Chapter Thirteen
Dinner had been a feast unlike any other Brennalyn or the children had eaten in all their lives. Of course, she’d never been to the table of nobility, and certainly never to the table of a vampire duke. The table was set with silver and crystal, glittering by the candlelight of the candelabras. The fine bone-white dishes, rimmed in silver, were quite different than the tin and glassware they’d used in their old home.
She’d also never experienced the continued silence of her children at the dining table as they stuffed themselves eagerly with each new course that was set before them—a rich broth of duck soup, sliced lamb with jelly, spiced savory pudding, buttery green beans and potatoes, and a dessert of sugared almonds and raisins with candied orange slices and cream puff pastries.
She particularly enjoyed the dessert. When she found a dollop of cream on her finger, she couldn’t help but lick the tip clean. The sensation of being intently watched by her host drew her attention sideways. The smoldering of his midnight blue eyes made her jerk her hand into her lap and wipe the offending finger in her napkin.
He’d been served each course, as well, though he’d eaten very little. As the meal carried on, his catlike sprawl in the chair angled farther and farther until his broad chest and square shoulders fully faced her. His hand with the signet ring wrapped around a glass of port on the table, his forefinger lazily tapping, and Brenna had the distinct feeling he was ticking off the seconds, time winding down a clock to some inevitable explosion.
“You must thank your cook for us. The meal is absolutely delicious,” she said, taking the last sip of her wine and regretting that she’d drank the whole glass.
She didn’t drink often, and this strong blend had warmed her immensely but also had loosened the tight control she kept on herself. Whereas she should be thinking of getting the children to bed, she could only think of being alone with the vampire duke, who lazed like a lion at her side. She wanted to press her lips to the place at the base of his throat right above where sparse curls disappeared into his shirt. He’d worn no cravat and left his shirt unbuttoned, a tantalizing vee open at the top. When Beatrice spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I’ve never tasted food so wonderful, Your Grace. I wonder if I might talk to your cook sometime, as I so love learning new recipes.”
His wide mouth slanted up on one side, his heavy gaze still on Brenna for a few seconds more before he swiveled to Beatrice.
“I will introduce you to Olog tomorrow. Though most cooks are possessive and secretive of their recipes, I’m sure he’d appreciate a young apprentice as delightful as you.”
Beatrice blushed and dove back into her dessert.
“Tell me, Miss Snow.” He kept his voice low and intimate. “How in all the stars did you get that machinery into your basement by yourself?”
“I didn’t. A young man I’d once tutored helped me move here from Korinth. It took a sturdy cart and two very strong horses.”
“Indeed.”
Brenna glanced at Helena, who folded her napkin and set it on her plate, her forlorn gaze in her lap.
“Well, I’m stuffed,” announced Caden, heaving himself back in his chair and patting his stomach.
“If you’re all done, then I’ll take you back to your rooms,” said Brenna, placing her napkin on her plate and slowly rising.
They all pushed away from the long table, Friedrich’s voice rumbling soft but insistent. “I’d intended for us to speak tonight on a few matters that cannot wait.”
“Oh, I—”
“It’s all right,” said Helena across from her, taking Izzy’s hand on her left. Izzy rubbed one eye and yawned. “I’ll put them to bed.” Helena curtsied to Friedrich. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Good night,” he said with a kind smile as they filed after Helena, leaving him alone with Brenna.
She waited, standing there, never before feeling so awkward with him. Or was it something else that had her breath catching?
“What did you want to speak to me about?”
“Come.”
He held out his hand for her to take. An odd gesture. But she took it, letting him engulf her small hand in warmth and guide her toward the main staircase. He tugged her gently up the carpeted stairs and long a corridor she recognized at once. Remembering the last time she’d walked this corridor leading to his private parlor, her heart battered erratically within her breast. He stroked his thumb over her wrist, a soothing caress, as if he knew why she was suddenly nervous.
Opening the door to his parlor, he ushered her through first with a hand on the small of her back. It was as she remembered. A warm fire lit in the grate, scattered candelabras, the masculine combination of leather and dark velvet on the chaise and chairs. The scent of what she now associated with him—clean rosewood and a heady aroma she couldn’t identify, but knew was distinctly him. An open door in the corner led to a darkened room.
“Have a seat,” he said gently.
