You can get it on
and Google Play!
This might be the last Scandals With Bite book in the series, we'll see. I had a lot of fun playing with the kidnapper-trope and seeing if I could bring anything new to it. Also, the legal situation with rogue vampires is so frustrating and a catch-22, that it reminds me of a lot of real laws in the world, lol.
Anyway, I am so excited about this one and I hope you all enjoy it!
This might be the last Scandals With Bite book in the series, we'll see. I had a lot of fun playing with the kidnapper-trope and seeing if I could bring anything new to it. Also, the legal situation with rogue vampires is so frustrating and a catch-22, that it reminds me of a lot of real laws in the world, lol.
Anyway, I am so excited about this one and I hope you all enjoy it!
Here's the first chapter!
Chapter One
Lancashire, England, 1825
Vivian Stratford
peered out the carriage window and yawned, though sleep was impossible on this
long journey. The full silver moon in the sky was so bright that the carriage
lanterns were almost unnecessary. The rutted road to Blackpool was fully
illuminated, a bright path to her impending isolation.
Vivian’s father
had packed her off to her reclusive uncle, who would keep her locked away until
the scandal died down.
Madame Renard,
Vivian’s companion, made an indelicate snorting sound as she woke from her
doze. “Have we arrived yet?”
Vivian shook her
head. “No, but the moon is bright. Perhaps we can stop and have another
lesson?”
Madame Renarde
sighed and stroked her square jaw. “My joints are aching too badly for such
rigorous exercise. Besides, it is not safe for women out in the dark.”
“We are in the
middle of nowhere,” Vivian retorted a little sharper than intended. Immediately,
she was contrite. “I am so sorry, Madame. I’m only weary of being trapped in
this carriage. I want to stretch my legs and practice…”
Madame Renarde straightened
her cap with a frown. “Your father told me to never allow you to touch a rapier
again.”
Vivian had
expected as much, but hearing the confirmation still felt like a thrust to the
heart. “Did he find out about you teaching me?” Or worse, Madame’s bigger secret?
“No,” Madame
Renard said quickly. “And I will not stop teaching you. I know that fencing is
your passion. Without passion, people wilt like flowers. But we must be careful,
and I think it would be wise to keep our steel sheathed for a time. At least until
we learn your uncle’s habits, so we can discern a safe time and place to
fence.”
Yes, that sounded
like the wisest course of action. Especially since it was Vivian’s blade that
landed her in this scandal-broth, which resulted in Father packing her off to
her great-uncle’s estate. But Vivian was veritably rabid with the need to have
her sword in her hand. Those blissful moments of thrusts and parries, dancing
on her feet with the ring of steel in her ears, were the only times she felt
she had any control in her life.
The rest of the
time, Vivian always had to submit to what someone else wanted of her. From her
governess to her tutors, her dancing instructor, her father, and her suitors,
she was always expected to comply, to play a part like a scripted actress that
would end with her… what?
The unanswered
question made her age-old panic slither over her like funeral crepe. While
Vivian was aware that she was supposed to marry a suitable man with a good
title and preferably a substantial income and bear him heirs, she couldn’t stop
from wondering, what else would there be? In all the stories of fair ladies and
princesses, they ended when the heroine married her dashing hero. Why couldn’t
Vivian be more like a hero? Have adventures and defeat monsters just as Beowulf
and Odysseus did in her favorite stories.
Her governess had
told her such thoughts were unnatural. Her father only squinted and frowned. Most
other ladies her age either shunned or mocked her for wanting more than landing
a good match, even going so far as to say that with her small dowry and plain
looks, she should be grateful for any match. In the face of such censure,
Vivian learned to be silent about her unconventional thoughts and wordless
sense of want for something more.
Only Madame Renarde
understood Vivian’s inner turmoil when she’d been hired shortly before Vivian’s
debut in Society three years ago.
“I know precisely
what it is like to feel that the life Society expects of you is somehow wrong
in a way that you cannot quite identify. Yet the notion haunts you like a
shade.” Madame Renarde once told her.
The paid companion
had only been at Father’s estate for two months before she’d come upon Vivian late
at night out in the garden. Vivian had broken down in helpless tears without
even knowing why. The French matron had pulled Vivian into her arms and coaxed
the story out of her as Vivian rested her head on the companion’s surprisingly
broad shoulder.
