In the Heat of the Bite (32 page)

She shook her skirts, only to sling more water across the floor. “He’ll think one of the Lycans has been in here shaking water from his fur,” she mumbled. She couldn’t do much at this point, aside from letting her clothes dry. But she might be warmer if she let them dry hanging by the fire. Matthew wasn’t there and might not be for hours. So, it was reasonably safe to remove her garments quickly and hang them across a pair of chairs that sat near the grate. She got down to her chemise, which was so wet that it was completely transparent, and she tugged it over her head as well.

When all her clothing was arranged to her satisfaction, she slipped under the counterpane of Matthew’s bed to warm herself. She’d only stay long enough to dry her clothes and don them, and then she would sit and wait for him to arrive. She would take Archer’s advice and ask some very direct questions, and she wasn’t leaving until she had Matthew’s answers. Who was that woman he kissed in the garden? And what did she mean to him?

Rhiannon had never expected a love match. She always assumed she’d end up married to a Scotsman who was more enamored with her dowry than her person. That was the way of most marriages, after all; and she had resigned herself to the fact. But then Matthew had found her in Hyde Park in the middle of a storm… Rhi shook her head. No matter who her husband was destined to be, Matthew or some nameless Scot, she would expect faithfulness.

She ran through various scenarios and conversations in her head, trying to decide the best way to approach him. But finally boredom overtook her and her lids grew heavy. She’d rest for only a moment. By then, her clothes should be dry. Yes, only a moment. No longer than that…

Matthew arrived home to discover his household all aflutter. He glanced anxiously around, expecting to find that a tragedy had happened within his doors, like his butler being tied up and the house ransacked. Or one of the maids being caught with a footman. He’d actually interrupted that very thing the week before, but he’d chosen not to begrudge them their affections.

He realized the butler was safe when the man approached him, wringing his hands. “Lord Blodswell,” he began, his voice cracking with the effort to speak. He was obviously overwrought about something.

“What is it, Hughes? Has something happened?” Matthew tossed his coat and hat to the man, despite his mumbled protests. “Out with it,” he snapped. He truly didn’t have time to listen to one old man blather about missing silver or stores from the cellar that had gone missing.

“Lord Blodswell, I don’t know how it happened,” the man began again, his gaze dancing around the room as he looked everywhere but at Matthew.

“Exactly what are you referring to?” Matthew said as he smacked his gloves against this palm with irritation.

“She knocked on the door, sir.” He pointed toward the offending portal as though it had sprouted wings and would fly away. “And I told her you weren’t home. Then I dismissed her.”

“Her?” Matthew questioned.

“She looked quite bedraggled, all wet and all, so I didn’t invite her in.” He danced from side to side, still nervous, obviously. As well he should be.

“A wet woman showed up at my door, and you did not allow her entrance?” Matthew asked. That sounded very ungentlemanly.

“It was raining, sir, and I’d watched her out the window. She just stood there with her hands cupped, trying to catch the rain. I believed she was a bit mad.” His breathing began to steady.

A madwoman, reveling in a rainstorm? A smile tugged at his lips. That could only be one person. She’d come to him, despite the fact that it was horribly improper. Despite the fact that she’d obviously been angry at him for something or other that very morning, which he still didn’t understand. Matthew reached for his hat.

“I believe I know who you’re referring to,” he said. “Dark hair that’s long enough to wrap around your finger? Hazel eyes that flash like lightning?”

“I didn’t get a good look at her eyes, sir.” The butler still looked positively green. “I saw the rest of her, though,” he murmured. At Matthew’s shocked expression, he hastened to clarify. “Not that I was trying to, you see. She didn’t even know I poked my head in. I just went up to check on her at his insistence.” Hughes pointed toward the sitting room, where two booted feet rested over the end of his settee. Matthew ambled into the room.

