Page 44 of The Highwayman's Bite

“And who was your Lord Vampire to grant you permission to travel to Lord Thornton’s territory and abduct his kin?”

Rhys’s eyes widened and Madame Renarde smirked. “Ah, you do not have a lord, do you? You’re an outlaw even with your own kind.”

Had Rhys’s visitors the other night been outlaw vampires as well? While Vivian was certain that information would prove to be useful, another matter had her confused. “How is Uncle to learn that you’re a vampire? Are you going to send him another letter?”

“Sending him a letter by post would have been ideal, though I would have to take care with the language in case it fell into the wrong hands.” Rhys leaned back on his cot and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You will write something, but I’m afraid the method of delivery will be different.”

He was dallying, trying to draw out his words. Vivian’s father did the same thing any time he had to deliver unpleasant news. “And what method will that be?”

The vampire heaved a sigh. “I am sending Madame Renarde back to Blackpool.”

“What?” Madame Renarde’s face went white as talcum powder as she set down her teacup. “You can’t!”

“I have to,” he said. “You’re falling ill. I don’t know if you feel it yet, but you have a fever. I can smell it. I will not be responsible for your death.”

Madame Renarde did look feverish, Vivian realized. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks ruddy, and beads of sweat gathered on her forehead.

Madame Renarde crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I cannot leave Vivian alone with you! That would mean I failed in my duties.”

“You’ll fail if you die,” Rhys replied bluntly. Apparently, he was done prevaricating. “If it will reassure you, Lord Thornton will be concerned about other matters than Miss Stratford’s virtue when you tell him what I am.”

Vivian remembered something else he’d said: Just because I do not wish to sever your finger does not mean that I am incapable of doing other things that would horrify your uncle and that you would doubtless find unpleasant. “Are you talking about draining my blood or turning me into a vampire?”

“The latter, of course,” Rhys said. “It takes effort to drain a human, for one thing. For another, your uncle should rightly assume that I won’t kill my hostage.”

Before Vivian could recover from that gruesome information, Madame Renarde leapt back into her previous bone of contention. “And what if I am concerned with her virtue?”

Heat rose to Vivian’s cheeks as she relived their almost-kiss before the duel, but Rhys seemed unaffected. “I’m a monster, but not one who ravishes maidens against their will. And now that Miss Stratford knows that I’m a monster, I don’t think she will be in a hurry to welcome my touch.”

Vivian nodded, more to reassure her companion than out of confidence in Rhys’s words. Though she truly should be revolted at the thought of a vampire touching her. Any normal woman would be. Yet this was still Rhys. The man who’d captured her dreams with his kiss, the man who was trying to save his family’s farm while doing as little harm as possible. The man who’d laughed with her, taught her foul language, and did everything he could to see to her comfort.

She couldn’t help but notice that he emphasized two terms to place distance between them. He called himself a monster, and for once bowed to propriety in referring to her as Miss Stratford. Was he fighting the attraction as badly as she was?

Yes, she may be in danger to succumbing to his charms should he decide to work them on her. And the thought of being alone with him in this cave for lord knew how many nights did set her heart to pounding in a most improper manner. This was the first time she’d felt any stirrings with a male, the first time when a chaperone could be needed for her own good.

But Madame Renarde was ill. Damp climates never agreed with her, and Vivian had never heard such an ugly cough. There was no question, Madame Renarde must return to Thornton Manor, where her uncle could summon a doctor.

“No,” Madame Renarde said, as if reading Vivian’s thoughts. “I must stay.”

Vivian realized there was another facet in her friend’s stubborn refusal to leave. Madame Renarde did not allow doctors to examine her, lest her secret be discovered.

With that in mind, Vivian reached over and took her friend’s hand, squeezing her palm in reassurance. “If you need treatment, my uncle will have to find a doctor who is discreet. After all, he has a bigger secret for you to hold over him.”

Madame Renarde looked so hopeful that it was heartbreaking. “Do you truly think so?”

“I am,” Vivian said with genuine confidence. “If he’s survived so long as a vampire in the nobility without being found out, he must be well-versed in discretion.”

Rhys nodded. “She’s right,” he said softly.

Hope gleamed in Madame Renarde’s pale eyes, but her lips twisted in a frown. “What if he kills me or throws me out?”

Before Vivian could respond, Rhys spoke. “For the most part, it is illegal for a vampire to kill a human. Furthermore, although I will ensure that you do not know where this cave is, you have enough information for Blackpool—er—Lord Thornton for him to find it prudent to keep you healthy and safe.”

Madame Renarde opened her mouth, whether to agree or to argue, they never found out, for she doubled over with another fit of coughing.

Rhys patted her back with a sympathetic frown and then took her teacup. “I’m going to give you some laudanum. It helps with coughing too.” He fetched his brown bottle and poured a few drops into the tea. Then he went to the basket containing the fruit he’d stolen a few nights ago, took a lemon, then sliced it, adding a segment to the tea. After he added a large dollop of honey, he handed her the cup. “The lemon and honey will mask the laudanum and ease the pain in your throat. Now drink up, for you need to rest for our journey.”

Vivian’s heart clenched at Rhys’s tender care for her friend. Her body warmed all over as she realized that he would treat her with the same gentle consideration, if she had fallen ill.

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