Michele Hauf - Seducing the Vampire

“It will mean more than one.”

“My lady, there’s a visitor in the foyer,” Portia called as she entered the study. “Lord de Salignac.”

“I did not expect him. He knows I do not receive on Saturdays.”

“Shall I send him away?”

“No, I will speak to him.” There was still half the hour for her lesson, and she did not want to send Master Rosemont home. “I’ll send him away quickly,” she said. “Write a few more words for me, please. These few will hardly keep me busy the week.”

“I agree.” With a determined élan, Master Rosemont leaned over the paper.

Flames on a wall sconce flickered as Viviane entered the sitting room.

Constantine wore black, as usual. It was not a color aristocrats embraced, for black was the color of mourning, and of cheap wool they could only afford when they’ve nothing in their purses. Yet he wore the color as if he’d invented it. The damask coat was shot through with silver threads. In one pose the coat looked black. Yet if he tilted a shoulder or lifted a hand, it shimmered the fabric, turning it a jet silver, and then steel.

“I have told you this is not a day I receive visitors.”

“But surely you’ll receive me? Is there someone else here?” Constantine peered over her shoulder. “It’s a man, isn’t it? Viviane, I asked for exclusivity.”

“And I asked for proof of your devotion.”

“Three kin have left the brood,” he stated. Straining his head over her shoulder he glanced toward the study.

“It is not what you would guess it to be.”

“Really? So there is a man in the house?”

“Yes, but—”

He flew into a rage so quickly Viviane was swept off balance as he brushed past her. The last thing Master Rosemont needed was a raging vampire interrupting his work. She hurried after him, but he beat her to the study, and held the writing master slammed against the wall when she arrived.

“Let him go!”

“I demand an explanation,” Constantine hissed at the reddened teacher. “What are you doing in Mademoiselle LaMourette’s home?”

Viviane could but cross her arms and sigh. So the truth would be out.

“He is teaching me to read and write,” she confessed. “Now do release him.”

“Reading?” Constantine dropped the man, who crumpled to the floor.

“Yes, reading.”

The vampire leaned over the table, inspecting her work papers. He jerked a look at her, apologetic yet tinged with a creased anger.

“I believe you owe Master Rosemont an apology.”

“Oh, not necessary,” the frazzled teacher piped up. “I am fine.”

“Forgive me,” Constantine said, and Viviane was glad for his humility.

“I think perhaps I should be off.” Master Rosemont gathered his leather satchel and shoved the paper across the table. “I completed the list for you, mademoiselle. Perhaps you should send for me next Saturday? I shouldn’t wish to intrude.”

“No, please, return at the usual time. I promise this embarrassing situation will not be repeated.” She delivered Constantine knives with a glance. “Will it?”

“Of course not. Can I ensure your ride home, Master Rosemont?”

“Oh no, no. I’m off.” He bowed hastily and made a leg for the front door.

Constantine picked up the list and inspected the words. “Hawk?”

Feeling as though he’d raped her most precious secret, Viviane marched out of the room, hands on her hips.

He followed close on her heels. “So you don’t know how to read?”

“What of it?” she spat out.

“I am surprised. I had thought your patron would have ensured a more schooled kin.”

“So I am not smart enough for you?” A vicious clarity suddenly focused her, standing off the man who would own her if he had his way. “I think you should leave.”

“I admit I was in the wrong to approach Master Rosemont so violently. But please, let’s put that behind us, Viviane.”

Yes, yes, keep the man appeased. “What did you come for?”

He bowed and kissed her cheek, and the other, and finally a brush of a kiss over her mouth. The man was like marble, only because Viviane wondered how to ever soften him, find the soul beneath the hard surface.

“Is that smile for me?” he asked.

No, it was not. “But of course. Who else?” She touched her mouth. Rhys lingered there. “Ah, Portia.”

The maid brandished a silver tray sporting goblets and a wine bottle. Viviane poured half a goblet and tossed it back while Constantine observed with wonder.

“A bit parched,” she offered. She wiped her lips with a finger. “Would you care for some?”

“No, wine tends to sit ill with me. While I was waiting I couldn’t help notice your music room is rather spare of furniture. And on the wall.” He pointed at the strange bright rectangle of English paper where a painting had once hung. “Are you having trouble, Viviane? Because you know you can ask anything of me.”

Pacing away from Constantine to the one remaining settee in the entire house, Viviane decided the truth was not going to harm her, and it would show she trusted him. By all means, she wanted to stay on good terms with him.

“I had no idea Henri was in debt,” she offered. “The creditors began appearing with bills three days after his death. All the servants have left, save for Portia and a stable boy, who am I most grateful for.”

“If you need money—”

“Not at all. I paid the servants with furniture and silver. The creditors took a few horses and one of two carriages Henri owned. I thought it a fair exchange. I don’t wish to make a fuss of it, Constantine. So if we could put the subject aside I would appreciate it.”

“I’ll not mention it again.”

He gripped her wrists and pulled her to him. Viviane knew he would kiss her, and struggled—only a little. He bruised her mouth with an urgent connection that sparkled in her belly. She had to force herself not to grab at his coat to pull him against her.

It would be so easy to let it happen. To not clasp his fingers in an attempt to stop him from tearing asunder the bows securing her corset. To expose her breasts so he might lick them as she needed them to be touched, tasted and worshipped. But she could not.

Tearing from his embrace, she stepped once before he pulled her back and she tripped on her skirts, falling against him. Constantine’s breath whispered down her neck. The prick of his teeth altered her insistent desire as if a penitent’s lash to bared flesh.

She managed to slip the side of her hand across his mouth. Skin tore and her blood oozed out. “Don’t you dare.”

He swept out his tongue and licked the faint crimson trail. Defiance glinted in his dark eyes. “Sweet. As suspected. And pure.”

“That is the only taste you will know of me if you do not honor my request to dismiss your kin.”

She held her breath, matching his defiant stare. Pure. Exactly what he required.

“You are the most exquisite taste, Viviane. To drink of you should murder me sweetly. It is a death I will wait for.”

“Constantine, please, tell me what you want from me.”

He clasped her hand and his thigh brushed hers. “I would ask you to accept my hand in marriage. To come under my patronage. To have my children.”

Hand pressed to her throat, Viviane paced to the table where the wine decanted. She traced a fingernail along the bottle’s thin neck. “Marriage.”

“It would make you mine exclusively.”

No mention of love.

“But you understand that is impossible, Constantine. I’ve needs. The hunger forces me to seek others.”

“Those men are but donors, vessels to feed your hunger. I don’t want to direct you how to go about meeting those needs. But the others, if there are others besides me, I would like you to stop seeing them.”