Chapter Eight
The evening after Dr. Rysel’s visit, Cordon opened the door to Miss Carter’s shop and found her hunched over a workbench, her head dipped, with the sound of pencils scratching, suggesting she was focused on something.
He strolled behind her and peered over her shoulder at the dress she was sketching.
“It’s lovely,” he said.
She yelped and splayed her hands over the image, as if trying to protect it from his prying eyes.
It was too late. He’d seen everything and was impressed. The dress had a color and shape he hadn’t seen a lady wear in decades. He wanted novelty, and once again, she gave it to him.
“W-What are you doing here, my lord?” she asked. Her fingers were stained with splotches of different colors, like a painter’s palette.
He ignored the question and held out his hand. “May I see it?”
She drew in a sharp breath, then carefully spun the drawing around. “What do you think?”
“Fantastic. Stunning. Marvelous,” he said.
Her cheeks reddened with each word of praise.
The cherry scent of her blood took on spicy hints of embarrassment.
At the same time, the waver in her voice and the way she rocked back and forth were clear signs she was not in the mood for the seduction he had planned.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I speak only the truth,” he said.
She tucked her hands behind her back. “Is there something else you required, my lord? I still have much work to do to complete Miss Griffith’s garments.”
Such cold formality. He almost wished he had said nothing. Watching her pour her heart into her drawing had made him want to leap into her mind and discover her secrets. Unfortunately, he had not yet developed that skill.
“I have bad news,” he told her.
She frowned. “If Miss Griffith is unhappy with me, I can—”
“It’s not that,” he said, interrupting because her voice had taken on a nervous edge. “I have severed my association with Miss Griffith. I will still pay her bill in full, but I came to ask you to take her place.”
She shuffled back, holding out her hands as if to ward him away. “M-My lord!”
He leaned in and was relieved when she did not shuffle backward.
“You need not fear the unpleasant consequences. I am quite incapable of producing children.” Creating life was beyond the abilities of a vampire, not that he would tell her that.
When his former mistresses had subtly inquired if he wanted to use French letters or other preventives, he had declined and used the excuse of a wartime injury to his genitals.
That was usually enough to prevent further curiosity.
“I-I am only a mere dressmaker, my lord,” she said. Her cheeks were so red, he feared she might faint.
“I would pay you handsomely. You would want for nothing.”
If it meant having her by his side, he’d offer a king’s ransom. He had more money than he could spend in decades and no offspring to inherit. His maker had seen to that.
She licked her lips. “What, exactly, would you require of me?”
He grinned wider. She was so close to saying yes. All she needed was proper encouragement, and he knew exactly how to lure her in.
“To start, a fancy-dress costume for the duke’s masquerade.”
“A costume?” She tilted her head. “I am a dressmaker, not a tailoress.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Are you incapable of producing men’s garments?”
She ran her fingers over her worktable. “No. I’ve made several suits for my father.” She shook her head. “But I have no male staff. It would be inappropriate.”
She was, it seemed, perhaps willing to become his mistress but balked at the idea of taking his measurements.
What an odd woman. Her increasingly spicy scent tickled his nose and made his fangs ache.
When he had her beneath him, he would introduce her to the particular pleasure a vampire lover could bring.
He was especially eager to plunge his fangs into the large artery in her neck as she spasmed around his cock.
“Imagine it,” he whispered. He ran his fingers down the line of black buttons that closed the front of her gown. “You could attend events at my side.” He slid his hand up and cupped her cheek. “You would be surrounded by lords and ladies wearing designs made by the city’s premiere dressmakers.”
It wouldn’t even require threatening or bribery on his part to keep her relationship with him a secret, as he could glamor any human into forgetting Miss Carter’s face. He was not nearly as skilled at glamor as his nest sibling, Seraphina, but he could manage it with concentration.
“In fact,” he continued, “I’ll compensate you for the potential risk to your reputation as well.” He stepped closer. “During my previous visit, I mentioned a list.”