She did, taking her place on the chaise lounge, finding herself as nervous as she was the first time. He’d been stewing on something since he’d arrived at her house mid-morning and discovered she was the White Lily. But whatever he planned to discuss didn’t seem to have to do with her involvement in the resistance. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but instinct told her another surprise was coming. One she might not welcome.
He poured two glasses of amber liquor then took a seat beside her, handing her a glass.
“I honestly don’t drink very much.”
“Take it,” he said with earnest. “You may need it.”
She cupped the cool glass in her hands, swallowing a small sip with a wince. But the burn felt strangely good.
“You mentioned…” she started but took another fortifying sip, then looked up at him, his expression grave, no charming or cocky smile in sight. “You mentioned earlier today that we had other things to discuss.”
He didn’t waste any time. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re married?”
Her fingers clenched around the glass as she set it in her lap. She moistened her bottom lip but found she had no saliva left in her mouth. His gaze fell to the movement before meeting her own again.
“I—I did not think it relevant.”
His brow rose. “You did not think it relevant?”
“He…that is to say, we are estranged.”
“Where is he now? Still living in Korinth?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know where he is.” Another welcome sip of liquid fire, the liquor giving her courage. “He left me.”
Silence. The duke went statue-still. She wasn’t even sure he drew breath, his expression hardening.
“What fool of a man would leave you? His beautiful wife?”
She couldn’t handle the weight of his stare. Standing abruptly, she walked to the window, still clutching the glass in both hands. “He had his reasons.”
She didn’t hear him move on silent feet but felt the heat of him at her back. He turned her to face him and gently removed her glass, setting it on the window ledge. But she couldn’t look at him, shame burning up her neck and into her cheeks. He cupped her face, his large hands tilting her upward.
“What reasons, Brennalyn?”
When he said her name that way, her stomach fluttered and rolled. She yearned to hear him say it again in that deep, crooning baritone.
Despite how Elliott had hollowed her out as a woman and forced her to find her own inner strength and will to go on, she was no longer willing to let the old hurt rule her. She answered with the self-possession that had guided her out of the dark place where Elliott had abandoned her.
“I am barren, Your Grace.” She waited for some strong reaction, a look of pity or disgust. None came, so she went on. “Elliott wanted children of his own. When it was obvious after two years and not one pregnancy that I couldn’t conceive, I suggested we adopt. In Korinth, there was an orphanage where we could’ve done good. But Elliott didn’t want to raise children that were not of his blood, as he told me. Then one afternoon, he didn’t return home from the courthouse where he served as barrister.” She remembered the day where a cold stone of dread lodged in her chest when they told her he’d left that morning after cleaning out his desk and turning in his resignation effective immediately. “He’d left that day. Resigned and left without a word to me. I thought maybe he’d come home after a time. But eventually”—she let out a bitter laugh—“I realized he didn’t want me. A wife who could not bear him children. Only half a woman.”
Friedrich swept his hands down to her neck, cradling her, his thumbs pressing gently up on her jaw, forcing her head up. He edged closer. “Look at me, Brennalyn.” His voice trembled with anger, not unlike how she’d heard him today when he’d pinned her in the snow. “You are a whole woman.” His mouth firmed against hers, insisting she pay attention. She did. He deepened the kiss, penetrating with his tongue, all heat and strength, much like the man. He broke the kiss to skate down the side of her neck, nipping with teeth but not breaking the skin. “All woman.”
A breathy moan escaped her lips, for the beautiful things he said and did with his lovely mouth. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him closer, her blood humming hot and fast through her veins. He dipped to her ear and licked the lobe, whispering, “My woman.”
Returning to her lips, he made love to her mouth. Nipping, sucking, thrusting his tongue inside her wet warmth. He banded her waist with one arm as the hand of his other palmed one cheek of her bottom, squeezed, and lifted her against him. She gasped, but he wouldn’t let her break the kiss, demanding she pay attention to what he was trying to tell her with his glorious mouth.
Keeping her molded to his, his other hand roamed, up to her hip, squeezing, gliding higher to her breast, unbound by a corset. He broke the kiss suddenly, his thumb rasping over the taut nipple, evident even through her chemise and frock.
“No corset,” he murmured.
She shook her head. She hadn’t bothered after her bath. There was only dinner, then she’d return to undress for bed. Or so she thought.
