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Fire Angel

ISBN 9781419914959
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Fire Angel Copyright © 2008 Beth Kery

Edited by Ann Leveille.
Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication March 2008

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

F

IRE

A

NGEL

Beth Kery

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this to M.D.H., who has his own sort of magic,

and to every person who has ever wondered what’s on the other side of the veil.

Page of Wands

The virgin priestess of the fires of spring; the Secret Flame into which all things

Return

—Pamela Eakins, from Tarot of the Spirit
The cards of the tarot deck incorporate multiple symbols and archetypes, making

them powerful, concise tools for bringing that which is unconscious, and therefore
unknown, into conscious awareness.

The character of the heroine of Fire Angel, Serafina Grovenor, is based on the tarot

card of the Page of Wands. This card represents a balance with the natural flow of the
universe as it incorporates all of the diverse energies of fire, earth, water and wind.

Wands are the suit of fire in the Tarot. Think of the image of the magician with his

wand which focuses fiery energy. Fire is the suit of spirit, creativity, dynamism and
discovery. When out of balance the energy of fire and spirit can be uncontrollable,
burning everything in its path. However the Page of Wands is also a powerful earth
symbol. The volatile passions of fire are grounded by earth, making the Page of Wands
balanced and harmonious, a symbol of right, just action.

In many esoteric systems the Page in the card deck is represented as a young, bare-

breasted woman and is called the Princess of Wands. It might be helpful to think of the
“face” cards in the terms of a family. So for instance the King of a suit is the father, the
Queen of a suit the mother, the Prince of a suit the brother and the Princess of a suit the
sister. As an example, the Queen of Fire combines the masculine elements of fire with
the receptive, intuitive energies of the feminine element of water. The Princess of
Wands is the perfect combination of the elements of her powerful father’s fire, mother’s
water and brother’s air—the final, balanced manifestation of their energies on the
earthly plane.

Like Serafina Grovenor, who can channel spirits, the Princess of Wands is a divine

priestess who brings tidings from strange, unknown worlds. She is both calm and
tranquil and naturally aggressive. Serafina can manipulate fire and controls it perfectly
to suit her will.

Serafina, like the Princess of Wands, is a fierce warrior when those whom she loves

are threatened. As Robert Wang wrote in The Golden Dawn Tarot, “Woe unto whomever
shall make war upon her…”

Fire Angel

Chapter One

London, 1897

Dr. Vincent Devonald, Lord Rashleigh, shifted uncomfortably in the tufted Queen

Anne chair. Lady Fordham’s drawing room was crowded and stuffy, his body was too
large for the delicate chair…and damn it all to hell, he hated these spiritualist gatherings.
Thanks to his deceased wife and her lover, Vincent had learned to despise the spectacle
of ghostly raps, spinning tables and past-life revelations whereby everyone had either
been once a king, an unacknowledged genius, a long-forgotten deity—or more than
likely all of the above.

Along with his good friend Austin Howe, Vincent had successfully debunked four

supposedly miraculous spiritualist mediums. Abercrombie Myer’s sham had been fully
brought to light when Austin stormed the near pitch-black interior of that erstwhile
clergyman’s parlor with two brightly lit lanterns. Mr. Myer’s fifteen loyal followers
were highly shocked and dismayed to see the spirit medium’s humble wife blowing
madly into an extension of a trumpet, making the lit portion at the end appear to float
and magically toot in the dark room.

Apparently a good portion of humanity was convinced that disembodied spirits

would desire to prove their existence in this singular manner.

Two of the four mediums that Vincent and Austin had debunked were proved to be

bribing servants of known séance participants and even having accomplices break into
participants’ homes in order to gather personal, “secret” information which could later
be miraculously revealed.

The fourth case had involved a truly enterprising medium by the name of Priscilla

Vanderbilt. Priscilla kept her female clients returning by making predictions that
stroked their egos. She ensured their husbands shelled out the admission fee again and
again by hiring a woman to stroke and suck their cocks in the inky darkness. These
stalwart gentlemen were very eager to participate since Ms. Vanderbilt regularly
summoned such a delightfully lascivious succubus from the ghostly realms.

Vincent would likely never forget the hilarious expression on Austin’s boyish

features when he’d clambered into the pitch-black room holding two blazing lanterns
on that occasion. Nor would Lady Chamberlain ever be likely to purge from her
memory the image of her husband’s ecstatic expression at having his saliva-slick pride
and joy pumped in the very capable-looking hand of a woman who had been sixty-five
years old if she was a day.

Ah, the fantasies darkness conjured and the sins it concealed.
God save him from such idiocy, Vincent thought with a scowl. Unfortunately

despite his efforts at trying to protect London society from those who were attempting

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Beth Kery

to fleece it blind, spiritualism was perhaps at its height of popularity. People would
sacrifice all manner of things, including basic good sense, for the belief that their loved
ones—and themselves, for that matter—would continue to exist beyond the “veil”.

He fingered the tarot card in the inside pocket of his vest. It was poor reassurance,

seeming as insubstantial and ridiculous as the rest of the spiritualist-induced hysteria
that had gripped London ever since Serafina Grovenor, the famous American medium,
had arrived.

Still, there was that name…Grovenor. And wasn’t this exactly the type of shady

occult business in which his old nemesis Richard Grovenor would embroil himself?

It was a puzzle, no doubt of it. Who could have sent him the tarot card along with

the hastily scrawled, enigmatic message?

Your assistance is required in a manner which has long troubled you.
Nothing else. Nothing except the single tarot card depicting a beautiful, bare-

breasted, red-haired young woman, one hand holding a flaming thick branch and the
other placed on the head of a silver-eyed wolf.

The Page of Wands—or as Vincent knew it was also referred to in occult circles, the

Princess of Fire.

Who else could the card supposedly be referring to but Serafina Grovenor?
Even though Vincent had been unofficially titled the Lord of Exposure when it

came to the trickery associated with parlor séances and the like, he certainly didn’t
invite association with the occult circle. Nor were the members of it anything but chilly
toward him and his known skeptical, materialist stance. Despite the fact that he
disdained such associations Vincent couldn’t help but be aware of the hysteria and
excitement that the beautiful young medium created with her arrival in London. The
lines to get into her public showings at McNairy Auditorium had for three nights in a
row stretched around the block, and twice as many people had been turned away as
those who were able to purchase tickets.

The Times had made such rapturous descriptions of the young woman’s purity of

spirit and her erudite yet perfectly comprehensible speeches in regard to the most
complex topics while under trance that Vincent wondered irritably whether the twenty-
year-old uneducated medium would be first offered the title of Saint or Prime Minister
of England.

Surely the queen’s randy son would be eager to offer the latter, Vincent thought

with a barely repressed burst of frustrated laughter.

But not just Serafina Grovenor’s eerily sophisticated lectures on diverse topics of

science, religion and philosophy made headlines. No, Miss Grovenor supposedly
possessed a truly singular occult talent—the ability to create and manipulate fire.

The theater could hold up nothing to the spectacle of this girl, Vincent thought

wryly as two young, obviously excited rakes filed into the chairs down the aisle from
him.

6

Fire Angel

“What are you doing here, Rashleigh?” Phillip Crakall asked when he saw Vincent.

“You will never expose Samael Grovenor. He is a true adept and the chosen magical
authority on the physical plane. He has more power in the tip of his pinky finger than
you could ever hope to imagine. And if you’re here to unmask his ripe young daughter
think again. I will have the honor of doing that unveiling,” he said with a smirk as he
slouched into his chair.

Hugh Jasper laughed snidely and joined his companion.
Vincent studied the pair with a heavy-lidded expression of cold impassivity as they

whispered together and unsuccessfully suppressed their laughter. They were well past
the point of merely being tipsy. Vincent knew, as did practically everyone in London,
that Crakall and his sidekick Jasper were legends in their own minds in regard to their
drinking, whoring and hell-raising activities. Like so many obnoxious twenty-two-year-
olds throughout history they proudly believed they were the first to thumb their noses
at society in such a flagrant manner.

But what had made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck bristle were

Crakall’s references to Samael Grovenor and magic.

Well, he wouldn’t have long to wait in order to find out if Samael and Richard

Grovenor were one and the same man.

Before he had the chance to respond to Crakall’s enigmatic, inebriated comments a

familiar voice spoke in a low tone from the opposite side of him.

“Yes, do tell, Vince. I understand that Miss Grovenor supplies her own source of

light to the proceedings so I hardly think lantern-bearing finales will be needed in order
to illuminate a scam. So what exactly are we doing here?” Austin Howe queried as he
sat down next to Vincent.

“I’m here on a tip and you’re here because Alice Fordham would never have

granted me an invitation otherwise, godless skeptic that I am. I wouldn’t be surprised if
she called forth my mother’s ghost this evening to scold me for my heathen ways. But
there isn’t a fussy old bird in all of London society that can resist your baby blues,
Austin,” Vincent added with a slight curve of his hard yet artfully sculpted mouth.

He quickly took in his good friend’s mussed blond hair, haphazardly elegant

grooming and perpetually youthful face. He shook his head in wry amusement as he
faced the front of the room and the raised platform. Austin and he had been born
within one month of each other thirty-seven years before. How his friend managed to
remain looking exactly the same as when they were undergraduates together at
Cambridge was the true mystery here.

The lights dimmed in the crowded parlor.
“I can’t say I’m sorry that you made the request,” Austin whispered with his typical

good-natured enthusiasm. “If one-tenth of what I hear about this young woman is true
we’re in for a treat indeed.”

“If one-tenth of what they say about this young woman is true then we’re about to

witness a miracle of the same magnitude as the Second Coming,” Vincent growled.

7

Beth Kery

A woman in front of them wearing a hat with large ostrich plumes turned and

scowled indignantly at them, feathers quivering. Austin smiled charmingly in return.
Vincent was too preoccupied to even notice.

Meanwhile Lady Fordham dramatically introduced, “The renowned American

medium, Miss Serafina Grovenor, and her equally gifted mesmerist father, Mr. Samael
Grovenor.”

Vincent barely registered Lady Fordham’s trembling voice or the applause that

followed. The tall, dashing man who led the veiled young woman up the stairs onto the
platform was most definitely Richard Grovenor, the very same man that Vincent firmly
believed was responsible for the death of his wife Susan and the disappearance of his
daughter Melissa. Not that he’d ever been able to entirely convince Scotland Yard of
that.

His gray eyes narrowed hungrily on the back of the slender figure of Serafina

Grovenor. If Melissa was still alive she would be thirteen years old next month.

“Would you take a look at that,” Phillip Crakall breathed out in stunned lust a few

seconds later.

Vincent’s legs tensed in preparation to stand up and clobber the lascivious, drunken

rotter when what Crakall referred to finally penetrated his brain.

The female that Richard Grovenor had just seated on the platform was no twelve-

year-old child. She was a woman. Young, perhaps, and tender.

But a full-grown woman nonetheless.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Austin whispered, his eyes never leaving the vision on the

stage.

Vincent frowned and responded succinctly through clenched jaws.
“Pure of spirit, my ass.”
Granted, Miss Grovenor wore a black veil that obscured all of her face upward from

the bottom of her nose. And her black wool jersey dress was more modest than most
Vincent had seen on young women of a similar age. But Richard was up to his old tricks
to be sure because Vincent had never known that such a small amount of exposed skin
could be so thoroughly captivating. The color of that radiant skin was a uniform ivory
with the faintest tint of peach. Her red, full lips created a shocking contrast to it.

But the most obvious reason for both Phillip Crakall’s and his own terse

exclamations was the young woman’s bosom. Her dress hugged the fullness of her
breasts enticingly and the merest hint of creamy, firm flesh swelled over the curved
neckline.

The girl must have been a natural actress because the modest strand of pearls that

surrounded her slender neck was a stroke of genius. Perhaps they suggested “purity” to
some but to Vincent they hinted at a vulnerability that conveyed a potent, almost
electrical jolt of sexual excitement.

Or at least that was the way it felt to his unprepared loins.

8

Fire Angel

It irritated him that he and Phillip Crakall agreed on any topic, let alone this one.
He watched tensely as Lady Fordham conferred with Richard Grovenor while

Serafina sat still as a statue. Lady Fordham nodded toward the front row of seats, which
were occupied by four individuals. One of them, a balding man who Vincent
recognized as being a member of the Society for Psychical Research and a regular
attendee at other séances that he and Austin had investigated, waved to Grovenor in
silent acknowledgement.

Samael Grovenor began to address the room full of people in a deep, compelling

voice.

“I bid you all a good evening. We human beings typically consist of a mass of

undisciplined emotions and random thoughts which take the center stage at any given
time only to be swept away in the next moment by a selfish desire or a carnal impulse.
It is only the rarest type of person that God makes worthy of being a true vessel for the
most wise and pure of entities upon the spirit plane. You see here before you—this
young woman—such an individual.”

“As many of you already have learned from our previous demonstrations, an

impartial committee will presently choose a random topic for Triumphe, the control
that directs my daughter’s spirit channels, to expand and lecture upon in great detail. I
must make it abundantly clear to those of you who are novices to these miraculous
displays that the only education that Serafina has ever received was that taught to her
by the crudest of country schools and her humble mother until she began to show the
extraordinary gift of being able to channel the wisdom of spirits at the age of thirteen.”

“Nevertheless, as you will soon see, Serafina will expound in breathtaking detail on

the most complex of technical, scientific and philosophical topics, showing more
breadth and depth of knowledge than even the most learned experts in these fields,
something that has repeatedly been affirmed even by those same expert scholars. This
in and of itself would be miraculous enough but Serafina, through the grace of the
divine spirits and God himself, is able to do the same on any topic presented for her
discourse. This will be made obvious by the use of an impartial committee that will
choose the topic among themselves presently, with no prior discussion.”

Samael Grovenor paused dramatically, his near-black eyes wandering slowly across

the spellbound faces in the room. “And as you will soon see, the spirits have singled out
this young woman in yet another miraculous manner.”

“Is your panel ready to choose a topic, Mr. Bowen?” Samael asked imperiously.
“We will confer,” Mr. Bowen declared with a bow from the front row.
Samael nodded once and turned toward Serafina. He paused when a commanding

voice called out to him from the audience.

“If your panel was truly impartial, Samael, wouldn’t it be comprised of at least one

individual who was not a fervent adherent to spiritualism but instead a healthy
skeptic?”

9

Beth Kery

The crowd rustled as it turned to locate the one responsible for such rudeness. Most

of the occupants of the room didn’t seem pleased when they saw the tall, imposing
figure of Lord Rashleigh standing in the next to the last row but they certainly didn’t
seem surprised.

Samael studied the man impassively over his shoulder for a long moment before he

turned to face him.

“And I see that there is just such an individual in the audience,” he said coldly. His

face suddenly broke into a charming grin. “If it isn’t my old classmate from Cambridge,
Lord Rashleigh. I see you’re up to your old tricks, my friend.”

“That’s supposed to be my line, Grovenor,” Vincent replied as he made his way out

to the aisle, completely oblivious to Crakall’s glowering disapproval as he flung a long
leg over his knees.

The hostess, Lady Fordham, glanced anxiously from a frowning Rashleigh to a

beaming Samael Grovenor and back to the glowering baron. She was irritated at
Rashleigh for interrupting her affair with his gloomy Darwinian pessimism—how dare
he?—but even she had to admit the spectacle was fascinating. Both men were magnetic,
not to mention devastatingly handsome…and seemingly the inverse of each other.

While Rashleigh was dark and soberly dressed, Grovenor was fair-haired, fair-

skinned and theatrically if not flamboyantly attired. There was something about the
Lady Rashleigh’s only son that Lady Fordham had always found compelling and she
knew she wasn’t the only female in London who thought the same. She supposed it was
a natural athleticism that conferred him with an almost animallike grace and confidence
of movement.

The baron’s face was arresting in its stark masculine appeal but he was no pretty

boy. He had been a champion pugilist while at Cambridge and continued to box at his
club to keep in shape. His broad shoulders, flat stomach and trim hips were a testament
to that. He had broken his nose years ago in a fight. The fact that there was still a slight
bump in it only added to his rugged sexuality.

Samael Grovenor’s face on the other hand looked like it had been carved by God’s

own hand. Lady Fordham wondered repeatedly how it could manage to look amply
masculine and still be the image of harmonious perfection. To add further to the
interesting contrasts of the two men, although Vincent was dark his eyes were a
compelling, light, silvery-gray color while Grovenor’s were a liquid black that gave the
impression of inky blackness against his fair skin.

Rashleigh may be ruining her affair with his domineering, materialist views but at

least every lady in the room was thoroughly captivated by the spectacle of the two men.

“Well, perhaps now is not the moment to catch up on old times,” Grovenor said

with an affected laugh. “And I assure you that skeptics are more than welcome to
participate, Lord Rashleigh. Please, be my guest,” he waved his hand elegantly at the
front row of bristling spiritualists.

10

Fire Angel

Vincent’s jaw hardened as he caught Grovenor’s eyes and held his stare. “I will take

you up on your offer, Grovenor.” The blond man nodded once condescendingly. “And
afterward there will be time enough to catch up on old times, right, old friend?” Vincent
added in a tone as steely as his gaze.

“Of course, I look forward to it,” Samael said smoothly. “Now if you will join these

fine people in order to choose a topic then—”

“Triumphe indicates that he wants Lord Rashleigh to be the one to ask the

question.”

Vincent noticed the subtle tightening of anger that shadowed Grovenor’s face at the

interruption. The black veil still fluttered above the young woman’s upper lip. Her
voice had taken Vincent by surprise. It had been low and rich and sensual.

Yes, it most definitely was a full-grown woman behind that veil.
Samael looked off balance only for a second before he chuckled. “Of course, darling.

Triumphe knows best,” he agreed, referring to Serafina’s spirit guide. Samael
straightened.

“Well then, Rashleigh, if you would have a seat and formulate your question I will

hypnotize my daughter and ready her to be a pure channel for the spirit.”

Vincent opened his mouth to speak—
“He wants to come up onto the platform in order to observe,” Serafina said.
Vincent’s eyes darted over to the owner of that velvety voice but the veil blocked

what he truly wanted to see. He was vaguely aware that the audience tittered and that
Samael stiffened. Most of his awareness focused on trying to ascertain the agenda of the
woman behind the veil, however. Thoughts of Susan swamped his mind. Had his
deceased wife gone along with Grovenor’s schemes willingly until she died or had she,
as this woman at least subtly seemed to be doing, eventually seen through his glossy
patina and rebelled against him?

“By all means then,” Samael said with abrupt warmth. “Skepticism and godlessness

can never make true purity and innocence falter, no matter how hard they may try.”

Vincent gritted his teeth as he took the steps onto the raised platform to the sound

of hearty agreement to Samael’s righteous statement.

“I am ready whenever you are,” Vincent said directly to Serafina.
He noticed Samael’s lips tighten in irritation, presumably at the fact that he had

spoken to the girl and not him.

“I must entrance her first,” he said, his tone implying that Vincent was an idiot for

not knowing otherwise.

Vincent wanted to ask why such a thing was necessary when the young woman

had supposedly been chatting with the spirit just now in regard to him but he
restrained himself. He watched closely as Samael accepted a lit candle from Lady
Fordham and brought it toward Serafina. His eyes narrowed on the serious scarring on

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Beth Kery

the first few inches of the man’s first and second fingers. Samael stood to Serafina’s
side, allowing the whole room to watch his actions.

“I want you to focus on the flame to the exclusion of all else,” Samael murmured in

a deep, rhythmic tone of voice. “Focus on the fire, Serafina. Only the fire. Feed all other
thoughts, all your emotions, into the flame. You are the heat. You are the dancing flame.
You are one with the fire.”

He continued like this for a minute. And then, “Raise your hand, Serafina.”
“Let me see it,” Vincent said when Samael began to lower the candle. The young

woman’s pale, exposed palm struck him as wholly vulnerable. The image of Samael’s
scarred fingers flashed into his mind.

Samael frowned furiously at the interruption but he handed the taper to Vincent

without argument. When Vincent had assured himself that the candle and the flame
were exactly what they appeared to be he handed it back to Samael. Her voice was so
quiet that for a second Vincent thought that he’d imagined it.

“It does not hurt,” she said.
He watched in mixed fascination and anxiety as Samael continued to murmur in a

soothing cadence to her and lowered the flame until it came into contact with her tender
palm. To his amazement she didn’t flinch. He had read something of this, of how those
who had been hypnotized were blocked from the experience of trauma to their bodies
and did not experience pain or suffer cellular damage.

Yes, that must be what was occurring, Vincent assured himself.
Samael removed the candle but the flame didn’t only remain, it grew higher, as

though Serafina Grovenor herself was kindling. It burned brighter until she held a six-
inch-high, three-inch-wide flame cupped in her hand. Her elegant palm curved around
it, giving Vincent the impression that she was about to hurl the ball of vibrant fire.

Gasps emanated from the crowd.
Vincent crouched down to inspect the phenomenon. He raised his hand over the

flame, palm down.

For a moment they remained like that, the fire sandwiched between his flesh and

hers. The flame abruptly surged even higher. They both gasped. Vincent’s surprise at
the flash of heat must have been responsible for the fact that he felt no pain.

“Stand back, you fool!” Samael exclaimed angrily.
Vincent complied distractedly, all of his attention on the young woman. Serafina

stared at the fire fixedly while Samael resumed murmuring to her in his hypnotic tone.

After a minute of this she spoke in a guttural voice that was very different than the

low, mellifluous tone that Vincent had heard earlier.

“Greetings on this blessed evening. I am most pleased to be here with you all, and

especially you, Doctor. Have you a topic of discussion for me this evening?”

“Am I to understand that I am no longer conversing with Serafina Grovenor?”

Vincent asked smoothly.

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Fire Angel

“You are correct, Doctor. I am the spirit that finds a channel of communication in

the material world through this young woman and who directs her spirit visitors. I am
called Triumphe.”

Vincent nodded. This was something he had seen many times and, unlike the bit of

fire trickery, something for which he was wholly prepared. All he must do was request
that she lecture on a topic that was novel and new to the scientific community,
decreasing the chance that she had studied it or that Samael had coached her on it.
Vincent knew very well that a genius could easily exist outside the realms of a formal
classroom, so claims to her supposed ignorance did not impress him.

Since he had received the tarot card and the message, he had read extensively about

Serafina’s exhibitions. He was confident that the random topics that had been chosen
were actually readily available to the public and might easily be consumed and later
regurgitated by an individual with a photographic memory and a flair for the theatrical.

But he had a topic in mind that was so new that the most recent breakthroughs had

not yet been released. Vincent had only private correspondence to contribute to his
understanding of it.

“The subject for the evening then, Triumphe, is this—expound upon the topics of

hysteria and hypnosis and relate them to the psychological process known as
dissociation. Include in your discussion how this phenomenon relates to how human
beings can perform seemingly impossible feats.”

An uncharacteristic prickle of uncertainty went through Vincent when the red lips

from which he couldn’t unglue his eyes suddenly curled into an appreciative smile.
Heat seemed to uncoil at the base of his spine, hardening his cock to an alarming degree
and causing his skin to prickle with heightened awareness.

He couldn’t decide whether to turn to the front or the back to hide the obvious

thickening of his crotch region. Exposing himself to this singular woman seemed just as
mortifying, if not more so, than showing the results of his overactive libido to seventy
God-fearing Christians.

But then she spoke and he temporarily forgot his erection he was so enraptured.
“I see that you are not without a sense of humor, Doctor.”
Before he had a chance to respond to the fact that she had noticed the irony of him

choosing a topic that directly related to her supposed supernatural powers, she
launched into the discussion.

Fifteen minutes later Vincent’s face looked cold and unmoved as he studied the girl

speaking with the most concise elocution that he’d ever heard in his life. What he
appeared to be on the outside was far different than his inner experience however.

Quite frankly he was stunned. And Dr. Vincent Devonald, Lord Rashleigh, did not

stun easily.

“All human beings dissociate, or narrow their attention to the exclusion of all else.

Sometimes it is a helpful process and sometimes a hurtful one. I can sense your
question, Doctor, and the answer is yes. What this young woman goes through in order

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Beth Kery

to receive my channel of communication—her focusing on the flame to the exclusion of
all else—is a type of dissociation from everyday consciousness.

“Under stressful, traumatic circumstances a severe dissociation known as hysteria

may occur. I will try to state succinctly, Doctor, the relation between hysteria, hypnosis
and dissociative states of consciousness. Firstly, hysteria and hypnosis both are
reflective of states of dissociation. Hysteria may occur under instances of severe stress
or trauma. Secondly, hypnosis can be used to treat hysteria, as you know already from
your neurologist friend, Dr. Charcot. Your other correspondent, Dr. Breuer, and his
associate Dr. Freud have a much more reliable form of treatment in their ‘talking cure’,
however.”

Vincent stiffened, thoroughly irritated not only by her concise summary of such an

unknown topic but her frequent casual reflections on personal correspondences that she
could not conceivably know about.

Of course claims that it was impossible to find explanations other than supernatural

ones thoroughly annoyed Vincent. Houses could be broken into, servants could talk
and letters could be read…how well he knew. In addition, he had come to suspect that
mental telepathy was a scientific possibility, although a logical leap from its existence
hardly carried one from that to the foggy realms of bell-ringing ghosts.

“Thirdly,” Serafina Grovenor continued, “hypnosis can be used in order to induce

pseudo-hysteria in people who are not hysterics. They may exhibit strange and even
seemingly impossible behaviors and later have no awareness of their feats. Hypnosis
has great promise for the medical field, Doctor. It is able to cure various nervous states
such as paralysis or aphasia, as the neurosurgeon Dr. Braid demonstrated. But it also
has the ability to anesthetize a patient from pain and speed the healing process of the
cells in a manner that seems miraculous.”

Vincent nodded once coldly at the fire glowing in her hand. “And is not everything

you are describing the precise phenomenon that we witness here presently?” he
challenged loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The crowd hissed in a scandalized fashion, Samael uttered a word in a foreign

language that Vincent strongly suspected was a curse in the original sense of the word
but Serafina just gave him one of those calm, cock-thickening smiles.

Vincent got the impression that she was genuinely enjoying herself.
“Ah, I see your trap, Doctor. For either I would stumble about and prove myself a

fool in front of these good people here when presented with your new topic of scientific
study…or I would alternatively lecture on it so concisely that I—”

“Would supply a much more plausible explanation for your singular behavior

tonight than communications with a disembodied spirit. Yes. Never fear, though, you
should be able to still draw a crowd with mesmerism and fire tricks, although you and
your father might have to settle for half the price of tonight’s entry fee,” Vincent finished
drolly.

14

Fire Angel

“Rashleigh, I must insist that you stop badgering that innocent girl!” Lady Fordham

exclaimed. She trembled in outrage from where she stood in the front row. “Your
mother would be ashamed of the way you’re behaving if she were still alive.”

Vincent sighed, not relishing the idea of upsetting the old bird. She had been a close

friend of his mother’s. He suddenly felt defeated. Why did he insist upon exposing the
truth when people obviously had not just a desire to believe the lies but a need to?

“Yes, Alice, but my father would be proud, which will have to soothe me. I will

vacate your gathering. I have made my point,” Vincent admitted.

He glanced back meaningfully at Samael, who was pale with fury. “The rest I will

settle later,” he challenged pointedly before he began to descend the four stairs.

Melissa is still alive and in great danger.
Vincent swung around, quicksilver eyes blazing in disbelief.
“What did you say?” he bellowed.
Serafina Grovenor sat there, as inexplicable and mute as the sphinx.
“What did you say?” Vincent repeated with grim emphasis as he sprang back up on

the stage, obviously intent on shaking her until he got the answer he wanted.

Samael shoved him hard on the shoulder but Vincent repelled him with a distracted

block of his left arm that knocked the other man off balance.

A scuffle ensued. Ladies screamed. Gentlemen grumbled angrily and took off their

jackets in preparation for a fight, although no one looked too eager to be the first to
confront the six-foot-four-inch-tall, supremely fit specimen of the Lord Rashleigh.

Vincent grabbed Serafina’s narrow shoulders. “It was you who sent me that tarot

card, wasn’t it? What do you know? Tell me or I’ll have you thrown in prison, you
scheming little—”

“Austin, get him out of here!” Lady Fordham squawked.
Austin clambered onto the stage a moment later but not before Samael landed a

blow on Vincent’s right temple and Vincent stood and clocked his old enemy so hard on
the left jaw that Samael shot like a projectile missile to the platform floor. One would
have thought Vincent had just shot him with a gun by the sound of the terrified screams
that filled the parlor.

“Come on!” Austin demanded tensely. He pushed madly at the dense bulk of his

friend, finally getting him to descend the stairs. Furious glares and curses escorted them
out of Lady Fordham’s parlor.

“Well, I don’t think even my baby blues are going to get us admission to any

spiritualist meetings after that display,” Austin muttered once they’d reached the street.
The rolling of the same baby blue eyes and a snort of exasperation were the absolute
upper limit of Austin’s typical demonstrations of anger given his mild, even-tempered
character.

15

Beth Kery

Vincent on the other hand looked like he was about to literally explode. “Why did

you drag me out of there? I have to go back. I have to question her. You heard what she
said about Melissa.”

“What are you on about, man?” Austin demanded as he blocked Vincent’s return

path to the front door of Lady Fordham’s town home.

“You heard her! That little charlatan knows something about Melissa. Melissa is still

alive and in great danger. That’s what she said.”

“Vincent, listen to me,” Austin hissed as Vincent tried to get past him. “Vince,” he

shouted sharply.

Vincent paused in surprise at the unusual sound of his friend’s voice raised so

forcefully.

“Serafina Grovenor never said anything about Melissa. Never.”
Vincent just stared blankly at first. Then he gave a mirthless bark of laughter and

stepped past Austin. His heart sank slightly in his chest when Austin grabbed his upper
arm decisively, demanding his full attention.

“Not a word about your daughter ever left that young woman’s lips tonight and I’ll

swear on our friendship to that, Vincent.”

16

Fire Angel

Chapter Two

Vincent tensed several hours later when Lady Fordham’s front door opened and

several people stepped toward an awaiting carriage. He peered through the window of
his carriage. The London fog lay thick on this unseasonably warm December night but
he immediately recognized Samael Grovenor’s tall form by the ethereal halo that the
light from behind him created as it shone through his pale blond hair. The slender,
graceful figure at his side must be Serafina. It took him a moment to realize that the
other man that accompanied the pair was none other than that hell-raising rake Phillip
Crakall, sans his ever-present sidekick Jasper.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed when he saw Crakall help Serafina into the carriage and

his hand drop to grope the lower curve of her bottom. Her skirts twitched abruptly but
Vincent couldn’t have said from this angle whether her reaction was anger, surprise or
coyness.

The fact that Crakall had done such a thing directly in front of Grovenor made a

shiver of unease go through him. The amused, heavy-lidded look that Samael gave the
lascivious rake upon seeing the lewd gesture was hardly that of a scandalized father. In
fact, his expression toward Phillip was more that of a patronizing older lover.

So, Grovenor really was up to his old tricks.
Vincent had never really believed that Serafina was his real daughter. True, Richard

Grovenor had been three years older than Vincent when they first met at Cambridge
and his sexual exploits—with both men and women—were as legendary as they were
scandalous. He certainly was old enough to have sired a twenty-year-old child. But the
timing of this whole American connection made no chronological sense whatsoever.

Grovenor would have been about thirty years old when Vincent’s wife Susan ran

off with him, taking their daughter along with her. Vincent suspected that it wasn’t
until sometime after he’d contributed to his wife’s death by getting her addicted to
morphine in Ireland that Grovenor must have escaped to America.

Vincent had searched for signs of Melissa and Grovenor for over two years but all

of his efforts had come to nothing. The trail had gone cold. It was as if they’d dropped
off the face of the earth after Grovenor abandoned Susan for dead in Dublin.

Until now, anyway.
Vincent’s lips curled slightly in disgust. There was little doubt that Grovenor would

find a way to thrive no matter where he went or how little money he had in his pocket.
People were spellbound by his charismatic character and exotic good looks. Why could
no one else see the cloud of sordidness and decay that surrounded him?

17

Beth Kery

Susan had likely recognized it but by then it had been too late. She had been

addicted and dying in a rat-infested boardinghouse far from her home and family.
Vincent would never forgive her for stealing his child away from him into a world of
crime, deceit and decadence. Most likely her flighty choice had led to Melissa’s death.

But Vincent also couldn’t help but feel a profound sadness when he thought of his

young bride coming to such a pitiful, meaningless end. His face became masklike to
hide his pain. He struck the top of the carriage to attract his driver’s attention.

“Follow that carriage, Michael, and stay with it at all costs.”

* * * * *

Serafina felt as if she couldn’t breathe as she watched Phillip Crakall take a huge

gulp of whiskey and laugh uproariously at nothing in particular. Samael gave him a
disgusted look and set his own untouched drink on the table. His hand went up
automatically to cushion the ache at the spot where Rashleigh had punched him earlier
that evening.

“You drink like a sod, stupid boy,” Samael admonished as he briskly closed the

curtains of the parlor in their large hotel suite. “A true adept of magic has to rely on the
force of his will and too much alcohol will only dull your ability to do so.”

Phillip immediately sobered at the mention of magic. He’d become enamored of the

topic ever since he’d met Samael at a gentlemen’s club several weeks ago. Samael had
regaled him with stories about his ability to mentally bend others to his will in order to
get what he wanted from them. Phillip had especially been fascinated by his detailed
stories of getting any woman that he wanted into his bed by forcing her weaker will to
submit to his.

Phillip believed him entirely because since that time he’d witnessed Samael do that

precisely that on three separate occasions—seduce three different beautiful, elusive
women with the casual ease that Phillip tossed whiskey down his throat. Afterward the
man who he now considered a master in the magical arts had even allowed Phillip to
enjoy his leavings. Samael had sipped his drink and watched him perform from a chair
at the side of the bed with condescending amusement.

Phillip slammed the glass down on the table. For true power and for the enjoyment

of Serafina Grovenor, which Samael had all but promised him, he would have forsaken
much, much more than mere whiskey.

Serafina stiffened when Phillip’s glassy green eyes narrowed on her.
“Samael, no,” Serafina cried out huskily when the young man began to walk over to

where she sat with a determined look on his face.

Samael turned from where he stood by the windows. He laughed indulgently when

he saw Phillip try to touch Serafina’s glorious, golden-red curls with a look of mixed
awe and lust. She slapped him away angrily.

18

Fire Angel

“Be careful, apprentice. She will burn you to the bone if you do not have her

agreement.”

“How will I get that?” Phillip whined as he stared at Serafina, who was shooting

him a look of pure fire. Even his overactive imagination hadn’t conjured her to be half
as beautiful as she actually was. His cock began to throb uncomfortably in his trousers
as he stared at her lush red lips.

“You could never do so,” Samael said kindly as he came behind Phillip and placed

a hand on his shoulder. “Only I have the power to control the wench.”

Samael’s warm smile chilled Serafina’s fiery depths as it always did. She bit back

the string of invectives that perched on her tongue. He had warned her of this. Still she
felt like shouting out in pure frustration when he spoke.

“You have no one but yourself to blame, Serafina. As you well know, you must pay

for your rebellious behavior tonight with Lord Rashleigh. If you do not do what we
discussed and if you do not do it exceptionally well I will have Mrs. Grovenor bring
Emily in here. Perhaps I shall anyway,” he mused suddenly. “She is getting far too old
to be as sheltered and spoiled as she has been for so long. Perhaps it is time I put her to
the only use a female has if she is devoid of magical abilities.”

“No,” Serafina snarled, her hands tightening into fists.
Samael came toward her. Crakall’s eyes gleamed with a sort of manic excitement as

he watched his master sink his fingers roughly into the hair at her nape. He pulled until
tears of pain sprang into her large, azure blue eyes.

Samael had learned long ago that her hair was one area that Serafina couldn’t

confer pain with her power.

“Then you will do as I have bid you,” he said in a cold tone. “Will you not, little

daughter?”

“Daughter indeed,” she spat.
Her eyes wandered over to Phillip Crakall with utter contempt. Her expression

didn’t falter when she saw the way his penis made a tent pole at the crotch of his
trousers. “Be assured that what you see presently is not the magical use of will but
merely a particularly nasty demonstration of blackmail. Ohhh…stop!” Tears squeezed
past her clenched eyelids when Samael twisted her hair and pulled so violently that she
lurched up out of her chair like a puppet being jerked by its strings.

“Over on the couch, stupid girl,” Grovenor ordered. He shoved her hard. Serafina

tripped and stumbled on her dress before she caught herself on the edge of the velvet
couch, her breath exploding out of her with a pressured whooshing noise.

Samael’s voice took on a friendly didactic tone that was eerily out of place to the

violence inherent to the situation as he guided Crakall over to the couch.

“As I have taught you, the essence of magic is a strengthening of the will. The

proper tools and evocations are useless to you without a focused will. Tonight will not
be as other nights, when I have put no expectations on you and allowed you to take

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Beth Kery

your pleasure selfishly. Using sex to strengthen the will is a particularly powerful path
for an apprentice, as it requires considerable discipline. Tonight Serafina, under my
guidance of course, will bring you to the edge of release several times but you may not
have your pleasure until I have deemed that your will has been stiffened considerably.”

Samael grabbed Serafina by the arm, lifted her from her sprawled position on the

floor and forcefully shoved her back on the couch. She landed with a brisk rustling of
her skirts, her head bouncing against the hard armrest of the couch. She flinched in pain
but bit off her scream.

Samael liked it all too well when she appeared helpless.
“You may use her mouth,” Samael told Crakall in an almost offhand manner. He

grabbed the younger man’s upper arm when the boy lunged toward Serafina. Crakall
turned to him impatiently.

“Remember what I have taught you, apprentice. You will be required to give

yourself in a way that I demand in order to have your wish fulfilled. This is the law of
the universe. Take…and you must give.”

Crakall’s greedy gaze flew over to where Serafina lay sprawled on the couch. Her

rich, coppery-colored hair had come partially unbound from her coiffure due to
Samael’s wrenching fingers and her hard fall. It made her look wild and wanton. She
panted shallowly between full, red lips. Parted and damp as they were at the moment
they reminded Crakall of a lush sex organ.

“Yes, anything,” Crakall muttered, throwing off Grovenor’s arm. “But I will have the

little hussy.”

Samael chuckled at the boy’s eagerness as he watched him kneel over Serafina, his

knees by her shoulders. He was pacified to see that although she glared up at Crakall
with almost tangible hatred she did not speak or resist as he fumbled with the
fastenings of his trousers.

“Fool boy, let me help you,” Samael said indulgently when he saw the younger

man grab his cock and fist it clumsily while his clothing was still bunched around his
hips. Samael almost tenderly pushed his trousers and underwear down over his ass. He
had enjoyed watching Crakall’s smooth, muscular buttocks pumping furiously between
the legs of the women that he’d provided him. He could tell that the women hadn’t
particularly cared for his sloppy, selfish pounding…but that was of little consequence,
after all. Phillip’s lame fucking technique hardly mattered to Samael since the boy was
the one who would be on the receiving end of his attentions every time.

Samael stroked a baby-soft ass cheek but removed his hand before Crakall had the

chance to glance at him with suspicion.

Crakall leaned forward against the armrest of the couch with one hand and

presented his cock to Serafina’s clamped lips with the other.

“Order her to suck it,” Crakall demanded.
Pure hatred swelled in Serafina’s body as she stared up at him. She felt her body

temperature inevitably begin to rise.

20

Fire Angel

“Serafina,” Samael said almost teasingly, “Mrs. Grovenor and Emily are just on the

other side of that door. It will be the matter of a second to have the girl in this room.
Perhaps if you will not comply Crakall here can learn about discipline with Emily’s
assistance.”

Crakall groaned gutturally in agonized pleasure when Serafina abruptly leaned

forward and slid his turgid member between her lips. The first half of his cock dipped
into liquid heat. The experience was phenomenal, like nothing he’d ever known.

“Oh…Christ…my God…she’s so bloody hot!” he cried out as he began to pump his

cock deeper into her mouth.

“Serafina, release him,” Samael said in a bored manner as he watched the

proceedings.

Crakall growled in frustration when Serafina leaned her neck back and his cock

popped out of her tightly pursed lips. He needed to get back into that moist heat
immediately.

Samael put a hand on his shoulder. “This is what I referred to, apprentice. You

must learn discipline. You were about to explode after a few strokes, weren’t you?” he
asked with mixed amusement and disgust.

“Let me back in her. Please!” Crakall groaned, his eyes fixated on Serafina’s wet

mouth.

“A moment, you fool,” Samael insisted. He ignored the boy’s protests when he

grabbed his moist cock and pressed his thumbs just beneath the head. He held steady
until he knew that Crakall’s moment of crisis had passed. His fingers slid to the rim of
the head and tugged gently forward, indicating his permission for him to resume.

Ahhh!” Serafina heard Crakall cry out in bliss when she vacuumed him again into

her mouth.

Samael had forced her to this several times over the past years, ever since he’d

“rescued” her from an orphanage at the age of twelve. Emily was twelve years old now
or at least by Mrs. Grovenor’s best guess she was. Serafina lived in daily—no, hourly—
fear that Samael would pull the innocent girl into his evil machinations at any moment.

She unclenched her eyelids warily in order to catch a glimpse of Samael. Serafina

never looked at Samael or the men that he forced her to pleasure in this fashion. Never.
It was her way of preserving a part of herself in the wretched circumstances. Samael’s
face was impassive but his eyes burned with excitement as he watched her fellate
Crakall. As a result Serafina sucked the idiot’s cock deeper, fluttering her tongue
skillfully over the head on his outstroke, following her mouth with her fist in order to
maximize his pleasure.

His taste disgusted her—like sweat and urine—but she stilled her instinct to gag

determinedly. Her efforts were obviously working, because Crakall moaned
rapturously and his cock swelled large in her mouth from his looming climax.

Serafina knew with a deep-down dread that Samael would never allow this

unpleasantness to be short-lived. But still, the quicker she could get Crakall mindless

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Beth Kery

with lust the quicker this episode would be over and she could concentrate on erasing it
from her memory.

“Stop!” Samael said a moment later in a hard voice that pierced Crakall’s grunts of

excitement. When Serafina released him from her mouth and hand he moaned in
misery. She twisted her jaw angrily when the cad tried to force his cock back between
her lips.

Serafina wiped at the spittle on the side of her mouth with a grimace of disgust. For

a moment she stared at the burgundy velvet of the couch and the tiny flowers on the
wallpaper behind it, wishing she could be somewhere, anywhere but in this moment, in
this place. The men’s voices seemed far away and distant.

“She’s delicious,” Crakall moaned. Serafina knew that Samael likely had the fool’s

cock in his hands, pressing below the head, stilling the younger man’s overwhelming
urge to climax. “And so hot. Why is she so hot?”

“You saw her tonight. Did you think that was trickery? The girl can spontaneously

create fire with her own body. What temperature would you expect her to be?” Samael
murmured intimately. Serafina could almost imagine him pushing Crakall’s sweaty,
sandy curls off his forehead in a soothing, fatherly fashion.

“Oh, God…if that’s true then her pussy must be heaven. Let me have her!”
Samael chuckled and Serafina heard the slap of flesh against flesh as he playfully

swatted Crakall’s bottom and more than likely lingered in a caress.

“She would incinerate you, boy.” He held up the hand with burned fingers and

waved it. “Every hole on that beauty’s body is deadly but her mouth, and if I had not
been able to bind the power of her mouth and throat with my magic she’d toast your
cock there as well.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, it is too bad that she can’t talk out of
her pussy or ass but I had to choose one area of her body to utterly control so I chose
her throat chakra. Better for the pocketbook all in all. These spiritualists are always
willing to fork over money to have the hope for life ever-after proven to them. And at
least I have the sure knowledge that if I can’t have her little pussy no other man can
either.”

Serafina heard Crakall laugh uncomfortably and wondered if Samael’s strokes on

his cock were becoming more intimate, geared toward arousal instead of diminishment
of it.

“But yes, her mouth is extraordinary, is it not? That was how I discovered the little

firebrand. The master of the orphanage where I found her had tried to sample the little
tart’s mouth only to find his cock dipped in the equivalent of hot lava. Poor chap, I felt
sorry for him, I really did. She was a fetching piece even at age twelve and it was only
natural that he would want his pleasure of her. I’d come to be known as a famous
healer in the backward area of upstate New York and I was summoned to aid the poor
bastard.”

Serafina sensed his careless shrug.

22

Fire Angel

“But there was nothing I could do. The fool’s cock had been burned to a lump of

charred meat.”

Serafina clenched her eyes shut tightly. She despised the memory of the disgusting

proprietor of the orphanage, Mr. Adams. The bastard had deserved what he’d gotten
but she hated to hear references to her affliction. If only she had been born normal
Samael would have never wanted her.

It was her freakish nature that made her valuable in his estimation.
“Hmmm, I thought that little story would dim your enthusiasm but it seems you

are as eager as ever,” Samael said with obvious amusement.

“I am not afraid. She is only a woman. You will be able to control her, Master,”

Crakall praised.

“Serafina, stop sulking, girl.”
She turned her head slowly at Samael’s sharp words.
Three more times she brought Crakall to the point of orgasm only to have Samael

interrupt. As he always did he soon had his “magical apprentice” worked into a frenzy
of mindless need and lust. Serafina on the other hand felt numb and detached. Even the
soreness of her jaws and lips from her seemingly endless ministrations to Crakall’s
rutting cock could not pierce her fog.

This last time she didn’t bother turning her head away from the proceedings as

Samael ordered Crakall to withdraw. She kept her eyes shut tightly although she knew
from experience that it was the thinnest defense against the depravity in which Samael
embroiled her. She squinted through a narrow slit when she heard the wild, broken
quality of Crakall’s voice.

“Please…please let me come, Master,” he begged.
“The technique I was using is no longer effective, I think,” Samael mused. He

calmly separated the young man’s buttocks and pressed his finger into his anus.

Even Serafina jumped at Crakall’s howl of protest.
“Shut up, you fool, or you can leave here and now. But if you do you’ll never have

your pleasure of this girl, now or later, that I promise you. What did you think? That
the learning of magic was all fun and games?” Samael snarled viciously.

“I ain’t a bloody bugger!” Crakall cried out in panic.
“Perhaps not but I am,” Samael muttered matter-of-factly as he penetrated Crakall’s

rectum with more force. “Now stop your whining, you stupid boy, and take your
lesson. There will be some pain but much more pleasure. If you are to learn magic then
you must learn how to serve me best.

“There,” Samael said more softly as Crakall forced himself to relax. Crakall groaned

when Samael worked another finger into his rectum.

“Serafina?” Samael growled.
Serafina played her part like an automaton. She craned up and took Crakall’s cock

between her lips. His dwindling arousal as Samael made more and more free with his

23

Beth Kery

ass alarmed her. She knew very well that she was playing directly into her enemy’s
hands. But she just wanted this to be over…

So she turned up the heat.
“Oh God, this girl is sooo fucking hot!” Crakall cried out in mindless excitement a

moment later as he pumped frenziedly between Serafina’s lips.

“That’s right, apprentice, enjoy her,” Samael prodded as he removed his fingers

from the young man’s ass and swatted his bunching, bare buttocks good-naturedly.

He reached for the fastenings on his own trousers.

* * * * *

“Bloody hell,” Vincent muttered under his breath after he’d jimmied the frail lock

on the hotel suite door, opened it and slipped inside.

The sight that greeted him left him momentarily speechless. Nausea rose in his

stomach quicker than he would have imagined was possible given his medical
background.

A woman sixty or so years old, gray-haired and wearing a zombielike, lifeless

expression, was sitting on a chair and injecting herself in the arm with some sort of
solution.

“I’m sorry. I have the wrong room,” Vincent muttered uncomfortably. “I was…I

was looking for someone else.”

Damn. The hotel porter that he’d bribed downstairs had given him the wrong room

number. He turned to leave.

