Jordan Summers - Gothic Passions (Ellora's Cave).htm Read online

  Richard felt himself falling into those blue depths, drowning in the honesty and vulnerability he saw there. He glanced down and realized he still held her hand. Turning his head slightly, Richard coughed and released her fingers, before anyone could claim impropriety.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Lily Devlin.” His lips quirked and Richard managed to flash Lily a smile without exposing his fangs.

  The rose scent clung to her skin, but didn’t mask the sweet smell of the blood coursing through her veins. It was distinctive, rich and pungent, unlike any other he’d encountered. Richard blinked, a tremor of awareness raced through his senses, as his mind assimilated the information his nose sent him. He shifted casually in an attempt to hide his growing arousal from prying eyes. His cock ached almost as much as his fangs. He hadn’t had a reaction like this to a woman for almost seven hundred years. It was… invigorating.

  There was something about Lady Lily Devlin that went far beyond her beauty. She struck a cord deep inside him as if her spirit alone could speak to his soul… if he had one.

  Lily stared into an unusual pair of obsidian eyes. It was like she peered into the great abyss. Light seemed to be absorbed by them, instead of being reflected back. For a second she saw their naked bodies joined, slick with sweat, twisting in sheets.

  Shocked, she drew in an unsteady breath and covered her reaction with her fan. Just as quickly as it had appeared the vision faded. Lord Lyon flashed a practiced smile as if he knew what she’d imagined, which was ridiculous not to mention scandalous. She’d obviously exerted herself on the dance floor and needed to move to the drawing room to recover.

  Lily planted a smile upon her face and tilted her head to get a better look at the strange man with the black eyes. True to his breeding, he was tall, well developed—a gentleman to his toes. Muscle was clearly outlined beneath his gray formfitting breeches. Lily swallowed hard, willing her gaze away. Since when had she become so brazen? He wore a navy-colored jacket, cut to perfection, with an ivory shirt and a matching ivory cravat. His Hessian boots had been shined and polished to glimmer in even the faintest of lighting.

  Mahogany hair, the color of the finest wood, had been pulled back in a tight queue, which wasn’t particularly fashionable, but looked becoming on him. Lily longed to run her hands through the thick mop. Was it as silky soft as it appeared? Her fingers started to itch, so she gripped her fan tighter. His skin was pale, unusually so, but quite the fashion of a gentleman of his caliber. Lord Lyon was a regular Beau Brummell, without the pretense.

  Lily shuddered as his eyes raked over her. She had the distinct impression if they weren’t in the middle of a crowded ball he would devour her on the spot. His attention hadn’t gone over the lines of propriety, but it certainly skirted the edges. She had to do something to break the crackling tension. After all she had no wish to encourage a known rake.

  “So Lord Lyon—”

  “Please, my lady,” he interjected. “My friends and family call me Lyon.” His eyes flashed, but did not sparkle.

  She gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement. “Seeing as though I am neither, I shall stick with your proper name, my lord.” Lily hid the urge to grin behind her fan, while Lord Martins shuffled his feet beside her making small talk with the rest of their group.

  Richard’s eyes widened, but he said nothing, only deepened his smile approvingly.

  “Is that an Irish brogue I detect in your speech?” she asked, further considering his dress.

  “Aye, indeed.” He inclined his head. “It is nice to know the lady not only outshines everyone with her beauty, but is intelligent as well.”

  “Thank you for your ‘pon rep’.” Her lashes dropped shuttering her eyes. “But I feel your flattery shall be wasted upon me.” She smiled again, this time showing him.

  “Why is that, my lady?” Richard arched a brow and took a step closer, still well within propriety, but near enough to impress his size upon her.

  She laughed nervously and swung her fan around to tap him on the arm. “Because, my lord, this is neither my first season, nor my second. I am well versed in the ways of the ton.” The smile she gave him was smug.

  His lips twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Then we are in the same boat, I fear.”

  “Why?” Confusion marred her voice.

