Weddings from Hell

Chapter 1

London , 1879

"And of course you know that Violet is to be married next week."

Payen Carr froze, a large bite of rare steak halfway to his mouth. He raised his head to smile pleasantly—falsely so—at the elderly woman across the table. "Who?"

Lady Verge fixed him with a vaguely chiding expression, as though she thought him deliberately obtuse—which, of course, he was. "Violet Wynston-Jones, the Earl of Wolfram's ward. You do remember dear Violet, do you not?"

Payen shoved the steak into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, savoring the rich juices as they embraced his tongue. Remember "dear" Violet? Damn it all, he couldn't seem to forget her. She was the reason he had left England five years ago, and now on his first night back in the city, she was the first subject he heard spoken of. He began to cut another slice of meat.

Married. Good. At least she hadn't been sitting around pining for him as he'd feared. Not pining at all if she had met someone she liked the look of enough to marry. Enough to share a bed with.

"Payen."

Who was she marrying? Some rich young buck, no doubt. Handsome, he'd wager. Human—that went without saying. And probably hung like a stallion.

"Payen!"

He looked up just as his dinner plate shattered. He had driven his knife right through the fine china. Oh, hell. Shame-faced, he met Lady Verge's wide blue gaze. "Sorry, old girl. Wasn't paying attention."

"I'd say it is safe to assume that you do remember Miss Wynston-Jones after all."

A gentleman should remember the women whose beds he shared, especially the virgins. Especially those named Violet.

"Of course I remember the girl."

Lady Verge watched him with a gimlet gaze, her eyes unnaturally bright in her pale, English rose complexion. He had met and befriended Lord Verge some forty years past and remained a friend right up until the man's death eight years ago. The most painful drawback of immortality was watching one's friends age and die. Once, Payen had determined to never befriend a human again. That resolve hadn't lasted more than ten years—a damn sight longer than most vows he made.

One vow he took very seriously was his promise to look after Margaret—Lady Verge—not that she needed his assistance. She was one of the few humans who knew that he was a vampire. At first she'd been a little afraid of him, and more than a little disgusted, but once she'd realized that he wasn't some undead fiend, preying on children, and came to know him as a person, she accepted him as her husband's friend, and her own. Payen had never bothered to tell her that he was part demon, turned that way by willingly drinking from a chalice that contained the essence of the Vampire Queen, Lilith. He had done so to protect that same chalice from others who would use it for some unknown dark purpose, but that didn't change the fact that as a "child" of Lilith he had been cursed to walk in darkness by the Almighty. It was a long story, as most of the good ones were, and he really didn't want this church-going woman thinking he was an affront to her God.

"I take it that you have not been invited to the happy occasion?"

"Must have gotten lost in the post."

"Yes," she agreed politely. "It must have, indeed."

Appetite now lost, his plate in ruins, Payen placed his knife and fork neatly together across the ruined china and dabbed at his mouth with his snowy white napkin. "Miss Wynston-Jones's fiancé, is he a good man?"

"He is." Damn it all, that wasn't sympathy in her eyes, was it? Because it shouldn't be there—wouldn't be there if she knew that he had robbed Violet's soon-to-be husband of his wedding night prize. And no one knew that he and Violet had shared a bed one glorious night. No one but the two of them.

"They had their photograph taken for the engagement. Perhaps after dinner you would like to see it?"

No. He'd rather eat this broken plate. Rather stick this fork into the soft, squishy part of his eye. "Of course."

After a dessert he barely tasted—it might have been dirt for all he knew—Payen followed his hostess to her favorite parlor—the one dripping in lace and painted the most nauseating shade of powdery pink—and sat while she poured them both a glass of sherry. His mind remained focused on the same topic during the entire ordeal.

His Violet was getting married.

That meant she wasn't his anymore. That was supposed to be a good thing. It was. It was a bloody good thing.

Margaret—he was never to call her Maggie, or worse, Peg—joined him on the sofa a few moments later with a glass of sherry, which might as well be water as far as the effect it would have on him—and a small framed photograph. Despite the wine's lack of potency, he took a drink before looking at the picture.

Black, white and gray did nothing to capture the essence of Violet, yet there she was all the same. A kick in the chest would have affected him less. In a tightly fitting gown with a demure square neckline and lace at the elbows, and her thick hair piled up on top of her head, she looked every inch the proper young woman. Only he knew there was nothing demure about her, nothing at all. But where was the gleam in her eye that he so adored? Why wasn't she smiling and turning her cheeks into little apples he so loved to nibble upon? She looked so serious, so mature. He may as well be looking at a stranger with black hair, gray eyes, and pale gray skin, garbed in yet more gray. This was not his vibrant Violet.

And he blamed the equally colorless man seated in front of her.

The fiancé—he didn't even know the boy's name, and didn't care to—was just that, a boy. He might have been five and twenty at best—just a few years younger than Payen had been when he drank from the Blood Grail, taking his oath to protect both it and the world from the forces of evil more than seven centuries ago.

Anyone under the age of 90 was youthful as far as he was concerned. Which was why he had no business taking such an interest in Violet's affairs.

"Her fiancé is Rupert Villiers," Margaret remarked with forced neutrality. "Handsome, isn't he?"

Payen shrugged, his gaze never leaving the gray girl in the photograph. "I wouldn't know the current taste in good looks." He looked at the boy—Villiers—once more. He had a tolerable enough face. "Is he French?"

"Heavens, no!" Margaret was one of those Brits who retained a great disdain for the French, no matter how many French dishes she served and French fashions she wore. "His family has been in England for many generations."

Payen smiled, enjoying egging her on. "But they were French, once upon a time. De Villiers, I would imagine."

Margaret sniffed and extended her hand for the photograph. "He's a lovely young man. He went to Oxford."

"So did I," He replied. His gaze settled on the photograph one last time, and as his old friend tried to take it, his fingers tightened on the frame. The hand-carved wood groaned. "Jesus H. Christ."

"Ouch!" Margaret shook her hand as Payen snatched the photograph from her.

Payen ignored her. Normally he would have apologized immediately—he was nothing if not polite—but the roar of his own blood in his ears robbed him of all thought of decorum. He was on his feet, staring at the tiny detail that had somehow managed to grab his attention.

He wouldn't have seen it if Villiers hadn't chosen to place his hand over the one Violet set on his shoulder.

On the forefinger of the boy's right hand was a ring. Its brightness told Payen that it was silver, but he would have known that regardless from the signet on the top. Were he human, he probably wouldn't be able to see the detail, but he hadn't been human since before the Villiers family stopped being French.

The boy wore the mark of the Order of the Silver Palm. It had been so long since Payen had seen it, that at first he almost hadn't recognized it, but there it was—a reminder of why he had become what he was. A reminder of betrayals that managed to enrage him even now.

The Silver Palm had been formed by men who were once Templars—men who were supposed to be deserving of the title "knight." It was the Order that he had vowed to protect the Blood Grail from, and it was the Order that had betrayed the Templars by spreading those horrible rumors started by King Philip of France. Because of them, many had suffered unjustly. Jacques de Molay, the last Grand Master, had been burned alive. Payen had lost many friends and sometimes, he still felt that old guilt at having survived. The Blood Grail was gone—under the protection of others now—but still he existed, because he had made a promise, and as long as the Blood Grail existed—as long as there was the slightest whimper from the Silver Palm, he would go on.

So long. And it chilled him to the bone to see evidence of the group he had started to hope no longer existed. Stopped his heart to see a member of that order holding his Violet's hand.

"Payen, my dear, whatever is the matter?" Margaret didn't hide her concern, she never had.

He glanced at her, knowing that she had hoped to get a reaction out of him when she told him about Violet's marriage—and that he hadn't given her the one she wanted. "When's the ceremony?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll be leaving at eight. Payen? Where are you going?"

He gave her the photograph. He had to hurry. He had to get there before dawn. Had to get there in time to speak to Henry and Liza, Violet's guardians.

"Have my things sent on to Hertford, would you, Old Girl? And I shouldn't worry about getting up early tomorrow morning." He smiled grimly. "There isn't going to be a wedding."

A girl should be happy on the eve of her marriage, Violet Wynston-Jones thought as she gazed around the crowded ballroom of her guardian, the Earl of Wolfram's Hertford Mansion. A young lady should be ecstatic that all her friends and family had gathered to witness her wed a highly suitable and handsome young man.

So why wasn't she happy? Why was she struck by this persistent anxiety? The answer was as obvious as the longing in her breast every time she gazed at the door.

Payen wasn't there. He wouldn't be coming. Even if he somehow managed to arrive in time, he could never risk the sunlight to watch her get married. He didn't love her enough.

Sunlight killed vampires.

Straightening her shoulders—her too-broad shoulders, she often complained—she forced herself to stand as tall as possible, which with the heels on her shoes and high pile of her hair, put her somewhere close to six feet. Sturdy. That was what her father used to call her before he died. Strapping. Solid. Robust.

Losing a full stone over the past two months hadn't changed that opinion of herself either. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw a woman better suited to hard labor than the life of a lady. Though she was dressed in the height of fashion in a slim gown of violet satin that came down low over her shoulders with a tiny, ivory lace ruffle, clung to her torso and hips to froth around her legs in little frilly layers, and cascaded out behind her in a small train from a delicate, gathered bustle, she still felt every inch the same large awkward girl who had first come to live with the earl and countess—Henry and Eliza—after her parents' passing twelve years before.

The only time she had ever not felt like that girl was when Payen Carr looked at her, and she hadn't laid eyes on him since that fateful night five years ago.

Lifting a glass of champagne to her lips, she allowed her gaze to drift about the ballroom until it landed on the tall, pleasing form of her husband-to-be. Rupert was possessed of thick, wavy hair, bright blue eyes and a smile that could charm the devil himself. He also had a good sense of humor and an inquisitive mind, which made conversation with him a treat. With any luck, he'd be one of those men who didn't know a virgin from a dishrag and wouldn't notice that his bride wasn't innocent.

Then again, after five years, maybe her hymen had grown back. She'd heard Eliza and several of her friends joking about such a thing once.

As if sensing her gaze, Rupert turned his face in her direction. His gaze locked with hers and he smiled, raising his own glass of champagne in salute before having his attention called by his aunt, Lady Gantley.

"You have the look of a morning bride," came a familiar voice at her elbow. It was Eliza, the woman who had become a mother to her.

"Do I?" Violet took a sip of champagne before she could say anything else—such as beg the older woman to save her from her fate. Nerves. It was just nerves.

"Yes." Since Eliza was smiling, Violet took this to be a positive thing. "Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are bright and your hands are trembling. Premarital jitters."

"Yes, you must be right. I am feeling rather…anxious."

"It's all very normal, my dear." Eliza slipped a slender arm around her. At just over five feet, she was a tiny little pixie compared to Violet's gargantuan self, with glossy blond hair and pale green eyes.

"I'm pleased to hear that." Was it normal to keep hoping the vampire who stole your heart and then abandoned you would walk through the door insisting that you were making a terrible mistake? Was it normal to hope that he then would sweep you into his arms—because a man that strong could tote you around like a rag doll—and whisk you off to some dark, gothic ruin where he would ravish you for a fortnight before finally making you his forever? Because that didn't sound normal for a bride to be thinking—not when the vampire wasn't the man she was about to marry.

"The night before I was set to marry Henry I tried to run away," Eliza confessed in a conspiratorial tone, with a smile that said she was glad she hadn't succeeded. "I fashioned a rope out of my bed clothes and tried to climb down from the balcony."

Violet turned to her in surprise, closing the space between them so as not to be overheard by nosy guests. "What happened?"

Narrow shoulders formed a tiny shrug. "I made it to the garden gate. Who do you suppose was waiting there?"

"Your father?"

Eliza shook her head, diamond and emerald earrings swaying with the gesture. "Henry."

"He knew you were running away?"

"No. He was running away. He just came to say good-bye." At Violet's gasp she continued, "He could stand his mother's interference no longer and had resolved to leave for France that night."

"What happened? Obviously you got married." She knew the outcome, but it was the in between that fascinated her.

"We did. We realized that what we were running away from was our families and their plans and expectations. We eloped to Gretna Green—I grew up but a few miles from there in Cumbria, as you know—and returned in time for our English wedding, already married."

Grinning, Violet shook her head. "Why? You eloped, why go through the ceremony the next day?"

Eliza smiled broadly, like a delighted child. "Because we owed it to our parents who had gone through all those arrangements—but we were able to stand against their heavy-handedness as man and wife. Knowing that we were already married made the rest of it cease to matter."

Violet had met Eliza's parents—Henry's too—and could only imagine the row that must have resulted. "Your mother must have wanted to paddle your backside."

"She did, but there was nothing she could do. I wasn't her concern anymore."

They shared a chuckle, and when Eliza held out her arms, Violet went into them without hesitation, accepting the embrace and all the love that came with it.

"Trust your heart, my dear," the older woman whispered in her ear. "It will never steer you wrong."

Violet's good humor faded, but she kept a smile pasted on her face. That was exactly what worried her. Her heart was telling her to get the bloody hell out of there and run as far away as she could.

As Eliza left her to return to her duties as hostess, Violet glanced around once more, panic building in her chest. There had to be a way to escape. A way out without disappointing everyone.

