Page 40 of The Highwayman's Bite

“I am.” Skilled as she was, Vivian was still a mortal and could not match his speed.

“Then why bother giving me the chance?” Oh, but despite her argument, naked longing emanated from her, with those sparking eyes and her fingers curling in readiness to hold a sword.

Rhys gestured for her to follow him back to the cave. “Because then at least you’ll have some agency in the matter. Despite the circumstances and my intentions with you, I do regard you as more than a game piece.”

“You’re allowing me, your prisoner to fight you with a sword just to prove you regard me as a human being?” Vivian shook her head and chuckled. “I think you may be the worst villain ever.”

Though he was gratified to see her spirits raised, his pride stung. Without thinking, he seized her shoulders and pulled her against him.

Her mockery could not stand. He needed to remind her who was in control.

He lowered his face until their lips almost met. “Would you prefer me to be more villainous? I could always dispense with the blades and ravage you after all.”

She sucked in a breath, her large brown eyes searching his to see if he was serious. He’d meant to frighten her, but from the way she leaned into him and her tongue wet her lower lip, he may have failed in that goal.

Her hands moved up and splayed against his chest. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his lips almost claimed hers.

Then Vivian shoved him away with such sudden force that he nearly fell on his arse. “I’ll happily duel with you,” she bit out and strode into the cave.

Rhys followed in a daze and unlocked the door he’d carved to keep the cave sealed from both intruders and the sun.

For the last five nights, he’d held commendable restraint in keeping his distance from her, even when Madame Renarde’s eagle eye was not upon him. He’d nearly convinced himself that the kiss they’d shared was forgotten. Now he’d undone it all in grabbing her and pulling her into his embrace.

A terrible mistake, for her scent made hunger roar through his being like a flash-fire. But it wasn’t primarily hunger for her blood, it was lust. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he’d desired sex before blood. It wasn’t that he lacked virility, plenty of women, both vampire and human, could attest to that. But as a vampire, the blood craving was always at the forefront. For Vivian to disrupt his priorities left him deeply unnerved. Was it because she was forbidden fruit? Or was it something else?

No matter, he couldn’t lose that sort of control again. He wasn’t the sort of monster who forced himself on women.

Then his guilty conscience reminded him of the kisses he’d stolen whenever he robbed a particularly beautiful lady.

He wouldn’t steal another kiss from Vivian again. He’d only take what she’d give willingly. The memory of her licking her lips and yielding against him filled him with agonizing temptation.

No, he couldn’t let their relationship become intimate, no matter how much he ached to have her naked in his arms. Not only because she would indeed be ruined afterward, no matter whether she chose spinsterhood or not, but because he could fall in love with her and that would kill him because they could never be together.

Even if she was willing to join him in nocturnal damnation and immortality, Rhys would never consign her to his life. He was a rogue vampire, hunted and despised. If he were to Change Vivian, she would be one too.

Those thoughts cooled his mad passion enough for him to regain composure and look unruffled as Madame Renarde studied him with her usual suspicion.

Now dressed in a rich emerald brocade gown that must have come from the trunk he’d stolen from a stocky countess, the companion appeared as if she outranked Vivian, whose dark blue gown was drab in comparison, probably belonging to a maid.

Despite the lack of bright plumage, Vivian fairly sparkled with youth and excitement. “Rhys and I have come to a bargain that may win us our freedom.”

Madame Renarde blinked in surprise. “And what bargain is that?”

“We shall duel, and if I draw first blood, he will let us go home.” She bent and touched the toes of her boots, stretching in preparation.

The companion’s brows rose to the hairline of her wig as she turned to Rhys with an arch smile. “You must be quite confident in your victory. I hope that will be your downfall, for you don’t know who taught her.”

“I presumed it was you,” he said, suddenly confused.

Madame Renarde’s smile broadened. “Ah, but you do not know who taught me.”

Rhys fought off a twinge of unease at her smug tone and reached beneath his shirt for the chain that held the key to his sword case. Who had taught such an eccentric person the art of fencing?

They marched back outside and walked to the beach, brilliantly illuminated under the light of the full moon.

Rhys and Vivian took their places on the sand with the requisite seven paces from each other and stood en garde.

Madame Renarde sat on a rock between them to overlook the match, ready to call out the slightest violation.

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