“Who?”
He paused with his hand on the door. Whoever had asked the question had

definitely not been the defeated, dried-up woman who he’d just caught in the private
act of injecting herself with some sort of drug, that much Vincent knew for sure. This
was a young girl. Thoughts of Serafina Grovenor immediately sprang to his mind and
he spun around.

For a full ten seconds no one spoke. The old woman hastily hid the syringe and

constricting band that had been tied to her upper arm beneath a shawl on an ottoman at
her side. The slender girl stared with wide gray eyes at the tall, handsome man who
seemed to swallow up all thought and words with his powerful presence.

A tremor of emotion shuddered through Vincent. He felt as if he’d missed a block

and just been hammered by a fist to the head. Her hair color—a rich mahogany more
red than brown—was singular. He had seen it only once before in his life.

It was the precise color of Susan’s hair.
His daughter’s hair had been a light brown color with reddish highlights when

she’d been taken from him at the age of three. But the years would have enriched and

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Fire Angel

darkened it, Vincent thought dazedly as he stared hungrily at the girl’s pale, startled
face.

So…this is what the tarot card and strange note had been leading him to.
His hand went up as if to comfort. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude upon you. I

mean you no harm. I was looking for a man by the name of Samael Grovenor.”

He saw her slender throat convulse as she swallowed but her gray eyes were only

curious as she studied him. “Samael Grovenor is my father. He is in the room next
door.”

“Emily,” the old woman hissed a warning at the young girl.
But it wasn’t to the woman that Emily turned for reassurance in these unusual

circumstances, it was to the tall, dark man. She tilted her head as she studied him
quizzically.

“If you follow me I’ll take you to him,” she murmured.
Vincent felt a powerful urge to crush her reed-thin body to him after years of

thwarted love and anguish. She gave him a shy smile and cautiously waved her hand at
him to follow.

There was a good chance it wasn’t Melissa, of course. He needed to investigate the

entire matter like the scientist that he was.

So why couldn’t he remove his eyes from the exquisite sight of the young girl as she

led him to the door? He staggered after her like she was a chalice of cool water and he
had just spent a good portion of his life in the desert, his sole purpose being to thirst.

She tried the handle and turned to him in dismay.
“I’m sorry, it’s locked. Shall I knock?” she asked, already raising her fist in

preparation to do so.

“No!” Vincent said. He smiled at her crookedly when she looked at him in surprise

over his terse response. He slid his hand into his pocket, locating the metal file that he
had used with such success in order to get into the hotel suite earlier. His body blocked
the sight of what he was doing.

The girl exclaimed in surprise when he swung open the door a second later.
“Sometimes these old doors stick,” Vincent said evasively as he followed her into

the adjoining suite.

He was so overwhelmed with emotion at the possibility of finally being reunited

with his daughter after almost ten years of suffering that he didn’t at first comprehend
what was going on in the room.

“Go back,” he commanded suddenly. He covered the girl’s eyes with his hand and

pushed on her shoulders but she ducked agilely beneath his armpit.

“Sera! Sera!” Emily cried out in a choked voice.
For a moment the mass of pumping, sweating humanity over on the couch—which

included Crakall thrusting furiously into Serafina’s mouth while Samael stood with one

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Beth Kery

foot on the floor and the other up on the couch while he forcefully fucked Crakall from
behind—paused.

Crakall grunted in pain when Serafina abruptly threw her elbow into his gut.
“Emily! Go back! Go, Emily!” Serafina cried wretchedly.
But Emily saw the tears rushing down the face that she loved most in the world and

darted into the room. Vincent’s hand missed her shoulder by a whisper of air.

“What is it, Sera? What are they doing to you? Get off of her!” Emily screamed at

Crakall hysterically.

Vincent swore foully as he approached. He met Samael’s glassy-eyed stare of shock.
“If she’s who I think she is then you’re a dead man, Grovenor.”
Then he raised his fist and hammered his jaw even harder than he had earlier that

evening. Grovenor was propelled against the back of the couch, struck the back of his
head against the wall and then slumped downward, insensate.

When Crakall shouted in anger he received much the same treatment, although he

was still partially conscious when Vincent picked up the girl without another word and
carried her from the room, heedless to her screams and struggling and the cries and
protests from Serafina behind him.

The red, blinding haze of tumultuous emotion consisting mostly of rage cleared

slightly when he reached for the same door that he’d blundered into earlier. He
suddenly realized that the girl that he believed was his own daughter hit his chest and
clawed at his neck and face strong enough to draw blood.

“Stop! Put me down! I won’t leave without Sera! Stop you…you…brute! Sera! Sera!”

she screeched wildly.

“I’m here, Emily.”
Vincent heard the hauntingly familiar voice speak from just behind them. He

turned, hungry for the sight of what had been denied him earlier tonight despite the
harrowing, bizarre circumstances in which he found himself.

For a second their gazes held—crystalline gray to azure blue. Her beauty was both

otherworldly and shockingly carnal at once. A profound, nameless fury grew in Vincent
at the remembered sight of her deep throating Crakall’s cock.

“Sera, Sera!” Emily cried. He noted how the sheer terror on Emily’s face faded to

mere panic at the sight of the young woman.

“Give her to me,” Serafina said.
He was a little shocked that he complied with her command without hesitation.

Still, he knew he’d been right when he watched Emily hug Serafina desperately.

What Serafina said next in her measured, smooth voice stunned him, even though

he was learning to expect the truly bizarre out of this unsavory young woman.

“You must take her, and quickly. Samael is regaining consciousness even as we

speak,” she warned.

26

Fire Angel

Vincent tensed as he peered into the other suite, thoroughly prepared to engage in a

mortal battle if the circumstance presented itself.

“No. Listen to me,” Serafina said resolutely, as though she’d read his thoughts. She

pushed a resisting Emily toward him. He lifted the slight girl into his arms. “Take Mrs.
Grovenor and Emily now. If you try to do this without Mrs. Grovenor all of your plans
will fail. You must believe me in this. I will meet you in ten minutes’ time on the corner
of Euston and River Streets—

“No, Emily, you must be strong!” Serafina said when Emily began to cry louder and

reached for her desperately. The two young females’ eyes met, girl to blooming woman,
and held for several long seconds. Emily hiccupped but her wailing desisted.

“I will be there, Emily. Nothing will keep me from you,” Serafina said softly. “If the

baron refuses to wait for me then you have my permission to give him bloody hell.”

Serafina glanced up and smiled wanly into Vincent’s steely gray stare.
“Go. Mrs. Grovenor, you too. Go! Go!” Serafina shouted with abrupt fierceness.
Her wild intensity seemed to animate all of them including the sluggish, drugged

older woman. Mrs. Grovenor reached for Emily’s outstretched hand and obediently
followed Lord Rashleigh out of the hotel suite.

In the silence that followed Serafina stared back toward the other room, eyes

narrowed warily.

* * * * *

Vincent was at his wits’ end as he listened to the low, uneven snoring of Mrs.

Grovenor and the pitiful, thoroughly alarming sobs of the girl. He stared up at the face
of Michael, his driver, when he leaned down to the window.

“Is there anything I can do, milord? Are you sure I should stay put?”
Vincent nodded once steadfastly although he was in thorough agreement with the

near-panic in his driver’s tone. The young girl’s poignant torment was almost too much
to bear. He found that he was willing to offer every treasure that he owned if it would
make her heartrending crying stop.

He knew just as well, however, that the only thing that would cease her misery was

the arrival of that perfidious young woman whom she believed to be her sister.

Vincent found himself as eager for the arrival of Serafina as Emily, so wild was he

to quench the girl’s misery. Why had he not forced Serafina to come with them on the
spot? How did he know that she hadn’t stayed behind in order to plot somehow with
Grovenor? Wasn’t it even more likely that he’d left her in danger from Grovenor if he
discovered her part in encouraging him to leave with the girl and the older woman?

And why in the hell had she been so willing to collude with his impulsive decision

to take the girl?

He started with anticipation when he saw a slight figure dart across the dim street,

carrying a suitcase. Relief flooded through him.

27

Beth Kery

“There. There, Emily, look! Stop crying now, here is your sister.”
“Sera,” Emily cried. Her tears only ceased when she saw Serafina’s face outside the

window.

“Here she is, Emily, all will be well. I’m going to take you someplace safe,” Vincent

soothed. He was acutely aware of the fact that the girl ignored him but automatically
ceased her painful crying as he opened the door and Serafina nimbly climbed into the
carriage. He slapped the top of the carriage once when he saw that she’d settled.

Michael immediately had them moving down the shadowed, tree-lined street.
He leaned back and stared at the scene before him. Mrs. Grovenor leaned in the

corner of the carriage in a drug-induced sleep, her face crumpled and spittle wetting the
corners of her mouth. The two young women were directly across from him. Serafina
hugged Emily and spoke in a low, soothing voice as she stroked her hair. Emily’s tear-
damp face had finally relaxed and her eyelids were already fluttering with the
exhaustion that inevitably came after such an extended period of distress and crying.

Vincent was a little surprised to find himself getting drowsy as well as the carriage

rolled along and he listened to Serafina’s lulling, smoky voice. Within two minutes
Emily slept in her lap.

Serafina swallowed heavily when she realized that she and the man across from her

were the only people awake in the small confines of the carriage. She felt his steady
stare on her. For some reason the memory of what it had felt like when he’d placed his
hand directly over her fire earlier that evening entered her mind. It was strange that she
recalled it. She usually had no memories of when she was in trance. It had been a
singular sensation and she’d been as surprised as any at the way the flame had leapt
high.

The heat that had suddenly flooded her was not the fiery sensation to which

Serafina was well accustomed. It had been a new, wholly disconcerting sort of fire.

“Did you send me that tarot card and the message?” he asked abruptly into the

darkness.

“No. I don’t know what you mean,” Serafina answered cautiously. He sounded

angry and she had long ago learned to be wary of angry men.

She started when he abruptly leaned forward and wrapped her chin in his long

fingers. His touch was cool and sure, soothing and exciting her at once. He turned her
face until the dim streetlights shining in through the window bathed it with their soft
luminescence.

Vincent almost let go when he saw the fear in her wide eyes but he steeled his will.

“Is that girl—Emily—my daughter?”

“I-I don’t know,” she replied.
The seconds seemed to stretch as he continued to study her visage. Her skin looked

flawless in the subtle light. Without thinking of why he did it he stroked the curve of

28

Fire Angel

her cheek with his forefinger. She felt as soft as a flower’s petal still damp with morning
dew. He felt her start slightly at his touch. His gaze flickered up to meet hers.

“You’re an accomplished liar, Serafina Grovenor.”
She didn’t speak as he leaned back in his seat and stared out the carriage window

impassively. “There is no reason that you wouldn’t be, considering who you’ve
consorted with all of these years. Nevertheless I have good reason to suspect that she is
my daughter Melissa. I’ll put up with you and the old woman for now. The girl cares
for you and I can’t change that, at least in the short term. But if either of you hinders me
in my search for the truth about her I will cut you loose in a second. Do you
understand?”

“Yes,” Serafina whispered. “You can keep her safe.”
Something inside him gave slightly at the tremor in her voice. It didn’t register in

his consciousness until later that she hadn’t asked a question. She’d made a statement of
fact. He peered through the darkness, wishing once again that she did not always seem
so shrouded from him.

“You have my promise that I will. My protection extends to you and the old woman

as well. For the time being, anyway.”

“She is thirty-eight years old.”
Vincent just stared for a long moment before his gaze flickered over the sleeping

woman. She was one year older than him. Two years older than Susan would be if she
lived. He finally exhaled slowly.

“Morphine, is it?”
“Yes,” Serafina answered. “How did you know?”
“I saw her injecting herself earlier. Grovenor was already experimenting with it and

cocaine when he was a young man at Cambridge. Are you addicted as well? Be honest
with me. I’ll find out soon enough anyway.” He tensed. “What about the girl? Has that
fiend got her hooked on that poison?”

“No,” Serafina answered quickly, sensing his alarm. “I don’t know why he never

suggested it. He uses it to control people and God knows he always wanted Emily and
me under his thumb. But no…thank God, we were spared that at least.”

Serafina sensed his withdrawal in the seconds that followed. He seemed so aloof

that she was surprised when he spoke again in a low, stark voice.

“He got my wife Susan addicted to it. Then he abandoned her, alone and sick in a

strange country, taking all of her money…taking everything. The withdrawal symptoms
from the drug are likely what killed Susan, ill as she already was.”

Serafina grasped for something to say. She had seen what he referred to as though

she were there in the room with him—seen the lifeless hand falling limply next to the
bed, heard the scuttle of a rat running in the corner of the barren room, the still-
beautiful, rich mahogany hair spilling across the dirty sheets, Vincent’s face looking

29

Beth Kery

down at the bed—a younger face but one still hauntingly similar to the cold, hard mask
that she saw right now in the dim light.

And the void of grief she sensed just behind the mask?
That was the same too.
The rest of the ride through London’s eerily still, foggy streets was carried out in

silence.

30

Fire Angel

Chapter Three

Mrs. Hastings, Vincent’s erstwhile housekeeper, scowled as she bustled into the

dining room and registered dust in the corners of the mahogany sideboard. She pulled a
cloth from her deep skirt pocket and immediately attacked the offending substance. It
was a scandal how carelessly Lady Ashcroft’s servants had been keeping Sunnyvale.
Austin’s idiosyncratic aunt had been dead now for only two months and the
Hampstead manor was a hovel in Mrs. Hastings’ fastidious opinion.

The housekeeper’s frown immediately melted when she met first Emily’s wide-

eyed stare and then Serafina’s amused one in the sideboard mirror. Two such sweet,
junge frauen Mrs. Hastings had never known in her life. She had been in her element for
the past week, coddling and nurturing the poor girls at her bountiful maternal bosom
while their poor mother lay upstairs, so weak and ailing.

She wholly disapproved of having them exposed in any way to the woman who

awaited Lord Rashleigh in his study but she also knew that Vincent would not
countenance her opinion on the matter. Even if it undoubtedly would have matched that
of his sainted mother, bless her dearly departed soul.

No, she would not have appreciated her son having his mistress visit him at home

even if it was a temporary residence. And she definitely would not have appreciated the
fact that her only son’s lover was a married woman.

“Mrs. Jeffries is insisting that she must have a word with you immediately, my lord.

I told her that you were at your dinner but—”

“Where is she?” Vincent interrupted before he wiped his mouth with his napkin

and tossed it to the side of his plate. His housekeeper’s news surprised him although he
took pains not to show it. No one was supposed to know where they were presently,
save Austin. He knew that Serafina likely thought the same thing when he felt her eyes
on him. He had become familiar with her direct, disconcerting stare. Vincent supposed
she had little reason, given her previous circumstances, to have cultivated coyness.

Although he’d tried his best to keep his distance from Serafina over the past week it

had been impossible to not spend some time with her, given the circumstances. He was
almost preternaturally aware of her presence whether she was physically in a room
with him or not.

He had been preoccupied with other things as well of course, most importantly

arranging for the three females and a small, discreet contingent of his staff to be moved
to Lottie Ashcroft’s manor on the outskirts of London while he better determined what
he needed to do in regard to Samael and Emily. In addition he had taken over the
medical care of Mrs. Grovenor, who had consented to undergo the painful, possibly
dangerous process of withdrawal from morphine. Due to her already frail health

31

Beth Kery

Vincent had been tapering her dose over the past several days, highly cautious of the
dangers of abrupt withdrawal.

His patient was presently uncomfortable if not in acute distress. Her joints pained

her terribly. Serafina had proven to be a dedicated assistant in her care. Vincent
couldn’t have asked for a more responsive, compassionate nurse.

He found himself both dreading and craving the sound of Serafina’s low, soothing

voice around the sickbed, her direct, intelligent, almost mannish stare, the inadvertent
brush of her skirts against his trousers as she brought him some item or supply that he
had requested, the scent that occasionally wafted off her shiny hair that made him think
of tender flower petals crushed to release their exotic perfume.

Vincent didn’t delude himself. He knew that his unusual wariness around her was

due to a powerful sexual attraction. It irritated him that he had so little control over his
baser instincts, something he had always been able to master with a healthy sense of
willpower and a good dose of reason. He knew his idiocy in regard to Serafina
Grovenor had prevented him from interrogating her about Emily and that was what
frustrated him most.

Mrs. Grovenor had been too ill for questioning, her level of consciousness

fluctuating from delirium to lethargy depending on where she was in her cycle of
withdrawal, and he could not badger the innocent girl, not yet being familiar with her
emotional strength.

No, it was Serafina who had the answers he required and who undoubtedly was

keeping secrets from him. Common sense told him that he couldn’t wait any longer to
question the enigmatic young woman. Although she had denied being the one who sent
him the tarot card and the note, she might be lying. If she was playing some game with
Grovenor the sooner he found out the details the better.

No, he could wait no longer. He must question her this afternoon.
He felt her disconcerting stare on him as he stood from the dining room table.
“I thought you said that our existence at Sunnyvale was a secret,” Serafina said.
“I did,” he replied briskly. He caught Emily’s lively gray eyes on him. He winked to

cover that fact that he’d been doing precisely what he had been doing for days now—
studying every detail of the girl’s elfin face, every nuance of her expression, desperately
searching for something concrete to grab on to. Surely she was Melissa.

Wasn’t she?
His hard mouth softened when he saw Emily grin. He felt like the most blessed

man on the face of the earth at the evidence that the girl was as taken with him as he
was her. Chances were that she would have shied away from him and been fearful of
his presence, especially given her background with Grovenor. Abused and neglected
children were rarely trusting. But Vincent was quickly learning that thanks to Serafina
Grovenor, Emily had also grown up with a reliable, loving presence in her life.

He owed the young woman his gratitude for that, at least.

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Fire Angel

“But this woman, Mrs. Jeffries—” Serafina persisted.
“I see that once again you have not eaten much of your dinner,” Vincent said,

sidetracking Serafina.

Mrs. Hastings tut-tutted behind her. “You are far too thin as it is, Sera,” she

admonished in her German-accented English.

“Perhaps Cook has made one of her famous puddings?” Vincent said with a

significant glance at his housekeeper.

“Yah, she has!” Mrs. Hastings acknowledged, round-eyed.
Emily chortled. “Sera has got a terrible sweet tooth.”
“Does she, now?” Vincent asked as he passed behind the girl and playfully tugged

at a mahogany curl. He was amply rewarded by her laughter.

Serafina’s lips dropped open in surprise when Vincent glanced across the table at

her and she saw the amused expression in his silvery-gray eyes. He’d been so cold
toward her since they’d come to Sunnyvale, polite but distant. She had become quite
envious of the teasing, gentle, spontaneous manner that he had with Emily. She was
even vaguely jealous of the kindness and professional thoroughness with which he
treated Mrs. Grovenor.

So the sudden sure realization that Vincent had been the one behind Cook’s

delicious confections after every meal, not to mention the savory puddings and
streusels that were sent to her room every night an hour or so before she retired, left her
speechless—that along with the quick flash of desire that had flickered in his too-often
melancholy eyes as he had met her gaze just now.

She stared after the retreating figure of the tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a

somber dark suit. She, who believed she knew herself so well, would have been
shocked if she saw the expression of stark longing in her eyes. As it was she attributed
Mrs. Hastings’ bracing pats on the shoulder to her ever-present maternal kindness.

“There, there now, child. At least try to eat a few more bites of your beef before you

have your sweet. You’re still a growing girl.”

“The only direction I’m going to be growing is outward if you and Cook have your

way,” Serafina grumbled, her eyes still on the spot where Vincent had just disappeared
from the room.

Who was this Mrs. Jeffries whose visit brought such a disapproving frown to Mrs.

Hastings’ face and whom Vincent was so eager to see?

* * * * *

“You shouldn’t have come, Eliza,” Vincent admonished immediately after he’d

closed the door to the study.

“Whyever not, darling?” Eliza queried in irritated amazement. “You just disappear

from my life one day and my only explanation is a hastily written note that you have

33

Beth Kery

left London for an undetermined period of time? I have become accustomed to your
vexing ways, Vince, but your rudeness usually has more subtlety to it.”

Vincent clenched his teeth in the face of her scolding. Eliza came toward him in the

dim study. The light from the fire cast a flattering glow upon her flushed cheeks. He
could smell her perfume—like spiced fruit—and her woman scent beneath it. They had
been on-again, off-again lovers for the past four years and good friends before that. Just
two weeks ago the inhalation of her scent had been sufficient to stir his cock. Presently
it left him cold. The thought struck him that she smelled somehow wrong…although
that made no sense whatsoever.

The fire reflected in her eyes made them appear golden brown in color. Now that

she was so close he could easily sense her hurt at being so callously abandoned.

The tension left his body with his exhaled breath. “I’m sorry, Eliza. Something

important has come up.”

She smiled, showing off her small, kittenish white teeth. “And this important

matter can only be seen to in absolute secret, miles from town, in Austin’s crazy old
aunt’s musty house? You would think you were on a spy mission for the Crown! I had
to resort to bribery to get Austin to reveal your whereabouts.”

“Austin’s aunt wasn’t crazy, just…unique,” Vincent murmured lamely. In truth he

and Austin had used to love to visit the old bat when they were children. One never
knew what one might find behind a closed door in Lottie Ashcroft’s house.

He wasn’t particularly surprised that Austin had blown his cover in Eliza’s case.

Austin had always had a tender spot in his heart when it came to Eliza. Vincent had
wondered on more than one occasion over the years if he should bow out of his
relationship with Eliza due to what was clearly an unrequited attraction between the
two. But in the end he had refrained. They were both adults and they didn’t require
Vincent to play matchmaker between them.

Eliza’s hand came up to smooth his collar and slid down to his chest. She looked up

at him through thick, long lashes. One of the things he’d always liked about Eliza was
how tall she was for a woman. He never had to lean down too far to find her mouth. He
experienced an overwhelming need to make love to her and not in a gentle, measured
fashion either but in a hard, demanding one that would purge his mind from all of his
troublesome thoughts of late, at least for a short, blessed period of time.

Some of Eliza’s anxiety at her lover’s uncustomary behavior melted when she saw

his nostrils flare slightly as he looked down at her. She had no illusions when it came to
Vincent. She knew that he didn’t love her—couldn’t love her or any woman after what
his wife had put him through. But he wanted her and he needed her…in his own way.

Her hand went to the back of his neck and her fingers threaded through his hair.

She’d always loved the feeling of it, so thick but silky as well. She held his gaze as she
leaned into him. It hurt that he didn’t lean down to press their mouths together. But at
least his eyes fixed on her parted lips. At least he didn’t move away from her.

“You should go, Eliza,” he said. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

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Fire Angel

Vincent cringed inwardly when he saw the pain in her expression that his abrupt

statement had caused. But what else could he do? The last thing he was thinking about
presently was carrying out a love affair.

Or maybe that was precisely what he had been thinking about, far too often for his

peace of mind. Not a love affair but a purely sexual indulgence and not with Eliza.

“Eliza…” he began again, realizing how clumsily he was handling this. “You and I

have always been friends above all else, haven’t we?”

Her smile was brittle.
“Friends?” Her hand lowered across his taut abdomen to his crotch. Her smile

became more genuine as she stroked his erection through his trousers. “Do you have
the same reaction to all of your friends, darling?”

His hand came up and grabbed her wrist but he didn’t prevent her altogether from

stroking his cock. It felt good. Too good. The fact of the matter was, every time he had
begun to masturbate over the past few nights the image of Serafina taking every one of
Crakall’s deep thrusts down her throat kept popping behind his eyes. It shamed him
beyond words. What he and Emily had walked in on in that hotel suite had been a
scene of manipulation, violence and depravity.

He knew Grovenor all too well to think otherwise.
So why did he keep fantasizing about Serafina’s red lips stretched wide across his

cock’s girth and her blue eyes glazed with desire as she stared up at him? His
uncontrollable dreams and fantasies were making him crazed with lust. What he
wouldn’t have sacrificed at some low points during the middle of the past few nights
when his cock strained painfully and his balls were blue with the need for release to
have her kneel before him willingly, wanting him as greatly as he did her.

Afterward he would lay her across his big bed and undress her slowly, deliberately,

until she was completely naked, her limbs lithesome and pale, her belly a smooth, erotic
harbor, her breasts full and vulnerable, easy prey to his fingertips, lips and tongue, the
pouting nipples eager to be gently whipped by the swollen crown of his cock…

He groaned in mixed arousal and irritation when Eliza unbuttoned his trousers and

sprang his cock into her hand.

“You have missed me, Vince,” Eliza purred with satisfaction as she stroked his

length. She glanced down between their bodies. Her face darkened with passion when
she saw his throbbing flesh in her hand.

Vincent was solely responsible for the fact that Eliza possessed a serious cock fetish.

He wasn’t her only lover, although she would have wanted him to be if Vincent had
ever shown any degree of seriousness or consistency in regard to their relationship. As
it was she spent far too many nights alone. Her husband was twice her age. His sexual
requirements could be adequately met on one or two nights out of the year and recently
even that had begun to dwindle. Vincent had created a monster of desire in her,
however, and on more nights than not if she couldn’t have him she was searching for
another to replace him.

35

Beth Kery

But it was a hopeless search. Nothing could compare to Vincent.
Certainly on a very practical level, nothing could compare to the long, heavy,

shapely cock she currently stroked.

“Oh, love,” she murmured. The tip of her tongue slid against her lower lip

hungrily.

“Christ, Eliza…” he grated out. He was a victim of his seemingly limitless need in

that moment.

“Suck me,” he demanded starkly.
Eliza responded to the near-wild tone in his deep voice instinctively, sinking to her

knees. It was a powerful aphrodisiac for her to see a man who was usually in so much
control when it came to lovemaking about to break on the hard edge of his desire.

Her tongue danced and circled around the handsome, fat crown before she sucked

him into her mouth.

Vincent hissed at the sensation of being enclosed in her humid depths. His fingers

fisted in her hair, ruining her smooth, ladylike coiffure. His eyelids clenched together
tightly.

When he came to reality a minute later and realized that she was desperately trying

to keep up with his demanding, mindless thrusts, he backed out of her mouth abruptly.
His cock sprang up in the air in clear protest when it cleared her lips.

He grimaced as he hastily pulled his underwear and pants over the straining spear

of flesh.

“What are you doing?” Eliza asked in confusion. “Didn’t you like it?”
He paused when he glanced down at her. Her lips were damp and swollen, her

eyes were glassy and her hair was mussed. She looked thoroughly debauched…and
very, very lovely.

He shut his eyes tightly.
“Go, Eliza.”
Her mouth hardened with anger. She shakily rose to her feet. “I asked you a

question, Vincent. Why did you stop? Weren’t you enjoying it?”

“Yes, I was fucking enjoying it!” Vincent roared like a trapped animal. The fact that

she jumped at his harsh words didn’t faze him. “I was enjoying it so much that I was
going to explode in your mouth, wait until you’d swallowed and then do the precise
same thing that I’m going to do now, which is to tell you to leave and not contact me
again. Now you tell me, Eliza, which scenario would you have preferred I resort to?”

Her mouth twisted in fury.
“I prefer the scenario where you rot in hell!” she seethed.
“You will undoubtedly see your preference granted,” he muttered grimly as she

grabbed her reticule and stormed past him. He thought of stopping her and apologizing

36

Fire Angel

but instinctively knew it would come out all wrong, as worked up as he was and as
angry as Eliza was.

His head was lowered in his hand in a pose of extreme frustration when he heard

the study door open and Eliza gasp.

He glanced up sharply only to meet Serafina’s startled stare from where she stood

in the hallway outside the door.

“So… Now I understand your matter of great importance,” Eliza hissed with

blistering sarcasm before she vacated the doorway with a miffed rustle of skirts.

For a stunned few seconds he and Serafina stared at each other, their postures

frozen.

Eventually she appeared to gather herself and continued down the hallway, head

lowered.

“Stop. Come here,” Vincent ordered.
He wasn’t going to tiptoe around her any longer. He wanted some answers. And if

his cock kept getting in the way, well… Serafina Grovenor could undoubtedly do an
admirable job of dealing with what was increasingly becoming an enormous obstacle to
his getting at the truth if it came to that.

And after his onerous lust had been appeased perhaps he would have the

wherewithal to grill the little charlatan for the answers about Melissa that he absolutely
required if he was to keep existing as a sane man another day.

* * * * *

The sound of the study door closing behind her with a brisk bang caused Serafina

to start. She refused to swing around to face Vincent’s towering presence just to the left
and slightly behind her but her eyes swiveled warily in their sockets in order to locate
him.

“Sit down,” he ordered.
Serafina moved into the room with all the composure she could muster and sat in a

chair near the fire. Her hand automatically rose to the heat for comfort. She was acutely
aware of his looming presence coming toward her but she still couldn’t bring herself to
meet his stare. She had always been exquisitely sensitive to the moods of those around
her. The sense of barely coiled emotion that she currently felt emanating from Vincent
alarmed her.

The scene that she had glimpsed just now unsettled her like little else could have.

She had recognized the state of sexual dishevelment and obvious anger on the lovely
face of the woman who she’d just seen storm out of the study. Now she understood
Mrs. Hastings’ expression of disapproval when it came to Mrs. Jeffries’ visit. She was
obviously Vincent’s lover.

37

Beth Kery

With some unnamed intuition Serafina also knew that the potent emotions of lust

and fury that she’d sensed from both Vincent and Mrs. Jeffries somehow related to
her—to the situation that she found herself in.

She took a deep, steadying breath.
“I suppose you want to ask me about Emily,” she said softly.
“You suppose correctly,” he growled.
She saw his eyes gleam in his dark face as he lowered his long body into the chair

across from her with his typical animallike grace. The random thought struck her that
she was in a cage with a wolf. It made her wary but it didn’t particularly surprise her.
This primitive, raw aspect of his character stood in direct contrast to the part of him that
was cool, aloof and rational. She’d seen the wildness in him on the night of the séance.

And of course in her dreams.
The thought also struck her that this was the first time that they’d ever been truly

alone together.

“What do you want to know?” she asked as evenly as possible.
“What game you’re playing, for starters.”
Her eyes darted up to meet his. The angles of his face looked stark and hard in the

shadows cast from the fire. The upper lids of his eyes had a downward slant to them
that she had thought frequently in the past several days made him look sad…like a
graceful, wounded beast. Currently they only added a focused, fierce quality to his
countenance.

She swallowed with difficulty. “I am not playing a game, Rashleigh. I know that

you don’t trust me because of your disbelief in spiritualism and your history with
Samael.” And the compromising position you found me in the other day in the hotel suite, she
added to herself. A flash of potent mortification pierced through her at the memory.
Her chin rose proudly to combat the feeling.

“His name is Richard,” Vincent corrected in an acid tone. “Samael is one of his

theatrical affectations, the true name of the devil. Rather apt, actually. I suppose your
name is the same. Serafina? Angel of fire. Very dramatic.”

Her spine stiffened at his sarcasm. “Serafina is the name my mother gave me,” she

said defiantly. When he didn’t respond but just continued to stare at her she found
herself continuing. “She died when I was ten years old. It is the only name I have ever
known. Samael is the only name I have ever heard Grovenor called, as well. If you say
his real name is Richard I will take your word for it. You and he attended Cambridge
together?”

“How long have you known him?” he asked, patently ignoring her question.
“He took me from an orphanage in New York when I was twelve years old,” she

murmured, staring into the flames.

“What, he just waltzed in one day and plucked you out of an orphanage?”

38

Fire Angel

Anger flared up in her at his persistent contemptuous attitude. “No, he had been

called to the orphanage because he was known as a healer.”

Vincent scoffed loudly at that. Serafina knew why of course. He was wondering if

there was a title Samael wouldn’t self-importantly take for himself.

“So you were sick. Injured?”
She shook her head. “No. Not me. The master of the establishment. A Mr. Adams.”

She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone. “A God-fearing gentleman who was
well respected in the community for his selfless Christian efforts in regard to children.”

She sensed his gaze on her like a palpable weight.
“An abuser of children, in other words,” he stated starkly.
She didn’t deny it. She wondered if she imagined his hesitation in the seconds that

followed, especially when she heard his steely tone when he next spoke.

“Were you the one responsible for Mr. Adam’s injuries?”
Defiance and shame battled in her. Defiance won.
“Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze with a fierceness that matched his.
“What did you do to him?” he asked skeptically.
“I…burned…him,” she answered in a low voice, enunciating each word through

clenched teeth.

For a moment the only sound in the still room was the popping of the flames.

Serafina saw when incredulous amusement entered his expression.

“Wait… Surely you’re not implying that you burned him with the use of that fire

trick you and Grovenor cooked up, are you?”

Serafina inhaled slowly, trying to get a handle on her anger. “It’s no trick. I’m sorry

to have to challenge your narrow view of reality but I really can manipulate fire. I have
been able to for as long as I remember. Why do you think Samael plucked me out of
that orphanage?”

“Undoubtedly because you showed promise of great beauty, something Grovenor

has never been able to resist, and perhaps because he sensed a common spirit in you.”

Serafina jerked spasmodically in her chair.
“I have nothing in common with that creature.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed at not only her unexpectedly formidable tone but her

choice of words. Act or no, he found her to be nearly irresistible at that moment. Her
anger made her lips and cheeks color becomingly and added luster to her beautiful
eyes. Her proud posture emphasized the narrowness of her waist, the beguiling curve
of her hips and the round softness of her breasts. Despite the fact that her dress was not
the height of fashion, he thoroughly approved of the narrow, simple lines and sober
dark blue color, the lack of bustles and balloonlike sleeves that were currently so
popular among Eliza’s set. He also appreciated the manner in which the material fit
Serafina’s torso so snugly, unerringly faithful to the shape of her figure.

39

Beth Kery

A woman’s body was one of the greatest miracles existent on the planet and

Vincent couldn’t abide by ridiculous fashions that misshaped that wonder
purposefully. If that was a truth generally it ought to have been a sacred law in
Serafina’s case.

While he admired her show of defiance, it pricked his anger as well.
He leaned forward in his chair and grabbed her wrist. “Show me then, Serafina.

Show me your supernatural powers.”

He saw her face stiffen at his taunting tone. She tried to wrench her wrist from his

hand but he tightened his grip, pulling her forward in her chair until their faces were
less than a foot apart.

“Go on, fire angel,” he challenged softly, his gaze sinking to fix on her moist lips.

“Exhibit yourself for me.”

40

Fire Angel

Chapter Four

Serafina’s anger segued from a simmer to a furious boil. “Is that why you called me

in here, to put me on display?” she asked. Samael had regularly forced her to become a
sideshow phenomenon to fill his pocketbook but she refused to randomly perform for
people’s amusement like a prancing poodle in the parlor.

She tugged her arm hard but he would not budge in his hold. It wasn’t just his

audacity that affected her. She had caught his scent—rich, spicy and potently male. The
odor momentarily pervaded her awareness, seemingly making all the blood in her body
sink between her legs, resulting in a sharp ache of unnamed longing.

He watched her through a heavy-lidded stare. “Why not, Serafina? You don’t seem

to mind public displays when you’re with Grovenor.”

She ceased her struggles and went completely still. Wild fury overcame her at his

double entendre.

“You’re a coward, Rashleigh,” she snarled. “If you just wanted to satisfy your

prurient curiosity by asking me about what you saw in the hotel suite the other night
why didn’t you just come out and say so? You merely wanted all the sordid details of
how Samael punished me by offering me as a bribe to young men that he desired.” Her
eyes lowered over him with contempt. “And here I really believed for a few minutes
that your agenda actually related to your daughter.”

She instinctively cringed when her glance swept back up to his face.
For a few seconds as she looked into his gleaming silver eyes she was thoroughly

convinced he was about to throttle her without mercy.

Instead he shoved her hand away and stood abruptly.
Vincent moved several feet away from her, overwhelmed by the heat of the fire.

After several deep, restorative breaths he finally turned to face her. The fact that she
had been right to admonish him left a bitter taste in his mouth. For a few heated
moments he had completely forgotten about Emily, forgotten about his missing
daughter, his own flesh and blood. He’d been focused solely on stoking Serafina’s
hidden fires into a high flame.

And he’d succeeded all too well. No matter what Serafina’s motives were, his own

lack of control was unpardonable.

“Was Emily there? When Grovenor brought you into his home when you were a

girl?” he asked tensely a moment later as he stared into the flames, avoiding her gaze.

“Yes,” Serafina said. She inhaled, attempting to bank her own bright flash of anger.

Several seconds passed in silence as she tried to calm herself.

41

Beth Kery

“She was not quite five years old at the time. Samael told me that she was his

daughter,” she said eventually.

Vincent’s head came around sharply at her tone. “You didn’t believe him?”
Serafina shook her head. “In the beginning I did. But then I got to know Mrs.

Grovenor better.”

“What did you learn?”
Serafina stared into the fire. “I learned that although Samael told others that Emily

and I were his daughters it was Grace Grovenor who he had put down as our legally
adoptive parent. Her and her alone. She told me that Emily had been with Samael when
she met him about a year before. I’ve come to realize that he doesn’t like his name on
legal documents like adoption certificates, perhaps because it leaves an official paper
trail that he’d rather avoid. I believe it is the only reason he married Grace, in addition
to the fact that being married gave him a sort of respectability in the Protestant, rural
area of upstate New York. Although I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that their marriage
was in fact a sham as well. It was the role he assigned to Grace, you see. It was the use
that he put her to, to be a bona-fide legal parent and humble wife.”

Vincent surged toward her, forgetting his caution.
“Do you mean to say that you know for a fact that Emily is not Grovenor’s

biological child?”

She met his gaze with a fragile composure. “If she was he wouldn’t have gone to

such extensive ends to have Mrs. Grovenor made her legal parent.”

“Dammit, Serafina, tell me what else you know,” he demanded.
“I know what you want,” she said softly. “You want some sort of scientific, tangible

proof that’s she’s your daughter. I believe that she is. I see the way you look at her. You
believe it as well. But that’s not enough for you, is it?”

His gaze became shuttered.
Serafina’s shoulders sagged in defeat.
“I know that Emily and I were both adopted and that Grace Grovenor is our legal

parent. That is why I told you that for your plans to work in regard to Emily you
needed to bring Mrs. Grovenor along. I stayed behind the other night to gather some of
our things, the most important of which was Emily’s and my own certificates of
adoption. Even if Samael should discover where we are he has no legal means for
taking Emily away from your protection unless Mrs. Grovenor willingly returns to
him.”

What she said and the audible tremble in her face admittedly moved him. Without

thought he touched her damp cheek with his fingertips, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“This is what else I know,” she continued in a low, tremulous voice. “I can no

longer protect her. It was only a matter of time before Samael drew her into his
depravities. He always threatened me with that possibility but lately I became more and
more convinced that it wasn’t just a threat. It was a warning of what was to come. If you

42

Fire Angel

had not been set on taking her from him the other night I would have had to try to
escape with Emily. Samael never allowed us any money of our own and this city is
mostly foreign to me. We would have had nowhere to go but…” She finished with a
small shrug and a sad laugh.

His hand fell from her cheek slowly when she stood and brushed her skirt as

though she were trying to find a dignity that had been trampled upon again and again.
Vincent saw that she found it. A grudging respect for her grew in him, making his
desire increase exponentially.

She turned to go but paused and took a deep breath.
“I will show you all that I have in regard to the documents that I brought but I don’t

know how much good it will do you in your search for the truth.” She glanced back
over her shoulder and met his gaze directly.

“If you don’t protect her as you have promised she will become what I have

become. Surely you don’t need official knowledge that she is your daughter but only
need be a member of the human race in order to want to prevent that.”

He halted her with a hand on her upper arm. Her face looked transfixed when he

turned her around and tilted her chin so that her eyes met his. He stepped close, their
clothing brushed together in a teasing caress.

“Do you fear men then, Serafina?”
Her lips fell apart in surprise in the protracted silence that followed although his

meaning was far from lost on her.

“I don’t fear you.”
His nostrils flared slightly in response to her concise yet far from simple answer. He

lowered down over her and caught her intoxicating scent.

“Then this is for you, Sera. Not for anything that fiend has coerced you to but for

what you are.”

Serafina made a muffled sound of wonder in her throat when his mouth closed over

her own. His hands came up to cradle both sides of her jaw, holding her in place for his
gentle, questing kiss. His lips were warm, firm…persuasive. He coaxed her to move
beneath him, to make his caress a mutual one. She inhaled and his rich, male scent
pervaded her, enlivening and exciting her flesh.

True, distilled desire flooded her being for the first time in her life, the quality of it

sharp and almost painful. The sensation of his long, hard body ghosting her own teased
her until she pushed forward against him hungrily.

He responded by cupping his hand below her waist and leaning down over her

until her back bowed in a graceful arch.

When Vincent heard her small whimper of desire he dipped his tongue between her

lips. His entire body went rigid at the registered impact of her taste…at her sultry,
penetrating heat.

43

Beth Kery

Serafina felt herself liquefy. If he had not been holding her she wondered if her

flesh wouldn’t have pooled on the floor like heated jelly. His mouth conferred an entire
world of sensation, and not just to her lips and curious tongue but to every square inch
of her tingling skin, her aching breasts, her heated core.

Vincent allowed himself ten seconds to explore her, ten seconds where his wildness

knew no restraints. Ten seconds of heaven. Well worth the experience, even given the
hours of hell that would follow when he stopped. It hurt him, like a genuine physical
pain, to lift his head a moment later. Her soft cry of thwarted desire was a second cruel
blow. He pressed the pad of his thumb to her lush lower lip as if he could only force
himself to separate from her by partial measure.

Her dazed expression of mingled uncertainty, wonder and desire almost undid him

then and there.

“Leave me now, Sera,” he ordered in a harsh whisper, pushing her soft, unwilling

body from his arms, a fierce battle between rational doubt and pure, unmitigated lust
raging in him. “But know that this thing between us is far from finished.”

* * * * *

Vincent paused at the spectacle before him when he entered Grace Grovenor’s

bedroom two days later. He nodded a greeting to the perspiring, exhausted-looking
woman who lay in the bed before his eyes skimmed back over to where Emily and
Serafina were poised in a frozen tableau. A grin pulled at his lips when he met Emily’s
sparkling gray eyes.

“I see you have discovered one of Aunt Lottie’s costume closets,” he murmured

with amusement. His step faltered slightly when his gaze transferred from the spirited
girl over to Serafina. She returned his stare in her direct manner, which always seemed
to unsettle him.

Not that her current appearance wouldn’t have done that anyway.
“Vincent, you are just who we need!” Emily exclaimed in merriment as she

galloped toward him, her too-large white dress swirling around her coltish legs and
dragging around her feet. “We are keeping Mrs. Grovenor entertained while she is ill.
Serafina says it will help the time go quicker for her.”

He glanced at Serafina, feeling a mixture of surprise and gratitude. Although Emily

did not realize it the interims between Grace’s injections were becoming longer and
longer and her dosages smaller each time. The end of the time period before he came to
administer the dose was almost unbearable for Grace. Serafina knew this of course, and
had contrived this spectacle in order to distract her from her discomfort.

“You will make a marvelous Agamemnon,” Emily insisted. She followed him to the

bedside, where he spoke quietly to Mrs. Grovenor and checked her pulse. “Wouldn’t he
make a perfect Agamemnon, Mrs. Grovenor?”

44

Fire Angel

Not for the first time it struck Vincent as odd and sad that Serafina and Emily called

their legal mother Mrs. Grovenor. He supposed that was one of the things addiction did
to a person, made it so that they were there but not there, present…but also far, far
away. Currently, however, Grace smiled warmly enough at the lively girl.

“He would indeed. He is very tall and he has the shoulders of a warrior.”
“Yes, and he fences at his club and also boxes,” Emily added. “You must be our

Agamemnon, Vincent. Sera will teach you the lines. We’re doing Iphigenia at Aulis.”

“You are not playing poor, unfortunate Iphigenia, are you?” he murmured

distractedly as he opened his medical bag.

“Of course.”
He glanced back at Serafina. They had struck a wary pact since his impulsive kiss

the other day but it was impossible to keep the heat out of his eyes as he regarded her.

“Clytemnestra, I presume?”
She shrugged and smiled, coloring noticeably at the impact of his appreciative

masculine stare. Serafina wasn’t sure where she stood with him. That kiss had been
blatantly erotic and yet strangely…sweet, as well. She was sure that it was an idiotic
fancy on her part but his lips molding and sipping at hers, his tongue both teasing and
boldly spearing the hollow of her mouth had felt somehow cleansing.

It mortified her beyond belief to think of him seeing Phillip Crakall thrusting into

her the other night. How could Vincent have wanted to kiss her mouth after he’d seen it
put to such foul use? It was lust, of course. Vincent was a man like any other man and
she only need look at his heated gaze to know that.

But it was the searing, healing quality of his desire that left her so confused in his

presence.

“Clytemnestra…and Achilles as well,” Serafina answered him finally.
“Ah. The shield and sword make sense then. I had not thought Athena was

featured in Iphigenia at Aulis. Or Aphrodite for that matter.”

He barely noticed her blink of surprise at his open compliment. His eyes warmly

lowered over her figure, set off to stunning display in one of Lottie’s old regency,
classical white gowns and a golden girdle that hugged her slender torso and plumped
her firm breasts from below, only to further highlight them with a golden chain that
crossed tightly over the upper swells, holding her breasts tender hostage in the metallic
confines. It was a singularly compelling sight, so much so that he forgave himself for
having the stunningly erotic image flash behind his eyes of what Serafina would look
like wearing that golden girdle and nothing else.

He knew firsthand that Aunt Lottie’s closets contained all manner of such costumes

and props. Austin and he used to have a ball dressing up as Sinbad the sailor or a
Roman gladiator. Lottie had always claimed that she owned the costumes because she
liked to give amateur theatricals but now that Vincent was an adult he sincerely
doubted that flimsy explanation.

45

Beth Kery

It was too bad that Aunt Lottie had been forty years older than he. He definitely

thought she would have been worth knowing in her youth.

“How do you feel, Grace?” he asked presently.
Grace Grovenor’s eyes flickered over to Emily’s animated face. “Better,” she said.
“The joints?” he queried, taking note of the pain that laced her haggard features.
“It is getting better,” she whispered, never removing her eyes from Emily.
“This will help the pain,” he said as he gently propped her up in the bed and tilted

a solution to her lips.

“Will you be our Agamemnon then, Vincent?” Emily queried patiently when he

had settled Mrs. Grovenor back in the bed.

He cradled Emily’s head in his palm. Surely there could be nothing on earth as rare

and precious as that smile.

“I am sorry to have to disappoint such a lovely young thespian but I’m afraid I

won’t.”

Her dark pink lips fell open in shock at his uncustomary refusal of her schemes. He

was usually so obliging. She had easily talked him into several activities over the past
week, including instructing him on how to play a two-handed version of bridge that
she’d devised, convincing him to teach her how to box, challenging him in a nightly
chess contest and being her patient, vastly knowledgeable tutor for chemistry,
mathematics and physics. Emily had never known another human being besides herself
who possessed such a natural proclivity for mathematics and the sciences.

“I am very limited in my acting skills and therefore cannot play the part of a

character that I so despise,” Vincent explained with a quick tap on her perfectly shaped
nose. “I think Agamemnon a great fool for even considering sacrificing a daughter
whom he should have cherished above all else.”

Emily soberly mirrored his previous gesture and placed her small, open palm on

his jaw. “Menelaus then?”

“Emily…” Serafina admonished with amusement.
“All right then,” Vincent agreed, laughing thunderously. “I can’t refuse you, sprite.

But later.” He glanced up meaningfully at Serafina, who nodded her head once in
understanding.

“Let’s go, Emily. Vincent must see to Mrs. Grovenor and then she must rest.”
He looked quickly at Serafina. It was the first time his given name had passed her

lips. Her flushed cheeks told him that she’d noticed his subtle reaction to the small
intimacy. He watched as the goddess and the sprite left the room arm in arm. When the
door closed behind them, abruptly halting Emily’s chatter, he rummaged in his bag for
a syringe.

