Grayson stepped closer to Meg, his hard body pressed to her lush form. It was just the two of them in the alcove of the window. Meg stared at his chest, her body trembling. He could practically taste her fear. He wanted to pull her close and offer her words of comfort.
His finger slipped under her chin, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at him. “Marry me, Meg.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, panic flaring in her eyes. “Stuff your honor, Gray. I won’t marry someone because they feel honor bound.”
Grayson felt the weight of helplessness. He didn’t know what to do, what to say to get her to stay with him, because he didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t understand these strange emotions swirling within him.
“Meg.” Grayson could feel Vicar James shuffle up behind them. He wanted to curse the man’s inopportune timing. But Grayson had no say in Meg’s life, at least not yet. So instead, Grayson stepped aside.
For the first time since Grayson had met the old man, Vicar James looked sincere and defiant.
“Yes, Papa.”
“You will marry Mr. Bellmont.”
Grayson was thrilled and shocked, Meg looked neither, only horrified. “Papa, please, no.”
Her continued rejection hurt. Vicar James tilted his chin and his eyes took on a fierce determination that Grayson admired. “You will marry Mr. Bellamont.”
Grayson wasn’t the only one surprised by the old man’s declaration. He sensed Meg’s panic a moment before she swayed, stumbling back. “No,” she whispered.
He didn’t have time to be offended. As her eyes closed and she slumped toward the ground, he was ready, sweeping her into his arms.
***************************************************
“You hadn’t really thought to get out of the marriage by fainting.”
Slowly, Meg became aware of the deep timber of Grayson’s voice. She blinked rapidly, her lashes fluttering against her upper cheeks. Grayson’s face wavered before coming into sharp focus. His greens eye were sparkling, mischievous, yet there was a warmth there she had never seen before. He trailed his finger down the side of her face. Meg closed her eyes with a sigh, taking comfort in his warm touch.
“Where am I?” she asked. Perhaps she was dreaming. Lord knew she’d dreamt about Grayson often enough.
“My room.”
His room? Her eyes opened, her confusion slowly clearing. “Why?”
“Hanna was still sleeping in yours. I brought you here.”
She pressed her hands into the soft mattress, attempting to sit up. His scent marked the room, swirling around her, confusing her thoughts. “Mr. Bellamont, I do not believe it appropriate—”
Grayson pressed her back by her shoulders. She was no match for his strength. “No, stay where you are. Of course it’s appropriate, since we’ll be married tomorrow. You might as well get use to sleeping in my bed.”
Everything came roaring back on a wave of emotion. Grayson asking her to marry him. The Constable accusing her of murder…again. Papa forcing her to accept Grayson’s hand. Heat shot to Meg’s face and she feared she’d faint once more. “Mr. Bellamont—”
“Grayson.”
She gritted her teeth. “Grayson
“I’ve taken too much of your blood.” He took a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his finger, looking completely unconcerned. “In my defense, you are so incredibly addictive. You will rest. Tomorrow, we will marry.”
Anger made her gasp. “Really, because at this point, I’m thinking we won’t.”
He smiled, a slow smile that showed off his dimple and sent her pulse racing. His fingers trailed down her arm to her wrist, where he made little swirly marks against the sensitive skin.
She shook her head and jerked her arm away, unable to think when he touched her. “Stop that.”
With a sigh, he stood and strolled to the fireplace. “You will marry me, Miss James, because if you don’t, you will be on your own.”
His harsh words troubled her. She sat up, leaning back against his pillows. “I’ve always been on my own, Mr. Bellamont so your threat has no substance.”
He turned to face her, leaning against the mantel like a lazy lord. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you need me.”
She released a wry laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. “Utter rubbish.” His words rang true, but she’d die a slow death before admitting her need for the man.
“The other day your father was drinking again.”
Meg felt the blood drain from her face as tears stung her eyes. “You lie! He wouldn’t! Not after everything that’s happened.” She knew her father. Grayson was being cruel to hurt her for some reason. He wouldn’t have drunk again, not after what they’d gone through. He’d promised.
But Grayson didn’t respond and she saw the truth in his eyes.
“And I’m sure you are thrilled.”
“Not at all.”
She dared to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His face was stoic. He didn’t look pleased, he looked almost sad. He moved to his bedside table and reached into the drawer. Meg noticed that the medal and journal before he handed her a handkerchief. So many things she didn’t know about the man she was supposedly marrying.
Meg sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “When, who saw him?”
“Only my gardener.”
Thank God. She took in a deep breath and focused on the ceiling, refusing to cry again. “He hasn’t since...since that one time. Why would he again?”
“The stress, most likely because of...”
“Me,” she whispered.
Grayson sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, his grasp strong, warm. “Marry me and you’ll never have to worry about what others say. You’ll never have to worry about a house, money.”
She wanted to press his hand to her heart. She wanted to cuddle next to him and readily agree. She couldn’t. Her conscious would not let her. “Why, Grayson. Why would you want to marry me? I’ve brought you nothing but—”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her train of thought dissipated. Slowly, he nibbled her lower lip, until she sighed, opening her mouth. He took advantage by sweeping his velvet tongue inside. She was barely aware when he pushed her back into the soft mattress, his hard body pressing into her. Her arms wrapped around his neck and dear God, she wanted him closer.
