Page 7 of Wynter's Bite

“Some of them are interesting, but I cannot help but think that most of the characters’ problems wouldn’t have existed if Zeus had not been such a philandering cad.” She blushed and covered her mouth with a gloved hand as she realized what she’d said. “I apologize, that was inappropriate.”

“Yet it is indeed the truth.” Justus’s shoulders shook with laughter.

Their conversation continued, each discovering what works they’d both read and dissecting the merits and perceived flaws of each. But once Justus realized they’d remained rooted to the spot, holding empty glasses for Lord knew how long, he reluctantly admitted that their time together must come to an end.

Bethany confirmed the sentiment as she looked across the ballroom and sighed. “I had best return to my mother. She’s watching me and doing her best impression of Medusa.”

“Then I must take you to her before she turns us to stone.” Justus handed their empty glasses to a passing footman and escorted her to her mother’s side. The murderous glare that Lady Wickshire cast upon him did Bethany’s Medusa comparison credit and he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to hold back laughter. After sketching a quick bow, he hastily retreated.

Normally he would take pleasure in feeding from sour-faced matrons like Lady Wickshire, but out of respect for Bethany, he would spare the woman and seek other prey. Perhaps one of the mean-spirited girls who had attempted to humiliate his new friend.

Just then, he met the scrutinizing eyes of Gavin Drake, Baron of Darkwood. “What were you doing with that debutante?” the Lord of Rochester inquired softly. “You normally avoid the petticoat set.”

“I was thwarting a malicious prank,” Justus hastened to explain. “A group of debutantes thought to humiliate the poor thing by having her approach me and I did not care to be an instrument of cruelty, so I offered the innocent lady a dance.”

“Ah.” Gavin’s dark brows drew together with suspicion. “And then shared a glass of punch for good measure?”

“We were having a stimulating discussion about Greek and Roman literature.” Justus crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not see why that should be a problem. You danced with her as well.” And why did the idea of Gavin doing so make Justus’s stomach sour?

“Yes, her mother made certain to thrust her at me at the soonest opportunity. Soon I shall have to take another bride to fend off the matchmakers.” Gavin released a weary sigh. Every fifty years or so, he had a female vampire pose as his wife to deflect suspicion at him remaining single too long. “But you typically hold them at bay with your reputation as a notorious rake and ravisher of maidens. If you give that yellow-haired Miss too much undue attention, you’ll either ruin her, or find yourself caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”

“All right!” Justus held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep my distance from the young lady.”

But that proved easier said than done.

As he caught a glimpse of another eligible bachelor leading Bethany to the dance floor, he alternated between grinding his teeth in irritation and wondering what she thought of Voltaire.

Chapter Four

Bethany spent the rest of the evening in a daze of lightheaded happiness. Rebecca had been right. After Lord de Wynter danced with her, gentlemen did indeed pay her more attention, which placated her mother after she’d given her a furious scold.

After Bethany had accepted the first gentleman’s invitation to dance, she’d cast Rebecca a grateful grin. The girl had given her a tight-lipped smile in return, yet her countenance had taken on a queer cast. Perhaps her new acquaintance was not feeling well, Bethany thought with a wave of sympathy.

Her dancing partner, a squire’s son, was amiable enough, but she couldn’t help but feel that their conversation was stilted and awkward. The man didn’t enjoy reading, and seemed obsessed with gambling on horse races. Bethany just couldn’t sustain interest, no matter how much she tried. It was nothing like her discussion with Lord de Wynter. As if conjured by the thought, she saw a flash of red over her dancing partner’s shoulder.

There he was, talking with Lord Darkwood. Their eyes met, and Bethany’s belly fluttered with the most alarming sensation. She’d been so afraid earlier, when she’d shyly made her way towards him on Rebecca’s advice. There was something vibrant and dangerous about him, this man her mother had warned her away from. His hair such a deep red that it looked sinful, his eyes green and somehow reminding her of a great cat.

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