  “Because my dear lady, up until now we have not found what we have been seeking.”

  Lily arched a brow. “And you think that has changed?”

  He grinned devilishly, a small dimple appearing on his cheek. “I know it has.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur.

  Delicious shivers raced up Lily’s spine as his deep cadence washed over her. Lord Lyon was cocksure. If he wasn’t so charming it would be irritating. She looked at him once more, drinking in his handsome features. Lily knew that with his obvious wealth there was a good chance her father would immediately approve of such a union, if Lord Lyon was so inclined.

  She tamped down the rush of excitement zinging through her veins and reminded herself not to encourage his attention. Lord Lyon was a rake of the first order and therefore quite unacceptable to her. She had her own requirements to consider. Lily sighed, a bit disappointed.

  She held out her hand once more. “It was very nice meeting you, my lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of the season. If you’ll excuse me, I must join my Aunt, Lady Margaret.”

  Richard quirked a brow, noting her slight blush, yet refusing to accept her dismissal. “It shall be my pleasure to escort you to her side.”

  Lily nodded stiffly, allowing him to place her hand upon his arm.

  “Martins.” He inclined his head to the man who’d introduced them.

  “Lyon.” Martins answered in kind, a frown upon his face.

  From the first touch of her, Richard felt the predator in him stir, feeling challenged for the first time in… well, he couldn’t remember how long. How could he have missed such a succulent flower? She’d been under his nose the whole time. He walked Lily across the room to where her aunt awaited. She nodded. He bowed over her gloved hand.

  Allowing temptation to get the best of him, Richard brought Lily’s slender fingers to his mouth. At the last moment he flipped her hand over and placed a chaste kiss upon her bared wrist without allowing those around them to see. Lily trembled beneath his lips. Richard hid his smile of triumph and released her.

  “‘Til we meet again.” He inclined his head, not missing the speculative glance Lady Margaret, Duchess of Dreyer sent him, and then walked away.

  Richard wasn’t positive what his next move would be, but he had no doubt he’d be seeing Lady Lily Devlin again. He’d make sure of it. Despite her coolness, she had shown interest.

  The beast within him raged as he imagined her naked. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he was able to take Lily in his arms, sink his cock and fangs deep inside her virginal flesh, tasting his fill of her unblemished bounty, all the while listening to her scream out the first of many releases. Richard’s cock bucked beneath his breeches. He turned on his heel and went in search of familiar prey.

  It was time to feed.

  Chapter Two

  Richard left the ball, unable to bring himself to dance with any other women, since his introduction to Lily. In a few short moments, she’d managed to slip beneath his skin, heating his blood to an inferno. Dismissing his valet, Hurley, before leaving, Richard wandered down the street past many gambling and prostitution dens that catered to gentlemen of his station.

  He weaved his way through alleys, having arranged for his man to pick him up later at Caulfield’s. He knew Hurley well enough to know he’d be waiting around the back of the building long before Richard ever reached the entrance. He laughed to himself. His man was extremely predictable and Richard truly appreciated it.

  Hurley had been with him for ages, a trustworthy and loyal servant who would defend Richard with his life if necessary. After almost losing Hurley in a villainous attack, Richard made sure that th
e latter was never necessary.

  Like it was yesterday, Richard recalled that horrific moment when he’d thought he’d lost his friend. The night had been black as pitch, much like this evening. Hurley’s body lay in a crumpled heap upon the ground, while three men circled him like a pack of ravenous dogs. In the darkness, the three had mistaken Hurley for a gentleman, growing angry when they’d realized they’d attacked a penniless man. The men had kicked and beaten Hurley to within an inch of his life. They lingered, hovering like vultures, debating whether to finish the job they’d started.

  The men’s words became garbled as rage engulfed Richard. Razor sharp talons sprang from his fingertips. A red haze blanketed his mind. Bones snapped. Fangs sank deep. Richard drained one man while ripping out the throat of another. By the time he’d recovered his control three men lay dead with Hurley balancing on the edge. Richard carried Hurley home, later forcing him to drink a bit of his ancient blood. Enough to heal him, yet not trigger a change. It was the only reason Hurley was alive today… one hundred years later.

