Marcus’s strange habit of sleeping through the day meant there were only a few hours each day when they were both awake. Was this to be her routine, alternating between silent, lonelymeals in her room, assisting Marcus, and her research? It should have been a thrilling prospect, given how often she’d wished for more time to devote to her studies before she’d agreed to marry him, but faced with countless days of the same, there was a hollowness in the pit of her stomach.
It was difficult to immerse oneself in history when one was afflicted by homesickness.
Company, that was what she needed. It was time to circumvent her uncle’s orders and contact her cousin. She returned to her room and rummaged around the drawers of her writing desk until she found the materials needed to compose a letter. Then she dipped her pen in ink and wrote.
My dearest Felicity,
I wish you were here. This castle is gloriously large, but I find the many empty spaces make me quite lonely. I hope you will be reassured to know that married life has so far suited me, other than a few minor complaints. Solitude and study were exactly what I wanted, but I find there is something missing. Perhaps if I held a ball, you could pretend to be attending a country party and visit. I can hardly believe I am suggesting such a thing. Do you remember the time I begged a megrim for several days to finish reading Mommsen’s first volume ofRömische Geschichte, the History of Rome? Mother was furious when she learned the truth.
As for Marcus, we are slowly learning about each other. If I had realized his peculiarities sooner, I might not have been so eager to travel here.
She stopped, crossed out several lines, then crumpled the paper into a ball. She wanted to convince Felicity that she was well despite her uncle’s orders, not have her cousin read the letter, then race out to a horse and ride across the country. Things were certainly notthatbleak. She picked up another sheet of paper and tried again, this time aiming for a more positive tone.
Felicity,
I hope this reaches you and that our uncle is treating you well. Please know that I will understand if you choose to not respond to prevent ouruncle from punishing you. It pains me you were forced into making such an awful decision.
As for me, I have adapted well to married life. I have as much time as I wish to research and the earl even agreed that you can join me as my companion, although I fear we must settle the feud Uncle Ethan believes exists between our families before you can become my companion. Do you know anything about the conflict? I have asked my husband, but he could not provide clarity.
I miss you, and can’t wait to see you again.
Winifred
After reading it several times, she found the tone stilting and awkward, but it would have to do. She folded the paper, sealed it with plain wax, and flipped it over. Her uncle would surely inspect any letter that arrived for his niece, but he would likely ignore the activities of his servants. She scrawled the name of Felicity’s favorite maid, Anastasia. With luck, she would receive it, recognize who it was meant for, and route it to Felicity.
Winifred picked up the slim, blue leather book she’d brought from the library, hoping it would serve as a distraction. As soon as she’d opened it, she flushed. The first sketch depicted a naked man and woman sprawled on a couch, with the woman’s face at the level of the man’s crotch. Her mouth was clasped over his… Well, that was an interesting idea.
She was suddenly too hot to be wearing so many layers. Rather than summon Keenan, she struggled out of her dress, then found the wrapper she’d worn on her wedding night. The sleeves were rumpled and there were spots of grease on the bodice, but when she lifted the fabric, she could smell Marcus’s sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of hot metal. She donned the garment, then returned to her bed and opened the book again. The next illustration made her spectacles fog. A man’s head was buried between the thighs of a woman, who had her eyes closed and her mouth open. It was too easy to imagine the man as Marcus andherself as his lover.
They were married, but Marcus had not consummated their union. He’d asked her to be patient, but he’d also previously dismissed her as nothing more than his assistant. A suspicious part of her couldn’t resist pointing out the unusual things she’d noticed. The rushed wedding. Spending most of the day asleep. The way he tensed when she touched him. The clues came together to form an answer she did not like but could not ignore.
Marcus had a mistress.
He must have been spending his days inhercompany and was only indulging Winifred because she had made her attraction so obvious. Her stomach tightened, but she had no right to be disappointed. Marcus was her husband, but their marriage was not a love match. Other than their first night, he had shown no interest in anything beyond companionship. It was her fault for misinterpreting his actions. If he wanted to take a mistress, she could not stop him.
She slammed the book shut, threw it across the room, then buried her face in her arms.
Chapter Seventeen
“Perhaps you couldteach me.”
Winifred’s whispered words echoed in Marcus’s mind as he removed his leather apron from a peg on the wall in his workshop and donned it. She’d made her interest clear, but he’d foolishly not responded in kind. Instead, he’d offered a weak excuse that she’d inevitably question.
The problem was, every time he thought about kissing her, he remembered how he’d initially pursued Marguerite when he’d been human. If he’d known she’d been a vampire, he never would have gone willingly to her bed. She had deceived him in the same way he was deceiving Winifred. If he continued down the same path, he feared Winifred would come to resent him as much as he had Marguerite.
He carefully slotted vials of his latest concoction in the machine he’d decided not to destroy, even though it had harmed Winifred. Her practice session had given him a new insight into how he might confirm his suspicions regarding contamination in his livestock.
Before he saw her again, he would need to craft a believable explanation for his behavior. She was an intelligent, curious woman. If she hadn’t already come up with her own theory, she would soon.
The truth would almost be easier, but he did not dare broach that subject until she’d had time to read the books he’d selected to educate her about his kind and was less likely to flee screaming from his presence.
It was not every day that one learned monsters were real.
He cranked his invention until it rattled, then released his tight grip, waited for the gears to slow to a halt, and opened the lid. To his surprise, the glass tubes tucked in the mahogany block had not shattered. When he lifted one, the cow’s blood inside had separated into vague layers. He held it to a candle and inspected the topmost section. Unlike the samples he’d drawn from his animals several weeks prior and agitated, the cloudy liquid was not a pale yellow, but a faint pink.
It was the confirmation he’d been seeking, but it gave him no sense of satisfaction, especially because he didn’t know how drinking tainted blood would affect him. Winifred’s exercises were helpful in managing his attacks but did not explain how they had started. Given that they had worsened at the same time he’d discovered someone had tampered with his food supply, it seemed likely the hunters were responsible.
When he was too weak to fight back, they would stage their attack. If they were smart, they’d wait for his brothers to be present and pick them off one-by-one.
