The Vampire Duke
They were doing it again.
Talking about her like she wasn’t in the room, that is. Robin may have had bad eyesight, but it hadn’t affected her hearing.
“She’s an odd duck,” Aunt Margaret said as she picked up a scone from the silver tea tray and nibbled it.
No one replied but the silence didn’t deter her. Swallowing her mouthful she added, “Unfortunate too, with that hair color.”
Robin’s grandmother, Baroness Foley, glanced at her granddaughter. Robin was sitting near the window, head downcast as she focused on her sewing. In her dry, cool voice the Baroness said, “Very unfortunate; it’s no wonder no one has ever offered for her, with that hair and the glasses.”
Narrowing her eyes on her embroidery, Robin bit her lip. Do not reply, she told herself, do not say anything. It wasn’t her fault she had ginger hair, and she never wore her glasses to social events. Besides, she was glad to be on the shelf. Glad.
Aunt Margaret fluttered her white hands in the air. “Wherever did that red color come from?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw her grandmother frown. The Baroness picked up a cup of tea, took a sip, added some sugar and settled down once again on the chaise. “Her grandfather’s side.”
Aunt Margaret selected a biscuit and held it in the air, admiring it from different angles. “I didn’t think there were redheads on Norfolk’s family tree.” She bit into the shortbread.
Robin pushed her wire framed glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and selected a blue thread from the pile at her feet. It wasn’t the first time this conversation had taken place in front of her — Robin suspected that Aunt Margaret liked the topic because it reminded her that she was distantly related to the Duke of Norfolk, even if it was by marriage.
Her grandmother shook her white head. “No, it’s on Foley’s side. His youngest brother, Monty, had it.”
“He died before I married Edmond.” Aunt Margaret said.
“Thankfully,” her grandmother announced as she took another sip of tea, “Robin is the only one who has it.”
Aunt Margaret shuddered. “It would have been horrible if Tory or Alisa had been cursed with it.”
Robin firmly believed their hair color would have had little to do with her cousins’ marriage prospects; they were horse-faced, simpering airheads, like their mother. It was their large dowries that had made them attractive.
“But they are so charming,” her grandmother said.
Charming as sticks of wood.
“I worry that we are never going find a suitable match for Robin. She’s destined to be a spinster, I fear.” Aunt Margaret sighed and selected another biscuit.
Robin rolled her eyes.
Later That Evening
Robin stood behind a potted palm in the ballroom of her grandfather’s town house. She wasn’t exactly hiding, but she wasn’t socializing, either. She was, in fact, staring at the Duke of Grafton. Pushing her glasses firmly into place, she frowned at the austere black image he presented. He was tall, really tall, and incredibly handsome. But that wasn’t why she stared.
No, she stared at him because he seemed, well, strange. That’s why she’d hurried behind the friendly palm and was now fighting a sneeze because the fronds were tickling her face.
And it wasn’t strange like she was strange ― Robin knew her bluestocking tendencies caused titters and surreptitious stares ― no, he was decidedly odd. On her trip to the library, not fifteen minutes past (she’d been intending to while away the evening there as her grandfather’s books were far more interesting company than the guests), she’d caught him sucking on Mrs. Winslow’s neck in the hallway. Sure, Mrs. Winslow was a widow and most assuredly knew about the carnal nature of men, but he’d been slurping and swallowing.
That wasn’t normal.
At least, Robin hoped not.
“Robin, what are you doing here?”
She jumped a good foot in the air and turned to see her cousin Meredith on the other side of the palm. Meredith was, well, nice, and she didn’t like Aunt Margaret either, which Robin approved of.
“I was…uh…”
Meredith followed her gaze. “Was staring at the Duke of Grafton?” Merry’s voice rose on the last three words, and Robin shushed her frantically. Removing her glasses, she shoved them into her reticule and straightened.
“So what if I was?”
Meredith’s blue eyes were staring at Robin in something almost like horror. “But, he’s the Duke of Grafton.”
