He takes a drink of his wine, the liquid staining his lips berry dark. I imagine the feel of those lips against my throat, and press a hand against my face to cool it.
“I think it might be best for you to remain here, after your recovery, Miss Jones. Have you heard any news from Charleston?”
I still. Lift my wineglass again, my mind going in a thousand directions at once. “No, I haven’t,” I lie.
“Two young women have been found murdered in the city. Very unusual circumstances.Exsanguination.”
“I don’t know what that means.” I compose my face and concentrate on carving my roast into orderly squares.
“It means their bodies were drained completely of blood. It’s extraordinary.”
“How terribly gruesome.”
“Yes. It is. The first was a prostitute. The other a planter’s daughter, a young woman out on an evening walk alone.” Alex leans forward in his chair, studying me. “I think it’s very unsafe for a woman to be alone, don’t you?”
“It seems so.”
“I’m glad Ruby brought you here, Mary. Brought you to me. There are far too many monsters in this world.”
Alex’s fingers brush my hand. I shiver, a tingle of delicious longing trembling through me at the sound of my new Christian name on his lips. If he believes me to have any part in these murders, it doesn’t show. There’s only concern, and a disarming warmth in his eyes. I take a deep breath, my other hand unclenching beneath the table. “I’m glad of it, too.”
After we finish our meal, Alex escorts me to my room and turns down my bed. “Tomorrow, after your lessons with Ruby, let’s walk the upstairs hall to build your endurance. And the day after, we’ll try the stairs.”
“I’d like that,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Good night, Mary. Sleep well.”
After he leaves, I undress down to my shift, folding the beautiful dress and placing it in one of the bureau drawers. A faint hint of Lucrezia’s perfume lingers in the fabric. Something earthy and exotic, like incense from the Orient. I wonder what she looked like. What made Alex fall in love with her. Whatever it could have been, I hope that in some small way, I might inspire the same affection, given enough time. If tonight’s conversation is any indication, Alex wants me to stay here, with him, at Angel’s Rest. Perhaps, as Mary Jones the orphaned young governess, I might have a new chance at life—and love—yet.
A Vampire’s Diary
Marjorie
Marjorie was nearly my undoing. She fought me. Quite unexpectedly. Her town house was a horror, afterward. I detest gore. It offends my refined sensibilities, but it couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. My seductions began pleasantly enough. Her tearful confession to me in the weeks before my conquest—that she had never loved her husband, that his death had been a blessing—was her tacit invitation. I lavished her with attention, with praise, with flowers, and sent her ardent letters, declaring my desire to court her. She demurred at first, but I quickly overcame her initial reticence with my charm.
On the appointed evening, Marjorie dismissed her servants before my arrival, as I’d instructed, and served me a sublime dinner before leading me to her boudoir. I’d taken my time undressing her, savoring her little gasps and moans of pleasure. She’d been ready for me. Pliant and submissive. When she realized my desire transcended the sexual, she panicked, just as I’ve come to expect. But the excitement of the moment provoked an excess of energy—and she fought so heartily she nearlyescaped through her window. My task was not easily completed. I must consider an alternative method for my next conquest. I’ve become too cavalier. Brash. My successes with Sally and Denise emboldened me. But all my work could be for naught if someone heard Marjorie’s screams or saw me arrive earlier in the evening. Thank God I had the foresight to take all the letters I sent to her and burn them.
I must be cautious until the fervor is forgotten and the chivalry grows complacent once more, as they always do. But Marjorie’s blood, her rich, sweet blood flavored with precious fear, is my greatest prize yet.
Eleven
The next day, Ruby arrives for her lessons at noon, eager to learn. We go over the alphabet again, which she recites to me twice, without hesitation. I carefully open the primer, its binding worn from years of use. The illustrations are puritanical, and the language antiquated, but they’ll serve our purpose all the same.
“In Adam’s fall, we sinned all,” I recite, and Ruby follows, tracing her finger over the words. Everything is going well, until we get to the letterF.
“The idle fool is whipt at school.”
Ruby glances at me, then at the book. She pulls her lower lip inward. Her posture stiffens.
“What’s the matter, Ruby?” I ask.
“I can’t ... I can’t say that, ma’am.” Her voice is soft, tremulous. She looks at me, her eyes wide. “You ever been whipped before?”
I have been. By the cook, at jail. I still remember the painful welts from her lash. “Yes. Once.”
Ruby grunts. “Well.”
“Let’s move on, shall we?”
