In the Heat of the Bite (7 page)

Rhiannon could hardly believe her ears either. “Did ye
want
ta come with Aunt Greer?”

Ginny nodded. “Papa said I could, and I want ta attend balls and meet lords and—”

“But
evil
Aunt Greer?” Rhiannon’s voice rose an octave.

Ginny’s eyes dropped to her lap. “I ken she’s no’ nice ta ye, Rhi—”

“She’s never been particularly nice ta ye, either.”

Ginny sighed. “No, but she’s offered ta present me. When would I get another chance like that? Can ye see Papa leavin’ his library long enough ta bring me ta London and take me shoppin’ and ta attend balls and soirees and luncheons? I’m sorry she dinna do the same for ye.”

All the air in Rhiannon’s lungs escaped. She’d come to London, followed Ginny for no reason at all. Her sister was happy with her circumstances and even with their wicked aunt, it seemed. But that still didn’t mean Aunt Greer didn’t have some ulterior motive. “I willna see ye married off ta some old goat our aunt picks for ye. I want ta see ye happy.”

Ginny’s face fell. “Ye doona think she would try such a thing, do ye?”

Rhiannon wouldn’t have put it past their aunt, but she decided not to say such things to Ginny. Her sister seemed to be enjoying all this, and Rhi didn’t want to shatter Ginny’s dreams. “I willna allow it,” she vowed. “I’ll never be far away, Gin. If there’s a fellow ye fancy, let me meet him before ye agree ta anythin’. And doona do everythin’ Aunt Greer says. Doona let her make decisions for ye.”

Ginny’s hazel eyes lit up. “Ye’ll be stayin’ the whole season?”

Rhiannon smiled back at her. “Cait and Eynsford have invited me ta stay.”

Ginny leapt from her seat and wrapped her arms around Rhi’s neck. “I promise I willna accept any offers unless ye approve.”

Matthew turned on his heel, ready to depart the madness of this ball. Why had he even agreed to attend the deuced affair? But someone clutched his arm, and Matthew looked down into Sir Ralph’s old eyes. He smiled tightly to the baronet. “I was just on my way home.”

“Are you going to let the chit run you off like that?”

“I…” Matthew didn’t even know where to begin after that statement. Rhiannon Sinclair was not running him off. He just had no desire to rub elbows with these people. There was no point to it.

“You were right in what you said earlier. It’s been far too long since you spent time in polite society. You obviously don’t know how to talk to a lady.” Sir Ralph directed him to a far corner. “Which is why your father should have sent you to Eton, but that’s neither here nor there anymore. I can’t even imagine what you said to the chit. No, don’t tell me.” He raised his hands in mock protest. “I don’t want to know. But it’s very obvious you need my tutelage. You must be thoroughly enchanted by the lady to have suggested whatever it was that you suggested.”

Matthew nearly groaned aloud. But what good would that do? “Honestly, sir, I don’t think this is the place for me.”

“Nonsense!” the old man barked. “You’re the Earl of bloody Blodswell, and you are in the market for a wife. This is the perfect place for you.”

“Sir, I’m not in the market for a wife.”

One of Sir Ralph’s bushy gray eyebrows shot upwards. “If you go around saying whatever it was to that chit, you’ll find yourself leg-shackled to one anyway. Now there’s the right way to go about all this business and the wrong way.”

Matthew braced himself to hear Sir Ralph’s version of the
right
way, God save him.

“Ah!” The baronet grinned as he looked toward the entrance. “There’s the lady in question now.”

Matthew turned to find Rhiannon Sinclair crossing the floor toward him. She was lovely from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet. Her gown showed a scandalous amount of skin, which only made her seem even more beautiful to him than she had the first time he’d laid eyes on her. He feared she would look beautiful even if she was covered from head to foot in scratchy wool. Unfortunately, she drew more than one eye toward her as she crossed the room.

Matthew felt a small pain within his chest and reached up to rub it. What the devil was that? He hadn’t felt anything like that in more than 625 years. But he didn’t have time to pay it a second thought because Sir Ralph spoke in a low voice. “She’s a diamond of the first water, she is,” he sighed. “She’ll draw a lot of attention this season. I’m glad you already claimed her.”

