“If you hadn't been so inconsiderate as to eat the bride at the last gathering, you would be able to come with me, Angelus,” Darla said, gesturing to Drusilla to hurry at her task. Winding the strings of pearls into Darla's complex coiffure was far from simple, and the girl's nervous fingers made Darla wince in pain.
William watched from the corner, already enduring the fashionable clothing Darla had secured for him for the evening's soiree. The collar, more highly starched than mother had ever managed to achieve, pressed into his chin most uncomfortably and the trousers clung in such a way that he felt like a prize fighting cock.
“So, you'll be taking the boy. And how far d'you think you'll get with him hanging from your petticoats?” Angelus paused mid-stride and cast himself to his knees at Darla's side. “You need a real man, my lovely, not a jumped up clerk playing the gentleman.”
“I was never a clerk!” William protested and then flinched as Angelus' gaze flickered in his direction. He should know better, but, so soon since his rebirth, he was still adjusting to Angelus' rule about children being seen and not heard.
“The boy will perform beautifully, won't you, William.” Darla turned to look at him and William felt a flush creep up his cheeks. She really was a beauty, like a porcelain doll, and she treated him with such cordiality that he had, on occasion, found himself wishing Darla had been the one to turn him.
“I will do my utmost to please you, madam,” he answered with a courtly bow. And kept his head lowered when the others burst into laughter.
“You see, Angelus. William will make an excellent escort. Unlike yourself, good manners come to him naturally.”
“It wasn't my manners you were after when you chose me though, was it.”
A low moan followed the rustle of taffeta and then the sharp sound of a slap. “Enough, you wicked wretch. The line of my gown will be completely spoiled and there is no time to start again.”
**
“The woman in the corner, sitting alone. Do you see her?”
William followed Darla's line of sight and spotted a dark haired aristocratic looking lady seated primly on a chaise longue. He nodded and turned back to Darla. “Who is she?”
“That, my dear boy, is the Dowager Duchess of Portland and tonight,” Darla inclined her head toward a gaggle of young men, “I will be giving her son, the Duke, an experience he may well never recover from.”
A lascivious smile crept over her face. William's answering grin and knowingly raised eyebrow indicated his enthusiastic anticipation for whatever Darla had in store. It surely wouldn't be pleasant, for the Duke at least
“Your task is to keep the interfering old bat out of my way. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Shooting another quick look at the duchess, William swallowed heavily. “H-how?” he stammered, his self-confidence draining away at the prospect of entertaining a woman old enough to be his mother...
“I would suggest you seduce her.”
While the suggestion was far from unexpected, William supposed he must have momentarily gasped, and quite possible gaped, because Darla's eyes immediately twinkled with merriment.
“Do not be misled by her proper demeanour,” she said, tapping him on the nose with her fan. “Gossip has it that she takes a new lover at least once a month and has done so since she put her elderly husband in the ground ten years ago.”
“She does?” Surely such a demure looking creature would never... Glancing over, William suddenly found himself staring into smouldering black eyes. His shaft twitched as the duchess' gaze worked its way slowly down his body, lingering in places most inappropriate for such a lady. She may be past her prime, but she was still a rare beauty. Her hair, piled high on her head, emphasised the delicate line of her neck and led the eye directly down to her gauze clad décolletage, beneath which William could see the faintest hint of blue veins tracing through pale skin. Truly a magnificent exemplar of womankind.
“I, erm,” he stuttered again.
“Simply smile at her, boy. And try not to drool. She may be a little harlot but that would put any woman off.”
With that Darla swept away intent on her own prize. William watched as she insinuated herself into the small group of men and proceeded to flatter and flutter until she was the absolute centre of their attention.
When he could put it off no longer, he returned to looking at his own employment for the evening.
This was too awful for words. Darla expected him to seduce a ranking member of the British aristocracy in public? The dowager duchess may well be in possession of the most dubious virtue on the planet but even that did nothing to convince William that he was capable of such a feat.
Terror cramped in his chest as the duchess smiled at him, her gaze burning down his body once again.
He had to speak to her. He had to attempt at least that much.
Swallowing down as many nerves as he could possibly stomach, William set off across the room hoping and praying he managed to avoid tripping over his feet. Memories of the last time he approached a woman at a party jostled for position with his new found and, oh-so-fragile, confidence and he did his best to bring every ounce of what it was that made him a vampire to the fore.