“What the devil?” he murmured. Radbourne was asleep on his settee. “How long has
he
been here?” The butler began to speak, but Matthew held up a hand. “Wait. You mentioned a girl.”

Matthew stopped and crossed his hands in front of him, determined to wait for Hughes to collect himself.

A muffled voice from the couch said, “Rhiannon’s in your bed.” Matthew spun to face Radbourne and saw the Lycan burrow his face deeper into a pillow on the settee, his eyes still closed.

“I beg your pardon?” Matthew asked.

Radbourne sat up slowly with a belabored grunt, swinging his feet to the floor as he righted his clothing.

“Why are you here?”

“Protecting Rhiannon’s virtue,” the Lycan said with the smallest hint of a smile on his face, as though he knew a secret no one else did. “Though I have decided to give up that pursuit, if you’ll grant me some answers. Then I’ll take my leave.”

Matthew massaged his forehead in frustration. That pounding within his head was returning. With force. “I think I’m the one who deserves the answers.”

Radbourne scowled at the butler. “You may go,” he said.

The man turned on his heel and fled. So much for loyalty.

“Pray tell me what’s going on?”

“Your butler didn’t like me,” Radbourne said.

“I don’t particularly like you, either,” Matthew admitted.

“Yes, I know,” Radbourne chuckled. “I prefer it that way.” He gestured to a plate with nothing more than crumbs left. “He did feed me, though, so I think you should keep him.”

“Keep who?” God, it grew more and more absurd.

“The butler.” His eyes narrowed at Matthew. “Have you been drinking?” Then he shook his head.

Matthew wished he could have a drink at that very moment, something to soothe his frayed nerves. He simply leveled a glare at Radbourne. “That is the most idiotic question I have ever heard.”

“I do aim to entertain,” the viscount said, a look of pride on his face.

“Why are you here, Radbourne?” Matthew asked again, dropping into a chair across from him. He gave up all pretense of being a gentleman. There was no point with this rabble.

“I accompanied Rhiannon,” Radbourne said, dabbing at biscuit crumbs on the platter with his finger and licking them off. “Fabulous cook, by the way,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know.” Matthew inhaled deeply. “Rhiannon was here?”

“
Is
here. Do you listen at all?” He had the nerve to look offended by Matthew’s discomfort.

“Radbourne, I swear before God,” Matthew said as he jumped to his feet, “if you keep talking in riddles, I will have to dispose of you.”

“
Dispose
of me? Couldn’t you come up with something better than
disposal
? Like evisceration? Strangulation? Extinguishment? Eviction?” He made a job of dabbing at the biscuit platter again.

Matthew growled. Radbourne growled back. Good, he finally had the Lycan’s attention.

“What
is
this about Rhiannon?” Matthew held up a hand to stall the viscount’s answer. “Pray give me the information I need in some way that might make sense.”

“Rhiannon was angry at you this morning.” The viscount waited, licking crumbs from his finger. At the rate they were going, Matthew would have to call for more biscuits.

“Yes, she was.”

“Her sister saw you kissing a woman in the garden.” The Lycan looked somewhat pleased by that.

“I did no such thing,” Matthew protested. The only woman he’d kissed in the garden was Rhiannon. She was the only one he wanted to kiss. Forever.

“She thought you did. So she set up some harebrained scheme to find out what you were up to. She came here. That butler of yours shut the door in her face. It was pouring rain.” The Lycan pretended to mull it over. “Perhaps you should sack him after all. It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Where is Rhiannon?”

“I’m getting to that,” Radbourne snapped. He narrowed his gaze at Matthew. “You made her cry.”

So
that
was what all the rain was about. It looked like a torrent had hit Mayfair, but the rest of the city was bone dry.

“She bade me farewell, sneaked into your house, dashed up your stairs, and is, at this very moment, asleep in your bed.” His gaze danced toward the main corridor. He sighed deeply, came to his feet, and looked Matthew in the eye. “You will do right by her.”

“I will,” Matthew said.

