“Oh… huh?” she stammered, blinking up at him with huge dark eyes.
Behaving as if that were an assent, he took her by the elbow and escorted her out of the gaming room amidst the accompaniment of brittle titters from the “ladies” and guffaws from the “gentlemen.”
“I must inform you, Miss Winthrop, that the gaming room is not the place for virtuous young ladies.” He tried to sound stern and keep his eyes from drifting down to her lovely breasts. But her face was just as captivating. He nearly lost his footing as he escorted her down the stairs to the ballroom.
The girl nodded and fixed her ebony eyes on his. “I know what I am doing. ‘In fact, it is a farce to call any being virtuous whose virtues do not result from the exercise of its own reason.’”
Ian choked back a laugh as he tried not to drown in her dark gaze. “Touché, my dear. I also found Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s work to be invaluably stimulating. Pray tell, do you believe Frankenstein to be the work of her daughter, or did her husband pen the novel, as most conclude?”
“My name is Angelica, not ‘my dear,’ and only a complete bird wit would not recognize hereditary genius when they read it. Or perhaps, society does not believe a woman is capable of writing a passable gothic tale.”
Angelica. The name fit her ethereal beauty. At least until she opened her mouth. This was not the typical, vapid product of a successful launch into the Quality. This woman was an intriguing creature, fascinating in her combination of astuteness and naive rebellion against convention. And her dark forbidden beauty was driving him mad.
Rather than release her to a suitable dance partner as he had intended once they entered the ballroom, he took her in his arms for a waltz. It was painful to keep his gaze from the tempting swell of her breasts above the blue satin, the subtle rhythm of her delicate pulse beating at her throat, or to endure the warm feel of her tiny waist beneath his hand as he guided her in the close dance.
“I heard that you are a vampire,” Angelica said, gazing up at him with candid gypsy eyes.
He threw back his head and laughed, oblivious to the scandalized stares cast their way. “I am a man.”
The girl nodded. “I assumed so.”
“And why is that?” Ah, now shall come the contrived flirtation. Ian settled his features into an expression of detached boredom that was guaranteed to send ladies scurrying.
“I saw that you cast a reflection.” She was either too drunk to notice his disdain or very brave.
Her lush lips curved into a smile, and he found himself asking, “And if my image were not captured in the glass, what would you do?”
She grinned up at him. “I would of course ask you what such a thing is like, to be a vampire.”
Ian fought to conceal his shock and keep his voice level. “Why would you want to know such a thing? Would you want to be one?”
Angelica smiled as if they were discussing the latest Paris fashions. “I did not think about that. I only thought it would make a good story. I am a writer, you see.”
A good story. His jaw clenched in irritation as he thought of Polidori’s fabrication. A good story was what had landed him in this mess.
Thankfully, the music ended before she could continue her unconventional banter. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Winthrop.” He took her arm and escorted her to her mother.
“Mother, I believe you have met Lord Burnrath.” Angelica hiccupped.
Lady Margaret Winthrop nodded. “Y-your Grace,” she murmured. Her throne-room curtsy contrasted oddly with her panic-stricken face.
Ian smiled wryly as he bowed. “Lady Margaret.” No doubt she was terrified to see her delicate flower in the company of one with his questionable reputation.
The Duchess of Wentworth beckoned him with a nod and he obeyed the summons, hoping to reassure the frightened mama. But Angelica seemed to command his attention for one last look. To his disbelief, the outrageous woman actually grinned at him.
He forced the impertinent baggage from his mind as he finished his dance with the hostess and bid her farewell.
Tonight he would gather together all of London’s vampires and command them to search for Dr. John Polidori. He must find out if this man knew the secrets of his kind. For if he did, the physician would have to be silenced… one way or the other.
His lips curved into a rueful smile as the butler handed him his topcoat and hat. It was unlikely that he would kill Polidori for the crimes of his wayward pen. The Elders frowned upon that practice in these modern times. Likely he would be required to Mark the upstart and have him watched for the rest of his life, or perhaps Ian would be encouraged to Change him. Still, wisdom dictated him to tell his subordinates as little as possible, the better to keep his options open.
Three