As if sensing her desire, his hand slipped up her leg, her skirts crinkling. Meg sucked in a breath, but didn’t push him away. If anything, her legs fell apart, welcoming his touch. Just as she started to relax, he pulled away from her. Meg felt as if she’d just been dropped off a cliff. She took her lower lip between her teeth, resisting the urge to call him back. Grayson was already standing, stepping back as if parting from her was nothing to cry over.
“I could say you should marry me because you need me, and your family needs me. But in reality, it’s obvious you want me and I’ve made it clear I want you.”
Meg’s mouth dropped. He’d used her to prove a point!
“I want you, Meg. It is up to you whether you will be married the next time I take you.”
With those words left hanging in the air, he strolled nonchalantly across the room. Before she could respond, he closed the door, leaving her fuming and alone.
Chapter 19
“You can’t possibly think fainting would get you out of marriage,” Mary Ellen said, shaking her head as if reprimanding a child.
From her chair near the fireplace. Meg glared at her sister. “I was overwhelmed and recovering from an illness. I certainly didn’t do it on purpose.”
Marriage. Just the word made her stomach churn. And she’d agreed, in a fit of madness, because she thought she had no other choice. But even as she thought the words, she knew them to be only partially true. Fact was, she wanted Grayson.
His words haunted her night, kept her tossing until the wee hours of the morning. He’d think she was marrying him merely because she couldn’t seem to say no when he
kissed her. Because…because every night she wondered what it would be like to actually be intimate with the man again. To have him sink his teeth into her flesh.
Meg stood and paced the room. Her skin felt too tight, her body too warm. In reality she couldn’t stand to think of him drinking from someone else. Couldn’t stand to think of him being intimate with another woman.
“Meg, please stand still. I can’t chase you around with the flowers,” Mary Ellen demanded.
“Don’t know why you wouldn’t want to marry him, Meg. Mr. Bellamont is oh so handsome.” Sally skipped around the room like a girl in love, causing Meg to roll her eyes. “When I marry he will be just as handsome and wealthy.”
“Brilliant,” Meg replied. “Then I don’t have to marry, you can save us.”
The shadows were growing long. Twilight had come. Grayson had insisted on an evening wedding and she knew why, lack of sunlight. He had also insisted the wedding be outside, amongst the flowers, although why, she wasn’t sure.
Meg stilled near the windows. Below the servants were clearing a path through the rose garden. Papa stood there, his bible in hand and Hanna next to him. He hadn’t said a word to her since yesterday when he’d told her she would marry Grayson. No, he’d made certain to stay away, knowing she would talk him out of his ridiculous demand.
“You must marry him, Meg, for us,” Sally said.
Meg turned to glare at her sister. She was bloody tired of always having to think of others.
Sally stopped skipping. “What? It’s the only way we’ll all be able to stay together.”
Mary Ellen pushed their little sister toward the door. “Sally, go outside and make sure Papa is ready.”
With a giggle, Sally skipped out of the room.
“Meg, ignore her,” Mary Ellen said, shaking her head. Her sisters looked lovely in their matching apple green gowns that Grayson had insisted they purchase. They had been given a taste of wealth and were already growing greedy.
“Thank you!” Meg took her sister by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Finally someone is speaking sense.”
Mary Ellen nodded. “You must marry Mr. Bellamont so you won’t go to prison.”
“No, no.” Meg pressed her fingers to her temple trying to ward off the headache fast approaching. “I can’t marry him.” She grabbed Mary Ellen again. “Don’t you see, he’s most likely using me to get answers.” Or using her for blood, although she didn’t dare speak that out loud.
“Answers to what?” Millie asked from the door.
Mary Ellen shoved a pink tea rose behind Meg’s ear as Meg’s face heated. Blast it! How much had the woman overheard? And why was everyone in this damn house so quiet and sneaky when they approached?
“Answers to Lord Brockwell’s death,” Meg said.
“Meg,” Millie swept into the room wearing a light peach gown cut much too low for their shire. “Grayson barely cares about the man’s death. True, he would like to find the culprit, but he’d hardly marry a woman merely to uncover answers. After all, it really has nothing to do with him.”
Her words rang true, but then why would Grayson marry her if not for answers to Lord Brockwell’s death? Her blood, that’s why. He had some odd desire to drink her blood above any others. She could admit, only to herself, that the realization thrilled her much more than it should.
“Mary Ellen? May I speak to your sister alone for a moment?”
“Of course.” Mary Ellen kissed Meg’s cheek. “I’ll see you outside.” She curtsied to Millie and left the room.
Millie was smiling as she strolled toward Meg. Immediately suspicious, Meg had to resist the urge to step back. Meg’s less than welcoming frown didn’t put Millie off. She smoothed down Meg’s satiny, light blue skirt. “Looks much better on you, and I want you to have the gown. A keepsake from your special day.”
Meg laughed, as tears stung her eyes. “My special day.” She went to the mirror and tugged up the sleeves hanging indecently off her shoulders. She felt exposed, her bare skin gleaming in the firelight. Her neck, long and elegant. The marks were not even visible any longer.