And then, as though God saw and took pity on her, the door to the ballroom was flung open. The small string quartet playing in the upper corner stopped their music, and the dancers with it. Everyone turned their attention to this new guest, who stood just inside the door, his hair mussed by the wind.

Violet's heart stopped cold. "Oh no," she whispered, casting a disbelieving glance heavenward. "Why did you have to answer this prayer?"

It was Payen, looking no older than he had five years earlier when he'd left her. Oh his hair was a little different—a little shorter, neater, but just as thick and golden. His eyes were the same sherry color she remembered, his lips just as exquisitely perfect, and almost too feminine. He was beauty personified—Apollo come to life. Over six feet tall, he wore evening attire in a manner that would have made angels weep. As he swept into the room, black cloak swirling behind him, he kept his attention fastened on one person—her.

Violet shivered under the force of that gaze and the intensity behind it. Whatever his reasons for being there—they were not to wish her happy, of that she had no doubt.

Eliza and Henry intercepted him when he was mere feet from her. And Rupert, realizing something strange was afoot, came to stand by her side. The ballroom was silent, save for the whispers circulating. Who was he? What was he doing there?

"Carr," Henry greeted warmly, if not a little cautiously. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I'm not here on a social call, Henry," came the low, rasp of the vampire's reply. And he looked like a vampire tonight—a predator from the darkest shadows. And God help her, Violet would let him ravish her right there in front of everyone if he asked.

"We're celebrating, Payen," Eliza said softly. "Perhaps you didn't know that Violet is to be married tomorrow."

He spared her a glance, brief but so electrically charged Violet felt it in her toes. "I know. I've come to stop it."

Chapter 2

Payen's announcement caused a bit of a commotion. This was, of course, in comparison to the Crusades, the measure for all his confrontations.

"Damnit, Payen!" That was Henry. "What is the meaning of this?"

Eliza joined in. "Stop the wedding?"

The whole room was in an uproar, and the groom—the little tosser who Payen had no choice but to call handsome indeed—was saying something to Violet, practically yelling in her ear.

Violet wasn't talking. Like him, she was the only silent person in the room. In fact, Violet didn't seem to be listening to her fiancé either. She was staring rather intently at Payen, who was staring rather intently right back. She looked…hopeful.

She also looked damned beautiful, even more so than the girl he remembered. More than that colorless girl in the photograph.

So tall. With those shoes and that mass of sable hair she was almost as tall as he. She had lost weight, but that only called more attention to the magnificent bounty of her breasts, framed delectably by the square neckline of a gown the color of her name. She was a Junoesque woman—a true Amazon. Her face, just a tad too round to be a perfect oval, was the most fascinating composition of features—large, hazel eyes, high cheekbones that appled when she smiled, a little slender nose, slightly tilted, and sweet, berry lips that seemed designed to curve naturally into a smile.

She wasn't smiling right then.

"Why would you want to stop my wedding, Mr. Carr?" Her voice, soft as it was, was enough to make him want to drop to one knee and promise her the moon.

Several hundred reasons came to mind, but only one mattered at that moment. He raised a finger and pointed at Villiers. "He is the spawn of Satan." Not exactly accurate, but he didn't have time to get too detailed.

A collective gasp filled the room. Violet's jaw dropped and Henry colored up like a gin blossom on a drunk's nose. "You forget yourself, sir!"

Henry only called him "sir" when he was royally pissed. Payen turned an expressionless gaze toward him. "I assure you, my dear Lord Wolfram, I forget nothing."

His friend frowned, obviously realizing then, that he was deadly serious.

"I don't know who you are," Villiers info rmed him, stepping in front of Violet as though to shield her. "But you are fortunate, sir, that duels are illegal."

Payen raked the little miscreant with a bored gaze. "Indeed. I hate spilling blood."

The deeper meaning of his words was not lost on Violet, whose eyes widened as she peered around Villiers at him. Villiers, meanwhile, flushed a rich scarlet. "You do not know me, yet you insult me."

"Yes, that is badly done of me." Payen sketched a bow. "Payen Carr, Mr. Villiers." He reached out and snatched the other man's hand, lifting it to the light even as he tried to pull free. "And this is an insult to me." He was careful not to touch the silver that would burn his flesh like open flame.

Villiers scowled at the signet on his finger. "My ring insults you?"

"I am disgusted by what it stands for, and those who support it."

Henry, perhaps the only one who remembered they had an audience, came between them, forcibly breaking the grip Payen had on Villiers. "Gentlemen, perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private."

A disbelieving bark of laughter broke from Villiers' throat. "My lord, surely you don't believe this madman?"

Henry, God love him, sent the boy a grim look. "My study. Now."

Payen, Eliza, Violet, and Villiers fell into step behind him. Payen would rather not turn his back on the Silver Palm disciple but he trusted that the bastard would not risk exposing himself by attempting to cause Payen bodily harm.

He walked beside Eliza, ignoring the curious stares and whispers as they cut through the crowd. He glanced around the ballroom instead, noting the salmon color on the walls and the cream trim. "You've redecorated," he commented absently.

"Yes," Eliza replied. "Two years ago."

"I like it. Much easier on the eyes than that awful blue it was last time I was here."

"You have a lot of nerve returning this way, my friend," she murmured for his ears alone.

"She can't marry him, Eliza." He could tell from the startled light in her eyes that she knew he meant it—and that he would do everything in his power to keep the wedding from taking place.

"Oh dear."

Behind them, Payen could hear Violet and the miscreant talking. Their voices were low, but not so low that he couldn't listen in—selective hearing was one of the perks of vampirism. Most of the time he could keep the world out, but when he wanted, he could hear mice scurrying in the attic above.

"Who is this idiot?" Villiers demanded.

"He's a friend of Henry's," Violet replied. Payen might have smiled at her defensive tone, were it not for the fact that she hadn't argued the "idiot" remark.

"What is he to you?" Ahh, now this was interesting. Villiers was jealous—not as dumb as he looked, obviously. But Payen knew that looking dumb didn't exclude a man from being dangerous.

Violet sighed. "Right now, I'm not certain."

Fair enough. After all he shagged her and then walked out of her life five years ago and never once tried to get in touch, but that didn't stop his chest from pinching at her bewildered reply. Some part of him expected her to know that he was motivated by nothing more than a desire to protect her. He would rather walk out into the middle of Hyde Park on a Sunday afternoon and fry like an egg than see her influenced by the Order of the Silver Palm, a group who would think nothing of destroying a sweet thing like her.

Henry led them downstairs, to a back corner of the house where he kept his study. Years ago, when Henry and Eliza had barely made this house their own, Payen had christened that room Henry's sanctuary. It was far away from the dining room and the drawing room his wife liked to use for entertaining, and it was large enough to contain a billiards table, a sofa and several chairs, a card table, and a massive oak desk. This room, he was pleased to note, had not been redecorated.

And then, of course, he wondered inappropriately if Violet had changed anything about her bedroom, and if she still had that demure nightgown she'd worn that sweet, hot night.

This close to her, with the scent of her engulfing him like a face full of lilacs, it was so hard to keep the memory of that night at bay. Images of the two of them entwined, desperate and damp, tender and trembling, flooded his mind. His gums itched with fangs ready to extend, the urge to feed almost as strong as the urge to mate. He had done both with Violet, and that only whetted both appetites all the more.

Once they were all inside the study, each of them drifting away from Payen until he stood in the center of their haphazard circle, the questions began.

"What the devil do you mean, coming into my house and causing such a scene?" Henry demanded. "Deuce take it, Payen! I would expect better of you."

Payen gave him a quick nod. "You're right to have such expectations. I wouldn't have come at all were it not important." Was it his imagination, or did he see Violet wince out of the corner of his eye?

"Perhaps you should explain," Eliza suggested, when no one else seemed inclined to speak. They all just stood there, staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity and antagonism.

Payen focused on Henry, who he had known since he was a babe. Payen had been friends with his father, and his grandfather before that. A long time ago, a Rexley—Henry's family name—had been a Templar the same as Payen, and they had been friends. That relationship had led to a connection with the family that had followed almost every generation since. The Rexleys were the only people he ever revealed himself to, except for a handful of others over the countless decades.

Stephen Rexley had been killed by a man wearing a ring just like the one on Villiers' hand.

Remembering that made it easy for Payen to look Henry in the eye as he jerked his head in Villiers' direction. "He belongs to the Order of the Silver Palm."

Understanding drained the heightened color from Henry's dusky cheeks. "Are you certain?"

"His ring proves it."

"What the devil are you about?" Villiers demanded, breaking the circle by taking several angry steps forward. "How do you know about the Order? And what business is it of yours if I belong?"

Payen turned his head, stopping the young man dead in his tracks with a simple look. "I know more about the Silver Palm than I wager you do. It was your people who helped fuel King Philip's distrust of the Templars. The Order has been involved in every sinister plot known to man since Judas betrayed Christ."

Villiers stared at him, blue eyes wide with fear—and complete bafflement. How could he seem so innocent and wear that ring?

"You think Violet shouldn't marry me because of something that happened more than five centuries ago?"

De Molay had burned.

"Six," Payen corrected. "October thirteenth in the year of our Lord thirteen-hundred and seven." He remembered as though it was but a handful of years ago. "And no. I won't allow you to marry Violet because you are part of a vile organization that should have been slaughtered out of existence a long time ago."

If Villiers hadn't thought him mad before, he certainly did now. Payen could smell his fear, his disgust. There was anger there as well—defiance.

"You go too far, sir. Whom Violet marries is not your decision, and there is nothing vile about the Order. I would explain that to you were I not sworn to secrecy by our ancient laws. Every male in my family for generations has been a member, and none of them have ever broken any laws or betrayed any confidences."

Payen smiled—coldly. "Not to other members at any rate. But your family wealth is tainted by the blood of good men, Mr. Villiers. Men who were murdered so that your precious Order might thrive."

Villiers turned his attention from Payen to Henry and Eliza, then Violet. "The three of you cannot believe this?"

"Not of you, Rupert," Eliza said softly.

"But of my family?" He shoved his hands through his hair, laughing almost hysterically. "I can't believe this! Vi, you don't believe him, do you?"

She stared at him. "I don't want to, Rupert, but I know that Mr. Carr has reason to feel as he does, and if you belong to such a despicable group…"

"Despicable? Good God, listen to yourself! You would judge as such an order you know nothing of? An order to which I, the man you are supposed to love, belongs?" His hands came down on her shoulders. "I would never harm anyone. You know that."

She nodded. "I know."

Payen watched the confusion and indecision play across her features. He hated doing this to her. Any satisfaction that came from preventing her marriage to this bastard dissolved in the wake of her pain. He knew then that Villiers was going to press her, and that she would give in out of guilt. Then what would he have to do—steal her away? Because he would, if that's what it took.

Time for more underhanded measures.

"Did Violet ever tell you about me?" he asked, his tone conversational—convivial even.

Villiers shot him a scowl. "No."

"Hmm. That surprises me." Violet shook her head at him, face pale as she realized exactly where he was going. He hoped she could see the regret in his gaze.

"Why would that surprise you?" The younger man couldn't keep the sneer from his voice or his face. "I don't see how you are of any significance."

Arsehole. "But I am," Payen info rmed him, squaring his shoulders. "You see, five years ago, Violet gave me a wonderful gift."

Violet pressed a hand to her lips. "Payen, no."

Villiers took another step toward him, still scowling. "Why should I care?"

Payen smiled grimly. "Because the gift she gave me, Mr. Villiers, was her heart. You see, Violet cannot marry you because she's in love with me."

She could kill him. Would that someone give her a sword so she could take his smug head right off his divinely broad shoulders.

Instead, Violet was forced to stand there, impotent and humiliated as her fiancé and her guardians stared at her. And Payen, she noted, didn't look all that smug after all. In fact, he looked rather ashamed. He should, the bastard. Of course, it might have been worse. He could have mentioned that matter concerning her virginity.

Why of all reasons did it have to be the Order of the Silver Palm? She'd heard enough to know why he hated them and agree that he had every right, but why did that have to be the basis for his objection to her marriage? Why couldn't he have professed undying love for her instead of reminding her of how she had declared her feelings for him that night? Did he know that he was the only man she had ever loved enough to give herself to? Was he so stupid he couldn't see that she loved him still?

"Is it true?" Rupert demanded, his voice hoarse, his face white.

She stared at him helplessly before turning the same gaze to Eliza and Henry. Henry looked as though he could cheerfully murder Payen himself. Too bad the vampire could take on all four of them and not even break a sweat.

"Come," Eliza said sharply, directing a glance at both Payen and her husband. "We are going to leave Violet and Rupert alone to speak."

"I'm not leaving her with him," Payen growled. "No goddamn way."

The little blond woman glared at him. Softly, so that only he and Violet heard, she murmured, "You do as I say, Payen Carr, or I'll make sure the drapes in your room get opened just before noon."

Payen's jaw tightened, and those perfect lips thinned, but he didn't argue. He shot one last contemptuous glance at Rupert before following Henry and Eliza to the door. Violet didn't feel one ounce of sorrow toward him for the confrontation he was about to have with her adopted parents.

She was, however, feeling a great deal sorry for herself.

The door clicked shut, leaving her alone with her fiancé, a wonderful man she never meant to hurt. A man whose attention she had felt lucky to have, if she were truthful, having come to believe that no one but Payen could ever find her attractive.