“This will be my last dose, won’t it?” the woman in the bed asked shakily.
He met her watery blue eyes and squeezed her hand for reassurance.

46

Fire Angel

“Yes, Grace. One more and you’re free.”
He took heart when she met his gaze and nodded once.
“Free of it,” Grace said weakly. “And free of him, thank the dear Lord.”

* * * * *

Emily studied the chessboard with the somberness of a general pouring over his

maps before battle. Vincent and she were playing close to the fire in the study later that
evening. Lottie’s old house was drafty and they were forever catching a chill. Because of
the proximity of the fire the girl’s delicate features flickered in light and shadow,
making her seem even more intense as she concentrated on her next move.

“It is only a game, sprite,” Vincent teased, somewhat dismayed by the militant

quality that the typically lighthearted child took on when it came to chess. “You take it
quite seriously. Who taught you how to play?”

“Samael,” she murmured as she picked up her knight and set it down again

indecisively, never removing her fingers. She bit her tongue and grimaced uncertainly
in the silence that followed.

“Do you miss him?” Vincent asked when she finally released the knight and sat

back in her chair.

Her light gray eyes flickered up to meet his. He sensed her hesitancy. To speak ill of

one’s parent was not considered polite.

“Not overly much,” she murmured evasively.
They each made two more moves in the silence that followed.
“Samael probably misses Sera more than me,” the girl said eventually.
“And why would that be? You are both his daughters, are you not?”
“Yes…well, sort of.” She screwed up her mouth as though deciding whether or not

it was proper to release what was on her tongue.

“You can be truthful with me, Emily,” Vincent said. “I only want you to be happy.”
She started at that. “Truly?”
His smile covered a poignant stab of sadness.
“Truly.”
“Well, it is only that Samael is not my father. Not really.”
“That is what I’ve come to understand. Do you remember your real father?” He had

already established with Serafina that nothing would be said to the girl until such a
time as he had gathered more information. He stayed very still as he waited but he felt
like a wildcat that was about to pounce, so eager was he to hear what Emily would say.

“No,” she said finally. She sat back in her chair and stared thoughtfully into the fire,

the chess match temporarily forgotten.

47

Beth Kery

Vincent admonished himself for feeling such an acute stab of disappointment. What

had he expected? Even if Emily were Melissa, she had not yet been three years old when
Susan took her away.

“I think I remember a little about my mother though.”
His heart seemed to stop for two beats before it resumed its activity.
“What do you recall about her?”
“Only that she was soft,” Emily replied wistfully. “I think she used to cry a lot.

Samael told me that she was sick. Maybe that was why she was sad. And then she
died.”

“Was she… Was your mother an American lady then?”
Emily’s eyebrows furrowed together in puzzlement. “Yes. She must have been.

Samael said she was a friend of Mrs. Grovenor’s.” Her earnest eyes met his. “She had
the gift, you see.”

“The gift?” Vincent asked in confusion.
Emily nodded. “Yes. She could read people’s minds when she was under Samael’s

trance. I think that’s why Samael kept me. Because sometimes these things are passed
on to one’s children and I could have performed with him…like Sera does.”

She sighed dispiritedly and plucked at her sash.
“But I have no gifts. I can’t read anyone’s mind or dream of the future or channel

spirits or make fire, like Sera can. Samael always says that I might as well have been
Mrs. Grovenor’s true daughter as dull as I am.”

Vincent clenched his teeth together tightly in order to refrain from saying precisely

what he thought of Richard Grovenor.

Grovenor had used the mystique of spiritualism and the occult to seduce Susan.

From what he had since come to understand he had convinced her that she had
mystical powers. He had toured aristocratic Irish parlors with Susan at his side playing
the medium, reaping the benefits of Vincent’s wife’s delusions. The child could very
well have been referring to this. But that wasn’t the most important consideration at the
moment.

“Emily, you are one of the brightest children I have ever had the honor to meet.”
She smiled at him kindly. “Thank you. That is what Sera tells me, as well.”
“And do you believe her?”
Sera nodded matter-of-factly, only to blush when she realized her immodesty.
Vincent chuckled softly. It was no small miracle that Serafina had gifted the child

with a measure of self-worth, given the circumstances. “Then you prove that you are
very intelligent indeed.”

They played their game for a while without speaking.
“Sera told me that you don’t believe in her special powers,” Emily said curiously

after a while.

48

Fire Angel

Vincent sighed. “I am a scientist, sprite. I believe what I can touch, see and measure.

But I will tell you this. Your sister Sera has been endowed with special gifts. And so
have you.”

“What gifts?”
“Your gift is that you have the power to make people smile, most especially me.”
Emily giggled. “And Sera’s? What gift do you believe she has?”
“A valuable one indeed,” Vincent murmured soberly. “It seems to me that she

possesses the precious ability to make your smile possible. Wouldn’t you say?”

Emily merely nodded her head as she looked up at him with unusually somber,

glistening eyes.

49

Beth Kery

Chapter Five

Samael picked up the fire wand off his altar of magical implements, leaving behind

the water cup, the air dagger and the earth pentacle. He had carved his fire wand to
resemble a large phallus. It was made of elder with a magnetic filament running
through the pith.

He held it in his left hand and stroked it with the other while he stared at the

elemental tablet of fire that he’d placed on the wall. He narrowed his focus until his
entire consciousness became the symbols that connoted Serafina—fire and earth. Then
he picked up the other item of power from his makeshift altar and rolled it familiarly
between his burned forefinger and thumb.

What he held was a tooth, a molar that Serafina had lost when she was twelve years

old.

For a moment he felt the flame of anger surge forth, made extra powerful by the

wand and his blind fury at Rashleigh for daring to invade his private domain and take
his personal property.

Tomorrow night he and Phillip Crakall would attend a party at the home of one of

the seedier members of upper-crust English society. As the morphine, cocaine and
alcohol flowed freely and inhibitions fell away the gathering would become a wild
orgy, the perfect surroundings for a man like Samael to get precisely what he wanted.

Someone in particular, who would unlock the mystery of where Rashleigh was

holding his property, would be attending the party. Then the smug baron would pay
and pay dearly. He deserved nothing less for what he’d done to him. But first he would
remind Serafina of who her master was and what happened to those who dared to
betray him.

Had his foolish daughter forgotten that the price would be death?
He reached mentally until he found the connection that he’d magically established

long ago and strengthened many times since. The image of Serafina’s swanlike throat,
delicate jaw and full lips pervaded every cell of his being. He pictured her throat
chakra, a pulsing, whitish-blue vortex of spinning power, the essence of her speech and
thus her ability to express her will on the physical plane, the center of psychic energy
for the region of her throat, mouth and lungs.

In his mind’s eye he raised the fire wand and jabbed it into that gently swirling,

vibrant light.

Then he twisted savagely.

* * * * *

50

Fire Angel

Vincent started up in bed. His ears and eyes strained in the silent blackness of the

room but there was nothing to see or hear. He realized he’d been sleeping fitfully, half
expecting Mrs. Grovenor to awaken in pain as she had every night since she’d arrived
at Sunnyvale, although with less and less frequency.

Then he heard it again in the distance, a coughing, choking sound. He quickly

kicked aside the bedclothes and reached for his robe to cover his nakedness. He was
surprised that he’d awoken completely when the sound was so muted but he could
only be glad that he had. He quickly struck a match in the darkness and lit a lantern. He
grabbed it along with his black medical bag before he left the room.

When he checked on Grace Grovenor a moment later, however, he saw her resting

motionless in her bed.

He heard the choking noises again, closer and more insistent.
He burst into Serafina’s room without knocking. The fire in her hearth burned low

but cast enough luminescence for him to immediately make out her willowy figure bent
at the waist, her hands supporting her on the back of a chair. The well-worn, dark green
velvet dressing gown she wore was unfastened, as though she’d risen from bed and put
it on but grown weak from the fit of coughing that plagued her, leaving the robe
unbelted and forgotten.

Serafina glanced up dazedly when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Tears streamed

down her face as she gasped for air. The opening in her throat felt reed-thin, only
allowing the tiniest amount of precious oxygen to enter, and she sensed that tiny
channel closed by the second. She distantly recognized Vincent’s dark, handsome
visage looming over her. She clutched at his forearm in panic.

“Christ, what is it?” Vincent asked.
He had been trained to stay cool in the face of medical emergencies but the look of

stark terror on Serafina’s pale face frightened him on a primitive, basic level. He
instinctively knew that her very life was being threatened…and that Serafina knew this
as well. And he could do nothing but sit there and stare at her in rising horror.

He blinked after only a second, forcing away the nameless, inexplicable feeling of

dread. There was nothing worse than seeing someone deprived of oxygen or hearing
the painful, aborted sounds of a patient as they tried to draw in air.

He couldn’t allow her panic to overwhelm him.
She must suffer from asthma, he thought as he swept her into his arms and carried

her to the bed. He reached for his medical bag and fumbled for a packet of salts that
he’d used occasionally in the past to dilate the bronchioles of the lungs, although
medical science had not yet found a certain cure for asthma.

Serafina’s awareness swam up and back through the threshold of consciousness in

the seconds that followed. Her lungs felt like they would burst with the need for air but
her throat continued to spasm and constrict as though she were a chicken having its
throat twisted. Images from her past played across her eyelids in a startlingly realistic

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fashion, memories that she’d long forgotten, flashing pictures of her real mother
laughing and then lying in the eerie stillness of death.

The images only magnified her terror. She struggled wildly and then with growing

feebleness.

A harsh odor pierced her panic. So did Vincent’s deep, authoritative voice.
“Calm yourself, Serafina. The worst is over. Try to relax and the air will come.”
She shook her head madly. He didn’t understand. His medicines couldn’t thwart

the psychic stranglehold that Samael held over her. At least she could be thankful that
Vincent’s face was the last she saw before she died…

It shocked her a little when Vincent spoke more stridently, almost as if he were

hearing her thoughts and taking stark offense to them.

“My medicines will work. Don’t argue with me, Serafina. Just calm down and

breathe!”

And to her amazement the tight constriction of her throat did lessen.
Vincent winced at the sound of her wildly sucking air into her lungs. After a few

minutes color began to return to cheeks that were damp with tears.

Serafina stared up at him, taking comfort in his solid, calming presence. She wasn’t

aware that she’d grabbed for his hand but she suddenly realized that she gripped it in a
desperate hold at her waist as she continued to pant for precious air.

“Samael,” she whispered hoarsely.
His face darkened. “Don’t concern yourself with him right now, Sera. You are safe.

Just try to calm yourself.”

Serafina shook her head. She wanted to believe him but she could still feel Samael

gripping her throat, befouling her with his presence. There was only one way to rid
herself of him. She took Vincent’s hand and pressed it tightly to her throat.

She took the fullest breath of air that she had been capable of now for several

tortuous minutes and knew it was because of his nearness. She looked into Vincent’s
troubled gray eyes beseechingly.

“Close the door…and lock it, please,” she managed between gasps for air.
His lips fell open in surprise at her singular actions and the intense, unspoken

emotion behind her request.

For the first time since he’d entered the room Vincent fully took in her appearance.

Her simple white nightgown was modest but it left more of the satiny, flawless skin of
her chest and neck bare than most of her sedate day dresses. The knowledge that
Serafina likely wore nothing beneath the thin, insubstantial material struck his
awareness with a shuddering blow.

His eyes lowered to where her chest still heaved for air. Her pointed nipples

pressed against the fabric intermittently, making their shape completely known to him.
He could even make out their dusky color when they pushed tightly against the cloth
on her inhalation. If he leaned down—just inches—and enclosed a taut bud with his

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lips, if he caressed and lashed the sweet, fleshy morsel with his tongue, making the
material even more translucent, her color would be made even more apparent to him.

Her hair spread like golden flame across the white pillows. Over the past few days

he’d tried to keep his eyes off the rich, sensual beauty of it. The color and sheen
captivated him even when she wore it soberly coiffed as she usually did. But he could
never have imagined anything as lovely as its unbound glory. He wondered what it
would feel like fisted in his hand or pressed to his face as he inhaled it…or trailing
silkily against his bare abdomen while Serafina’s head was between his thighs.

He stunned himself by standing and doing what she’d asked, forcing himself not to

think of the reason behind her request.

There could be no logic behind it anyway.
His body required no explanations and no rationale. By the time he returned to the

bed and looked down at her his cock had swollen to full readiness.

Serafina reached up for him with outstretched arms. He sank down on the mattress

next to her soft, heated body. She still breathed heavily but it was nothing to what her
misery had been previously.

“I know you don’t believe in anything supernatural,” she whispered, her face just

inches from his as he leaned down over her. She once again took his hand in her own
and laid it against her throat, inhaling more deeply and evenly. “But you have the
power to break Samael’s stranglehold on me. I know you do. Put yourself here,
Vincent.” She pressed his hand more firmly into her jaw and neck.

“Don’t you see? There won’t be room in me for his foul presence if you’re there,”

she whispered.

When he felt her other hand behind his head, pressing him downward, he groaned

and fell upon her parted lips. Her body heat penetrated into every pore of him as he
pressed against her. Piercing her lips was like dipping his tongue into warm, sex-sweet,
honey. He knew he was lost when she began to rub her tongue up against his,
uncertainly at first but then with a growing fervidness as her excitement unfurled and
encountered his desire.

And their joined flame surged higher.
Serafina had no thought of propriety, no obedience to the future. There was only

now. She was still gloriously alive even though she’d fully sensed the hideous angel of
death hovering hungrily over her just minutes ago. The man who currently consumed
her with his passion felt like life itself…pure, bright and vibrant. Everywhere he
touched he burned clean the filth of Samael Grovenor.

She cried out sharply, her back arching off the bed, when he cupped her breast and

shaped it in his palm at the same time that he transferred his hot, wet mouth to her
nipple. Molten heat flooded her sex when he applied a gentle suction, causing a
simultaneous erotic tug at the juncture of thighs. His tongue harried and agitated her
nipple until she grabbed at his shoulders in a desperate plea.

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Beth Kery

Vincent glanced up through a growing fog of potent arousal when he registered the

wild insistence of her hands as she leant up. His eyes sprang wide when he felt her
loosen the belt of his robe and spread the cloth wide. He gave a grunt of disbelief when
she pushed her hand between their bodies and grasped his cock tightly. It wasn’t her
actions that shocked him so profoundly as much as her desperate, almost tangible need.
The fact that it was him that she wanted with such stark abandon acted like a jolt to his
system, as if the elixir of desire had miraculously been concocted and abruptly plunged
into his veins.

He glanced into her eyes, perhaps hoping for some remnant of sanity to which he

could cling. But the only thing he saw in her azure blue, lust-glazed eyes was a
reflection of his own desire—that and the shocking image of what she wanted him to do
to her.

His cock lurched in her fist, sending a twanging pang of arousal through him.
“Not like that, Sera…” he murmured huskily, walking on the knife’s edge of reason

and blind, wild desire.

“Yes,” she whispered. Neither of them gave a thought to the fact that they were

communicating without words. “It will be different with you. Everything is different
with you, Vincent.”

He plunged over into the abyss at those words.
Serafina’s eyes toured him hungrily as he rose up on his knees over her and

shrugged out of his royal blue robe. His stark, almost threatening masculinity
awakened something in her that was more than want and beyond arousal. It was a
hunger.

Her own femininity had never seemed so vibrant and marked with the contrast of

his masculinity right before her. Her breasts ached at the sight of his powerful muscles
gloved in smooth, dark skin. Her womb seemed to draw inward at the image of the
round, flat, dark brown discs of his nipples. The amount of hair on his chest wasn’t
enough to cover his glorious, delineated muscles but it was more than sufficient to
signal his stark masculinity. She’d never known that veins running beneath the skin
could be so exciting until she’d seen Vincent’s hands and strong forearms as he worked
over Mrs. Grovenor’s sickbed.

But those fascinating veins that seemed to pulse with some male essence that drew

him tight as a drum were even more in evidence on his large biceps. A few even ran
beneath the smooth skin on his flat, ridged abdomen just above the thick thatch of virile
hair from where his penis sprang proudly.

Those potent veins were in evidence on the stalk of his cock as well. She eyed him

hungrily as he came down over her. The knob of his penis looked smooth and succulent
as it waved just inches away from her lips. She resituated herself on the pillows in order
to accommodate him.

He waited if not with patience then with restraint, just as she knew he would. She

never took her eyes from his cock and testicles. His heavy sac bespoke a primitive

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Fire Angel

strength that stood in such arousing contrast to the expression she’d glimpsed on his
face many times, a look that was demanding but not ruthless, uncompromising but also
kind.

Her tongue darted out between her lips even before she found the ideal spot to

make herself a harbor for him. She liked the taste and sensation of him so well that she
bathed the smooth, tapered head until it glistened. She closed her eyes, enraptured by
the stony hardness of him contrasting with satiny soft, sensitive skin.

The feeling of longing that grew in her almost frightened her it was so powerful.
Vincent’s breath hissed past his clamped teeth as he watched her lick the head of

his cock while she slowly, sensually stroked the stalk with her fist. It felt exquisite. She
seemed entirely focused on and fascinated with her task, which aroused him as much as
anything. Her tongue was like a curious, quick flame never staying in one place long
enough to burn.

Unable to contain his desire any longer, he took the base of his penis in his hand

and slowly, deliberately arrowed into her heat. She pursed her red lips around him,
making herself the sweetest target into which his cock had ever sunk and quivered
home.

He growled like a restrained animal and threw his hands up to the carved

headboard, gripping tightly when she sucked several more inches of his turgid flesh
into her heat.

“Sera,” he gritted out.
She answered the confusion, wildness and distilled lust implied by his one word

exclamation with a demure, fast flicker of her flamelike tongue. But then she followed
with a hungry suction.

He pumped after a moment. He couldn’t help himself. She must have a fever. That

must be why she was so hot. If she was sick he should be administering to her, soothing
her fever…not fucking her hot mouth like an animal…like Phillip Crakall had been
doing the other night.

He gritted his teeth. His muscles clenched. A growl erupted from his throat at the

thought.

His fist slammed into the wall behind the bed so hard that both of them started.
Still, it was only enough impetus against the sheer nirvana of Serafina’s milking,

molten mouth to make him draw out of her until the stiff, swollen crown of his penis
pressed against her lush lower lip.

He registered her eyes blinking open in confusion.
“Are you ill? Why are you so hot?” he asked in a pressured, hoarse whisper. “I

won’t do this if you’re vulnerable.”

“I’m not vulnerable,” she hissed. She triumphantly noticed his stunned, maddened

expression when she leaned forward and grazed the fat, fleshy head of his cock with

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Beth Kery

her teeth. She finished with a tight, sucking kiss as she released him. He bobbed
enthusiastically against the underside of her nose.

“I want this, Vincent. Please. Want it too.”
“Want it?” he asked incredulously at the same time that he pushed his cock once

again in her moist, radiant heat. Her essence soaked into him, warm and penetrating.
He felt more than a little maddened when she suckled him deep and the tip of his cock
learned the topography of the narrow, delicate opening of her throat.

Even as he retreated he felt the passage of her throat widen.
Serafina didn’t question the dynamics of it. How did it make sense to find the cure

of what had been forced on her with a version of the original sickness?

But no…no, Vincent’s presence in her was, in fact, the precise opposite of the poison

with which Samael had inflicted her. And as she stilled her instinct to gag around the
tip of his penis taking him deeper and deeper, part of her seemed to stand back and
observe in awe. For it was as if she struggled to position him so that she could receive
the remedy that only Vincent could supply in the location where she had been most
wounded. She sucked him strongly…madly.

Sweet Jesus, Vincent thought almost incoherently. Blinded as he was by pleasure, it

felt as if she sucked him like her very life depended on it. He knew he wouldn’t be able
to survive the exquisite torture for long.

Shortly thereafter he grunted in sublime release and bathed her throat with his

most concentrated essence, banishing all that had come before him.

Vincent had tried his mightiest to pull out of her, or at least to explode on her lips

and tongue. But she had been as wildly insistent about taking and keeping him deep as
she had been about pleasuring him in this manner to begin with.

And she was so sweet, so hungry…so incredibly hot.
She held his ass in a tight grip and kept him lodged deep as he erupted seemingly

endlessly and wave after wave of pleasure shuddered through him.

As thirsty as she was for him, Serafina still choked on the amount of semen that

spurted from his cock. He tried to withdraw at the sound but she held him desperately.
Even though tears flowed from her eyes and there was some discomfort she strained for
more of him.

By the time the mighty convulsions that shook his big body had ceased and his cock

lay sticky and softened upon her tongue, Serafina inhaled more deeply and easily than
she had in years.

She gave a soft cry of protest when he slid out of her mouth but his taste lingered,

rich and complex as the man. His eyes seemed to glow like moonshine reflected on
water when he settled next to her on the bed. His weight against her felt substantial,
solid…safe.

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“Are you all right, Serafina?” he whispered. Concern shadowed his rugged features

as he pressed his palm against her perspiration-damp forehead. She was very warm,
just as he was, but no…she didn’t feel feverish to the touch.

Guilt waved through him when he recalled how she had almost been unconscious

from lack of oxygen when he’d entered the room. And what had he done? He, a
medical doctor, a man pledged to ease suffering?

He’d plunged his cock into her succulent heat, fucked her mouth and throat deeply

until she’d been choking all over again.

His expression froze in mortification at the memory.
“I wanted you to do it,” she assured softly, reading his thoughts. Her smoky voice

was slightly hoarse but otherwise was much the same sound that he’d come to crave
hearing. Her hand came up to cradle his cheek. “You understand many things that I
don’t, Vincent. I know how intelligent you are. But you don’t understand what just
happened here. You won’t let yourself understand.”

His lips fell open but his sarcasm dried on his tongue when he registered the

expression in her clear, azure blue eyes.

“Explain it to me then, fire angel.” He was becoming increasingly aware, once

again, of her soft, warm body lying next to him, their naked skin separated only by her
thin nightgown.

She experienced a feeling of awe when she began to do just what he’d requested.

Samael truly no longer held rule over her throat chakra. Vincent had truly banished
Samael from there, she thought as her finger fluttered against her throat.

He had given her the priceless gift of free speech.
“Samael cast a spell upon me with his magic. Soon after I came to live with Mrs.

Grovenor, Emily and him he revealed his true colors to me.”

Vincent’s face went rigid. “He raped you?”
Serafina inhaled slowly but no, the blockage of energy that she’d become so used

to—the tight, restraining, invisible collar—was no longer there.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, although he did try,” she replied. “But he soon

discovered, like Mr. Adams before him, that he couldn’t. Did you notice his fingers?
The scars?”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yes. They appeared to be from…”
Serafina nodded. As much as she had longed to speak the truth for so long she

hadn’t been prepared for the look on Vincent’s face. Speaking the truth also meant
revealing the ugliness of her affliction.

“Burns,” she whispered. “The scars were from burns. No one can enter me. I’m too

hot. Samael tried to insert his fingers into…my body.”

A heavy sense of dread began to press on Vincent’s chest. His hand rose to brush

her cheek and then grasp her shoulder with gentle entreaty.

What monstrous lies had that fiend been feeding this impressionable girl?

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“Is that what you meant when you said that you had burned that criminal Adams

when he tried to molest you?” He looked away, shutting his eyes briefly, overwhelmed
with disgust for Adams and those who would victimize the young and helpless.

“Sera, listen to me. Listen very carefully. Samael has been lying to you. He wanted

you to believe the phenomena that he’s been capitalizing on for your staged shows.
There is nothing wrong with you. You can’t burn other people.” His hand tightened on
her shoulder. “Was I not just inside of you? I am not burned,” he assured her.

Even as he said it, though, he distantly wondered. He did feel as though she had

scorched him indelibly in a location in him that he had never learned the name of in his
anatomy books.

“That is because of Samael,” Serafina insisted. “He cast a spell so that he could

control my fiery energy here.” She tapped her fingers in the vicinity of her throat
chakra. “He wanted to be able to control my speech—you see?—in order to control me
for his demonstrations to the public. I did not exhibit myself willingly, Vincent. I hated
it. Hated it.”

She paused and took a deep breath, trying to bring her emotions under control.

After a moment she continued.

“But in controlling that aspect of me he could also…use that part of me,” she

murmured uncomfortably. “When you came into this room tonight and I was choking,
he was punishing me for conspiring with you. Samael hates you so much. I could feel it
just now through his hold on me.”

Vincent grimaced. He didn’t believe any of this occult nonsense that Samael had fed

Serafina since she was a girl for a second but he could well believe that Samael hated
him. Richard Grovenor had become obsessed with Vincent when they were both at
Cambridge. He’d been viciously offended when Vincent had spurned his sexual
advances but his rejection had also seemed to fuel Samael’s desire. Vincent had been
young at the time and had been confused and repulsed by Grovenor’s advances. But it
hadn’t been Richard’s sexual preferences that had made him treat his advance with so
much contempt—or at least it hadn’t been just that. Even as a young man of nineteen
Vincent had sensed the cruelty and selfishness inherent to Grovenor’s nature.

And Richard Grovenor was not a man to easily forgive slights. Vincent knew that

his pointed seduction of Susan, his stealing his wife and child, had been his way of
paying Vincent back for having rejected him.

Perhaps Samael interpreted Vincent’s actions on the night of the séance as the type

of revenge Samael himself would exact. Samael had stolen his family and so Vincent
had done the same in return. Vincent could easily imagine that was how Samael’s
vindictive, cruel nature would perceive events.

No, he was far from surprised at hearing how much Samael hated him.
He came to the present with the unsettling realization that Serafina had suddenly

gone pale and that a single, round tear slid down her cheek. His thumb was there to
stop its rapid descent.

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“What, Serafina?” he asked in confusion at her obvious dismay.
“I just realized. I wanted you to…do what you did because I knew you could break

Samael’s spell. But the spell protected a man there.” She once again touched her throat,
this time with a shaking hand. “Now that it has been broken by your presence I will
never be able to…”

“What?” Vincent asked perplexedly as he rose up over her reclining body. He was

admittedly bewildered by Serafina a good portion of the time but for some reason he
cringed whenever he saw her in any type of distress.

“I will never be able to love you in that way again. I would burn you now, even

there, now that Samael’s spell is broken,” she said impulsively, too miserable at the
realization to censor her words. Silent tears began to pour out of her eyes.

“No, Serafina, no,” Vincent assured her even as he expelled a bark of laughter that

hardly connoted amusement, only anxiety at his awareness of the poignancy of the
situation, bizarre though it was.

She was such an oddity, he thought in wonderment as he cradled her head tenderly

between both of his palms. She was like some strange creature from another reality, too
beautiful for this world, fey and peculiar.

And yes, magical. Just not in Samael Grovenor’s definition of the word.
Vincent bent down and kissed her lips tenderly and then with growing desire. He

felt her tense when his tongue insistently parted her lips but he would not be denied.
She relaxed almost immediately in his arms when he made it clear to her that he was far
from being harmed as he probed and swirled and played in her heated sweetness.

By the time he raised his head his eyelids were heavy with reawakened arousal.
“It is true that you will burn me with your fires, angel. But it is also true that I will

beg to have you do it again and again. Shhh,” he soothed as he held her tear-filled gaze
and began to lift her nightgown up.

He glanced down as he pushed the fabric up over a high, firm breast. He stared,

awestruck.

“My God you’re beautiful,” he whispered after a full moment. He bent and placed

an open-mouthed kiss over her bellybutton.

Serafina moaned in mixed desire and misery. “No, Vincent. We cannot. You don’t

understand—”

“No, Sera. If what you are telling me is true than it’s you who doesn’t understand,”

he said huskily at the same time that he drew her gown over her head and down her
arms. His eyes glowed like quicksilver as they toured her exposed beauty and finally
met her gaze again.

“It will be my most profound honor to enlighten you though, angel.”
His mouth lowered again to hers.

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Beth Kery

Chapter Six

Serafina’s eyes widened at the impact of his kiss, so hot and demanding from the

first. She found that she couldn’t hold worries and anxieties inside her at the same time
that Vincent took possession of her mouth. She could not think of her affliction when
his muscular, naked body pressed so erotically against her feminine curves, skin to skin,
heartbeat to heartbeat.

As if her body knew precisely what she wanted, although she herself could not

have accurately named her need, her back arched off the bed to bring her aching
nipples into contact with Vincent’s chest. His mouth was a magic she had never
encountered, applying a sweet, steady suction while his tongue plundered her depths
and prowled about a dimension of her being that she’d never much considered as being
interesting. In matters of the flesh, her mouth had just been a means for Samael and his
“apprentices” to expend their lust.

But Vincent seemed to find everything about her teeth, tongue and taste to be

fascinating, just as she found his mouth to be. Longing grew in her, like liquid fire
spreading between her thighs.

The thought caused anxiety to flicker into her awareness again. She broke Vincent’s

masterful kiss reluctantly.

“We cannot, Vincent. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She saw his white teeth flash in the dim room.
How could he smile? He didn’t believe her at all! He had never seen the charred

flesh oozing blood that flashed lividly behind her eyes during nightmares.

Mr. Adams and Samael had deserved what happened to them. But there had been

that boy who she had become angry with for throwing stones at her cat Tilly when she
was just a small child who had suddenly burst into flames. He had ended up being all
right, although he suffered burns on his face and arms, but her unintentional
punishment had been far too severe for the crime.

Serafina would fight for what was right but she didn’t want to kill anyone.
And Vincent was the opposite of deserving of punishment. He was fierce and

powerful, compassionate and fair-minded—and far, far too honest for his own good.

She groaned when he shifted his big body until the heavy, throbbing column of his

penis pressed against her sex and belly. He flexed his hips, rubbing his growing
erection against her delicate, swollen tissues.

“If you are hurting me, Sera, it is the sweetest kind of ache,” he murmured before

he dipped his dark head and slipped one of her nipples between his teeth and lips. Her
head fell back desperately on the pillows at the sensation of being enfolded in his hot

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mouth while his abrasive, quick tongue tormented her nipple. His hands, surprisingly
gentle for their size, ran down the sensitive sides of her torso, her hips and thighs,
exploring the shape of her, causing her to shiver with bliss wherever he touched. After a
moment he grasped her hips and lifted, pressing their flesh together tightly, shifting her
subtly to create an erotic friction.

Her sex bloomed like a flower, expanding and opening, readying itself for

penetration…

The thought made her eyes blink open dazedly.
She couldn’t do this. Not only for Vincent. She couldn’t afford to ruin things with

him for Emily’s sake. He was the girl’s only protection…her only salvation.

Her fist tightened in frustration in the silky, thick hair at his nape.
“No, Vincent,” she said starkly.
His eyes looked preternaturally light when he lifted his head from her breast.

Against her will her gaze dipped to where his mouth had just been. She bit her lip and
groaned as her thighs pressed together tightly over the stab of arousal between her legs.
Her nipple stood up proudly, pointed, wet and seemingly eager to be surrounded by
his hot mouth once again.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed as he witnessed her obvious desire. To see it so clear upon

her beautiful, sweat-dampened features while she was refusing him at the same
moment infuriated him.

How could he convince her that her belief about her fiery nature was a fiction that

Samael had contrived to control her? He exhaled slowly. He would find a way. In the
meantime he probably wouldn’t be able to catch an hour’s rest as he kept envisioning
what it would be like to be buried in her hot, clasping pussy.

But he could wait until she was ready. He hoped that he could, anyway. But for

now…

Serafina’s heartbeat escalated when she saw the sudden look of determination that

overcame his hard features. He slid his hips off her until the left one rested on the bed.
Before she knew what he was about his hand was on the private place between her legs.
She sat bolt upright.

“No! I told you no.” She grasped at his wrist desperately and tried to move him. But

he would not budge. His long forefinger burrowed between soft pubic hairs until it was
sandwiched in her swollen, sensitized outer lips. She cried out brokenly when he
stroked her.

“I don’t have to be inside of you to bring you pleasure, angel,” he whispered. His

cock throbbed at her expression of dazed, open-mouthed wonder.

“You’re so sweet, Sera, so creamy,” he whispered huskily as he continued to watch

her face, transfixed by the emotions that he saw there. He pushed his finger up and
down between her swollen lips, tickling, pressing and gliding against her most sensitive
flesh as easily as if he were dipping his finger in warm oil.

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Beth Kery

“Do you like that?” he asked, fascinated by the two spots of color that bloomed in

her fair cheeks.

Serafina tried to speak but the pleasure flooding through her was too great. She

nodded her head mutely as a strange, wonderful tension grew in her.

Vincent grunted in masculine appreciation as he moved his finger down into her

warm cleft. He had never known a woman to be so juicy. It was an indication of her
desire for him but also the sweetest tribute to the depth of her sensuality.

“Lie back, Sera,” he said.
He saw the uncertainty in her azure blue eyes but she did as he demanded. He

continued to stroke her juicy cleft as he lowered his mouth to the fat, pink nipple that
he’d left unattended previously. Her hips began to shift restlessly on the bed. The small,
stark, surprised cries of passion she made in her throat drove him wild.

“Ahhhh!” she cried out in disbelief when he began to briskly horizontally whip her

clitoris with his finger where it had swelled below her labia. She grabbed his shoulders
desperately but he didn’t stop. He continued to suck insistently on the tip of her breast.

“Vincent, what’s happening?” she asked between gasps for air.
He curled his hand over her sex, the heel of his palm pressing and shifting with a

hard friction until he saw her eyes go wide in shock. He kissed her opened lips as the
first potent blast of orgasm shook her body, absorbing her sharp cry.

“You’re coming for me,” he whispered tenderly a moment later as she trembled

beneath him.

But she never heard him, so lost was she in a mindless void of pleasure.
He continued to watch her lovely face transformed by ecstasy. What a rich cache of

sensuality she possessed. The things he could teach her…

His mouth hardened with determination when he heard his own thought.
The things he would teach her—and damn Richard Grovenor straight to hell.
When her convulsions waned he moved over her. All thoughts of waiting to have

her were drowned in the sea of his own arousal. A profound, primitive need to mate
overwhelmed him, distantly shocking him in its intensity.

Serafina’s eyes blinked open dazedly at the sensations of him kissing the side of her

neck with his hot, insistent mouth and the smooth, wide head of his penis nudging at
the gate of her pussy.

“Vincent, no…” she whispered but her thighs opened and her pelvis shifted to

accommodate him. She didn’t have to think about it, it was instinctual.

He groaned in agonized anticipation against her neck.
Someone cried out in the distance. They both went rigid at the same moment. His

dark head came up and their eyes met.

“It’s Mrs. Grovenor,” Serafina whispered hoarsely.

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His only sign of frustration was his eyes pinching closed tightly but Serafina sensed

his leashed restraint as well as the immense power coiling behind it.

He moved off her abruptly and swung his long legs to the floor. Mrs. Grovenor

moaned again, even louder this time.

“I will go,” Serafina whispered as she reached for her gown. She pulled it over her

quickly. Her hands shook when she stood to straighten it and reached for her robe.

What had just happened between her and Vincent—what she’d almost allowed to

happen—pressed down on her chest like a physical weight. She would have hurt
him…maimed him, even, all for her own selfish pleasure.

He would have likely tossed Emily, Mrs. Grovenor and her out into the streets.

They would have had nowhere else to go for food or shelter…except back to Samael.

She shivered uncontrollably. Nausea struck her in a nearly debilitating wave at the

thought.

Vincent noticed her trembling and reached for her, urging her back onto the bed.
“Lie down, Sera, you’ve been through enough tonight,” he ordered gruffly. When

he felt her resist him he continued reassuringly, “I will give her something for her pain
and she will settle. It happens about this time every night.”

The sight of her averted eyes as she shook her head, her magnificent mane of hair

trailing across her dark green robe, made frustration rise in him like a foul smoke.

“No. I will go to her. Follow if you will but do not expect us to resume this

afterward. Or ever.”

Her resolute tone made Vincent experience an immature but nevertheless potent

urge to break something…most preferably Richard Grovenor’s face.

* * * * *

The bright sun that shone around the damask curtains in her bedroom stood in

contrast to Serafina’s black mood the next morning. She had returned to her bed last
night after Mrs. Grovenor had settled, determined but miserable.

When she had crawled beneath the mussed sheets and blanket she could have

almost imagined that she felt the remnants of Vincent’s body heat. She didn’t need to
imagine his lingering rich, spicy male scent…and something else, the saline, musky
scent of his seed.

He had tasted wonderful. She would forever associate the taste of Vincent’s semen

not only with desire but with freedom. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids as she took
a deep, full inhalation of air.

His comforting heat and even his scent eventually dissipated. But her memories of

what had happened in that bed between them only grew more vivid and breathtaking,
making sleep an impossibility.

How could she possibly face him come morning?

63

Beth Kery

Guilt pressed down on her spirit when Emily knocked and peeked into her room a

while later. Her pretty elfin features appeared even more animated than usual.

“You are still in bed, sleepyhead? You must get up, Sera. You will never guess what

a wonderful surprise there is!” Emily exclaimed as she came into the room, executing a
graceful dance turn in the midst of rushing her sister.

Despite her unsettled mood Serafina couldn’t help but laugh. Emily’s lively energy

was always irresistible. It gave her a sense of profound happiness to see the girl’s
naturally effervescent nature bloom and flourish in the safety and warmth of Vincent’s
protection. Serafina couldn’t help but wonder how much the girl guessed about
Vincent’s interest in her, for he spent several hours alone with Emily each day getting to
know her. Emily was intelligent and quick but she’d never broached the topic with her
about why Serafina had been so willing to flee with a complete stranger.

“Tell me this wonderful surprise then, before you explode from holding it in,”

Serafina said with a chuckle.

“Oooh, it is freezing in your room, Sera. Mrs. Hastings said the temperature

dropped last night,” Emily said as she approached the bed, shivering.

Serafina rose obligingly and pulled on her robe. Emily followed her to the hearth,

watching but making no comment as Serafina uncurled her fist. A small ball of flame
rolled off her fingertips into the fireplace. It struck a portion of two logs that had not
ignited last night and exploded in a rush of sparks before a toasty fire surged up.

Emily held her chilled fingers appreciatively up to the flame.
“Here it is then. Are you sure you’re ready?” Emily asked, gray eyes sparkling with

excitement.

“Yes,” Serafina assured her with mock exasperation.
“Mrs. Hastings just informed me that Vincent left a note saying that he’s hired a

couturier to come to Sunnyvale this morning.”

Serafina stilled in the act of tying her robe. “A couturier?” she repeated uncertainly.

After a second she resumed her actions. “Well, that was very thoughtful of him. You
certainly could use some new skirts and dresses. You’ve grown at least four inches since
the summertime.”

Serafina grasped for a scheme for paying him back for Emily’s much-needed new

clothing and thought of the topic that she’d been too shy to broach with Vincent—or
perhaps it had been Samael’s hold on her that made asserting herself so difficult. Given
what had happened last night she currently felt even more mortified approaching
Vincent to discuss her plans but that was the price she had to pay for her selfishness.

“Mrs. Hastings said that the dressmaker will be taking sizes for all of us, even Mrs.

Grovenor,” Emily exclaimed rapturously. “And she also said that Vincent specified that
we each were to be fitted for a new wardrobe, including a special fancy dress!”

Serafina tried to hide her scowl. She didn’t want to ruin Emily’s excitement but

Grace and she would not be partaking of that aspect of Vincent’s hospitality. But Emily

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deserved the treat, especially since almost every item of clothing that she owned had
once belonged to Serafina. Samael had traditionally spent a modest sum of money on
Serafina since her public appearances were his bread and butter. And of course Samael
himself was always dressed immaculately in the most fashionable and expensive attire.
But to Serafina’s knowledge Emily had never had a new dress or gown that was
purchased just for her.

“I’ll speak to Vincent about it,” Serafina evaded for the time being. “Is he at his

breakfast?”

“He works at the public hospital every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Mrs.

Hastings said that he either slept very well or very poorly last night because he was
already gone by the time she woke this morning at dawn.”

Serafina’s eyes burned from lack of sleep when she briefly closed her eyelids. She

didn’t need to decide which one of Mrs. Hastings guesses was correct.

* * * * *

Vincent paused in surprise after he closed the front door to Sunnyvale late that

evening. Serafina stood from where she’d been sitting on the bottom step of the stairs.
He blinked, wondering if she was an apparition. She looked as trim and neat as always,
wearing a black skirt with a wide belt that highlighted her slender waist with a
practical, starched white shirtwaist tucked into it. Although the shirt was modesty
personified, with not one ruffle or flashy button to soften it its uncompromising lines, it
only highlighted the feminine curves of the woman beneath it. He recalled the fullness
of her breasts all too well, how firm she felt as her flesh overfilled his hands.

The exquisite responsiveness of her rosy nipples was something he’d had good

reason to wish he could forget as he’d tried to focus on his work for the last twelve
hours.

Her shiny, coppery-colored hair was pinned up onto her head, a few curls falling

around her forehead and down her back. The thought of how it looked unbound and
lying across a pillow automatically sprang into his brain, just as it had seemingly
hundreds of times while he’d tried to attend to his patients today.

Vincent knew himself well enough to realize that bedding the girl was mandatory.

Once he had fully faced that fact he had stopped struggling and things had come easier
for him.

“What are you doing sitting there?” he asked as he tossed down his bag and

removed his greatcoat with a sense of brisk purpose.

“I was waiting for you.”
She blushed slightly when he gave her a penetrating look at her blunt response but

her gaze didn’t falter.

“May I have a word with you in private?” she asked.

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Beth Kery

“Yes, of course.” He scowled when he registered his tone, irritated with himself for

falling in with her formal manner after what had passed between them last night…after
what he planned.

“You must be chilled. I’ll have Nancy bring tea into the study,” Serafina said.
Vincent paced restlessly before the fire a few minutes later while Nancy laid out the

tea things.

“That will do, Nancy, thank you,” Vincent finally said impatiently, eager to be

alone with Serafina. He had come to a decision today and had always been the type of
man once he made a difficult decision to immediately see it through to its conclusion.

To hesitate would just be an indication of weakness or uncertainty.
“Well, what is that you wanted to tell me so much that you’d wait in the drafty

foyer until it was said?” he asked with brusque amusement as he accepted a cup of tea
from her.

Serafina took a deep breath. “I want to thank you for sending the couturier to us

today, Vincent. It was very kind of you. Of course I saw to it that Emily was fitted for all
that she needs—”

“And what about you?”
“That is what I wanted to discuss with you. Madame Cherise brought all three of us

lovely ready-made dresses to wear in addition to taking our measurements for things to
be made. I refused initially but she insisted that you would fire her if I did not comply.
Vincent, it is understandable that you want to buy Emily things but Mrs. Grovenor and
I do not require your charity.”

His nostrils flared in irritation. “Charity you call it? Do you call eating the meals

that Mrs. Hastings puts on the table charity as well? You have to eat and you need
clothes on your back!”

Their gazes met for an electric few seconds before Serafina glanced away

uncomfortably. She didn’t require the gift of telepathy to know that he had been
thinking of the moment last night when she had no clothes on her back whatsoever, and
neither had he. She closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the pervasive image of him
kneeling over her, naked and pagan and magnificent.

“Buying us expensive gowns from a French seamstress is hardly the equivalent of

clothing us for survival, Vincent,” she said once she’d composed herself. “And in
regard to the food I do in fact consider it a kind of charity. I know very well that it is
Emily that you are doing this for, not me or Mrs. Grovenor.” She pointedly ignored his
annoyed expression. “And as such I have a proposal that I would like to suggest as a
means of paying you back for your kindness to my mother and me.”

That silenced the rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. “Well?” was all he said.
Serafina plunged ahead, too embarrassed to look at him, imagining that he might

laugh at her. “You realize that I must find some sort of profession. I must find a way to
support us. We can’t live off your kindness forever.”

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Vincent bristled at her brisk, businesslike tone. He was the one who was supposed

to be calmly purposeful at present. He wasn’t in the mood to make any sweeping
changes at this point, unless they were the sweeping changes that he proposed.

“I thought we agreed that we would engage in this arrangement until such a time

that I might be able to determine if Emily was truly Melissa,” he said.

“We never really discussed the details of it. At any rate I must find some way to put

myself to use,” Serafina said uncomfortably, avoiding his penetrating gaze by staring
into the fire. “You have said I was helpful in tending to Mrs. Grovenor. I thought
perhaps…I could learn to become a nurse.”

When he didn’t speak immediately she plunged ahead nervously. “If you think it a

good idea, perhaps you could train me to work with you. If you don’t need the
assistance yourself you might put me in contact with some respectable doctor at the
hospital who would employ me.”

Again he didn’t speak.
She glanced over at him in rising exasperation. He sat in his usual chair by the fire,

long legs slightly spread, and calmly took a sip of his tea. The random thought struck
her that in his person Vincent had done the impossible—combined all the
characteristics of a natural athlete who was fully comfortable with his body with a hard-
nosed scientist, a man who could converse with intelligence and enthusiasm on an
amazing breadth of topics, who regularly undertook research and published his
findings and who Serafina had recently come to learn was a highly respected doctor
and surgeon.

The doctor pugilist.
She smiled, despite her desire to do otherwise. Now she saw the similarities

between the two professions and they were not as incompatible as she had thought. A
scientist and a fighter—both were in the habit of seeing the world in rather
uncompromising terms, methodically beating at an obstacle until it fully submitted to
their will. The uncomfortable thought struck her that Vincent was regarding her
currently as if she were one of those obstacles that didn’t quite fit in his world exactly
the way he wanted.

“First a smile worthy of a witch then a look of suspicion? What am I to make of you

this evening, Sera?” he asked.

“I was thinking much the same of you. Why have you not responded to what I

proposed?”

He gave a small shrug of his broad shoulders and set down his tea. “If you want to

train to become a nurse you should, of course. The library at Richton is full of medical
books,” he said, referring to the Rashleigh manor in Mayfair. “And you can gain the
practical skills from working with me. I have been highly impressed by your abilities at
the bedside.”

He saw her cheeks color and he paused, replaying his own words in his head.

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Beth Kery

He plunged ahead, determined not to be cowed into ignoring what had happened

between them last night. “You have an intuitive understanding of biological processes.
In addition you possess a soothing voice and healing touch. I myself have not been left
unaffected by it.”

Serafina’s color grew richer not only at his compliment but at the impact of his low,

husky voice, so intimate in the fire-lit room.

“You shall come with me tomorrow morning to the hospital. There is someone I

want you to meet,” he said briskly as he stood to stoke the fire.

Warmth flooded her. He hadn’t laughed at her at all!
“Thank you. Yes, of course I’ll come.”
“Sera, are you absolutely convinced that you would do harm a man if he were to

have sexual intercourse with you?”

Serafina dropped her cup several inches, causing it to rattle loudly in the saucer.

Her cheeks and chest flamed. Had he really just said that so conversationally?

“Vincent, about last night—I-I’m sorry if I led you to believe that—”
He waved his hand impatiently. “There is no need to apologize. We have before us

a set of variables and a desired outcome. There are obstacles but nothing I can’t
surmount.”

She stared at him for a moment, speechless. “What variables are you referring to?

And what is the desired outcome?” she finally questioned through a constricted throat.

He leaned forward in his chair, causing the firelight to enliven his silvery-gray eyes.

“The variables being,” he ticked off his fingers, “one, that I am becoming more and more
convinced that Emily is indeed Melissa. Two, you and I are attracted to one another. I
am honest enough with myself to know that I likely will not rest until I have you. Yet I
want to create a wholesome, stable environment for the girl. It would not be…suitable
for me to be sneaking in and out of your bedroom when you are Emily’s sister. Three,
the answer is not for you to move to a separate residence, because Emily will never be
happy living with me unless you are part of the household. So,” he said as he clapped
his hands together in a brisk, businesslike manner. “You offered me your proposal this
evening Sera and I accepted. Will you accept mine?”

“What proposal?” Serafina asked as a surreal feeling slowly crept over her.
“The traditional type of course. I’m asked you to marry me, Serafina.”
She leaned forward unconsciously in the tense silence that followed. Her eyelids

narrowed as she peered into his eyes, searching for signs of laughter or madness. She
found nothing but his typical steady, depthless confidence.