“Then I shall leave you to it.” He started for the door.

“So, why were you asleep on my settee?” Matthew called to his retreating back.

“I couldn’t just abandon her,” he said with a shrug. “How else was I to pass the time?” At the last moment before he stepped through the door, he turned back to Matthew and said, “Treat her well, Blodswell. She deserves better than you. But you’re what she has chosen.”

Matthew was damned glad of that. He watched Radbourne through the window until he disappeared.

Matthew ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Rhiannon was in his bed? He’d only been gone a short while. She was probably pacing the floor by now, waiting to clock Matthew over the head with a heavy object when he came through the door.

The butler poked his head around the corner of the corridor. “Is all well, sir?”

“I’m not completely certain,” Matthew admitted.

“The gentleman,” the butler soured over the word
gentleman
, “said he would chew me to bits and bury me outside if I called the watch.”

“You believed him?” Matthew felt a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I did, sir,” Hughes admitted.

“Smart man,” Matthew mumbled as he started for the stairs. He took them two at a time, slowing only when he reached his doorway, where he slowly and silently turned the knob and slid into the room. He tiptoed over to the bed, taking in the general disarray of his space. Her clothes were hung about on his furniture, and a hint of gardenias hovered in the air. He absently petted her gown as he passed a pair of chairs. The dress was still wet. The poor thing must have been freezing. He noticed her chemise and raised his eyebrows, glancing back to the bed where her bare shoulders peeked out from beneath the counterpane. She
was
naked. He scrubbed a hand across his mouth. Dear God. Her stockings hung from the bedpost.

He looked down at her where she was turned on her side, her little hand pressed beneath her cheek. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her hair lay around her like a tangled mass, perfect in its disarray. The heat of the room made her cheeks rosy. He reached down to stroke her face. But he drew his hand back at the last moment.

She was everything he’d ever wanted. She was wind, rain, hail, and storms. She was also love, devotion, kindness, and heart. His own chest hurt a little when he thought of the heart he used to have. If he had one, he’d give it all to her. Instead, she had to settle for a shell of a man who would never grow old and never give her children, but who, in his selfishness, would allow her to be in his life. He couldn’t
not
have her in his life.

She wore his mark. Two little pinpricks from where he’d bitten her the night before rested at the soft place between her neck and shoulder, marking her forever as his. She was part of him. A twinge of pain hit his chest, and he absently rubbed at the area. She closed her mouth in sleep, snuggling in closer, mumbling a little to herself as she settled back down.

She was beautiful. She was more than he’d ever dreamed of. And she loved him.

She blindly reached out for something, causing the counterpane to shift and expose the side of her breast. Holy hell, she was stunning. If there was one person he could love, it would be her. But he didn’t have a heart anymore. That little twinge struck his chest again, but this time it was more of a pulsing pain. He bent over double. Vampyres weren’t supposed to experience pain. They weren’t supposed to experience love, either.

The pain hit him even harder, and he dropped to the floor, blindly reaching for Rhiannon and missing as he fell. He grunted with the force of it, trying to drive the pain from his body. His chest swelled before his gaze as he lay there on his back. Then he exhaled.

Bloody hell, he
exhaled
.

Matthew reached for his chest, still rubbing at the ache that was ebbing. If he was dying, he didn’t want to go without telling her. “I love you, Rhiannon,” he said softly, from his place on the floor beside the bed. Breathing and talking were a bit difficult, and he worked to modulate one while he did the other. He held a hand up to his mouth and felt the humid air that he exhaled. Then he heard his own heartbeat in his head. Thump. Thump. Thump.

How could it be? He was a vampyre. He couldn’t have a beating heart.

Rhiannon leaned her sleepy head over the side of the bed and looked down at him, brushing the heavy mass of her hair from her eyes in frustration. “I love ye, too,” she preened, her voice sleepy and unfocused. “Why are ye on the floor?”