Rupert lifted his gaze from his shoes, which he appeared to have been contemplating. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were bright with disappointment and hurt. Before she had thought him handsome, now he simply looked like a boy to her. Handsome meant nothing after Payen's overwhelming beauty.

"I don't deserve you," she said softly, not just because it was true, but because it was all she could think to say.

"Is it true?" He demanded, brow knitting. "Do you love him?"

She hesitated, and knew from his expression that she shouldn't have. He knew there was more now. "I did." Do.

"Did you…make love with him?"

That phrase made her want to giggle. Make love? She had thought so at the time, but what she had done with Payen…it had been crude and sweet at the same time, so wrong and yet so right. It was nothing so banal as making love—love had already been made long before she let him into her bed.

She could lie, tell him what he wanted to hear, but that wasn't fair to him. She had been looking for an out and she had been handed one. It was time to be an adult and face her mistake—face the man she had wronged. "Yes."

Rupert closed his eyes, but not before she saw the anguish in them. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was any of your business." Perhaps that was a little too honest.

"None of my business?" Anger replaced hurt, easing the guilt that pierced her chest. "How was it none of my business that my fiancée had spread her legs for another man?"

This was a side of him she had never seen before. It made it easier for her, and she took advantage of that, as shameful as it was. "Have I asked you if you've been with other women?"

He looked affronted. "That's different."

"Because you're a man?"

"Of course. Men are expected to be experienced, just as a wife is supposed to be a virgin to ensure the legitimacy of the first born."

Violet laughed. She couldn't help it—this really was so ridiculous. "It was five years ago, Rupert. I think you could safely claim any children as your own."

His face was a mask of disgust. "With no guarantee that you had not lain with someone else before or after our vows."

He had every right to be angry, Violet knew and accepted that, but that she would not be spoken to in such a manner. She would not have what she had shared with Payen turned to a defect of her character.

"Yes," she agreed. "Perhaps you should make sure I haven't shagged the priest—or better yet, your groomsmen."

He flushed. "A lady doesn't use such language."

"You've already established that I'm no lady, Rupert, at least not in your eyes. I made a youthful mistake and you would punish me for it, despite the fact that I know that you went to that brothel, Maison Rouge, last time you were in London."

His mouth fell open. "How did you…?"

"I overheard your friends Halpert and Gibbs talking about it that night we went to the theater. I forgave you because I thought you deserved one last indiscretion before settling down. Tell me, how does knocking boots with a whore make you better than me?"

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked around the room, like a drowning man desperately seeking purchase.

"It doesn't," she answered when he remained silent. Any guilt she felt was gone now. She hadn't expected his forgiveness, nor his understanding, but by God, she would not tolerate this kind of treatment—not from a man who claimed to love her when he asked for her hand in marriage.

If he had loved her, he would have seduced her rather than going to a brothel. If he had loved her, he never would have gone to a prostitute at all.

Payen would never have done such a thing. He had his faults, but lack of loyalty was not one of them. After all, he had just destroyed her engagement out of some archaic need to protect her. As angry as she might be with him, as hurt and disappointed, she was also a little grateful.

"I think you should leave now, Rupert." Shoulders back, she stood straight and still, not caring if she was as tall as he, not giving one fig about how she looked or how large she was. Even if this was the only chance she ever had at marriage, she would not beg this man to have her.

She might not be perfect, and she had too many faults to list—but she deserved to be respected by her husband. She deserved love, loyalty, and compassion. It was no less than she would give.

He looked as though he was about to speak, and she had heard enough. "I'll tell our guests that the wedding has been canceled and I'll see that all the gifts are returned, you needn't worry. And the wedding breakfast will be given to the less fortunate in the village."

"You've got it all sorted out already." His tone was a mixture of disbelief, hurt, and contempt.

"I suppose I've been giving it some thought these last few days." Let him stew on that.

He didn't disappoint her—the astonishment on his face gave her at least a bit of satisfaction underneath the guilt that threatened to crush her once more. Ending their engagement was for the best—for both of them.

"I had no business accepting your proposal in the first place," she told him. "And for that I am truly sorry, but for anything else I might have done—for whatever transpired between myself and Payen—I refuse to apologize, to you or anyone else. You know the way out."

And then she pivoted sharply on her heel and swept from the room with all the dignity she could muster. It wasn't much, but indignation and a certain amount of relief spurred her on.

Now she was going to find Payen and have a little chat, because if that vampire thought he could breeze back into her life, muck it up, and then walk away again he was in for a big surprise.

She wasn't about to let him walk away. Not this time.

Chapter 3

Henry and Eliza were hard on him, but no more than he expected. Regardless of his friendship with them both, he had just ruined their ward's wedding and possibly her reputation. It was badly done of him, and he'd do it all over again if he had to.

All he had to do was focus on the here and now and not spend too much dwelling on how Violet's declaration had terrified and thrilled him five years before. And how it had lit a fire under his heels. He had seduced her and left her.

Damn it, she had seduced him.

The earl and his countess at least understood his motivation. They knew about Stephen Rexley—a man who had been Payen's best friend before his death. They knew of the vile nature of the Order of the Silver Palm and understood that Payen would not want to see Violet drawn into such an affiliation. What they didn't understand is how someone as "good" as Rupert Villiers could be part of such an organization.

Personally, Payen didn't care, but he offered a suggestion to ease their minds—he wasn't totally cold-hearted. "The family connection would bring him in without him having to prove himself," he told them. "But now that he's in, he'll have to undergo tests and trials similar to an initiate. They'll want to know what he's capable of, and whether or not he's worthy of being a true Disciple."

"Then there's hope for him." Eliza didn't bother to disguise her own hopefulness. "He may not be the villain you believe him to be."

Payen slid her a sharp glance. "Are you willing to wager Violet's life on whether he will remain innocent?"

She frowned, looked to her husband. "But…"

Payen didn't relent. "For him to have been given a ring based on name alone, his family has to be in very deep, Eliza. They wouldn't let Villiers in unless they were certain he would bow to their traditions and do exactly as they want."

"It's been centuries, Payen," Henry tried to reason with him. "Surely the Order that exists today is different from the one you fought."

He had to force himself to remain calm, to remember where their doubt stemmed from. They were not intentionally trying to fight him, they simply wanted to make this all go away.

"If I walked into one of their meetings right now and announced what I was—Templar or vampire, I would be lucky to walk out alive. And anyone associated with me would be in danger."

Something sparked in Henry's eyes. "You suspect Villiers' interest in Violet is because of you?"

"My God," Eliza breathed, pressing her palm to the breast of her green silk gown. "This can't be happening."

Payen shrugged. Actually he hadn't thought of that, but now that the idea was in his head…"It's possible. Has he ever asked about me?"

"No," Henry replied. "Until tonight I don't imagine he's ever heard us mention you." His expression turned uncomfortable, even apologetic. "Violet was so upset after you left the last time that we got into the habit of not discussing you in front of her."

Eliza's gaze was cooler than her husband's. No doubt she guessed that Violet hadn't declared her love without provocation. "I suppose we know why she was so upset now, don't we? How could you, Payen?"

"Yes," came a voice from behind him. "How could you?"

He had heard the door open, of course. Heard her soft footfalls and short, angry breaths. Let her make her entrance, let her think she caught him unaware.

He turned, brow arched, face perfectly composed. Still, the sight of her with her cheeks flushed, her eyes glittering, took his breath away. She looked as though she could gladly run him through—and if he had a sword he'd be tempted to give it to her just to see her try.

Women with weapons had always been a weakness of his.

Their gazes met and locked, and it seemed to Payen as though sparks literally danced between them. He grinned. "What took you so long?"

She didn't return the smile. In fact, her thickly lashed eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "I had a wedding to cancel." It was meant to wipe the smile from his face, but it didn't—not totally.

Eliza said something in sympathy, but Payen wasn't listening. He kept his attention focused on the Amazon before him, noting the softness of her cheek, the lush curves of her breasts straining against the neckline of her gown. To him, Violet was like a ripe, succulent peach just begging to be plucked, bitten, and sucked.

Knowing that he had kept Villiers from being the man to do just that didn't bother him one damn bit. Knowing that he might have broken Violet's heart…well, that was another matter.

"I think Violet wants to speak to me alone," he said, tilting his head in the direction of his friends. His gaze never left the woman whose touch haunted his dreams.

"I'm not leaving her alone with you." Eliza's voice rang with conviction. "Not after what you did."

To Payen's surprise, it was the lady herself who interjected. She swung that hazel gaze to her adopted mother and said, rather calmly, "It's all right, Eliza. I would like to talk to Payen alone."

Ignoring Henry and Eliza, Payen carefully studied Violet as her attention slowly drifted back to him. There was a confidence to her that hadn't been there before—not in her physical appearance, but in her inner self. She was not a timid little thing like her namesake. Pride warmed the inside of him. Had there ever been such a woman as Violet? As a girl she had captivated and seduced him. As a memory she had haunted his every turn. And now, as a woman, she had him ready to drop to his knees in fealty before her.

When the door clicked shut behind her guardians, she raised her chin, her gaze locking with his once more. "I should despise you for what you've done."

He nodded. "Yes."

"You deliberately betrayed a private moment—a private declaration—between you and me just to get your own way."

A moment he would never forget. "Yes."

"You've ruined my wedding."

Did he really need to answer any more of these rhetorical questions? He straightened his shoulders. "Don't expect me to apologize, because I'm not sorry."

Her face softened. "Thank you."

Payen blinked. Shook his head. "Excuse me?"

Violet came toward him, fists clenched loosely at her sides. "Thank you for doing what I didn't have the courage to do myself." She smiled ever so slightly—sweetly. "You always were my knight in shining armor."

And then the damnedest thing happened. Instead of demanding to know what she meant—why she hadn't wanted to marry Villiers (had the bastard been forcing her into marriage?)—Payen took a step forward, pushed by an invisible hand. Violet moved as well and then she was in his embrace, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers in his hair as his mouth fastened over hers.

Christ, she tasted sweet. Her lips were so pliant, so lush beneath his as they opened for him without coaxing. Her tongue met his with a passion that shook him. No woman had ever responded to him like Violet—no woman had ever elicited such a response out of him. He was hard already, ready to take her right there, standing in the middle of his friend's study. He could do it too, support her full weight as she wrapped those strong legs around his waist, hold her as she slid down the length of his cock.

He groaned into the moist heat of her mouth, and wrapped his arms around her more tightly. She didn't struggle, didn't whimper in discomfort. In fact, she pulled at his hair, clutched at his shoulder, digging her fingers into the fabric of his coat until he felt the five points of pressure on his skin. So strong, his Violet.

He lifted his head just enough to nibble on her full lower lip. His fangs had partially extended, eager for a little nibble of their own. He ignored that hunger for now. At this moment, in Violet's intoxicating presence, he was more man than vampire.

"I missed you," he heard himself confess, breathless and hoarse against her lips. "Vi, I missed you so damn much."

She pulled back, smiling at him. For a second he thought she might echo the sentiment, but she didn't. Then he thought maybe she was going to shove her knee into his crotch, but she didn't do that either.

She might as well have, so surprising were her words, "You didn't come here because of Rupert and the Silver Palm."

"No?" He questioned dumbly, still thinking with an organ much lower than his brain.

Her smile grew. "That was just the excuse you needed to stop my marriage. Ask yourself, Payen, why you needed to do that. Then, maybe I'll forgive you for making me wait five years."

"Violet—"

She cut him off, shoved him away, and he let her. "Lie to yourself if you want to, but after all this time, don't you dare lie to me. You owe me that at the very least."

And then she left him standing there, hard and horny, feeling every inch the idiot.

Because she was right.

Payen Carr was in love with her, Violet was certain of this.

What wasn't so certain was if Payen himself knew it. Oh, he had reacted to her in all the right ways, but she had no doubt that in his mind, he had truly destroyed her wedding out of hatred for the Silver Palm.

"Bollocks," she said aloud, punctuating the silence as she set a prettily wrapped present in a pile of others to be returned.

Her friend, Sarah looked up in surprise. "What was that?"

They had been working all morning, affixing tags to gifts so that the footmen would know where to deliver them, and sorting them according to location. The London ones, and those farther abroad, would have to be delivered by post, of course.

"I said bollocks." Violet flashed a tight smile.

Sarah blinked, wide blue eyes bewildered. "Any particular reason why?"

"Because men are rubbish." She jotted down an address on a tag. "Do you know that Rupert actually got into a huff over Payen? It's fine for him to go to a brothel, but one indiscretion and I'm a slut."

Blond curls tilted as Sarah pondered the statement. "Bollocks," she chirped, drawing a chuckle from the both of them.

"Do you regret it?" Her friend asked after their laughter faded.

"Regret what? Kicking Rupert out?" Violet attached another tag. "No, I do not." She didn't either. She wasn't going to admit to having wanted a way out of the wedding, because that was too cold, and even as good a friend as Sarah might not understand, but she had no ill feelings about showing Rupert to the door after what he had said to her last night.

"No." Sarah leaned down, as though there was a chance of someone overhearing. "Do you regret being…intimate with Mr. Carr?" Of course she knew. Violet had cried on her shoulder after Payen left.