“Why are you teasing me this way?”
Vincent recognized the flash of hurt that flickered across her face. “Serafina, I’m not

teasing you. I’m asking you to marry me.”

“Do you love me?”

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It was his turn to blanch. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that—although he

should have, given her uncustomary directness at times.

“I am too much of a rationalist to believe in romance and love at first sight, Serafina.

I do know that I respect you. I will forever be in your debt for what you have
accomplished with my daughter.”

Both of them blinked in surprise. It was the first time he had referred to Emily in

that way.

He swallowed and continued determinedly, “I also know that I want you—maybe

more than I’ve ever wanted a woman. Successful marriages have begun on much less
than respect and desire.”

“But, Vincent, you are a titled gentleman. I am the daughter of an American farmer

with a past that you find spurious at best. It is not an appropriate match!”

“You will have to find a better argument than that, Sera. I have no living relatives

who will contest the match and I myself do not find the topic worthy of discussion.”

“But I can offer you nothing,” she protested. “Not even the possibility of a child.”
His face became masklike. “It is not for me to decide whether or not we will have

children but you will be my wife in every sense of the word, Serafina.”

She opened her mouth to argue then stopped abruptly when she fully took in his

expression of steely hard determination. She had never known a man like him. He was
insufferably sure of himself.

“Vincent, it isn’t possible,” she enunciated succinctly. “You just don’t understand.”
“I understand that you are fully convinced of the phenomenon, even if I am not. As

such, I am prepared to deal with it. That is why I want you to come to the hospital with
me tomorrow. I only require one thing to make my point.”

“What?” she asked uneasily.
He nodded toward the handkerchief she almost always wore neatly tucked into the

belt at her waist.

“That handkerchief.”
Her hand fluttered next to the piece of cloth before she withdrew the handkerchief.

“This? What for, Vincent?”

“Just give it to me and you will see tomorrow,” he answered evasively.
She hesitated before she handed him the delicate embroidered handkerchief. “It is

very special to me. It belonged to my mother. It is one of the few things I have of hers.”

“I will take good care of it and you will have it back in your possession tomorrow.

Samael Grovenor has had plenty of time to convince you of the power of his magic. I
don’t have as much time to convince you of the power of science but I have one
advantage. My particular brand of hocus-pocus is a hell of a lot more potent, not to
mention more real, than Grovenor’s,” he growled.

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Beth Kery

“This isn’t about Samael, Vincent. It’s about me, what I am. What you’re suggesting

just isn’t possible.”

“If I can prove to you that it is will you marry me?”
Serafina burst out in disbelieving laughter. “Yes, Vincent. If you somehow possess

the highly unlikely ability to alter an individual’s essential nature then yes, I will marry
you.”

His smug smile stunned her. It also caused desire to uncoil in her sex and curl up

her spine, only adding to her state of confusion.

What an impossible man.
“Good. We will be married tomorrow afternoon. I took care of the paperwork today

and the dresses that Madame Cherise brought for the three of you will do for our
wedding.”

Serafina found that there was nothing else she could say in the face of such

ridiculous cocksureness. The circumstances were bizarre enough to make her feel as if
she were dreaming. She surged up from her seat unsteadily, determined to put a
distance between herself and the infuriating source of her uncertainty.

“Sera,” Vincent called out as she reached for the door.
She glanced over her shoulder at him warily. He still reclined in his chair, the

picture of confident male insouciance. He might have just proposed a walk in
Sunnyvale’s gardens instead of spending their lifetimes together.

“You are wrong to think that I desire to change anything essential to your nature. I

like you fine just the way you are.”

Serafina blushed when his magnificent eyes swept appreciatively down her figure.

He noticed and smiled almost boyishly.

“The only thing the magic of science is going to do is allow me to alter my nature to

fit yours. Then you will accommodate me, fire angel,” he added with finality. His
carefree grin vanished only to be replaced by an expression of hard determination.
“You will accommodate me most splendidly.”

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Chapter Seven

Eliza Jeffries seriously doubted her wisdom in attending Sir Nigel Lyman’s late-

night party in his Kensington Palace Gardens mansion. Everyone in London was
familiar with his scandalous gatherings, which typically involved gargantuan amounts
of premium champagne, beautiful, jaded people and not an ounce of sexual restraint.
Despite her foreknowledge, her eyebrows rose in amazement as she watched a man she
had previously only known as a staunch Tory conservative matter-of-factly raise the
skirts of the woman he’d been shamelessly kissing and groping in the corner for the last
fifteen minutes, unbutton his trousers and skewer her with his cock then and there.

Eliza blinked, glanced away and then looked back again to assure herself of the

reality of what she’d seen. But no…gray-haired Lord Mycroft was definitely humping a
moaning woman in the corner of Sir Nigel’s drawing room while dozens of people
milled about, talking and sipping champagne. They looked on the public display of sex
with degrees of interest that ranged from stark prurience to bored irritation.

Perhaps Lord Mycroft’s sudden display of boldness and lack of inhibition related to

the fact that he’d retired to a private room a little over a half-hour ago with Sir Nigel,
Samael Grovenor, that disgusting boy Phillip Crakall and his equally lecherous friend,
Hugh Jasper, and a slew of others both male and female. Samael had tried to talk her
into attending his little conclave but she had politely refused.

Samael Grovenor…now there was a fascinating man. A gentleman magician, or at

least that was what the gossips said of him. Eliza had no problem believing them in this
instance. She had met him just two nights ago at the opera. When he’d mentioned that
he would see her at Sir Nigel’s tonight he’d said it as if it were a foregone conclusion
that she would come. She had certainly not promised him to come. Eliza might be one
of the more liberal members of the glittering, carefree, upper-crust social set of London
but she had never even considered attending one of Sir Nigel’s parties before.

But the vision of Samael’s liquid dark, compelling eyes had arisen in her mind

again and again for the past few days and nights. He was as tall as Vincent and just as
handsome…although in a completely different way of course. She supposed that
Samael was even bolder than Vincent. As his lover, Eliza had given herself to Vincent in
ways that she would never even have dreamed about as a young woman. But as daring
and exciting a lover as Vincent was, he would never come to one of Sir Nigel’s
bacchanalias.

She did not allow herself to dwell on the fact that Vincent’s probable lack of interest

in such an affair was more due to his contempt of it rather than any actual lack of
boldness on his part.

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Beth Kery

No, tonight she was determined to shed all vestiges of Lord Rashleigh from her

body and spirit. If she’d wanted to make some sort of grand, rebellious gesture in the
face of Vincent dropping her so callously Eliza could imagine no better place to do it.

“Eliza?” queried a low, compelling voice.
And I can think of no better man to do it with, Eliza thought breathlessly as she turned

and looked up into Samael Grovenor’s finely chiseled, handsome features. Her
heartbeat escalated when she saw his slow, sensual smile. His enigmatic eyes—even
more glassy and lustrous than usual—leisurely toured her face and then her partially
exposed breasts above her black and ivory velvet moiré gown. He did it without
pretense or apology, as though he had a right to eat her up with his gaze—and indeed,
in any other manner that he desired.

It was his thoroughly proprietary, masterful manner that made her weak in the

knees and dampened her drawers.

“Are you having a nice time?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she replied in a carefree manner that was completely at odds with her

blush and the sound of the couple rutting in the corner with increasing enthusiasm.

He scowled as he glanced back at Lord Mycroft’s lewd public display.
“You are not used to such things,” he said gently. She went completely still when

he reached up and caressed her jaw and cheek. “It did not please me that you refused to
accompany me and the others.”

She started at the potent combination of his long, stroking fingers and his

uncompromisingly hard tone of voice.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured before she could stop herself. She wondered if she was

forgiven when he gave a small smile and leaned down to kiss her, whisper-soft. He
lifted his head and spoke quietly near her lips.

“I am used to getting what I want, Eliza. And I have decided that I want you. Here,

tonight. And so I will have you.”

“Oh?” was all her lust-befuddled brain could produce at the moment. If she had

wanted to cure herself of her pervasive melancholy over Vincent tonight, Samael was
certainly a potent remedy.

Samael nodded once before he lightly kissed her upturned lips again and raised his

head. “But I am aware of the fact that my brand of lovemaking may make an innocent
uncomfortable.”

“So you want me to go to that room with you?”
“Yes,” he said evenly.
“And partake of what, exactly? Morphine? Cocaine?”
“Actually, I have developed the perfect combination of both for a shedding of

inhibitions and a heightening of consciousness during sexual pleasure.” His slow smile
caused a tingling sensation between her thighs. “An elixir worthy of the Gods. I have

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reserved some for you, Eliza. For tonight you are my Goddess and I will worship you
well.”

“All right,” Eliza murmured breathlessly. Her desire to please him felt potently

sexual in nature. She began to follow him when he grasped her elbow but she hesitated
for a moment, resisting his pull. Regret flashed through her when she saw irritation
shadow his handsome features when he turned to her.

“It is only that I do not like those boys, especially Phillip Crakall. He has

propositioned me on any number of occasions and always rudely and without a care for
either my refusals or my feelings in the matter. It seems…strange that you would
choose to associate with him.”

His expression softened at her uncertainty. “It will be all right, Eliza. I will never

speak to Phillip Crakall if it is what you desire. You are all that matters to me. Now
come along,” he prodded soothingly.

A while later Eliza followed Samael’s trim, whipcord-lean figure dazedly down one

of the labyrinthine hallways in Sir Nigel’s house. She felt wonderful. Samael had been
right. He must have concocted the solution of the Gods because she had never been so
relaxed and yet so hyperaware of her surroundings. She must tell Vincent about its
miraculous properties when she next saw him, and dear Austin as well.

Oh but Vincent would not like that, would he? It would remind him of that stupid

wife of his who had run off with some other man and gotten herself addicted, the same
woman who had jaded Vincent to love forever. Austin had never revealed to her the
details of his wife’s betrayal, and of course Vincent never would. But Eliza knew
without hearing the details that Lady Rashleigh had been the biggest fool on the face of
the earth.

For who and what could tempt any sane woman to leave when she shared

Vincent’s bed every night?

Vincent’s prejudices when it came to these drugs were so wrong though, she

thought as she stumbled along after Samael. This was nothing to the heavy, fuzzy
intoxication of champagne, although Samael had insisted that she drink more of that as
well, when she had become nauseated after he injected her.

Now everything was wonderful…perfect. And she had not thought of Vincent for a

while now.

Except for that she just had been, she realized with a potent flash of impatience.
Never mind, she thought irritably. She was with the magical Samael and he was

about to take her to a bedroom and worship at her naked body like it was a sacred altar,
or at least he’d whispered something to that effect into her ear before he’d pulled her to
the upper regions of the house.

Samael paused in the hallway and turned, making her run into him.
“Listen,” he ordered, his eyes glistening like black onyx stones in the dim light.

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Beth Kery

The unmistakable sounds of boisterous lovemaking entered her ears.
“Let’s take a peek, shall we?” Samael asked with one arching brow.
“No, Samael, don’t!” Eliza whispered. But it was too late. Not only did he open the

door, he pulled her into the room behind him. Samael pushed her in front of him and
encircled her in his arms, pressing his long body to her back.

Eliza gaped at the scene before her. Two young blonde women, wearing only their

corsets and stockings, knelt at the foot of a great bed. That great English libertine
himself, Sir Nigel Lyman, stood behind them, his face reddened with all the excitement
and effort implied in fucking first one woman for several long, forceful strokes before
transferring to the other. None of the three lovers took notice of her and Samael’s
presences or if they did they were beyond the point of caring.

Eliza moaned softly when Samael plunged his hand into her corset and massaged

her small breast sensually, plucking at the stiffening nipple.

“It always makes me hot to watch Sir Nigel in action. The old rotter is going to fat

but his cock is magnificent,” he whispered into her ear before he kissed the opening
hotly. Eliza exhaled shakily at the caress, her eyes already pinned to what Samael
referred. Sir Nigel did indeed possess a protruding belly and a receding hairline but his
big, naked body was also the very image of a fertile, powerful satyr. He had a pelt of
black hair on his chest and an even thicker one at his groin.

But it was what sprang from that abundant nest of hair that had Eliza

speechless…and very aroused, she admitted as Samael reached down for her other
breast and pinched a nipple. Sir Nigel’s cock was as long and as thick as Vincent’s—the
cock to which she compared all others. But it was beguilingly curved. To see him
wielding such a lengthy saber so energetically was…well, interesting to say the least. She
would not have guessed that Sir Nigel had such athletic proclivities.

She turned her head, her lips finding Samael’s. They engaged in their first full-

fledged, deep kiss. It was every bit as arousing and erotic as she knew it would be.

“Let us find our own room, Samael,” Eliza whispered as she nipped and lightly bit

at his lips. She could feel his penis pressing to her bottom even through her gown and
petticoat, exciting her greatly.

“Patience, lovely. We have all night. I wouldn’t want to miss Sir Nigel’s finale. Ah,

ah,” he teased with a charming smile as he leaned back, keeping his mouth from her
seeking one. He enclosed her chin with his long fingers and tilted her face back to the
scene before them.

Sir Nigel was currently bucking wildly into the woman who knelt closest to them,

their bodies slapping together in loud, staccato bursts. His reddened face, sweaty belly
and the manner in which he grunted rhythmically gave the impression of watching two
animals mating. The young woman howled with pleasure. For the first time Eliza
noticed that her round bottom glowed rosy pink.

“He gave them both a hearty spanking it would seem, before taking them for a

ride,” Samael whispered huskily next to her ear.

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Eliza flushed. “Who are they?” she whispered, never having seen the two women

before.

She sensed his careless shrug. “Prostitutes, no doubt. Ummm, yes, here we go,” he

added with piqued interest.

Eliza stared round-eyed as Sir Nigel ceased his wild pounding, withdrew his

glistening cock and began pumping himself rapidly. He groaned gutturally as he
deposited his seed on both women’s rosy bottoms.

Samael laughed appreciatively next to her neck as he watched. “That old lecher

amazes me. Look at all that delicious cream.”

Eliza shifted uncomfortably in his arms. Neither this scene nor the crude things that

Samael had been whispering in her ear for the past five minutes matched up to her
fantasies of being swept off her feet for a night of romance and lovemaking in order to
purge Vincent from her consciousness once and for all.

In fact, the nagging thought that Vincent—or Austin, for that matter—would never

dream of subjecting her to this depravity kept reoccurring with alarming regularity.

But then the room wavered and she found herself regarding Samael’s face as if from

a great, comfortable distance. “Let us go, Samael, before they notice us.”

Samael peeled his eyes from the sight of Sir Nigel laughing in a friendly fashion

with the women as he rubbed his semen into their asses. He took in the high color on
Eliza’s cheeks and conceded.

“All right then. Time for us to make some of our magic, isn’t it?” he asked with a

heavy-lidded stare.

“Oh yes. Quickly, Samael.”

* * * * *

Serafina had found Vincent and Emily in the study that evening. Vincent was in the

process of lacing her upheld fists in a pair of well-worn boxing gloves that were so big
that they almost reached the girl’s slender, pointy elbows. The precisely matched look
of sober concentration on both of their faces left Serafina temporarily stunned.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Serafina demanded.
Equally similar eyes darted over in surprise at her abrupt question.
“We are having our boxing lesson,” Emily supplied with a quivery smile. She had

not told Serafina as of yet about Vincent’s tutelage, concerned that her sister might find
the lessons unseemly for a young girl. And from the pinched look of Serafina’s brow,
Emily realized she had not been wrong in utilizing caution.

Vincent also noticed Serafina’s scandalized expression. She had been polite but

distant and wary with him during supper. He knew that she was going along with his
plans only because she was perfectly convinced that he could do nothing tomorrow that
would change her mind.

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He was equally convinced otherwise though. As such he was quite in the mood to

tolerate her irritation.

“You are not one of those starchy old maids who faints at the idea of boxing, are

you?” he asked provocatively as he briskly patted Emily’s fists with his hands,
signaling his readiness.

Emily stepped back with her right foot and took a classic boxing stance, head

ducked, right fist up at the ready to protect her head and neck, the left slightly lowered,
prepared to deflect a possible to blow to the vulnerable area of the liver if necessary.

Serafina blinked in amazement before she hurried over to them. “Boxing is a

bloody, cruel sport!” she protested.

Vincent put up his hands in front of him, palms outward. Emily began jabbing at

them with her fists in a fierce manner that belied the merry sparkle in her gray eyes.

“I have often thought it strange that women were not regularly taught the arts of

self-defense given the unequal status that our culture has imposed upon them in
addition to their physically smaller stature,” Vincent said reflectively, as if he were
talking to himself as Emily continued to use his big palms as targets.

Serafina paused, thinking of the way Vincent had pounded Samael the other night

not once, but twice…and to such satisfying effect.

Vincent watched from the corners of his eyes as her irritation segued to a

thoughtful expression.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt any,” Serafina acknowledged as she began to slowly

circle the pair, her brow now furrowing with curiosity instead of outrage.

Vincent said nothing and kept his smug smile to himself.
“Was that Austin’s voice that I heard earlier?” Serafina asked when Emily took a

break a few minutes later, wiping the sweat from her efforts from her brow.

She had met Austin Howe on several occasions now and liked him very much.

Emily adored him. How was it possible not to like the man, as endearing and kind as he
was?

“Yes,” Vincent said as he loosened his collar.
Serafina stared at the exposed triangle of sinew, smooth skin and sprinkling of dark

hair. Her eyes darted guiltily up to Vincent’s when she realized that he hadn’t
continued.

His gaze felt hot enough to melt.
Palpable desire flooded her. Just like that. Reduced to dissolved bone and liquefied

flesh just from one of his stares.

Vincent cleared his throat and glanced away. His cock had just snapped to full alert

status. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to alleviate the obvious fact that his
cock pressed hard and insistent against the front of his pants. Now that his body had
tasted Serafina it seemed primed almost constantly to engage in a full-fledged feast. He
groped for the dangling line of their former conversation.

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“Austin was riled about Eliza. Something that her maid had hinted about where she

planned to go this evening that Austin found to be unhealthy…or inappropriate or
some such,” Vincent finished impatiently. His eyelids narrowed when he saw Serafina
stiffen but realized too late that it was his casual mention of Eliza’s name that had
precipitated her reaction.

What had he expected? Serafina was no fool, after all.
He saw that Emily had wandered to the other side of the room where she pressed

her heated forehead against one of the frosted windowpanes. “I just wish Eliza and
Austin would stop dancing around the issue and admit that they’re in love with each
other,” Vincent grumbled with seeming casualness.

He saw that his effort had not been wasted when Serafina tried to act as though the

information did not relate to her in the slightest and slipped her fist with playful
curiosity into his old glove. He glanced over and saw that Emily was still at the other
side of the large study.

“When are we going to tell Emily?” he asked quietly, figuring he should push the

limits of her improved mood.

She stilled with her hand inside the glove. “Tell her what?” Serafina asked

cautiously.

“About our engagement.”
She jerked her hand out of the boxing glove.
“Vincent, we are not engaged.”
He studied her impassively before he shrugged. “All right then. There will be time

enough to tell her before Reverend Bernard marries us tomorrow.” He noticed the
expression on her face and purposefully misunderstood it. “I hope it’s all right with you
that I chose an Anglican minister. Knowing what I do about Grovenor, not to mention
the history of the spiritualist movement, I assumed you weren’t Catholic. I purposefully
asked Reverend Bernard to preside because he is very involved in the spiritualist cause.
I thought that might comfort you.”

“I am not going to—” She abruptly halted in her tirade when she fully absorbed

what he’d said at the end. Had she heard him correctly? Vincent, the ultimate skeptic of
paranormal phenomenon, had actually requested their marriage be presided over by a
known spiritualist reverend for her comfort.

“Vincent…that was very kind of you,” she murmured in confusion. “Thank you.”
He reached up and touched her cheek softly. The caress caused her world to tilt off

its axis even further than his words already had.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he met her gaze. He saw her open her lush lips a

second later and knew immediately that the first word out of her mouth would be
“but”.

“Ready to have another go at me, sprite?” Vincent loudly called out to Emily,

effectively cutting off Serafina’s protests for the time being.

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* * * * *

Less than an hour after observing Sir Nigel’s energetic display, Eliza bent over

completely naked, her clothes tossed haphazardly across the carpets of one of the
mansion’s many palatial bedroom suites.

Her inhibitions had been discarded as easily as her clothing.
She moaned uncontrollably at the sensation of Samael avidly eating her pussy. The

fact that he’d undressed her completely while he remained totally, impeccably dressed
aroused her for some reason. As did the fact that he’d insisted that she bend over and
hold her ankles while he first blindfolded her with a strip of black silk and then walked
around her, palming her flanks and her breasts and her belly as though she were a
horse that he was considering buying.

“You are in remarkably good shape for a woman your age,” he had commented

finally. That was before he’d pulled up a chair behind her, positioned her where he
wanted and began eating her pussy with a focused intensity that would have left her
blind even without the cloth that covered her eyes.

She’d come three times already and was well on her way to a fourth glorious

release. Just when she thought she was on the ecstatic brink of it Samael leaned back
and casually kissed a buttock.

“Oh God, Samael, please,” she begged desperately.
Samael smiled indulgently at Phillip Crakall as he silently entered the suite,

grinning like a naughty schoolboy. He sighed and shook his head. Well, his apprentice
deserved it, he supposed. He’d used him hard enough this past week, as foul as his
temper had been because of Rashleigh.

Not to mention the fact that he’d been forced to not only cancel several of Serafina’s

public showings but to return the money he’d received in advance for them as well. He
felt acid rise in his throat at the mere thought. Not even the solution that ran in his veins
could completely dull his fury at Rashleigh…and Serafina too for that matter. The
ungrateful little bitch. Look how she’d betrayed him when he’d made her one of the
most recognized, revered faces in the Western world.

And he wasn’t stupid enough to believe for a second that Rashleigh held her and

Emily against their will. He’d been in a full magical communion with Serafina last
night. He knew what had broken their connection permanently.

He knew who had severed it. He couldn’t wait to make the cocky Lord Rashleigh

pay.

He came to himself at the sound of Eliza’s uncomfortable moans. He squeezed an

ass cheek tautly at the same time that he signaled with his head for Phillip to sit in the
chair next to him. The boy could use some lessons in pleasuring a woman. His idea of
making love called to mind a steam engine pistoning at full throttle.

“Hush, my love,” he soothed as he caressed Eliza’s bottom, hips and back. He had

to admit, Rashleigh knew what he was about in keeping the woman as his mistress. She

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was lovely, of course, but she was also a cache of erotic dynamite. He’d thoroughly
enjoyed having her explode on his face again and again.

“You’re so sweet against my tongue that I need you to melt against me once again,”

he crooned. “Do you think you can do that, Eliza?” he asked as he spread back her labia
with one hand and her ass cheeks with the other, fully exposing her charms to a glassy-
eyed Phillip. From what Samael had come to understand from Phillip, Eliza Jeffries had
been an elusive, teasing target for him since he had been a horny lad of sixteen years
old. It amused Samael to give Eliza as a gift to his apprentice.

“Oh yes… Please, Samael,” she begged in a broken, husky voice that thoroughly

charmed him.

“Very well then,” he granted. His pointed look at Crakall effectively conveyed that

he’d better be taking notes in the next few minutes instead of yanking on his tool, which
he looked much more prepared to do.

Samael gave him one last intimidating glare before he leaned forward and drowned

himself in Eliza Jeffries’ delights.

“You are the most exciting woman I have ever known,” Samael praised just

minutes later as he kissed Eliza’s bottom and stroked her thighs and hips sensually
while she gasped wildly for air after her climax. “Any man would consider himself a
king to have you. A king. An absolute king to drown in these waters.”

Crakall’s monumental lust was penetrated when he vaguely realized that his

master’s tone had taken on the same quality that it had when he mesmerized his
beautiful daughter. He realized that Samael had said something else in the midst of all
his silky, hypnotizing praise. How sublime it would be to be the focus of his master’s
compelling croon. What had he just asked? Oh, yes of course.

Tell me where Lord Rashleigh is.
Eliza groaned in post-orgasmic bliss. How was it that Samael had so successfully

managed to burn Vincent’s ever-present existence from her awareness only to bring it
up himself once he’d been triumphant?

“Why do you want to know that?” she asked dreamily.
Samael turned his face and slid his lips gently against her hypersensitized clit.

Nothing more. He almost experienced her post-orgasmic shivers as if they were his, so
connected was he with her psyche at that moment.

“He is an old friend,” he murmured next to her moist tissues. He grabbed both of

her hips, pressing his thumbs into her soft buttocks in a gesture of thorough possession.
“Now tell me where he is,” he demanded.

“He is staying at Austin’s aunt’s house on the outskirts of Hampstead. It is called

Sunnyvale,” she replied quickly.

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Samael smiled genuinely for the first time in over a week. He wished he had not

promised his apprentice first use of her, because he truly desired Eliza Jeffries at that
moment for so sweetly giving him precisely what he desired.

But he had promised and he would still have his pleasure of her this night. He stood

silently and moved aside, nodding once to indicate his permission for his apprentice to
take his place behind Eliza.

Crakall ripped at the fastenings of his trousers frantically. A moment later he

plunged his cock into Eliza’s pussy with one long, hard stroke that made the woman
yelp in surprise. Samael watched him pound into her for a moment with mild interest.
The boy had no style whatsoever. He quickly grew bored and dug in his pocket for a
syringe and a vial.

Mrs. Jeffries would undoubtedly be requiring something to soothe her once Crakall

came inside her and Samael removed the blindfold.

* * * * *

“Oh, excuse me,” Austin muttered uncomfortably when two of the three occupants

of the bedroom suite looked over at his abrupt entrance. “Looking…someone…my
apologies,” he mumbled into his chest as he eased out the door in mortification.

“Howe? Austin Howe, is that you?” Sir Nigel boomed.
“Uhhh yes,” Austin managed as he stared up at the ceiling fixedly.
“Well, I’ll be damned! I never thought I’d see you attending one of my soirées. It

looks as if you do have some of your Aunt Lottie’s blood after all,” Sir Nigel said,
clearly meaning it as high praise. He noticed that Angela, the woman bent over in front
of him with her tail in the air while Mattie, his other nice new friend, slurped at
Angela’s pussy noisily behind her, had stopped sucking his cock. Instead Angela
gawked at the handsome man who had just burst into the room. He took the root of his
penis into his hand and fed it back between her lips in a no-nonsense manner, grunting
in gratification when she resumed her former lusty rhythm.

“I was sorry to hear that Lottie had passed. Now that was a fine woman. The good

times I spent at Sunnyvale, I tell you…” Sir Nigel reminisced fondly as he began to
gently pump in and out of Angela’s eager mouth.

“Yes…well, as I said, I’m looking for someone,” Austin evaded as he back out of the

room.

“Who are you searching for?” Sir Nigel wondered.
“Eliza Jeffries,” Austin said tensely, becoming irritated by this entire situation,

including Sir Nigel’s attempts at polite conversation while a moaning woman fellated
him. He began to shut the door.

“Lovely woman. She’s likely just down the hall. She was standing just where you

are with Grovenor an hour or so ago,” he called out helpfully.

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Anger made Austin’s usually benevolent gaze icy as he slammed the door shut

behind him. What could Eliza be thinking to be in this place with that man? He should
have told her all the sordid details about Samael Grovenor but it would have been
breaking a confidence he had with Vincent. He knew she’d been decimated by Vincent
breaking things off with her but he hadn’t imagined that her desperation would lead
her to this!

And dammit, if Eliza wanted to do something wild and impulsive to disrupt her

melancholy, why hadn’t she chosen to do it with him instead of that slime Grovenor?

He grimly pressed his hand to his pocket. Eliza wasn’t going to have any choice in

the matter. He was going to walk out of Sir Nigel’s with her in tow even if he had to
drag her kicking and screaming every step of the way.

* * * * *

The room spun vertiginously when Samael removed the blindfold Eliza had been

wearing and pushed her down on the bed.

“No, I don’t want any more of it,” Eliza muttered weakly when he she felt the

pinprick of a needle on her arm. She was no longer in good humor with Samael. He
may have brought her to heaven and kept her there for a suspended period of time with
his talented tongue and mouth but that hadn’t given him a right to fuck her so selfishly.
The dull ache between her thighs only added to her increasing misery as the room spun
madly around her.

She forced herself to sit up and brace herself on the edge of the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Samael asked in amusement as he finished

unbuttoning his immaculate white shirt and whipped it over his shoulders.

Eliza blinked but not even the sight of his trim, perfectly proportioned torso could

dent her growing discomfort. She swallowed thickly.

“I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.
“Nonsense, it will pass,” Samael stated flippantly. He unfastened his trousers and

shoved them down thighs that were dusted with gold hairs. “Just lie back for a moment
and the nausea will fade. I plan to sample your mouth in a moment, so see that it does.”

Eliza blinked heavily. He could not have just said that, she thought dully. An

instinct to gag rose in her at the mere possibility of what he’d suggested.

She had to get out of this nightmare. But what Samael said next—and who he said it

to—left her even more shocked and physically ill.

“Phillip, I require your cooperation. But I’ll be most gratified to accept your typical

noncooperation. Lie down on the bed and relax,” Samael said with a smirk as if he knew
that the last thing Phillip would do in these circumstances was relax.

Eliza fell back on the bed, staring in a stupor as that disgusting Phillip Crakall who

she typically avoided at all costs came over to the bed, fully naked and staring at
Samael warily.

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She must have blacked out for a period of time but she came to at the sound of a

voice that was so hard and so cruel that she immediately cringed. The mattress sprang
beneath her rhythmically, only adding to her sense of dizziness and disorientation.

“You are such a fool to resist me. Just relax and take it.”
Eliza stilled at what she saw when she opened her eyes. At first she thought she

was hallucinating, although her dizziness had thankfully stilled. Samael Grovenor—the
man whose elegance, mystique and fairytale good looks had thoroughly charmed her
since she’d met him the other night—was currently standing next to the bed with
Crakall’s hairy, long legs over his shoulders, fucking him with even more force than
he’d taken her with.

His usually supple, perfectly formed mouth twisted viciously as he thrust

aggressively, making his shapely balls slap against Crakall’s ass again and again. Phillip
grimaced in pain and grunted loudly. Eliza couldn’t help but notice that the boy’s cock
was thoroughly stiff where it lay along his stomach.

Perhaps he hadn’t been groaning in pain after all.
“Too proud to pump your own cock and give your master his due while he services

you, is that it?” Samael taunted. “Well, let’s see how your pride survives this.”

He began to plow into the young man in a manner that was thoroughly alien to

Eliza’s experience. Sickness rose in her throat as she watched the violent, thoroughly
brutal display of primitive male dominance.

Crakall howled at the impact of Samael’s hammering. After a moment of enduring

it the younger man began to pump his own cock rapidly with his hand. Samael
immediately attenuated, having got what he wanted. Eliza stared in amazement as he
began to croon almost lovingly to the boy while he thrust into him. Crakall’s face
tightened with ecstasy as he came a moment later.

Samael inspected Crakall’s semen-spattered belly and ribs as he continued to thrust

slowly. “Not a bad showing, apprentice, seeing as how you undoubtedly dropped quite
a load in Mrs. Jeffries not twenty minutes ago.”

Eliza whimpered in disbelief. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her in a rush.
Samael’s inky dark eyes abruptly leapt to her face. He stilled his pumping hips.
Eliza’s heart felt as if it seized in her chest when he slowly smiled.
“You awoke just in time for the fun, Mrs. Jeffries,” Samael said. He withdrew his

heavy erection from Crakall’s ass.

“Phillip, hold her down tightly,” he ordered before he gave Eliza a thoroughly

charming smile and came up on the bed to straddle her.

* * * * *

It was definitely Eliza’s scream that Austin had heard, so he had no qualms about

throwing open the third bedroom suite on his right and plunging into the room,
revolver drawn. He recognized her immediately, although he’d only seen her naked

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body in his fantasies and he couldn’t immediately make out the woman on the bed’s
features, as occluded as she was by the hands that tightly held her head and jaws and
the man that knelt over her, erect cock waving in her face.

“Get your bloody hands off of her and move off the bed!” Austin paused when

Samael Grovenor turned to him slowly and something indefinably frightening
shimmered in his black eyes.

But then Eliza cried out brokenly as she tried frantically to wiggle free of Crakall’s

cruel hold on her jaw.

Crakall squealed in terror and Samael started uneasily when Austin coolly shot off

the pinecone-shaped top of one of the posts on the four-poster bed.

“It’ll be your cock next, Grovenor, and don’t think I wouldn’t love to do it.”
He took careful aim and followed his promised target as both men clambered off

the bed with amazing speed.

Austin grabbed at one of the men’s greatcoats that he saw tossed across a chair,

never taking his eyes off the tense, nude men.

Eliza sat up on the bed. Austin saw everything he needed to see in the second that

he dropped the coat in her lap and gently instructed her to cover herself in it. Her
elegant coiffure of chestnut hair had been turned into a cloud of snarled tangles. Her
golden-brown eyes looked enormous with fear in her pale face.

He met Samael Grovenor’s eyes with a blazing, uncontrollable hatred that he had

never even approximately experienced in his life when he noted the trickle of sickness
at the side of her mouth.

For a poised moment, Austin’s forefinger tensed on the trigger as he targeted

Samael’s smirking mouth. It relaxed infinitesimally when he felt Eliza’s chilled hand
slip into his. She pulled at him insistently.

“Let’s go, Austin,” Eliza said as the tug on his arm segued to a hard yank.
He blinked once before he nudged Eliza toward the exit and followed her. The

muzzle of his gun never left Samael Grovenor’s face until he stood in the hallway and
Eliza slammed the door abruptly.

Much to Austin’s surprise, it ended up being a pale-faced but determined Eliza who

ended up dragging him out of Sir Nigel’s that night instead of vice versa, his footsteps
faltering as she pushed and harried him down the stairs, his gaze repeatedly returning
behind him with an expression of thwarted longing for vengeance.

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Chapter Eight

Vincent paused in his brisk stride the next morning when he heard Serafina call out

to him and realized that she’d stopped in the hallway of Belle Vista Hospital.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, perplexed by her expression. He had thought things

had been going amazingly well with her so far as they had visited his patients together
and, with their consent, explained to an avid Serafina their various conditions and his
courses of treatment.

She was right, Vincent acknowledged after their first encounter with an older man

who suffered from the final phases of prostate cancer. He had perked up with life and
interest at the sight of Serafina. But even more than her beauty, the patient responded to
her low, soothing voice. Serafina would make a wonderful nurse.

She’d seemed inspired and energized by the experience and much more at ease

than she had been in the tense carriage ride to Belle Vista.

So he couldn’t understand the current quaver in her voice.
She nodded to the wall behind him. “That sign. It says that this is the Rashleigh

Wing for Medical Research.”

“Yes,” Vincent agreed cautiously as he glanced back at the sign that he’d ceased

noticing since he was a resident at Belle Vista when he was twenty-one years old. He
noticed how Serafina’s shoulders went back and her chin rose in a proud gesture that
strangely made him want to protect her at the same time that his spine tingled with
wariness.

“I suppose the sign refers to you or someone in your family?”
“Yes. My father, actually. He was a doctor also.”
Her blue eyes looked anxious but resolved when her gaze met his squarely. “I

suppose you are very rich?”

Vincent’s mouth fell open. She’d said it as though wealth was a particularly

virulent, nasty form of the plague.

“Serafina, what’s wrong with you?”
Serafina inhaled deeply and averted her gaze from his. When she looked into his

rugged, handsome, increasingly familiar face it was so effortless to become convinced of
the compelling delusion that she and Vincent Devonald, Lord Rashleigh, were actually
suited to one another. She’d fallen under the spell of that fantasy while they attended
his patients together…almost as though they were a team.

“Nothing,” Serafina answered him firmly but all the while doubts whirled dizzily

in her brain.

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If she lived in London and became ill she would be an invalid in this hospital,

subject to the mercy and charity of wealthy patrons like Vincent and his family. She
didn’t want to disparage Vincent as a do-gooder. By now she knew that he was
sincerely dedicated to his work and that his patients could not have a finer physician in
the world.

But her eyes remained glued to that bold sign, a stark symbol of the surely

unbreachable divide in the vast differences that their natures and backgrounds must
create.

She started when she felt his calloused hand cradle her jaw. She instinctively turned

her chin into his warmth. It irked her that she seemed helpless to resist him.

“I do not care for that stubborn expression, Serafina,” Vincent murmured gently.
Serafina blinked back tears that she couldn’t control or comprehend. Vincent and

she might have been the only man and woman left surviving on earth instead of in the
midst of a crowded, busy public hospital as focused as they had suddenly become on
one another.

“You don’t like it because it reminds you too much of yourself,” Serafina replied

huskily.

Vincent felt his cock tighten and swell at the sound of her voice. It felt like the

equivalent of a touch, and the most intimate kind at that. God, if she could have this
profound an effect on him from just talking what would it be like to be buried in her
sweet little pussy as he stared down at her while she was transported by desire and
pleasure?

His head lowered over her upturned face, his eyes fixed on her red, full lips.
“You promised me, Serafina,” he challenged.
“It was a meaningless promise,” she whispered, even as her mouth strained

upward toward his descending one. “You will not be able to convince me.”

But there it was again, that small, cocky grin just before his lips brushed against

hers in a tantalizing caress. He backed up slightly, his hot gaze meeting hers before he
leaned down again for what promised to be more than a peck.

“You’d better at least take a few steps forward before you devour her!” a cheerful

voice called out from the distance. “Surely laws against public indecency will bend a bit
if you’re caught at it red-handed in the Rashleigh Wing.”

Serafina blinked in disorientation as Vincent and she glanced down the hallway in

unison and saw a brown-haired, gangly-limbed young man wearing pince-nez
eyeglasses and an expression of mixed interest and amusement. When he noticed
Serafina’s startled eyes and red cheeks he waved her forward good-naturedly.

“Well, come on. You needn’t be embarrassed. Vincent has caught me and my

Sophie smooching one or two times beneath the mistletoe, I’ll wager,” he called out in a
slightly accented voice.

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Vincent snorted as he grabbed Serafina’s elbow and urged her down the hallway.

“Is that what you would call it? I never knew that the definition of innocent smooching
under the mistletoe stretched to include your hands under Sophie’s skirts while hers
were just as busy down your pants in the broom closet on a mild spring day.”

It was the thin man in the hallway’s turn to blush.
“Vincent,” Serafina scolded under her breath, mortified.
It was only the sound of genuine dismay in Serafina’s voice that caused the quick

flash of regret on Vincent’s features. Typically he and Daniel ribbed each other
mercilessly. “It’s okay, Sera, Daniel is family.”

“Family?” Serafina exclaimed, truly shocked. Her dreams of Vincent had always

portrayed him as starkly alone in the world.

“Serafina Grovenor, I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Dr. Daniel Haussen.”
“Don’t mind me, Miss Grovenor. I’m brilliant—genius caliber, don’t you know.

Geniuses are due their idiosyncrasies. Vincent may have it over on me in regards to
diagnosis and surgery but only just and I’m miles ahead of him in regards to research,”
Daniel bragged unashamedly as he hugged a startled Serafina. His glasses tumbled off
his long nose from the impact of the hearty embrace. This seemed to be regular event,
however, because Daniel absently patted his chest trying to locate them as he squinted
just to the left of Serafina.

“I was shocked of course but completely thrilled when Vincent told me about your

impending nuptials. And I can see why you were so bowled over, cousin!” Daniel said
with a sly look out the window just to the left of Vincent’s head.

“Here,” Serafina said gently. She reached up and put his glasses on his nose. Daniel

blinked down at her in amazement.

“Most kind of you, Miss Grovenor—or perhaps I should get used to calling you

Lady?”

Serafina blushed. “That won’t be necessary I assure you, Dr. Haussen. Are you

German? I couldn’t help but notice your accent.”

“Yes. Vincent told me that you are from New York in America. I’ll wager you are

familiar with an accent like mine, although it’s more likely Dutch in your vicinity,”
Daniel said as he led them into the room behind him.

“Daniel’s and my mothers were from Hamburg,” Vincent explained from behind

her.

Serafina gasped as she looked about the room.
“Is this a laboratory?” she asked Daniel, her blue eyes overtaking half of her face.
“Of course. Would you like a tour?” Daniel asked, clearly overwhelmed at the

prospect of someone taking interest in his stuffy lab, let alone such a lovely someone.

“Yes,” she agreed, already walking down the first row of cabinets examining the

glass beakers, flasks, rubber tubing and buret stands of all sizes with avid fascination.

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Vincent studied her for the next several minutes as Daniel showed her about the

room, explaining this or that piece of equipment and its uses and answering her
questions about his research. Well, here was an interesting aspect of his soon-to-be
bride. He had not expected Serafina to be so enthralled by the scientific workings of a
laboratory, for there was no other way to describe the expression on her face presently.
Perhaps she was better suited to be a doctor than a nurse, he mused distractedly. What
a shame that English universities were too backward to allow for her training merely
because of her sex.

The bright sunlight streaming in through the windows caught Serafina’s hair as she

bent over an Erlenmeyer flask, making the strands flame brilliantly with iridescent
colors of copper, gold and red. While Vincent found the vision compelling, her fiery
hair also brought to mind the reason for their visit.

He cleared his throat loudly, giving Daniel a pointed glare when he looked up, still

in the midst of lecturing to his appreciative student.

“Oh…yes, of course. Serafina? Please follow me. There is something in particular

that Vincent wanted me to show you.”

Serafina gave Vincent a puzzled look as he joined them at one of Daniel’s

workstations but he only responded with raised eyebrows and a bland expression.

“Vincent has told me about your interest in my latest discovery, a flame retardant,”

Daniel commented as he adjusted the valve on a Bunsen burner and started a high,
strong flame.

Serafina blinked in confusion and rising curiosity. “A flame retardant?”
“Yes. Hundreds of people die every year in domestic fire-related accidents, often

children and women.” He glanced down at Serafina’s trim skirt. “Your skirt is narrow,
which is fortunate but dresses of the more voluminous variety are highly risky around
flame, as you can well imagine.”

“Yes. I have read something of that,” she agreed.
“Simply put, I have designed a solution that will make substances noncombustible.

It will make me a rich man!” Daniel added, his hazel eyes sparkling with merriment.

“Just get on with it,” Vincent growled in exasperation over his cousin’s friendly

immodesty.

“Right. Well, it’s really quite simple to demonstrate. Vincent sent me this

handkerchief last night, Serafina. I see that you recognize it,” Daniel said when he
handed her the piece of cloth.

Serafina ran over her fingers over the familiar, delicately embroidered flowers. “Of

course. It belongs to me,” she murmured. Her hands started anxiously when Daniel
briskly took her prized possession from her and lodged it in a metal clamp.

“Daniel. Vincent!” Serafina exclaimed in horror when Daniel put her mother’s

handkerchief over the flame. Daniel didn’t desist but continued to hold it to the fire.
Her eyes went wide first in anxiety and then in growing fascination.

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“It does not burn,” she exclaimed after several seconds.
Vincent studied her face as she peered closer at the flame and the handkerchief.
Daniel finally removed the piece of cloth and handed it to her, speaking while she

examined it.

“What did you do to it?” she asked shakily.
“I treated it last night with a phosphoric nitrogen complex of my own invention,”

Daniel said proudly. “It dried overnight. As you can see, it is quite undamaged.”

Vincent saw the moment when Serafina’s fingers went still and a tension entered

her body. When her eyes rose to meet his he smiled at her slowly.

“Daniel has agreed to give us a supply of this solvent for a wedding present,” he

murmured almost intimately.

Her full lips fell open. She wore an expression that he couldn’t fully identify.
“I can’t understand why Vincent wants the stuff so much but he assures me that it

is for personal use and he won’t try to poach on my patent. Just keep in mind that I
know where you live, cousin,” Daniel said good-naturedly as he handed Vincent an
amber bottle. “Here is some of the solvent in a—”

“Oil base, correct? Just as I requested?” Vincent interrupted.
“Er…yes, yes, of course,” Daniel agreed slowly. A flame retardant in an oil base? It

would completely defeat the purpose of a flame retardant by putting it in something
that fed fire. But Vincent had warned him that he would have to play along and Daniel
would do his best since it seemed to mean so much to his cousin.

“And is this solvent perfectly safe, Daniel? What if it comes into contact with the

skin for instance,” Serafina demanded, blushing slightly when she thought of the exact
location of the skin where Vincent undoubtedly planned to put the solvent to use.

“Quite safe, I assure you,” Daniel said, throwing a look at Vincent when Serafina

glanced down thoughtfully that clearly conveyed that in no way should he ever
purposefully put the phosphoric nitrogen complex on human skin. Vincent just gave
him a droll look that said just as clearly that he might not be the family genius but he
wasn’t that stupid.

“Well then,” Daniel said briskly as he clapped his hands together. “Sophie and I are

looking forward to this afternoon, Serafina!”

“And why is that?” Serafina asked in dazed politeness.
“Because we are attending your wedding ceremony, of course,” Daniel said before

he broke into laughter, obviously finding it hilarious that a young woman wouldn’t
recall such a momentous occasion.

Serafina’s gaze flew to Vincent as panic slowly unfurled in her belly. Her eyes

widened in disbelief when he gave her that infuriating, knowing smile and tapped one
long finger significantly on the amber bottle that he held in his hand.

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* * * * *

“You were loveliest bride that I’ve ever seen. Wasn’t she?” Sophie Haussen asked

the two men standing behind her as she held Serafina’s hands warmly in her own.
Austin Howe was quick to agree but Daniel Haussen only tickled his wife’s plump
waist until she giggled and slapped his hands away with a flirtatious grin.

“You will never get me to say that there was a lovelier bride on the face of the earth

than you, dearest,” said Daniel.

Serafina smiled warmly at the couple. She liked the Haussens very much despite

the fact that she’d been experiencing them and everything else that happened in the last
several hours through a dreamlike haze. Sophie Haussen was as short and plump as
Daniel was tall and thin. The only physical similarity she could find in the animated
couple was the ever-present glimmer of merriment in both of their eyes.

She couldn’t believe she’d done it. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually just

married Vincent. It had all happened so quickly, in a surreal swirl of color and textures
and flashing images. She knew she’d always recall Emily’s expression of wide-eyed
wonderment when Mrs. Hastings fastened the gold belt buckle of the luscious basque at
her waist and Serafina finally stood completely appareled in her wedding finery. Nor
would she ever forget when she’d entered the drawing room where the ceremony was
to be held and first laid eyes on Vincent that afternoon.

He had been conversing with Reverend Bernard, Daniel, Austin and a short woman

with blonde curls who she was later to learn was Sophie Haussen. He looked so
handsome she couldn’t pull her eyes from the sight of him—so tall and upright, so
gloriously masculine.

The animallike poise that she’d noted in him from the very first was sharply

highlighted when he bent for a moment to speak to Mrs. Grovenor who beamed up at
him from where she sat in a chair. Serafina had never seen her adopted mother’s face so
animated or her color so good. She looked as if ten years had melted off her. Vincent
wore dress attire that included a vest and cutaway coat that was notably longer than his
usual ones. He seemed entirely at ease as he bantered with Grace.

Serafina had stared at him for a few moments of silent wonderment.
How could he be so nonchalant when it felt like a thousand bees swarmed wildly in

her stomach, insisting upon release? Serafina wondered with not a little irritation. She
perfectly pictured herself turning around and leaving the room, refusing to go through
with this ridiculous wedding.

Vincent didn’t love her. This was wrong…so wrong.
But then Emily had stepped up next to her wearing her pretty new checked silk

shirtwaist with velvet ribbons with a look of profound excitement and happiness in her
gray eyes. And Vincent had glanced over in the midst of talking. He had done a double
take at the sight of her standing in the entryway, the words on his tongue dying an
abrupt death.