“You look lovely,” Millie said, as if reading her mind. She patted Meg’s hair in place, then curled a thick tendril over her left shoulder. Her hand was cooler than previously. Which meant the woman hadn’t fed. Meg wasn’t sure if that should make her feel better or worse when thinking about Millie.
“Why is he doing this?” Meg asked.
Millie’s smile fell. “He’s not a saint.”
Meg laughed. “That’s for sure.”
“But he’s not the devil you think either.”
“I know that.” Meg focused on the ground while playing with the curl that lay over her collarbone. “And he doesn’t deserve to have his reputation ruined because of me.”
“Oh you dear.” Millie turned her and pulled her into a hug. “You are sweet to worry about him, but Grayson has been through much worse. I promise you he can take care of himself.”
“Millie,” Meg said, pulling away. “I don’t know him. How can I possibly marry the man?”
“What do you want to know?” the familiar, deep voice washed over her, sending heated waves through her body.
She spun around. Grayson stood in the doorway, his face serious, his eyes intense. His black suit fit his body to perfection, outlining his broad shoulders, highlighting his dark locks and Meg had to fist her hands to keep from throwing herself into his arms. Millie swept past them, shutting the door and leaving them alone.
Meg swallowed hard and looked at everything but him. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Millie’s corset dug into her ribs, choking the air from her lungs. She pressed her hand to her waist, praying she wouldn’t faint again.
“What do you want to know, Meg?” He came closer and her panic escalated.
“Nothing. Everything.”
He didn’t stop until he was only feet from her. “My name is Grayson Charles Bellamont. My parents were born in France four hundred years ago, but I was born in the 1700s.”
So the journal was his after all. Dear God, he was so …. Old. She was a mere babe compared to him. An idiot compared to what he must know.
“They were merchants. Wealthy merchants. They thought their children would have a better chance at being accepted in England. They entered me into the finest of schools, introduced me to the highest ranked people. They thought vampires should attempt to blend in to human society. But somehow someone knew what we were and they were murdered because of it.”
“I’m so sorry.” For the first time since she’d met him, Meg felt like she understood the man before her. She went to him and slipped her hand into his, giving him her strength.
He didn’t look at her, but continued to stare out the window at the servants below. So powerful, so amazing, yet here… now…he seemed so human.
“Grayson, are you in danger?”
Perhaps he heard the direness in her voice, the tremble of her words. He turned toward her and cupped the sides of her face. “Do you actually care?”
“Of course I care.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him close. The thought of something happening to him terrified her. And on the edges of her mind, she wondered about Hanna.
Hanna, who hated sunlight. Hanna who liked her meat raw. Hanna, who might be a vampire. Dare she tell Grayson her suspicions? What if she was wrong? What if Hanna wasn’t a vampire, but merely sensitive to light? So many questions, so many things she didn’t understand.
To tell Grayson would mean trusting him completely. Could she, when for so long she’d kept her secrets safe? She pushed the thoughts aside and smiled up at him. She would wait and see. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
“You will be alone no longer. You will have a family. If you want one. I know it’s all females, but…”
His jaw clenched and unclenched, emotion flashing across his handsome face. “I think I’d like sisters.”
Tears stung her eyes and she could merely nod. Giv
ing into temptation, she rested her hand along side his face and stood on her tiptoes. She pressed her lips to his, a gentle, chaste kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her against his body. Before she could react, he crushed his mouth to hers. The hard kiss softened immediately, his lips moving across her, touching her, tasting her. She moaned and tilted her head, deepening the kiss. Dear lord, she couldn’t think when he touched her, couldn’t get enough.
His tongue slid between her lips, velvety soft, stroking her own. Meg moaned and sank into him, her breasts crushing against his hard chest while her fingers slipped into his hair, loving the feel of the cool locks against her skin. But apparently it wasn’t enough for him.
Grayson’s hand slipped down her back to cup her bottom. Meg gasped as he pressed her up against his arousal. His erection pulsed hard and hot against her skirts, sending a deep ache to that spot between her legs. She should pull back, should demand he leave, should run far, far away. Yet, she could do little else but whimper and wish for more.
Through her foggy mind, she was barely aware when Grayson pulled his lips from hers. He cupped the sides of her face and she blinked up at him, bemused. His eyes had turned a golden green, pulling her under into a swirling mixture of heat and seduction and she couldn’t seem to look away.
“Marry me,” he whispered.
She should tell him the truth about Hanna, about Beth’s whereabouts. She should admit her secrets now, before they were married. But the secrets were not hers to share.
Meg swallowed hard and nodded, wondering if he could hear her heart slamming against her chest. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
******************************************
“Meg?” her father’s voice snapped into her thoughts.
“Yes, Papa?”
He glanced at Grayson, then back at her. “I asked if you would take this man—”
“What? Oh, yes, yes of course.”
Brought back to reality, her stomach did a slow turn. She couldn’t seem to look at Grayson, couldn’t seem to breathe. He didn’t love her. But he trusted her, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have told her his secret if he didn’t. And he wanted her, she knew that much was true.