“I know who he is, clearly. I was staring at him.”
“Oh Robin, you aren’t thinking of setting your cap at him, are you?”
Robin tried not to glare. “I was just looking at him. What is wrong with that? Every other woman does.”
Meredith turned back to the crowd amassed in the ballroom. She took in the ladies with their languid fans, their eyes also locked on the Duke. “But they aren’t hiding behind a palm to do it.”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
Meredith turned back to her and flicked open her blue lace fan. It matched her white muslin gown with its blue trimming perfectly. Meredith was really pretty, with dark brown hair and snapping blue eyes ― she put Robin and Aunt Margaret’s girls to shame. “Well, why were you standing behind the tree?”
“It’s not a tree, it’s a palm.”
If Robin didn’t know better, she would have sworn she heard Meredith snort. But ladies don’t snort. Except for Robin, when she laughed.
“I just think he’s a little weird,” Robin admitted.
Meredith choked on a laugh. “Pot calling kettle black?”
Robin didn’t reply to that. “You wait and see; there’s something wrong with that man.”
Meredith stared. “Wrong with the fact that he is absolutely gorgeous?”
Robin looked again at the Duke, but her vision was blurry. She didn’t need to put her glasses back on though, to recall his features: dark hair carefully arranged to make it look windswept, eyes so black that they were almost bottomless, and skin so pale it made women murmur in envy.
No, there was something almost inhuman in the good-looks of the Duke of Grafton.
2 Weeks Later
Robin didn’t lurk behind a palm this time ― no, she stood at the rear of the Duke of Richmond’s ballroom in an alcove. Dark red drapes hung at one side of the recess; Robin supposed this was a convenient place for a lovers’ tryst, rather than a reconnaissance mission, but it had such a spectacular view. Soft light washed over the expanse of the ballroom, and flowers festooned every available surface. If she’d been here when they were setting up, Robin thought that she might have been decorated, too.
The Duke of Grafton stood at the centre of attention, surrounded by a bevy of clamoring women who longed for a smile and men who thought to gain status by proximity. It really was rather entertaining, although Robin’s heart fluttered and her breath felt short.
There was something wrong with the Duke. Robin surmised the information she had collected about the Duke over the past two weeks:
1). He wasn’t married (not that that was important);
2). He’d gone to fight against Napoleon and had come back even better looking than before — according to gossip;
3). He had affairs with married woman almost exclusively and was never with them for long;
4). He was never seen out during the day;
5). Months after he returned from the Continent, women’s bodies had begun to surface, drained of blood; and
6). He’d been sucking on the Widow Winslow’s neck.
A shiver of ghoulish delight ran down Robin’s spine.
“What are you doing?”
Robin sighed and looked over her shoulder. “Hello, Merry.”
“Evening, Robin. What are you doing?”
“I’m at a ball?”
“You’re standing in the corner of the ballroom shivering, and it’s not even that cold.”
Robin shrugged in what she hoped was a charming fashion.
Blue eyes narrowed at her. “You were staring at the Duke again, weren’t you?”
“No.” A pause. “Maybe.”
Meredith began tapping her elbow with her fan. Her gaze turned to slits. “People will start to notice.”
Robin’s chin went up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh that poor girl,” Meredith’s voice was scarily like Aunt Margaret’s, “to have set her cap for the Duke of Grafton. He is so dashing and handsome and well-heeled that he’d never consider poor, gingery Robin. It’s so embarrassing for the family; she’s been trailing after him like a lovesick puppy.”
Robin felt the blood drain from her face. “She has not said that.”
Meredith opened her fan in one quick movement and began to lazily flick it through the air. “No, not yet.”
“There’s just something wrong with him.” Robin went to fold her arms across her chest, but remembered where she was. She picked at the strings on her reticule instead.
Meredith frowned for a split second before her face smoothed back into the perfect mask. “You said that before, but nothing is wrong with him.”