“Your grace,” he said as he stopped in front of her, ducking his head in a short bow. “Please forgive the presumption but I could not help noticing you were alone and for such a flower, t'would be like keeping it shut away from the sun.”
“What a sweet boy,” the duchess replied from behind her fan and patted the seat next to her, “And so considerate. Take a seat and tell me all about yourself, for I do declare, I have not seen you before this night and I always remember a pretty face.”
**
“I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry,” William pleaded as he followed Darla's retreating figure up the stairs. “I told you I couldn't do it and-”
Darla paused and swung round, her face set in stony disapproval. “The woman is a world renowned strumpet. There's not a man in London who has not been invited into her bed and yet you still failed to distract her for one short evening. You are a failure, William. As a vampire, as my companion, and most of all, as a man.”
“Please, Darla.” William scrambled after her as she continued up the stairs in a disgruntlement of bustling silk and stamping boots. He felt close to tears; the entire evening had been nothing but a nightmare of epic proportions and there had to be something he could do to make things better, there simply had to be. “She-she,” the rest came out in a gush of words he could no more have prevented than his need for blood. “She was so beautiful and she said she loved poetry and all I could think was to compose something that would make her see me as more than a small entertainment for the night and-”
“William, you were a small entertainment for the night. What made you think you could possibly be more?”
“She smiled at me.”
Darla stopped so suddenly that William nearly ran into her. He backed away, apologising for what had to be the hundredth time that evening and then the words died on his lips. She had turned towards him and her face was radiant, sweet, lovely.
“Oh my darling boy, of course I forgive you,” she purred, pressing her body against him.
Confused by this unwarranted change of mood, William frowned and took a step back, only to have her follow and, grabbing his coat, rub herself against him like a rather affectionate cat.
“I had simply forgotten how very young you are,” she continued, gazing up at him with eyes luminous behind fluttering painted lashes. “And I have behaved quite unforgivably. Come, let me make amends.”
She took his hand and, in something of a daze, William followed her into the forbidden recesses of her boudoir.
Her bed was softer than his own, he registered somewhat hazily as she pushed him back onto it and, moments later when she joined him, he fancied also that her naked skin felt like the finest cotton.
“Poor, William, such a darling innocent boy.” Darla's murmured words buzzed onto his lips as she leaned over him and breasts, fuller than Dru's, filled his hands, the nipples hardening against his palms and sending shivers though him from scalp to toes.
“Not innocent,” he protested and then gasped as she ground her pelvis down against him. Drusilla was never so forward; their love-making verging on chaste by comparison to this wantonness. Not that he minded. In fact the entire experience was more than slightly arousing.
The next words were spoken directly onto his tongue, carried on a puff of hot breath. “Kiss me, sweet William. Take my body and make me yours alone.”
Lord, it was more than any man should be expected to endure. Her quim pressed to his groin and slid across his shaft and William moaned, thrusting up and protesting his continued restraint behind coarse cloth. Then their lips met and he was unable to do more than lose himself in devouring that delicious mouth.
As they kissed, Darla's hands worked between them plucking open his trousers and freeing his erection. Her fingers wrapped around him, flexing in time with their tongues, her sharp nails scratching and scraping until William could bear it no more.
Clutching at her arms he pushed her away, gasping, “Please, stop, I-I can't...”
“Yes, you can, my darling,” she answered, releasing him anyway. She rolled over and spread her legs, one hand stroking her belly and thighs as the other worked in and out of her cunny. “You can wait until you're inside me, William. Now remove those clothes and make yourself useful.”
The sight of her, wet and wanting - wanting him - made William's blood burn. He shed his clothing and threw himself on her, muttering a protest when she pushed him down level with her busy fingers.
“Use your tongue, boy,” she commanded. “Please me and I shall ride you like the unbroken stallion you are.”
Time ceased to have much meaning for William after that. He rode the currents of arousal bringing Darla to completion as many times as she demanded, penetrating her with fingers and tongue until his face was wet and his head reeled with woman-scent.