His gazed drifted down, watching while he worked her nipple through the fabric, pinching softly, teasing the taut peak. She bit her bottom lip, barely concealing her moan. His eyes lit to hers then he devoured her mouth, her breast filling his hand as he squeezed. He kissed a hot line down her throat, sliding his hand to the high scooped neck, his fingers curling in as if he’d rip it, but then released.
“I hate this fucking dress,” he growled into her throat. At the moment, so did she.
He bent his head low and opened his mouth over the visibly puckered nipple, grazing with teeth. The sensation heated her blood, pooling to the apex between her legs. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him there as his rough attentions pulled a throaty moan from her parted lips.
Growling, he found her mouth again, his thrusting tongue implying what he wanted to do to her. What she longed to have him do to her. Just as she felt the hem of her gown hiking higher, a soft voice called from the doorway.
“Mimi? I can’t fall asleep.”
She jerked away. The duke stared down, eyes blazing with carnal need. He closed his eyes with a ragged exhale and turned. Brenna half hid behind him with an arm across her chest to hide the wet spot he’d made with his tongue.
“Izzy, darling. You should be in bed.”
She’d somehow wandered from the Pearl Tower and found his parlor. Leave it to Izzy to find her like a lost bee to her queen. Sleepy-eyed, she stood in her white nightgown and bare feet, blonde ringlets a messy halo around her head.
“I’m scared. Can I sleep in your bed with you?”
“I was going to ask the same thing,” murmured Friedrich under his breath.
She arched a look at him then marched for the door. He followed. Lifting Izzy in her arms, she realized the poor children must be going through their own trauma with the burning of the home they shared together then thrust in this great big castle.
“Of course,” she assured her.
Izzy caught sight of Friedrich, her blue eyes brightening as she reached out a tiny arm and chubby hand. “Will you cawwy me to bed?”
“Oh, darling. The duke doesn’t want—”
Izzy was plucked from her arms, then the duke carried her on his hip out the door.
“You know, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be afraid of in my castle.”
She’d looped her little arms around his neck. “There’s not?”
“I have the fiercest guards in all the kingdoms, did you know that?”
She shook her head, ringlets bouncing. Brenna followed alongside in silence, watching the two. A tender warmth settled around her heart.
“They watch all night. If even the hint of danger would come near, they’d smite their enemy so fast the intruder would never know what happened. They are the fastest and the strongest of any vampires I’ve ever known.”
“Weally?”
They climbed the staircase to the Pearl Tower.
“Oh, yes. And do you know what else? They have a weakness.”
“What?”
He whispered conspiratorially. “They love little girls most of all. Especially little blonde ones. Melts their tough vampire hearts into mush.”
She giggled with the brightest smile. “You’re teasing me.”
“Absolutely not. Cross my heart.”
Brenna opened the door to her bedchamber. A maid had already turned down the counterpane. Friedrich carried Izzy to the bed and settled her sweet head on the pillow. He pulled up the coverlet and tucked it under her arms.
“So you see, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about. The Bloodguard would never let harm come to you.” He trailed his forefinger across her chubby cheek and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “And I wouldn’t, either. I promise you.”
Brenna’s insides melted into nothing. Izzy looked past him to her.
“Mimi, are you coming to bed, too?”
“Yes, darling. Let me say good night to His Grace.”
She followed him to the door. He braced an arm on the doorframe, facing her.
“That wasn’t exactly the female I imagined tucking into bed tonight.”
Brenna smiled, but a twinge of fear twisted in her bosom. “You were sweet to her.”
“It was easy. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Still. Thank you.”
He cupped her cheek, sliding his long fingers into her hair. “I told you. I’ll take care of you and your children. You just have to let me.”
She had no words to respond.
“It’s been a long day. And a long night,” he added. He leaned in and coaxed a slow, sultry kiss from her lips, sipping on her till that familiar spark ignited in her blood. Then he pulled away, dropping his hand. He nodded toward the bed. “Go to your girl. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he strode away down the corridor.
Brenna revisited the fear that had arisen the moment before. His overwhelming passion, she could handle. But his tenderness and genuine affection toward her children she could not. It made her long for something she couldn’t have. A happily-ever-after. She couldn’t accept him, couldn’t trust any man.
With bittersweet longing swirling in her breast, she closed the door, changed into her nightgown, and climbed into bed with little Izzy. Pulling her sweet form close, she relished her soft weight, reminding herself that this was where she must focus her tenderness. Her love. Her children would never abandon her. She finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, ignoring the hollow chasm in her heart she was sure would never be filled.