Page 15 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Scholar
Winifred gave him one last penetrating glance, as if telling him she disapproved of his treatment of his creation, but then she ran her fingers over the smooth block of mahogany that topped the machine. “What’s inside?”
“Samples of blood from my livestock.” He grasped the handle and turned it. Gears groaned, and there was a clicking within from the bolt they had failed to retrieve, but the wooden block spun. “I’m attempting to identify the toxin in their blood, but I’ve yet to find a speed that will produce a clean separation.” His attempts had thus far resulted in several boxes of shattered glass. Metal vials would have solved that problem, but then he lost the ability to discern the layers in his concoctions visually without first somehow transferring the liquid to a different receptacle. He’d commissioned thicker glass containers from an artisan in the village, but they had not yet been delivered.
Winifred brought her hand to her mouth, covering her yawn. Behind her, the sky through the window was painted in shades of red. He had perhaps an hour before he would have to rest, which meant she had been awake half the night. “You require sleep.”
She tugged her sleeves down. “I suppose you are right.” She lifted the chain from beneath her wrapper, opened the latch, removed her ring, then placed the necklace in her palm and held it out. “Thank you for letting me borrow this.”
He was tempted to tell her to keep it. He had hundreds of others. But he wanted the first gift he gave her to be something more meaningful. An item she would never forget. So, hereturned the chain to his neck and slipped it beneath his shirt so the metal, warm from being in contact with her breast, sat flush against his skin.
“I must admit,” she said as they made their way to the door. “This is not at all what I imagined for my wedding night.”
His heart clenched. They had been married for less than a day and he’d already disappointed her.
She tilted her chin up and smiled. “It’s much better.”
He sagged with relief. “I am glad.”
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the soft patter of rain on the window. He should have agreed with her assessment, or offered to escort her to her room, or at least wished her pleasant dreams, but the words stuck in his throat.
Her smile faltered. Without saying a word, she turned around, placed her hand on the knob, then flinched.
He closed his fingers around her wrist. “What is it? Are you injured?”
“It is nothing.”
He gently lifted her hand and turned it over so her palm faced up, revealing a long cut along the side of her thumb. A crimson bead formed on the wound. Before he could consider the wisdom of his actions, he ducked his head, took her digit into his mouth, and rasped the flat of his tongue over the injury. She tasted like sunlight and freedom, fresh and bright. More than anything, he wanted to sink his teeth into the thick artery running down her wrist. His fangs descended. He ran their sharp points over her skin but did not pierce.
She moaned.
He’d taken things too far. She was his assistant, not a pleasant diversion. It had been centuries since he’d drunk from a human, and all it had taken to break his vow was a single abrasion. It was shameful and would never happen again. He retracted his fangs and straightened. “I apologize. I should not have touched you without your permission.”
“I did not dislike it,” she said.
He swallowed thickly. “Pardon?”
She licked her lips. “Just now. I enjoyed what… you did.” Her cheeks were red, and her spectacles were fogging. “In fact, I was hoping you would touch me. So, you did not have to apologize. I, ah, will leave you to your work.” Then she gathered her skirts and raced down the steps.
He stared after her until she turned a corner. He could not have heard her right. Was it possible she was interested in pursuing physical intimacy? There was nothing stopping them. Even if they hadn’t been living together in a castle, far away from his judgmental peers, they were married. Her own mother probably assumed they’d already consummated their union.
A sudden image of Winifred sprawled on his bed dressed in a sheer nightgown entered his mind, causing him to flush. It had been nearly a decade since he’d bedded a woman, human or otherwise.
When he was sure she’d returned to her room, he rushed down the steps and back to his bedchamber. The curtains were already drawn and a fire lit in the hearth. He picked up the goblet sitting beside the fire and drained it. After the banquet that had been Winifred’s blood, drinking the substance was like consuming what was left in a mop bucket after cleaning the floors. He set the empty glass aside, wiped his mouth, and recalled the thrum of heat that had shot through him when he’d tasted her.
Having her nearby soothed the chasm in his heart that had deepened with every year he’d remained separated from his nest siblings. It was not something he would ever speak aloud, but until Winifred had arrived, he’d been desperately lonely. Maintaining a detached indifference became more difficult with each passing day.
He fell onto his bed, freed his throbbing cock from his trousers, and stroked himself. Everything about Winifred was intoxicating. The faint scent of strawberries in her breath, thesoft curves of her shoulders, the way she’d leaned into his touch and run the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. She’d nearly come apart from the slight touch of his fang.
As the orgasm ripped through his body, he curled onto his side, wrapped his arms around a pillow, and imagined it was his wife.
Chapter Ten
When Winifred awokeat sunrise, it was with a sense of bubbling excitement she hadn’t experienced in years, despite the absurdly early hour. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel Marcus’s icy, chapped lips pressed to her palm and his tongue caressing her thumb. It had been far more intimate than the chaste kiss they’d shared, and she found she was almost as eager to see him again as she was to find the expansive library he’d described in his letters.
Before any of that, however, she had to properly meet the staff. Her new role as the mistress of the household came with responsibilities.
A knock had her drawing back the covers. “Come in.”
A slight girl bustled inside, wearing a white, frilly apron over a light-blue blouse, a skirt of a slightly darker color, and a white bonnet covering her coal-black hair. It was the same maid who had assisted Winifred with donning and removing her wedding dress the previous evening. The girl dipped into a deep curtsey. “Good morning, my lady.”