  Because of that hard-earned lesson, Richard was careful… very careful, deflecting suspicion away from his true nature by not drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

  On the few occasions Richard had to defend his person, the humans involved had not faired well. He regretted the need for killing, but sometimes it was necessary—just not for food. Contrary to popular myth, vampires did not have to kill during feeding.

  Richard approached Caulfield’s. The elegantly appointed doorman bowed and then opened the door, granting him permission to enter. The familiar odor of smoke, whisky, and heavily laden perfume wafted in the air. With his exceptional hearing, Richard could make out the conversations of the men participating in the many faro and whist games currently taking place in the other room. He’d join them later. First he needed to assuage his thirst. The owner of the house approached. Richard bowed low in greeting, taking Josephine’s hand.

  “Ah Madam Josephine, you look ravishing as always tonight.” He pressed his lips to her hand, then straightened.

  Josephine giggled then batted his hand away. She tossed her ebony hair over her shoulder, removing the only obstacle blocking the view of her bountiful curves. “You’re back. Dear Richard, what can I do for you this evening… the usual?” She cocked her hip and batted her eyelashes.

  Richard shook his head. “You know me too well.” He smiled and winked at her.

  “I know all my clients well.” She grinned back, then led him into another room, sequestered away from the gamblers. “You have already purchased Rose’s services for a fortnight, but I’ve got a new girl, if you’re interested.”

  He quirked a brow. “Do tell.” Richard wasn’t interested, because of Rose, but he was curious.

  Josephine’s full ruby-colored mouth widened into a salacious grin, as she leaned toward him, resting her hand on his elbow, exposing a bounty of cleavage. Her berry-colored nipples poked out from the top of her neckline, in striking contrast to her pale skin, giving Richard an eyeful as she spoke with a seductive French accent. He knew she teased. It was Josephine’s way of amusing herself. She no longer serviced clients, but she loved to flirt nonetheless.

  “Are you going to tell me about your new arrival? I’m intrigued,” Richard purred, trying to sound interested, but not too interested.

  “She is everything a man is looking for and more, breeding, grace, and of course a fresh unscathed beauty.” Josephine’s brown eyes sparkled devilishly in the dim light. Then she lowered her voice to a conspicuous whisper. “She’s a virgin. I’ve checked.” She leered. “It’s just a matter of finding the right client to break her in.”

  Richard squelched the anger that flashed through him. If his face showed an iota of concern, Josephine wouldn’t allow him access to the woman.

  He blanked his expression and hitched a tone of boredom to his voice. “Will I do?” To add to the illusion of calmness, he raised his hand and glanced at his fingernails.

  Josephine stared at his face for a few moments in consideration, before smiling again. “Of course darling, Rose raves about your—expertise. It almost makes me consider coming out of retirement.” For a second, Josephine’s public mask dropped. She licked her lips, glancing down to the front of his breeches before returning her gaze to his face.

  Richard cocked a brow.

  As if realizing her slip, Josephine cleared her throat. “You are exactly who I had in mind when I saw her.”

  Sure you did, Richard thought, but didn’t say it aloud. He simply smiled.

  Josephine was a shrewd businesswoman. She had two ape-sized bruisers with fists the size of mallets that enforced her rules without question. She believed strongly in buying loyalty and made sure they were paid well for their services. It was why she’d been successful for so long. She weighed and measured every man who crossed her threshold and was merciless if you owed her money.

  In the past, it wasn’t at all unusual to have a gentleman turn up bashed and battered after being unable to pay his gambling debts, although she was careful to make sure not much claret spilled in the process. Everyone learned by the example she’d had set with her bruisers, so getting cleaned out at the tables was tantamount to accepting a beating.

