She must have seen something in his face, because she walked around the table and put her hands on the back of his chair. “That’s enough for today.”
Something inside him that had wound tightly throughout the past few hours relaxed. Putting on an act in his own house was ridiculous, but it was surprisingly easy to forget it wasn’t real. Winifred’s voices and costumes made the characters come to life. He was solitary by nature, but he had to admit that he missed attending the occasional social event.
He put a hand on top of hers. “Thank you.” Then he rose and kissed her fingers. “I eagerly anticipate our next session, my lady.”
She lowered her gaze. “I find myself in an awkward position, my lord. I can recite poetry in Greek or Latin and have memorized the reported casualties of tsunamis and the maximumwind speed of several more hurricanes, but I have little understanding of what occurs between husbands and wives.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps you could educate me?”
Marcus felt as if he were floating above his body. Winifred wanted him. He could hardly believe it. If not for his exhaustion, he would have stood and wrapped her in his arms. Unfortunately, his weakened state meant he could only abide the day for short periods. A vampire of his age should have had no difficulty remaining awake, but already, fatigue was settling on him, making it difficult to focus.
“I… cannot,” he whispered.
He wanted to stay. Would have given anything to remain and continue their practice, or even better, drop to his knees and crawl beneath her skirts. He most looked forward to bringing her to completion with his mouth and hands and then again with his cock and fangs. The coppery scent of her blood wreathed around him and made his jaw ache.
But touching her when he was not fully in control was too dangerous. No matter how much he wanted her, he would not risk her life for one night of pleasure. Marguerite had not given him a choice before she’d taken him as her human lover and she hadn’t even tried to be careful. If the worst happened with Winifred and he felt compelled to turn her, she might come to despise him, as he sometimes hated his maker.
She furrowed her brow. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not. It is only that I… I have been alone for quite some time.” It was a pathetic excuse, though not entirely a lie. He hadn’t felt the kiss of a lover in years.
Her expression smoothed. “I see.”
The waver in her voice belied her words. “Be patient with me, my dear.”
“It’s not that.” She exhaled harshly. “I cannot believe I am admitting this, but… tonight has made me realize how much I miss people. Amonth ago, I resented my mother for dragging me to balls. Now I would give anything to host my own.”
He brushed a stray curl away from her face. “I wish I could give that to you.”
She scrunched her nose. “Perhaps you can.”
He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “What did you have in mind?”
“You could invite a few people from the village and introduce me as your wife. Consider it the next phase of practice.”
He stiffened. “Allow strangers into the castle?” The wedding had been bad enough. Talking to objects was trivial compared to facing the real thing. If he failed and began stuttering or collapsed, the embarrassment might haunt and worsen his attacks.
“Only a few people,” she said. “The vicar’s family?”
He sighed. “If that is what you wish.”
Chapter Sixteen
When Winifred arrivedat the library the next morning, it was to the welcome sight of several new books piled on her usual table. As sunlight streamed over them, the air glittering with dust, a lump formed in her throat. There was no note, but she knew it was Marcus’s doing, a very considerate act, given how she’d thrown herself at him the previous evening. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, that she’d been bold enough to ask him to teach her, or that he hadn’t outright rejected her. Yes, he’d asked her to wait, but as a historian, she was well acquainted with time.
She shifted her skirts and settled down in her chair. She’d intended to continue the journal he’d read for her the previous evening, but she’d peruse the new volumes first. The book at the top of the stack had a worn leather cover and when she flipped it open, the text was hand-printed in medieval German. After puzzling over the vocabulary for several minutes, she realized it described a creature of the night similar to the ones her ancestors had supposedly hunted.
A vampire.
She set it aside and checked the next. It was as unusual as the first, again handwritten, but in French this time, and appeared to be another occult tome.
Why had Marcus selected these for her to read? They would have been better choices for Felicity. She would ask him the next time they spoke. Although, when they were alone, the parts of her mind that were insatiably curious quieted.
Three hours struggling to read scrawled German script later, she rubbed her temples with her fingers and stretched the stiffness out of her shoulders. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d become so absorbed in any topic that was not at least tangentially related to a subject of her obsession. Usually, the only thing that piqued her interest enough that she slipped into a focus so intense that she lost track of time was natural disasters. She’dtriedto engage her curiosity with several other subjects, but her mind inevitably refused to absorb any details. This was a fascinating development. She turned to a fresh page in her notebook and furiously jotted ideas.
Origin of vampire myth unknown. Modern depictions originate from Polidori’s novel. Further sources required. Potential for investigation?
She tapped the tip of her pencil on the paper. That was an interesting idea. She had assumed that when she sought publication to establish herself as a distinguished scholar, it would be for work relating to Pompeii. But what if she wrote about the creatures her family had supposedly once hunted instead? That would certainly be unique and might earn her good will from her uncle. Unlike her past proposals to publishers regarding volcanic eruptions or earthquakes, there would be less competition for a book on supernatural creatures. That would give her an advantage, especially if she could use Marcus’s name. She had been dismissed out of hand countless times based on her sex alone.
Ideas for topics bloomed in her mind like weeds until a headache started and her wrist ached from clutching her pen. When she’d straightened and looked at what she’d written, her eyebrows rose. She had enough material for an entire series of textbooks. That should have been exciting, but she felt oddly morose.