“Claimed her?” Matthew choked. He’d done no such thing. Had he?

“Clearly, with whatever it was you said to the chit. You’re a lucky man Eynsford decided to accept your apology, but rest assured by tomorrow morning all of London will know of your interest in the girl.” Did the old man’s eyes soften at the sight of the little witch? They did. Which didn’t make any sense. Lovely as Rhiannon Sinclair was, she didn’t possess a bit of charm in her body. In fact, she was a walking thunderstorm—abrasive and shocking. If Sir Ralph knew the truth of what she really was, the old man’s rapt attention and obvious approval would wither away.

But Matthew doubted he could ever look at her differently, even knowing the power she possessed. The lady was nothing short of a siren. Rhiannon’s lovely neck was exposed by her upswept hair. Matthew could almost see the tapping of her pulse at the base of her throat. He knew he could hear it. Her storm-laden scent, mixed with just a hint of gardenia, grew stronger as she approached.

Matthew tugged at his jacket, feeling somewhat comforted by the simple act of adjusting his clothing. It gave him something to do, after all. He really should step toward her to meet her halfway, but out of nowhere that little pup, Radbourne, stepped into her path and bowed low before her.

“Uh-oh,” Sir Ralph grunted.

“Uh-oh?” Matthew just had to ask.

“Radbourne.” The old man scoffed. Then he clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “A fortune hunter of questionable character. You should probably intervene, especially now that your encounter with the chit could very well tarnish her reputation. It could give you the opportunity to play the gallant.”

Play the gallant, indeed. Damn it all to hell. Hadn’t he already fallen on his own sword to protect Miss Sinclair’s reputation? Letting them all assume he’d made an improper advance had been much easier than explaining the real reason why she’d slapped him.

Matthew froze as he watched the witch bestow a smile upon Radbourne, who looked amazingly similar to the Marquess of Eynsford. The two could pass for brothers, with the shade of their hair the only difference. They were obviously relations of some sort. Matthew had smelled the Lycan and his younger brothers the instant they’d stepped foot in the Pickerings’ ballroom. But he hadn’t realized the man was a fortune hunter. He looked as well turned out as any other man in the room.

Did Miss Sinclair possess a fortune? Did she need rescuing again? Matthew’s thoughts evaporated the moment Radbourne lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her gloved fingers.

Matthew’s chest clenched again, nearly knocking him to his knees.

“Are you all right?” Sir Ralph asked. “Shall I call for a footman?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Matthew grunted as the pain receded. It was immediately replaced by something he didn’t recognize when Radbourne lingered a bit too long over Miss Sinclair’s hand. Then the beast tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the dance floor.

Miss Sinclair graced Radbourne with a smile unlike anything Matthew had ever seen, and red rage clouded the corners of his vision. He hadn’t experienced an emotion like this in a very long time. What did they call it? He couldn’t even put a name to it.

“Jealous, Blodswell?” Sir Ralph asked.

Jealous? Certainly not. He snorted in response.

But he
was
jealous, which was the strangest thing as he barely knew the chit. Matthew couldn’t help but glower as Radbourne led Miss Sinclair into a waltz, his body scandalously close to hers. He watched closely as the young wolf held her hand in his. The bloody pup could probably feel the heat of her through his gloves. Damn his eyes. Matthew took a step toward them.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sir Ralph said as he grabbed his arm.

Matthew gritted his teeth. “Do what, Sir Ralph?” he forced out.

The man chuckled. “Throttle the cad. You can’t do that. Not here at any rate.” He shook a finger at Matthew. “And no matter how much you might want to. Hell, I want to do it on your behalf. That fellow always did have a sense of entitlement. Never did like the whelp, nor his father. He’s much more trouble than he has ever been worth, both him and his brothers who are following quickly in his dissolute footsteps.”