  Josephine led Richard to a small room up the back stairs and down a narrow corridor. Thick red silk draped the windows. The lights had been dimmed so low, it was almost impossible to identify anyone passing by, unless you were standing face to face—which was exactly what Josephine had intended. It was a way to ensure her clientele’s anonymity.

  Richard could see everything as if it was the light of day. She pressed a key into his hand, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. Her cloying lavender-water perfume almost choked the air out of his lungs, but he managed a smile. Luckily, it wasn’t imperative that he breathe.

  Josephine spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall swinging her full hips. Richard slipped the key in the lock and stepped into the room. No candles or oil lamps were lit, leaving the room encased in darkness. He scanned the area until he located the woman huddled naked in the corner, rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around her knees. He stepped deeper into the room, until he could shut the door behind him. Her blonde hair was disheveled and hanging in her face. She had bruises about her slender wrists, as if she’d been shackled. Richard bit back a curse. What in the hell was Josephine up to now?

  “It’s okay.” He held up his hands, as if the poor creature could see him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He purposely added a mental compulsion, willing the girl to calm down. She definitely didn’t belong in here with all the high priced incognitas.

  Her eyes widened and she bit her trembling lower lip to keep from screaming. Her mind operated in a vortex of near madness. Richard walked across the room until he was able to reach out and touch her. He slid a cold finger under her chin and lifted her head.

  Eyes wild with fright, the woman trembled… except she wasn’t a woman at all. Richard stared into the green eyes of a child. She couldn’t have been much more than twelve, if that, although an acceptable age for some, it definitely wasn’t for him. Her youthful innocence reminded him of another…

  His sister Meara’s urchin-like face flashed before him. Her bloodcurdling screams still echoed in his mind. The O’Learys had invaded their castle, murdering and pillaging as they progressed. When they reached the inner sanctum, they’d ripped Meara from Richard’s hands as he fought to protect her. In the end, he’d watched as they used her body to slake their lust. Richard flinched in remembrance, his stomach clawing at his insides in impotent rage.

  She’d died staring at him, pleading, her eyes wild with fright and pain. They ran Richard through with a pike afterwards, laughing as he tried to crawl to Meara’s side. If he hadn’t been found by a vampire, he too would have died that day. Richard snorted. Technically he had, but this death allowed him to rise every night. On Meara’s grave he vowed to find the men responsible and make them pay. And
he had, but their deaths hadn’t lessened his feelings of guilt. Ever since, Richard went out of his way to protect the weak, the innocent.

  The girl whimpered drawing his attention away from the painful memories that to this day haunted his black heart. “What are you doing here, child?”

  She sniffled, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “M-my father, he owed Madam Josephine much. We were going to lose the house if I didn’t agree to come here and work off his debts.”

  Richard fisted his hand as anger surged through him. What kind of man would send his child to pay off his debts, especially in a whorehouse of all places? Unfortunately Richard knew his type all too well, a coward unwilling to take the beating Josephine’s men would provide. He shook his head in disgust, stamping down the hunger, beating at his insides.

  He scanned the room until he located her clothes, which had been thrown haphazardly in a corner. He strode across the carpeted floor, retrieving them and then handed the muslin gown to the girl.

  “Get dressed,” he commanded.

  The girl clutched the clothes, unmoving.

  “Now.”

  She scrambled to her feet, pulling on her petticoats and stockings. When she’d finished dressing, Richard lit an oil lamp. The girl’s face flushed and her gaze sought the floor.

  “I’m going to get you out of here.” Her gaze flew to his face, searching. “I want you to take this.” Richard handed the girl a monogrammed handkerchief. “My carriage is around back. My man Hurley will be waiting. Tell him you wish to seek passage to Ireland. He’ll know what to do.”

  Richard waited for the girl’s response. He knew she had little choice in the matter given the circumstances. Her reputation lay in ruin despite the fact she’d retained her virtue. He could hardly risk returning her to her home, for she’d probably end up right back here or worse. She slowly nodded, clutching the kerchief in tiny white knuckles.