Chapter Twenty-One
Winifred hated him. That was the only reason Marcus could come up with to explain why his brother had not yet returned. Winifred should have read his letter by now. She must have recoiled such that Cordon had spirited her out of the castle, far away from the monster she’d married.
He stopped pacing and collapsed into his favorite chair by the fireplace.
Damn his brother for taking so long. The waiting was worse than torture.
However, getting himself worked up wouldn’t help.
If Winifred agreed to speak with him, he would have to be extremely careful to keep his distance and do whatever it took to avoid frightening her.
That was his only chance of convincing her not to flee.
Oh, God, he didn’t want her to go. The thought of returning to the lonely routine he’d established before she had entered his life, first with her charming, sprightly letters, and then with her glorious presence, was tremendously depressing.
It was as if he’d existed two centuries with part of his soul missing and hadn’t realized it until Winifred had appeared.
She was the beating heart at the center of his world. Losing her was more than he could bear.
He had to hope she felt even a fraction of the overwhelming affection he held for her.
His pacing was interrupted by an envelope slipping beneath his door. When he picked it up, he felt his eyebrows rise. It was the one he’d left for Winifred. His fingertips began to tingle. Was this her way of rejecting him? Was she so terrified that she could not bear to look at him?
He turned the envelope over and laughed. The words “good luck” were scrawled on the back in Cordon’s distinctive, messy handwriting.
Good luck with what? Convincing Winifred not to leave?
Had she given the letter to Cordon to return because she could not bear to face him?
He opened the door, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.
It was typical of Cordon, expressing his disapproval that Marcus had not summoned Seraphina to erase Winifred’s memories in such a strange way.
He shoved the envelope into his pocket and returned to pacing.
“Marcus?”
He started. Apparently, he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard Winifred enter.
She stood in the doorway, with Cordon’s wife behind her.
Kitty was grinning, but Winifred looked cautious.
That was far better than the fear he’d expected.
Either she’d decided to give him a chance to explain, or Cordon had taken the letter before she’d read it for unknown reasons.
Perhaps it was foolishly optimistic, but he chose to assume the former.
He clasped his hands in his lap and launched into his practiced speech. “If you wish to leave the castle, a carriage is already prepared and waiting. I will understand if you can’t live…with…”
Kitty was shaking her head furiously and mouthing the word “no.”
Winifred glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you for accompanying me, Kitty, but I would like to speak to my husband privately.”
Kitty inclined her head. “Of course. I have no doubt Marcus will explain his relationship with his valet to your satisfaction.”
He gulped. If he understood Kitty’s message correctly, Winifred had somehow convinced herself he’d had taken Smith as his lover. That explained her lack of fear. She must not have read his letter, after all.
“Please, sit,” he said.
She straightened her shoulders. “Are you in love with Smith?”
The question was so absurd that he laughed. It was the entirely wrong thing to do, judging from the flush that crept up her neck.
“No,” he said before she could misinterpret his response. “Smith is a loyal servant. Nothing more.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Then what were you…”
He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit. Please.”
She walked over to the chair and then sank into it like a deflating balloon. “I feel so foolish.”
He chuckled. “I am the one who should be apologizing. Let me set the record straight. I have not taken a lover in more than a decade.” He paused, licked his lips, then added, “Not that I would be averse to sharing pleasure with a man. Or multiple men. Or several men and women at the same time.” He shrugged. “I am not particular.”
Her face had become so red, he feared she would faint again. At least she sat close enough that he could catch her if she tumbled over.
“What you saw,” he continued in a softer tone, “was nothing more than Smith supporting me as I collapsed after working for too long without a break.”
He did not like lying to her, but for whatever reason, her mind was electing not to remember certain details from what she’d witnessed. Until she was ready to accept the truth of his nature, he would keep it from her.
She furrowed her brow. “You shouldn’t have been in your workshop without me.”
He leaned back. That was certainly not a response he’d expected.
She’d gone from embarrassed to chastising in record time.
It was, he admitted, rather nice to have someone trying to “mother” him.
The only other person he’d ever allowed to speak to him in such a way was his nest sister Helena.
She was the most sensitive of his siblings, the keeper of their family archives, and the only one of them with medical training, having been a nurse before Marguerite had chosen her to join their family.
“The letter on my desk,” Winifred said. “Was it from you?”
The muscles in his neck twitched. “Ah, well, yes.” Then, before she could ask about its contents, “I left it to explain the…misunderstanding. In case you did not want to speak to me.”
It wasn’t true, but he could not give her the letter now. She was obviously not ready to learn the truth of his vampirism.
She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “Why would Lord Grayson take it from me?”
“Perhaps my brother wanted you to hear the explanation from me directly?” He brushed his hand over the pocket that held the envelope. “I admit I have a habit of losing myself in my work rather than facing conflict.”
“Marcus,” Winifred said, in a sharper voice. “I want you to promise you won’t continue your experiments unless I am there to help.”
He grinned. “I promise.” He’d tried nearly every combination of blood possible with limited results, anyway, and the infusion from his valet would ease the worst of his symptoms. In fact, with his thirst sufficiently satisfied, his other urges made themselves known most insistently.
