Rose's Rapture: Lords of the Night, Book Two (2 page)

“I’ll send Harriet up to assist you with your bath, unless you prefer your own personal maid.”

“Gladis will be leaving tomorrow, so Harriet will be just fine.” Rose inclined her head.

Geoffrey bowed, and then closed the door as he left. Rose stepped deeper into the room, running her hands over the bed linens. They were soft to the touch, smooth and cool against her fingertips.

She glanced at the fire once more, then around the room. Rose whirled, her arms out at her sides. This was her room, her home. All hers. She fell back onto the bed, sinking into its downy depths. She couldn’t keep the laughter from spilling forth as contentment enveloped her.

A few minutes later a knock sounded on the door. Rose stood and then bade them to enter, expecting to see the maid. The coachmen placed her trunk in the center of the room and left. A quiet rasp followed their departure.

“Come in,” Rose called out.

A mouse of a woman named Harriet entered, giving Rose a quick curtsy. She helped her bathe and dress for dinner, then Rose dismissed her.

Harriet walked to the door and stopped with her hand on the latch. “Would you like assistance unpacking your trunk, my lady?”

Rose smiled. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I wish to take care of it myself.”

Harriet looked surprised, then quickly smoothed her features. “Very well, my lady.” She dipped a curtsy and left.

Rose opened the case and stared at her clothes a few moments. So much history, so many memories. She frowned, then proceeded to toss every last item into the hungry flames. Thus closing the door on her old life for good.

* * * * *

Hamish Colin MacDougall paced the confines of his opulent gold and blue brocade bedroom, waiting for the last rays of the sun to set. Candles lit the darkened room, their flickering light casting shadows deep into the cavernous corners.

His stomach rumbled in the silence, reminding him of his need to feed. The letter from Richard Sebastian Stuart, the sixth Earl of Lyon lay crushed in his hand. He opened his fist and carefully unfolded the crumbled parchment to re-read the message.

Hamish,

Forgive this short missive, but I desire your assistance. A dear friend has taken residence in Hyde Hall. Please make sure her needs be met and her way into society eased. She has suffered much and assisted me greatly throughout the years, giving her most treasured gift...freely. Consider this a personal favor for your recently wed friend.

Richard

Richard, married? After all these centuries? Hamish could hardly believe it.

His friend’s scrawled name lay across the bottom of the message like a slashed vein. Hamish inhaled, his nostrils flaring as he caught the elusive coppery scent. Richard had signed his name in blood, which meant he wasn’t asking the favor lightly.

Hamish groaned and crumpled the note again. He didn’t engage in social activities beyond bed sport. Richard of all people would know that. So why send him the missive? Surely, he had other friends whom he could impose upon. Hamish’s gaze flicked to his massive bed, trying to recall the name of the last female who’d graced his linens.

He growled in frustration. It mattered not. Richard knew his habits or used to before he got himself leg shackled, which was probably the real reason behind the letter. His dear friend thought to play matchmaker—again.

The last time Hamish had allowed Richard to talk him into meeting someone, the poor woman had paled and collapsed at the sight of his fangs curling over his lower lip. Hamish shuddered at the thought. His cock had wilted faster than a flower in the frost. From that moment forward, he’d kept his appetites a secret by manipulating people’s memories. Something that got easier and easier to do over time.

Admittedly, that had been six hundred years ago and he’d been a much younger vampyre at the time, but things hadn’t changed that much in the world. He was sure of it.

It mattered not that this woman allowed Richard to feed in the open. Twas’ not that uncommon. He grumbled. For the deuce of him, Hamish couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard of such a thing without the use of glamourie. His cock twitched beneath his kilt. Perhaps he was a little intrigued, but that didn’t mean he would drop everything to squire some mortal female around the Scottish countryside.

He grumbled under his breath.

Trouble was he already owed Lord Lyon a thousand favors, which until now, Richard refused to allow him to repay. Obviously, marriage had changed him. And not for the better.

The vein in Hamish’s forehead pulsed and his fangs exploded from his gums in frustration. Just the thought of playing nice in public gave his head the aches. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His long black hair hung wildly about his shoulders and his moss-colored eyes glistened with flecks of red, exposing his true nature. He snarled at his reflection, flashing deadly canines.