Violet stilled, considering the response that had leapt readily to her tongue. "Not at all." It felt good to admit it to someone other than herself. "I've tried to make myself think of it as a mistake, but now I think it was the only right thing I ever did. The only thing that was ever truly for myself, with no consideration given to anyone else."

Her friend sighed, resting her elbow on a large floral-wrapped gift as she tucked her chin into her hand. "Mr. Carr is so very lovely." She arched a fair brow. "Does he look as lovely naked?"

"Lovelier," Violet quipped and they laughed once more.

A few moments passed once more in comfortable silence as the two of them worked. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed out the hour.

"Ten o'clock." Violet lifted her head as the last note faded. "We would be at the church right now." Despite her certainty that it was good that her engagement had ended before this hour, she couldn't help feel a little twinge of sorrow for the loss of her wedding day.

And all these presents.

Sarah sniffed as she peered outside at the gray and misty morning. "Bah. It's not a very cheery day for a wedding. Although, it would have been much more romantic if Mr. Carr had barged in during the ceremony rather than the party last night."

It would have been much more illuminating as well, what with Payen bursting into flames in the daylight.

"I suppose, but then Payen would have humiliated me in front of Vicar Carlson and all those guests."

Sarah shot her a concerned gaze. "At least he waited until it was just the five of you to make such an announcement."

"Yes," she murmured, but she had no illusion as to what would have happened should the situation not have followed that particular direction. "Payen would have announced it in front of everyone if it meant keeping Rupert and myself from marrying."

Damn the man, she didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him.

A sigh drifted across the room. "He must love you very much."

Violet nodded. "I think so, but he'd deny it if I asked."

"Why?"

"He claims he stopped the marriage because of something he learned about Rupert."

Sarah's nose wrinkled. "I can't imagine Rupert ever doing anything as exciting as getting himself involved in scandal—until now, of course."

"Of course." Violet's lips curved. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details—after all, I don't know that Payen's info rmation is true, and it's Rupert's concern, not mine. Not anymore."

"But still, Mr. Carr must care about you if he went to such lengths."

"I would hope so."

"Are you going to marry him?"

"He hasn't asked."

"But if he did?"

Smiling, Violet set yet another package aside. "If he asked, I would say yes."

An exuberant bark of laughter broke from Sarah's throat, brightening her eyes and cheeks as she clapped her hands in delight. "How wonderful! Do you think he will?"

Her smile faded. Violet tried very hard not to lie to herself and she wasn't about to start now. "No."

All the joy drained from Sarah's face. "Oh, Violet."

"Never fear, dear. I'm not too proud to ask him." That brought the light back to her friend's eyes. She didn't like seeing pity in Sarah's expression—not for her. Not when she had been raised by two wonderful sets of parents, had a fortune of her own and friends who loved her. Sarah didn't have nearly as many creature comforts as she, and yet she never complained. She never compared their circumstances. She had simply shown up on the doorstep one day when Violet first came to Hertford, and asked if Violet would be her friend. Violet had taken one look at the skinny little girl who was a head shorter than her and at least two stone lighter and thought that yes, she would.

"You would, wouldn't you?" As always, Sarah never seemed to know if Violet was jesting or not. "You'd ask him?"

Violet nodded. "I would." And she just might—if she could screw up the courage. She knew from Henry that Payen would be staying for a few days—something about wanting to make sure there was no backlash from the Silver Palm. His presence would add to the scandalbroth, but the worst of it had surely already happened.

She had a pretty good idea of what his answer would be too—some idiocy about him being a vampire and her a human. Sweet God, wasn't that easy enough to remedy? All he had to do was make her a vampire too—the fool.

The door came flying open and in burst Eliza, her face flushed and her eyes wild. She hadn't even removed her hat or gloves. "I'm going to strangle Payen Carr!"

Violet arched a brow. "You've been to town, haven't you?"

Her guardian nodded, still trying to catch her breath. "I have."

"Even though Henry told you expressly not to go. Eliza, you went looking for trouble, and found it, didn't you?"

"It found me," the older woman replied defensively. "I was at the glove shop looking for a new pair of gray gloves when Mrs. Randall approached me—that vile wretch of a woman."

Sarah's eyes widened at the venom in Eliza's tone, but Violet forced a small smile. "She couldn't wait to say something, eh?"

Eliza shook her head as she tugged at her hat pin. "Gossiping busybody."

Folding her arms over her chest, Violet braced herself. "So what's the word from town? Am I ruined?"

Eliza's arms crumpled to her side like a rag doll's. Defeated, she sank into a chair next to Sarah, holding her hat in her lap. "Yes." Her gaze locked with Violet's. "I'm certain Rupert had nothing to do with it, but given Payen's untimely arrival and the fact that he had left so abruptly five years ago…The gossips are convinced you were lovers and that Rupert cried off because of it. I'm so sorry my dear."

Ruined. The word sounded so strange in Violet's head. Ruin was what happened when something was soiled beyond repair. She didn't feel soiled.

Eliza was beside her now. "We'll go to France, or Italy. You'll meet someone there, or at least let the scandal die down."

Violet shook her head. "I'm not leaving. Not yet."

"But dearest—"

"No, Eliza." Her tone was sharp, brooking no refusal. "Last time I checked, it took two people to bring about a woman's ruination. Payen Carr owes me. I let him get away five years ago, but he's not going to run away this time."

Eliza obviously didn't like the look in her eye. "Violet, what are you planning?"

"Payen is mine, and I'm his," she replied, her conviction taking the melodrama out of her words. "And it's about time he figured that out. I'm going to marry that va…man, if it's the last thing I do."

Chapter 4

That Eliza hadn't made good on her threat to open the drapes in his room was the first thought that occurred to Payen when he woke late that afternoon.

The second was the kiss Violet had given him the night before, the taste of it burned into his memory for all time.

Why would a woman whose wedding had just been interrupted—to put it mildly—kiss the man responsible? And the things she had said, the questions she asked. What the hell was her reasoning for that?

Ask himself why he came back, indeed. He had come to keep her from marrying a man who was part of a great evil. Did she think he took pleasure in ruining her wedding?

God, he hoped not, because he had taken pleasure in it. There had been more pleasure in preventing Violet from marrying Villiers than there had been in the last five years of his life.

Pathetic, that was.

And he resolved not to think on it any longer. He knew when he left Violet last time that there could be no future for them. As much as he adored her, the years had tossed one too many capricious women in his path. The years had taken one too many away as well. He'd been betrayed, devastated, endangered, and made a fool of one too many times.

The laughable part was that none of it had hardened him against women or love, but rather it had made him a coward, reluctant to risk his heart—or anyone else's—when there was such an overwhelming possibility of having it broken.

He listened in the darkness, concentrating on the sounds of the house until he found the one he sought. Violet. She was talking to Eliza, asking if Payen had given any indication as to how long he planned to stay.

Long enough to make sure she was safe. Then, he would leave again, but he had made arrangements for Eliza and Henry to have use of his properties in France or Venice should Violet decide to go abroad until the scandal died down. He hadn't heard anything yet, of course, but a canceled wedding always caused talk.

Once he knew that Villiers was no longer a threat to Violet or the Rexleys he would move on, and it would be a long time before he returned—if at all in their lifetime. It was better for all involved if he stayed as far away from Violet as possible.

Tossing back the covers, he slipped out of bed and walked naked across the darkened room to the attached bath. He washed and dressed and then lit a lamp and sat down to read for a bit. Reading quieted his mind, and helped whittle away the remaining hours until the summer sun began to sink into the west. Almost as though he had set an internal clock, he knew exactly when it was safe to leave the room and go downstairs.

And when he did, Violet wasn't there.

"She decided to take a tray in her room," Eliza told him. The look she gave him left no question as to who was responsible for her unsociability.

There was nothing he could say to make his friend less angry with him. Nothing he could say to make everything better. He could only hope that Eliza, and especially Violet, learned to forgive him.

Although Violet hadn't seemed all that upset with his actions last night. In fact, she had thanked him. So why was she avoiding him now?

The question ate at him all through dinner. He ate because it gave him a sense of normalcy and habit, not because it gave him sustenance. That he would find elsewhere later this evening, when he could sneak out without anyone realizing he was gone.

But before he went, he was going to have to speak to Violet. As the evening wore on, Payen grew more and more agitated. What if something was wrong? What if Villiers had tried to contact her? Or what if they planned an elopement?

It was ridiculous of course, because Violet had seemed so relieved the night before. However, he had been duped by other seemingly "honest" women in the past. If Violet's behavior had been meant to throw him off, she had succeeded.

Damn it all, if she ran off with Villiers he would chase her to the ends of the earth to bring her the hell back. And he'd take Villiers' head off with his own bare hands.

The thought of her running away increased his agitation. Images of her laughing with Villiers, kissing him, letting him touch her flittered through his mind, torturing him more than any adversary ever had, until he was pacing the parlor like a caged beast, ready to pounce at even the smallest prey.

Watching him warily, Eliza announced around eleven that she and Henry were going to bed. Henry opened his mouth, but one glance from his wife shut it. His friend shot Payen a sympathetic glance. "Good night, Old Boy."

Payen didn't have to force a smile. He couldn't remember a time when someone in that family hadn't referred to him as "Old Boy." "Good night, Henry. Eliza."

She merely nodded her head at him. And then, as she followed her husband from the room, she turned and fixed Payen with a gaze that could have frozen fire itself.

"She asked me not to say anything, but I thought you should know. Your little spectacle last night has damaged Violet's reputation irrevocably. The gossips have the two of you pegged as lovers, and regardless of how true that might have been once, she is going to suffer for it now. I hope to God you were right about Rupert, because she is ruined, Payen. Worst of all, you could fix it, but I know you won't. And so does Violet."

She left then, with those bitter words stinging like a thousand angry wasps. Payen stared at the empty doorway, bathed in shame, and worse—regret.

No wonder she hadn't come down to dinner. Whatever kind feelings she'd had for him the night before, were surely destroyed now.

It was better this way. It would be easier when he left, knowing that she despised him. She would go on with her life and he could finally get on with his.

Easier be damned. He could not spend the rest of eternity knowing he had hurt her so badly. The last five years had been hell, he couldn't take hundreds more. Couldn't let Violet live out the rest of her days thinking the worst of him.

He was halfway up the stairs before he even realized he had left the parlor. Violet's room was at the far end of the hall—far enough away from Henry and Eliza's to give her privacy. Unfortunately, he had to pass the Rexleys' chambers to reach Violet's. Luckily, he had been sure and soft-footed as a human, and was damn near cat-like now.

He didn't knock. Couldn't risk anyone hearing. Wouldn't risk her turning him away. He turned the knob, was surprised to find it unlocked, and opened the door, letting himself into her private quarters without so much as a "please."

She was sitting by the window, bathed in moonlight and the soft glow of a lamp, wearing a flimsy little nightgown and wrapper. He could see the soft pink of her thigh through the thin satin, the flush of a hard nipple.

Christ.

Violet looked up from her book, not looking the least bit surprised to see him, or that he had barged into her room.

"Good evening, Payen." Rising from her chair, she cast the book aside, and stood before him, thick, glossy hair rippling around her shoulders, the faint musk of arousal clinging to her flesh. "Close the door, will you. I don't want us to be interrupted."

It wasn't victory that thrilled Violet to her toes, but rather the realization that Payen could no more resist her than she him, the knowledge that she was not alone in this instinctual need.

She'd spent the evening waiting for him, knowing that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, that he would come to her, unable to stand being apart any longer.

God, how she loved being right.

She moved to him. Standing before him, their gazes locked, fused together by this shared heat, she loosened the ties on the front of her robe and shrugged the thin satin from her shoulders. It fell down her arms with a whisper and pooled around her ankles with a gentle caress.

Payen's sherry-hued gaze fell upon the heaviness of her breasts beneath her nightgown. Violet's breath caught, sharp and raw in her throat as he cupped them with his hands. His fingers were warm and firm as they massaged her needy flesh, his thumbs brushing the peaks with brutal tenderness. Her nipples hardened, tightening with every stroke. Sparks of pleasure ignited between her thighs, deep inside her in that place that ached to be filled by him.

Locking her gaze with his, Violet lifted her hands. Hooking her fingers beneath the straps of the gown, she pulled them down over her shoulders. He lifted his hands so that her nightgown fell to the floor on top of the already discarded wrapper. Naked, Violet stood stock still beneath Payen's gaze. Such an intimate appraisal would normally make her uncomfortable and too self-aware, but there was none of that with him, because she knew that in his eyes, she had no flaws—at least not physical ones. He seemed to love the full curves of her body, the width of her shoulders and hips.

"So beautiful," he whispered, the tips of his fingers skimming the pale roundness of her belly, up to her breasts again. "My sweet warrior queen."

Violet shivered at the caress of both hands and voice. She was trembling now, and he'd barely touched her. "Undress."

He grinned, a slow, seductive spreading of his lips. "Make me."

How could she resist such a challenge? Satisfaction rippled through her as she pulled his coat down his arms and tossed it aside. His cravat and waistcoat followed, and all the while, he stood there beneath her hands. He never once lifted a finger to assist her—his fingers were busy elsewhere, touching her anywhere he could, raising patches of gooseflesh on her sensitive skin.