Matthew fairly seethed as Miss Sinclair waltzed with the fortune-hunting, debauched Radbourne. Every smile she bestowed on the viscount made Matthew angrier. And his mood grew darker as he waited for the set to finally end.

Sir Ralph nodded toward the dancing pair. “Once he bows, you can go claim your dance with the lady. But do watch your tongue. It wouldn’t do either of you any good if she slapped you again.”

Rhiannon knew quite well she was looking into the glinting eyes of a Lycan as Archer Hadley, Viscount Radbourne, led her around the floor.

“I believe he’ll rip off my head if I don’t relinquish you soon,” Lord Radbourne said with a dramatic sigh. “Or at least make a good attempt at it.”

“I doona ken who ye’re referring ta, my lord,” Rhiannon said succinctly, drawing on every lesson of decorum Aunt Greer had ever tried to drill into her head.

“Oh,
ye ken
exactly who I’m speaking of,” he laughed, mimicking her accent to near-perfection. “That man hasn’t taken his eyes off your backside the entire time I’ve had you on the floor.”

Rhiannon felt heat creep up her face. “He most certainly has no’ been starin’ at my backside,” she hissed quietly.

Lord Radbourne chuckled. “What
did
you do to deserve such devotion from the man? From what Cait tells me, you just arrived in Town last night. I can see how you could win hearts quickly, but twenty-four hours is rather fast, even for a beauty like you.” His amber eyes twinkled with mirth. “It would take me at least a fortnight to fall in love with you.” His eyes slid down her body languidly. “Well, maybe half that.”

Rhiannon tripped over his toe. Or her toe. She wasn’t certain which. But he just clutched her more closely to him and drew her back into the dance.

“Don’t look now, sweetheart, but the unlucky earl is barely holding himself in check,” Radbourne said.

He spun her so she could see Blodswell around his shoulder, and the man did, indeed, look as though he could consume her in one bite. After he killed her dancing partner, that was. The thought sent shivers down her spine as memories of a different night and a different vampyre flashed in her mind. To shake the image away, she turned her attention back to the dark-haired, amber-eyed Lycan.

“Are ye enjoyin’ this evenin’?” Rhiannon asked, biting back a grin.

“More than you could ever know,” Radbourne said. “I came tonight at Cait’s request. To help your entrance into society. But with that dress, and…” his gaze slid down her again, before he drew his eyes up and grunted, “the rest of you, I needn’t have bothered. The only reason your dance card is empty is because no one had time to pencil in his name before I stole you away.”

“Are ye always so direct?”

He shrugged. “I assume so. Does it bother you?” He looked down at her as though the answer was suddenly important.

“No, I appreciate yer candor. I believe I could talk ta ye all night.”

“Would that it were true.” Radbourne sighed. Then the music stopped and he bowed low before her, his eyes narrowing slightly when he stood back up and said one word, “Blodswell.”

Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder. There he was, the regal vampyre. He bowed low to her as well. She’d never been paid so much favor in her life.

“May I have this next dance, Miss Sinclair?” the earl asked.

If she refused, she wouldn’t be able to dance with any other man the rest of the night. All things considered, that might be all right this evening. She hadn’t come to husband hunt; she’d come to keep an eye on Ginny. Rhiannon looked to Radbourne for advice, but the Lycan merely winked at her.

“Please don’t say no,” Blodswell said quietly, “or everyone will assume my earlier breach of decorum was scandalous enough for you to give me the cut direct.”

Breach of decorum. Is that how vampyres referred to turning delightful men into one of their kind? She’d like to give him the cut direct, among other things, but making another scene would hardly help Ginny. So Rhiannon smiled at the vampyre.

“Would ye mind if we took a turn about the room instead? I doona feel much like dancin’ this evenin’.” She glanced up at the ceiling, where a small storm cloud brewed. “Why canna I seem ta control myself around him?” she muttered to herself.

Unfortunately, both Blodswell and Radbourne heard her words. The latter looked the former over with more than a hint of disapproval. “Best of luck to you, Blodswell,” the viscount offered before he turned on his heel to rejoin his brothers across the room.