Page 6 of Wynter's Bite

Perfect. This ought to sever the vipers’ tongues.

Justus extended his hand. “Would you care to dance, Miss Mead?”

Her pale cheeks flushed the color of rose petals. Usually such blatant timidity was tiresome, but for some reason with her, he felt a tremor of delight. “Yes, my lord,” she said softly, and took his proffered hand.

Even through the thin fabric of their gloves, he could feel the heat of her fingers intertwined with his. Shaking off the odd intensity of his reaction to her touch, Justus concentrated on leading her to the dance floor and maintaining a mask of indifference at the surprised glances cast their way at the sight of him dancing with a debutante.

Her steps were slightly off time, but for some reason, he only felt sympathy rather than irritation. “You’re overthinking the dance,” he whispered. “Relax and let me lead.”

Her crimson flush deepened, but she heeded his advice and suddenly the dance became fluid, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Justus blinked in surprise. She followed instructions exceedingly well.

The scent of her skin, clean and tinged with the lavender oils she must have bathed in, awakened his lust even as the pulsing vein at the juncture of her neck and shoulder prodded his other hunger.

To combat the alarming reaction, Justus decided to converse. “Do you have any hobbies?”

Closing his eyes, he prepared for the usual prattle about needlepoint, the pianoforte, and watercolors. Not that he frowned upon any of these genteel pastimes, in fact, many young ladies produced admirably good paintings and played pleasing music. But the fact of the matter was that they were so boring to talk about.

“I like to read.” An undercurrent of passion threaded through her voice.

Interest pricked at her answer. “I like to read as well. What are your favorite works?” Probably romantic novels, but some literacy was better than none.

“I adore medieval literature.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for their topic. “Especially Chaucer.”

Chaucer? Justus blinked in surprise. That meant she could read old English. Once more, pity welled in his heart. Women like her were always counseled to hide their intelligence. But she didn’t have to hide hers from him.

“I enjoy Chaucer as well,” he informed her with a grin. “My favorite is The Book of the Duchess. What is yours?”

“The Canterbury Tales.” Adoration infused her voice.

He couldn’t help but smile in understanding of her joy to speak of a favorite work. “But they were never finished.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, it leaves a little mystery to the experience of reading them, wondering where Chaucer was going, what else he intended.” A dreamy smile curved her rose pink lips. “Unfinished stories fascinate me.”

And she was beginning to fascinate him, despite his better wisdom. It was difficult to find someone whose passion for the written word matched his own. Justus’s best friend, the Baron of Darkwood and the Lord Vampire of Rochester, had little time for books between overseeing his territory and attending scads of country parties. And since Justus was Lord Darkwood’s second in command, all other vampires ranked below him, and thus were reluctant to engage in any sort of banter with him.

But he could not become close to this enchanting little reader. Women her age, by necessity, were only after one thing: matrimony, which he could not undertake without revealing that he was a monster and then transforming her into one as well.

As if to reiterate that their conversation must come to a close, the song ended with a poignant note on the violin strings.

The sparkle in Bethany’s blue eyes dimmed, though she made a valiant effort to hide her disappointment with a tremulous smile. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

Instead of escorting her back to her mother as he should, Justus found himself reluctant to part from her company. “Would you care for a glass of punch?”

Her face lit like the dawn. “That would be lovely.”

As her slender fingers curled around his bicep, Justus once more experienced a tremor of pleasure. He tried to tell himself it was only because he wanted to continue their literary discussion. Oh, and tweak the noses of the chits who attempted to pull a prank on Bethany, of course.

Justus glanced in their direction and met their petulant scowls with a triumphant smirk.

“Do you only read medieval literature?” he asked Bethany as he fetched two glasses of punch from a passing footman.

She shook her head. “I read anything I can get my hands on. Greek, Roman, French...”

“Your nose wrinkled when you said Roman,” Justus interrupted with a chuckle. “Why?”

“Because most of their works are veritable copies of the Greek tales, aside from changing a few names and placing extra emphasis on the ‘glory of Rome.’” Her gaze tilted upwards as if beseeching the heavens to justify such nonsense. “For a nation that conquered half the world, they are shockingly unoriginal.”

Justus laughed. “I’ve never heard a more accurate assessment. And what of the Greek classics?”

---