Maggie Shayne: Weddings from Hell

Payen seemed to like them. He had practically worshipped them the night before with his mouth and hands. Ah, the feel of his hot, wet tongue against the sensitive ache of her nipples…

"Are you all right, miss?" Her maid questioned. "You look a little flushed. Are your stays too tight?"

Mortified, Violet shook her head. "I'm fine, Anna. Thank you." No more thinking of Payen and the pleasure he gave her. But a little shiver raced down her spine at the thought of being able to enjoy that pleasure forever.

Immortality didn't frighten her, although it must be terribly lonely for someone who spent their nights alone. She wouldn't allow Payen to continue that way.

A rose and cream striped morning gown came down over her head, interrupting her thoughts, and Violet slipped her arms into the snug sleeves. It was a new gown, very pretty and feminine. It was stylish, but without a lot of the frills and trimmings that were so popular these days. A woman her size didn't want ruffles around her hips and derriere—a bustle was bad enough. Still, Violet had to concede that the colors were very flattering to her complexion and that the high neckline took the emphasis off her bust. She couldn't change that she was tall and statuesque, but this dress—part of her wedding trousseau—made her feel pretty and almost delicate.

Perhaps Payen might rise early enough to see her in it.

It must be awful to be the only vampire amongst a house full of humans. Not only because of the obvious temptation, but it had to be terribly lonely. Ostracized from company because of the sun's deadly light, forced to walk the night when most country folk were asleep in their beds.

Payen needed someone to share the night with—someone who accepted him for what he was, and had no misconceptions about how different life at his side would be. Someone who understood what it was to be alone.

Violet hadn't been so young when her parents died that she didn't remember them. She remembered them vividly and with great love and sorrow. Henry and Eliza had been very good to her, but they had never presumed to take the place of her parents—and they had their own children, both of whom were married now and about to make the earl and countess grandparents.

The Rexleys had never made her feel unwelcome, just the opposite, but Violet was old enough to miss what she once had, and always feel as though she didn't quite belong.

Until Payen. She belonged with him—as surely as the moon belonged to the night. She just had to make him admit it. No, she had to make him accept it.

It was with this thought in her head, this determination in her heart that she went downstairs to face the bright light of day and the scandal that her canceled wedding had become.

The papers tended to sympathize with Rupert, despite most of the accounts having been written by women. They just couldn't understand why Violet would jilt such a lovely man.

Then again there was one writer who cheerfully announced that she'd leave her husband for a man who looked like Payen as well.

"If Payen doesn't marry me I'll never be able to show my face in London again," Violet surmised, not without some bitterness, as she lifted her cup of coffee.

Eliza watched her over the rim of her own china cup. "Do you want to marry Payen?"

"I've had no other ambition since I was sixteen years old." She took a sip of hot, rich coffee. "He loves me, Eliza. He just won't allow himself to be happy."

Her guardian—her friend—didn't look convinced. Did she think Violet too young? Too foolish? She might be four and twenty years old, and perhaps her experience of the world was limited, but she knew her heart. And she knew Payen. In fact, she'd wager that she knew the vampire better than Henry himself, who had known Payen since he was a boy.

Henry didn't know the truth about Stephen Rexley's death. That little reminder to herself took the sting out of Eliza's dubious expression and gave Violet the confidence to keep her head high at the other end of the breakfast table.

After breakfast, she went to see how many gifts were left to return, and busied herself there. When Eliza came in an hour later and told her that Rupert had come to call, Violet was surprised, to say the least.

"Do you want me to see to him?" Eliza asked, placing a firm but gentle hand upon her arm.

Violet patted those little fingers. Eliza might not be her true mother, but she had much of a mother's protectiveness—a fact Violet appreciated and loved her for. "No. I'll do it. I owe the poor man that much at least." She glanced around at the piles of gifts that had yet to be returned. "But perhaps in the parlor, where it won't be a constant reminder of my betrayal."

"He's already there." Eliza's grip tightened. "It would have been worse to marry him and betray yourself."

A truth Violet knew in her heart, but it made her happy to hear it said aloud all the same. She used that happiness to give her strength when, a few moments later, she entered the parlor where her former fiancé waited.

She straightened her shoulders at the sight of him. "Good morning, Rupert."

He looked surprisingly well for a man who had been jilted by his bride-to-be. "Violet. You look lovely."

"Thank you." She frowned. "To what do I owe the…pleasure of this visit?" Poor choice of words, but she was working with a befuddled brain at the moment.

Rupert glanced behind her at the closed door. "Is Mr. Carr here?"

"He's indisposed at the moment." And thankfully so, as the sunlight pouring into the room would kill him. "You needn't be afraid of him, Rupert." The moment she said the words Violet realized the light in Rupert's eyes wasn't fear at all. It was excitement—a glitter that formed a lump of unease in her stomach.

"I would like to speak to him," he said suddenly, turning on her with those spooky bright eyes. "I understand Mr. Carr's misgivings about my affiliation with the Silver Palm, but we'd like to assure him that the Order of today is nothing like the one he often fought."

"We?" The unease grew…

"Yes, the Order."…and became a full blown brick of fear. "You told the order about Payen."

"Of course." He talked like it had been the most natural progression. How deep was he into the Order? Had he pretended his ignorance the night Payen arrived? Or had someone decided he deserved to know more once they heard of Payen's arrival? And dear God, what did modern men know about a seven-century-old vampire?

"Why would you tell them about Mr. Carr, Rupert?"

He gave her a sly look. "You know what he is, Violet, don't play coy with me. I saw him leave your room this morning. Very impressive. Shocked me at first, but afterward I realized what a marvel he is."

How had Payen left her room? By the balcony. Oh God. Violet pressed a hand to her churning stomach. He had flown, and Rupert had seen him.

"Were you spying on me?" It hardly mattered, but it was something to channel her anger into rather than the fear that Payen was in danger.

"Of course." His smile faded a little. "Didn't take you long to let the vampire into your bed did it?"

Oh no. Now was not the time for weakness. She had to think of Payen. She forced an expression of confusion. "The what?"

He came toward her, that patient smile on his lips once more. It was all she could do to flinch backward, away from his touch. "I don't blame you. I imagine he can be very seductive. Masterful even."

Now, that was just unsettling. "He's none of your business. This is between you and I, Rupert."

"Yes. And I think it would be of benefit to all of us if we remained friends."

I think you should be committed to Bedlam . "Regardless of my infidelity?"

Light fingers stroked her arms. "I can forgive your indiscretion."