Wynter's Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 5) Page 2

  Bethany followed her mother’s gaze. The Baron of Darkwood was at least handsome, but something about his harsh countenance and emotionless dark eyes made her shiver. He looked all too capable of cruelty. Darkwood turned and said something to another man, who grinned and laughed. “Who is that gentleman standing next to him?” she whispered, captivated by the man’s long dark red hair, russet brows, and brilliant green eyes dancing with merriment.

  Her mother’s lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “Viscount de Wynter, a known rake and blackguard. Stay clear of that one.”

  “But a viscount ranks higher than a baron.” Bethany frowned in confusion, trying to make sense of her mother’s contrary logic.

  “Yes, but the only proposals you’re likely to receive from that one are the indecent kind. He ruins maidens for sport.” Mother lightly grasped Bethany’s upper arm to guide her forward. “Now, avert your gaze before he sees you looking at him.”

  Lady Ellingsworth greeted them courteously enough, though with hurried disinterest. Bethany couldn’t blame the hostess, for she still had a long line of guests to greet.

  Disinterest turned out to be the best reception Bethany received all evening.

  Her first country ball was a disaster. Bethany started the contradance with her left foot, rather than the right. To make matters even worse, she stepped on Squire Willoughby’s toes. He politely continued their dance, but from his flared nostrils and lack of invitation to dance with her again later, Bethany knew she’d made a cake of herself.

  Then, after she was introduced to Lord Peabody, the man actually fell asleep when she was telling him about the songs she played on the harpsichord. A dull topic to be certain, but her mother insisted that she only speak of her feminine talents, not of her literary tastes, her love for her horse, or anything that made her resemble a human being with thoughts and opinions of her own.

  She didn’t fare any better when she was partnered with Lord Darkwood. Something about the man made her so nervous that she stammered every time she tried to engage him in conversation. His eyes were so black and cold, his hair dark as the devil’s. While they danced, he barely looked at her as she twisted herself inside out to catch his interest.

  Even worse was that after their humiliating dance, Bethany’s mother took it upon herself to introduce them as if they had not just danced together. Bethany’s face burned like a hot coal as she heard a few titters behind fans and Lord Darkwood stiffly uttered a curt greeting, not quite giving her the cut direct, but making it clear that he had no desire to further his acquaintance with her.

  Dejected, Bethany fled to a far corner of the ballroom as soon as she was able. A small cluster of young women stood to her right. One of them, a tall brunette, met her gaze and smiled. Bethany shyly smiled back. Perhaps this group hadn’t witnessed her gaffes.

  The brunette immediately dashed those hopes. “Is this your first time attending a ball?”

  “Was it that obvious?” Bethany replied, waiting for the mocking laughter, or for the girls to turn their noses up and walk away,

  They did neither. Instead, the group surrounded her, the brunette even giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “We’ve all had our own horrid introductions to these affairs. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Rebecca Chatterton, the blonde is Lady Mary Ellingsworth, and this raven-haired beauty is Miss Deborah Peabody.”

  “I’m Miss Bethany Mead.” She curtsied, pleased that at last someone was showing her kindness.

  “Your father is the Baron of Wickshire, yes?” Rebecca inquired.

  Bethany nodded.

  Rebecca cocked her head to the side. “Last I knew, the baron was leasing his estate to Mr. Bunting.”

  Bethany blushed at the reminder. Until this year, they had never stayed at their family seat, for it was much more affordable to lease the property and remain in London year-round while her father sat in Parliament and hosted political gatherings. But now that the Governor of Rochester was retiring, her father had set his eyes on a new goal. “Yes, well, Father thought it was past time we came home and took in the country air.”

  “And find a husband for you?” Rebecca prodded with a wry smile.

  The heat crept back to her cheeks as she nodded. “Yes, but I’m afraid I did not make a good accounting of myself.”

  To her further embarrassment, Rebecca glanced back at her friends and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps I can help you.”

  Gratitude flooded Bethany’s heart. “I would very much appreciate anything you can do to mitigate my predicament.”

  Rebecca leaned closer and subtly pointed her fan. “Do you see that gentleman with the dark red hair?”

  Bethany’s mouth went dry as she once more looked upon the striking visage of Viscount de Wynter. She’d been covertly snatching glimpses of him all evening. Something about him elicited a primal stirring in her belly. “Yes, I see him,” she whispered.

  “Persuade him to dance with you,” Rebecca instructed. “Or even better, have him escort you out to one of the balconies.”

  Bethany frowned. “But my mother said I was to avoid him at all costs.” Were these girls making sport of her?

  Rebecca laughed behind the lace edges of her fan. “Although she is partly correct in that you should never let him catch you alone, there is benefit in having a rogue such as de Wynter pay you some attention. If the other gentlemen see that he is interested in you, they will then wonder what garnered such interest and will hasten to make your acquaintance.”

  Like a magnet, de Wynter pulled Bethany’s attention back to his striking visage. A tendril of doubt curled in her belly. Why in heavens would he show her the any interest? She was a green girl, hopeless with social banter, a clumsy dancer, and worst of all, a little too plump. Slim, willowy figures were all the rage. But though Bethany listened to her mother and ate as little as possible, her breasts, hips, and waistline did not oblige her by decreasing in the slightest. Mother had tried corsets to see if they could diminish her curves, but all they did was make her resemble an overstuffed sausage.

