In the Heat of the Bite (14 page)

“Dash!” the viscount called just as the door was about to close.

Eynsford sighed loudly and replied, “What
is
it, Archer?”

“I thought you might want to know there’s a bloodsucker in your bushes. Do have a good evening.” Then he caught Matthew’s eye and smirked before heading down the street with his look-a-like brothers.

“For the love of God.” Eynsford groused. He descended his stone steps after the trio, but they were gone. “What about a blood-sucker?” the marquess muttered to himself, staring in the direction the other Lycans had departed.

Matthew figured he might as well make himself known. Eynsford would catch his scent in a moment anyway. “I believe he said, ‘There’s a blood-sucker in your bushes.’” Matthew stepped from the aforementioned foliage.

The Lycan stopped and tilted his head at Matthew. “And just
why
are you in my bushes?”

Lie? Or tell the truth? Eynsford could probably read Matthew as well as a copy of
The Times
, and if he couldn’t, his wife could.

“Hiding, actually,” Matthew confessed.

“Well, I had a feeling you weren’t playing hide-the-slipper. But the question was—and still is—
why
are you hiding in my bushes?” Eynsford folded his arms across his chest, and a suspicious glint flashed in his amber eyes.

It was a bit embarrassing. Still, this was what happened when one hid in the bushes at a Lycan’s home. It was a wonder he wasn’t found out before now. “Waiting for Miss Sinclair,” Matthew grumbled under his breath, knowing full well Eynsford would hear him anyway.

“Indeed?” the marquess narrowed his eyes on Matthew. “And there was a reason you couldn’t present yourself at the door like a normal human being to call on the lady? Aside from the fact that you’re not a normal human being at all, of course.” He shook his head as though he could shake the absurdity out of it like a dog shakes water from its coat.

“I didn’t want to pay a social call, actually,” Matthew confessed. “I just wanted to be certain Miss Sinclair was all right. She went out to meet MacQuarrie.” He shrugged.

“She did
what
?” The Lycan growled loudly and started back for his door. He glanced over his shoulder at Matthew. “Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t just stand there. Follow, man, follow.”

Matthew had been alive for more than six centuries and had never had anyone suggest he
follow
. But he fell in line behind the Lycan, regardless. The ancient butler took Matthew’s greatcoat as Eynsford bellowed for his wife.

“Caitrin!” he called so loudly that the home nearly shook on its foundation.

She appeared from around the corner, a slight scowl on her beautiful face. “Why are ye bellowin’ at me?” she asked, her dainty little hands on her hips as she glared at her husband. MacQuarrie would be relieved to see that she stood up to the overgrown wolf.

Eynsford was undeterred by her scathing look. “Blodswell just informed me that Miss Sinclair is out with
Alec MacQuarrie
.” He grumbled the name as though it were a curse. “Were you aware of this?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted sheepishly, her pert little nose rising as she scrunched up her face and folded her arms across her chest.

“
Perhaps
, Caitie?” Eynsford pressed.

“Well, Rhiannon dinna tell me, if that’s what ye’re askin’. And she’s asked that I no’ peek inta her future.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

“However?” her husband prompted.

“I did anyway.” That was all she said.

“You peeked into her future?” Matthew couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Is she all right?”

The blond witch waved him off as though he were a pesky fly. “Of course, she’s fine. She’s with Alec, after all. He’d never harm her.” She snorted the last, which earned an even louder snort from her husband.

“When will she be home?” Matthew asked.

The witch’s eyes took on a vacant look, as though she saw pictures no one else did. “About twenty minutes, I’d wager.” She looked within her own mind again. “And she’ll be none too happy if she realizes the two of ye were frettin’ over her outin’.” She shot Eynsford a quelling look. “Ye ken what happens when she’s no’ happy.”

The Lycan shivered lightly, which would have been an amusing sight if Matthew wasn’t so concerned.

“What happens when she’s not happy?” Matthew had to know.

“Her emotions go off like mad when she’s nervous or upset. But she also has great control that no one is aware of.” Lady Eynsford lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, “She once zapped Dash with a bolt of lightnin’ for gettin’ too amorous with me.”

