London, England, Summer 1742

The entirety of the ballroom seemed to freeze when he entered.

Joseph Hutton, Earl of Allsop, rake extraordinaire.

If the gossip was to be believed, he’d led many a young femme fatale to disgrace, so his appearance at Lady Margaret Daniels’ debutant ball brought all eyes to the recently-introduced-to-society damsel.

All except those of one lady. “Why is he here?” Cornelia Fitz Simmons, chaperone to the guest of honor, whispered in an overly loud voice to the clutch of matriarchs milling about her. Her back went ramrod straight. She opened her ever-present fan and heartily flapped it in the air. “Of all the nerve.”

Whether her outburst was an attempt to bring the guests’ attention back to the proverbial wolf in gentlemen’s clothing standing near the punch bowl or if she was indeed outraged no one knew. The crush was enthralled by this twist, enthralled and holding their collective breaths as they waited to see whom the Earl of Allsop would speak with first.

Joseph smiled. He listened to the murmurs begin anew. He had the good manners to bite back on the laugh creeping up his throat. His gaze leveled on one young miss before moving to another until his eyes landed upon Lady Margaret. If his investigators were correct, he’d find the true object of his ire somewhere near the chit.

That was unless Lady Elizabeth Morrison had been forewarned that he was not pleased that she was yet to introduce herself to him. After all, he was the governor general to every common vampire residing in London. She was his minion—newly made or not.

In Elizabeth’s case, the refusal of an interview, her absence from Allsop Manor, and the impertinent way she dodged any attempt he made to conduct his business and manage the blood-suckers beneath his mantel had grown beyond tiresome. Not even his solicitor had succeeded to gain her compliance. Nay, the man had appeared in Joseph’s private study, hat in hand, blubbering about independent-minded ladies and his distaste for all things to do with them.

It had taken Joseph almost fifteen minutes to learn ‘twasn’t Elizabeth’s refusal that had stung Nigel, but her gross disregard for protocol. Once Nigel explained her unladylike behavior wasn’t reserved for the governor general but also any who crossed her, Joseph decided ‘twas time to take matters into his own hands.

Joseph didn’t care a whit if she flagrantly disregarded the haute ton’s expectations of comportment. Nay. The members of the elite were useless to him unless he was in need of a meal, though even he understood the need to follow certain rules of etiquette when in polite society.

Nay, the protocols he was in dire need of educating her on were those set down by the Great Coven.

Those protocols had been put in place for a reason. A very good reason!

Of an age to recall when vampires fought vampires, werewolves, shifters, fay, and any other kind who might cross their path, he had fought hard to bring about the inception of the Great Coven but had not been surprised when he was rejected as a member of the elite group of night-walking blood-suckers.

The sins of his Creator preceded him. He clenched his jaw when a picture of Roger de Montgomerie floated through his head. He bit back on a growl. Quelling the urge to massage the twanging muscles jumping in his neck, he returned his attention to the crowd watching him with baited breath.

Even if he’d not been spawned from the bite of de Montgomerie, another aspect of his being stood firmly in the way of him becoming a member of the Great Coven. He was twice bitten, carrying both the vampire infection along with that which turned a man into a werewolf. ‘Twas a miracle he’d survived the twin infections, and he had long ago come to terms with the truth that his name had been permanently removed from the list of possible candidates who enforced the rules all vampires now followed.

Some might think him odd for his determination to abide by the rules set down by the same group of vampires who watched him with wary eyes, who trusted him not, who had put him in a position of power because his loyalty was above reproach but would undoubtedly refuse to come to his rescue should he find himself in a dire situation.

What of it?

Still, if he was taken to task by the Great Coven because of her impertinence, he’d do more than put her over his knee. He might just thrust an oak stake into her heart.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a striking woman with pale skin. His grin became wolfish. He turned on the heel of his fashionable boot and strode in the direction the vampiress had gone.

Gasps of relief sounded behind him, but they were soon drowned out by whispers of consideration for whatever unfortunate lady he was following. More the point, the guests were arguing in quiet tones over the who he was trailing. He highly doubted they gave a whistle’s worth of spit for her safety.

Hypocrites—the lot of them.

Mortals, especially those in the select group that made up England’s elite, set down rule after rule but were apt to break those rules—eventually. In all his millennia of undead existence, he’d never met people who irritated him as much as those in this generation of the haute ton. ‘Twas amazing considering he’d experienced the raucous and oft lurid court of Henry VIII. He’d also been newly created when William Rufus ascended the throne of England in the tenth century.