Only when she was ready did Darla free him from this chore, pushing him over on his back and straddling his body. As she took him in, William gazed in awe at the chilly beauty of her face. Gone was the kittenish woman who had lured him into bed, now Darla stared down at him, arrogant and pure, the snow queen of legend, gracious in her dominion. Eyes like ice. A gaze like tempered steel. Despite her exertions, not a strand of hair fell out of place and not a hint of humanity tainted her skin. He worshipped her. Would live again or die for her. Would walk out into the dawn and watch the sunrise if she commanded it. So long as she continued to move just...like...that.
Her hands crushed his wrists, nails scratching up beads of blood, and her thighs pinned him to the bed. And she was speaking. To him.
William blinked at her, watching her mouth move and searched his lust-addled mind for meaning.
“Not a word of poetry has left your lips these past three hours,” she was saying, “only the moans and cries I myself have extracted. What, then, is the purpose of poetry in seduction? Tell it to me. Rhyme me a rhyme, William, and make me thine.”
She wanted him to recite poetry? At a time like this? When his balls were tender rocks between his legs and his cock a burning rod of desperation?
“I-I,” he stuttered through lips dryer than he could ever remember.
“Speak up, boy,” she purred and her pink slip of a tongue darted out to chase beads of moisture from her top lip.
William stared at it, captivated, until her quim clenched to remind him of her order. “It was nothing but a short d-ditty.”
“Tell me.”
Her tone brooked no argument and, anyway, William was in no position to do more than assemble what was left of his thoughts and try to remember the hideous doggerel he had spouted at the duchess in the heat of the moment.
Everything had been going well. They were in the hallway, hidden in a secluded corner, the duchess' arms around his neck, her body pressed against him, but then it occurred to him that at any moment one of the servants could discover them. He'd panicked, tearing himself away and gabbling out the words in the hopes that she would stop molesting him.
“Your hair, a scalding sheet of fire,
Your eyes, like garnets, dark and dire.
Your lips, a blushing ruby red,
Your pallor paler than the dead...”
William bit back the rest of the poem and blushed as Darla collapsed in hysterical laughter, her fists pounding on his chest.
Damn that all consuming need to rhyme. He'd told the woman she looked like a corpse, which was all well and good for a vampire but not so complimentary for a dowager duchess fighting off the ravages of time. No wonder the woman had stalked away in disgust and removed herself and her son so pre-emptively from the party. Darla was right, he was a complete failure.
He squirmed away, his ardour cooling in the icy blast of Darla's mockery. This was worse than Cecily. At least then he'd been offered the opportunity to start again. There was no such option open to him now.
He got as far as the door before Darla stopped him with a hand on his arm. He turned, snapping angrily. “If you wish to tell me I am still a failure, do not trouble yourself. I already know.”
“William,” she said, “listen to me. Whatever you may have been in your past life, it is time to put that away. If you do not, then Angelus will take it upon himself to see that you do, and believe me, you will not find his methods agreeable.”
Her laughter was entirely gone now, and she took his hand leading him back towards the bed. William followed, stumbling over his feet.
“Like most men,” she continued, “you can be lead around by your prick. Poetry was the last thing on your mind when you were inside me, am I right? And women are no different.”
William tried to protest. Surely it was unseemly for a woman to enjoy fornication the way... Well, the way Darla obviously did.
She over spoke him, sitting back on the bed and pulling him forward. “When you have lived as long as I, you will understand that the way to a woman's heart is through here.” She pressed his hand between her legs.
William moaned, his body rising again at the promise offered.
“Words are nothing. An oath can be spoken today and broken tomorrow. Humans know this and yet still they play their pitiable word games. This,” his hand slid against her heat, “does not lie,” as hers stroked him to full hardness.
“That is how we seduce, William. With our bodies. By offering all, we collect all. Male, female, it makes no difference. It is all lust, all blood. Listen to the language your body speaks and forget the words; they will come back to you, if you have need of them.
She lay back, tugging him down and cradling him in her hips. “This is how we earn our daily bread, how we trespass against purity, how we tempt, how we corrupt.”
With a gasp, William entered her once again. She caught him around the waist, holding him fast with her thighs and said, “It is our kingdom, William. If you are willing to take it.”
Could he? It would mean turning his back on everything he thought he knew. It would mean not being William the Bloody Awful Poet, but William the Bloody.
Grasping her calves, William disentangled and lifted them, thrusting deep and deeper still. And, as he leaned forward to claim that beautiful, impious mouth, he snarled through his fangs, “Forever and ever, amen.”
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