As she pulled the tails of his shirt free from his trousers, Violet thrummed with anticipation. Her body seemed hot and prickly, parts of her heavy with need and others tight with desire. Her breasts brushed Payen's torso, the linen of his shirt scratching her flesh, making her gasp as it rasped against her nipples.

She pulled his shirt up. He grabbed the hem and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

His gold and faun hair was mussed, standing up in little spikes that made her hands itch to slip through the silky strands. The lamp lent hollows beneath his high cheekbones and accentuated the rippled muscles of his chest and abdomen.

Her mouth dry, Violet raised an eager hand. She touched the warm, smooth skin of his shoulder, her fingers caressing, gliding over the sleek muscle and knobby bones. Then down, her hand went, over the firm, satiny flesh of his chest. His pectorals were defined and separated by a slight indent that ran down to his stomach, where a fine trail of silken hair disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers.

"I think you're beautiful," she murmured, sliding both hands over him now. "Like a golden god." She didn't care if it sounded silly, that was how she saw him. She traced the indent of his navel with her finger, smiling as he sucked in a quick breath.

"It would take a god to resist you," he told her, his voice slightly hoarse.

Briefly, Violet met the heat of his gaze and saw the truth and desire there. Her heart caught and squeezed. She had to look away. Her gaze slid lower, to the bulge in the front of his trousers. Reaching down, she cupped him with her hand, smiling at the groan that escaped his lips as she rubbed the hard length of him with her palm.

"I've been told," she whispered, leaning close to his ear, "that a man finds it very pleasurable when a woman takes his erection into her mouth."

Beneath her hand Payen's erection twitched. He chuckled softly, fingers trailing down her spine to caress one buttock. "It's true. Are you going to take my cock into your mouth, Vi?"

Pulling back, she met his gaze without shame or embarrassment. "Would you like that, Payen?"

"Christ, yes."

Fingers fumbling, she unfastened the falls of his trousers, her gaze never leaving his as she slid the fine wool down the lean firmness of his hips and thighs. Kneeling, she removed his shoes and pulled his trousers over his feet. She tossed them aside and sat back on her calves, taking a moment to revel in his nakedness.

She rubbed her cheek against his thigh, feeling the springy hair there and warm, firm flesh. Then, turning her head, she admired the proud jut of his erection, the length and size of him. She was responsible for that—his desire and readiness.

For a moment, she doubted herself, and then she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his thickness. His body tensed in response. "That's it," he muttered. "Touch me. Lick me."

Violet needed no more encouragement. His words seemed to strike right at the very center of her sex, intensifying the hot ache there. She could feel dampness on her thighs, cool air on her slick, heated flesh. She kissed the tip, ran her tongue along the smooth, silky head, all the while stroking with her hand.

Payen groaned.

Smiling coyly, Violet lifted her head to gaze at him. Another lick. "Do you like it?"

His lips parted on a small gasp as she took just the head inside her mouth and sucked gently. "Christ, yes. More. Please." His head fell back as she applied more pressure. "Suck it."

She did. Violet bathed him with her tongue, savoring the saltiness of his skin. She took him full into her mouth so that the head filled her throat as she stroked him with her tongue, then withdrew to torture him with licks and nips, while pumping him with her hand. He held her head in his hands, holding her in a way that allowed her to move, but not to release him. As if she would.

This power was intoxicating. Grasping him by the flanks, Violet bobbed her head up and down, sliding her mouth over the slippery length of him until his fingers tightened in her hair.

"Vi," he gasped. "Violet…oh." Then he stiffened and shuddered, groaning aloud as release came upon him.

Releasing him, she rose to her feet. He was leaning back against her vanity for support, head back as he gasped for breath. He was absolutely beautiful.

"You're incredible," he told her as he straightened. She preened under the praise. "Now, it's my turn to taste you. It's been too long."

He was right. Just the thought of what he meant to do to her had Violet practically racing for the bed. Climbing onto the mattress, she leaned back against the pillows and spread her thighs. Could he smell her dampness, her arousal?

Payen followed her onto the bed, kneeling between her spread knees with a seductive smile. "Eager?"

"Yes." What would be the point in lying. "I want your mouth on me, your tongue inside me." He had done that to her before and she'd thought she'd died, it felt so good.

She didn't have to ask twice. Braced on his forearms, Payen lowered his head to the heated valley of her thighs. The first stroke of his tongue made her hips jump in response, jolting her senses into supersensitivity.

He was ruthless with his tongue. He licked her, sucked on her until she thought she couldn't take anymore, filled her with his tongue. And then, he slipped a long finger inside her, stroking a place deep inside that had her writhing and gasping beneath him as his tongue found that tight little spot that ached with the promise of incredible pleasure. And then she came in a great flood of heat that had her shuddering and stifling her cries with her hand.

Payen didn't give her time to recover. He couldn't. He was hard again, tight and heavy with the need to be inside her. Holding her knees apart, he positioned the head of his cock against the soaked entrance to her body, and slowly slid inside. She was so tight, so wet as she stretched to accommodate him. It damned near killed him to go slow, but Violet's coo of delight gave him all the restraint he needed.

Leaning down, he trailed hot, wet kisses along her neck. He nipped gently with his teeth—just the barest scrape of fang. She gasped, arching her hips upward so that he was fully buried within her. He wasn't going to bite her. As good as it would be for both of them, he didn't want anything to interfere or diminish this moment.

It had been too long since he'd felt this completeness. Too long since Violet showed him what it felt like to be home. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him like ivy, holding him so tightly he could feel it in his chest—in his heart.

His mouth went to her breasts, licking and sucking each nipple until they stood tall and distended, red and puckered. Violet gasped and moaned, undulating beneath him. Her fingers caught at his hair, dug into his scalp as she held him to her breast. "Harder," she begged. "Oh, Payen, harder!"

He bit her. He didn't mean to—only wanted to nip at the sweet pebble of flesh in his mouth, but his fangs were fully extended and they pierced the delicate flesh around her aureole. Violet's back arched, giving herself up to the bite as little keening sounds slipped from between her lips.

Payen let the taste of her fill his mouth as he plunged inside her. Hot and wet, Violet thrust against him, every stroke bringing him closer to the edge, as she quaked and moaned beneath him.

Payen's movements quickened. He was going to come. Every lonely moment of the last five years, every empty night had been worth the pleasure of having Violet wrapped around him, pleading with him to make her climax. He would literally smash down mountains for this woman, the only one who had ever accepted him without question.

She terrified him, and yet there was nothing so perfect as the peace he felt in her arms. She belonged to him. And God help him, he belonged to her.

Then it hit. A ragged cry tore from Payen's throat as he plunged himself down upon her. He stiffened as his climax rocked him, pounding his hips against hers as she arched, crying out her own release against his shoulder.

It wasn't until moments later, when he was lying beside her, enjoying listening to the slowing of her breath, that Payen felt the first twinge of regret.

Chapter 5

Violet knew what the expression on Payen's face meant. She had seen it five years ago, just before he walked out of her life.

"Say you are sorry and I will neuter you," she growled in a voice strange even to her own ears.

Payen jerked, guilt lighting his eyes. "Violet, I…"

"I mean it, Payen. I have a silver letter opener in my desk."

A sad smile curved his lips. That he didn't seem to take her threat seriously wasn't nearly as much of an insult as the fact that he didn't take her giving herself to him—on what should have been her wedding night to another man—as seriously as he ought. He was the only man she had ever had sex with—the only man with whom she had ever shared a bed. The only man to whom she had ever given her heart.

She would not allow him to make her feel soiled for having chosen him.

His hand braced on the mattress, Payen angled his body toward her. The muscles in his arm bulged beneath the taut gold of his flesh. The slash of his ribs drew her attention to the sheets pooling around his lean hips. He was a beautiful distraction, making her forget her heart's demands with the temptation of his body.

Almost.

"You want to run away," she murmured, drawing her gaze upward to his face, which was no less breathtaking than the rest of him. "Just like you did five years ago."

He reached across the scant distance between them to cup her cheek in his palm. His thumb stroked her flesh softly as he stared into her eyes with a gaze so sweet it broke her heart. It hurt so much—so very much—to know that he wouldn't allow himself to be with her. "As fast as I can," he replied.

She couldn't hate him, as angry as he made her. "Why?"

Warm fingers whispered over her lips—a fragile caress, one that made her breath catch with its simple, light reverence. "You know why."

"Say it." The words came out as a hoarse whisper, made rougher by the tightness of her throat. Violet clutched the sheet to her chest, not to shield her nakedness, but to somehow create a barrier between him and her heart. It didn't work, of course, but it made her feel stronger, kept her from turning her face to his hand, and burrowing there like a needy housecat.

In the faint light his gaze was brilliant as a polished tiger's eye. "I'm a vampire."

"I know what you are." Did he think her a stupid child? She had known what he was for years—long before giving him her virginity. Long before she fell in love with him. Shortly after coming to live with Eliza and Henry, they'd been out for an evening ride and her horse had bolted, spooked by a rabbit. Payen had caught her horse—on foot. If that hadn't been proof enough that he wasn't human, the fact that he looked no different now than he had more than a decade earlier certainly was.

His hand fell away from her cheek, but he didn't move away. He didn't have to; he'd already put more distance between them than physically possible. "And you are human."

A moot point and they both knew it. "That's remedied easily enough." When he began to protest—obviously she knew it wasn't that simple—she cut him off. "You'll have to do better than that."

He spoke so readily she knew the response had been planned—perhaps even rehearsed. "I swore an oath when I drank from the Blood Grail never to change another person."

"That was a long time ago, Payen." So long it was beyond her realm of understanding. He was beyond her realm of understanding, but she didn't care. She could live to be one hundred and still know only a fraction of his life, and it didn't matter. She loved him.

"I gave my word."

Brushing back the hair that tumbled over her shoulder, Violet pinned him with a sharp gaze. She wasn't a girl anymore and she wasn't going to let him get away from her as easily as he had before. "Who are you trying to convince that we can't be together? Me? Or yourself?"

"You," he replied without hesitation, without malice. Then, with the hint of a smile, "And perhaps I need a reminder myself."

The words came rapidly, without thought—without care. "Is a seven-century-old promise worth a chance at happiness?"

He almost said no, she could see it in his eyes. Stubborn, stupid man. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Perhaps—and she daren't let herself believe it—he loved her as much as she loved him. "I made a vow."

"And prevented me from saying my own." A cheap shot, but who cared?

"You thanked me for that." His expression, his posture, and his tone were defensive. This time he did pull back. "You wanted me to tell you not to marry Villiers."

He wasn't going to turn this on her, make her somehow to blame. "Because I had hoped that you harbored some feeling for me." She had nothing left to lose—he had already taken her innocence and her reputation—her heart and soul. What else could he do?

"I do." It was a low blow and they both knew it. And it answered her question, obviously he had the power to still do a lot to her. He spoke so smoothly, held her gaze so carefully that only the tiniest flicker of emotion came through, but she saw it.

He wanted to play, did he? She threw back the blankets and slid from the bed. "Obviously, not enough."

"Damn it, Vi. It's not that simple."

"I think it's amazingly simple." Snatching her robe from the foot of the bed Violet slipped it on and tied the sash tight around her waist. "Either you love me or you don't, Payen."

The color drained from his face, and Violet's heart shattered into thousands of sharp, jagged shards.

Not enough. She fought the pain, tucked it inside her. "That's what I thought." But dear God, she had hoped. She had almost believed.

In a flash he was out of the bed. Gloriously naked, and comfortable with it, he came after her. He stopped just short of touching her. He was very careful not to touch her. "You don't understand."

Violet stood her ground. Toe to toe they stood. She wanted to hit him, wanted to shake him and kiss him. Wanted to climb him and take him inside her. She poked him in the chest instead. "Then make me."

"My feelings for you are inconsequential." Payen shoved a hand through his hair on an exasperated sigh. "I knew what I was doing when I became a vampire. I lost everything I had or could have had to become what I am."

She watched him for a moment, the subtle flush in his cheeks, the shuttering of his gaze. Why hadn't she seen it before? Had she been too young to see it—or just blind? "What was her name?"

His expression closed down completely, but not before she saw the truth there. "What makes you think there was a woman?"

She spoke plainly, her battered heart slightly buoyed by this new revelation. "Because men are seldom as stupid with anything else as they are when a woman is involved."

"You do not think very highly of your own sex."

"On the contrary, I think women capable of almost anything. That men are so easily duped by us is what gives me pause." She placed a hand over his heart, felt the slow—too slow to be human—beating there. "Tell me."

"Alyce," he replied, his gaze clouding with a mixture of memory and regret. "And she's the reason Stephen Rexley died."

The annoyance on Violet's lovely round face gave way to bewilderment before comprehension dawned in her eyes. "Henry's ancestor?"

Payen nodded, turning away from her as he did so. "He was my friend." He wasn't going to tell this story naked. He found his trousers on the floor and pulled them on. He needed all the armor he could get.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Violet was patient enough to wait for him to dress before he continued. He pulled on his shirt but didn't tuck it in and sat on the edge of the bed, regarding her with a tired gaze as he tugged on his shoes. It wasn't a pleasant story, but one she deserved to hear. He owed her that at the very least.

Maybe then she'd understand, but he doubted it. Damn, she was so young. To talk of love and promises—what did a girl her age know of either? No doubt she thought him some kind of romantic figure—a white knight—her hero. He was neither.

