Page 52 of The Highwayman's Bite

His anger, justified as it was, alarmed her. Vivian tried to shift the topic. “Tell me about your family.”

As she asked the question, she realized that she was honestly curious about these people who’d inspired such devotion from this vampire.

Rhys’s furious countenance softened at the very mention of his family. “Emily is the strongest, most hard-working woman I know. Sadly, she is also the most soft-hearted, as well. She fell for a scheming ne’er do well who cleaned out her meager dowry and mortgaged her farm before having the good graces to get himself shot for cheating at cards. Yet while he did his utmost to neglect her and drain the farm dry, she has managed the farm on her own and kept up with the payments until a bad harvest set her back. All while raising her children to be honest, honorable, and as industrious as herself.”

Vivian found it fascinating that he praised such qualities that he now lacked. Also, to her surprise, she experienced a pang of envy for his admiration of a widowed farm worker, someone of the lower classes that her father sometimes scorned. The memory of Father’s disdain filled her with distaste. What had she or her father done to earn a living? They may have more wealth than the working class, but that had been inherited. They lacked any noble titles and were considered poor relations by most of Society, which was one of the reasons Vivian had trouble finding a husband.

Perhaps this was the source of ghastly green jealousy fermenting in her belly for this Emily. It couldn’t be anything else. And yet... “How are you and Emily related?”

“She’s the great-great granddaughter of my brother,” Rhys said. “As I look too young to be an uncle, I merely introduced myself to her as my cousin when I attended her wedding. We’ve exchanged letters ever since.”

Vivian’s eyes widened at all the “greats” and she tried not to think about the fact that cousins often married, especially distant ones. “How old are you?”

“One hundred and twenty-six.” Rhys regarded her with a challenging stare as if he expected her to be appalled.

She wasn’t appalled, but she was astonished that he’d been on this earth for over a century. How many kings had he lived through? Three? Or was it four? “You must have seen much change in the world.”

“I have. But now all I wish to see are the insides of my eyelids. It is past dawn and I wish to get out of these wet clothes.” He yawned and stretched, his fangs glistening deadly sharp in the firelight. She thought of all the times he’d covered his mouth before, when laughing or yawning.

Rhys rose from the cot and unbuttoned his shirt. Vivian remained frozen, rapt as his broad, muscular chest was bared to her. A chest that had been pressed against hers not too long ago. She swallowed as her mouth went dry and he turned and cocked his eyebrow. “You are not planning on sleeping in a gown soaked with tea, are you?”

“Of course not!” she left his cot and pulled down the privacy curtain in front of her bed. She pulled her rumpled night shirt out of the trunk where Madame Renarde kept their clothes and immediately encountered a problem. “Ah, Rhys?”

“Yes?”

Heat flooded her face. “I... cannot reach the buttons on this gown.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you like for me to assist you?”

“Please.” Aside from being damp, the garment was too tight in the shoulders and bodice and dreadfully uncomfortable.

He came behind the curtain and she turned her back, not only so he could reach the buttons, but so he wouldn’t see her blush.

His breath was warm on the back of her neck as his fingers worked their way down the multitude of buttons. Though he unfastened the buttons briskly, making as little contact as possible, she shivered at every light touch of his fingers.

“That’s the last one,” he whispered, as he released a button at her lower back. “I’ll leave you to it and build up the fire.”

The moment he left, she felt the cold. Hurriedly, she struggled out of the gown and thanked the heavens that she didn’t have to wrestle with stays. Then she shrugged out of her shift donned the night shirt, and climbed into the cot.

Wrong as it was, Vivian peered around the curtain to see if Rhys had removed his trousers, and fought back disappointment to see his shadow through the barrier, climbing into his own bed.

As she lay in her cot, watching the light and shadows play across the bamboo curtain and cave walls, she worried about Madame Renarde. Had her uncle fetched a doctor for her, or had he killed her? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, Vivian refused to believe Uncle Aldric would be so cruel, vampire or no. For another, Madame Renarde was exceedingly clever. She would have withheld information to preserve her life, if needed.

Still, Vivian worried. She also felt her companion’s absence in other ways. Without a chaperone, Rhys’s nearness was a palpable thing. In fact, all propriety that had been observed with Madame Renarde’s presence had been abandoned almost immediately. They’d embraced, then she’d tried to pummel him, gotten them both wet with tea, and then he’d been on top of her. He’d kissed her again too. She bit her lip as her lower body pulsed at the memory. And now he’d even helped her undress.

She was already beyond compromised. Yet she could not bring herself to regret it. In fact, she wanted more. Even his bite had been pleasurable.

Was he suffering from the same temptations as she was? Or was it only her blood he craved? Blood, she reminded herself. He was a vampire. He drank blood to survive. That prompted another thought.

“Rhys?”

“What?” he grumbled.

“Is it difficult for you, having me so close?”

She heard what sounded like his fist striking his pillow. “Difficult in what way?”

Her fingers tangled in the hem of her blanket. “Does it make you hungry?”

“Yes. In more ways than one. Now go to sleep, or I’ll bite you.” His bedcovers rustled as his shadow rolled over.

He would do no such thing. Vivian knew it. Unlike Lord Summerly and other so-called gentlemen that she’d known in her life, he would never hurt her, or try to ravage her against her will.

As her eyes closed, it occurred to her that it was a sad state of affairs when a vampire could be trusted more than most men to behave himself. And it was completely mad that she wasn’t so certain that she even wanted him to behave.

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