Robin opened her mouth then shut it with a snap. How did one go about accusing a duke of being a vampire? Lord, Merry would probably call her a Bedlamite.
“Well?” Meredith shut her fan and tapped it against her elbow again.
Robin winced. “Wouldn’t you rather be dancing?”
“No, I want to hear why you think the Duke of Grafton is strange.”
Sighing, Robin realized there was no escape. She flicked a glance at Grafton, who was deep in discussion with a beautiful blonde woman clinging to his arm. “I think he’s a vampire.”
She heard Meredith gasp and then laugh, but Robin wasn’t looking at her cousin. She saw the Duke’s eyes flick over to their alcove. They danced past her, but lingered on Merry for a heartbeat.
“That is ridiculous.”
Robin turned to her cousin, her jaw set. In a low, serious voice, she related her observations to Merry.
Merry laughed again, a tinkling sound full of mirth. It felt like a slap in the face. “A lot of people don’t go out in the sun, it isn’t good for the skin, you know. And some women like to have their neck sucked.”
Robin didn’t want to analyze the last part of that retort. “But no one has seen him out during the day, not since his return from the Continent.”
“He keeps town hours; no one ever goes out until the evening.”
“Not even for calls?”
Meredith’s mouth formed a thin line. “Robin, you should drop this. It’s insanity. Look at him; he is the Duke of Grafton. He is not a vampire.”
“I—”
“No, we’re leaving.” She slashed her fan through the air. “I will take you home. You need to get over this, it isn’t healthy. And you must stop reading those lurid novels you so like. Clearly, they are unbalancing you.”
“But―”
“If you don’t stop, I will tell our grandmother.” Meredith looked serious.
Robin swallowed. “All right.”
As Meredith pulled Robin through the crowd, she was drawn close to the Duke’s side. He was even paler upon closer inspection. Her eyes met his for a brief moment, amusement in their glinting black depths. Then she was jostled and her reticule knocked; she had to concentrate on keeping her balance and when she looked back, the Duke had moved.
The Next Day
“See!” Robin hissed.
Meredith sat next to her in the drawing room, embroidery on her lap. She glanced at her cousin and raised both eyebrows.
“What?”
“This!” Robin pushed her glasses back up her nose and thrust the note into Merry’s lap.
Meredith read over the simple sentence with pursed lips. “What is this?”
“Read it out.”
“It says, ‘I know you’re watching me ― G’.”
“It was him!” Robin cried.
“Who?”
“The Duke.”
Meredith laughed, but it sounded forced. “Well, it could be anyone.”
“Who else have I been watching?”
“I don’t know.” Merry frowned. “Who else?”
Robin blinked twice. “No one.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In my reticule.”
“In your reticule.” Doubt laced her words.
“Yes, I found it last night, after we left the ball.”
“But you didn’t even speak to the Duke.”
“No, but as I walked past him, someone bumped me,” Robin said.
“He would have had to move unnaturally fast in order to put that inside your reticule.”
Robin smiled. “Exactly.”
Meredith held the small piece of folded paper out to her. “I don’t know how to explain this, but you should forget about it. Maybe someone is just playing a joke on you.”
“I find that extremely odd.”
Merry picked her embroidery up and began sewing. “So is thinking the Duke of Grafton is a vampire.”
Three Weeks Later
Robin tried to let it go, she really did. She stopped staring publicly at the Duke, and Merry stopped hovering over her at the musicals, balls, and parties.
But she hadn’t been able to forget about it. He was just so…vampirish.
That was why she had decided to sneak down the darkly lit hallway of the Earl of March’s townhouse. She’d told her cousin she had to visit the retiring room, but in fact, she trailed in the wake of the Duke and his latest lover, the Countess of Hughesdale.
You’re being crazy, she told herself, but she couldn’t force her feet to turn around and take her back to the musical. As she neared the end of the hallway, she heard the low murmur of the Duke’s voice. Silently, she peered around the conservatory door.