He could just see Rhiannon doing something like that with her temper. A grin tugged at the corners of Matthew’s lips. “What was that like?” he asked the Lycan.

“Jolting, to say the least,” Eynsford admitted. He took a step toward Matthew. “Since Miss Sinclair is not yet home, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“A word?”

“In my study,” the Lycan barked. Then he led the way down the corridor to his private domain and motioned for Matthew to take a seat.

Matthew did so regretfully. He’d rather be in the bushes than inside the study with Eynsford. What the devil did the Lycan want with him?

The marquess gestured to a decanter of claret on his desk as he dropped into his large chair. “I’d offer you a taste, but I don’t believe this is your vintage.”

Matthew said nothing but regarded the wolf in gentleman’s clothes with disdain. He’d never cared for Lycans as a breed. They tended to be loud, uncultured brutes for the most part. Still, Caitrin Eynsford seemed happy with hers. This one, to be precise. There was no accounting for taste.

The marquess frowned when his goading caused no outward reaction. “I thought you would present yourself this morning so we could talk,” Eynsford said smoothly as he poured himself a tumbler of the dark red wine.

“About?” Matthew asked, his patience growing thin. He had nothing to say to Eynsford. He didn’t owe the man a blasted thing.

“At the Pickerings’, you nearly ruined Miss Sinclair.”

“Ruination is a strong word. I surprised her, and she reacted. Nothing more.”

Eynsford narrowed his amber eyes. “It can take less than that to ruin a lady’s good name.”

“Firsthand experience?” Matthew couldn’t help himself from muttering.

The Lycan snorted as he leaned back in his chair. I asked that you present yourself at Thorpe House this morning so we could come to an understanding. I was far from pleased when you did not arrive.”

Heaven forbid the beast be unpleased. Matthew leaned back in his own seat, mirroring Eynsford. “I arrived as requested.”

“Only to present yourself to the lovely lady instead of me.”

“Why on earth would I present myself to you?” The confounded Lycan was barking up the wrong tree.

“Since Miss Sinclair’s father is not present, and wouldn’t be present even if he was here in London, I’m standing in for him.”

The idea was ludicrous that anyone of sound mind would ask the Marquess of Eynsford to stand in for him. “And he asked you to do such a thing, I assume?” Highly unlikely.

Eynsford’s brows pushed together in annoyance. “He needn’t ask me. I take it as my duty. Miss Sinclair is a guest in my home. My wife loves the lass like a sister. It’s my honor to protect her.”

“From fortune hunters or just vampyres?”

“From whomever I deem a threat.” The Lycan growled low in his throat.

“Meaning me.”

“Meaning you,” Eynsford assured him.

Matthew snuffled. “Well, I can assure you her honor is safe with me.” Much too safe. He’d drunk sheep’s blood, for God’s sake. Vile stuff that it was, he still hadn’t gotten the taste out of his mouth.

“Indeed?” The Lycan took a sip of his claret. “What are your intentions with her then?” Eynsford sat back and regarded Matthew stoically.

To do her bidding without tasting a drop of her blood. Matthew sighed in annoyance, more at himself than with Eynsford. “I intend to court her.” The man would find out soon enough as it was; and Matthew never prevaricated.

The Lycan choked on his drink, splashing the dark red liquid down his cravat. “Over my dead body,” he said when he finally could breathe.

“That
can
be arranged,” Matthew replied. He’d had enough of the young man’s posturing. He’d been alive for too long to allow this pup to unman him. He’d been nothing but honorable, and he wouldn’t let some Lycan bring him to heel.

“Why do you want to court Miss Sinclair?” Eynsford finally asked.

Because she was the most singularly intriguing person he’d ever met. And she was bloody gorgeous. And because he couldn’t help himself from craving her. “The normal reasons.” Matthew shrugged enigmatically. If he had to suffer through this interview, he’d make it as painful for the Lycan as extracting teeth.

