Rhys awoke to the sound of coughing. Not the gentle clearing of a throat, or the embellished affectation Madame Renarde had employed when trying to make a point, but a deep, racking explosion that echoed through the cave walls.

“Are you quite all right, Madame Renarde?” he inquired softly.

The ladies’ companion lit the lantern beside her bunk and blew her nose with a honk. “It’s the damp,” she explained. “I’ve never been able to abide it long.”

Rhys peered at her closely. With her first coughs and sneezes, he’d suspected she was attempting to feign illness so that he may release her, but from the look of the woman’s pale visage and watery eyes, that was not the case. Fine stubble also sprouted over her face, betraying the body in which she was born.

“Lord Thornton ought to have received my letter today,” he said in reassurance. But that didn’t feel like sufficient comfort. “I have a jar of honey that should ease the cough. And I can prepare a hot bath and give you use of my razor if you care to shave.”

Madame Renarde gave him a look that made his throat tighten. “You’re a good man, Rhys...” she trailed off, hoping he would slip and give his surname, then shrugged when he did not. “Too good to be a criminal. Why did you not engage in honest employment rather than theft and kidnapping?”

“Aside from the fact that theft is more profitable, and thus more effective in helping my family, it is a complicated situation.” Rhys shrugged and took a large cauldron from its place. He could have taken the whole bathing tub, which he did when he was alone, but that would look suspicious. “I’ll fill this with seawater for your bath.”

“May I accompany you?” a voice asked.

He glanced at Vivian’s cot. She was awake and buttoning her boots. A surge of pleasure flickered through him at the prospect of her company. “Of course.”

Madame Renarde began to object, but another coughing fit took over. Selfishly, Rhys took Vivian’s hand and led her out of the cave.

“I’m worried about that cough,” she said, bending to pick up a seashell.

Rhys nodded. “I’m going to put honey in her tea and encourage her to rest. I’ll see about finding some soup for supper as well.”

“And if she doesn’t get better?” she looked up at him imploringly.

He stopped and watched the waves crash against the shore. “Then I shall take her back to your uncle.”

“But not me?” Her hand touched his sleeve, a pleading whisper.

He shook his head, refusing to weaken. “Not you. I need that money, Vivian.”

“I know.” She sighed. “You may not believe me, but I do sympathize for your family, I truly do.”

“Thank you.” It seemed no one did these days, and her words meant more than he’d anticipated. “I will know on Sunday if your uncle pays the ransom.” He bent at a curve of shale that formed a shallow pool and dipped the cauldron in the water. “I hope he does.”

“As do I.” Vivian followed as he carried the cauldron back into the cave. “I wonder what Uncle has made of my absence?”

“He likely fabricated a tale to preserve your reputation.” Rhys wanted to reassure her further, but the words stuck in his throat as they were once more back in the presence of her chaperone. Instead, he shrugged and set the cauldron on the grate and added more wood to the fire. “I know enough about Viscount Thornton to be confident that he will ensure that you are beyond reproach when this is over.”

Madame Renarde regarded him with narrowed eyes. “And how are you certain of that? Ladies have been disowned for less.”

Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “You had best pray to the heavens that you never learn what I know of Lord Thornton.” But as he issued the threat, he realized that perhaps it was Lord Thornton who should be praying.

He could use that as leverage, but he wouldn’t, not unless he needed to. Revealing the existence of vampires to a mortal was punishable by death.

Then again, Rhys was already a rogue vampire, who invaded other territories and had abducted a Lord Vampire’s kin. He already had a death sentence hanging over his head and had for some time, what was another?

While Madame Renarde bathed, Vivian and Rhys walked along the beach once more. He observed her pensive frown as she sifted through shells buried in the sand. “How did you come to learn secrets about my uncle? Do you know each other?”

He noticed that she did not bother asking what the secrets were. Clever woman. He answered carefully. “As I told you before, I have not made his acquaintance, but he is well known in certain circles I frequent.” Though they’d exchanged letters one time, when Rhys had petitioned to become a Blackpool vampire and Lord Thornton had rejected his request.

Vivian’s eyes widened. “Is he a criminal then?”

“Forcing a woman and her two children from their home should be a crime,” Rhys said. “But no, he hasn’t broken any... English laws that I know of.” This conversation was veering toward dangerous territory. He changed the subject. “Why are you afraid of marriage?”

A seashell dropped from her fingers as she froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“I heard you speaking with Madame Renarde about it the night before I took you.”

Her fists clenched at her sides and her chin jerked up as she looked at him with blazing fury. “You were spying on me?”

He took a step back and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I needed to gather information about your comings and goings so I could execute my plan.”

“Ah, so you spied and eavesdropped to best know when to kidnap me.” Vivian faced him with her hands on her hips and a derisive curl of her lips. “You know, that does not redeem you in the slightest.”