The Duke and Countess were locked in an ardent embrace, and it should have embarrassed her to watch it. She could see the Duke raining kisses over the Countess and down towards her slender neck. Once he reached it, he paused, and then she could hear wet, slurping sounds.
Oh no, Robin thought, her hand rising to cover her mouth, he’s feeding off her in front of me. She wanted to call out, to shout, but she was frozen. Grafton pulled away in less than a minute. He murmured softly, and then the Countess turned and started walking back towards the hall.
Robin looked around for an escape, but there was nowhere to go. Heart already fit to burst with embarrassment and fear, she nearly collapsed when the Countess walked past her without even noticing that Robin was there.
Palm over her heart, Robin made to follow the woman, but was forestalled by a hand on her arm. Stomach roiling, her eyes traced over the gloved hand restraining her before following it up to the shoulder of the Duke of Grafton. Reluctantly, she raised her gaze to take in his face.
He fixed her with a stony look, and he was even more beautiful in the dim light than he had been earlier in the evening, when she’d first laid eyes on him.
“You’re spying on me again.” His voice was deep, musical, and it would have sent a shudder of pleasure down her spine — if she wasn’t so terrified that he was going to murder her.
His grip tightened. “Why were you following me?”
Robin’s tongue felt like lead. “I—uh—”
He let go of her arm and made a clucking noise. “You’re simple, aren’t you?”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. “No!”
“Then why are you following me? Staring at me?” He waved an arm.
Anger burned through the fear. “A bit egotistical, aren’t you? Who’s to say I wasn’t on my way here for another purpose altogether?”
“And what would you be doing here? A lovers’ tryst?”
The derision in his voice hit her with the force of a punch. Tears welled unbidden. “Oh, that’s nice. Pick on the chubby ginger haired girl because clearly no one would ever want to have an assignation with her.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that.
Something softened in his black gaze. “You aren’t chubby.”
She noticed he didn’t deny the ginger part, but that would have been hard to do without making a ridiculous liar out of himself.
His face hardened again. “You were following me. You will tell me why.”
“No.” It was the best she could do.
His eyes bore into hers and she could hear his teeth grinding. Low, grating, his voice was filled with irritation. “What’s wrong with you?”
It all hit her then, how she was following someone she suspected of being a vampire…how she had stalked him for weeks and was now alone with him. “I don’t know!” She couldn’t stop the tears this time, and they poured down her cheeks in a flood of humiliation. She brushed them away with her fists.
“Come here,” he took hold of her arm again and pulled her into the conservatory, where he sat her down at a window seat. Moonlight filtered through the glass and bathed her in a cool glow. She hiccoughed and stared in misery at her lap. A handkerchief was thrust in front of her. She ignored it.
“Take it.” The handkerchief wiggled in the air.
“I’m okay,” she gulped.
She heard a sigh and then firm fingers touched her chin, tilting her face upwards. The Duke wiped her cheeks with the cloth like she was a child. She snatched it from him and finished cleaning her face.
“You,” he said with deliberate slowness, “are fit for Bedlam.”
Robin gave a watery laugh. “I know.”
“Will you tell me now why you were following me?”
“You are so egotistical—”
He sat down on the seat next to her, forcing her to make room for him. “The truth, please.”
“I think you’re a vampire.” Horrified, she covered her mouth with her hands and stared at him.
He laughed. “I wondered how long it would take you to admit it.”
“You mean you knew?”
He smirked and it transformed his face; made him appear young, more…human. “I heard you at Richmond’s ball.”
“You heard―?”
He tilted his head to the side like a bird. “You didn’t think I’d have super hearing amongst my wondrous vampiric traits?”
“Uh, I hadn’t really thought much about those aspects.” Then her eyes widened. “You mean you are a vampire?”
The Duke started shaking his head. “You mean you didn’t really know?”
“Oh, lord.” She was breathing fast. “Oh, lord.”