“That is it,
exactly,” Vivian had said, wiping her eyes. “I only wish I knew what it was that
I want.”
“It will come to
you.” Madame Renarde stroked her hair. “Until you do, I advise that you find a
hobby that gives you pleasure. Such can clear your mind and allow your deeper
needs to come forth.”
“I do have hobbies.” Vivian had lifted her
head from her companion’s shoulder, slightly embarrassed that she’d been caught
in such an emotional state. “I read, dance, and study various languages.”
“Yes, and your dance
steps are quite deft.” The companion’s gaze had turned speculative. “Wait
here.”
Vivian had sat on
the marble bench, listening to the wind whispering through the leaves of the
trees and rosebushes, her curiosity stretching the minutes to seem like hours.
When Madame Renarde returned, Vivian blinked in astonishment to see two thin
swords gleaming in the moonlight.
“You’ve brought
rapiers?” she’d asked, wondering if she was dreaming. Vivian had never seen a
woman with a sword, much less two.
“Would you like to
learn how to fence?” Madame Renarde tossed one of the blades toward Vivian. The
rapier streamed through the air in a gleaming arc and stabbed the grass beside
Vivian like a javelin. She stared the quivering metal, fascinated by its
delicate, deadly beauty. Slowly, she’d reached down and gripped the pommel,
pulling the blade from the ground. A primal desire flowed through her being.
The sword represented power. She wanted
it.
“Yes,” she’d
whispered.
Madame Renarde
executed a salute that was both elegant and theatric. “First you will learn the
stances.”
They’d trained
almost every day. And sometimes, Madame Renarde would disguise Vivian and take
her to witness fencing matches. Vivian longed to compete, but as a female,
she’d never be permitted.
Madame Renarde was
a master fencer, astonishingly quick and nimble for a woman in her forties.
Vivian asked her how and where she learned, but it was two years before the
woman trusted her enough with that story. And months more before she learned of
her companion’s ultimate secret.
A secret that her
father must never uncover, or Vivian would lose her closest friend forever.
The memories cut
off when the carriage jerked to a halt, throwing Vivian against the cushions,
and making poor Madame Renarde fall to the floor. The horses shrieked and made
the conveyance lurch again before a man’s voice boomed, “Stand and deliver!”
“A highwayman,”
Vivian whispered, her pulse in her throat. She’d heard tales from her father of
the times when the thieves ran rampant through England’s country roads. But
these days, highwaymen were rare.
Madame Renarde recovered
first. She reached under the seat and withdrew her rapier, quick as the fox
that was her namesake. Then she leapt up from her seat, positioning herself in
front of Vivian.
When the carriage
door was flung open, Renarde thrust her blade forward. Vivian heard a hiss of
pain before a man came into view. The large slouch hat that he wore cast most
of his face in shadow, but she could see an exquisite sculpted chin,
mischievously arched lips—and the barrel of the pistol he pointed at them.
Madame Renarde
sent the pistol flying out of the highwayman’s grasp. Vivian expected him to
flee right then and there, but instead, he brought his own blade to meet Madame
Renarde’s sword with a speed that made Vivian gasp.
The ring of steel
was piercing in the closed space of the carriage.
The highwayman
laughed. “I had not expected such a diverting encounter. You are quite good for
an old man. I don’t know why you hamper yourself with skirts.”
Both Madame Renarde
and Vivian sucked in sharp breaths. How
did he know?
Madame Renarde had
fooled everyone they’d encountered, including Vivian herself for several
months. The shocking observation took the companion off guard, and her sword
went clattering to the carriage floor.
“Don’t you hurt
her!” Vivian shouted and dove forward to meet the highwayman’s blade with her
own.
He moved back,
visibly startled by her attack. Vivian continued to lunge, attacking him with fury
of a magnitude that she’d never experienced. The highwayman deflected her blade
with lazy parries, yet he continued to retreat.
Triumph swelled in
Vivian’s breast… until her feet touched the packed dirt road outside the
carriage. He’d lured her out here so that he’d have more room to regain his
offense. Sure enough, the highwayman danced at her and brought his arm across
in a Coup d'arrêt attack. But it was a feint, she should have
seen that. She barely got her blade back up in time.