He knew he’d do as his friend bid. He owed him that much, but naught more. He’d learned his lesson long ago not to trifle with humans beyond gaining sustenance and relief for his other insatiable appetites.

The one time he’d ignored that rule cost him everything. It had been six hundred years since he’d laid his dear Agnes in her grave. Six hundred years since he’d accidentally killed her—his one and only true love—by draining her during a feeding frenzy brought on by his emotional connection to her.

His love cost Agnes her life.

Never again.

Hamish no longer allowed his cock or his fangs to control his behavior, which meant never feeding from the women he knew. No matter how tempting they may be. Although not to his liking, Hamish hired common whores to assuage both needs. Their blood was hot and they kept their mouths shut. He refused to address or acknowledge his growing dissatisfaction of the arrangement. This encounter with Richard’s friend would be cordial, but indifferent. He’d see to it.

* * * * *

CHAPTER TWO

Rose had been in her home for a month and the invitations for visits kept pouring in. She had no idea there would be so many gatherings in the country. The latest came in the form of a ball to be held at nearby McKeon Manor.

She had prepared a missive to decline the invitation when the Mistress of McKeon Manor, Abigail McKeon herself arrived on her doorstep for an impromptu visit.

“Lady Abigail McKeon is here to see you, madam,” Geoffrey said. “Are you available?”

“Yes, please show here in.” Rose put aside the invitations and stood to greet her unexpected guest.

Lady Abigail McKeon swept into the library like a golden-haired Athena. Not a curl was out of place and her light gray muslin dress fit her resplendently. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, clasping Rose’s hand and touching cheeks.  Her smile lit up the room.

“And you.” Rose smiled tentatively. “Please sit,” she gestured toward the chairs under the window. “Geoffrey, please ring for tea.”

He gave a slight nod, then the door shut leaving the women alone.

“I do hope you forgive my boldness,” Abigail said, “but I just had to meet the mysterious lady who had moved into Hyde Hall. You are quite the sensation. I daresay half the countryside has been trying to catch a glimpse of you. I had no idea Lord Lyon had parted with the property until a few weeks ago.”

“Do you know Lord Lyon well?” Rose toyed with a loose thread on the arm of her chair to hide her nervousness.

Abigail shook her head, sending a wayward curl bouncing against her heart-shaped face. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but my husband—God rest him—said he was a fine man.”

“He is indeed,” Rose said. “So you are a widower?”

Abigail’s blue eyes dimmed to match the gray of her dress. “Yes, it’s been five years now.”

“Any children?” Rose asked, hoping she hadn’t been all alone. She knew firsthand how lonely life could be without family in it.

Abigail swallowed hard. “We were not blessed with any.”

“I’m sorry.” Rose touched her hand.

Abigail waved the concern away. “What’s for you won’t go by you. What about you, are you married?”

Rose froze as she considered how to answer that question without lying. It was one of the many reasons she’d kept to herself. She didn’t like lying, especially to people she hoped to call friend. She drew breath. “I lost my fiancé long ago.” It was the truth. He wasn’t dead to her knowledge, but he had left her when she needed him most.

“Well then, we’ll just have to keep each other company,” Abigail said, fluffing her skirt.

As the afternoon wore on, Rose realized that she’d found a kindred spirit in Abigail. Like Rose, she was now a woman of independent means and intended to stay that way. By the time tea had been served, they’d become fast friends.

Rose knew facing her neighbors would occur sooner or later. She simply preferred later. Yet, she couldn’t decline Abigail’s request that she attend her ball. Not after meeting her. Rose reluctantly agreed to be at the ball in a fortnight. She prayed she hadn’t made a mistake.

Abigail McKeon left Hyde Hall after securing Lady Rose Carlson’s acceptance. It was a social coup and would have the tongues wagging all over the countryside for months to come. The fact that she’d gained a friend only added to her happiness. As her carriage passed the pillars with the horrifying fanged stone creatures perched upon them, the hair on her nape rose. Heat suddenly infused her body, the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since her dear husband was alive, setting her aflame.