  Bethany hid a dejected sigh behind her fan. It was hopeless.

  Yet she had to try. If she didn’t do something to raise her esteem among her peers, she was doomed to remain a wallflower forever.

  How would she carry this off? She and de Lord de Wynter hadn’t been introduced, so she couldn’t approach him and strike up a conversation. And introduced or not, she certainly couldn’t ask him to dance.

  As she slowly drew closer, unable to stop stealing glances at him— she’d never seen hair in such a dark shade of red— a tentative idea blossomed in her mind. He could still deign to ignore her, but if he did, he would look the cad, not her.

  Bethany prayed he would at least look at her, maybe even smile, and not just because of her goal to gain attention from suitors.

  Chapter Three

  Justus de Wynter, Viscount de Wynter, and second in command to the Lord Vampire of Rochester, frowned as he heard the group of tittering girls making their malicious plan. With his preternatural hearing, he knew that the young misses of the aristocracy were not the innocent paragons that they painstakingly paraded themselves as. But he usually ignored their mean-spirited gossip and little pranks.

  This time, however, the chits meant to include him in their scheme. Justus gnashed his fangs in irritation at their presumption to use him. He would not oblige them by dancing like a puppet on their strings.

  Their vituperative words repeated in his mind.

  “Silly little greenhead. Just wait and see what she does when he gives her the cut direct. I wager six pounds that she will cry.”

  “I wager ten that she’ll faint.”

  Though it was true that Justus was merciless in driving away any unmarried female who dared to approach him, this time, he would be gentle with the poor girl. Instead, he would guarantee that the malicious misses lost their wagers.

  His gaze swept over the crowd, landing on the target of the girls’ prank
.

  She looked painfully young, likely barely out of the school room, a picture of innocence with her golden curls and large blue eyes. However, the curves of her breasts above the neckline of her snow-white gown chased away all thoughts of her youth. Tearing his eyes from that tempting view, he once more looked upon her heart shaped face as she made her way towards him with graceful, yet tentative steps.

  A pang of worry struck his gut. She wouldn’t introduce herself to him, would she? Or God forbid, ask him to dance? Such gaffes would render her a pariah.

  The young woman licked her lush lips as if about to speak. But thankfully, she halted and merely stood near him, occasionally glancing at him over her fan.

  Good. So she wasn’t a half-wit after all. At this point, he could either ignore her presence and appear rude— something he did often— or have someone introduce them so he may engage her in conversation or ask her to dance.

  For possibly the first time since he was Changed nearly two hundred years ago, Justus opted for the latter. Catching Lady Ellingsworth’s gaze, he gave her a beckoning grin. She returned his smile and excused herself from the people she was conversing with and hurried his way.

  “Would you do me a kindness and introduce me to that young lady?” he whispered.

  Lady Ellingsworth glanced at the female in question and a line formed between her brows. “Although I’ve heard some tales, I have never seen you seek sport with a debutante.”

  “No sport intended.” Already he was coming to regret his impending act of kindness. “I merely owe someone a favor,” he improvised.

  “Well then, if you are seeking sport…” She placed her hand on his sleeve.

  Justus forced a tight smile. “I know where to look.” He thought he’d made it clear to Lady Ellingsworth and every other woman he took his pleasure from that his liaisons were for one night only. He couldn’t risk any human learning what he was, so he kept his distance.

  The hostess gave him a slightly petulant frown before pasting a placid smile on her face and patting the blonde maiden’s shoulder. “Miss Mead, have you met Lord De Wynter?”

  The young lady blinked in surprise. “I have not had the pleasure, my lady.”

  As the introductions were made, Justus bowed and concealed an amused smile at her shaky curtsy. Nervousness emanated from her subtly curvy form in tangible waves. Even when making an effort at kindness, he still appeared to intimidate. Just then, the strains of a waltz began.

  Perfect. This ought to sever the vipers’ tongues.

  Justus extended his hand. “Would you care to dance, Miss Mead?”

  Her pale cheeks flushed the color of rose petals. Usually such blatant timidity was tiresome, but for some reason with her, he felt a tremor of delight. “Yes, my lord,” she said softly, and took his proffered hand.

  Even through the thin fabric of their gloves, he could feel the heat of her fingers intertwined with his. Shaking off the odd intensity of his reaction to her touch, Justus concentrated on leading her to the dance floor and maintaining a mask of indifference at the surprised glances cast their way at the sight of him dancing with a debutante.

  Her steps were slightly off time, but for some reason, he only felt sympathy rather than irritation. “You’re overthinking the dance,” he whispered. “Relax and let me lead.”

  Her crimson flush deepened, but she heeded his advice and suddenly the dance became fluid, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Justus blinked in surprise. She followed instructions exceedingly well.

  The scent of her skin, clean and tinged with the lavender oils she must have bathed in, awakened his lust even as the pulsing vein at the juncture of her neck and shoulder prodded his other hunger.