Rhys shrugged off the guilt that threatened to engulf him. “What can I say? I am the villain in this situation.” He circled around her in a way that he hoped looked menacing. He needed to remind her who was in charge. “Answer my question. I thought all blue-blooded maids dreamed of nothing but landing a man with a lofty title and running a noble household. Why not you? You’re certainly beautiful enough to take your pick.”

Roses bloomed in her cheeks at his acknowledgement of her beauty. “I do not see how it is any business of yours what I want or don’t want for my future.”

His voice was cold and clipped. “It is my business because if you are planning on being a spinster, the matter of your chastity holds less weight as a bargaining chip.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her and crossed her arms over her chest as if to shield herself from his advances.

Rhys cursed and backed away. “No, I am not plotting to ravage you. I only seek to find the most expedient manner of making your uncle pay my ransom.”

Her face reddened further. “I am not about to aid you in making myself a tool for your benefit.” She paused and added through clenched teeth, “Or my uncle’s.”

She was hurt, he realized. He’d done that to her and so had Blackpool. Her words that he’d overheard twisted in his heart like a blade. “...I am filled with such terror that I almost feel ill with it.... Consigned to a lifetime of thing-hood.”

Thing-hood. Rhys was beginning to grasp what Vivian meant by that. He and Blackpool were indeed using her as a pawn in a game, giving no consideration for her thoughts or feelings.

The realization made him feel terrible. Alas, it was not to be helped. Not if he wanted to keep Emily and her children out of the poorhouse.

Perhaps there was a way to atone for his callousness. “What if I allowed you a chance at gaining your freedom?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“I suggest we duel. If you draw first blood, I’ll release you.”

She frowned, but there was a glint of hopeful joy in her eyes. “Is this some sort of trick?”

He shook his head. “No. I just think we spar better with swords than words.”

“And you’re confident that you’ll win.” Her lips curved in a reluctant smile.

“I am.” Skilled as she was, Vivian was still a mortal and could not match his speed.

“Then why bother giving me the chance?” Oh, but despite her argument, naked longing emanated from her, with those sparking eyes and her fingers curling in readiness to hold a sword.

Rhys gestured for her to follow him back to the cave. “Because then at least you’ll have some agency in the matter. Despite the circumstances and my intentions with you, I do regard you as more than a game piece.”

“You’re allowing me, your prisoner to fight you with a sword just to prove you regard me as a human being?” Vivian shook her head and chuckled. “I think you may be the worst villain ever.”

Though he was gratified to see her spirits raised, his pride stung. Without thinking, he seized her shoulders and pulled her against him.

Her mockery could not stand. He needed to remind her who was in control.

He lowered his face until their lips almost met. “Would you prefer me to be more villainous? I could always dispense with the blades and ravage you after all.”

She sucked in a breath, her large brown eyes searching his to see if he was serious. He’d meant to frighten her, but from the way she leaned into him and her tongue wet her lower lip, he may have failed in that goal.

Her hands moved up and splayed against his chest. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his lips almost claimed hers.

Then Vivian shoved him away with such sudden force that he nearly fell on his arse. “I’ll happily duel with you,” she bit out and strode into the cave.

Rhys followed in a daze and unlocked the door he’d carved to keep the cave sealed from both intruders and the sun.

For the last five nights, he’d held commendable restraint in keeping his distance from her, even when Madame Renarde’s eagle eye was not upon him. He’d nearly convinced himself that the kiss they’d shared was forgotten. Now he’d undone it all in grabbing her and pulling her into his embrace.

A terrible mistake, for her scent made hunger roar through his being like a flash-fire. But it wasn’t primarily hunger for her blood, it was lust. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he’d desired sex before blood. It wasn’t that he lacked virility, plenty of women, both vampire and human, could attest to that. But as a vampire, the blood craving was always at the forefront. For Vivian to disrupt his priorities left him deeply unnerved. Was it because she was forbidden fruit? Or was it something else?

No matter, he couldn’t lose that sort of control again. He wasn’t the sort of monster who forced himself on women.

Then his guilty conscience reminded him of the kisses he’d stolen whenever he robbed a particularly beautiful lady.

He wouldn’t steal another kiss from Vivian again. He’d only take what she’d give willingly. The memory of her licking her lips and yielding against him filled him with agonizing temptation.

No, he couldn’t let their relationship become intimate, no matter how much he ached to have her naked in his arms. Not only because she would indeed be ruined afterward, no matter whether she chose spinsterhood or not, but because he could fall in love with her and that would kill him because they could never be together.

Even if she was willing to join him in nocturnal damnation and immortality, Rhys would never consign her to his life. He was a rogue vampire, hunted and despised. If he were to Change Vivian, she would be one too.

Those thoughts cooled his mad passion enough for him to regain composure and look unruffled as Madame Renarde studied him with her usual suspicion.

