Page 32 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
He made a pained sound but otherwise did not react as the rest of the table made their bets. She paid the game little attention, being far more interested in memorizing the faces of the other players. Thanks to Mr. Drake, she didn’t know where in the city this gambling hall was located, but it would still help her family to know how many vampires had visited the establishment.
Then again, in order to reveal that information, she would have to confess how she’d acquired it. She was prepared to betray Mr. Drake but did not want to think about how her family would react to learning she’d allowed a vampire to bite her.
“Quite a lovely chit,” Mr. Wormwood said. He put his cards on the table and pushed them forward. “She looks familiar. Where did you find her?”
Felicity dipped her chin. She could not be recognized now, when they were so close.
“This one?” Mr. Drake patted her hand on his chest. “Just a chorus dancer.”
Mr. Wormwood put his elbows on the table. “She’s flexible, then?”
It was hard not to feel embarrassed when they were discussing her physical capabilities, but none of the other human concubines seemed to notice. They were all muttering or caressing their masters. She did the same and tried not to think about the sluggish heat collecting in her abdomen as she stroked the firm muscles of Mr. Drake’s chest. He was the only man she’d ever touched so intimately. It was as thrilling as it was disconcerting.
Mr. Drake slid another pile of coins forward. “Dancers know the most remarkable tricks. And have the sweetest blood.”
The round ended with someone other than Mr. Drake winning. He didn’t even flinch as the coins in front of him vanished, pulled into the arms of a grinning older man with red hair and a matching curly beard that engulfed the lower half of his face.
“Don’t get too excited, Maclean,” Jonathan said. “I will be taking those back before the end of the night.”
The man snorted. “So confident, Drake!” He pushed back from his chair. “I think you didn’t come here to gamble at all. Wormwood was right. That chit of yours isn’t the usual sort for this place.”
Felicity clung to Mr. Drake, fighting with everything she had to keep her expression neutral and her posture loose.
Jonathan caressed her arm. “You’re frightening her, Maclean. She made an enemy among our kind some years ago.” He lowered his voice. “Refused to volunteer her blood.”
The men around the table nodded and murmured, as if this were a usual topic of discussion.
“I’ve been trying to seek the lady out,” Mr. Drake said. “See if I can broker a truce. I wouldn’t want this lovely one to perish while doing my daylight bidding.”
“Perhaps we could assist you in identifying the lady,” Mr. Maclean said. “What does she look like?”
Mr. Drake studied his cards, then placed them face down. “Tall, beautiful, with sharp features and black hair. Carries a cane topped with a golden dog’s head.”
Mr. Wormwood tapped his fingers on the table. “Sounds rather like Madame Pearce. She collects walking sticks and the like.”
Felicity inhaled sharply. At last, a lead! She opened her mouth to ask Mr. Wormwood where they could find this ‘Madame Pearce,’ when Mr. Drake pinched her thigh.
“Thank you,” Mr. Drake said loudly. “I will pay her a visit.”
Mr. Maclean grunted as he pulled the coins in the center of the table toward him, having won the round. As he stacked them into neat piles, he glanced at Felicity and showed a hint of fang. “If you visit Madame Pearce’s fine establishment, you won’t have any need for that one.” He sniffed. “She smells fresh. If I forgave your debt, would you let me borrow her for a night?”
Felicity’s stomach tightened.
“I don’t share,” Mr. Drake said as he accepted a new set of cards. A flush of clubs. His luck was changing.
Mr. Maclean tapped the table. “Selfish keeping flesh that sweet to yourself.” Then he reached out and grasped her upper arm. “What do you think, lass? Want to try us?”
She should have swatted the Scotsman playfully or scrunched her nose and insisted she belonged to Mr. Drake. Either of those responses would have fit within the role she’dadopted for the evening. Instead, she reacted instinctively to the unwanted assault by punching the man in the nose.
As Maclean clutched his face and let out a string of words in a language she didn’t understand, Mr. Drake burst into hearty laughter. It was the latter that kept her from drawing a stake and plunging it through Mr. Maclean’s heart. Instead, she followed the cues of the other humans present and pressed her face to Mr. Drake’s neck with a whine like a scared puppy.
SLAM
Something hit the floor.
“That bitchhitme!” Mr. Maclean shouted.
“Should have kept your hands to yourself, Maclean,” Mr. Wormwood said dryly. “Sit down before I’m forced to kick you out.”