Her head whipped around in time to see glowing eyes fading in the distance. Abigail brought a hand to her heart and blinked. The stone statue appeared normal. Well as normal as a fanged monster with an insidiously long tongue could look. The creature’s eyes peered back from a set of empty sockets, not the glowing red fire balls she’d witnessed a moment ago.

Fire balls? What was she thinking?

Abigail shook her head at her folly, then turned back to stare at the road. Statues didn’t stare with red eyes and they most certainly didn’t come to life. Even as the thoughts crossed her mind, Abigail couldn’t ignore the sensation crawling over her skin.

* * * * *

Lazarus watched the golden haired woman pass by his perch, her beauty nearly causing him to lose form. Lose form? Shock infused him. How long had it been since a woman of her elegance entranced him? Five centuries? Ten perhaps? He couldn’t recall and didn’t care. All that matter was that he’d
finally
found her. After all these years of being trapped within the stone, he’d found the woman who could free him.

Her blue eyes widened when she gaze fell upon him. Awareness flared. He saw the flutter of her pulse and the deepening of her breath. The sight brought her ample bosom into sharp relief against her muslin dress. Her nipples all but begged for his touch. She pursed her full lips and swallowed hard, her delicate throat lightly convulsing.

She’d seen him. She had truly seen him. A mere moment perhaps, but it had been enough. Like a gasp of air on a warm spring morn, she’d brought life back to his frozen limbs. Or at least she would once night fell.

One chance encounter had released the first tumble of the invisible lock that held him. He could almost feel his body extending, his wings flapping, his muscles rippling to life. He wanted to stretch, to walk, to fly. But first, he needed to capture the woman. Once he seduced her and she accepted him for what he was, the rest of his bindings would fall away forever. The curse would be broken. He’d no longer be trapped in stone or subjected to roaming only during the night. Evening couldn’t come fast enough.

Soon he’d find…he’d find…

Lazarus had gotten so excited that he had forgotten one small detail. What an interesting dilemma. Who was this mysterious woman? And who now occupied Hyde Manor?

The only being he’d ever seen over the centuries had been the vampyre and he was in no hurry to release him. Or so it had seemed since he never heeded Lazarus’s call. When was the last time he’d seen him? Could’ve been five years, could’ve been a century. Time blurred into an eternal glom.

Mentally shaking himself, Lazarus smiled inwardly. It was a good thing he was no longer around. He didn’t need a
baobhan sith
interfering with his seduction, when glorious freedom lie a fuck away. He closed his eyes, reveling at the thought.

Lazarus reached out with his senses, following the black carriage until it rounded the bend. She couldn’t be traveling far, she was neither packed nor dressed for a long journey. Which meant she lived somewhere close.

If he wasn’t already made of stone, he would’ve hardened at the thought. His tongue lulled from his mouth in a permanent lick, exposing his fangs for the world to see. Yet, she hadn’t turned away in horror. No, she’d looked upon him in fascination. He’d use her curiosity to draw her nearer, reinforce it with the aphrodisiac in his kiss, and then he’d pounce.

He would take the nights and use them to their full advantage, until he could secure the rest. He didn’t want to think about how long it had been since he’d felt the warmth of a woman or heard her gentle moans as he rode her to completion. For a creature that fed on passion, it was an eternity.

Soon, my lady. Soon.

* * * * *

It took Rose over two hours to pick out a suitable ball gown. No matter how many she tried on they all fit the same way, draping her legs, accentuating their length, while hugging her generous curves. Curse Richard and his expert eye. Wasn’t there something in her wardrobe that could blend with the wall?

One more fruitless search and Rose had her answer. Perhaps she’d been too hasty when she’d burned her clothes. She sighed, catching her reflection in the mirror. There was nothing immodest about any of the gowns, yet she felt exposed. Rose debated whether to feign a headache, but knew she wouldn’t. After all, she was no coward and she’d promised Abigail.

She entered McKeon Manor an hour later, her fingers trembling as she handed the servant her invitation. Packed with a colorful crowd, the room swelled with the sound of merriment. Musicians played in the corner of the great hall. It appeared as if the entire countryside had turned out in their finery. She was formally announced, which immediately caused a rush of whispers. Rose’s face flamed, but she held her ground.