She was still waiting patiently, in her thin robe that left little to his imagination—not that he needed imagination to know every delectable curve and hollow.

He sighed. "We were both Templars charged with protecting the Blood Grail from the Order of the Silver Palm. I had just drunk from the cup and become vampire to better serve our cause. Stephen was uncertain whether or not he could also commit himself to an eternity of standing between the Silver Palm and the power they sought." He smiled, both sad and amused. "I rushed at the chance to pledge myself."

And when the cup was taken by Philip's men, he tracked the six new vampires for a century, waiting for a chance to steal the chalice back. They did not abuse its power, although they certainly abused their own, but that changed when one of them committed suicide by walking into the dawn. The remaining five turned to the church, and learned that the Blood Grail was safe once more.

Violet was watching him, her expression strangely unreadable. Normally she was an open book to him. "I imagine you did. You loved Alyce?"

Impatient minx. But she kept him from dwelling too long. "Yes. She was a girl in the town where Stephen and I lived at the time. We met her through her brother, a young man we would sometimes drink with at the local ale house." His jaw tightened at the memory of that young man. "I loved her with all the foolishness a young man can. I didn't know it but so did Stephen."

She didn't seem the least bit bothered by his confession, wise enough to not be jealous of a woman long dead. Perhaps she was less of a girl than he gave her credit for. "Which one of you did Alyce love?"

Payen chuckled proudly—and a little bitterly. Not a stupid one, his Violet. "Above all, I'd say herself, but that might not be fair. Between the two of us, I think she loved Stephen more. Regardless, she was only interested in one thing from either of us."

"Let me guess." Violet crossed her arms beneath her generous breasts, unknowingly pushing the generous swells of flesh upward like an offering of worship just for him. "Alyce belonged to the Silver Palm."

Perhaps he should be surprised that she figured it out, but it did sound like the plot out of a gothic novel or some moral tale against the sin and evils of woman that seemed so popular these days. "Not quite. Her brother did. Back then the Order hadn't realized that women could be as useful to their organization. That came a little later." He wasn't going to think of those women now.

"So how did she betray you?"

So transparent. The depth of the story was either lost on her, or he had made too much of it in his own mind. "I did it to myself. I revealed the truth about myself to her."

Hazel eyes widened. Was that hurt in the bright depths? Surely she had to know there had been women before her. So many women.

But never one like her.

Violet's long fingers clutched at the front of her robe, twisting the silky fabric. "She betrayed you to her brother."

For a moment, Payen wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless—forever. The words were said with such horror, such disgust. Perhaps it was because she had no blood relation left to have such loyalty as Alyce's. Or, perhaps it was because Violet would never betray a man she claimed to care for.

Which meant she didn't care for Villiers—not really.

"Yes. She confessed what she had done to Stephen, why I don't know. The idiot came to warn me, a hero till the end."

"He was killed in the fight? Henry told me he was killed in battle."

Payen flinched before meeting her gaze. "That's what I told him. In truth, the battle didn't start until after Stephen died. He was killed by Alyce's brother, who had already murdered his own sister for her disloyalty."

Violet frowned. "That must have been horrible for you."

"I had my vengeance." He wasn't about to tell her what he had done to those men. He didn't want to think about it, but even after all of these centuries, he could smell their blood in the air, feel the stickiness of it on his hands.

And his shrewd little Vi, so much sturdier and stronger than her namesake, looked at him as though she too smelled what he smelled and felt what he felt. She would have been right there beside him, a sword in hand.

She would kill for him, he realized with a sudden jolt—one that hit straight in his heart.

She also wasn't about to let him off with a story of old betrayal. "So you don't want to be with me because I might hand you over to the Silver Palm? You don't trust me?"

"That's not it at all."

A sharp dark brow shot up against the pale flesh of her forehead. "You didn't think I'd reveal you to Rupert? Perhaps he and I are in league already."

Payen scowled his offense. "You would never do such a thing." And he knew she wouldn't. Had never once thought she might.

"Then you haven't cast judgment against all women based on the actions of one?"

"Of course not." He was beginning to lose his patience.

"But because of this, you and I cannot be together."

"Damnit, Violet!" Drawing a sharp breath, he rose from the bed and walked toward her once more. He cupped her shoulders with his hands, feeling the supple strength of her beneath his palms. "People I love die."

Her dimpled chin lifted defiantly. "People die, Payen. Whether you love them or not."

"You don't understand." Sadly, he knew of no other way to make her see.

"I understand perfectly." She tilted her head. "It's a little pathetic, frankly."

His hands dropped. "Excuse me?" Surely he couldn't have heard her right.

"I never would have thought you such a coward."

He had heard her right. Indignation—anger—swelled within him. "I've killed men for less than such an insult."

Violet practically sneered at him. "You'd never physically hurt me and we both know it."

But he heard the thinly veiled barb in her words. He had hurt her emotionally. "I am not a coward."

"When it comes to your heart, you are," she insisted. This time it was she who lifted her hands, placing one on either side of his face. Instinct demanded that he pull away, get himself to safety, but his pride held him still. He would not prove her right.

"You love me." Conviction rung in her words, made him frown even deeper.

"I've never made any such declaration," he insisted pompously.

Her smile was one of serene indulgence. "You love me, and I love you. But I don't have the luxury of being able to wait forever, Payen. If you wait too long to realize what it is your heart wants—what you need—I'll be gone. Ask yourself which you'd rather have, your vow, or me by your side for all eternity."

Payen pulled away, shocked and silenced to the depth of his very being by her words. She loved him? Loved him? No, she couldn't. Yet, there was nothing but truth in her guileless gaze. Nothing but sadness and certainty. She loved him, and she believed that he loved her.

Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

He had to get out of there. Had to go. Had to be somewhere she wasn't. Somewhere far away.

He backed toward the balcony.

"Go ahead and run," Violet said softly. "But if you're not back here by sunrise, I'll come looking for you, Payen Carr. I'll hunt you till the day I die."

She would too. He could see it. "Why?"

Her smile was sad yet determined. "Because I'd rather spend the rest of my life chasing you than missing you."

That was it. He could hear no more. He stared at her for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was but a few seconds, and when his heart could bear the sight of her no more, he turned and fled through the French doors. He vaulted off the balcony and into the sky, shooting frantically toward an unknown destination.

And from the darkened garden below, Rupert Villiers watched in astonishment.

Chapter 6

Payen did indeed return by dawn. Violet heard him on the stairs—and knew whatever noise he made was for her benefit.

When he came to her door, he was silent and stealthy once more. Violet felt his presence rather than heard it, but she knew he was there, separated from her by nothing more than a slab of wood that wasn't even locked. What good would a lock do against a being who could crush rock with his bare hands? But more to the point, why would she ever lock her door against the man she loved?

The only thing that kept Payen from coming into her room was himself, and that took some of the shine off what pleasure his return gave her. She lay in her bed, still and listening. She wasn't sure exactly when he walked away, but eventually she realized that he was no longer near. Perhaps she imagined the entire thing. Still, Violet didn't close her eyes and attempt to sleep again until the first pale light of dawn crept through her bedroom window. She could rest now, knowing that Payen was her prisoner at least until sunset.

When she woke a few hours later, it was with a renewed sense of hope. She wasn't certain how one engaged in a battle of wills with a centuries-old being, but she was spoiling for the fight, regardless.

His loyalty—outdated as it was—was admirable. Violet hadn't any concerns that he would be just as loyal to her. His feelings for her weren't the problem. The problem was in his head, in his thinking that he couldn't love her, be with her, and still keep those ancient vows.

Surely the people who gave him those vows never intended that Payen should not have happiness in his life? Surely they didn't mean that he couldn't turn his mate into a vampire if he so chose? If they had, then they were wrong.

Her convictions and determination firmly in place, Violet rose and rang for her maid. Then, she washed, slipped into her undergarments, and stood still while her maid laced her into her corset. The fine boning nipped her waist in a flattering manner, but lifted her breasts far too prominently. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it.

Payen seemed to like them. He had practically worshipped them the night before with his mouth and hands. Ah, the feel of his hot, wet tongue against the sensitive ache of her nipples…

"Are you all right, miss?" Her maid questioned. "You look a little flushed. Are your stays too tight?"

Mortified, Violet shook her head. "I'm fine, Anna. Thank you." No more thinking of Payen and the pleasure he gave her. But a little shiver raced down her spine at the thought of being able to enjoy that pleasure forever.

Immortality didn't frighten her, although it must be terribly lonely for someone who spent their nights alone. She wouldn't allow Payen to continue that way.

A rose and cream striped morning gown came down over her head, interrupting her thoughts, and Violet slipped her arms into the snug sleeves. It was a new gown, very pretty and feminine. It was stylish, but without a lot of the frills and trimmings that were so popular these days. A woman her size didn't want ruffles around her hips and derriere—a bustle was bad enough. Still, Violet had to concede that the colors were very flattering to her complexion and that the high neckline took the emphasis off her bust. She couldn't change that she was tall and statuesque, but this dress—part of her wedding trousseau—made her feel pretty and almost delicate.

Perhaps Payen might rise early enough to see her in it.

It must be awful to be the only vampire amongst a house full of humans. Not only because of the obvious temptation, but it had to be terribly lonely. Ostracized from company because of the sun's deadly light, forced to walk the night when most country folk were asleep in their beds.

Payen needed someone to share the night with—someone who accepted him for what he was, and had no misconceptions about how different life at his side would be. Someone who understood what it was to be alone.

Violet hadn't been so young when her parents died that she didn't remember them. She remembered them vividly and with great love and sorrow. Henry and Eliza had been very good to her, but they had never presumed to take the place of her parents—and they had their own children, both of whom were married now and about to make the earl and countess grandparents.

The Rexleys had never made her feel unwelcome, just the opposite, but Violet was old enough to miss what she once had, and always feel as though she didn't quite belong.

Until Payen. She belonged with him—as surely as the moon belonged to the night. She just had to make him admit it. No, she had to make him accept it.

It was with this thought in her head, this determination in her heart that she went downstairs to face the bright light of day and the scandal that her canceled wedding had become.

The papers tended to sympathize with Rupert, despite most of the accounts having been written by women. They just couldn't understand why Violet would jilt such a lovely man.

Then again there was one writer who cheerfully announced that she'd leave her husband for a man who looked like Payen as well.

"If Payen doesn't marry me I'll never be able to show my face in London again," Violet surmised, not without some bitterness, as she lifted her cup of coffee.

Eliza watched her over the rim of her own china cup. "Do you want to marry Payen?"

"I've had no other ambition since I was sixteen years old." She took a sip of hot, rich coffee. "He loves me, Eliza. He just won't allow himself to be happy."

Her guardian—her friend—didn't look convinced. Did she think Violet too young? Too foolish? She might be four and twenty years old, and perhaps her experience of the world was limited, but she knew her heart. And she knew Payen. In fact, she'd wager that she knew the vampire better than Henry himself, who had known Payen since he was a boy.

Henry didn't know the truth about Stephen Rexley's death. That little reminder to herself took the sting out of Eliza's dubious expression and gave Violet the confidence to keep her head high at the other end of the breakfast table.

After breakfast, she went to see how many gifts were left to return, and busied herself there. When Eliza came in an hour later and told her that Rupert had come to call, Violet was surprised, to say the least.

"Do you want me to see to him?" Eliza asked, placing a firm but gentle hand upon her arm.

Violet patted those little fingers. Eliza might not be her true mother, but she had much of a mother's protectiveness—a fact Violet appreciated and loved her for. "No. I'll do it. I owe the poor man that much at least." She glanced around at the piles of gifts that had yet to be returned. "But perhaps in the parlor, where it won't be a constant reminder of my betrayal."

"He's already there." Eliza's grip tightened. "It would have been worse to marry him and betray yourself."

A truth Violet knew in her heart, but it made her happy to hear it said aloud all the same. She used that happiness to give her strength when, a few moments later, she entered the parlor where her former fiancé waited.

She straightened her shoulders at the sight of him. "Good morning, Rupert."

He looked surprisingly well for a man who had been jilted by his bride-to-be. "Violet. You look lovely."

"Thank you." She frowned. "To what do I owe the…pleasure of this visit?" Poor choice of words, but she was working with a befuddled brain at the moment.

Rupert glanced behind her at the closed door. "Is Mr. Carr here?"

"He's indisposed at the moment." And thankfully so, as the sunlight pouring into the room would kill him. "You needn't be afraid of him, Rupert." The moment she said the words Violet realized the light in Rupert's eyes wasn't fear at all. It was excitement—a glitter that formed a lump of unease in her stomach.

"I would like to speak to him," he said suddenly, turning on her with those spooky bright eyes. "I understand Mr. Carr's misgivings about my affiliation with the Silver Palm, but we'd like to assure him that the Order of today is nothing like the one he often fought."

"We?" The unease grew…

"Yes, the Order."…and became a full blown brick of fear. "You told the order about Payen."

"Of course." He talked like it had been the most natural progression. How deep was he into the Order? Had he pretended his ignorance the night Payen arrived? Or had someone decided he deserved to know more once they heard of Payen's arrival? And dear God, what did modern men know about a seven-century-old vampire?