“Blodswell,” Eynsford growled in warning.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Matthew said as he stood up to pace. “I’m doing it because she
asked
me to. I’d never, ever choose someone like Miss Sinclair on my own.” Choosing her would drive him mad, and he’d always enjoyed his sanity. “Her emotions are all over the place. She’s unpredictable.”

The Lycan raised his eyebrows but said nothing more.

“She asked me. No, she
begged
me to allow her to borrow some of my respectability.” When Eynsford wanted to break in, Matthew spoke over him. “And, by God, she needs it if she’s hoping to have any influence at all over that aunt of hers. A reincarnation of one of Hades’ Furies, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“And is that why you’d like to help Rhiannon?” the Lycan asked softly, his voice a low rumble in the room.

“No, I’d like not to help her at all.” He’d like to rush back to Derbyshire to preserve whatever sanity he had left. Chasing after Rhiannon Sinclair’s skirts had him hiding in a Lycan’s shrubbery and unable to drink life-sustaining blood. “But I’m obligated,” he ground out. He had given his word.

“So you don’t want to court her?” Eynsford certainly knew how to wring all the details out of a person.

Want? He wanted her like there was no tomorrow. He wanted to hold her, to taste her, to sink inside her, but not court her. That was much too tame for what he
wanted.
Saint George’s teeth, she was dangerous to his very existence.

“No, I don’t want to court her. Not at all. In fact, if I never saw her again, it would probably be for the best.”

A gasp reached his ears from the doorway. Matthew had been so wrapped up in his own diatribe that he hadn’t even heard the ladies walking down the corridor. How long had she been there? How much had she heard? All of it, if the wounded look on her face and the black storm cloud hanging over her head were any indication.

“Miss Sinclair,” he began. But she turned and bolted in the other direction.

Rhiannon could hear his footsteps behind her and knew he could overtake her at any moment, so she did the only thing she knew how. She glanced over her shoulder and socked him with a quick and well-placed bolt of lightning.

His footsteps stopped only momentarily as he cursed loudly and prolifically.

Then within a second, he had her by the elbow and was dragging her through a side door and out into the small courtyard.

“That wasn’t fair,” he said quietly, staring down at her, his black eyes filled with some emotion she couldn’t quite name.

Fair? He could go hang. The storm cloud over her head broke and rain fell over them both, drenching them within seconds.

“Neither was that,” Blodswell said as he blew the torrents of water from his lips.

“
That
I canna help. The lightnin’ bolt, on the other hand, was all me. And ye deserved it, ye blood-suckin’ excuse for a gentleman.” The rain slowed to a drizzle, but it didn’t stop completely.

“I’ve been called worse, Miss Sinclair,” he said softly, his gaze avoiding hers.

She instantly regretted her words but refused to take them back. “Give me time, Blodswell, and I’ll call ye worse things,” she said, instead.

“I imagine you would,” he groaned. “Would an apology help?”

“Would ye mean it?”

“No.”

“Then why in the world would it help?”

He frowned a response, which only made Rhiannon’s ire stronger.

“How could ye tell him I begged ye? Ye said ye wanted me, and I believed ye.”

“Miss Sin—”

Rhi shook her head. “If ye dinna want ta help me, why dinna ye just say so, instead of lyin’ ta me?” She groaned as the rain grew heavier and the mortification of the overheard conversation sank her spirits even lower. She had thought for some inexplicable reason that she could trust the blackguard. Some knight in shining armor he had turned out to be. Now she’d never be able to face Lord Eynsford again as long as she lived.

“I didn’t lie!” he called to be heard over the thunder that rumbled above them.

Liars always claimed they didn’t lie. Rhiannon glared at him. Besides, she’d heard him with her own ears.

“I didn’t lie,” he said again, this time softer.

But Rhiannon had heard enough. “I’ll no’ hold ye ta our bargain, my lord. Ye may go. I’m sorry I ever bothered ye.” She turned her back to him so he wouldn’t be able to recognize the real tears that ran down her cheeks along with the rain. “If ye doona want me, I’ll no’ force ye inta anythin’.”