The Vampire Viscount by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

St. Vire sat up with a gasp. His hands shook, and he pressed them to his eyes to suppress the images that had come to him—more vividly this time, as if to make up for their long absence. It had been months since he had dreamed anything; he had not dreamed since he was wed, and that was four months ago. This dream had a clarity that transported him sixty years to the night when he had been made a vampire.

In it, St. Vire had smiled at the whore who accosted him. The orgy—for that was what it was—was a farce, nothing more than men and Covent Garden ware dressed up as monks and nuns, profane and stupid with drink. Discarded bagwigs and buckram coats littered the floor of the abbey, and the scent of spilled wine made him grimace.

He absently stroked the woman’s exposed breast as she cooed in his ear, and looked across the crowd at Sir Francis Dashwood, whose dissipated countenance was now fired with lust. Dashwood had said he’d knowledge of certain forbidden magical arts, and so lured Nicholas to this idiot’s gathering.

The Hellfire Club. He should have known any group with true knowledge would not have let itself be advertised with such a flagrantly provocative title. A group with any knowledge of the magical arts would not have advertised itself at all. They had also called themselves the Amorous Knights of Wycombe, and he should have suspected the meetings were nothing but a debauch.

However, he was not averse to harmless diversion. He looked down at the woman pressed against him and this time noted with surprise that she was beautiful. She had black hair, unpowdered, contrasting with flawless white, translucent skin. Her eyes were black as well—large and heavy-lidded with impending seduction, and her lips were full and red as ripe plums. He smiled at her with growing interest and she returned it, her teeth white and delicately small.

A loud thumping at the center of the room took his attention. Sir Francis had seized a curiously shaped staff and brought it down forcefully once more on the ground.

“We have taken profound delight in our unholy gathering,” Sir Francis intoned and paused. The noise quieted to just under a dull roar. “In thanks, let us send an invocation to our dear Lord of Darkness.”

St. Vire felt bored and looked about him for an exit, but the woman pressed herself to him insistently.

“Stay,” she said. “There is more to come … more delightful things, I assure you.”

Her voice had an interesting lilt—foreign, though she spoke English clearly enough.

He shrugged. She was beautiful, and she felt sinuously sleek against him. Why not?

She pulled him behind a pillar and dragged at his clothes, taking off his cravat and lace, kissing him hard upon the mouth. He heard Sir Francis’s voice chanting some rhyme and calling upon infernal spirits. The hairs on the back of his neck rose at the sound. He ignored the sensation, for the woman pushed him down with surprising strength to the floor.

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