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Then and there Serafina knew that her chance to flee had just vanished forever.
He may not love her but he wanted her with an intensity that she was powerless to

resist. And when she saw Vincent’s muscles tense almost imperceptibly and his nostrils
flare as his eyes toured her from the top of her head to her toes, lingering overlong on
her breasts, she couldn’t say that she was sorry that her temptation to run vanished like
a fog when the bright sunlight struck it, either.

Serafina supposed it was her gown that made his eyes grow so hot. It was the

prettiest thing she’d ever imagined in her life and she couldn’t believe that it fit her so
well when it hadn’t been tailor-made to her measurements. The gown itself was a pale
beige but the long basque that fastened at her waist with a satin ribbon and gold belt
buckle was a rich chocolate brown color. She guessed that what had caught Vincent’s
appreciative gaze in particular was the accordion-pleated silk shirtwaist that fit her
bosom so snugly. The collar encircled her throat with a wide band that looked like a silk
choker. Intricate lacework covered the basque, which fit tightly against the outer swells
of her breasts, further emphasizing their fullness. Two chocolate-colored satin bows
were perched precisely over her nipples, although Serafina had convinced herself that
no one would know that but herself.

But when she saw the way Vincent’s eyelids narrowed on those pert ribbons she

began to wonder. The thought struck her like a blow that when it came to matters of
desire and sex there would be no secrets or self-erected barriers between her and this
man. It was strangely both an intimidating and liberating realization for Serafina.

That image of Vincent, his eyes so hot and fierce—and for just a split second, a little

wild—as he regarded her when she entered the drawing room that afternoon was
another picture that she would treasure and guard safely in her memory until her dying
day.

Those infrequent, vividly clear images stood out boldly from the otherwise

emotion-blurred sensory landscape of the wedding and the elaborate marriage feast
that Cook and Mrs. Hastings had contrived afterward.

Her day had begun with her feeling firmly planted in the known world. Now, as

she graciously said her goodbyes and gave her genuine thanks to Austin, Daniel,
Sophie and Reverend Bernard for having attended the small ceremony, Serafina felt like
she was floating and spinning at some frighteningly high altitude. There was a
disorienting exhibition of bright smiles and kisses and blessings.

Serafina wondered if at any moment someone was going to yank a string and she

would plummet to the hard, unyielding earth with a resounding crash of reality.

* * * * *

Vincent saw Serafina stumble as she turned toward him after closing the door

behind their last guest. They were alone together in the silent foyer. Mrs. Grovenor had
bundled off a yawning Emily over an hour ago. Vincent had increasingly become
concerned over Serafina’s glassy-eyed, fixed expression as the evening wore on. He’d

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pushed her mercilessly to fall in with his plans and now anxiety, uncertainty and
excitement were finally taking their toll on her.

He caught her beneath her arms as she stumbled but didn’t bother to still her

forward impetus. She crashed into him with a soft thud, the breasts that he’d been
obsessed by all night—indeed, since he’d first glimpsed them that night of the séance—
pressed gratifyingly to his lower chest and the tantalizing fragrance that he’d come to
associate with Serafina’s hair wafted up to his appreciative nose.

Without a word of explanation he lifted her. She felt as light and delicate as the

frothy skirts that spilled over his arm like a silk waterfall. He felt the heat of her flesh
penetrating through the fabric, sensed the elegant lines and curves of her hips and back
with his hands.

He’d been waiting for this moment with almost unbearable anticipation since he’d

seen Serafina standing at the entryway of the drawing room today, so uncertain and yet
so proud. Perhaps he’d been waiting for it ever since she sat on that stage at Lady
Fordham’s and he’d held his hand over hers while fire flared between their flesh.

“I think perhaps the baroness had a bit too much champagne,” he said with amused

tenderness as he looked down at her startled face.

Serafina bit back the instinctual urge to ask who the baroness was when she

recalled it was she.

Bizarre realization.
“Are you taking me to bed now, Vincent?” she asked in a slightly slurred voice.
“Yes, Sera.”
“And you’re going to…”
“Make love to you many, many times? Yes, Serafina.”
“Oh,” was all she said softly.
He couldn’t resist her expression of dazed wonder. He stopped on the landing,

leant down and kissed her parted lips. She returned the kiss hungrily, craning up to
press closer to him, opening willingly for his prowling tongue. She tasted of champagne
and sweet vanilla cake and something that was indefinably Serafina.

He gave a low growl of satisfaction as he partook of her more deeply.
“How many times did I say that I was going to make love to you?” he asked when

he finally resumed climbing the stairs, this time much more rapidly.

“Many, many,” Serafina whispered as she traced and then lightly squeezed the

tender top of his ear between her fingers.

“Double that amount,” he said decisively as he neared his bedroom, flicked the

doorknob with a twist of his wrist and kicked the door open.

Serafina glanced around the master bedroom in curiosity when they entered. Lottie

Ashcroft’s bed was enormous and decadently adorned in sensual satins and vibrant
velvets. Austin’s aunt certainly must have been a unique woman, Serafina thought in
amazement as she glimpsed the enormous mahogany-framed mirror that hung over the

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head of the bed at a downward angle. She colored hotly when she realized why the
mirror was situated so as to reflect everything that occurred on the great, rich bed.

Vincent noticed that Mrs. Hastings had seen that a hearty fire was blazing in the

fireplace. Its light cast Serafina’s flawless skin in flickering gold and shadow as he
placed her upon the bed. He started to move away from her so that he could undress
her but he found himself holding her face with both hands instead, tilting her full lips
up so that for a few moments he could tenderly ravage them.

And then for a few moments not so tenderly.
Serafina felt herself spinning off the face of the earth for the second time today but

this sensation was far different than that weightless, ungrounded feeling that had
occurred earlier. Vincent boldly made love to her mouth and moved his hands over her
body, finally cupping his large palm around her right breast, squeezing and shaping
her. Sera felt both heavy and torpid with need and yet transported effortlessly to
another world…a place where the senses and voluptuous desire reigned supreme.

She stared up at him when he broke their kiss. He filled his other hand with a

breast. She arched into him instinctively, her nipples straining against her corset, aching
for his touch.

Vincent’s light eyes seemed to glow in the firelight as they flashed up to meet her

gaze at the sensation of her almost desperately pushing her flesh into his palms.

“If I don’t get you bare beneath me very soon, Serafina, you’re going to lose your

virginity with your skirts tossed over your head.”

Heat flooded her. The place where Vincent had rubbed and tortured and finally

took her to heaven the other night twinged almost uncomfortably at the wild, primitive
tension rolling off her new husband. Without thinking Serafina reached up and spread
her hand over the crotch of his pants, finding him hard and ready, his heat resonating
through the material that covered him.

His face went rigid, his eyes pinned her like twin fiery nails.
“Don’t stop now.”
Instead of being frightened by his raw intensity Serafina was aroused by it. It

electrified her with sexual excitement to know that she had the power to make him so
wild with need. She deftly released his fastenings and lowered his underwear. His cock
leapt into her palm eagerly. She stroked him slowly from root to tip, examining not only
his magnificence but how he looked in her hand, memorizing the sensation of the heavy
pillar of flesh in her palm, liking the way he gasped when she slid her fingers over and
beneath the fat crown. As she gripped him mid-shaft, she experimentally tried to see if
her fingers would meet. A good half-inch-thick gap separated her middle finger and
thumb.

She felt him throb against her skin in her tightened hold.
Vincent cursed beneath his breath as he watched Serafina stroking and learning his

cock. It was sweet beyond belief. She was sweet beyond belief.

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But he was so aroused that if she kept it up he was going to spill himself in her

curious little hand.

Serafina gave a small cry of thwarted longing when he resolutely grabbed her hand

and slid it off his cock. But Vincent ignored her as he fumbled with the delicate belt at
her waist and worked the formfitting vest of lace that had been highlighting her breasts
all evening, driving him to distraction, off her arms. He attacked the buttons at her
throat and back next. He tried his mightiest to ignore the fact that as he leaned forward
he could feel her moist, warm breath on his cock, which jutted out of the fly of his
pants. He tried to ignore it but he wasn’t very successful.

By the time he’d leaned over far enough to unfasten the delicate buttons at

Serafina’s waist, Vincent gave up trying. He worked one hand beneath the skirt of her
petticoat, desperate to feel her satiny skin, while the other went to the back of her head.
He pushed her down gently at the same time that he thrust his hips forward.

“Ahhh,” he grunted through a rigid jaw as his penis slipped between the tight ring

of Serafina’s lips directly into her moist heat.

She had been hyperaware of Vincent’s cock straining so close to her neck and face

as he undressed her so frantically. She turned her lips toward it hungrily when the
smooth head brushed her cheek. Vincent stilled in his frantic motions at that point,
alerting her to the fact that he had become aware of the proximity of her mouth as well.

So by the time he pushed her to him Serafina was practically salivating with a

hunger to suck him.

Vincent’s eyes clamped closed a moment later but his mouth remained open as he

panted. Her suctioning, sweet mouth and quick tongue felt so divine that for a few
seconds he perfectly pictured himself pushing down on her head more aggressively
until she took him fast and hard and she lapped up every last vestige of his control. The
thought was enough to make him tighten his buttocks rhythmically for a few seconds
and thrust demandingly between her lips.

“Enough,” he said as he grabbed at the gathering of her hair at the back of her head

and held her steady as he took the excruciatingly painful exit out of her humid heat.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized gruffly when he fully took in her startled expression at

his harshness. He pushed her dress off her shoulders and practically ripped it off her
arms. He leaned her weight into him as he worked the dress and her petticoat down her
legs at the same time that he unfastened her lacy corset cover. He gave a harsh bark of
triumphant laughter when he finally yanked it loose and tossed the frilly garment
somewhere at the foot of the bed.

“I can’t believe how much I want you, Serafina,” he whispered as he set her back on

the bed, his mouth hovering just inches from hers. It was an understatement, of course.
In truth the strength of his desire for her humbled him greatly.

“I’m glad, Vincent,” she whispered. “Because I want you so much it hurts.”
He kissed her feverishly at her words. When he backed up to look at what he’d

unveiled a few moments before his eyes practically popped from his skull. She wore a

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pair of tan leather lace-up shoes and pale stockings that were not as white and
translucent as her fire-lit skin. Her breasts seemed ready to explode from the confines of
a tight, strapless corset. Creamy, lush flesh spilled over the top of it.

And she wore not a thing else.
“You’re not wearing any underwear,” Vincent stated in a cracked, dry voice. Every

drop of moisture in his mouth had just evaporated. His eyes were glued to the glorious
thatch of reddish-gold hair between smooth, firm thighs. The fire was brighter tonight,
revealing more of her stunning beauty to him than it had on the night he’d found her
choking.

“Mrs. Hastings said that you would like it better if I did not,” Serafina murmured

uncertainly. She squirmed on the bed, made uncomfortable but also potently aroused
by Vincent’s expression of stunned lust.

“Remind me to give that woman a raise,” he muttered, his eyes never budging from

the trim, golden-red bush that promised rich hedonistic delights, nestled between the
longest, shapeliest thighs he had ever conjured in his most graphic fantasies. He began
to rapidly remove his own clothing. He paused for the briefest of seconds as he
shrugged out of his vest.

“Spread your thighs, angel. Let me see you.”
Serafina hesitated. No one had ever actually looked at that part of her anatomy

before. Samael had tried to penetrate her there with his fingers and Vincent had stroked
her there until she no longer knew her own name she was so overcome with pleasure.

To have someone stare at her private place felt almost overwhelmingly intimate.
But then she took in his rigid expression and hot eyes and her thighs opened almost

of their own accord.

“Wider,” he whispered as he stood utterly still, his vest clutched in a white-

knuckled grip in his right hand. She did as he commanded, revealing the damp, dark
pink petals of her delicate flower to him. The thought of burying himself in the center of
those petals galvanized him into an emergency-caliber reaction—urgent, quick and
concise.

Within twenty seconds flat he was completely naked and between Serafina’s legs.

His hands slid behind her silky thighs and palmed her round, tight bottom for the first
time.

God, he was a blessed man.
He lifted her pelvis off the bed at the same time that he bent over her.
“Lie back, Serafina. If I don’t taste you here and now I think I just might lose my

mind,” he muttered as though he was vaguely surprised that he’d just stated the
absolute truth.

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Chapter Nine

Serafina shifted her hips restlessly in embarrassment and mounting arousal after

she lay back on the bed. What Vincent’s erotic words had just suggested to her
overwrought brain was one thing. But then there was the fact that he was completely
naked and standing in front of her unashamedly. His male beauty was almost shocking
to senses that usually operated within the sober, overly controlled confines of the
Victorian world. His bulging, tight muscles, masculine body hair, long, jutting penis,
and—she closed her eyes briefly as lust lanced through her—his full, round testicles
that hung like lush, firm fruit between his thighs all combined to make Serafina feel as
though a pagan God stood over her.

And if that wasn’t enough, Vincent had just scooted her hips toward the edge of the

bed, palmed her buttocks and lifted her lower body upward with a flexing of his biceps
and suggested that he was going to…

“Vincent…oh no…you can’t mean to—”
He did mean to.
A shock of forbidden pleasure reverberated through her whole body when his wet,

warm tongue burrowed between her outer lips and slid lightly along that piece of flesh
that he’d introduced her to the other night to such stunning effect. She gripped at the
soft bedding helplessly, staring blindly up at the ceiling. His tongue felt delicious. It felt
decadent. He teased and glided one second and pressed with firm pressure the next.

Oh, surely this was a sin, because it felt too heavenly to experience here on earth.
“Vincent…” she murmured, unsure why she called out to him, only knowing that

what he was doing to her was overwhelmingly imperative. He should either stop
immediately or promise her never to do so—those were the only options available to
her.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his warm breath soothing and exciting her swollen,

sensitized tissues at once. “I won’t put my tongue inside of you if that’s what you’re
worried about.”

He only said the word “yet” in his head—I won’t put my tongue inside of you yet.

Vincent wasn’t overly excited about the prospect of putting the water-based, glycerin
lubricant that he’d concocted and put in the place of Daniel’s solvent directly on his
tongue but he would if he had to. Surely he could convince Serafina at some point soon,
however, that she was not going to harm him. But there was no way in hell he was
going to be able to resist not exploring Serafina everywhere.

Especially not now that he’d tasted her addicting sweetness and heard her catchy,

sexy whimpers.

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Serafina wanted to tell him that she hadn’t been worried about safety, overcome as

she was with desire, but then he spread her labia gently with one hand and placed his
whole mouth over her. And Serafina couldn’t form a word in her mind let alone speak
it.

His tongue was an agile tease and then a ruthless lash. And the entire time he

supplied that erotic torture he sucked. Sometimes he did so with a gentle pressure that
had her mindlessly lifting her hips farther off the bed in a wordless plea. Other times he
sucked on her good and hard and Serafina moaned uncontrollably while her hips rose
off the bed until only her shoulders, head and feet remained on it. She begged him
without words to give her the nameless thing that her body required just as surely as
her next breath. Perhaps more than breathing, because Serafina eventually found
herself holding the air in her lungs, her body drawn as tight as a bowstring as she
strained for release.

His big hands cupped her buttocks tightly, squeezing the flesh in a greedy manner

that only fueled her excitement. Then his biceps began to flex, pulsing her body against
his hard tongue in a rhythmic press that made Serafina recall one word in her
dwindling vocabulary.

Please.
Vincent longed to plunge his finger into her pussy so badly to send her over the

edge, but he didn’t want to challenge her world just yet. So instead he increased the
pressure of his suction, his senses exquisitely attuned to her reaction, not wanting her to
feel the edge of pain in that moment.

When she tensed so hard that wondered if her slender body would break, then

shrieked in disbelieving pleasure and began to shudder in his hands he figured he’d
successfully found the optimal pressure.

Much to Serafina’s amazement he continued to eat her the entire time she came, as

though her climax was the feast that he’d been eagerly awaiting. He proceeded to take
her up another slope of orgasm even before she’d fully recovered from the delicious
aftershocks of the first. Quicker than she would ever have imagined was possible she
screamed and exploded yet again against his ruthless tongue.

Serafina was only half aware of Vincent setting her back on the bed a few moments

later. He’d sucked and licked at her relentlessly while she came as though each initial
slamming jolt and eventual subtle shiver of pleasure was a delicious succulence in his
mouth and he wasn’t willing to leave behind one tiny morsel. She felt herself sink into
Lottie Ashcroft’s decadently soft bedding and wondered dazedly if her jellified body
would just melt and fuse into the feathers and silk.

What an indescribably wonderful experience—
“Come back to me, angel,” Vincent rasped as he leaned down over her. His arm

muscles bulged as he held himself off her and nipped at her parted lips.

She responded to him immediately despite her obvious post-orgasmic, nearly

insensate state, nibbling at his lips in return. He sensed her pause and he wondered if

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the sweet, precious juices that abundantly anointed his lips had penetrated her
awareness. He knew that it had when her tongue flicked out, quick and agile, and slid
along his lower lip.

He groaned gutturally. His cock batted eagerly against his belly.
Serafina blinked in disorientation and lifted her head off the bed when Vincent

abruptly lunged up off her. Her eyes widened anxiously when she saw him grab for the
amber bottle that she hadn’t previously noticed sitting on the bedside table.

“Vincent, are you sure it will—”
“It will work,” he grated out in the same hard, uncompromising voice that he’d

used with her practically since they’d entered the bedroom tonight. He exhaled slowly
as he unstopped the bottle, trying to get a leash on his lust. He glanced up at her, which
was a mistake in regard to the leashing business. Christ, he hadn’t even removed her
corset, stockings and shoes.

And he knew that he wouldn’t either. Not right now. Right now he needed to plant

himself deeply between her thighs or say hello to madness. His hand shook as he
poured some of the lubricant onto his palm and replaced the bottle. It was a goddamn
shame—and didn’t he know it?—because if the sweet natural lubricant he’d found
between her labia was any indication something to ease his way into her pussy was the
last thing they required.

He forced himself to face away from her as he spread the oil across his aching cock,

afraid that if looked at her fiery bush and swollen, damp sex lips he’d shame himself by
coming in his own palm.

“M-maybe you should use your finger first,” Serafina whispered in rising panic

when he turned around abruptly and she witnessed the full glory of his jutting,
glistening penis. She didn’t want to hurt Vincent anywhere but surely he’d prefer his
finger was burned than his beautiful cock if Daniel’s solvent didn’t work.

The image of Mr. Adams’ burned, bleeding penis flashed into her mind graphically.

She clenched her eyes shut to make it vanish. Nothing sickened her more than that stark
image of male depravity combined with her own potentially lethal power.

Vincent saw her tense, and the look of stark fear that came into her wide eyes before

she clamped them tightly shut.

He felt like shouting in fury. He felt like breaking Richard Grovenor’s neck along

with any other perverted scum who had dared to hurt her. That expression on her face
gave him back his control better than an ice bath could have.

“Serafina,” he began gently as he reached for her hand. “Come here. I want to ask

you something.”

He didn’t speak again until she’d crawled up to lay beside him. They lay on their

sides facing each other, their heads upon the pillows. He tried not to notice the way her
creamy breasts spilled over the top of her lacy corset in this position. Instead his hand
rose to her hair and began the practical task of removing the pins that bound it.

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“Are you afraid of losing your virginity? Are you afraid it will hurt?” he asked

evenly as he flicked the pins carelessly over onto the opposite bedside table.

“No,” Serafina whispered.
“Are you afraid of me because you’ve been hurt before by men?”
“No,” she replied even more surely.
He didn’t speak for a minute as he searched for remaining pins with his fingers.
“So you are not convinced that the solvent will work,” he said with finality as he

tossed aside the last buried pin and furrowed his spread fingers through the lush silk of
her hair.

“I-I just don’t want to hurt you, Vincent.”
His eyes flashed to meet hers for the first time since they’d lain like this. Tears

shimmered like liquid crystals in the blue depths.

“I would risk much, much more to join with you, angel.”
Her lower lip trembled. He stilled it with his thumb. Then he slowly, ever-so

cautiously leaned forward and replaced his thumb with his lips. They kissed
languorously. They kissed hotly. When he leaned back a minute later she craned after
him hungrily.

Vincent rolled her onto her back and sat up beside her.
“How can you believe in a righteous God and still believe that he’d allow two

people to kiss that phenomenally together and not make them perfect sexual mates?” he
teased as he matter-of-factly spread her silky thighs, his gaze never leaving her face. He
took heart when he saw her small, alluring smile.

“I suppose that would be proof of a capricious, cruel God.”
“The cruelest,” Vincent agreed. Before she had a chance to realize what he planned,

he pushed his forefinger into her pussy.

He started almost as greatly as she did.
He had meant to immediately follow his action with a soothing banter meant to

reassure her of her perfectly normal, safe little pussy.

But instead he fell mute.
The channel in which his finger was currently sunk was far, far from being normal

in any connotation of the meaning. Her pussy was a hot, juicy, very compact version of
male paradise.

“Oh God,” he muttered in disbelief as he pushed into her farther, sure he must be

mistaken by the sensation. But no. It was like dipping his finger into tight, velvety tube
of resonating, penetrating, liquid heat. Every vestige of control that he’d regained
evaporated at contact with her erotic inferno.

“You are hot, fire angel,” he mumbled. He swallowed convulsively as he began to

stroke her, not missing the way her hips rose to meet him eagerly.

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“But I am not hurting you?” she asked desperately. What Vincent was doing to her

felt unbelievably good. His finger felt cool and sure inside her, soothing and arousing
her at once. Before he could answer her, she cried out ecstatically, “Vincent, the solvent
is working!”

His head jerked up at the tone of her voice, positive he must have misinterpreted it.

But no—while disbelief shadowed her lovely features, the most overwhelming emotion
he saw there was pure, undisguised joy.

That expression pitched him straight over the edge.
He came down over her, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids and her neck

passionately.

“I can’t wait another second, Sera. Please forgive me,” he whispered hoarsely as he

positioned himself between her thighs.

“No, no, there is nothing to forgive,” she cried out. Her hands anxiously sought out

his hips and gripped the dense, tight muscles of his buttocks. The realization that
Daniel’s solvent had made her safe for a man—not just any man, this man—made her
drunk with euphoria. She spread her thighs wide and tilted her hips up until she
captured the thick, smooth knob of his penis in her narrow entry.

“My God, Serafina, give a man a bloody chance,” Vincent exclaimed when he felt

her push down forcefully on his ass at the same time that she pressed her hips into him.

Heat penetrated the tip of his cock.
He thrust. Hard. He couldn’t have stopped himself for anything. His entire world

abruptly narrowed down to the sweetest, tightest, hottest little pussy in existence and
Vincent never, never wanted to leave that world.

He might have been able to stop himself if Serafina had cried out in pain. But

instead she almost immediately began to shift her hips beneath him, stroking him with
tiny, clasping tongues of flame. They gasped in unison when he complied with her
unspoken request and slid out of her until only the head of his cock was embedded in
the heaven of her before he plunged back into with a hard forward slap of his balls
against her moist, tender tissues.

“Yes,” was all she said emphatically as her fingernails sank into his ass, demanding

he do precisely that again…and again.

They began to mate wildly.
It struck Vincent later that he wasn’t sure if he’d ever ridden a woman that hard, let

alone a virgin. But in those ecstatic, orgiastic moments he only knew a profound,
primitive, pounding sense of lust. He existed only to fuck and to feel this woman
fucking him in return with just as much wild abandon.

When he reached his limit he grabbed one smooth thigh and pushed it back into her

chest.

Serafina screamed at the impact of the new angle. When his thumb reached and

pressed and rubbed her clitoris, she exploded. Her hips came up off the bed, seating his

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long, straining penis as far in her body as far as he could go. She was vaguely aware of
his harsh shout of disbelieving pleasure and the sensation of his cock throbbing deeply
within her in release as her own body convulsed and broke around him.

Vincent collapsed over her. Both of them struggled wildly to draw air. Their bodies

were both entirely coated in a thin, glistening sheen of sweat. After several moments
Vincent became vaguely aware of her fingernails scraping his sweat-dampened scalp. It
felt good. He shifted his head until his mouth found her moist, warm neck. His lips
gently fastened around her rapid pulse and remained.

Serafina had never felt so wonderful in her life. She felt like warm mush.
She felt whole.
Both of them made sounds of longings in their throats in unison when Vincent

stirred to life in her encapsulating heat.

“Bless Daniel,” Serafina whispered, awe and desire flavoring her tone.
Vincent lifted his head and stared down at her.
“Bless the dear Lord,” he muttered sincerely—despite the fact that he had always

believed himself to be atheist—before he settled on her parted lips and moved, dipping
himself into her exquisite heat all over again.

* * * * *

Vincent was more than a little ashamed that he came inside his bride twice more

before he ever once withdrew.

He was more than a little amazed that he thought he could have gone another

round even after all that.

But it was the shame that rode him hardest when he finally did reluctantly slide out

of her and saw her wince in pain. He noticed the blood.

“I’m sorry, Serafina,” he whispered.
Serafina blinked, bringing her eyes into focus to ensure she wasn’t seeing things.

But no, Vincent truly did look abashed. He seemed to be having trouble meeting her
gaze as he resituated himself next to her on the bed and ran a big hand tenderly over
her waist and hip.

She sighed in pleasure at his touch.
“There’s no reason to apologize, Vincent. I’ve never felt a tenth as wonderful in my

life as I do right now,” she murmured.

He did a subtle double take. He had never known anyone like her. She gave so

completely of herself, without an inkling of defensiveness or fear of being hurt. She was
an incredibly sensual, giving lover but she gifted as generously with her spirit as she
did with her body. For that was what her awed tone had been to him just now—a
precious gift that he feared he’d never be able to return.

Perhaps because the thought made him feel so uncertain he chose to be amused.

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Serafina thought there was nothing left in her that could melt after Vincent’s

masterful, sometimes tender, often wild lovemaking but something did seem to
collapse in the vicinity of her heart when she heard his deep, uninhibited laughter.

She stared over at him, wide-eyed. The sound amazed her.
Her expression only made him laugh harder. “Why are you looking at me like

that?” he asked. His eyes watered and stung.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” she said cautiously. His laughter amplified

even more.

“Why are you laughing?” Serafina asked.
Vincent threw up the hand on her waist helplessly. “Because, I just took you harder

than I’ve ever taken a woman in my life and I didn’t do it once, I did it three times and
I’d be lying worse than the most silver-tongued Tory in Whitehall if I said I didn’t want
to do it again and damn soon!” He shook his head in amused disbelief. “And then you
look at me and tell me that there’s no reason to apologize. Serafina, you were a
virgin…and I didn’t even take off your shoes.”

Serafina sat up slightly in the bed and looked down at her feet, as if the answer to

Vincent’s unusual behavior would somehow be discovered there.

He chuckled when he saw her reaction. His hand at her shoulder gently pushed her

back into a supine position. He carefully began to roll her stockings down her thigh.

“Never mind,” he said gruffly after a moment. He palmed and stroked her heel

when he’d removed her shoe. She moaned in appreciation at his touch. He examined
her corset narrowly as he came back to her side after removing the final shoe. Her
breasts looked like a luscious confection of smooth, firm flesh bursting out of the
insubstantial confines of thin cloth.

His cock stirred.
He averted his eyes and counted to three before he trained his eyes back on her

face. He hoped she wasn’t uncomfortable because her corset would have to wait to be
removed until later…most definitely.

“Suffice it to say that it is necessary for me to apologize. You were just so sweet,

Serafina,” he said gruffly, all traces of laughter vanished from his tone.

Serafina learned firsthand as she looked into his beautiful, fire-lit eyes that her heart

hadn’t melted into mush, because it began to thud in her chest almost as rapidly as it
had during her most recent earth-moving climax.

Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake to marry him. Perhaps he could learn to love her.
She searched his expression, feeling vulnerable.
Almost immediately she felt him grow distant. When he kissed her on the forehead

brusquely his manner reminded her of how he might treat Emily.

“Let me get something to clean you up,” he said in his doctor’s voice before he

lunged off the bed. She watched him pad silently to the far side of the room, supple,
sure and magnificent in his nudity as a lion would be prowling about its lair.

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Serafina tried to tell herself that she was a fool for allowing tears to spring into her

eyes, causing the image of a gloriously nude Vincent pouring some water into a bowl to
blur and double. Most people would say she was the luckiest woman on the planet for
having him as a husband. He was intelligent, rich, handsome…not to mention
extremely sexy.

Not only that, he seemed to care about her. He’d gone out of the way to get a

reverend who had spiritualist leanings to officiate their wedding ceremony. He’d told
Cook to make her special sweets because he was worried she was too thin and he was
encouraging her in her desire to be a nurse even though most men of his class and
status would have been mortified at the idea their wife toiling among wounded,
diseased individuals.

And even Vincent had admitted how much he desired her.
But though she told herself those things, the hated tears still came. Because Serafina

wasn’t most people. She wanted Vincent to love her. She wanted him to love her in the
same way that she loved him—unconditionally, passionately…soulfully.

That was how much Serafina had come to love him since she’d begun to have

dreams about him while she was still in the United States over a year ago. If he ever
found out how much she knew about him it would undoubtedly infuriate him. It was
more than the fact that it would challenge his scientific worldview. It would make him
feel vulnerable…especially in regard to his wife Susan.

Serafina knew firsthand how much he’d grieved Susan’s death, how much he still

looked to the past with a sense of profound regret. There wasn’t room in his heart for
another love.

In her dreams one of the overwhelming sensations she received in regard to Vincent

was his separateness. Serafina knew that he loved Austin, Daniel, Sophie and Mrs.
Hastings in his own way but he still kept his heart locked up safely. He and Eliza had
been lovers, and he’d undoubtedly had many since Susan died, but Serafina knew with
the bone-deep knowledge of not only her dreams but her telepathic glimpses that he
never allowed his lovers into the inner periphery of his true self. He never allowed
himself to really care.

Passion could temporarily melt his cold reserve but it would immediately be re-

erected. Sex bypassed some of his barriers, leaving Serafina a glimpse of his true nature,
the vibrant, raw, primitive aspects. It left her hungering for closer contact with all of the
man.

Knowing that she would never be willingly granted full access was what was

responsible for her tears more than anything.

Vincent sat on the edge of the bed and matter-of-factly spread one of her pale

thighs. He grimaced slightly when he saw the streaks of blood. When he had finished
cleaning Serafina with a warm washcloth he glanced up and registered there were tears
shimmering in her blue eyes.

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“Are you in pain, Serafina?” he asked starkly.
She shook her head. She was afraid to speak lest the action cause the dammed-up

emotion in her chest to burst out. Her throat convulsed thickly when she swallowed
back her anguish.

“It’s been…a long day. I think I’m a little…tired,” she said eventually.
He had tossed aside the washcloth and taken her into his arms by the time he’d

heard the second tremor in her voice. Her skin felt like smooth, warm satin pressed to
his. He pulled the covers around them securely and kissed her temple.

Tired, she’d said. More likely she was emotionally overwrought after such an

eventful day.

He knew that he’d pushed Serafina mercilessly in order to get her to comply with

his wishes but he couldn’t regret it. This arrangement would be best for Emily’s
stability and happiness. And Vincent was extremely pleased with his new wife’s natural
sensuality and her honest, total responsiveness to his touch. Their marriage bed would
be far from cold. Much more likely that it would burst into flame, Vincent thought
wryly.

He kissed Serafina’s parted lips and felt his sex stir. He scowled, mentally scolding

his own body for thinking of only its selfish needs and ignoring hers.

“Go to sleep, Serafina. It was a long day for you. You need to rest.”
Serafina felt far from reassured by his gruff order. But despite the harshness of his

voice, his kiss had been tender. And she felt his cock grow hard next to her hip.

At least he was not completely unaffected by her.
This was the thought to which she desperately clung as she sank into a profound

sleep of exhaustion.

* * * * *

Hours later Vincent started into abrupt wakefulness. Despite the fact that the fire

had burned low, he and Serafina had kicked off the majority of the covers while they
slept. His hold on her tightened. God, she felt good against him. Her sleek, supple body
emanated a gentle heat that he found comforting and at the same time, powerfully
arousing.

He realized that his cock was just as hard and hungry as it had been when he finally

fell into a light doze, deep sleep and profound lust not being good bedfellows.

But his erection, which currently throbbed as it pressed into the sweet crevice

between the cheeks of Serafina’s ass, had not been the reason that he’d awakened so
abruptly. Serafina mumbled in her sleep and Vincent realized her voice and restlessly
shifting body were what had roused him.

He placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Serafina?”

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Her eyes remained closed. The rapid shifting movement beneath the delicate lids

told him that she was dreaming. The sweat that glazed her face and the anxious quality
of her mumbled words told him that she was likely experiencing a nightmare.

“Serafina.” He shook her shoulder to rouse her but still her eyelids did not open.
“Rigor mortis hasn’t even set in,” she abruptly said in an anguished, perfectly clear

voice. “God, there’s still the trace of warmth in her flesh. If only I’d been here an hour
ago I might have saved her. Only an hour…perhaps even less…”

Vincent’s hand on her shoulder went utterly still at those words. A second later it

resumed its shaking movements, this time much more forcefully than his previous
attempts.

“Serafina. Serafina, wake up!”
Her eyes sprang wide. She glanced up at him then gasped loudly in shock at the

unfamiliar sight of a man’s face leaning down over her in the darkness.

“Vincent?” she mumbled almost incoherently after a second. Realization came to

her in fits and starts. She had married Vincent yesterday and he had made love to her,
and it had been so wonderful. That was why she was in his arms. That was why he was
naked, she thought with dawning awe. She must have been dreaming and he had
awakened her.

Was it a trick of the dim light of the dying fire that made his face look so

strange…almost frightening?

“What’s wrong?” she asked slowly.
“What was that you were just saying?”
She stiffened. “I-I don’t know what you mean, Vincent.”
“Just now. You were dreaming and you said…” He swallowed hard when he

noticed the expression on her face. She looked afraid. His eyes dropped to where his
fingers dug into the tender flesh of her shoulder. He’d just shaken her into wakefulness
violently.

He released her abruptly.
There was no way in hell that Serafina could know precisely what he’d

thought…what he’d more than likely mumbled in grief over and over when he’d finally
discovered Susan’s dead body after such a long search. Not unless…but no, what were
the chances of that? Grovenor would have had to have been hiding somewhere in that
barren room. And to what purpose would he have revealed what he’d witnessed to
Serafina?

Unless they were somehow working together, even now? He’d assumed such in the

beginning but that was before he’d gotten to know Serafina and seen firsthand her
devotion to Emily.

Perhaps he’d been a fool, blinded by her beauty and her manner of quiet

fortitude…

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Serafina cried out in surprise when Vincent suddenly rolled her onto her back. He

loomed over her, a large, fierce shadow in the darkness.

“Tell me the truth, Serafina,” he demanded in the cold voice she’d come to dread.

“Are you plotting with Grovenor?”

She inhaled sharply in shock. “Vincent, how can you accuse me of that? I despise

that man.”

For several seconds he didn’t move. Even though his features were shadowed, she

could sense him delving her spirit, searching for signs of dishonesty. She wanted to
look away but the power of his focused attention held her prisoner. Her lungs began to
burn in her chest. She waited, the tension rising in her, feeling unbearable.

She exhaled raggedly in relief when he suddenly shifted in the bed, bringing her

back against his hard chest and encircling her in his arms.

“Forgive me,” he muttered stiffly. “You were having a nightmare and talking in

your sleep. It sounded like—but no, that couldn’t be. I must have misunderstood you. I
was half asleep myself.

“Go back to sleep, Serafina,” he finally added in a regretful, distracted tone.
But Serafina couldn’t rest for hours after that. What had her sleeping self

unintentionally revealed to Vincent? He had quickly quashed his suspicion toward her
but knowing that it was there, lying so close to the surface, left her feeling like a
bottomless hole had just gaped open in the vicinity of her heart.

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Chapter Ten

Phillip barked an order for his driver to stop in front of the closest manor to

Sunnyvale, about a quarter of a mile down the deserted road from Rashleigh’s current
residence. Neither Phillip nor Samael offered to help Sunnyvale’s upstairs maid to
descend from the carriage into the pale early morning light. Phillip watched through
narrowed eyelids as she lowered herself gingerly.

He smirked.
She’d be sitting down very tenderly for days after the treatment she’d received from

Samael and him. What had her name been? Sally? Sarah? At any rate, although she had
a plain face and mousy brown hair, her tits were phenomenal and she’d willingly
allowed Samael to flog her while she’d enthusiastically sucked Phillip’s cock. She’d
screamed like a banshee when they had fucked her together, Phillip in the pussy and
Samael in the ass.

Afterward she’d been ashamed of her wanton behavior, which was precisely what

Samael had been aiming for, Phillip realized. The man was a bloody genius at
psychological manipulation.

The girl had cried piteously while Samael held her and crooned nonsense in her ear

and stroked her like hers was the most precious bit of flesh in existence. By the time a
half-hour had passed she was putty in Samael’s hands. She’d told him everything that
she knew about the goings-on at Sunnyvale despite the fact that Phillip got the
impression she practically worshipped Rashleigh.

She’d never noticed as Samael’s face went rigid with fury when she rambled on

about the baron’s marriage to Serafina yesterday.

When she’d emptied herself of all her tears and every tidbit of information Samael

requested, Samael had signaled with his head and eyes for Phillip to move behind the
girl. Then he’d calmly spread her cheeks wide and held her hips in a mercilessly hard
grip and gifted Phillip with complete access to her ass while she’d struggled and
shouted, and eventually merely sagged and cried pitifully.

It excited Phillip to know that his seed mingled with Samael’s in the woman’s dark

depths. His master could be cruel but it always made his occasional kindness toward
Phillip seem so much more meaningful.

He studied Samael in the dim interior of the carriage. Could there be a more

handsome face in existence? Phillip wondered, his heart starting to thud in his chest as
it did every time he sensed Samael’s cool aloofness. It shamed him to realize it but
Phillip desperately wanted his master to hold him and croon sweetly in his ear that he
was the most desirable, precious thing in existence to him.

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How greatly he’d changed since meeting Samael. How much he’d grown in just a

scant four weeks.

“What do you plan to do?” Phillip asked. Samael had been infuriated when he’d

learned from the young maid that Rashleigh had married his daughter just last evening.
Phillip believed that her news had enraged him so greatly that he’d taken out his fury
on the messenger. That was why he’d encouraged Phillip to sodomize the maid.

Presently, Samael shifted his black eyes until they rested on Phillip. His gaze

conveyed a profound coldness spiced with a good dose of irritation. Phillip shifted in
his seat uncomfortably, wishing he had not drawn Samael’s wicked attention to him.
He’d come to believe that he was in love with Samael but the man frightened him like
little else had the power to do, as well.

“Do you want me to have Alex wait or are we off?” he asked with forced

cheerfulness, since Samael had never bothered to answer his previous question.

“Did I say that I wanted Alex to leave?”
“Uh…no, I just thought…”
“That’s the problem, Phillip. I don’t put up with you because you’re such a great

thinker.” He waited several seconds while his insult settled and burned before he
continued. “The maid insinuated that the staff had been ordered to carry on, business as
usual this morning. We will wait here and see what plans Rashleigh and his lady have
on the day after their nuptials. If we are lucky the ecstatic newlyweds will vacate the
premises for a period of time and leave Emily in the house,” Samael said coldly. “We
will wait and we will wait in silence.”

“Of course, Master.”
Samael’s lips twisted with disdain as he studied the boy. How lacking Phillip was.
Samael didn’t believe in love between two human beings. He only believed in

power. For the most part he found females to be exciting only in the very short term.
They were too easily conquered, too soft, too willing to be dominated by him. Men were
more exciting lovers, especially men who claimed to be excited only by women. Men
had more power than women and thus it was more satisfying to break them. It excited
Samael to bribe a man who claimed to despise buggery into allowing him to make free
with his body. The paradox of both wanting the man to continue to resist him and
desiring him to fully submit was what made the affair worthwhile to Samael.

He despised Phillip for submitting to him so quickly and thus dulling his

excitement.

There had only been one man in his entire life whom Samael hadn’t been able to

dominate and bend to his will—Vincent Devonald.

The years had been good to Rashleigh, Samael admitted thoughtfully. His looks

were even more compelling, his manner more infuriatingly confident and bold.

The interplay between domination and submission was even more striking in

Samael’s obsession with Rashleigh for the baron was the one man on the face of the

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earth that Samael had fantasized about submitting to. But even given all of that Samael
still fantasized about having Rashleigh on his hands and knees before him as Samael
slammed into his muscular, hard body. And more recently, dreams of holding a
revolver to Rashleigh’s head while he fucked him and begged Samael for mercy.

Yes, Samael surprised even himself when it came to his singular obsession with

Rashleigh. The problem was he’d never had anything to hold over his head back when
they were at school. When Samael was at Cambridge he had bribed many people—men
and women—with the lures of free sex and drugs. After they’d submitted to his will he
often bribed them into giving them more of what he wanted by threatening to reveal
their part in his depravities to family or sweethearts. He had begun dabbling in magic
even then and had started to perfect his unique ability to bend weaker minds with the
power of his honed and focused will.

But like Samael, Rashleigh possessed an unusually powerful will. No matter,

Samael thought as he settled back in his seat in order to wait. Rashleigh’s strength
would just make the ultimate breaking of him all that more satisfying.

Samael held all the right cards. The baron’s interference had only delayed matters.

His weapons were subtler than Rashleigh’s smashing fists and inelegant scientific logic
but they were more powerful.

Samael would win in the end.

* * * * *

On the morning after her wedding Serafina awoke feeling like a bride—cherished,

wanted and desired.

It was a lovely feeling. One that she’d never allowed herself to dream of

experiencing.

“Vincent,” she murmured sleepily.
“Hmmm,” he acknowledged as best he could while his lips were wrapped around a

succulent nipple.

He’d waited for as long as he could. But the pretty, fleshy package inside the lacy

corset had just been too tempting for him in the end. He was fairly proud of himself for
holding out until the first gray light of dawn illuminated the edge of the heavy drapery.
Every moment that had passed during that fitful night seemed to bring him to a new
pinnacle of lustful torment until he’d been fairly positive he was going to come in the
snug furrow of Serafina’s ass just from the sensation of her emanating body heat, the
sweet scent wafting off her neck and hair and the sight of her firm, curving flesh above
the top of her corset.

He’d been sure that her nipples were about to pop out during her steady

inhalations. He’d waited on a knife’s edge of anticipation, wondering if which one of
her peaceful breaths would signal the moment when he lost all control and turned his
slumbering new wife on her back in order to ravage her.

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It had been a joy and torment all at once.
She’d moved restlessly, her hand forming a fist as she stretched it above her head.

Vincent had grinned as he employed an evasive maneuver to avoid her sleepy punch to
his eye. He’d leaned back into the pillows as she arched her back and came down half
on top of him, her back to his chest. And that was when the event that he’d been
throbbing, aching and praying for had finally arrived.

One rosy, fat, luscious nipple peeked through the lace shyly.
Vincent had gone utterly still for a second, as though he were afraid after all that

torment of waiting that the precious piece of flesh was going to dip back into hiding like
a wild creature emerging from its den only to find an anxious spectator cataloging its
every move. Before it could escape him he’d reached up with his left hand and pinched
it softly between thumb and forefinger.

He’d groaned deep in his throat with breaking desire when it pebbled and

hardened beneath his fingertips. His eyes had flickered up to her face in fascination but
no…she hadn’t awakened. Her response to him was this absolute, even in sleep.

He’d had her on her back and was straddling her in two seconds flat. God, he

wanted her. He’d torn at the laces of her corset and impatiently parted the fabric, baring
her to his gaze. Her breasts had struck him as the very picture of femininity, potently
erotic in their ability to nourish his masculine hunger. He could imagine how smooth
and soft the curving, milky white flesh would feel against his cheeks, how tender and
sweet the pink nipples would be against his tongue.

He’d leaned down over her, finally submitting to his need.
Serafina awoke to the sensation of Vincent’s warm tongue agitating and then

soothing her nipple followed by the gentle tug of his suctioning mouth.

“Vincent,” she moaned. Even though the concept of waking to a lover in her bed

was utterly foreign to her she associated only one name with the wonderful sensations
that flooded her. Her clit pinched with a pleasurable pain, as though he were sucking
on it instead of her nipple.

Her fingers burrowed into his soft, thick hair. Her back arched off the bed in a

nonverbal offering of her flesh to his mouth. His hands rose to encircle both breasts.
Serafina lost all sense of time as he held her captive for his mouth and worshipped,
teased and pleasured her all at once. His limber tongue, firm lips and supreme, silky
suction became the center of her universe as she writhed and moaned beneath him.

Finally the ache between her thighs became unbearable and another need asserted

itself into her sensual intoxication. Her hands ran down his muscular, smooth back
anxiously.

“I need you to fill me again, Vincent,” she moaned.
Vincent’s eyes opened slightly, the lids leaden with desire. His nostrils flared as her

nipple popped loose between his lips. The rosy crown sprang up like a tiny bullet rigid
and hard, from the ivory globes of her breasts. His suctioning mouth had pulled blood

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to the surface, altering their color from pink to red, creating an erotic contrast to her
pale skin.

His cock throbbed in eagerness to do exactly what she’d requested of him.
But the image of her wincing last night when he’d withdrawn from her flashed into

his mind and he reached between her legs instead. Her eyes sprang wide. She cried out
brokenly not ten seconds later as he vibrated her already slick, swollen clit. Her
glistening nipples trembled as orgasm racked her body. He leaned down to still one
with his lips and then gently but firmly between his teeth.

Serafina stared up at him dazedly several moments later. She recognized his tension

through the rosy haze of her own satiation. When she realized why he was still so tense
she made an anxious sound in her throat and shifted beneath him.

“I will get Daniel’s oil.”
He stopped her abruptly with a hand on her shoulder as she turned beneath him.
“No, Sera. You need a chance to recuperate,” he said gruffly. Despite his words he

pressed his near-to-bursting cock against her silky skin. It felt so good and he was so
close to coming after so many hours of enforced restraint. He came up on his knees over
her.

Serafina didn’t have much of a chance to be disappointed at his words before her

eyes opened wide at the sight before her. Her new husband began to pump the
considerable length of his penis in his own hand. She was so shocked that she didn’t
know what to do or to say. Her eyes were imprisoned by the erotic sight. Her body
prickled and strained with reawakened arousal. She was so enraptured that it took a
moment for a vague thought to filter through to her consciousness.

Perhaps he expected her to take over his pleasuring and instead she was just staring

him like the slack-jawed farm girl that she was.

She gave a small sound of distress at the thought—for she was more than willing to

give Vincent pleasure—and reached for his cock. But he caught her hand and shook his
head once, his eyes piercing into her, his hand increasing its pace.

“Let me do this, Sera,” he whispered harshly. His hot gaze lowered to her thrusting,

rosy-crowned breasts. “You’re so beautiful.”

He began to pump harder, his succulent, hard muscles bulging as his movements

became more strenuous. Serafina could tell that he was near his release. He grimaced.
His stomach and thigh muscles jumped with tension. Serafina found herself clenching
her legs together tightly over the pinch of arousal that the sight of him created.

His silvery eyes remained fixed on her flushed breasts.
“Serafina,” he moaned. “I don’t want to disgust you but…”
“What?” Serafina asked. The thought of him not being able to fully express the

wild, untamed, beautiful aspect of his character distressed her deeply for some reason.

Their gazes met. “Would you let me…” His eyes flickered down to her breasts.

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“Yes,” Serafina said with conviction. “Yes, anything, Vincent! What do you want

me to do?”

“Press your breasts together,” he ordered through a rigid jaw. When she did his fist

increased its rate considerably at the sight of her erect, flushed nipples standing up so
proudly side by side. He growled, low and tense, as he leaned forward and batted the
swollen head of his cock against the fleshy peaks, beating out a taut, primitive tempo. A
shout erupted from his throat a few seconds later. Semen fountained from his straining,
throbbing member and spurted warmly on her nipples.