Her eyes were so huge, he could see the whites around her pupils. “A list of scandalous items.”
“Excellent. You remember. Miss Griffith was assisting me. Now that we no longer have an arrangement, I need a replacement.” He waited a few seconds, then added, “I wish for you to attend events at my side while I wear the garments you create. I will pay you ten pounds for every task that requires your assistance, plus an additional two hundred if you see me through to the completion of my quest.”
That total was larger than the dowries of many unmarried ladies, but it was worth it, as it would mean engaging her for several weeks, at least.
Her tongue flicked across her lower lip. “There are dozens of tailors in London, and thousands of ladies who would eagerly assist you. Why me?”
He was tempted for a moment to tell the truth, that he had less than a year to live because he had failed to find his fated mate, but what would that accomplish?
She would only laugh at how ridiculous it sounded, or call him delusional, or worst of all, pity him.
He’d had quite enough of that from Dr. Rysel.
He didn’t need someone else to try to convince him to resume his search.
Nor was he foolish enough to believe he was lucky enough that Miss Carter could be his betrothed, although he couldn’t know for certain until he drank her blood.
No, all he wanted was to make the most of his remaining time by engaging in activities so hedonistic, they would have made Caligula blush.
Preferably with Miss Carter at his side.
He smiled. “You interest me. That is all the reason I require.”
She huffed. “I should have expected.” Then, as if realizing the rudeness of that statement, she flushed.
His fangs descended. He was extremely aware of every place where her body touched his, even with the many layers of fabric.
A sluggish, pleasant warmth creeped out from his stomach and filled his entire body.
This was what he craved. This novelty, this excitement, this pleasure.
It had been decades since he’d felt such depth of emotion, and it was all because of her.
Deep inside, he wondered why he was exerting so much effort on a dressmaker when he could have found another, more willing, woman to accompany him. The only justification he could produce was Miss Carter’s scent. It confused his senses and made him act in an unusually impulsive manner.
That should have frightened or alarmed him, but his chest tightened with anticipation.
He’d spent the last five decades flitting from city to city in an ultimately futile attempt to fulfill his promise to his maker.
In all that time, he had kept his impulsive side under tight control and only pursued a few experienced ladies.
Now that he’d accepted his death, it was time to release the reins.
He retracted his fangs, stepped closer, and tilted her chin with one finger. When he looked into her eyes, something inside him flipped over. Her cheeks were flushed, and several strands of hair had fallen over her face. He gently tucked the hairs aside.
“You cannot fathom how much I desire you.”
She swept the tip of her tongue across her lower lip.
An excellent sign.
“Lord Grayson, I—”
“Cordon.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Call me by my given name.”
“It would not be proper,” she whispered.
He rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs. “Indulge me.”
She swallowed heavily, then said, “Yes… Cordon.”
The huskiness in her voice made his cock rise to attention. Oh, he had chosen his quarry well, but there was one last test. He would not indulge without her explicit consent.
“May I kiss you, Miss Carter?”
Her mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again. The redness in her cheeks spread across her entire face. After what seemed like minutes but was likely only a few seconds, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck.
“Call me ‘Kitty.’”
He squeezed her hips. “May I kiss you, Kitty?”
She swayed back and forth slightly, licked her lips again, then whispered, “Yes.”
One yes closer to his goal.
He leaned in, giving her plenty of time to change her mind and flee to the darkest corner of the shop. But she only closed her eyes and tilted her face like a sunflower seeking the morning light.
The moment their lips met, a bolt of heat shot through him.
He’d never felt anything like it and nearly crushed her to his body in response.
But that would have scared the little mouse away.
Instead, he kept their kiss demure, a light caress of lips, until she made a soft sound in the back of her throat.
He touched their foreheads together. “Come to the opera with me tomorrow night. If you do not enjoy the experience, I will not ask you to do anything else.”
She exhaled slowly, then nodded.