He wasn’t certain what had caused his detestation toward this crop of humans, but he couldn’t stomach their vicious gossip, illicit affairs, and haughty ways. Perhaps ‘twas the whole of their attitudes.

And that makes no difference.

His ground-gobbling gait caught up with Elizabeth just as she was making her apologies to the host and hostess of the ball. The Marquis and Marchioness of Berwick didn’t appear to care that she was begging off. If aught, and in spite of their pristine smiles, anger burned in their gazes. For some unknown reason, they didn’t wish their daughter associating with Lady Morrison.

Good. The fact that Elizabeth was suddenly following protocol, though, caught him off guard. You best not be trying to hide behind the mortals, he thought.

Still, he did remind himself that Elizabeth Morrison was young and ‘twas likely she was falling into what a mortal might do. His grin faded when she steered herself away from the couple and began to stroll at a leisurely pace to the main door. What are you up to?

She collected her cloak as if she had all the time in the world. He attuned his hearing to her words when she thanked the butler for his assistance. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.

He took her in. For the soullessness of him, he couldn’t place where or if he’d met her before. Joseph did recognize why she caused a stir amongst the ton. Elizabeth Morrison was absolutely gorgeous.

Her porcelain complexion didn’t detract from her overall appearance. ‘Twas the opposite. It only served to enhance the impact of her sable-colored hair and shimmering azure-blue eyes. Her body, was encased in a fashionably styled gown the same color as her eyes and revealed only a hint of cleavage but was tailored perfectly to her slight bosom. Mayhaps a handful, he decided.

A wave of lust rolled through him. His cock swelled, making his trousers uncomfortably tight.

His palms itched to strip the cloth from her body, to tease her with his fingers and mouth until she was mindless. Then, when she was at his mercy, anxious for his cock, he’d explain the rules to her.

‘Twas a fine plan. A fine plan indeed.

He didn’t waste another moment, but strode to where she stood in the foyer. “Lady Elizabeth—allow me to introduce myself…”

His words broke off when she raised her face up to his.

“My God, Elspeth,” he murmured, recognition dawning. White-hot fury burned his desire to ash. “What the hell happened to you?”

Elspeth bowed her head. “Hello, Joseph. ‘Tis good to see you again after so long.” Actually, ‘twasn’t good to see him at all, nor was she pleased to be back in the city where her mortal life had ended. “You look fit.” She practically dragged those words from her mouth.

She shivered. “I…” Her breath caught when he leveled his ice-chip gray stare on her face. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she sent him a small, shaky smile. “I meant to thank you for your tenacity in contacting me for my interview, but I fear….” This time her voice trailed off, not because she had no answer, but because of another reason. Her breath stifled in her lungs, and the tingles of skittering pinpricks flew over her. Her brain began to ache. The influence her creator held over her was as strong as it had been the day he’d turned her over a century ago.

“You’re still sired,” he grumbled, and anger etched his tone.

She nodded. “He will never set me free.” Her throat constricted even more. Unseen hands curled around her neck—squeezing brutally.

Naught good will come from this. Naught at all.

She laid her hand on his austere eveningwear. Tears filled her eyes, but she managed to sniff them back before they left bloody trails down her cheeks.

He laid his fingers over hers. A dark scowl marred his brow.

Joseph, please don’t do this to me, she pleaded silently when his telepathy reached out to her.

The few other elder vampires she’d met since her creation had never tried to take control of her mind. She didn’t like the feeling either. Her skull felt as if it might crack in twain. Grimacing, her fingers curled into fists against his jacket.

“Cease,” she said in an agonized whisper. “’Tis ripping me apart.”

“Do you trust me, Elspeth?” Joseph pushed his telepathy into her with force. “Trust me. Let me inside. Let me help you.”

She couldn’t. Robert had told her time and again that no man could break his hold over her. “You’re hurting me.”

Trust me.

Gritting her teeth, silently pleading for an end to the torment, her body shivered when a tiny crack slinked up the invisible wall that Robert had built around her psyche.

A soft moan of surrender brushed over her lips.

Memories best left forgotten began to play across her mind’s eye. No. I can’t…

The memories snapped into shape.

