, addled her brain into mush and melted her body into compliant flesh and bones, eager to feel more of what he offered.
He broke the kiss and brushed his lips against hers before he shook his head once. A warning. “Next time, kitten.”
He arched a brow, demanding she submit.
“Next time,” she finally agreed on a ragged exhale.
And she knew with that small admission, she’d opened a door. Perhaps only a crack. But it was enough to let him in. He smiled, his wide mouth too beautiful on a man made for sin.
Only then did he finally loosen his hold and set her gently on her feet, his broad hands on her waist, waiting for her to catch her balance. When she did, he took a step back and leaned over her hand in a genteel manner, brushing a feathery kiss on her knuckles. He looked up from beneath dark lashes and the devil’s eyes.
“Till then, Miss Snow.”