Vincent threw his head back and groaned in agonized bliss.
Serafina stared in mixed awe and lust. He epitomized male power in that

moment—hard flexing muscle and abundant fertility. Her eyes widened in amazement
when she saw how much warm seed he continued to deposit on her breasts. He had
coated both mounds. A small lake of the thick fluid had grown in the valley between
them.

It was utterly pagan what he was doing. She was shocked at herself for allowing it.

As her eyes narrowed on the thick, white semen that gathered at the slit on Vincent’s
cock between ejaculations, Serafina realized that she wasn’t just permitting it. She wanted
it, along with anything else her new husband had to offer her.

With that thought she leaned forward and slid the thick, sticky head of his cock

between her lips.

“Ah God, Serafina,” Vincent gasped in surprise. His ridged abdomen muscles

rippled beneath the skin as a fresh blast of pleasure shuddered through his flesh.

She murmured in protest a moment later when he fell down over her and his penis

slid out of her mouth. Her hands rose to stroke the bunching muscles in his back and
shoulders while he tried to catch his breath. Eventually he raised his head and met her
gaze. Serafina went very still when she saw his small, sexy grin.

“I’m not so sure that I’m ever going to be able to let you out of this bed, Serafina.”
She arched her eyebrows in an unconsciously seductive manner. “You would keep

me here as a prisoner?”

“Ummhmmm,” he acknowledged before he moved to the side of the bed and

snagged something from the floor in his hand. Serafina saw that it was his white
undershirt before he used it to gently dry off her breasts in a no-nonsense manner.
“And whatever sexual desire struck me at the moment I would immediately subject you
to it,” he added.

Serafina squirmed in arousal. He must have noticed because he glanced back at her

face. His grin widened.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you, Sera?” he whispered huskily. Her eyes looked

enormous in her face as she nodded. She laughed at his upraised eyebrow. He tossed
the shirt away abruptly. He growled in reawakened hunger and fell upon her, ravishing
her lips, swallowing the precious sound that came between them.

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“I never hear you laugh,” he rumbled between kisses. He lightly scraped his

whiskers against her sensitive neck, relishing her explosion of laughter. “Watch out, fire
angel,” he teased through a wide smile as he tickled her ribs and she shook and
squirmed beneath him with mirth. “You’re making sexual desires strike me in all
directions.”

“But Emily will be awaiting us along with Mrs. Grovenor. We all promised her that

we would decorate Sunnyvale today for Christmas!” Serafina got out between bouts of
laughter, desperate to say anything to stop the excruciating and yet paradoxically
unbearably exciting sensation of Vincent’s tickling whiskers and fingers.

When she saw his broad smile falter and then fade she immediately regretted her

impulsive statement. She cursed herself mentally using a few choice words she’d never
spoken aloud. What a fool she was. She loved Emily like a daughter, of course, but why
had she gone and brought her up when Vincent had been behaving in such a carefree,
loving manner toward Serafina?

Serafina swallowed heavily, experiencing the sudden absence of his weight and

vibrant heat like a physical pain when he moved away from her. She knew what
Vincent was thinking right now without having to resort to mind reading. He focused
on Emily, the only reason he had agreed to marry a penniless farmer’s daughter who
was sexually tarnished, a woman who believed she had paranormal abilities…a claim
that he not only doubted but despised.

“You’re right,” Vincent muttered gruffly as he rose and moved to the side of the

bed. “We should spend time with Emily today and make sure that she is adjusting to
the changed circumstances in a positive manner.”

* * * * *

Samael waited patiently in the carriage, ignoring Crakall’s restless rustling and

barely repressed sighs of boredom. Samael himself was content to focus on his hatred of
Rashleigh, allowing the powerful emotion to amplify inside him, strengthening and
hardening his will.

He would never forget the first time he’d seen Rashleigh. It had been at a boxing

match while they were both at Cambridge. God, the man had been a sight to behold.
The majority of those who watched Rashleigh fight that afternoon had believed it was
his superior skill and strength that had been responsible for his resounding win over his
unfortunate competitor.

But Samael knew better.
It was Rashleigh’s steely eyes that had won that match and so many like them.

Samael had immediately recognized the unbending determination in that gaze.
Rashleigh would probably deny until his dying day that he possessed any sort of magic
but that was precisely what he wielded when he stared into an opponent’s eyes and
willed him to submit to his stronger will.

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It had sent a thrill of fear and anticipation through Samael back then—as it still did

today—when he became the focus of that hard, relentless gaze.

He had begun to obsessively attend the university gymnasium where Rashleigh

practiced his boxing. He would time his fencing exercises to end at the same time that
Rashleigh completed his grueling workouts. They had been introduced by a common
friend so it infuriated Samael that Vincent only treated him with a distant cordiality
during Samael’s contrived meetings in the changing room. He’d had to resort to playing
Peeping Tom while Rashleigh stripped and washed his beautiful, hard body, his eyes
taking in every detail of the flesh that he longed to devour.

When he closed his eyes Samael could still perfectly envision how he had looked

back then, tight, ridged abdomen dripping with droplets of water as he washed, the
stark power inherent in the defined, rippling muscles of his upper arms and shoulders,
thighs and ass that epitomized force and might captured and held in the magnificent
reservoir of smooth flesh…the weight of his testicles, swaying slightly as he’d moved
casually about the changing room, impervious to his masculine beauty and the
stunning effect it had on a hapless Richard Grovenor.

And always after he recalled all of those things about that beautiful young man, the

expression of disbelief and disdain on Vincent’s face when Samael had exposed his
desire to him would follow.

Boiling hatred was inevitably close on the tail of that memory.
It had taken Samael years to plot but he’d eventually had his revenge on the smug

baron, taking his wife and child almost with the ease of stealing a kiss beneath the
mistletoe.

And now, unlike before, Samael had something to hold over Rashleigh’s

head…something that he would want very, very much.

He would give him a few days. It amused Samael to think of Rashleigh working

himself into a sexual frenzy over the beautiful Serafina only to find through cruel
experience that the outer beauty that covered her fiery depths was all he would ever be
able to touch.

It really was comical when he considered it. The two people that Samael had

desired most in his life, the only two that had out and out rejected him, had ended up
joined to one another. It rankled at his spirit to know that Vincent had staked his claim
on Serafina in any way, let alone in this profound one.

She was his to do with as he pleased, just as that worthless brat Emily was.
Well…perhaps Emily was not entirely worthless. The girl would eventually serve

her purpose.

Hours after they’d first pulled to the side of the empty road and let out Rashleigh’s

maid, Samael heard the sound of a carriage approaching in the distance. Crakall
immediately perked up but sat back in his seat obediently when Samael glowered at
him. Samael flicked the curtains with his fingers almost casually as the carriage passed,
just enough for him to see the baron’s stark profile and a flash of Emily’s animated face.

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Serafina’s low, elusive laughter caught his ear beneath the much louder crash of the
rolling carriage wheels.

“Shall we follow them?” Phillip asked in excitement.
“No,” Samael replied with a cold expression as he carefully pulled on a leather

glove. “I think my time would be better spent visiting another occupant of Sunnyvale in
their absence.”

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Chapter Eleven

Serafina waved her hands helplessly, a look of stark terror on her face. Vincent’s

gloved hand steadied her on her right arm while Emily’s mittened one did the same on
her left.

“Try to keep your weight forward, Sera,” Vincent instructed.
“My weight was behind me because I was falling in that direction,” Serafina cried

out in mixed irritation and alarm. She grabbed on to his forearm desperately as her legs
darted out from beneath her in a thoroughly untrustworthy fashion. “Oh, the blades
make the ice so slippery.”

“That would be the point of ice skates,” Vincent said drolly as he guided her surely

across the ice rink at Parliament Hill Fields. Serafina glanced up at him. The anxiety that
shadowed her expression was only caused in part by the fact that she seemed to have
no muscular control whatsoever of her body on the ice skates. Vincent had reverted
back to his distant politeness since they’d come downstairs together this morning to join
Emily for breakfast.

Well, perhaps his manner wasn’t exactly as it had been when they first came to

Sunnyvale. His touch, even the most seemingly casual one, suggested to Serafina that
he was just as aware of her as she was of him. The slow burn of desire that smoldered in
his eyes hinted at the same when she caught him watching her once or twice.

Emily’s silvery laughter rang out in the still, chilly air.
Serafina’s grimace of pain and frustration faded to amusement. “Easy for you to

laugh, Emily. You skate as if you were born to it. You’ll be as good at it as Vincent is in
no time, no doubt.”

Vincent took notice of Serafina’s wince of discomfort. She’d fallen hard on the ice

just moments ago. He guided them over to a bench.

“Emily is very graceful on the ice,” he said.
“While I’m flopping around like a fish out of water,” Serafina finished aloud the

unspoken part of Vincent’s wry comment.

“It is because of your fiery nature, Sera,” Emily conciliated. She turned neatly on

her skates and sat down next to Serafina. It was wonderful for Emily to spend the chilly,
invigorating morning in an activity that appealed to her physical nature and in the
company of Vincent and Sera. And when they returned home Mrs. Hastings said she
would have everything prepared for them to decorate Sunnyvale for Christmas…even a
Christmas tree! Emily had felt as if she were living in a happy dream ever since Vincent
had told her that Sera and he were to marry yesterday.

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Funny how Vincent looked so hard and formidable at the moment but Emily could

so easily sense the amusement and warmth just beneath his cold exterior.

“Fire and ice do not mix, do they?” Emily asked Vincent with a teasing grin.
Serafina glanced at Vincent, unsure how he would react to Emily’s casual reference

to her supernatural ability to manipulate fire. Not that he believed in her power of
course. But she needn’t have been worried because Vincent seemed determined that
Emily should have a perfect day.

“I am surprised the ice didn’t melt directly beneath her feet,” Vincent replied lightly

enough to the girl. But Serafina’s heart forgot its purpose when he met her gaze and
heat flashed into his singular eyes.

“Perhaps some roasted chestnuts would not be so adverse to her nature? What do

you say, Emily?” he asked.

Emily giggled. “No, and they would not be adverse to mine either.”
He smiled and held out his arm for the girl. “Then come along and help me while

we allow your sister’s fiery nature to loosen her muscles and soothe her bruises.”

Serafina watched in awe tinged with wistfulness as the tall man and the delicate girl

skated side by side away from her, their relationship poignantly obvious to her in the
sudden flash of identical smiling profiles and the innate athletic grace of their
movement.

* * * * *

It wasn’t until later that evening however that Serafina finally felt her aching

muscles uncoil while she sat in a steamy bath of water. Austin’s idiosyncratic aunt
might have been somewhat indifferent to the general upkeep of Sunnyvale but she had
seen to it that a luxurious, modern bathroom was installed off the master bedroom.
Serafina suspected she owed her current heated bliss to Vincent. She had seen him
quietly conferring with Mrs. Hastings soon after the Christmas tree was decorated.
Soon afterward Mrs. Hastings had firmly taken her arm and herded her up the stairs to
the steamy bath that awaited her.

“There now, nothing like a hot soak after what you’ve been through,” Mrs.

Hastings had assured her once she’d helped her into the tub.

Serafina had avoided the older woman’s eyes, self-conscious that Mrs. Hastings had

not only been referring to her falls on the ice this afternoon but to her first night as a
married woman.

“Now give your hair a good wash as well and I’ll come back in a bit and rinse it for

you,” Mrs. Hastings had fussily instructed before giving Serafina her privacy.

A small smile pulled at her lips as she leaned back in the porcelain tub, soapy hair

falling down her back, and replayed the afternoon in her mind.

Emily had been bursting with excitement when they arrived home after ice skating

and saw the decorations that Mrs. Hastings and the staff had laid out for them. She had

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been momentarily disappointed that Mrs. Grovenor had been too tired to join them,
however. Emily, like Serafina, had been so encouraged by Grace’s progress over the
past days.

But then the festivities had overcome the girl’s sadness at Grace’s absence, for Emily

determined to make everything picture-perfect for her adoptive mother.

Serafina had quickly learned that Vincent’s German heritage played a large part in

the fact that Christmas was so richly celebrated in his household. Mrs. Hastings
supervised them as they twined evergreen garland decorated with French horns along
the staircase and placed colorful poinsettias in the entryway and front parlor.

She had instructed Emily and Serafina in how to make Dresden ornaments and

cornucopias filled with sweets for the Christmas tree that had been placed in drawing
room. Vincent had been there too, sipping his brandy and reading his newspaper,
although Serafina noticed that his eyes were more frequently on her and Emily as they
engaged in their domestic task than on the news. Finally he’d given up all pretense of
reading his paper and helped them decorate the upper limbs of the tree, calmly
ignoring Mrs. Hastings’ fussing and scolding in regard to his ornament placement. He’d
then held up Emily so that she could place the silver-painted paper star at the top of the
tree.

Serafina had never felt so happy and content in her life as when she saw Emily’s

expression of wonderment after the Christmas tree was fully decorated. The tiny
candles reflected cheerfully in the delicate German blown-glass balls that were
heirlooms from Vincent’s mother.

It was the only Christmas tree she and Emily had ever seen.
Serafina sighed when she heard Mrs. Hastings reenter the bathroom.
“I’m ready for you,” Serafina murmured, referring to her wet, soapy hair.
“That is very fortunate.”
Water splashed as Serafina twisted around in the tub.
“Vincent!” She instinctively sank in the water, hiding herself from him. “I-I did not

expect you. What are you doing in here?”

He merely glanced down significantly at the enormous pitcher in his hands.

Serafina noticed that he’d removed his jacket, vest, shoes and socks. His white shirt was
unbuttoned at the top, revealing a smattering of crisp black hairs. Her eyes lingered at
that enticing sight before they darted anxiously back up to his face. For a few seconds
he merely watched her, his light eyes seeming to glow in his dark face. She gasped
when he moved suddenly and approached the tub. She sank lower but realized with a
mixture of mortification and growing sexual tension that there was no escaping his
penetrating gaze now that he stood directly over her.

Her expression of embarrassment almost kept Vincent from enjoying the vision of

his wet wife. Almost. The graceful lines of her shoulders and neck glistened, looking
like they’d been gilded with a pale, rosy gold in the lantern-lit room. Her breasts peeked
up flirtatiously between the strands of long hair that floated at the top of the water. Her

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nipples looked succulent, relaxed as they were…fat and tender. He thought they
seemed a shade darker than their normal tea rose pink and wondered if it was due to
the avid attention he’d paid them last night and this morning.

Desire pulsed powerfully through him at the thought, stirring and thickening his

cock. If her nipples were so sensitive, he would have to go easier on her. Still, he
couldn’t wait to suck on them again until the flesh turned erect and pebbled against his
tongue.

He set down the pitcher of warm water that Mrs. Hastings had supplied him with

and knelt next to the tub.

“I’m your husband, Serafina. Have you forgotten so quickly that I have seen you

naked before?”

Serafina felt her cheeks flood with heat. Forget the way he had made love to her last

night and this morning? Not very likely. The memory scorched her awareness.

“Of course I have not forgotten but…I am in the bath,” she explained lamely. She

could not come to terms in her mind with the distant, restrained aspect of Vincent that
he’d shown her all day and the bold, raw side of him that she knew from his
lovemaking…and which she witnessed presently. He had calmly intruded upon her
bathing ritual and now stared at her naked body with undisguised masculine
appreciation, and a sense of propriety that made her squeeze her thighs together in
arousal. Her eyes widened as he deliberately began to roll back his shirtsleeves to reveal
his strong, hair-sprinkled forearms.

“You must get accustomed to being naked in my presence, Serafina, especially as it

is my desire that you will be that way. Often. If it were not for Emily, if we had been
married under different circumstances, this would be our honeymoon. I would have
kept you naked in bed all day long…and for several days to come.”

He paused as he dipped his hand into the warm water.
Serafina held her breath as she watched him reach for her breast. A small cry leaked

past her lips when he cradled the flesh in the palm of his hand and ran his fingertips
over the nipple. Pleasure lanced through her. Liquid warmth flooded her sex from the
inside out.

“Your nipples are very sensitive,” he murmured thoughtfully as he watched his

fingers manipulate her flesh. He glanced up at her. “Did they chafe against your corset
today?”

Serafina’s lips fell open in amazement, not only at the directness of his question but

at the accuracy of his knowledge. Her nipples had indeed felt sensitive and achy at the
slightest brush of cloth against them all day long.

“Yes,” she admitted.
He pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger and studied her expression

closely. He was not disappointed in her reaction. Her flesh kernelled between his
fingertips. Her lips parted wider and her eyes darkened with arousal.

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“But you did not mind it, did you, Sera?”
“No,” Serafina whispered throatily, her honesty a side effect of her desire. “I did

not mind because it reminded me of what had made them sore.”

His slow smile made the ache in her pussy surge in amplitude. She bit off a cry of

protest when he released her breast.

He picked up the pitcher and came up on his knees over her. Serafina knew how

heavy the pitcher must be so it amazed her to see him hold it in one hand effortlessly.
He cradled the back of her head in his palm.

“Lean back,” he instructed softly.
She stared up at him, mesmerized, as he slowly poured the water over her head.

The warm liquid rivered through her hair, creating both a prickling excitement and a
heavy, languid sensation in her flesh. Her eyelids fluttered as if they’d been weighted
when Vincent began to sensually massage her scalp. The sound of the water trickling
softly back into the tub deepened her entrancement. After a moment he gathered the
hair that fell into the water in his hand. His gaze lingered, hot and wanting on her
exposed breasts.

He turned his attention to carefully rinsing the mass of hair that he held in his hand.

He possessed a surgeon’s touch to be sure, Serafina thought. His movements were
confident and certain yet still the actions of a healer…sensitive and thoroughly capable.

When he’d poured the last drop of water from the pitcher he stood and grabbed a

folded towel off a shelf. Serafina murmured in contentment while he carefully dried the
tresses and then wrapped her hair in the absorbent cloth. Before she could guess what
he was about he bent down and spread his hand wide over her waist. The hungry
manner in which he stroked her body along her side from hip to breast left her
breathless.

“I love the way you are made,” he praised gruffly.
Serafina’s hips moved restlessly, giving him better access to her when he reached

beneath her and boldly massaged a buttock, his long fingers coming within inches of
her pussy. She saw the spark in his magnificent eyes.

“Time for bed and dinner, angel—in that order, I think,” Vincent said slowly.

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Chapter Twelve

Serafina could only nod, wide-eyed. She was glad he was there to support her as

she rose because her legs had gone weak with desire.

“Do you put an emollient on your skin after your bath?” he wondered distractedly

as he dried her back and his eyes toured her naked body.

“Yes.”
His eyes flashed up from where they’d been lingering between her thighs.
“Where is it?”
Serafina pointed at the washstand. “There, next to my hairbrush. Mrs. Hastings

brought them in earlier.”

Vincent said nothing but after he’d bundled her up in the towel he reached for the

items on the washstand before he led her out of the bathroom.

Serafina’s eyes landed on a cart and a table laden with silver-domed dishes that

stood next to the roaring fire in the master bedroom.

“I asked Mrs. Hastings to have our dinner sent to our room,” he murmured. When

they reached the foot of the bed he tugged on Serafina’s hand. She turned to face him,
one hand gripping her towel between her breasts.

“Aren’t you going to scold me for excluding Emily from our evening meal?”
Serafina jaw dropped open. “No, Vincent. You misunderstood me this morning. I

mean…I do believe we should make sure that Emily is adapting in a healthy manner
but…that is…”

“Yes?” he asked quietly as he held her clutching hand captive in his and tugged on

the towel with the other until it fell about her ankles. His fingers spread in a light, warm
caress along her back and flanks.

“I…believe that we should have some time to ourselves as well,” she finished

breathlessly.

“We have much to learn and become accustomed to, no?” Vincent asked before he

bent and placed his lips on her neck. Liking the feeling of her and her scent so well he
gave a low growl of approval and brought her closer against his body. Serafina stifled a
groan of rising desire when he ran his hands down her hips and buttocks.

“Yes,” Serafina whispered the second before his mouth covered hers possessively.

Her hands were already busy in the education process, relearning the precise
topography of his shoulder and back muscles through his shirt. She liked the way he
inhaled sharply when her fingertips caressed his neck and ear but she loved the way he

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groaned in animal satisfaction when she sank her fingers in his hair and lightly scraped
his scalp with her nails.

Vincent’s tour of her naked body was far bolder than hers. Serafina cried out into

his mouth when he stretched his finger from where he had been gently squeezing both
her buttocks and ran it along the moist, sensitive outer tissues of her sex in a flirtatious,
teasing caress before he sank it home into her pussy. He caught a good portion of her
weight when Serafina sagged uncontrollably in pleasure as he stroked in and out of her
heated depths.

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped a moment later—although he refused to

release her from his demanding kiss—when he left her moist channel and slicked her
sex oils along her perineum and then lightly rubbed against her rectum with his
fingertip.

Vincent felt her go rigid in his arms and broke their kiss.
“Come here,” he insisted gruffly.
Serafina followed him in wide-eyed amazement, still flabbergasted by the electricity

that had flooded her body at his intimate touch. He led her to the roaring fire and sat
down in a chair, pulling her down into his lap. He tilted her jaw so that she met his fire-
lit, silvery gaze.

“I don’t mean to shock you, Serafina. But you are my wife. I will look upon you

while you are naked often. I will ask you to undress in front of me and I will expect that
you comply. I will touch your body everywhere and each place will be as sweet and
sacred as the next. I don’t say this to frighten you. I say it because it’s true.” He paused
as he pushed a damp lock of hair behind her ear. “If you are afraid of me or uncertain of
my actions than speak of it and we will deal with it as best we can. But I will not abide
by Richard Grovenor’s ghost hanging over our marriage bed.”

“The last thing I am thinking about right now—or any time you are touching me—

is Samael,” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Then why did you startle in my arms just now?”
She gaped at him. How could he be vastly intelligent about so many things and yet

so dense about others?”

“For the same reason that I jumped when you touched me there,” she glanced

down into her lap, “for the first time or the same reason why I was shocked when you
put your mouth on me!”

Vincent watched his hand as he caressed her naked hip, seeming unconcerned by

her pique.

“But you liked those things,” he said with so much quiet confidence that Serafina

restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his pervasive cocksureness.

“As I did when you touched me just now, Vincent.”

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His silver eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You hate Samael so much. Surely knowing

how he used you to seduce those young men and being present while he sodomized
them had its effect on you.”

For a moment the only sound in the room was the briskly snapping flames.
“The first time that you kissed me you told me that you did so for who I was. When

you touch me, Vincent, I feel the truth of that.”

More so with a touch than with words, she thought to herself sadly, thinking of his

denial of her paranormal abilities. She caressed his lean cheek softly. “It feels good
when you touch me…everywhere. Despite what you saw that night in the hotel with
Samael, the way you make me feel when you make love to me is very new to me. That is
why I jumped.”

“You were not disgusted or afraid when I touched you here?” he asked as he

deliberately tilted her hip and ran two fingers into the tight, warm crevice between her
bottom cheeks.

“No,” Serafina whispered breathlessly as he stroked her with his long fingers.
For a second he didn’t speak as he continued to explore her while watching her

reaction with hawklike eyes. Finally he removed his fingers and trailed them up her
delicate spine.

“I’m glad. I’ll do my best to respect your wishes and to bring you pleasure in the

bedroom. But I want you very much. I won’t make you any promises that I can’t keep,”
he said in a low murmur. He encircled her waist with both hands and pushed down on
her, lightly grinding her flesh into his aroused sex. They both stifled groans at the
sensation.

“The fact of the matter is I won’t be denied when it comes to you, Serafina.”
She stared at his mouth rapturously as it neared her lips.
“Just like you would not be denied when I told you of my nature?”
“Yes,” he said gruffly before he plucked at her parted lips. She responded by

craning to capture more of him. After a moment of kissing her he spoke next to her soft,
seeking lips. “No obstacle will stop me.”

“There are no obstacles, Vincent,” she whispered. I am yours—body, heart and soul,

Serafina added to herself.

She saw his slow smile and wondered if he had read her mind. That smile had the

effect of turning her blood to a rapid, pulsing river of desire. He ran his hands hungrily
over her thigh and along the side of her body and breast, making her shiver.

“Your skin is remarkable,” he praised gruffly. “Stand next to the fire, Sera. I will do

my husbandly duty and apply your emollient. It would be remiss of me not to care for
my wife’s lovely skin,” he said, his grin widening, making his white teeth flash in his
dark face.

“I had not realized that a husband’s duties involved such things,” Serafina

murmured huskily after she stood and Vincent had gone to retrieve the lotion. Her eyes

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widened slightly when she saw that he not only carried the clear bottle which held her
emollient but the amber bottle that held Daniel’s solution.

“Did you not?” he asked in mock surprise. He poured some of the white substance

onto his hand and inhaled the scent appreciatively. “Turn around, Serafina, and pull
your hair to the side.”

He set the bottles of lotion and lubricant next to the fire to warm them. He paused

when he glanced over at her. She had turned and now waited for him patiently, her
neck bent slightly forward, her backside completely bared for him. Her posture struck
him as both anticipatory and submissive at once, exciting him. He admired the elegant
sweep of her back as he warmed the lotion between his hands, the succulent firmness of
her ass cheeks and the coltish quality of her long legs. The fire seemed to kiss and make
love to her bare skin, turning it into a fascinating landscape of rosy gold luminescence
and flickering shadow.

Serafina held her breath when she felt him put both of his hands on the back of her

shoulders, spreading the lotion and rubbing until a satisfied purr vibrated her throat.
He stroked her muscles so knowingly. The pressure that he applied to her back with his
strong hands was exquisite. She felt her flesh grow torpid, heavy and relaxed from the
warmth of the fire and Vincent’s masterful hands.

She moaned in sensual delight as he pressed the length of his thumbs along each

side of her backbone, massaging the length of it deeply.

“Feel good?” he asked.
“Like heaven,” she sighed.
She flinched slightly a minute later however, when he rubbed the lotion into her

hips. He paused.

“Your run-ins with the ice are coming back to haunt you, aren’t they?”
Serafina made a sound of protest when he removed his hands but she was consoled

when she saw him reaching for the lotion by the fire. “It’s very unchivalrous of you to
mention my gracelessness.”

His low chuckle made the skin on her neck prickle in piqued awareness.
“It was the ice’s fault for getting in your way of course,” he assured her. He

couldn’t stop from groaning in pure lust when he opened his hands over her ass and
palmed her firm, ripe flesh. “Good thing you have some nice padding here to take the
brunt of the fall.”

“Oh!” Serafina cried out. He paused.
“Too sore?”
She shook her head rapidly as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “It feels

wonderful. The fire warmed the lotion. I am a little sore in truth but…continue, Vincent.
Please,” she whispered.

He filled his palms and gently dug his fingers into her flesh as their gazes clung.

Serafina felt the painful tension ease out of her under his skillful hands even as an

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imperative new tension swelled in her sex, in her breasts and everywhere that Vincent
touched.

Vincent forced himself to release her bottom, reminding himself of the delights of

her thighs and the heat between them. He sank to his knees and smoothed his palms
down her silky legs, relishing in the sensation of her, enjoying the anticipation of
knowing he would soon quench his need in her humid, hot depths.

Serafina closed her eyes. Her jaw dropped, her facial muscles went slack and her

lips parted as she fell under the spell of Vincent’s hands, which paradoxically deeply
relaxed and excited her flesh at once. He spread the fire-warmed lotion onto the back of
her thighs, her calves and the fronts of her legs. He moved his hands slowly, massaging
her muscles sensually. When he slid his palms from her calves over the sensitive backs
of her knees and up in between her thighs, urging her legs to part in the process,
Serafina’s eyes blinked open.

Vincent shared in her increased tension as his palms smoothed the shadowed valley

between her thighs and encountered petal-soft warm skin that hardly required extra
moisture. It excited him to think that perhaps part of the dew he found between her legs
originated from the humid heat he felt resonating from her core.

“Turn around, Serafina,” he said in a tone that was brusquer than he’d intended.
Serafina spun around a little unsteadily, blinking heavily through weighted eyelids

as she stared down at Vincent. She felt as though she were observing his glowing silver
eyes through a drugged daze of desire as he looked up at her from his position on his
knees.

She complied immediately when he urged her thighs apart even farther.
Vincent, she merely mouthed the word as he leaned forward, eyes still on her, and

pressed one profound yet all-too-brief kiss on the damp, swollen lips of her pussy.

She trembled with desire.
“Shhh, angel,” he soothed when he felt her quake in his hands. He retrieved the

bottle and poured more warm lotion in his palms.

Her hips and belly were the next to benefit from his knowing touch. Her shivering

increased even though she was hot with arousal when he smoothed his hands and
rubbed along her sensitive flanks. He applied exquisite pressure along her upper arms
and ended with a hand massage that seemingly melted Serafina’s bones.

“Am I doing an adequate job in my husbandly duty?” he teased a minute later

when he rose and came around her to sit in the chair. He placed his hands on her hips
and urged her between his spread thighs.

“You are doing a wonderful job. But Vincent, please…” she whispered in anguish

when she saw him reach again for the lotion. It was not that particular bottle that she
wished to see him grab for at that moment. Her thighs closed over the acute ache at her
sex. She needed him to release the powerful friction that he’d built in her with his
rubbing, stroking hands.

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“Anxious for something, Sera?” he asked gruffly as he examined her perspiration-

damp features.

“Yes,” she admitted. Her gaze dropped instinctively to his lap.
Vincent paused in unstopping the bottle when he saw where she glanced. His cock

throbbed so uncomfortably in the confines of his clothing at the touch of her eyes that
he set down the bottle and reached for the fastenings of his trousers.

Serafina watched in tense arousal as he shoved down his pants and underwear

enough to withdraw his erect cock. Her muscles and lungs seized into rigid immobility
when he casually cradled his full testicles, lifting them free of his clothing, and swept
his hand up along the length of the thick, shapely pillar of flesh. When he released
himself and leaned back slightly, his cock thumped gently against his taut abdomen.

“Move your hair to your back and come closer,” Vincent commanded as he reached

down next to this chair for the lotion.

Serafina took a deep, ragged breath, vaguely realizing she hadn’t inhaled for almost

half a minute. She had to remind herself to exhale when Vincent raised his large,
lubricated hands to her breasts. Her breath came out in a whimper of longing as he
spread the lotion on the tender, sensitive undersides.

Vincent smiled when he heard the plaintive sound that came from her throat. “I

saved the best for last,” he murmured huskily as he shaped her firm breasts into his
palms. His eyes fixed on her nipples. They were stiff and pointed despite the warmth of
her flesh in his hands.

Serafina moaned in mixed misery and pleasure as she watched his dark head

slowly sink to her chest. Her back unconsciously arched as she gave herself to him
eagerly. She cried out when he closed his lips around the tip of her left breast and she
was surrounded by his heat. She pushed against his lashing tongue, desperately
needing the friction. She squeezed her thighs tightly against the increasingly sharp
quality of arousal there. Her fingers threaded through his thick hair as her back bowed,
pushing her breast further between his lips and teeth. He responded by pressing her
straining nipple against the roof of his mouth and drawing on her with a steady
pressure.

“Vincent—” Serafina pleaded a moment later when he slid her breast out between

his lips and paused to flick the stiff peak with the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t
answer as he left the distended dark pink nipple and transferred his attentions to the
other.

Serafina felt as though she would break on the exquisite rack of pleasure on which

he tortured her. Her muscles pulled tight, her thighs clamping around her pussy, her
buttock and back muscles straining as she arched into Vincent’s mouth. Her hand
loosened its clutch on his hair as she instinctively prepared to press her own fingers to
her clit in order to find release from her unbearable ecstasy.

But Vincent sensed her crisis. He bit gently at the nipple he held captive in his

mouth at the same time that he pinched the other erect peak rhythmically.

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Serafina cried out in agonized pleasure when orgasm crashed into her.
Vincent released her breast from his mouth a few moments later but continued to

apply pressure with his fingers on both of her nipples. Her natural sensuality stunned
him. It excited him monumentally. He pressed his lips and nose to her smooth belly,
absorbing the vibrations of her body as she convulsed in orgasm. When he turned his
head slightly and inhaled a few seconds later, he had to clamp his eyes shut and clench
his teeth to still the rush of lust that pounded into his flesh. The fragrance of her desire
perfumed the air, creating a powerful chemical reaction in his body.

That scent transformed him into a beast.
He waited with barely restrained impatience until her convulsions slowed. When

her glazed eyes blinked open dazedly he spoke to her.

“Put some of Daniel’s oil on my cock.”
Serafina’s eyes widened at the harsh sound of his voice. Her hands shook slightly

when she did his bidding and poured some of the silky lubricant into her palm. He
didn’t speak but just stared at her with fire-lit eyes set in a rigid face as she reached for
him with her hand.

He grunted in agony at the sensation of her spreading the warm liquid along his

near-to-bursting cock. He grabbed her hips and turned her around determinedly.

“Put your hands on my knees and come back on me,” he instructed tersely. He held

his penis up as she bent over and lowered herself. He grunted when he felt her damp
outer sex brush against the tip of his cock. His hand spread across her hip, steadying
and directing her as he speared into her liquid heat.

“God,” he hissed through clenched jaws. He’d half convinced himself throughout

the day that he’d imagined how incredibly good she felt last night…how hot she was.
But no, his bride really did possess the pussy of a fiery angel sent straight from some
carnal heaven. His fingers sank into the womanly curves of her hips as he pressed
down on her, her ass and thighs meeting his tense flesh with a forceful smacking sound.

Serafina yelped at the powerful sensation of him abruptly skewering her with his

cock. But she had no time to linger in shock because he was already lifting her off him
only to plunge her back down against him with another brisk slap of their flesh. A thrill
of excitement shimmered through her when he spoke and she heard the hard, desperate
edge to his tone.

“Fuck me,” he demanded.
Serafina tensed her thighs and added her own weight to the force of his thrusting

hips and flexing arms. She cried out helplessly as the pleasurable shocks of his cock
pounding deeply into her flesh reverberated throughout her body, rattling her very
existence. They crashed together repeatedly and so profoundly that Serafina’s thighs
began to burn unbearably with the pain of her exertion as she tensed over him. But she
would not cease or even slow as their striking flesh quickened to the point of explosion.

Indeed her efforts redoubled.

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Vincent growled when he felt her movements over him increase in force and rate.

She rose up over him one last time until only the head of his cock was fast in her sweet
heat. His arm muscles tensed as he resisted the energetic backward thrust of her body,
fully enjoying the arousing sight of her plump ass and his penis poised in her pussy.

Then he could take no more.
His fingers sank into her hips and ass and his pelvis sprang up as he struck their

flesh together with a taut whapping noise, the friction and pressure igniting him.

Serafina’s face crumpled with emotion and sharp pleasure at the sensation of

Vincent holding her down tightly in his lap while his penis throbbed deeply inside her.
His ragged shout was raw, wild….vaguely stunned. The sound pierced through her.
She desperately ground down her hips, getting pressure where she needed it.

She leapt into the inferno with him eagerly, her eyes springing wide in shock at the

magnitude of the first blast of orgasm that slammed through her.

Vincent’s eyelids blinked open heavily a minute later. Serafina still sat in his lap, his

cock embedded in her. She leaned forward, her hands on his lower thighs. Her
breathing was no longer coming in choppy gasps but was still deep and protracted as
her body struggled to maintain equilibrium after her climax. He straightened his legs
and lowered slightly in the chair, unbending his knees at the same time that he brought
her back against him.

Serafina gave a heavy sigh of contentment when he moved her hair and pressed his

mouth against her sweat-dampened neck, shivering at the sensation of his tongue
flicking out briefly to capture her taste. She jumped when he followed with a tender
bite.

“Are you hungry?” she murmured in drowsy amusement.
“You’ve satisfied me. For the time being anyway,” he replied as he caressed her

thigh. “You have managed to build my appetite for the chicken that Mrs. Hastings
supplied though.”

Despite what he said Serafina couldn’t bring herself to move off his hard body

when she felt him press a smile and then several kisses along her neck at the same time
that he lazily stroked her thighs, hips and belly. Nor did he seem particularly eager to
release her so that they could dine. When she realized that her pussy was contracting
around him in reawakened arousal she pushed off his lap abruptly, unsettled by the
profundity of her desire and rattled by the realization of the alarming depths of her love
for him.

“What did you do that for?” Vincent growled in acute irritation, his expression

reminiscent of that of a beast that had been gnawing happily on a juicy morsel of flesh
only to have it yanked away from him.

“You said you wanted to eat,” Serafina said anxiously. She did a double take when

she glanced down at him and recognized that while he was still almost fully dressed—
the notable exception being his relaxed but still very impressive exposed cock which lay
along his abdomen—she was completely nude.

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“I’ll get my robe,” she said throatily as she turned toward the bathroom where Mrs.

Hastings had put it earlier.

“No,” Vincent said. Her eyes widened when he moved with animallike rapidity

and grabbed her hand, stilling her.

“No?”
“No,” he repeated. He dropped her hand but held her gaze as he readjusted his

pants. “The table is set by the fire. You’ll be warm enough.”

Her lips fell open in an expression of incredulity a moment later when he pulled

back a chair at the small table that Mrs. Hastings had set and nodded down at it matter-
of-factly.

“Vincent, I can’t sit there and eat my dinner completely naked!”
“Why not?” Vincent asked, purposefully oblivious to her scandalized tone.
“Because! It’s not civilized…it’s—”
“Sexy? Exciting?” he interrupted.
Her lips trembled in uncertainty. “Vincent, it’s—”
“Precisely what I want?” he finished in a soft challenge.
Her large eyes flashed to his. He watched her through narrow eyelids as she

hesitated, her slender neck convulsing as she swallowed.

His face was impassive as he seated her but on the inside he was smiling.
“In fact there is a garment that it would please me to see you wearing while we

dine,” he said thoughtfully as he came around the table. “Let’s see now… Where did I
see that…?”

Serafina’s expression brightened at his words. Wearing anything would be better

than sitting here totally nude and vulnerable while Vincent ate his dinner and pinned
her with his hot stare. Mysteriously, excitement nevertheless unfurled in her lower belly
at the prospect.

“Yes, here it is,” he called out in triumph a moment later as he stood before an

enormous wardrobe.

She gasped when he turned around.
“How did you get that?”
“What do you mean?” he asked nonchalantly as he came toward her with the

golden girdle that she’d worn to play Clytemnestra dangling in his hand. “Didn’t you
know that Mrs. Hastings had all your things moved to this room this afternoon?”

His sharp eyes had immediately noticed the location of the gleaming girdle when

he’d undressed while Serafina was in her bath earlier.

Serafina stared at him in amused amazement as he approached. Both of them were

surprised when she burst into laughter. “Vincent, you cannot mean for me to wear that
and nothing else while we dine!”

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Her mirth continued for a few seconds. She had been quite amazed, not to mention

puzzled at some of the things she had discovered in Lottie Ashcroft’s closet several
days ago. When she’d uncovered some kind of ivory statue shaped exactly like a man’s
penis she’d gaped at it before she hid it from Emily. But when she’d inspected a pretty
silk rose that was still wrapped in what looked to be its original packaging and seen
what was on the other side of it she’d herded Emily out of the cavernous closet and
locked the door behind her.

Still, the instinct that had prompted her to do so had not hinted that the golden

girdle that she wore to entertain Grace Grovenor would have anywhere near the effect
on a man that it seemed to inspire in her new husband. Would some of those other
things she’d discovered in Lottie Ashcroft’s closet make Vincent’s eyes gleam like they
did presently?

“Vincent—” she began reasonably but again he interrupted her.
“I have fantasized about seeing you wearing this with nothing else but your bare

skin since I first saw you in it the other day,” he said succinctly.

Serafina exhaled slowly as she watched him raise the girdle pointedly in his hand.

What difference did it make, really? It could be no worse than dining nude.

And Vincent did seem to really want it…
She scooted her chair back and put up her arms.

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Chapter Thirteen

He smiled as he stepped forward and wrapped the bottom portion of the girdle

around her. It was made of a thick, surprisingly delicate network of mesh metal links
that clasped from just above her waist to below her breasts. It fit her very snugly,
Vincent realized as he fastened it at her back…which was likely why it so flatteringly
plumped her already full breasts from beneath.

“Chilly?” Vincent asked with a grin a second later as he inspected her.
“A little,” Serafina murmured, although the cool metal had not in fact been what

had pulled her nipples into tight, sensitive darts. Vincent’s gaze had done that. She
swallowed heavily as he placed the slender plate of metal that ran between her breasts.
He lifted the chain at the top.

“It fastens here,” Serafina said throatily as she placed her fingertips at the side of

her breast near her armpit.

Vincent’s eyes gleamed like molten silver as he fastened the gold chains over the

top of both of her breasts. He stepped back a moment later and inspected her in the
flickering light of the fire.

Blood pounded into his cock.
He thought of the tarot card that had been sent to him, which portrayed the nubile,

bare-breasted female warrior with her hand on the back of the wild wolf—the Princess
of Wands. The artist might have been trying to capture Serafina’s image and nature in
his rendering, although if that were true he had fallen far short in his creative endeavor.

Her hair was almost dry now and hung in wild waves of red-gold flame down her

back and arms. Her hips, belly and thighs were slender but thoroughly feminine in their
pleasing curves. The golden girdle held her tender, plump breasts captive in the metal,
pushing her up from below, the chain over the tops of the mounds snug enough to
press down slightly into the flesh, thrusting her breasts into even further
pronouncement from her chest and rib cage.

Vincent didn’t say a word, merely reached out and squeezed the taut, captive flesh

before he ran his fingertips over her beading pink nipples. He pinched them lightly.

Serafina moaned and squirmed in her chair in arousal. His nostrils flared slightly

when he noticed.

“Are you ready to dine now?” he asked gruffly. His eyes narrowed when she ran

the tip of her tongue over her lower lip anxiously.

“Yes,” she whispered, although dining was the last thing on her mind when she felt

so vulnerable yet aroused and Vincent stared at her like he was ready to take a bite out
of her at any moment.

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He came behind her and turned her chair although Serafina noticed he didn’t tuck

her too far under the table. After he had removed the metal dish covers and set them on
the tray he took his seat across from her. She took her cue from him and sipped at the
wine that he poured them then picked up her fork but she hardly knew what she ate in
the minutes that followed she was so entranced. The warmth of the fire was nothing
compared to Vincent’s gaze.

“Sera, why are you so certain that Emily is my daughter?”
She paused in the movement of lifting a bit of roasted chicken to her mouth. She

was so surprised by his question that she answered without editing her response.

“I just know.”
“How?”
He watched as her lower lip fell away from the upper and a wary expression

flickered over her face. “I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, Serafina,” he
assured her quietly. “How long have you been able to read people’s minds?”

Her lower lip dropped another inch and her blue eyes overtook a good portion of

her face. “You believe I can read people’s minds?” she asked in amazement.

Vincent frowned slightly before he took a sip of wine. “I have come to suspect that

it is possible under unique circumstances, especially when certain people are in trance
states. Just because I don’t understand the scientific laws behind the phenomena doesn’t
mean that it doesn’t exist. You have told me before that you don’t recall what happens
to you when you are hypnotized, correct?”

“Yes.”
“So other people have always been the ones to describe what happens to you after

Samael hypnotizes you?”

Serafina nodded slowly.
Vincent leaned forward in his chair. “How do you know then, that you are not

merely reading the minds of the experts and scholars who attend your séances and
provide you with questions?” he asked intently.

“Vincent, what I can do—the things I can make happen—they don’t just occur

when I’m under hypnosis,” Serafina explained with a note of entreaty. Vincent heard
the tremor in her voice and immediately regretted questioning her at this of all
moments.

“Besides,” Serafina added as she set down her fork, “I wouldn’t need any

supernatural powers to believe that Emily is your flesh and blood.”

“What do you mean?” When she shrugged the movement caused a subtle shimmer

in the metal-entrapped, fleshy cones. His eyes targeted her breasts without conscious
thought on his part.

Serafina inhaled when she saw where he stared. Her breasts felt conspicuous,

aroused, achy beneath his hot gaze. The girdle encircled them tightly, constricting the
blood flow. Her breasts were always sensitive but they seemed exponentially more so at

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present. She felt her nipples pull into tight erection under Vincent’s gaze, creating a
simultaneous twinge of stark need between her clamped thighs.

“You and she look alike, for one,” she managed to say.
“We do?”
She laughed softly before she noticed that his expression was truly one of

incredulity spiced with just enough wonder to make her heart squeeze in her chest. She
instinctively reached out and covered his hand with her own.

“Yes. Your eyes are a matched pair. And sometimes the expressions the two of you

make,” she shook her head in amazement, “I had no idea that biology was so powerful.
And is not her hair color almost precisely that of Susan’s?” Serafina reminded him
pointedly. “Add to that the fact that she surpassed me in science and mathematics years
ago and even Samael must own that he cannot keep up with Emily in physics and
chemistry. She is your child, Vincent. In so many, many ways.”

She saw the hope that flickered into his expression. She also saw the doubt. But

what more could she say…what more could she do that she had not done to convince
him? His uncertainty came as much from his inability to trust in his own judgment, to
trust in another human being since Susan had betrayed him so long ago, as from any
lack of concrete evidence of Emily’s paternity. She had not thought her desperation was
clear on her face until Vincent spoke.

“It is not your responsibility to convince me, Serafina,” he said with quiet

conviction. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it beside his plate. “I
shouldn’t have brought it up. It was not my purpose to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know that,” she said softly. Without being aware of what she was doing she

stood and went to him. She could only guess how much he had suffered in the years
since Susan had abandoned him, taking his daughter with her. She experienced an
overwhelming instinct to comfort him, to help him forget his anxieties even if only for a
short period of time.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Vincent asked when she began to unfasten his

shirt. She glanced at him furtively through her long eyelashes. But she saw the small
smile on his sculpted lips and continued.

“My wifely duty,” she replied in a smoky voice.
Vincent’s eyebrows rose in prurient interest at that. Her soft laughter made his

spine prickle with awareness and his cock swell into complete readiness. He caught the
fragrance from her clean hair and skin as she stood so close. It mixed with the scent
from her sex…their combined desire. The sight of his new wife’s lovely nude body
adorned solely with the girdle that made her breasts a fleshy offering had its part in his
profound arousal as well.

He found that he could resist the offering no longer.
Before she could push his shirt back over his shoulders he leaned forward, spread

his hands on her naked hips and brought her between his thighs. He inserted the

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tempting peak of her right breast between his lips while he filled his palm with the flesh
of the other.

Serafina moaned helplessly. Fluid gushed at the gate of her pussy and moistened

the tender, swollen outer lips. Her clitoris ached in acute sympathy with the nipple that
Vincent’s tongue whipped tenderly while he applied eye-crossing suction. She lost the
ability to speak while he pleasured her with such an arousing focus but when he
released her nipple from his hot mouth and looked intent on switching his attentions to
the other willing captive, Serafina spoke.

“Vincent, I want to touch and pleasure you now,” she whispered. Serafina was

capable of providing wonderful muscle massages due to the fact that she could not only
amplify the temperature of her hands, she could resonate the waves of heat into
another’s flesh. Emily loved Serafina’s neck and scalp massages and Grace looked
forward to her healing joint rubs. Serafina suspected that Vincent would appreciate the
same on his entire body, just as he had soothed and aroused her own flesh a while ago.

Vincent squeezed her breasts tautly, popping the nipples between his thumb and

forefinger. He watched while he pinched at the rosy, nerve-packed flesh.

“You said you were about to do your wifely duty, did you not?” he murmured.
“Yes, but I meant—”
“And is not your wifely duty to do what I desire, Serafina?”
She stilled when his eyes met hers. A small smile pulled at his mouth. The fiery

response that rose on her tongue was quenched by the glint of amused challenge she
read in his expression. When she bit her lower lip his grin widened slightly.