Now that he no longer had to fear losing control, there was no reason to stay away from his wife.
He could banish any suspicions she might have developed because of his prior restraint and show her exactly how much he desired her.
He rose slowly, observing her face for any sign of fear, then crouched in front of her and clasped her hands. “There is something I want to ask.”
A fizzing sensation started in his stomach.
He was not capable of becoming intoxicated, but every time he touched her, it felt as if she’d drunk several gallons of mulled wine.
“B-Before,” he started, “you s-said… After we…” His throat worked.
“I apologize. I have been alone for too long and am having difficulty finding the words to express myself.”
She placed her other hand on top of his. “Take your time.”
He licked his dry lips. “We had agreed in our letters that our marriage would be one of convenience, and I will not ask more of you. However…” He threaded their fingers together. “Am I correct in assuming that you did not find my touch entirely repellant?”
“You are correct,” she whispered.
“W-What about this?” he asked. He caressed her palm with his thumb. “Is this…acceptable?”
She arched her body like a pampered housecat. “Yes.”
“And this?” He leaned forward and touched his lips gently to hers.
She flinched. He started to pull back, when she looped her arms around his neck. He took that as a positive sign and tilted his mouth, bringing their lips apart and then together again. Every place his skin touched hers sparked with sensation.
He longed to draw her warm, soft body close and make her cry out his name, but this was new to her, so he would let her control how slow or fast they moved forward.
Then her wandering fingers touched the bulge in his trousers, sending a bolt of pleasure through him that jostled his senses back in order.
It was too soon after her shock. She deserved a better setting to experience her first time.
He repositioned her hand on his trousers to her shoulders. “Winifred…”
She huffed. “I wish you would not do that. I’m not fragile. You won’t break me.”
“I am not so sure of that.”
She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Trust me.”
“Winifred,” he whispered between her closed-mouthed kisses. “We should discuss this before we proceed. You are innocent.”
The urge to extend his fangs grew with every passing second, but he tamped down his vampiric instincts with every bit of his strength. He would only go as far as she wished, which did not include sampling her blood a second time.
No matter how much pleasure it would have brought them both.
“No more talking,” she said. “Touch me, Marcus.”
It was a plea he could not deny. He slid his hands beneath her skirts and massaged her thighs above her stockings while dragging the tip of one fang along her throat.
A fraction more pressure, and his saliva would render her boneless.
He could fill his mouth with her blood and drink as much as he desired.
It had been mere hours since Smith’s donation, but the craving burned in him as if it had been years.
There was a flask waiting on the table next to his bed, but the mere thought of letting the thick, cold liquid slide down his throat filled him with revulsion.
One bite. That was all it would take. He ran his tongue over the part of her throat where her pulse beat the strongest. Things were going too fast. They had done little more than kiss, yet he was already considering penetrating her with his fingers, his cock, and his fangs. Preferably all three simultaneously.
His fingertips brushed coarse hair.
“Marcus, wait,” Winifred said.
He immediately withdrew his arm and searched her face for signs of distress. “Did I hurt you?” He hadn’t touched a woman so intimately in a very long time. Perhaps he had been too eager with his affection.
“No,” she said. “It is only that…” She closed her eyes. “My courses have arrived. So you might not wish to continue.”
A wave of heat rippled through his body.
He lifted her skirts, ducked beneath, and breathed in a familiar metallic scent.
His mouth watered. He spread her thighs apart with shaking hands, then moved a napkin attached to a belt out of his way.
Fate had handed him a gift. There was no reason to resist. The offering was already seeping from her body like sap from a tree.
All he had to do was lean forward and lap it up.
He brought his nose to her quim and inhaled.
The musky scent of her arousal combined with the rich fragrance of blood made his cock spring to attention.
There was nothing more appetizing than a woman’s monthlies.
To a vampire, such a banquet was akin to a sugary treat—luxuriously decadent but lacking nutritional value.
He could fill his stomach and be still famished an hour later.
He didn’t care.
“I want to continue,” he said. “Are you ready?”
She squeezed her thighs around his head. “Yes.”
He gently parted her curls with his tongue.
The moment he came in contact with her essence, he moaned.
It was even better than he remembered. He rasped every surface of her inner lips like a starving man licking his plate after finishing a meal.
When there was nothing left, he spread her apart with his thumbs and channeled his blood to form a long, straw-like tongue that he slithered through the tightness of her sheath.
He worried at first that it might cause her discomfort, but the way she writhed and pressed herself into his mouth chased those concerns away.
He sucked until there was nothing left, then recalled his blood and focused his attention on her clitoris.
She grasped his shoulders. “Oh!”
Her rapid pulse and soft gasps told him she was close. He continued at the same pace and pressure until she came apart, then slowed until she stopped shuddering.
“That was… marvelous,” she whispered as he exited her skirts.
He pressed a firm kiss to her cheek. “That is only the start. There is much more for you to learn.”
And he couldn’t wait to teach her.