  To combat the alarming reaction, Justus decided to converse. “Do you have any hobbies?”

  Closing his eyes, he prepared for the usual prattle about needlepoint, the pianoforte, and watercolors. Not that he frowned upon any of these genteel pastimes, in fact, many young ladies produced admirably good paintings and played pleasing music. But the fact of the matter was that they were so boring to talk about.

  “I like to read.” An undercurrent of passion threaded through her voice.

  Interest pricked at her answer. “I like to read as well. What are your favorite works?” Probably romantic novels, but some literacy was better than none.

  “I adore medieval literature.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for their topic. “Especially Chaucer.”

  Chaucer? Justus blinked in surprise. That meant she could read old English. Once more, pity welled in his heart. Women like her were always counseled to hide their intelligence. But she didn’t have to hide hers from him.

  “I enjoy Chaucer as well,” he informed her with a grin. “My favorite is The Book of the Duchess. What is yours?”

  “The Canterbury Tales.” Adoration infused her voice.

  He couldn’t help but smile in understanding of her joy to speak of a favorite work. “But they were never finished.”

  “I don’t mind. In fact, it leaves a little mystery to the experience of reading them, wondering where Chaucer was going, what else he intended.” A dreamy smile curved her rose pink lips. “Unfinished stories fascinate me.”

  And she was beginning to fascinate him, despite his better wisdom. It was difficult to find someone whose passion for the written word matched his own. Justus’s best friend, the Baron of Darkwood and the Lord Vampire of Rochester, had little time for books between overseeing his territory and attending scads of country parties. And since Justus was Lord Darkwood’s second in command, all other vampires ranked below him, and thus were reluctant to engage in any sort of banter with him.

  But he could not become close to this enchanting little reader. Women her age, by necessity, were only after one thing: matrimony, which he could not undertake without revealing that he was a monster and then transforming her into one as well.

  As if to reiterate that their conversation must come to a close, the song ended with a poignant note on the violin strings.

  The sparkle in Bethany’s blue eyes dimmed, though she made a valiant effort to hide her disappointment with a tremulous smile. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

  Instead of escorting her back to her mother as he should, Justus found himself reluctant to part from her company. “Would you care for a glass of punch?”

  Her face lit like the dawn. “That would be lovely.”

  As her slender fingers curled around his bicep, Justus once more experienced a tremor of pleasure. He tried to tell himself it was only because he wanted to continue their literary discussion. Oh, and tweak the noses of the chits who attempted to pull a prank on Bethany, of course.

  Justus glanced in their direction and met their petulant scowls with a triumphant smirk.

  “Do you only read medieval literature?” he asked Bethany as he fetched two glasses of punch from a passing footman.

  She shook her head. “I read anything I can get my hands on. Greek, Roman, French…”

  “Your nose wrinkled when you said Roman,” Justus interrupted with a chuckle. “Why?”

  “Because most of their works are veritable copies of the Greek tales, aside from changing a few names and placing extra emphasis on the ‘glory of Rome.’” Her gaze tilted upwards as if beseeching the heavens to justify such nonsense. “For a nation that conquered half the world, they are shockingly unoriginal.”

  Justus laughed. “I’ve never heard a more accurate assessment. And what of the Greek classics?”

  “Some of them are interesting, but I cannot help but think that most of the characters’ problems wouldn’t have existed if Zeus had not been such a philandering cad.” She blushed and covered her mouth with a gloved hand as she realized what she’d said. “I apologize, that was inappropriate.”

  “Yet it is indeed the truth.” Justus’s shoulders shook with laughter.

  Their conversation continued, each discovering what works they’d both read and dissecting the mer
its and perceived flaws of each. But once Justus realized they’d remained rooted to the spot, holding empty glasses for Lord knew how long, he reluctantly admitted that their time together must come to an end.

  Bethany confirmed the sentiment as she looked across the ballroom and sighed. “I had best return to my mother. She’s watching me and doing her best impression of Medusa.”

  “Then I must take you to her before she turns us to stone.” Justus handed their empty glasses to a passing footman and escorted her to her mother’s side. The murderous glare that Lady Wickshire cast upon him did Bethany’s Medusa comparison credit and he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to hold back laughter. After sketching a quick bow, he hastily retreated.

  Normally he would take pleasure in feeding from sour-faced matrons like Lady Wickshire, but out of respect for Bethany, he would spare the woman and seek other prey. Perhaps one of the mean-spirited girls who had attempted to humiliate his new friend.

  Just then, he met the scrutinizing eyes of Gavin Drake, Baron of Darkwood. “What were you doing with that debutante?” the Lord of Rochester inquired softly. “You normally avoid the petticoat set.”

  “I was thwarting a malicious prank,” Justus hastened to explain. “A group of debutantes thought to humiliate the poor thing by having her approach me and I did not care to be an instrument of cruelty, so I offered the innocent lady a dance.”

  “Ah.” Gavin’s dark brows drew together with suspicion. “And then shared a glass of punch for good measure?”

  “We were having a stimulating discussion about Greek and Roman literature.” Justus crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not see why that should be a problem. You danced with her as well.” And why did the idea of Gavin doing so make Justus’s stomach sour?