She’d been newly employed as a scullery maid at Falstaff Manor when she met not only Joseph but Robert de Belesme too.

Young, brutally so, she’d no idea what either of them were, only that Joseph had caught her attention. His handsome good looks and natural charm drew her to him. His gallant, almost chivalrous, manner sealed him a special place in her heart.

Of course, she’d been pining from afar. His status took all chances of a match out of the mix. After all, she was a simple chit from Cheapside. He was far above her and well out of her reach. That was just a day prior to being introduced to the Hellfire Club.

Thankfully, she wasn’t one of the wenches chosen to take part in the banquets, but after seeing the lewd and lascivious behavior firsthand, she wondered what fix she’d landed herself in.

‘Twas Joseph who’d come to her rescue. He’d explained not only what was going on but why creatures she’d thought only existed in nightmares and fairytales were suddenly congregating in a single place. He’d also informed her, in as few words as possible, as to why he was asked to journey to Falstaff Manor. Robert de Belesme and he were in a fight that had broiled between them for centuries, a blood feud of immense and deadly proportions.

A fresh burst of pain knifed her brain. “Make it cease,” she whispered, trying to shut down the memories of what happened next. “You were there, for pity’s sake.”

“I was, but I need to see the act for myself,” Joseph murmured.

She shook her head. “Nay. Please, Joseph.”

He didn’t relent. The whole sordid tale broke free in her psyche. The influence that allowed Robert to kidnap her from the manor. The years of being subjugated by his mind control. Inevitably the bite, which was forever emblazoned on her being. Finally, the rebirth as a vampire. “Please stop. It hurts me.”

Crushed against him, she took several deep breaths in a valiant attempt to push the lingering terror away.

“He did this to you because of me.”

Her sire had, but she wasn’t about to confirm or deny Joseph’s statement. ‘Twould only add fuel to the fire already burning like an inferno between the two vampires.

If Robert discovers you’ve been hunting about in my head, he’ll surely murder you…or worse.

She shivered again. Elspeth didn’t want to consider the “worse” in her warning. Joseph ought to be able to conclude what she meant with little trouble. After all, they were discussing Robert de Belesme, son of Mabil de Belesme, a murderous woman who practiced the dark arts and had offered her only son up to Satan as a sacrifice.

Or so the story went, she mused. What she was aware of was that Robert was strong, cruel, and sadistic.

Joseph brushed his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture. “You worry for naught, Elspeth. Robert de Belesme can’t hurt me.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “And I would stake myself before I ever let him hurt you again.”

He sucked in a breath then exhaled slowly. If her brain weren’t screaming in her head, she would have told him he just had hurt her. The gust of air wafted her perfectly coiffed hair. His influence flipped through her memories, but she’d long since come to grips with what she’d become and the horror her sire had wreaked upon the earth. The same terror she was complicit in.

“You should have brought him before the Great Coven,” Joseph stated gravely, “though that would have denied me the privilege of extracting my own revenge from him.”

“Nay, milord. ‘Twould serve no purpose.” She pulled away from him and walked to the threshold. Turning her back on him, she willed the sire bond away. ‘Twas useless. Robert’s hold over her was unbreakable. “You’ve seen me. You can inform the Great Coven that you held your interview and then list me as one of your minions residing in London, but ‘tis best if we never see each other again.”

“You really believe him to be that powerful.”

After a few deep breaths, she gathered what little was left of her bravado. She nodded. He is that powerful.

“Allow me to escort you to your carriage.”

“I can’t leave.” A pang of emotional pain stabbed her in her beatless heart. Already aware of the few members of the staff who were peeking out of salons to gawk at them, Elspeth sighed and gave him her thoughts. This is my life. Such that it may be, there is no cure for it or a power strong enough to break the sire bond.

The feel of his presence right behind her almost brought her around. “You’re bound to the house until he retrieves you.” His deduction was barely audible.

“Aye.”

“Then let us walk about the garden.” He cupped her elbow and steered her toward the rear of the townhouse. “I hear that Lady Daniels grows roses as big as my fist.”

Are you bound to the entire premises or can you only traverse the main house? His question echoed in her head.

His ability to not only read her thoughts and open up her memories but also to converse with her through his telepathy told her that Joseph was very old.

“Are you?”

“I don’t know.” ‘Struth, she’d never tried to step outside what she perceived to be the boundaries her sire set.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”