"Why would you tell them about Mr. Carr, Rupert?"

He gave her a sly look. "You know what he is, Violet, don't play coy with me. I saw him leave your room this morning. Very impressive. Shocked me at first, but afterward I realized what a marvel he is."

How had Payen left her room? By the balcony. Oh God. Violet pressed a hand to her churning stomach. He had flown, and Rupert had seen him.

"Were you spying on me?" It hardly mattered, but it was something to channel her anger into rather than the fear that Payen was in danger.

"Of course." His smile faded a little. "Didn't take you long to let the vampire into your bed did it?"

Oh no. Now was not the time for weakness. She had to think of Payen. She forced an expression of confusion. "The what?"

He came toward her, that patient smile on his lips once more. It was all she could do to flinch backward, away from his touch. "I don't blame you. I imagine he can be very seductive. Masterful even."

Now, that was just unsettling. "He's none of your business. This is between you and I, Rupert."

"Yes. And I think it would be of benefit to all of us if we remained friends."

I think you should be committed to Bedlam. "Regardless of my infidelity?"

Light fingers stroked her arms. "I can forgive your indiscretion."

"Why would you want to?" Then it hit her. "You want to get closer to Payen. Why?"

He didn't bother to pretend. "My fellows in the Order would love to talk to him, study him. He's a walking encyclopedia of historical knowledge, Violet. Imagine what we could learn."

Academic curiosity did not put such a predatory gleam in the eyes of a man who used to shudder at anything scholarly, Violet knew that much. She also knew better than to underestimate a member of the Order of the Silver Palm. Regardless of her own opinion of Rupert, she knew Payen's history with the sect, and she knew how much he hated them. They had to hate him almost as much. Rupert's interest was predatory and she would protect her lover at any cost.

"You and I don't have to be friends for you to talk to Payen, Rupert."

"No, but I think it would help him to trust me. And it would quiet all those ugly rumors about you, my dear." His fingers tightened slightly on her arms. "I adore you, Vi. I hate to see you injured in anyway."

He had certainly changed his tune since the other night when he accused her of practically being a slut. There was a glimmer of truth in his eyes—enough to make Violet feel like dirt. And just enough lie to make her spine tingle with fear. Was he threatening her, or was it just her wild imagination?

"I'm sorry, Rupert. Truly I am, but I think you should go now."

Not one to give up easily, he gave her arms another squeeze before releasing her. "Trust me, Violet. Think of Lord and Lady Wolfram. I want what is best for you."

And for himself, she suspected. He had been badly hurt the night their wedding plans were destroyed, and she knew him well enough to know that he hadn't reconciled with it at all. He hadn't forgiven her. He never would. He was driven by what he felt she could do for him, rather than what he felt for her. Just as she had been when she agreed to marry him. She had given up hope for Payen even though she dreamed of him coming for her.

What Rupert was doing now wasn't for her, and perhaps it wasn't even truly for himself, but it was for the Order of the Silver Palm. They wanted Payen.

Oh God.

"I'll think about it." It was a lie, but it seemed the easiest way to get rid of him.

Rupert smiled, obviously believing her. "Good." He leaned in for a kiss. She turned her head, giving him her cheek.

"We'll talk later," he said as he moved toward the door.

"Of course," But as she saw him out, Violet's head was filled with one thought alone.

Getting Payen the hell out of England.

Payen was in the bath, shoulder deep in hot, sandalwood-scented water when Violet slipped into his room. The sun had barely slipped over the horizon on its long, late summer descent when he caught the subtle scent of her perfume, heard the not-so-subtle pounding of her heart.

"Checking to make sure I'm still here?" He called out with a touch more annoyance than he meant. "Did you think I would run away?"

She barged into the bath with a rustle of skirts and shallow breath. It was the fear radiating off of her that had him sitting up, sloshing water over the sides of the tub. "What is it?"

"You have to leave." This would have been amusing after all her talk of chasing him if he ran were it not for the insistence in her voice, the wide appeal in her eyes. She fell to her knees beside the bath, heedless of the water that would soak her pretty gown.

He caught one of her cold hands in his. "Easy, pet."

She stared at him, hazel eyes huge and round. "Rupert. He knows what you are. He says he wants to be friends now. Payen, I think you're in danger."

"From Rupert Villiers? Not likely." The words were more for her peace of mind than his own. Rupert Villiers might not be a threat on his own, but in the company of several other men skilled in combat who knew a vampire's weaknesses…

Her other hand clutched at his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscle beneath his wet flesh. "You have to leave. Tonight."

She was afraid for him. More than that, she was terrified. When had anyone been concerned with his well being? Decades at the very least. Most people assumed he was indestructible, or at the very least nigh on impossible to kill. Not his Violet. Perhaps he should be insulted that she thought so little of his abilities, but he wasn't that stupid. With an odd clarity he knew that her concern sprang from her feelings for him, and not any doubt as to his physical prowess.

The realization was as humbling as it was arousing, and he rose from the tub with a heart full of an emotion he couldn't name, and a cock so hard he could use it as a battering ram.

Violet noticed it, of course. How could she not? She stood as well, her hand still in his.

"I don't think you're taking my concerns seriously at all," she info rmed him with a tight jaw, but her gaze slipped back to his erection with an interest that had the damn thing twitching in anticipation.

"On the contrary," Payen replied, stepping out of the tub and pulling her tight against him. "I take everything about you seriously. You're like a sword hanging over my head."

She glared at him. "What a lovely compliment."

He wrapped his fingers around the thick knot of hair coiled on the back of her head, holding her so she couldn't turn away. "I can't get away from you, and I know it's just a matter of time before you cleave my heart." As far as compliments went, he knew it wasn't a pretty one, but Violet understood. She always understood, damn her.

Warmth shone in her face, but there was sadness in her eyes. "You could just let me have it, you know. Then I wouldn't have to cut it out of you."

He smiled. "Where's the fun in that?"

She didn't return the smile. "I don't have time to wear you down."

He swallowed against a strange lump that was forming in his throat. "I thought you were going to chase me."

"Until I died. I'm going to die someday, Payen. Do you really want to live with that regret?"

He had forced himself not to think about it, but here it was, tossed in his face like last night's wash water.

Violet and death was not something he thought about if he could help it. She was so young, how could he think of her ending? And yet, he knew it would come. He had seen it so much in the past.

No more Violet. No more hazel eyes and sweet lips. No more driving him insane with questions and demands. No more sword above his head.

He couldn't breathe.

Soft fingers brushed his cheek. Violet's fingers came away damp. "I'll take that as a no," she whispered.

Then she was up on her toes and her lips claimed his with an urgency that eased the ache in his chest and directed it south. He was hard with wanting her, and if she let him, he was going to have her.

But when he was on his back on his bed, Violet straddling him with her skirts billowing around them, Payen realized that it was she who was going to have him. He guided himself between her spread thighs, to the slit in her thin drawers where the fabric was damp with her juices. Her body accepted him readily, slick and hot as she took him inside, tightly sliding down the entire length of him, so that her buttocks rested on the top of his thighs.

It was quick and urgent, with her grinding herself against him as he clung to her hips beneath the mountain of petticoats and gown. All he could do was arch his hips and groan, beg her to take him all the way, to let him come inside her as she came for him.

And when it happened, it was sharp and intense, almost violent as they climaxed together, voices mingling as they cried out in joy.

Afterward, with Violet collapsed on top of him, Payen realized that he was lost. He would have to find some kind of compromise within himself, between the vows he took and his feelings for this woman, because there was no way he could let her go again.

She stroked his jaw with her fingers, her chest pressed against his. He could feel the beating of her heart, even through the layers she wore. It tripped in time with his own.

"Promise me you'll leave," she whispered. "Just this once, do what I ask of you and run."

The tightness in his throat returned, but he ignored it. He didn't want to leave her. Didn't know if it was safe, but she would be in more danger with him there. "Only if you promise to chase me as soon as you can."

Violet's head lifted. An expression of wonder softened her lovely, round face. Tears shone in her eyes. "I'll chase you."

He kissed her. "I'll make sure you catch me."

And that was all he could allow himself to give her for now.

Chapter 7

Letting Payen go took all the trust Violet had and then some. She trusted him with her very life, but trusting him to allow himself to love her was another story.

She loved him, but after his sudden departure five years ago she was reluctant to trust him with her heart again. Knowing him, he'd run somewhere she couldn't follow, and claim it was for her own good.

His belongings were packed and already sent on to London where he would board a ship for the continent. Once it was safe, Henry, Eliza, and Violet would leave as well, dodging the scandal Violet had brought down upon them. Payen would come for her in Italy. Eliza was sure to disapprove, but Violet had to follow her heart.

They said their good-byes in the library, where the french doors opened onto the garden. They had no close neighbors, but the seclusion of the garden would help ensure that no one happened to see Payen leap into the sky like a giant bat—that was how rumors got started.

"I don't like running like a coward," Payen said. "I want to stay and fight."

Henry clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you want to protect us, my friend, but we've agreed that it's safer for all of us if you go. Neither Eliza nor I want to see anything happen to you, and I know how you would feel should anything happen to either of us." His gaze skipped to Violet. "Or someone else."

Violet blushed under the knowing stare of both her guardians, but most of all she blushed because Payen was looking at her the way she had always wanted him to—like a woman he didn't want to leave.

"Stay away from Villiers," Payen warned her—as though she hadn't planned to do just that. "He may think you know where I am and use you to get to me."

Violet swallowed. Before she wouldn't have thought Rupert capable of such underhandedness, but his visit earlier had shown her a man different from the one she thought she had known.

And it made her wonder—had he or someone close to him known of her connection to Payen before this? Was Payen the reason Rupert proposed to her in the first place? How ironic that would be, since spite against Payen was the reason she'd accepted Rupert's suit.

"Are you certain it's safer with you gone?" Even though it had been her idea, she was having second thoughts.

Payen took one of her cold hands in his much larger warm one. "Yes. Villiers and the Order would most certainly use you against me if I remained."

"I thought you said there wasn't much of the Order left."

"I've heard there are still little pockets here and there across Europe. But all it takes is one person to rekindle interest in the old ways, the old beliefs. One person to say they've found a Templar vampire and then all Hell breaks loose."

"What do they want from you?"

"Revenge. Power. Revenge for the Templars interfering centuries ago, and the power they believe is their right."

Violet watched as something darkened Payen's sherry eyes. His face tightened as his head came up, turned toward the door. She followed his gaze. The doorway, which had been empty, now had a figure standing at its threshold. Several figures actually, but it was the one up front that caught her attention.

"Rupert." Damnit. They hadn't been fast enough.

Her former fiancé smiled coolly. "Going somewhere, Carr?"

Payen shrugged, appearing nonchalant, but the hand that kept Violet at his side was anything but relaxed. "I did what I came to do."

"Ah yes." The younger man pressed his hands together as he placed one booted foot inside the door. "You ruined my wedding."

"Happy to have done it," came the smooth, taunting reply. "Violet deserves better than your kind."

Rupert laughed. "I'm not sure the vicar would agree with you."

Payen held his gaze. His face was void of emotion—Violet had never seen him so shut down, so empty. "The Vicar knows only his own ignorance. True evil often wears a human face."

"Monsters always say that." Rupert shook his head. "You know, before you showed up, I had no idea about the history of the Silver Palm? I owe you a great debt in regards to my education. If you hadn't spouted off as you had, I would have assumed you and Violet had been lovers and nothing more. Imagine my surprise when I told several friends in the Order what you had said."

For the first time a frown creased Payen's brow. He blamed himself for this, that was obvious. "I would imagine they were more than eager to 'educate' you."

"Oh they were. They were." Rupert chuckled. "I almost didn't believe the fantastic tale they told me. In fact, I came here to discuss it with you last evening—and then I saw you leaving Violet's bedroom." He shot a condemning glance at her, but it was the surprise on Eliza's face that cut more. "I saw you fly, and I knew then that my brothers had been right."

Payen's jaw tightened. Violet could almost hear him cursing himself for being so careless. She wrapped her fingers around the tight fist he held clenched at his side and squeezed. He spared her the briefest of glances, but the warmth there was all she needed.

"What do you want, Villiers?" It was Henry who asked. Stern, brave Henry.

Rupert kept his attention on Payen. "The Blood Grail. Where is it?"

So that was it, Payen realized as he tried putting Violet's body behind his. They wanted the chalice of eternal life—a cup imbued with the essence of Lilith, demoness and the mother of all vampires. He could only suppose that Villiers wished a taste of immortality for himself.

"I have no idea." That was only half a lie. He knew the Grail to be in the possession of the men who stole it from the Templars on the fateful October day more than six hundred years earlier, but beyond that he knew nothing except that it was safe. His friend Father Molyneux, a young French priest, had been chosen by the few remaining Templars to watch over the vampires and the Grail, though the young man knew little more than he had to. He wasn't about to tell this little miscreant who those men—vampires—were.

"Well then," Villiers began, lifting a pistol. "I shall just have to take you instead, Mr. Carr."

Payen laughed out loud. "You think so, little man?"

Villiers scowled. "I have silver bullets in this pistol." He nodded at the men behind him. "Go."

Payen tensed but the men didn't come for him. They went for Eliza and Henry instead, and when Payen moved to help them, the barrel of Villiers' pistol drifted to point at Violet. Two men came to take her as well. He could smell her fear as they flanked her.