Now dressed in a rich emerald brocade gown that must have come from the trunk he’d stolen from a stocky countess, the companion appeared as if she outranked Vivian, whose dark blue gown was drab in comparison, probably belonging to a maid.

Despite the lack of bright plumage, Vivian fairly sparkled with youth and excitement. “Rhys and I have come to a bargain that may win us our freedom.”

Madame Renarde blinked in surprise. “And what bargain is that?”

“We shall duel, and if I draw first blood, he will let us go home.” She bent and touched the toes of her boots, stretching in preparation.

The companion’s brows rose to the hairline of her wig as she turned to Rhys with an arch smile. “You must be quite confident in your victory. I hope that will be your downfall, for you don’t know who taught her.”

“I presumed it was you,” he said, suddenly confused.

Madame Renarde’s smile broadened. “Ah, but you do not know who taught me.”

Rhys fought off a twinge of unease at her smug tone and reached beneath his shirt for the chain that held the key to his sword case. Who had taught such an eccentric person the art of fencing?

They marched back outside and walked to the beach, brilliantly illuminated under the light of the full moon.

Rhys and Vivian took their places on the sand with the requisite seven paces from each other and stood en garde.

Madame Renarde sat on a rock between them to overlook the match, ready to call out the slightest violation.

As Vivian raised her blade to salute her opponent, the companion spoke.

“Know this, Rhys.” Madame Renarde regarded him imperiously from her place on the rock. “If you cut her face, or wound her, I will carve out your heart.”

Rhys inclined his head. “And if that should happen, I will gladly allow you.”

The companion did not seem convinced, for it seemed that he and Vivian remained in position for an eternity before she called out, “Pret!” Ready! And finally, “Allez!” Fence!

Vivian nearly took him off guard with a Patinando, a step forward with an appel—a quick beat on the ground from her rear foot at the same time as the front foot landed, coupled with a compound riposte. A brilliant preliminary attack. Rhys had to concentrate to parry in time at a human speed.

Exhilaration flooded his being as their blades slashed and kissed. Vivian was a brilliant fencer, far superior to many men he’d dueled.

Yet the experience felt different than sparring or fighting with a man. With them, there was a fierce competitive edge, a desire to best them, sometimes to humiliate or even hurt them. With Vivian, the duel felt like a dance, each of them moving in coordinated splendor.

Their bodies moved closer with each thrust and parry, withdrawing, then meeting again. Rhys was captivated with the rosy flush in Vivian’s cheeks, her parted lips, the dark, vibrant cloud of her hair as it flared out with each time she danced away from his blade. Her silvery eyes glittered with raw exhilaration.

The element of primitive danger somehow gave the duel the element of seduction. Each time their blades rang together, Rhys felt a ringing peal in his soul. Each time Vivian retreated, he was driven to pursue her.

Desire throbbed in his veins like a beast at the verge of breaking the chains that restrained it. Vivian executed a movement that had their blades locked and her body inches from his. Her eyes locked on him and they both froze. Her breasts heaved beneath her woolen gown, seeming to beckon him. Her lips parted as she panted from the effort. For a moment, all Rhys could think about was a different sort of exertion.

Her pink tongue licked her lower lip as if in invitation, and Rhys smelled a hint of intoxicating feminine arousal. He bent and almost kissed her, then thankfully remembered what a disaster that would be. So instead of claiming those lush lips, Rhys twisted his blade free and stepped away, blocking her immediate responsive attack.

On and on they fought, while Rhys struggled between enjoyment at the duel and overwhelming lust.

His delight in the duel blinded his common sense. After what had to be an hour of sparring, he finally broke through his haze of rapture and realized that Vivian was reaching the point of exhaustion. Her legs wobbled slightly during her steps, and the tip of her blade quivered. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with a film of sweat and her breath heaved in long gasps.

Yet he still wanted to disarm her, carry her into the cave, and show her other ways in which they could be matched. From the whiff of desire he’d caught from her, Vivian likely shared the same inclination.

That would be folly. Folly that must be stopped for both of their sakes. The idea that had been whispering through the back of his mind now sang aloud in the forefront.

There was only one way to ensure that Vivian would fear him, and that the Lord Vampire of Blackpool would learn that he was dealing with someone on his level.

Every bone in his body ached with reluctance to cut Vivian’s precious flesh, even a mere scratch, but he had to. Not only that, but he must end this dangerous desire sparking between them.

With his preternatural speed, Rhys brought his blade up and under Vivian’s parrying arm, and nicked the side of her neck.

She dropped the blade and gasped as a thin, crimson stream trickled down her throat. Rhys stared at the ruby vintage and bared his fangs, now consumed by only one hunger.

As he stalked towards her, she held up a hand as if to ward him off. “What are you?”

He pulled her into his arms and let her have a good long look at his glowing eyes and sharp teeth. “I think you know.”