“So what are you going to do now you know?”
“Do?” Robin blinked at him in confusion. “I’m not going to do anything.”
He tilted his head again. “Why not?”
“There’s nothing to do. No one would believe me. Meredith didn’t.”
He smiled then, showing his teeth. It made her inch back on the chair, but he leaned forward. “Your cousin had a little help…disbelieving.”
“You bit her?”
He raised an eyebrow. “No, I dazzled her into thinking I’m human.”
“Dazzled?”
“Hypnotized?”
“Ahh.” But she wasn’t sure she really understood.
“It didn’t work on you.”
“What didn’t?”
“Hypnosis.”
“So that’s why you’re telling me what you are?” Robin asked.
“I didn’t think you’d stop following me, otherwise,” he said.
“Oh.” Robin frowned. “You should stop killing those girls.”
“I should what?”
“Those girls, the ones in the slums. You should stop killing them.”
He drew back, appearing affronted like only a Duke could. “I’m not!”
“But they were found drained of blood.” Robin nibbled her lip.
“I’m not the only vampire in London,” he said, gently.
“Oh.” She stared at his mouth. “You ah, missed a bit.” She touched the corner of her lip.
He pulled off his glove and rubbed the side of his mouth, then stared down at the red stain on his fingers. He licked them clean. He leant forward, his face only inches from hers. “Better?”
“Robin! Robin! Oh, there you—” Meredith skidded to a halt, eyes flicking from Robin to the Duke and back again, “—are.”
Aunt Margaret’s voice echoed loud in the room as she came around the corner. “Meredith! Have you found her?”
Robin groaned. The Duke looked at her.
Her Aunt’s voice rose an octave. “Robin Mercedes Foley!”
“Yes, Aunt?” Robin tried not to cower against the window.
“What on earth are you doing?!” Her Aunt came to a standstill in front of her, chest heaving with anger.
The Duke rose quickly. “Mrs. Foley? May I introduce myself? I am Grafton.”
“I know who you are,” she snapped, which earned a gasp from Meredith. “What are you doing alone with my niece?”
Oh no, Robin thought. No. She is not going to do this.
“I was merely conversing with her, she was upset and I offered a friendly shoulder.” He held up the used handkerchief in a smooth gesture.
Her Aunt’s bosom heaved dangerously. “I’m sure you tried to offer her a lot more than that!”
Both Robin and Meredith gasped. “He did not!” Robin protested.
“You’ve ruined her.” Her aunt seethed.
Robin stared at her, wide-eyed.
“No, I didn’t.” That deep voice was smooth, magical. Robin watched the Duke. So that’s what he meant by dazzling, she thought. Meredith’s eyes had a glazed look to them, but Aunt Margaret still glowered. “When word of this gets out—”
“Word won’t get out, will it, Miss Foley? Miss Kinnaird?” Both girls shook their heads, Meredith because she was hypnotized, Robin because she didn’t want to be ‘ruined’ by a vampire.
Aunt Margaret spoke through clenched teeth. “Word gets out, it always does.”
The Duke frowned. He flicked an irritated glance at Robin. Aunt Margaret’s resistant too, Robin realized.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I shall certainly do the right thing.”
The right thing? Oh no. He’s a vampire. Robin tried to slide off the seat and run to safety. She didn’t care that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, blood was his idea of an ‘after dinner snack’.
“Miss Foley,” the Duke said, taking her limp hand in his cool grasp, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Amanda Pillar is a speculative fiction author and editor who lives in Victoria, Australia, with her partner and two children, Saxon and Lilith, Burmese cats. She has had numerous short stories published and is the award-winning in-house editor for Morrigan Books. Amanda has co-edited the fiction anthologies, Voices (2008), Grants Pass (2009), The Phantom Queen Awakes (2010) and Scenes from the Second Storey (2010).
In her free time, she plans on becoming the next Indiana Jones.
© 2010 All rights reserved Amanda Pillar
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