“I see that you
are a student of that Molly in the carriage,” the highwayman said with a grin.
His white teeth flashed in the moonlight. Something seemed off about those
teeth, but she didn’t have time to ponder it.
He moved into reposte, a counter attack that rivaled
hers in speed and precision.
She matched his attack
with the requisite parries, naming them in her head. Tierce… quinte… septime.
As they danced,
and their rapiers clashed, Vivian realized two things. The first was that she
could tell that he was holding himself back. He’d disarmed Madame Renarde with
little effort, and yet Vivian was still holding strong. Yes, she was faster on
her feet than the older woman, but Madame Renarde was quicker and more
well-versed with her blade. Madame Renarde was a master who’d trained under
someone even more impressive, yet this highwayman before her was equal, if not
superior to her companion’s skill. He moved beautifully, and Vivian could see
that he was capable of more. She should be insulted that he was letting her
continue the match. If not for her second realization.
She was enjoying
herself.
As ludicrous as it
was, her being outside in the middle of the English countryside in the cool
September night, crossing swords with a highwayman bent on robbing her, should
have been terrifying. Yet her blood sang in her veins, her face flushed with
pleasant heat, and her heart pounded in exhilaration as they moved together,
more exciting than any waltz.
“Flawless passa-sotto,” he murmured as she dropped
her hand to the soft grass and lowered her body to avoid his blade.
His praise warmed
her all over. At last, a man appreciated her swordplay rather than scorning it.
Vivian shook her head. Had she gone daffy? Why should she care what this thief
thought of her? Furious that he was able to wreak such havoc on her emotions,
Vivian redoubled her attack.
The highwayman
grinned as if he read her thoughts. “I’m afraid I must cut this diversion
short.” In an executed move, he knocked the sword from her hand. “Out of respect
for your defense of the Molly and the skill that he taught you, I will not rob
your odd companion.” Before Vivian could breathe a sigh of relief, he stepped
forward and seized her arms. “But I cannot depart empty-handed.”
He snatched the
jeweled comb that held her hair neatly atop her head.
“How dare you!”
she said as her brown tresses tumbled about her shoulders. “Give that back!”
“I have to take something.” The highwayman chuckled. “I
wager that fancy locket between those lovely breasts would fetch an even better
price.”
Vivian reared
back, clutching the locket that had been her mother’s and her grandmother’s
before her. The locket that held her mother’s miniature. Desperation flooded
her heart. “Please don’t take it.”
“I’ll let you keep
the trinket,” the highwayman said, his gloved fingers lightly caressing the
bare flesh of her upper arms. Gooseflesh rose up on her limbs, but surely it
was only the chill night air. “In exchange for a kiss.”
“I beg your
pardon?” she whispered as her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d been
kissed twice in her two Seasons and only one had been welcome. But she’d never
had a man ask her for a kiss. Much
less a highwayman who’d already taken her comb.
“A kiss from a
beauty such as yourself to warm me in this cold, lonely night.” The highwayman
tilted his hat and favored her with a rakish grin. “That is the price I demand.
That, or your locket.”
Heat flooded
Vivian’s cheeks as she studied him. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, but
the shadow of his hat made it impossible to discern their color. From what she
could see of his nose, it was straight and pleasing. Her eyes traveled back down
to his firm, masculine jaw, and the sharp curves of his lips. Her mouth went
dry as she whispered, “Very well.”
She rose up on her
toes and lifted her chin to meet him. In time with her move, he lowered his
head. Their lips pressed together like the meeting of their swords. His hands
slid down to clasp her waist and she reached up to loop her arms about his
neck. He deepened the kiss like a Coulé, sliding his lips over hers in a testing exploration as he’d done with
his blade.
Vivian moaned and opened her mouth further,
submitting to him even as she reveled in the taste of him and the forbidden
sensations he wrought. This was no chaste peck on the lips like she’d received
from an awkward suitor. This was passion made flesh.
Suddenly, he released her with a ragged
gasp. “With kisses like that, I’d soon beggar myself. I will depart before I am
tempted to ask for more.” He saluted her with his sword. “Thank you for the
diverting match and your sweet kiss. I will dream of you.”
With a rakish tip of his hat, he disappeared
into the shadows.
Loved it! Thanks for sharing Brooklyn Ann.
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