He regretfully released her breasts and stood.
Serafina watched him with desire-darkened eyes as he whipped his shirt over his

shoulders, fully revealing his rippling, taut torso. He removed his pants and underwear
next. Within twenty seconds he stood before her completely naked, looking like a
magnificent pagan god as the firelight and shadows flickered across delineated muscle
and smooth olive-toned skin.

Her gaze flickered down and lingered on his long, jutting penis.
“Come here,” he rasped.
When she stopped less than a foot away from him he raised his hand and cradled

her jaw. “I appreciate your desire to bring me pleasure. But your beauty overwhelms
me on this night…as I suspect it will for many, many nights to come.” When she
flushed and glanced away in embarrassment, Vincent tilted her chin, demanding that
she meet his gaze again. “Part of the pleasure is that I know I have such a lovely wife
who truly wants to please her husband in the bedroom. Isn’t that right, Serafina?” he
prodded softly.

Serafina nodded quickly, overwhelmed by that desire of which he spoke. Her love

for him felt as if it was a volatile substance that rushed hot and fast in her blood vessels,

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like it might burst free at any moment and her secret would be revealed to him in a
blinding flash of surging flame.

He tenderly brushed his thumb over her full lips. She instinctively clamped around

him when he abruptly pushed his thumb between them into her heat. He grunted
intense appreciation as she applied a healthy, strong suction and he slid in and out
between her full, pursed lips.

“Kneel, Serafina,” he demanded hoarsely. “Kneel and pleasure your husband.”
He watched as she sank to her knees, her large eyes never leaving his until his cock

bobbed enthusiastically before her face. He gritted his teeth in mixed pleasure and
anticipation when she reached for the base and ran her sensitive fingertips along the
length of him. A low growl vibrated his throat when she held him up against his belly
and ducked her head, laving his testicles with her warm, curious tongue.

Serafina liked the appreciative rumble he made so well that she took one of the

heavy glands fully into her mouth. She had never stimulated a man in this manner, it
never being something that Samael demanded of her. Vincent groaned and delved his
fingers into her hair, holding her fast. It felt wonderful to her…somehow liberating to
discover a new manner of pleasing him that came solely from her desire to do so and
nothing more.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of him in her mouth as her

tongue explored him and she fully absorbed his taste. Her hand stroked the length of
his cock. She knew firsthand by the density and weight of his cock that he liked her
actions. When she carefully slipped him between her lips several moments later she
eagerly reached for his other taut testicle.

“Sera…” Vincent hissed.
She heard him and increased the rate and pressure of her pumping fist. His fingers

grasped her head even more tightly, fixing her into place, and Serafina knew that he
wanted her to continue. To maximize his pleasure she consciously turned up the heat in
her mouth a degree or two and imagined the energy emanating off her tongue, her
cheeks and throat into his sensitive flesh.

Vincent exhaled unevenly as her heat penetrated him. He didn’t want her to stop

what she was doing—it felt phenomenal—but he also couldn’t stop thinking about how
good her hot mouth was going to feel on his cock. He loosened his hold on her scalp
and carefully resisted her taut suction, allowing his testicle to slide through her lush
lips. His cock felt iron hard, the skin stretched to the limit when he took it in his palm.

Her excitement mounted as he held her jaw gently but firmly at the same time that

he aimed his rigid erection between her lips.

He gasped. She moaned into his flesh, sending not only her indescribable heat into

him but tiny, thrilling vibrations from her vocal cords.

“Yes,” Vincent uttered between stiff lips when she immediately sank him several

inches into her moist heat. Her tongue rubbed at the sensitive spot just below the rim of
the head with a hard, constant pressure on her upstrokes. He appreciated that she set a

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demanding, forceful pace from the first because it matched his mood and need
perfectly.

There was only one desire that he had that she did not fulfill…
“Open your eyes, Serafina,” he demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Look at me when

you pleasure me in this way. Always.”

She stilled in her rigorous movements, his cock poised between her tightly pursed

lips at half-staff. Vincent immediately sensed her tension and realized that what he had
asked of her was no small matter. The image of Phillip Crakall desecrating her mouth
flashed potently into his brain. He recalled something from that emotion-laden moment
that had not been apparent to him previously, perhaps what he had not allowed to
penetrate his consciousness.

When he had burst into that hotel suite and seen the mass of pumping, sweaty flesh

and limbs over on that couch his eyes had gone unerringly to Serafina’s face. Although
her cheeks had been hollowed out as she applied her singular, strong suction they were
also shiny with wetness. The tears had leaked out profusely despite the fact that her
eyelids might have been nailed shut.

His rubbed her temples next to her eyes in a soothing circular motion.
“If you do not open your eyes I cannot tell whether or not this is what you truly

desire.”

Serafina felt as if she were prying her heavy eyelids apart instead of merely opening

them. Old habits were difficult to break.

Her gaze slowly rose to Vincent’s face.
Vincent saw the hunger unmasked in her beautiful eyes, the desire he knew was a

clear reflection of his own need. He cursed under his breath and flexed his hips,
plunging his cock farther into her heat.

For a taut, emotion-filled minute he held her steady and slid his cock in and out

between her lips. Their gazes held. Serafina didn’t blink. She might have forgotten to
breathe. Her world narrowed down solely to Vincent—his taste, the sensation of his
straining flesh in her mouth. She couldn’t remove her eyes from his hot, soulful gaze
that demanded she give all of herself.

Vincent wasn’t conscious of deciding to remove his cock from the heaven of her hot

suction but he suddenly was lifting her from her kneeling position and pushing her
back to the bed. Something about her stare as she looked up at him, her red lips strained
wide across his girth while she not only accepted his demanding thrusts wholly but
clearly hungered for them, nearly undid him. He experienced a powerful friction as he
looked down into her trusting, desire-glazed eyes and fucked her sweet, hot depths.
The feeling that swelled in him was potently sexual but went beyond the realms of
animal lust.

Whatever it was it sharpened the edge of his savage need into a piercing pain.

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He pushed her back upon the mattress. Although he was half-crazed to be inside

her at that moment he couldn’t resist her beautiful, captive breasts. He came up on the
bed and knelt over her, shaping a firm breast in his palm.

“Vincent,” Serafina whimpered as she watched him hold up a breast for his

glistening cock. He gently but tautly whipped the straining nipple with the hard, fleshy
head of his penis. They both watched as the pink tip tightened and a drop of pre-
ejaculate seeped out of the slit on his cock. He groaned in potent arousal as he deposited
the thick liquid on her nipple.

The sight sent him over the edge. He put his feet back on the floor and lifted her

legs. Almost immediately he impaled her. The shout that erupted out of his throat was
savage and triumphant.

“Ah…ahhhh!” Serafina started in shock and then cried out in agonized pleasure as

Vincent began to fuck her.

He served her to him with his tensing biceps at the same time that he crashed into

her with his powerful hips and flexing ass. It was really too much, too much pleasure,
too much friction, too much emotion. She grimaced as sensation overwhelmed her and
Vincent pounded into her body as well as the far reaches of her spirit. For a few seconds
she resisted, overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience. He was so strong and he
took her so completely. Perhaps there would be nothing of her left after the raging
inferno had died?

He sensed her uncertainty, heard the hint of fear in her aroused cries. He grabbed

her wrists and pinned them over her head as he came down over her.

“Don’t deny me, Serafina,” he grated out through rigid jaws.
He held her gaze with his own just as relentlessly as he held her wrists with his

hands. His powerful muscles flexed. He fucked her with a profound focus, nailing their
flesh together again and again. Serafina cried out in helpless surrender when she
glanced to the side of the bed and saw the erotic picture in the great mirror that she and
Vincent made as they coupled frantically. He pinned her into immobility and forced her
to take every one of his deep, fierce thrusts. A tall, intimidating wave of climax loomed
over her consciousness.

The friction became too much for her mind and body to bear. Her back arched off

the bed. She screamed as her flesh ignited.

Vincent felt her body break and vibrate around him. Being surrounded by her tight,

convulsing walls and resonating heat gave him so much pleasure that it verged on
agony. A burning shiver of excitement rippled down his spine. The sensation expanded
and amplified amidst the sensation of Serafina’s exquisite pulsations around his madly
thrusting cock. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before, like a powerful force
uncoiling at the base of his spine and enlivening every nerve along his sacrum—rearing
up, preparing to strike.

He plunged into her one last time, their flesh smacking together so forcefully that

Vincent saw sparks behind his clenched eyelids.

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He combusted.
Not just his cock exploded, gushing forth his vibrant seed into Serafina’s fiery

womb. His entire being erupted. Orgasm ripped through his body, the intensity of it
causing his throat, jaw and lips to vibrate as he roared in a seemingly endless release.

His shout penetrated Serafina’s mindless pleasure. She became aware of their

bodies straining in unison. When she felt Vincent’s cock throbbing so deeply within her
as he climaxed her orgasmic convulsions shot up in intensity before they slowly began
to wane, leaving her breathless and spent.

He fell down heavily on her a moment later, his breath sounding harsh and ragged.

She felt his hand loosen on her wrists as the tension seeped out of his body. Her fingers
found his nape and threaded through his perspiration-damp hair.

His breathing began to slow. Serafina closed her eyes in supreme satiation at the

feeling of his exhalations at first striking her neck in warm, pressured puffs and then
segueing to a rhythmic, soothing sensation that made her eyelids feel heavy.

Vincent felt her tense abruptly beneath him. He raised his head and focused on her

with difficulty. Her eyes looked enormous.

“What’s wrong?”
“We forgot Daniel’s solution! Vincent?” she asked in amazement when she saw his

white teeth flash in his dark face. His head dropped again heavily to where it had been
resting near her ear.

“I tried to tell you that you were perfectly safe, Serafina, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely stunned to the core of her spirit. She

turned her head and tried to catch his eye. “Vincent, you took a great risk in doing what
you did!” She paused as she sensed him still joined to her body. Her vaginal walls
contracted around him unconsciously. She didn’t notice the hard glint that came into
Vincent’s lazy gaze at her enveloping, potent caress.

“Are you all right?” Serafina asked in rising panic. “Are you harmed?”
Vincent shook his head slowly. “Look at me, Sera. Do I look like I’m hurting?”
Serafina paused as her gaze ran over him. He in fact looked like the very image of

an extremely well-satisfied male animal.

“I don’t understand…” she murmured in confusion.
“Samael has been misleading you, angel,” Vincent said quietly.
“But—”
“There are no buts, Serafina,” he insisted when her muscles tensed beneath him and

she struggled to rise. His hand on her shoulder stilled her. “It’s just as I told you last
night. There could be no logic in this world if you had been made in a manner that did
not perfectly suit me.”

Serafina relaxed slightly when she took in his warmly spoken words and saw that

his masculine, sculpted lips once again twitched in amusement. She couldn’t help but
be affected by his potent grin.

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“I just don’t see how—”
Her disbelieving protests were abruptly cut off by a loud knock on the door.

Vincent scowled as he looked up.

“Who is it?” he demanded.
“Mrs. Hastings, milord. You must come quickly!”
“Why?” Vincent called out, already moving off the bed quickly in response to the

tense, alarmed quality to his housekeeper’s tone. He stilled as he reached for his robe.

“It’s not Emily, is it?” he called out forcefully.
“No, milord. Emily is well…for the time being. She just took her dinner in the

kitchens with me and was in very good spirits. It’s Grace Grovenor, Vincent.”

Serafina sat up and began frenziedly to try to unhook the golden girdle that she

wore.

“Let me,” Vincent told Serafina in a low voice as he reached behind her. But she

continued to twist and struggle.

“Serafina?” he asked sharply, put off by her unusual display of intense, wild

anxiety that bordered on panic. It was only then that he saw the silent tears that poured
from her eyes.

“My God, what is it?”
“She is dead!” Serafina choked out wretchedly, her speech made almost incoherent

by the palpable misery that suddenly blanketed her. “Samael has killed Mrs.
Grovenor.”

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Chapter Fourteen

Three days later Vincent looked up from his card game with Emily when he saw

Serafina standing in the study doorway. She was dressed in an elegant yet simple black
gown that emphasized her graceful figure and otherworldly beauty. Hardly a hint of
color existed in her cheeks. Her eyes looked enormous in her face, shadowed by
exhaustion as they were. He knew that she was checking to see if Emily was safe. As
soon as he met her gaze she turned and passed down the hallway like a silent ghost.

He stared blindly back at his hand, his mind working furiously on much more

weighty issues than the card game.

Mrs. Grovenor’s funeral had taken place yesterday morning. He could not expect

either Serafina or Emily to be exactly cheerful after losing their adoptive mother in such
an unexpected fashion, especially when her health had improved so greatly since she
had come under Vincent’s care. But Serafina’s inconsolable grief and withdrawal
alarmed him even more greatly than examining Grace’s Grovenor’s dead body in her
bed three nights ago had. Her obsessive need to constantly check on Emily deeply
disturbed him. He knew for a fact that Serafina hadn’t slept at all since the night Grace
died, with the exception of a few naps that stemmed from sheer exhaustion.

He had assured Serafina repeatedly that Grace had died of natural causes—a

cardiac arrest. Her health had not been good despite her great improvements since
coming to Sunnyvale. Vincent had been concerned about heart failure since he’d first
examined her. Grace’s cardiac valves and vessels had likely been damaged from
infections from unhygienic needles after all her years of morphine abuse. Her death had
been tragic, of course, but completely understandable given the scientific facts.

He could not convince his new wife of that however. No matter how hard he tried

to solve the puzzle of how to convince her that Richard Grovenor had not murdered
Grace, Serafina was inconsolable.

At least Emily was doing well—comparatively speaking, of course.
Vincent clenched his eyes shut as he tossed down his hand.
“You look tired. We can stop if you like,” Emily offered.
“I’m all right, sprite.” His eyes blinked open and focused on her. “How are you?”

he asked.

“Fine,” Emily said with a heavy sigh before she continued thoughtfully. “Mrs.

Grovenor was never very strong. She couldn’t really stand up for you, like Sera could,
when…” Emily bit her lip, catching herself. “When someone picked on you, for
instance. But she was kind. I know that she wanted what was best for me and Sera, even
if she could never really give it to us.”

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“You will miss her,” Vincent said.
Emily nodded as tears welled up in her eyes. But after a moment of grieving she

rallied in the way of children and began to distractedly shuffle the cards. “Now that
you can beat me at our two-handed version of bridge, perhaps I should teach you how
to play Triumphe.”

“Triumphe?” Vincent asked distractedly. Mostly he was thinking about possible

ways to get back the warm, sensual, vibrant woman who had been his wife for all of
two days before she’d disappeared under a veil of anxiety and fear.

“Yes. The game of trumps. Sera taught it to me. It’s fun. But no matter how clever

you are you will never beat Sera at it,” Emily stated matter-of-factly.

Clever? Vincent didn’t feel very clever at present. If he was going to resolve this

issue with Serafina, if he was ever going to be successful in comforting her, he would
have to stop trying to convince her of the science of the matter. He would have to try to
see things from her point of view.

If Serafina truly possessed paranormal abilities then she must have wondered why

she had no hint of what she believed to be Richard Grovenor’s plans to harm Grace. If
Serafina had not been preoccupied with other…pressing matters, perhaps she believed
that she would have had forewarning of the danger to come.

“Sera can beat anyone at any game of cards of course, because she can see her

opponent’s hand in her mind. But she’s especially good at Triumphe because she has
handled her deck for so long. Her mother gave it to her when she was a child. It’s like a
part of her. Do you want to play trumps next time instead of bridge, Vincent?” Emily
asked earnestly as Mrs. Hastings bustled into the room with a tea tray.

“Hmmm? Oh certainly. Never mind me, Mrs. Hastings. Pour a cup for yourself and

sit a while by the fire. I know how busy you and Cook have been preparing Christmas
dinner,” Vincent said as he stood. His housekeeper smiled and nodded when Vincent
hitched his head slightly toward his daughter, indicating that he wanted Mrs. Hastings
to stay with her in his absence. His vigilance in regard to Emily’s safety had increased
over the past days, although not for the reasons that Serafina’s had.

He firmly did not believe that Richard Grovenor was responsible for Grace’s death

or that his old enemy was an immediate threat to Sera or Emily. Nevertheless after
Grace died Vincent had made a point of hiring a private detective to shadow Samael
Grovenor and to inform Vincent of his activities and whereabouts. The mere fact that
Emily’s guardian was dead left Vincent in a potentially less secure legal position than
he’d had with Grace alive. Any extra information that he possessed about Grovenor
might possibly end up making a difference in the future.

There was little doubt that if Serafina testified to Richard Grovenor’s character the

law would eventually grant Vincent and Sera guardianship. But something like that
could stretch on indefinitely in a court of law. Not to mention that the last thing Vincent
wanted to do was to force Serafina to reveal Samael’s treatment of her in a legal
proceeding or for Emily to inadvertently learn of it from rumors or the press.

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No, Vincent would do anything to prevent either of those possibilities.

Serafina didn’t look up when Vincent entered their bedroom. A pile of mending lay

on the table before where she sat next to the fire. She squinted as she sewed a rip in one
of Emily’s new petticoats. She started when Vincent gently but firmly removed the
garment from her lap. The needle swung in the air before Vincent placed the petticoat
on the table.

“There is no need for you to be mending, Serafina. Mrs. Hastings will assign one of

the maids to do it. Besides, you are too exhausted to be doing such meticulous work,”
Vincent said before he sat in the chair across from her.

“I had thought that it would help distract me,” she murmured. She blinked in

surprise when Vincent leaned forward and took her hands warmly in his.

“Serafina, listen to me. I want you to get into bed and sleep for a while. If you are

still looking for something to distract you after you’ve had a decent rest you can come
to the hospital to check in on my patients this evening.”

“But—”
“We will take Emily with us,” he said immediately, knowing what her protest

would be.

“Vincent, I want to leave this place,” Serafina abruptly said in a choked voice. Tears

overflowed her eyes but she didn’t seem aware of them. “I’m afraid for Emily. I’m
afraid for you.”

Vincent seemed surprised by her franticness. His eyelids narrowed as he examined

her.

“Serafina…what do you believe you know about this situation?”
“I do not believe. I know, Vincent.”
He started back in surprise.
“Then tell me,” he countered quickly.
Serafina bit her lower lip so hard that she broke the skin. “I cannot see the specifics

but Samael is a threat. You do wrong to underestimate him.”

Vincent stood. “I underestimate nothing, Sera. Least of all how overwhelmed and

exhausted you have become since Grace’s death.”

Serafina cried out in protest when he swept her as easily into his arms as he had

previously plucked the petticoat out of her lap. She struggled against him, furious that
he should so casually disregard her concerns.

Vincent grimaced as he set her down on the bed. Things were hardly progressing in

the manner he’d hoped when he sought her out.

“Listen for a moment, Serafina,” he said so sharply that she paused in her attempts

to sit up and get off the bed. Vincent leaned down over her and spoke intently.

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“Richard,” he paused and frowned before continuing, “Samael Grovenor is

currently in Bath, miles and miles away from Emily. There is absolutely no reason for
you to be so worried about him.”

“What?” Serafina asked in amazement. “How can you know that?”
“Because I’m paying a detective to shadow him and report back to me his every

move.”

She just stared at him for a long moment and then collapsed back on the pillows as

though she’d been deflated. “What is Samael doing in Bath?” she asked weakly.

Vincent gave her a wry look. “My informant says that he was drawn there in order

to woo a certain Alice Newcomb, a seer who reportedly can rival even Serafina
Grovenor’s miraculous demonstrations while she is under trance.”

He felt the tension that returned to her body.
“I am not making fun of you, Serafina,” he said quietly, once again intuiting her

thoughts.

By degrees Serafina fully took in the image of him as he leaned down over her on

the bed. The silvery eyes that she had grown to love so much watched her with an
almost preternatural focus. She blinked heavily at the sight. She felt as though she were
awakening from an entrancement for the past few days since Grace’s death…stirring
from a bewitchment of fear.

The next thing she knew her palm was cradling Vincent’s jaw. She slowly inhaled

as her acute awareness of him not only returned but seemingly redoubled. Love flooded
her consciousness…but so did myriad other emotions.

Vincent watched as sluggish tears spilled down her cheek. His hand covered hers

where it rested on her face. “Serafina, are you feeling guilty because you were not
forewarned of Grace’s death in time to save her?”

Her lips trembled.
“If you choose to become a nurse you will learn that death will come, no matter

your skill or knowledge as a healer. Or even foreknowledge.”

Serafina searched his face desperately but only sensed his earnestness.
“Sera…were you happy on the day that Grace died?” He flinched when she inhaled

sharply as though he’d just struck her.

“Yes,” she whispered wretchedly.
Vincent could tell by the way her slender throat convulsed with such difficulty as

she swallowed that he had guessed correctly about at least one aspect of why she had
been so emotionally flattened by Grace’s death. As painful as it was for her, addressing
the topic of her misery had lanced the wound that festered in her spirit. She cried
almost continuously for a minute—fresh, cleansing, healthy tears.

When her crying slowed he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Serafina, you deserve to be happy—and not just occasionally. Usually. Do not

allow your past or Samael Grovenor convince you otherwise. You are not to blame

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because you were preoccupied with thoughts of our marriage, or Emily, or our
lovemaking on the day that Grace died,” he told her softly. “There is a time and a place
for all things.”

Serafina was so overcome with emotion that she couldn’t speak. That Vincent had

guessed part of the reason for her distress moved her greatly. His understanding
combined with the knowledge that Samael was in Bath caused a profound sense of
relief and exhaustion to sweep through her body.

Vincent saw her eyelids flutter. He gently laid her hand on the pillow.
“Get some rest, Serafina, and perhaps you will feel well enough to take some joy in

Christmas tomorrow.”

Christmas? Serafina thought drowsily. Had it come so quickly? She recalled the

beaded purse that she’d made for Emily for the occasion. She thought of her gifts for
Vincent too…

Vincent was pleased to see how his new wife’s pale cheeks colored becomingly

even as she drifted into a much-needed sleep.

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Chapter Fifteen

By Christmas morning Serafina was feeling like a new woman. She was nearly as

excited as Emily as she watched the girl pull fruit, sweets and nuts from her Christmas
stocking. She exclaimed in delight when Vincent handed her one of her very own a
moment later. Serafina was thrilled, for she had never received a stocking, but it was
Vincent’s deep, unrestrained laughter as she examined her goodies with obvious relish
that was Serafina’s true gift.

It had snowed on Christmas Eve and so after they had opened their gifts to one

another, Vincent, Serafina and Emily put on their boots and ventured out into
Sunnyvale’s gardens. The trees looked like they’d been dipped into some of Cook’s
white frosting. Their warm breath formed clouds of mist around their mouths but there
was not a hint of wind, making the cool temperature quite tolerable. Serafina grinned
broadly as she watched Vincent and Emily make a snowman. Afterward she donated
her red scarf to add some color to the frozen fellow’s pale countenance.

It began to snow again as they walked back to Sunnyvale.
After they’d returned inside to get warm by the fire Austin arrived, bringing with

him prettily wrapped packages for the two ladies, a bottle of premium brandy for
Vincent and a great deal of holiday cheer. Cook outdid herself on the Christmas feast,
serving not only a roast but a savory stuffed turkey as well.

By the time they’d finished their delicious plum pudding Serafina’s recent stress

and exhaustion caught up with her once again. Her eyelids grew so heavy that they
were impossible to keep open in order to watch Vincent, Emily and Austin’s game of
whist in the study. She finally gave up trying and napped contently in her lounging
chair near the hearth. Somehow she was aware of her surrounding the entire time she
slept, hearing the cheerful snap of the fire, the gentlemen’s low, friendly banter and
Emily’s muted exclamations of excitement as if from a great distance.

In her dream state Serafina felt as if she were the luckiest woman alive for being

able to stealthily glimpse a view of heaven. When she awoke to find herself in Vincent’s
arms as he climbed the stairs she realized with a jolt of amazement that she had not
only had glimpsed a precious slice of heaven.

She actually—miraculously—lived there.
Her mind didn’t know what to make of it. She had been truly happy so few times in

her life. Contentment was a distantly remembered, elusive dream from her childhood.
She had lived and strived for one thing and one thing only in the past eight years of her
life—to see that Emily was safe and happy, her future secure.

She twisted her head, burrowing her face deeper into Vincent’s warmth, inhaling

his spicy, rich scent.

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“Returning from dreamland?” Vincent murmured as he reached the midway

landing on the stairs.

“Hmmm, waking up to it,” she muttered incoherently into his skin. She leaned back

and focused on Vincent’s handsome face. “I had such a wonderful Christmas, Vincent.
Thank you for my beautiful pearls,” she murmured sleepily, referring to the stunning
triple-strand pearl necklace and matching earrings that he’d almost casually handed to
her while they joked and laughed and thawed themselves out by the fire earlier today.

“Thank you for my monogrammed handkerchiefs. You have very clever hands.”
Serafina blushed. “They weren’t much.”
“Nonsense,” he said brusquely as he opened their bedroom door. “You must have

been working on them nonstop since the day I met you.”

Serafina avoided eye contact with him, fearful he would see the truth about when

she actually began embroidering the seven pristine linen handkerchiefs. It had been
three weeks before she first laid eyes on him.

“I will never be able to settle tonight after sleeping for most of the evening,”

Serafina murmured throatily when Vincent set her upon their bed a few seconds later.

Something in her tone made his eyes flicker up to hers. For a few seconds they

merely stared as messages flashed back and forth between them with both the rapidity
and heat of repeated lightning strikes.

“I am sorry I have not been feeling well over the past few days,” Serafina

whispered.

He shrugged slightly even as his hand came up to stroke her neck warmly. “It is not

worth mentioning, given the circumstances. It is enough for me that you seem to be
recovering.”

Serafina bit her lower lip nervously. Vincent noticed. His stroking hand stilled.
“What’s wrong, Sera?”
She cleared her throat. “Nothing. It is only that…I still have one Christmas gift to

give you.”

His slivery-gray eyes focused on her damp, full lips. “It will wait.” He leaned

down, clearly intent upon consuming her.

“No, Vincent, I want to give it to you now!” Serafina insisted.
Vincent frowned as he slowly straightened. He would cherish the handkerchiefs

that Serafina had made him always but the truth was he was in no mood for prettily
wrapped dainties at present. The only thing he desired was his wife—naked, warm and
willing in his arms. He had restrained himself for three nights in deference to her grief
but he refused to abstain a second longer, especially now that he saw the all-too-well-
remembered heat simmering in Serafina’s blue eyes.

He blinked in amazement when she abruptly ducked beneath his arm as though to

escape him. His arm shot out and encircled her waist with the quickness of a striking
snake. He hauled her back against his body. He leaned down over her neck and ear.

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“I am not in the mood for gifts. I am in the mood for my wife. In bed. Now,” he

finished succinctly.

“My gift will strike your fancy then,” she managed with difficulty when he began

to tenderly ravage her neck. “But you must let go, Vincent,” she insisted, despite his
persuasive assault on her senses. “Just for a moment,” she assured him when he raised
his head and gave her a gleaming glare of mixed exasperation and mounting lust.

Better hurry, the wild beast is on the prowl, Serafina thought with a shiver of

excitement as she twisted out of his arms and went to her bureau.

“What’s this?” Vincent asked distractedly when Serafina returned with a package

wrapped in brown paper. Most of his attention was focused on her firm breasts. Only
Serafina could make a simple black gown of mourning seem as sexy as the sheerest of
negligees. But then again, it would be something to see her in one of those too. He
should contact Madame Cherise about it…

Serafina’s hands moved restlessly at her waist once she handed him the package

and he began to unwrap it. “Just open it and see. In truth, the object isn’t mine to
give…but I thought…perhaps the use of it…might be my gift…er…if you thought it a
good idea, that is,” she finished awkwardly.

His raven black eyebrows pinched together when he studied the delicate red silk

rose. Serafina felt as if she couldn’t draw breath when he turned it over and saw the
mechanism attached to the flower where the stem would have been if it were real. His
agile fingers reached into the silk petals and found the hidden button.

When he pushed on it repeatedly the two-inch-long, half-inch-wide rigid tube of

white rubber began to inflate, extending the length another two inches and the diameter
another half-inch.

Vincent pinned her with his stare.
“Do you know what this is, Serafina?” he asked in a voice that sounded slightly

choked.

“I-I think I do,” she said cautiously. She avoided his gaze. “I have come to

understand that men enjoy such things.” Her eyes flickered back to his. “What’s wrong?
Don’t you think it’s safe?”

For a few taut seconds he didn’t answer. Had his demure, velvety-voiced, modest

wife really just given him a sex toy as a Christmas gift? He just shook his head,
flabbergasted at his sheer luck.

Still, he hadn’t cared for her suggestion that the type of lovemaking that she offered

would be for him and him alone. No, he didn’t care for that at all. Not that he should be
surprised given her history.

For a moment Serafina couldn’t read Vincent’s impassive expression. Had she been

wrong in thinking that he might like the silk rose? But then he shook his head and gave
her a slow, small grin and Serafina felt a completely different type of tension swell in
her body.

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“It’ll be quite safe. I am a doctor after all,” he murmured.
The sound of his low, vibrating voice made shivers race down her spine, creating a

slow burn of excitement in her pussy.

“I’m very pleased with the gift, Serafina,” Vincent said as he removed his jacket. “I

will do my best to prove to you that it should be considered a mutual gift instead of one
meant solely for my benefit.” He sighed when he saw the bemused expression on her
face. He unfastened his cuffs and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt.

“Turn around,” he ordered briskly. When she did so he unfastened the back of her

dress for her.

“I will try to give you an example of what I mean,” he said after he’d finished and

she slowly turned to face him. He removed his shirtsleeves and undershirt and sat
down on the bed. “I want you to remove all of your clothing while I watch, Sera.”

Serafina bit her lip uncertainly even as her eyes toured Vincent’s naked torso. He

was so beautiful that it made her…well, hungry. She could think of no better word to
describe it. Serafina had studied renderings of sculptures of the male form before and
admired them from an aesthetic point of few. Vincent shared many of the characteristics
of a Michelangelo, for instance—the delineated muscles, the impression of the stark
power of movement captured in flesh—but there were marked differences as well. A
Michelangelo could never portray the essence of masculinity that Vincent’s body
seemed to exude—the dark, crisp hairs on his chest, the swollen veins at his strong
forearms and biceps, the smooth, olive-toned skin that gloved sinew and bone so
tightly.

Serafina longed to be discovering the contours and textures of his ribs and ridged

abdomen with her fingertips and tongue.

“Serafina?” Vincent prompted more sharply than he’d intended. Her gaze caressing

his body had made him tenser than he’d anticipated.

“Oh…yes, of course,” she murmured. She shrugged out of her dress and pulled her

arms through the sleeves. She didn’t know why she blushed when she pushed her dress
to her waist but she had to assume her reaction came from the almost tangible touch of
Vincent’s hawklike eyes on her naked arms, chest and shoulders. He’d seen her wearing
far less before so she couldn’t comprehend why the process of undressing in front of
him should excite her so much. When she straightened after stepping out of her dress
she noticed that he’d been staring at the valley between her breasts as she bent over.

“Take off that next,” he said as he nodded at her corset cover.
Serafina’s hands shook a little as she untied the black ribbon on the delicate

garment and pushed the cover over her shoulders. It was such a pretty, dainty little
confection of ivory satin fronted with black lace. When she’d removed it and draped in
a nearby chair with her dress she faced Vincent again. His light eyes lingered on the top
of her lace-trimmed black corset. She inhaled slowly at the impact of gaze, inadvertently
swelling the flesh of her breasts over the tight garment.

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“I know you wear black for mourning but the color is very complementary to your

skin and coloring,” he murmured.

Liquid heat flooded her sex and her nipples hardened and chafed against her corset

as a result of his husky voice.

“Take down your hair,” Vincent said.
She stepped over to the bedside table. Serafina couldn’t help but notice how soft her

hair felt as it fell around her bare shoulders and back, how sensual. She tilted her head
and raked her fingers through it, checking for pins. When she glanced up at Vincent she
paused. His gaze on her was so hot and so intense that it looked as though it could
ignite damp kindling. Without his prompting her fingers went to the back of her waist
to unfasten her petticoat. She stepped out of it and then slid her feet out of her black
leather shoes.

Vincent still didn’t speak, she noticed. He still sat at the edge of the bed, leaning

back slightly, his hands behind him on the mattress. Serafina could easily sense how
focused he was. Knowing that it was watching her that made him so rapt caused her
excitement to mount. As she removed her bloomers she remained bent over, allowing
her breasts to swell over the edge of her corset, knowing that her movements jiggled her
flesh enticingly.

When she straightened, wearing nothing but her corset and black silk stockings, she

saw that her subtle efforts had not gone unnoticed. Although Vincent had not moved
even slightly his jaw had gone rigid and his eyes burned like glowing embers. Seeing
him like this drove Serafina a little wild. She shocked herself by trailing her fingers
along her thigh, wondering at the silky, smooth quality of the skin.

Had her skin always felt so soft or was it only Vincent’s wanting gaze that made it

so?

When she brushed her fingertips lightly against the pubic hair that covered her

hypersensitive labia her clit twanged with arousal at the same moment that Vincent
started.

“Come here,” he rasped.
She approached him slowly but Vincent would have none of her caution. He

grasped her hips and pulled her between his thighs. He leaned forward and kissed her
once on her hipbone, just beneath her corset. Serafina stifled a shaky moan at the impact
of that hot caress.

But she cried out loud when he swept his hand between her thighs and pressed his

fingers against her swollen outer lips. His forefinger found her slick entry and pulsed
against it in a subtle but powerfully erotic caress. He growled in satisfaction.

“Hmmm, you’re aroused, Serafina.”
“Yes,” she admitted.

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His eyes flashed to her face at the same time that he pierced her with his finger. “So

although you undressed in front of me at my request you found pleasure in it as well.
No?”

Serafina trembled as his finger thrust in and out of her pussy and his thumb

pressed and rubbed against her outer lips, causing a divine indirect friction on her
clitoris.

“Yes…oh, yes,” she agreed on an exhaled pant of air.
Vincent smiled. “Unfasten your corset, Sera, but don’t remove it.” He continued to

stroke her pussy as she followed his instructions. He could tell by her jagged breaths
and the slight sheen of perspiration on her cheeks and chest that she was very
appreciative of his caresses.

“Now lower it down beneath your breasts,” he instructed when he saw that she had

loosened the ties. He watched her through heavy eyelids as she pushed the corset down
until her breasts popped out of the lacy, tight garment and spilled over it.

“Very nice,” he murmured before he leaned forward and sampled a rosy tip first

with his tongue and then with his mouth. He filled the hand that wasn’t stroking her
pussy with her other breast.

“Vincent,” Serafina cried out in unbearable desire when he palmed and lifted her

breast before he almost idly released it, allowing the firm flesh to spring back to its
original resting position. Although he flicked his tongue over her nipple lazily she
could see that his eyelids were open and that he watched while he played with her
other breast. His manner was no less potent because of its languorousness however. In
fact, it piqued her arousal monumentally.

She pushed against him, forcing his elusive thumb between her labia and directly

against her hungry clit. A hot, burning, thoroughly imperative sensation enveloped her.
She shifted her hips lustily against the pressure he supplied, wild for release.

Vincent growled deep in his throat as he experienced her heat and the amount of

wetness flowing from her pussy. The pressure of his suction amplified.

Serafina cried out raggedly. She grabbed on to his head to steady herself as she

began to quake in orgasm.

When he felt her spasms wane he briskly unfastened the remaining ties on her

corset and removed it. Serafina watched him through heavy eyelids as he stood and
attacked the remainder of his clothing. She could tell by his brisk movements and the
length and tautness of his erection when it sprang free from his underclothes that
despite his former lazy, playful manner he was extremely aroused.

“Lie down on the bed, Sera.”
He watched her as she scooted back on the great bed. She still wore her stockings,

which encased her calves and the first few inches of her lower thighs in silk. The black
against her white skin aroused him almost as much as the contrast of the vibrant, dark
red pubic hair between her pale thighs.

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“Not on your back. On your stomach,” Vincent said abruptly. “And turn sideways,

with your head toward the far wall.”

Serafina turned in the way he instructed and lay prone in the middle of the bed. The

satin bedspread felt cool and sensual against her heated flesh. Her nipples beaded
against the soft fabric. She resisted an overwhelming urge to press her sex to the bed to
alleviate the pressure that grew there with shocking strength.

That was what the sight of Vincent’s nude body could do to her.
She peered over her shoulder in order to catch that intoxicating image again as he

climbed on the bed and approached her on his knees. She felt vulnerable lying there
with her backside exposed to him but very excited as well. Both sensations were
amplified when she saw that he held the amber bottle with Daniel’s solution. A shiver
ran through her when he caressed her thigh, buttock and the sensitive sides of her torso.

“I thought you said that we do not really need Daniel’s solution,” she croaked.
“We don’t. Not for the purpose that you understood,” Vincent murmured as he

grabbed her wrist and spread her arm across the bedspread so that he could stroke the
tender sides of her breast with his fingertips. He smiled in satisfaction when he felt her
skin pebble at the caress. After a moment however he noticed that she was staring at
him in puzzlement.

“It is a lubricant, Serafina. It will ease the passage here,” he explained. He felt her

muscles tense when he swept his fingers into the tight crevice between her ass cheeks.
Nevertheless he stimulated the tiny, nerve-packed ring that he found there as he held
her gaze. He saw her cheeks flush with blood.

“Do you trust me to give pleasure as well as take it, Sera?” he asked.
Serafina swallowed with difficulty under the influence of his intimate touch and

quicksilver gaze but she nodded quickly.

“Good,” he said softly. He removed his fingers from the taut, sweet valley and

reached for one pillow and then another. Serafina lifted her pelvis in understanding
when he nodded once tautly toward her bottom while he held the pillow next to her
hips.

She noticed that her eyes looked enormous in her face when she glanced up and

saw her reflection in the mirror over the head of the bed. She also noticed that she
looked downright sinful stretched out like she was with her bottom sticking up in the
air because of the pillows Vincent had just placed beneath her hips.

“Vincent,” she began, not sure if what followed would be a protest or a plea. “Are

you sure that—“

“All will be well. Trust me, Sera,” he assured her quietly.
Serafina watched him behind her in the enormous mirror as he unstopped the

bottle and poured some of the lubricant into his cupped palm. He kept his hand steady
as he lunged on one knee over her prone body across the bed and set the lubricant on

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the bedside table. The movement caused his jutting penis to bounce slightly in the air
before him, just inches from the back of her thighs.

Oh dear. What had she gotten herself into? She had seen Samael put his penis in

several young men and the majority of his chosen victims never seemed to appreciate it
much, especially at first.

And while Samael had a more than respectably sized penis, it was nothing

compared to Vincent’s…

She turned her head anxiously when she saw that he had picked up the silk rose

from the bedside before he returned to his kneeling position beside her.

Vincent was all too aware of the anxiety in Serafina’s eyes as she watched him spill

some of the lubricant on the rubber stem of the rose before he set it aside and used the
remainder of the silky liquid to thoroughly coat his fingers and penis. He was gratified
to notice that as he slowly massaged his throbbing cock from balls to tip the anxiety in
her azure blue eyes was slowly replaced by hunger.

He burrowed his fingers between the soft cheeks of her ass and held her gaze as he

penetrated her. He clenched his teeth as he pressed his finger farther into her tight
channel. Her heat felt impossibly more intense here than it was in her fiery pussy.

A soft burst of air escaped Serafina’s lips as Vincent slowly but firmly began to

finger-fuck her ass. It felt incredibly exciting—such a private place…such a forbidden
place. That Vincent found it exciting as well was made entirely clear by his rigid
expression and the manner in which his cock sprang up an inch or two intermittently as
he stroked her.

She watched the whole scene in the mirror, spellbound.
She licked her lower lip in excruciating anticipation when he reached for the silk

rose. He spread one of her bottom cheeks back in his usual matter-of-fact manner and
pressed the rubber tip to the opening that his finger had just left. His left hand spread
along her hip. Serafina gasped when he lifted her at the same time that he firmly
pressed down on the rigid rubber with his other hand, and her body opened to admit
the intrusion. He immediately went still.

“Did it hurt?” he inquired gruffly.
“No,” she murmured. In truth, the slender dildo was only a little larger than

Vincent’s thick forefinger. It had been his bold, confident actions that had left her
breathless…as usual.

His eyes narrowed as he gauged her expression. He must have seen something that

encouraged him to continue, for he tersely told her to spread her thighs. After she had
done so he moved his knees, positioning himself between them. Serafina moaned when
he shifted then rose up and down, subtly fucking her asshole with the stiff stem. After a
moment he sank it in her completely. When he noticed where she stared wide-eyed, he
glanced back to the mirror.

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For a few electrical moments they both stared spellbound at the fiery red flower

that bloomed from her elevated bottom. It looked shockingly red against her pale,
plump cheeks.

Vincent grimaced in profound lust.
Before he had a chance to think he had fisted his aching cock and pushed back one

of Serafina’s buttocks.

They groaned in unison when he arrowed his cock into her liquid sex, planted his

hands next to her head and flexed his hips and ass muscles mightily.

Ah, Christ, this is good, Vincent thought as a whirlwind of pleasurable sensation

flooded him. Surely no man had ever found a sweeter sheath for his throbbing cock, no
finer flesh in which to sink home.

His eyes were drawn irrevocably to the lush, red, bobbing flower as he fucked

Serafina slowly and she stroked him back with synchronous, fluid movements of her
hips. After a minute of this sheer ecstasy Vincent noticed that the tight muscles of her
ass were slowly rejecting the slippery dildo as he thrust into her with increasing force.

He pushed the red rose snuggly back into her and jiggled it subtly with his fingers

at the same time that he sank his cock into her to the hilt, the sensitive tip kissing the
limit of her womb.

“Vincent!” Serafina called out desperately, half wild at the sensation of being

stimulated at both her ass and pussy. Her back curved into a taut arch. She felt so tight
and full at that moment, so on the edge of tipping into rapture that she begged him,
hardly knowing what she said.

“More, Vincent,” she entreated brokenly.
“Will this do, angel?” he asked as he used his thumb to push and rotate the rubber

protrusion in tiny circles in her ass. The other hand reached around and massaged a
suspended breast surely.

“Ahh,” Serafina screamed out in frustration into the mattress, on the edge of a

powerful climax. She wanted him to touch her clit so that she could find release but he
didn’t. In fact, when she moved her own hand and tried to get it to her sex to provide
much-needed relief he released her breast and caught her wrist, pressing it tightly to the
bed.

Her back muscles bunched and tightened when she felt him begin to firmly push on

the button at the center of the rose. Her eyes stared unseeingly at the far wall as he
inflated the stem of the rose.

A slow, hot, unbearable friction began to throb and burn in her ass as the diameter

and length of the dildo grew and grew and Vincent’s cock began to sink in and out of
her pussy in short, hard thrusts. Without ever being aware that she was overcome by
the powerful sensations that flooded her she threw back her head and keened as wave
after wave of orgasm ripped through her.

Vincent stared down at her, spellbound, as her flesh broke and rippled around him.

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When she had quieted he slowly withdrew the inflated stem of the rose from her

ass. When the tip slid free his thumb was automatically there, keeping her tight, hot
channel slightly spread and open.

He felt her go utterly still where she lay in her nearly insensate, post-orgasmic state

when he removed his cock from her pussy and pressed the tip to her rectum. Her body
naturally resisted him, of course. He could feel the tight ring of muscle constrict around
the tip of his cock.

But as in all things when it came to Serafina he would not be denied.
He pressed forward determinedly, forcing her body to accept him. Her phenomenal

heat penetrated him even though he’d only sunk the first half-inch of his cock into her.

When she gasped he paused.
“Push back against me, Sera, and it will go easier for you,” he muttered through

clenched teeth.

Serafina roused herself and put her elbows on the bed. She resisted his steady

downward pressure. Much to her surprise the thick head of his penis slipped into her
ass. She cried out. A sharp pain had pierced her but was gone almost immediately.

“Sera?” Vincent grated when he heard her soft cry. His hands came down on the

mattress next to her head. He held still but had to maintain a steady pressure so that his
cock wouldn’t be rejected from her ass. He wanted to be patient of course but he’d
never felt anything as carnally good as Serafina’s tight heat. It was going to take every
last remnant of his willpower to not pump her sweet flesh like there was no tomorrow.

“I’m well,” Serafina whispered after a moment. It felt very strange to have Vincent’s

cock in such a private place. Strange…but extremely exciting.

She glanced sideways at the mirror and saw the image of him poised over her, his

arm, shoulder, back and ass muscles strained tight. He pinned her ass to the pillows
with his long, thick cock, only the first several inches buried between her cheeks.

Ooohhh, what that sight did to her!
She pressed against him and cried out in mixed joy and pain when his penis slid

into her another two inches.

Vincent grunted at the intensity of the pleasure. “Hold still, Sera,” he demanded,

once again more harshly than he’d ever intended.

He slowly began to pump her ass, easing his way into her little by little with each

stroke. The silk rose had helped to ready her but she was very, very small…and his cock
had never felt so engorged and tight with need.

Serafina gripped onto the bedspread and hung on for dear life as Vincent pushed

his penis farther and farther into her. Neither of them spoke. Even their breathing
seemed to temporarily cease as he slowly but surely claimed her as his in this intensely
intimate manner. Just when she thought she was too filled and overwhelmed to take
any more he showed her that she was wrong.

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Vincent heard her stifle a cry when he’d dipped a little more than half of his cock

into her heavenly heat. He sensed the tension in her muscles and knew that he was
pushing her beyond what he should given her innocence.

“I will go no further on this night, Serafina, but I will take what I’ve claimed and

take it well,” he muttered tightly. “Come up on your hands and knees.”

She rose carefully, very mindful of Vincent’s large penis spearing her in such an

intimate way.

“Good girl,” he whispered gruffly, his silvery eyes pinned to where they were

joined. He spread his hands wide across her hips and ass cheeks.

“Try as best you can to relax,” he instructed as he drew out of her until just the head

was buried and thrust back into her.

Serafina began to keen low and long at the sensation of him fucking her. It felt

wickedly good—like she was being plundered and cherished all at once.

Her eyes flickered open on the mirror. She gasped at the image of Vincent behind

her. He was drawn as tight as a bow with an arrow nocked, about to spring free and far.
His big hands held both her ass cheeks steady for his increasingly rapid thrusts and at
the same time parted the flesh for his possessing cock. His taut erection looked blood-
engorged and dark next to her pale, curving flesh. He watched himself fuck her,
obviously wanting not to enter her past the point on his penis that he had designated
but also undoubtedly relishing the image of their joining.

Just as she did.
Vincent knew he wouldn’t be able to take much more of this divine torture. Her ass

held him in a tight, muscular embrace but it was the heat that resonated into him in
almost palpable waves that would be his undoing. Unable to bear the pleasure a second
longer he slowly withdrew his protesting cock and reached around to Serafina’s clit. He
could tell by her low, desperate moans that she was very aroused.

Still, he didn’t expect that she would detonate the second he glided his finger along

her well-lubricated clit.

He winced at the agony of his immense restraint as she shouted out and shuddered

beneath him. While she was still in the midst of her climax he arrowed his cock back
into the tight ring of her rectum and pumped her hard and fast as he dared.

His guttural grunts and final roar of release joined her shocked cries of ecstasy a

moment later.

It had been the most profoundly satisfying sexual communion he’d ever

experienced. The reason that it was forever scalded on his memory was obvious, of
course, but the knowledge of Serafina’s ability to give of herself so generously and
unselfishly was something he’d never known.

He carefully withdrew from her body and took her into his arms. He fell over to his

side heavily, bringing her with him, neither of them capable of moving in their dulled,
insensate state. They lay entwined, both of them pleasantly aware of the other’s gasps

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for air, the sound of each other’s heartbeat, the scent and the mutual press of their damp
skin.