They all had pistols—pistols trained on him, his friends, and on Violet. Being shot would hurt him, but even he wasn't fast enough to save the other three. At least one of them would die.

God help him, he would save Violet if he could, sacrificing his friends to do it.

A shot rang out. Payen jerked to the left and felt the hot metal whiz past his ear. He could tell from the smell of it exactly what it was. Silver shot. Villiers hadn't lied. Silver could be fatal to a vampire if it pierced the right organ—like the brain or the heart.

Villliers was grinning. "Consider that a warning shot. Will you come peacefully, Carr? Or do I have to get the nets?" Behind him was a man holding what appeared to be a large sheet of silver mesh.

Jesus Christ.

"We don't want to hurt Lord and Lady Wolfram, or Miss Wynston-Jones," Villiers said. "But we will if you don't cooperate."

"Good lord, man!" Henry cried. "What the devil are you doing? You'll be hanged for this!"

And for a moment there was a flicker of indecision in Villiers' eyes. "Not if they don't catch me, my lord. What do you say, vampire?"

Payen glanced at his friends. Eliza and Henry were pale, pistols aimed at their temples. Violet watched him with eyes as big as saucers, begging him not to give in.

It was for her and her safety that he turned back to Villiers with a sigh of defeat. "I'll come willingly."

"No!" Violet cried. She reached for him, but Payen side-stepped her hands. His heart was heavy with an ache he couldn't name, but he knew he was doing the right thing. This would ensure that Violet was safe once and for all. Once they were out of the house he could attempt his escape—he would kill Villiers for certain—but he couldn't risk any more harm coming to those he loved.

He should have known that Violet wouldn't let it end that way. He should have known that love of hers transcended good sense. Should have known she would never sit quietly while he walked away from her, when he swore he wouldn't.

He strode quickly toward Villiers. The barrel of the pistol trained on him barely wavered. Oh yes, the Order had chosen well with this one. "What did they promise you?" He asked.

Villiers smiled. "Money. Power. Everything."

"Still won't get you Violet."

For a moment, Villiers pleasure faded. "I can find someone who will make a better wife than a fat vampire fucker."

Payen would have ripped his throat out if it hadn't been for the note of hurt in the young man's voice. He smiled instead, dimly registering that someone had snapped a shackle onto his wrist. Judging from the heat and fact that it seemed to sap his strength, he'd wager it was silver. "It must kill you knowing I got there before you, and that I've had her again since."

Villiers' jaw tightened. "You've ruined her. In every way." He raised the pistol. "Maybe I should just kill you—let her live with the image of your pretty face splattered all over the parlor wall."

Payen didn't fear death, but he didn't want Violet to see that. "Your superiors wouldn't like that."

"Don't be so sure. I'll be the first of the Order to have killed a vampire in centuries. I'm sure your blood would be very useful in our experiments."

Their gazes locked. "And you call me a monster."

Villiers pulled back the hammer with a look that resigned Payen to his fate. This little boy was too excited, too full of power and fear and his own importance. He was going to pull the trigger.

And then Payen was knocked off balance. He pitched forward little more than a couple of steps, but it was enough to send him into Villiers. There was a tug on his arm as the man trying to shackle him let go of the irons, and an explosion near his ear as Villiers fired his weapon.

Eliza screamed and the world stopped. He could smell, taste blood on the air. He had heard the bullet strike flesh, heard a strangled gurgle, and then a body struck the floor in a rustle of skirts. His head turned and he saw her.

His Violet, lying on the floor, blood gushing from a gaping hole in her throat. Had she tried to push him out of harm's way?

Beside him, Villiers gasped in shock, trembling like a fool. It would have been so easy to kill him then, to rip his throat apart with two fingers and watch the life drain from his eyes.

But it was the life draining from Violet's eyes that kept him from doing just that. He ran to her, fell to his knees beside her with a howl of rage that shook the entire house. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Villiers and his remaining men escape, and he didn't care.

He'd find them later.

Blood spread out on the floor beneath Violet, soaking through her gown and oozing into her hair. Awful gurgling noises came from her throat as her mouth worked.

"Don't talk," Payen demanded when he realized just what she was trying to do. "Jesus, Vi. Don't talk."

Eliza and Henry were suddenly there beside him; both of them began to weep when they saw the severity of their ward's wound. There was nothing they could do. Violet was going to die.

"No," Payen whispered. That couldn't happen. A world without Violet would be gray and lifeless, just like the photograph Lady Verge had shown him. There would be no music, no pleasure, no laughter without Violet to bring it. The idea of it, the certainty of never seeing her again, never holding her again, struck him in the chest like a cannon blast.

And he knew with total certainty, and without shame, that he could not live in a world where there was no Violet. He would not live without her.

He loved her.

And that was why, even though Eliza and Henry were right there, he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved and said, "I'm going to chase you, Violet Wynston-Jones."

Hazel eyes, dulled with shock, met his, and for a second brightened as his meaning sank in. She nodded—so slightly he would have missed it were he not watching so closely for just such a sign.

And then, hearing the slowing of her heart and knowing there wasn't much time left, Payen lowered his head to the wound in her throat, where the silver had tore her flesh, and drank. He didn't want to cause her further pain, so he took only what he needed as Eliza and Henry cursed and demanded to know what he was doing—had he no respect?

He didn't look at them and he certainly didn't ask their permission as he lifted his head long enough to bite his own wrist and offer the blood there to Violet. The pulls of her lips were tentative and weak at first, but they grew in strength and suction. He let her drink her fill, until his own head grew light and woozy. He wanted to make sure she had enough.

Finally, he broke away. With Eliza and Henry watching him in horror, he pulled the cravat from around his neck and wrapped it around Violet's to help slow the bleeding.

"My God, man," Henry's voice was raw with disbelief. "What have you done?"

Payen turned weary eyes to his friend. "I hope I just saved the woman I love."

Chapter 8

The wedding was held at eight o'clock two nights later on the deck of a ship bound for France.

The bride wore violet—the groom's favorite color—instead of white. And on her finger, the smiling groom placed a ring that had belonged to another Carr bride almost eight centuries earlier—his mother.

"Do you take this woman to be your wife?" The captain asked.

Since he had broken his vows to the Templars, Payen decided that it was only right that he take the most important vows of his life with Violet, the woman he had turned into a vampire.

The woman who wouldn't let him run away even if he wanted to.

He grinned at the woman beside him, showing just a hint of fang. "I do."

Henry and Eliza bore witness to the ceremony. Neither one had fully forgiven him for making their former ward a vampire and cursing her to a life only at night, but neither could they contain their joy at having her alive once more.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Violet practically leapt into his arms, every sweet inch of her. He loved being able to hold her and not worry that she might break. He loved her strength and softness, every hollow and every round curve. He loved her.

Rupert Villiers had left England the same night of the attack. No one seemed to know for sure where he had gone and for now Payen was all right with that. Eventually, once Violet had settled into her new life, and the two of them together had settled into their new life together, he would start hunting for the little bastard. But he wasn't going to think about that on his wedding night.

They shared a light supper with Henry and Eliza and then retired to their cabin. Payen was thankful for the privacy.

"I couldn't stand one more minute with Eliza frowning at me."

Violet chuckled as she presented him her back. "She'll be fine. Unbutton me, will you?"

He kissed the side of her neck. "With pleasure."

"Any regrets?" She asked as his fingers raced down the row of tiny pearl buttons along her spine. He wanted her naked. Now.

The back of her gown gaping, sagging at her shoulders, he turned her to face him, so that he could look into those big eyes of hers and let her see the truth there. "I regret leaving you five years ago, but I could never regret being with you now."

"Are you sure?"

Sure uncertainty was strange in her. Did she doubt his reasons for changing her? "I regret cutting through Lady Verge's china plate more."

Her eyes widened. "You cut through a plate?"

"When I heard you were engaged, yes."

She chuckled so beautifully that he didn't mind admitting the embarrassing incident. "I have many regrets in my life, Violet Wynston-Jones Carr, but loving you isn't one of them."

"You love me?"

His hands came up to cup her cheeks. "Of course I do. And I'm an ass not to have convinced you of it before this. You are the color in my world, Violet. Every night is brighter with you in it."

Tears clung to the gold-tipped sable of her lashes as she smiled. "I knew you loved me, but after…what happened," she still wasn't able to speak plainly about the attack on them, "I thought you might have done it out of guilt."

"I did it for purely selfish reasons," Payen replied, tugging the gown from her shoulders so that it fell to her feet in a soft silky heap. "To keep you with me for eternity."

She wrapped long, strong arms around his neck. "No more running?"

"Not unless it's around the bedroom. But I'll chase you, my love. No matter where you go, I'll find you."

Violet smiled. "And I'll find you."

Payen would have made love to her right there, standing in the middle of the floor on a ship that swayed unevenly beneath their feet, but his wife deserved a bed on her wedding night, and so once he removed the rest of her clothes and his, the bed was where he placed her.

She lay beneath him, spread and open to his gaze and touch like a pagan offering to the gods. An offering to him.

He cupped the fullness of her breasts in his hands, lightly dragging his thumbs across the tight pink peaks. Violet gasped in pleasure, her hands coming up to cover his own, a sight that sent a surge of desire straight to his already throbbing cock. Her nipples were so sensitive, so incredibly receptive to his slightest touch. Payen took one between his lips, whipping it with his tongue before he nipped it gently with his teeth. She writhed beneath him, lifting her hips in silent invitation—one he accepted, sliding between her full thighs to push the eager length of him against her hot dampness.

He loved the feel of her. Loved her taste, the texture, the way she moaned. He loved the way she smelled, all heat and moist female, sweet and delicious.

He sucked and pulled at her nipple until it stood red and distended, and her fingers pulled at his hair, then he turned his attentions to the other breast. When he had her grinding herself against him, the slick little cove of her sex beckoning, he knew it was time to move on.

He moved down, planting kisses along the undersides of her breasts, the soft flesh of her rib cage. He swirled his tongue around the small pool of her navel and nuzzled her soft, round belly with his jaw. She shivered against the rasp of his stubble, gasped when he grazed her with his fangs.

Payen knelt between her legs as her hands clutched at his shoulders. The warm, salty scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, flooding him with a longing so great it took all his will to control it.

He parted the lips of her sex with gentle fingers. The first pass of his tongue was a quick lick just to lift her hips off the bed. The second was firmer, had more purpose. Violet moaned her approval, digging her heels into the mattress as she lifted her mons to his mouth. Payen licked again, this time coming in closer so that the light beard on his lip and chin brushed her sensitive skin, so that he could use both his lips and tongue on her.

He laved his tongue relentlessly against her little hooded friend until she was fairly sobbing with pleasure. Then, he slid two fingers into her slick pussy, curving them upward to stroke the tiny ridged wall there. Violet's hips lifted as her moans intensified, then, Payen pressed his lips against the sweet flesh of her inner thigh and bit.

She came so hard she soaked his fingers as her muscles clamped around them like a vise. Her cries echoed throughout the room and his male pride preened knowing that at least one crewman had to have heard the effects of his prowess. There wasn't a man alive who was worth his salt who didn't understand what it was to make a woman scream with pleasure.

Payen's smugness was short-lived, for the next thing he knew he was on his back and Violet was on top of him, straddling his hips and plunging the wet heat of her down onto his aching cock with such abandon that soon the sheets were tearing under the force of his fists and he was shouting out his own release as Violet sang out for a second time. Just as the tremors began to subside, Violet lowered herself over him so that she could sink her fangs into his shoulder and he into hers, sending another wave after wave of pleasure through each other.

"That was nice," she said later, tucked into his shoulder as they lay together on the torn and damp sheets.

Payen laughed. "Nice? Woman, you'll be the death of me."

Rolling toward him, she lifted herself up onto her elbow. A thick curtain of sable hair fell over her shoulder to pool on his chest. "The death of you? Hardly. I think I'm the life of you, Payen Carr."

He had to agree, but he pressed anyway. "I lived for centuries before you, you impertinent little chit."

"You existed," she corrected arrogantly. "You didn't start living until that first night with me. Admit it. That's why you ran away."

He stared at her. She never failed to amaze him. Lifting a finger, he trailed it down the satiny curve of her cheek. "You're right. And I almost died when I thought I lost you. I would have followed you into death, Violet. I was so stupid not to see it before, but I would have ended my own life just to find you in another."

Tears dripped down her cheeks, and Payen's own eyes burned as well as dampness threatened to spill over.

"You don't have to turn your back on the Templars," she told him. "I won't stand in the way of keeping your promises to them."

Pulling her close he kissed her. "I love you."

Violet opened her mouth, but Payen silenced her words with his own. She didn't have to say she loved him. He felt it in his bones, just as he knew that he could indeed keep his promises to the Templars. In fact, he planned to. But those vows would come a far and distant second to the vows he made to his wife.

About Kathryn Smith

My husband says I have the best job in the world. The only thing that could top being paid to do what I love is if Avon Books decided that all their authors had to be hand-fed chocolate by Hugh Jackman, Gerard Butler, or John Cusack. But my husband probably wouldn't think so much of my job then, so instead I'll let him feed me chocolate and go on being forever thankful that I have the best job—and husband—in the world.

www.kathryn-smith.com