Love swelled in Serafina’s breast. She felt an overwhelming need to tell Vincent

how she felt about him. The expression of her love somehow didn’t feel like a choice—
as if it were something far too powerful, with a life all its own, to remain a secret. When
she spoke, however, the words that came out were not the ones in her heart. Vincent
would only think her a fraud if she spoke the truth. She sensed his doubt about her, like
a small, forgotten splinter beneath his skin.

She rubbed her cheek and lips against his hard chest. “You were right, Vincent,”

she whispered into his fragrant skin.

“Right about what?” he rumbled. His hand came up to caress her hair.
“It was a mutual gift.”
He tilted her chin up until she met his gleaming silver eyes. A small smile played

on his sculpted lips.

“The gift wouldn’t have been possible without your generosity. Or your courage,”

he mumbled before he kissed her once playfully, then softly…and then firmly. He
paused against her damp lips and met her gaze. “And don’t think I don’t know it,
angel,” he added before he closed his eyes and bent to drink of her sweetness in a kiss
that seemed to guarantee there would be no further pauses for conversation for a long,
long time.

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Beth Kery

Chapter Sixteen

Serafina exclaimed in surprise tinged with sadness when she walked into the

drawing room the next day and saw that Mrs. Hastings and Sarah were taking down
the Christmas tree.

“Must it come down already? It’s only Boxing Day!”
Mrs. Hastings paused in the action of removing a glass ornament and placing it in

its special packaging.

“Vincent’s mother never liked the tree to linger. She thought it brought bad luck.

But you are the new lady. Would you like to leave up the decorations, ma’am?” Mrs.
Hastings asked, not unkindly.

“Oh…it is not for me to say,” Serafina replied awkwardly.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Hastings said as she straightened her plump figure into a

surprisingly imperious posture. “If it isn’t for you to say then who?”

“Vincent, perhaps?” Serafina answered uncertainly.
“Achh, that man would never notice such a thing one way or the other. He’s always

off at his laboratory, or with his patients, or at the gymnasium, or with his nose buried
in a book. Besides, he’s encouraged me to give over some of my authority on such
matters to you. There hasn’t been a mistress in his household for years now so such
things fell to me. Nevertheless, this is the perfect opportunity for us to begin, I think.”
She gestured briskly at Sarah, who immediately stopped removing ornaments from the
tree.

“Well…”
For a moment, Serafina’s blue eyes stared fixedly at the Christmas tree but she

seemed to be seeing something else.

She eventually cleared her throat. “I daresay I’m completely pleased with the way

you run things, Mrs. Hastings. Vincent is always saying how priceless you are. I am
sure that my background in running a household is nowhere near the equivalent of that
of the former lady but I will gladly learn whatever you have to teach me.”

By the way Mrs. Hastings beamed at her with a moist glint in her eyes, Serafina

thought she might have struck the right note.

“But I think we should leave up the tree until New Year’s. It looks so pretty lit up at

night. Emily has never had one before. I know how special it is to her.”

“That sweet girl shouldn’t have her Christmas tree taken away from her so soon!”

Mrs. Hastings said in a scandalized fashion to Sarah, as if it had been the poor maid’s
idea to take down the tree, thereby depriving Mrs. Hastings’ favorite in any fashion.

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Serafina couldn’t help but chuckle. She inadvertently caught Sarah’s glance and

went utterly still at something she saw in the maid’s sad brown eyes. For a prolonged
few seconds the two young women locked gazes.

After a moment Serafina picked up one of the many candles that Sarah had

removed and studied it. It brought to mind the way that Samael used to light her palm
into a flame. She’d hated when he did that. It made her feel like a freak at a circus. But
Samael always said it was good showmanship…

A grim look of determination had replaced her amusement by the time Serafina

reaffixed the candle to a tree limb.

* * * * *

The sunshine that followed the Christmas and Boxing Day snow streamed in

through the study windows, striking Emily’s mahogany hair, enlivening its muted fires.
The sun’s heat also warmed Vincent’s skin, making him feel relaxed and peaceful—like
all was right with the world—as he watched his daughter shuffle the cards.

He was a blessed man, he thought contentedly. How many men could truthfully

boast as much as he? He not only enjoyed his work but was constantly intellectually
challenged and stimulated by the puzzles it presented. If he were any prouder of his
loving, vibrant, extremely intelligent daughter his chest would burst with the feeling.
His wife was beautiful, kind and generous. He loved her smoky voice and direct, honest
stare. He craved the touch of her sensitive fingers and the feeling of her in his arms
almost every second of the day. Her sensuality and responsiveness in the bedroom
stunned him anew every night and morning.

What more could he want, really?
Serafina and he must converse about the best way to tell Emily that she was his

biological daughter. Then he must talk to the authorities and find out what he needed
to do in order to have that fact legally established.

He watched Emily idly through golden sunlight as she dealt the cards. She’d been

insistent upon teaching him how to play the game of trumps this afternoon. His gaze
suddenly narrowed in curiosity as he studied her bent head.

Emily glanced up in surprise a moment later when she realized that Vincent was

standing next to her chair. When she tilted her head backward he immediately stopped
the motion with a hand at the back of her head. He peered down at her with a queerly
intent focus.

“Vincent, what’s wrong?” she asked anxiously, worried he’d seen a bug on the top

of her head.

Vincent ran his fingertip along the part of her hair. He turned her chin so that the

sunlight struck her head at a different angle but no…it did not alter the evidence before
him in the slightest.

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Beth Kery

“Vincent?” Emily repeated. Something in his tense manner informed her that

whatever was behind his mysterious behavior was much more alarming than a bug in
her hair.

“Your hair is growing out at the roots,” he eventually said without inflection. His

hands dropped to his sides. “Your true hair color is dark brown.”

Emily giggled nervously. “Oh, is that all? The way you acted I thought I had a rat in

my hair or something.”

She stopped laughing when she realized that he just stared down at her, his face

oddly pale and tense. “I will have to tell Sera. She has the henna. It was her idea to color
it before we came to England. She said it would make us look more like sisters. And I
think she was right, don’t you? Vincent…what…?”

Her words trailed off uncertainly when he continued to stand there, motionless.
“Not that my hair could ever match Sera’s color,” she said anxiously to the fill

silence. “Hers is so pretty and mine is only brown. But Sera said there were already
some red highlights in it and we only need deepen them with the henna.” Emily paused
and swallowed convulsively. “Vincent…please tell me what’s wrong…” she whispered.

She watched with growing concern when he moved suddenly, reaching for one of

the cards that she’d dealt out on the table. He flipped it over and stared.

The Lovers. He flipped over another.
The Fool.
His jaw clenched tight.
“Tarot cards. These are tarot cards,” he muttered. Of course. Triumphe—French for

the word trumps—the name first given to the trump cards of the tarot—the name
Serafina had provided to her gullible spiritualist audiences as being the name of her
spirit guide…

He swept the cards on the table into his hand and took the remainder from Emily.
“There’s no Page of Wands,” he said after he’d checked each card.
“There’s not?” Emily asked in rising confusion. She glanced below the table.

“Perhaps it has dropped—”

“Never mind, sprite,” Vincent said grimly as he turned to leave the room. “I know

where to find her.”

* * * * *

Serafina scowled at the stitching on Emily’s petticoat. She’d been so exhausted

when she’d tried to mend the garment on Christmas Eve that her sewing looked like a
five-year-old child’s first attempts. She sighed and retrieved her scissors in order to rip
out the sloppy stitches.

She paused, one hand inside her sewing basket, when a card suddenly fell on the

table before her. She barely registered what the card was before she spun around in her

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chair. Vincent’s presence surprised her. She had no hint that he’d even entered their
bedroom. He could move with the silence and grace of a stalking wolf when he desired.

“Vincent…what’s wrong?” she asked warily when she took in his rigid expression.
“I came to return the card you sent me. Emily had not realized that your tarot deck

was incomplete.”

Serafina inhaled slowly. Her eyes flickered over nervously to the single card on the

table.

“She also told me something else of interest. She said that you dyed her hair before

coming to England, Serafina.”

He was unmoved when he noticed that she had begun to tremble. He had been

Serafina Grovenor’s fool for the last time. To think that he was as stupid as her gullible,
ghost-loving followers infuriated him to the point of madness. God, he was no better
than that fool Lord Chamberlain who attended séances in order to put his cock into
direct contact with lascivious spirits. He’d allowed his dick to bamboozle him into
believing that Serafina was honest and true even when he knew that she had willingly
consorted with that devil Grovenor for years, just like Susan had.

Serafina stifled her startled cry when he abruptly grabbed her upper arm and

pulled her out of her chair.

“I should have known,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “I should have

known after I heard you talk in your sleep on the night we were married. I should have
known when you mentioned the other night that Emily’s hair was the precise color of
Susan’s.” He shook her furiously but still Serafina remained mute. The sight of her tears
spilling out of her enormous eyes infuriated him even further.

“I never told you about Susan’s hair color!” he raged. “Samael told you about it,

didn’t he?” His lips curled into a snarl. “He was there in that hovel of a room that night
that I found Susan in Ireland, wasn’t he? That was how you knew what I said when I
found her still-warm dead body. I’m so bloody stupid I had actually convinced myself
that it might be possible that you possessed the ability to read other’s minds, including
my own…but no, you found out about what transpired on that day in a very typical
sort of way. Samael told you. Didn’t he, Serafina?” Vincent demanded.

Serafina shook her head rapidly, speechless in the presence of his erupting anger.
“Answer me,” he shouted.
“No! I believe that Samael was long gone by the time you found Susan,” Serafina

finally replied through a constricted throat.

“You’re lying,” he said coldly. “Samael must have told you. Then you and he

cooked up this scheme in order to lead me to believe that young girl was my daughter.
He’s smart enough to know that I would have been too suspicious of him to merely
accept her as mine just because he said it was true. You dyed her hair so that the color
matched Susan’s. You sent me that tarot card, knowing that because of my past in
exposing the true colors of charlatans like you and Grovenor that I would have
knowledge of the occult…that I would correctly interpret that the card referred to you.

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Then you insisted that your spirit guide—Triumphe,” he said with bitter mockery,
“requested that I come up on that stage during your piece of theatre. If your beauty
wasn’t enough to tempt me then you could always draw me into your web with your
vague reference to my daughter being alive and in great danger. You had the hook fast
in me then, didn’t you, Serafina? What were the two of you planning to do…blackmail
me in some fashion so that I could keep her with me?”

He exhaled sharply with self-disgust. “God, you and Grovenor must have been

thrilled when I proposed marriage. The hook sank deeper into the mark than you had
ever planned, eh?”

“No, Vincent. How can you say that?” Serafina asked miserably. “I have told you

before that I despise Samael. Emily is your daughter. You must believe that.”

“Why? It’s no longer necessary for me to do so in order for your plans to work,” he

said. “Do you deny that you sent me that card? Do you deny that you changed Emily’s
hair color in order to encourage me to believe that she was my biological child?”

“No, I deny neither,” Serafina replied honestly. “But Vincent—”
“Now you have me trapped and trussed in just the manner in which you conspired,

don’t you?”

She stumbled when he abruptly released her.
“For I have come to love the girl,” he continued unevenly. “I can see she has been

the innocent in your schemes. I would not see her hurt even if she is not my child. So
you can tell Grovenor that I will pay. Tell him to name his price. You two may have it
and more if it will ensure me that I will never see your faces again. And don’t even
think about coming back to bleed me for more, Serafina. I will fight to keep and protect
that girl. Never doubt it.” His eyes gleamed eerily in his dark face as he stared down at
her. “You will not win a fight with me. Tell your father that.”

Serafina grabbed at his arm desperately as he turned to leave. She felt as if she were

living in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken. Her eyes were so filled with
tears that he was only a large, blurry outline in her vision.

“Vincent, stop please! You are wrong. I did conspire for you to accept Emily as your

own but not with Samael. I did so because I knew you…from my dreams. I divined
your logical, methodical nature. I knew that you would never accept her unless you had
some sort of obvious physical evidence.”

She wiped at her tears frantically, blinded by her misery. “Perhaps it was wrong of

me but I did not mislead you, Vincent. Emily is Melissa. I had to do
something…anything to get you to accept her so that you would protect her. I know I
have lied to you but I only did what I thought was necessary for Emily’s sake. Vincent!”
she cried out wretchedly when he shook her off his arm and continued to leave the
room.

Vincent was furious at himself for pausing when she called out his name but he

couldn’t help but be moved by the emotion in her voice…even if what he heard was
merely the machinations of a skilled actress.

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Serafina took a deep, shaky breath, trying to restore a measure of calm. She knew

this was perhaps her only chance to make him understand the truth.

“I have dreamed of you now for over a year—ever since Samael first made his

insidious hints about drawing Emily into his sexual depravities. I believe that the spirits
sent me dreams of you because they knew you could save her. I never doubted that you
could, Vincent. That you will,” she added tremulously.

She swallowed with difficulty when she saw that he didn’t move. Although he

didn’t turn to face her she sensed that she had his full attention.

“I dreamed many things about you, including…” she paused, but continued

determinedly after a moment. The time for lies and veiled truths was past. “Including
what happened when you found Susan in Ireland. I have been haunted by that dream,
Vincent…her still body, her beautiful hair spilling over the side of the bed…your
shock…your grief. I,” she swallowed to alleviate spasmodic choking of her throat, “I
saw it all, Vincent. I know you have been haunted by that memory. I occasionally have
nightmares of it still. Just as you do,” she finished in a whisper.

She saw him stiffen.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized sadly. “I know you so well that I know how intrusive

such a revelation would seem to you. You are such a private person…”

Vincent turned around slowly to face her. His eyes burned with emotion in an

otherwise cold, rigid countenance.

“You know nothing about me.”
Serafina nodded her head. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I do, Vincent. I

know so much. I know that I love you. I knew that before you ever stepped onto that
stage at Lady Fordham’s séance.” She exhaled slowly when she saw him pale. “I also
knew that you would never believe me if I told you. I know you so well,” she
whispered dreadfully. “Don’t I, Vincent?”

Vincent shook his head incredulously. “How dare you?” he whispered hoarsely.

The emotional turmoil inside him reached a fevered pitch.

Serafina resisted a powerful urge to back away from him when he closed in on her.

He forced her body against his roughly and tilted up her chin. His eyes searched her
face furiously.

“God, I’m an idiot. I was actually listening to you…falling for your cock-and-bull

story. But you erred, angel,” he growled. “You really had me going until you said you
loved me. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

Serafina shook her head. “I don’t think you’re a fool, Vincent. I do love you.”
But he was so caught up in the vortex of his anger and disillusionment that he

never even heard her, never saw the profound sadness in her eyes. His gaze fixed on
her parted, trembling lips. Something seemed to snap in him.

Serafina didn’t speak or attempt to move when he suddenly reached up and

pressed his thumb to her lower lip.

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“What an accomplished actress you are,” he muttered. “All of those times you cried

out and trembled in my arms. Were those all part of your theatrical repertoire too,
Serafina?”

“No. You must know that isn’t true,” she murmured in a low voice.
“No?” he asked softly. “Well, I suppose it is some small comfort to know that the

woman that I was stupid enough to marry is such an uninhibited, carnal creature when
it comes to a man’s touch.”

He blinked slowly, oblivious to her tears and wretchedness, experiencing only the

pain and anguish of a wounded creature. His hands encircled her waist. He crushed her
breasts against his chest. “You might have been frigid, and then I would never have
taken so much pleasure in your body, would I, Serafina? Perhaps I will keep you close
by after all. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You will make
some man a fool with that beautiful body of yours. It might as well be me that fucks you
regularly. At least I’ve been burned by you and am now wise to your true nature.”

Serafina’s expression froze at the crudity and cruelty of his words and tone.
“Vincent, no…” she cried out in alarm when he lowered down over her. She tried to

escape his descending mouth but he held her firmly at the waist at the same time that
he delved his fingers into her upswept hair and pressed against her skull.

He held her immobile as he plundered her mouth roughly, slaking both his anger

and the lust that increasingly mixed with that volatile emotion. Her resistance didn’t
last for long. No matter the circumstances she loved Vincent. She sensed his fury and
unrest. Her own emotional turmoil also found an outlet in that wild kiss. When he bent
his knees and pressed her tightly against his erection, Serafina cradled him snuggly
between her thighs.

Vincent ripped his mouth from hers when he finally registered that she fully

reciprocated his embrace. She looked unbearably lovely as she stared up at him with
huge eyes. The fact that her cheeks were wet with tears didn’t mar her beauty in the
least.

He cursed under his breath when he realized the direction of his traitorous

thoughts.

“Come here,” he ordered roughly as he grabbed her arm.
“Vincent, what—”
Serafina cried out when he pushed her arms down over the bed. When she tried to

raise herself he pressed her down firmly at the back with one hand as he used the other
to raise her skirt. “I may have been a fool to trust you but you are my wife, Serafina.” He
breathed heavily in fury and lust as he found her petticoat and pantaloons and lowered
them down over her ass and thighs. His hand returned to greedily squeeze a firm,
round bottom cheek. He fumbled with the fastening of his trousers hastily a moment
later.

“The law says that I have unrestricted rights to your body. Do you deny it?”

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Serafina stopped her struggling when she realized what he was about to do.
She stared down at the satin bedspread sightlessly. “I do not deny you, Vincent.

Now or ever. But not because I am your wife. Because I love you.”

He gritted his teeth, maddened by the fact that she kept saying that when he knew

she was a liar and a conniver.

Serafina winced when he drove his cock into her pussy. She pitched forward on the

bed at the forceful impact. He pulled her back into a position to receive him fully.

She was aroused despite her emotional turmoil. But her body had still not been

fully prepared for Vincent’s large, hard cock nor the boiling fury and lust that powered
it. She bit her lip as he pounded into her, his pace rapid and demanding from the first.
She refused to cry out. The only sounds in the still room were his grunts of mixed fury
and pleasure and the brisk smacks of their flesh as they crashed together again and
again.

Vincent saw nothing but the red, blinding haze of stormy emotion. He felt nothing

but Serafina’s singular heat surrounding him. Fucking her was sublime. He would
never get enough of her. Never.

Damn her straight to hell for it.
The mild discomfort that Serafina had felt when he first entered her eased to the

point where it was a slow burn mixed with a powerful tension. She began to resist his
hard blows into her, maximizing the potent friction, mating with him instinctively.

Mating with him wildly.
Vincent snarled at the sheer cruelty of the pleasure. It felt wonderful. It felt

untenable. He reached out blindly and sank his fingers into the hair at her nape. He
pulled as he clenched his eyes shut and crashed into her one final time.

Serafina’s neck stretched back. Her breasts came off the mattress as her back arched.

Orgasm shuddered through her tightly drawn body. She whimpered in release at the
same time that she heard a ragged shout erupt from Vincent’s throat. She felt his cock
throb as his hot seed flooded her womb.

Their harsh breaths tore through the gravid silence that followed.
Serafina’s eyes were open a minute later when Vincent withdrew from her body.

She lay motionless, watching him in the mirror at the head of the bed. Because of the
downward slant of the reflection she couldn’t see his face.

She saw him refasten his trousers. He paused when he looked down at her. Her

heart seemed to freeze in her chest when she saw him reach out for her. His hand
faltered before he hastily pulled down her skirt over her nakedness.

This time she didn’t try to stop him when he turned and left the room without a

word.

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Chapter Seventeen

Vincent spent several hours at the gym before returning to Sunnyvale. A six-foot-

two, lightning-quick wall of brick-hard muscle who was touted as being England’s next
heavyweight champion—and who also was sixteen years Vincent’s junior—was the
unfortunate recipient of all of Vincent’s emotional unrest.

He hadn’t been the sole recipient of course. Serafina had taken the brunt of it.
Vincent scowled at the turn of his thoughts and headed for the drawing room and

the brandy decanter. He paused in surprise when he saw not only his friend Austin
waiting for him but also his one-time lover Eliza.

“God, Vince, did a carriage run into you?” Austin asked anxiously, referring to the

cut on Vincent’s swelling right eye and several other abrasions on his rugged face.

He grunted as he reached for the decanter and a glass with a bandaged right hand

“Yeah, a fast, iron-hard carriage by the name of Joshua Heartland. Mr. Heartland won’t
be fit for travel for a while,” he mumbled with grim satisfaction as he sloshed some
brandy into a glass. “Not that I will be either.”

Austin grimaced, knowing exactly who Joshua Heartland was.
“Sorry to bother you on such an…eventful evening, old man. Serafina said that you

were out and she wasn’t sure when you would be home so we decided to wait.”

Vincent’s sharp eyes traveled around the spacious room. “Where is she?”
“She wasn’t feeling well,” Eliza spoke for the first time. She’d been standing by the

candlelit Christmas tree but came toward the two men when Vincent fixed her with his
stare. “There’s something I need to confess, Vincent…something I need to apologize
for.” She glanced over at Austin nervously. He took her hand in his and caressed her
back in an intimate, reassuring gesture.

Vincent winced slightly when his eyebrows went up in interest, pulling at the cut

below his eye. Damn it, he should have had one of the trainers at the gym stitch it
closed. “If you want to confess that you’re in love with Austin, you needn’t.” He took a
slug of brandy. “I’ve known that for ages.”

“Vincent!” Eliza scolded. “How could you know such a thing when I just learned of

it myself?”

Vincent shrugged and grimaced at that muscular movement as well. He took

another long draw on the brandy. God, he was going to be sore and miserable
tomorrow.

Somehow that only seemed appropriate.

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He finished off his drink and poured himself another. If he couldn’t get a man to

beat the memory of what he’d done to Serafina earlier out of his head, perhaps liquor
would dim the ugly recollection for a blessed few hours.

Eliza met Austin’s gaze warily. She was sure that Vincent’s current bear of a mood

must somehow relate to his lovely new young wife’s sad, defeated expression when
she’d received them earlier. Leave it to Vincent to make a mess of things when it came
to matters of love. Well, be that as it may Eliza had a duty to complete.

“Vincent, there is something important I must tell you. It relates to Samael

Grovenor.”

Vincent looked over at her sharply, his haze of misery pierced for the first time by

the mention of his nemesis’s name.

“What about him?” he demanded.
Eliza licked her lower lip and looked at Austin for comfort. He nodded once and

she plunged ahead.

“Well, it seems that I may have inadvertently put your new wife and that young

girl, Emily, in danger. You see, I-I made the foolish mistake of revealing your
whereabouts to Samael last week.”

Vincent set down his glass of brandy and listened intently for the next few minutes

while Eliza stumbled through her explanation. He gathered that she wasn’t telling him
all the details but he also intuited by Austin’s tense expression that he doubted he’d
want to know them all.

Eventually Vincent held up his hand.
“Enough, Eliza. Thank you for telling me about it but you needn’t say any more.”
“What are you going to do?” Austin asked when Vincent started to leave the room.
“I’ll have to take Serafina and Emily away from here. Thank you for the use of

Sunnyvale but it isn’t safe for my wife and daughter anymore.”

“Daughter?” Eliza repeated, clearly flabbergasted.
“Daughter? Whose daughter? I hope she’s a pretty one,” a cheerful, German-

accented voice declared from the entryway. Vincent glanced up in amazement to see
Daniel Haussen standing there, looking quite pleased with himself, as usual.

“What are you doing here?” Vincent asked rudely.
“Famous English hospitality. I suppose you got all those cuts and bruises from the

last guest you treated so cordially,” Daniel told his cousin merrily as he came into the
drawing room and shook Austin’s hand. “Lovely Christmas tree!”

“Daniel, I asked you—”
“I have good reason, Vincent. Your lovely new bride sent a note insisting that I stop

by,” Daniel insisted.

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“Why?” Vincent demanded with a puzzled, concerned expression crinkling his

abraded face. “Is she sick?”

“I doubt it. Why wouldn’t she speak to you if she wasn’t feeling well?” Daniel

exclaimed as he picked up the brandy decanter.

Vincent suddenly felt like there was a lead ball resting in his gut. Serafina had an

excellent reason not to ask for his help if she was ill, especially since he had likely been
the original cause of her discomfort. “Excuse me all of you. I need to speak with
Serafina and make arrangements for leaving Sunnyvale.”

“Leaving Sunnyvale?” Daniel asked incredulously.
But no one had the chance to explain before all four occupants of the room started

at a loud, furious squawking noise coming from the foyer.

Samael Grovenor paused in the doorway of the drawing room a second later.
Mrs. Hastings bustled in behind Samael’s trim figure and sputtered furiously. “I

tried to stop him, milord, but he just pushed his way past me!”

“It’s all right,” Vincent said calmly, his eyes never leaving Grovenor’s pale, marble-

like countenance. “Please go and check on Emily for me, Mrs. Hastings? Stay with her
and make sure that she is safe.”

Samael smirked as Mrs. Hastings threw him a vitriolic glance before she vacated the

room.

“Really, Vincent, the blind loyalty you receive from your servants is touching. I

hope you aren’t having that woman check on Emily on my account. I’m sure that you
have taken excellent care of my daughter. However it is past time for her to return
home. I have come to retrieve her.”

“Over my dead body,” Vincent said tonelessly.
“If that is what would please you, feel free to act the caveman, Rasheligh. The part

suits you so well after all,” he said with a condescending glance at Vincent’s battered
face. “But your bullying techniques will make no difference in the end. Emily is my
legal daughter. I have all the paperwork right here,” Samael replied airily as he patted
his breast pocket. He entered the room farther, an innocent, childlike smile on his lips at
the sight of the Christmas tree. He paused dramatically when he saw Eliza and Austin.

“Why, Eliza! What a pleasure to see you. I had not recognized you with your

clothes on.”

“Why you…slimy son of a bitch!” Austin seethed as he threw off Eliza’s restraining

hold and rushed Grovenor.

“Don’t, Austin,” Vincent said sharply. He waited until Austin’s blue eyes met his.

“He’s purposely trying to provoke you.”

“Vincent, shall I summon the police?” Daniel asked tensely from across the room.
“Stay put for now,” Vincent replied, glad to hear his cousin’s voice behind him. He

glanced over at Eliza, wanting to know where all the people in the room were
positioned. “Everyone stay exactly where they are.”

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Samael laughed softly at the exchange before he turned his back on them to admire

the tree. “Emily must have loved this!” he exclaimed even as he watched out of the
corner of his eye as Rashleigh quietly approached him like a cat about to pounce.

“Perhaps I misspoke before, Grovenor. It isn’t my dead body that’s at issue here. It’s

yours.”

Samael stilled in the act of touching one of the delicate glass ornaments, chilled by

Rashleigh’s tone despite himself.

“It would be foolish to be hasty. I have more copies of Emily’s papers of adoption

than the one in my pocket. Another is locked up safe at the home of my young friend
Phillip Crakall.” Samael laughed when he saw Eliza start uneasily. “Yes, that’s right,
Eliza. The same young man whom you grew to know so well the other night…or
should I say that he grew to know you so well?”

Samael’s laughter grew tinny and manic when Austin drew a revolver from his

pocket and sprang toward him. Vincent caught his friend, encircling him with his arms
and pinning Austin’s hands to his sides in his steely hold.

“No, Austin. He’s not worth it,” Vincent muttered roughly. Austin ceased his

struggles, although Vincent still felt the tension in his body as though he were ready to
spring at Grovenor given the smallest opportunity. Samael must have done something
extremely foul to Eliza to have his usually mild-mannered friend so ready to commit
murder.

This entire situation felt like a bomb that was about to explode in his face at one

abrupt move. He wasn’t fool enough to believe that Grovenor would waltz into his
home like this, completely vulnerable. Vincent just needed a minute to understand the
lay of the land. The last things he needed were guns going off and Serafina or Emily
racing into the room, directly into the line of fire.

“I see you see the wisdom of my words, Rashleigh. Surely the magistrate will not

think it wise to hand over the custody of the daughter to the murderer of her father…or
to the friend of his murderer,” he added with a disgusted look at Austin.

“You’re mad if you think for a second that I’m going to allow you to put a hand on

Emily, let alone leave with her. So why don’t you tell me the real reason you came
here?” Vincent asked. His eyes pinned Samael over Austin’s shoulder like silvery nails.

Samael looked into that predatory gaze. For a brief moment his bravado shriveled.

He experienced an overwhelming desire to be away from this place…to be away from
Lord Rashleigh.

Surely Crakall’d had sufficient time at this point to have kidnapped Emily and

gotten her to the carriage in which he’d arrived in separately from Samael. They’d
planned the whole event several days ago when they had broken into Sunnyvale in
Rashleigh’s absence—when Samael had paid Grace one last touching visit before her
unfortunate demise.

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“You’re lying about the papers, Grovenor,” Vincent continued. “Serafina brought

her own and Emily’s papers of adoption with her. I have them secured in a safe in
Whitehall.”

Samael chuckled as he fingered a delicate glass ornament. “Serafina stole what she

thought were the official papers of adoption. I was forced to have those papers rescinded
in New York and have myself made Emily and Serafina’s legal parent. My wife Grace
had an,” he shook his head sadly, “unfortunate morphine addiction. Even Grace saw
the wisdom of signing over exclusive parental rights to me.”

A muscle leapt in Vincent’s cheek. “She would have done anything you coerced her

to and never recalled it afterward when she was under the influence of that poison you
controlled her with,” he whispered hoarsely.

Samael shivered at his tone. He turned around and met his gaze with effort. Funny,

he’d assumed he always understood the full impact of Rashleigh’s animallike attention
but now that he was the furious focus of it…Samael realized he’d been mistaken.

“Be that as it may, the papers are perfectly legal. And since you asked why I came

here tonight I will tell you. I came to get my daughter. But I am not an unfeeling sort of
a man. No, I understand how much grief you must have suffered after you lost your
own child. If you are willing to promise me that you will treat Emily just as your very
own,” he paused, grinning broadly, “then I will not put up a legal fight for the girl.”

“How much?” Vincent asked starkly.
Samael looked vaguely insulted, as though he found the question crass. He brushed

off the collar of his black greatcoat in an elegant, careless gesture. “Seventy-five
thousand pounds.”

“Fine,” Vincent said. Everyone in the room started in surprise when, quicker than a

blink, he gripped Austin’s wrist and stepped out behind his friend, the revolver now in
his own hand. Eliza rushed forth to put her arms around Austin and soothe him.

“I’m sure you won’t mind if my cousin Daniel Haussen goes and checks on the

Serafina’s and Emily’s well-being before we begin our negotiations,” Vincent said.

Samael tensed in rising panic, his eyes pinned to the gun in Vincent’s hand. After a

moment he gathered himself and shrugged negligently. All he need do was buy some
time to ensure that Crakall got away with Emily and Vincent would have no choice but
to let him go free or risk losing the girl forever.

“You need have no fear that I will bother you about Serafina. That girl is worthless

to me now that you’ve ruined her with your…touch.” Samael leered at Vincent. He
tapped his fingers in the vicinity of his throat. “You must recall the night you stole the
little slut from me by claiming her throat chakra. I always said you had a strong magical
potential, Rashleigh. Too bad no brand of magic can change the fact that the girl is a fire
demon. Did you toast that beautiful cock of yours before you discovered the truth?” His
gaze dropped mockingly to Vincent’s crotch.

He continued in a low, caressing voice that was almost an intimate whisper as his

eyes lingered between Vincent’s long thighs.

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“I have to say that I’m disappointed at the loss of something that should have

surely been designated as a national monument. Such a pity you restricted me access to
the grand tour so long ago. I don’t suppose you’ve a change of heart? I’ll knock ten
thousand pounds off Emily’s asking price if you give me complete access to your body
for one night.” He chuckled when he saw Rashleigh’s nostrils flare and his magnificent
eyes gleam eerily in his dark face.

God, it was ridiculously easy to distract a man with the threat of buggery.
“Daniel, go check on Serafina and Emily, please. Yell down the stairs to me if they

are safe and then remain with them,” Vincent said. He waited until he heard his cousin
ascending the stairs.

“If anything is amiss with either of them,” he told Samael, “I’m going to kill you.

Call me if a fool if you like but I’m willing to make a wild bet that I’ll weather the
legalities of the situation eventually. Emily will end up with me, where she belongs, and
you’ll end up in your grave…where you belong. So you had better hope, old friend, that
my wife and child are upstairs and perfectly safe.”

Samael felt as though ice water suddenly gushed through his bowels when he

glanced up into Lord Rashleigh’s quicksilver eyes. He inhaled slowly, restoring his
calm.

Time for the magician to pull a rabbit out of his hat.

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Beth Kery

Chapter Eighteen

Earlier that evening Serafina had startled when she heard the door close

downstairs. Was Vincent home? Or had the slamming of the door signaled Daniel
Haussen’s arrival? She’d been jittery and vaguely nauseous all evening, ever since
Vincent left her lying on the bed earlier without a word.

What if he asked her to leave Sunnyvale…to leave Emily? The alternative—to stay

and have the man she loved treat her daily with cold contempt—seemed like an even
more painful, tortuous existence than not seeing Vincent but at least she would be near
Emily.

She hoped that Austin and Eliza had not thought her rude earlier when she’d said

she did not feel well but it had been impossible for her to concentrate on the niceties of
conversation. She grabbed the anatomy book that Vincent had given her last week and
wandered down the hallway to Emily’s room. She found Emily just as she’d left her,
sprawled out on the floor before the dwindling fire with her geometry book, a
protractor and several notebooks scattered on the floor around her.

Emily yawned when she saw her sister. “Can you see to the fire, Sera? My fingers

are so cold I can’t manipulate this thing,” she said as she held up the protractor.

Serafina put a log on the fire and stood to light it. She turned at the sound of

someone coming down the hall, glancing at Emily’s bedroom door which she’d left
open just now. She looked into Mrs. Hastings pale, distraught face.

“Run!” the elderly woman mouthed in silent desperation.
Serafina’s eyes leapt to the figure of a man behind Mrs. Hastings.
Emily cried out in shock when Serafina suddenly grabbed her elbow roughly,

sending pencil and protractor skidding across the wood floor. “Get up,” Serafina
shrieked.

Serafina shoved the tall, slender girl toward the enormous closet. There was

nowhere else to go. She glanced behind her, eyes wild as she removed the key from the
lock with shaky hands.

Her gaze met Phillip Crakall’s as he stepped into the room, a revolver in his hand.
“Hold on! Don’t move,” he called out angrily when he saw what Serafina was

about.

She slammed the door behind them. All was inky blackness. She whimpered in fear

as her fingers frantically sought out the shape of the lock. She jabbed the key into the
keyhole and jiggled it but her hands felt like useless things.

“Please God,” she muttered desperately. She felt Crakall start to turn the knob on

the other side.

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Fire Angel

The key finally slid home, turning the lock fluidly.
“Damn it, open this door, Serafina! The girl is Samael’s. You have no right to her,”

Crakall called loudly through the door.

“Go to the back of the closet and get down on the floor, Emily,” Serafina instructed

in a low voice. Crakall continued to rattle the door ominously.

“Come with me,” Emily pleaded.
“In a moment,” Serafina murmured softly. She took a deep breath and focused all

of her energy before she grasped the metal doorknob.

Phillip Crakall howled in disbelieving pain.

All of the people in the drawing room, with the exception of Samael Grovenor,

started at the sound of a man yelling loudly upstairs. The magician took advantage of
the slight break in Rashleigh’s attention.

Eliza cried out when Samael suddenly grabbed her by the hair and waist and

hauled her up against his body. “Austin?” she cried out tremulously when she felt the
cool barrel of a gun press to the side of her neck.

“Either of you move and you’ll live to regret it,” Samael said from where he peered

out from behind Eliza’s head.

“If you harm a hair on her head you won’t live to regret a thing,” Vincent promised

through a rigid jaw. He began to take careful aim at Grovenor’s shoulder—he was an
excellent shot and Eliza was too slender to fully cover Grovenor. But he saw the man’s
finger tighten on the trigger of the gun that pressed directly into Eliza’s jugular vein. A
profound sense of impotent fury filled him.

When Grovenor tautly told him to drop his weapon Vincent did so without

hesitation. He sensed Grovenor’s desperation almost acutely as he did his own.

“Very good of you, Rashleigh,” Samael said as he hauled Eliza up against him more

firmly. “Now the lovely Mrs. Jeffries and I are going to leave the room and the premises
quite peaceably. Do you understand? Never fear, Howe, you will eventually have
Rashleigh and young Crakall’s leavings returned to you, although it only seems fair
that I should continue what I was about the other night before you burst into the room
to play Lancelot.”

“You’re nothing but a foul rapist,” Austin hissed furiously.
“That’s not what pretty Eliza thought when she exploded in my face four times

before you stormed in the room to save her. Your friend Rashleigh trained and primed
her extremely well for bedroom sport. You should thank him,” Samael taunted. Eliza
whimpered in mortification.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to goad you,” Vincent told his friend quietly. He

never removed his eyes from Samael’s, although he was equally aware of the pressure
of the barrel on the woman’s neck as Samael started to shift her resisting, stiff form
across the room.

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Beth Kery

As much as his heart went out to Eliza, Vincent couldn’t let Grovenor walk out that

door. Someone was upstairs with Emily and Serafina, more than likely on a kidnapping
mission. Grovenor obviously wanted Emily in his possession to ensure the payment of
his ransom demand. Possession was three-quarters of the law, after all. But there was
always the chance he would run. Vincent couldn’t allow him to disappear with his
daughter once again.

His eyelids narrowed just as his focus did. Grovenor and Eliza’s progress seemed to

slow. Every movement, no matter how subtle, became enormous and magnified in
Vincent’s mind. His muscles tensed in preparation to pounce.

His moment came a few seconds later when the terrifying sound of a gunshot

resounded from upstairs.

Serafina and Emily huddled together at the back of the closet, trembling in each

other’s arms. They could hear the goings-on in the outer room…Crakall trying to bully
Mrs. Hastings into giving him her ring of master keys, Mrs. Hastings angrily telling him
that she didn’t have them with her and then a great deal of cursing in both German and
English as Crakall presumably rifled through the housekeeper’s pockets.

Serafina dared to inhale in relief a moment later when she heard Crakall curse

bitterly. Mrs. Hastings had either been telling the truth or had successfully prevented
Crakall from finding the keys. After a moment of silence, however, he was back at the
door.

“Can you hear me in there, Serafina? You burned my hand bloody, you little slut.

I’m going to make you pay for that. Because do you know what I just realized? I’ve got
an excellent master key right here in my hand.”

Serafina’s eyes widened in terror when she heard the unmistakable sound of the

gun tapping on the door. She barely had time to push Emily down on her side and fall
over her before Crakall fired the gun straight into the lock, the bullet lodging in the wall
directly behind where their heads had just been a second before.

Fear and fury rose in Serafina’s breast in a wickedly potent brew as she glanced up

and saw the dark outline of Phillip Crakall standing at the opened closet door.

“You’re an idiot, Crakall,” she hissed.
“Well, you’re nothing but a trapped little pussy.”
Serafina’s features froze.
“I’m not the one who’s trapped,” she murmured.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he lifted his gun.
“I suspect the young lady means precisely that,” a brusque voice answered from

behind him. “Now I suggest you drop your weapon with no further ado.”

Phillip Crakall cursed heatedly when he felt the gun pressed to the back of his head.

His shoulders slumped in irritation and defeat when he saw the face of the man that

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Fire Angel

had been tailing them in Bath. Crakall had been convinced that they lost the ratter,
although Samael had been more doubtful.

As usual, Samael had been right.
“Are you and Emily all right, Serafina?” Daniel Haussen called from behind the

gray-haired stranger who held Crakall at gunpoint.

“We’re fine,” Serafina answered shakily. “Daniel, where’s Vincent?”

Vincent surged forward when Grovenor jerked his head to the side at the sound of

the gunshot. He fought quick and dirty, palming Grovenor’s jaw and shoving upward
brutally at the same time he sent a powerful left to the man’s liver region. Grovenor
grunted in pain, his gun hand instinctively dropping to protect from the lancing blow.

Vincent grabbed his forearm and wrenched it upward but Grovenor was putting up

a struggle by this point. Eliza lurched in the opposite direction but Grovenor brought
her back hard against him with his left arm. He screamed in pain as Vincent violently
twisted his wrist.

The gun went off.
Vincent snarled in fury and jabbed Grovenor’s face with a left. When the gun

clattered to the floor, Austin was there immediately to retrieve it.

“Get your hands off her!” Austin shouted.
Grovenor’s face was pale and twisted with pain and rage but he slowly complied.
Eliza stumbled out of his arms. Much to everyone’s surprise—including, perhaps,

Eliza herself—she lunged for Austin’s revolver on the floor. She spun around and
trained the weapon on Grovenor.

“You son of a bitch,” she hissed unevenly. The gun shook in her hands. “I should

kill you for what you did to me.”

Vincent swayed on his feet. “Eliza, it’s all over. Put down that gun,” he said in a

gravelly voice.

But she continued to stare at Grovenor as her hands shook madly and tears spilled

heavily down her cheeks.

“Austin…” Vincent prompted dazedly, hoping his friend would comfort her and

help her see reason but the realization struck him that his friend looked all too ready to
join Eliza in her plans as he glared furiously at Grovenor, gun pointed at the man’s
chest.

“This is what you’ve reaped, Samael, for years of sowing fear and hatred,” a velvety

voice called from the far side of the room.

“Serafina,” Vincent mumbled. A wave of almost unbearable relief swept through

him when he saw her standing there in the entryway with Daniel and Albert
Farthingale, the private detective he’d hired. Farthingale had his weapon trained on a
disgruntled-looking Phillip Crakall.

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Beth Kery

“I see that marriage hasn’t made you any less self-righteous, Serafina,” Samael said.

He gave Crakall a look of withering disgust for having failed in his mission.
“Sometimes I think you actually believed all of that spiritualist nonsense. Fool you,
daughter. You don’t have to fall for it when you’re the undisputed priestess of the
movement,” Samael said as he rubbed his swelling jaw.

“Is Emily all right?” Vincent asked, ignoring Samael’s bitter rhetoric.
“She’s fine,” Serafina said, never removing her eyes from Grovenor. “Daniel, please

see to my husband. He’s been shot.”

Daniel exclaimed in surprise when his gaze sharpened on his cousin and he noticed

for the first time that Vincent’s white shirt was stained crimson with blood. Everyone
but Serafina and Eliza glanced uneasily toward Lord Rashleigh.

“It’s nothing,” Vincent muttered as Daniel charged toward him. He grimaced

slightly as he glanced down at his shoulder. “The bullet passed under the clavicle and
right back out again, I’ll wager.”

“I should go ahead and shoot you,” Eliza spoke quietly, as though nothing had just

occurred in the interim between now and the last time she spoke.

“No, Eliza,” Serafina said.
For the first time, Eliza’s eyes flickered off Grovenor’s face. Serafina entered the

room slowly.

“He isn’t worth going to prison for. You should leave here tonight and find as much

happiness in your life as you can. Try to forget it. Try to forget him. That’s what I plan
to do,” she said.

Vincent tensed in wariness at Serafina’s manner. It took him a moment to realize

why. Although she was calm on the surface he recognized that on the inside she was
fury personified.

“Serafina…” he began uneasily.
“It’s all right, Vincent.”
For a split second she turned to face him. Their eyes met—liquid blue to

quicksilver. Emily will never be safe as long he’s alive…and neither will you. I should have had
the courage to do this long ago…

Vincent blinked in amazement. He’d heard her voice perfectly in his mind although

her lips never moved. He realized in rising confusion that it wasn’t the first time he’d
had the experience. It had happened before, perhaps on several occasions, that he’d
heard Serafina’s thoughts. Certainly it had occurred on that platform at Lady
Fordham’s. Melissa is still alive and in great danger!

Of course she had spoken the truth. Emily was Melissa. The truth struck him

completely in that moment, not as something to be questioned, or probed, or examined.
It merely was. Why had he fought so hard to accept the obvious?

Why had he been just as stubborn and resistive when it came to the truth about

Serafina?

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Fire Angel

“Did you kill Mrs. Grovenor?” Serafina asked Samael abruptly.
Samael smirked at her as some of his confidence slowly began to return. They

couldn’t pin anything on him here tonight. He’d come separately from Crakall. And he
still had the papers of adoption. Retrieving his kidnapped daughter was a highly
defensible position for his presence in Sunnyvale.

“Now what would make you accuse me of such a thing, Serafina?” he asked with a

mocking smile.

“Because you’re capable of it with your magic. Or perhaps you just frightened her

to death, I don’t know. But you did do it, didn’t you?” she asked as she drew near him.
She stared up into the face that had haunted her night and day since she was a twelve-
year-old girl, the face of an abuser of innocent children and a murderer, the man who
had held her in a prison without bars for eight years of her life…the man who
threatened to do all of the same to Emily.

Samael rolled his eyes and distractedly rubbed his sore jaw. “It’s impossible to pin

murder on anyone when there’s no physical evidence for it, stupid girl. Haven’t I taught
you anything over the years?”

“Perhaps I was a slow learner,” Serafina admitted softly. She stepped closer to him.

“But I believe I’ve learned the lesson now, Samael. Better late than never.”

Samael paused suddenly. A queer expression came over him. He grunted and

grabbed at his chest. His black eyes leapt over to Serafina’s face in clear shock and
disbelief. Serafina just stared back at him, her face rigid and pale.

Vincent watched through increasingly blurry vision as Grovenor shouted and

clutched madly at his chest. He blinked in amazement because it looked like smoke had
erupted out of the Grovenor’s throat at the same time as his yell.

Samael began to cough and make choking noises. He staggered drunkenly toward

the table upon which the lit Christmas tree was displayed. Vincent and Daniel started
toward the spectacle simultaneously when he suddenly fell directly on the tree. It
crashed down over him. The fire from the candles caught with alarming quickness on
his hair, suit and greatcoat as though they were only kindling on top of an already
raging fire.

Just before the tall man fell to the floor he spun around, his flaming arms pumping

madly. Vincent was sure that he would begin to flail and run about the room wildly in
response to being on fire. But instead he dropped to his knees heavily, his mouth
hanging open in an expression of sheer and utter astonishment.

Flames leapt up from Samael’s throat before he fell to the floor with a heavy,

resounding thud. Almost immediately the powerful inferno slowed, as though it had
used up all of its fuel in that brief, lethal, blazing display.

Vincent glanced over to see Serafina staring fixedly at Grovenor’s smoking corpse.

The reddish-gold curls at her forehead stirred softly as if from an unseen breeze. Her
face was pale with the exception of two bright spots of pink in her cheeks. It struck him

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Beth Kery

in his woozy, wounded state that she didn’t look like the fiery, wrathful angels of lore
but more like the bright, eternal flame to which all things eventually return.

“Serafina,” he called out feelingly.
She met his gaze.
“Vincent,” she answered weakly. He’d barely acknowledged her expression of

profound fatigue before she crumpled to the floor in slow motion.

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Fire Angel

Epilogue

Serafina paused in the hallway outside the master bedroom the next morning.
A police constable had been summoned last night to Sunnyvale in order to

investigate all that had occurred and to arrest Phillip Crakall. Samael’s body had been
taken away, the events leading up to his bizarre death described consistently by six of
the seven witnesses present. The exception had been Phillip Crakall, who blathered in
incoherent excitement and fury about the fact that Serafina Grovenor had been behind
the events that led to Samael Grovenor’s death.

Neither the constable nor the private investigator Albert Farthingale gave an ounce

of credence to his ridiculous claims, however. PC Rourke, the investigating official, had
once served with Farthingale in the constabulary and accepted his report of the incident
completely. There was no doubt in his mind that the official cause of Samael Grovenor’s
death was accidental burning, although he agreed with Farthingale that the man must
have suffered from a heart attack or some sort of seizure before he fell into the fire-lit
Christmas tree.

“I told you that I’m fine, Daniel!” Serafina heard Vincent roar from inside the

bedroom. “Doesn’t a man have the right to choose his own physician? I would hire one
that at least has brains enough to see that I’m perfectly well.”

“Your wife chose me for the task. I’ll wager she has more brains than the two of us

combined, considering the fact that she asked me to come last night long before this
ever happened to you,” Serafina heard Daniel reply calmly.

A short pause followed.
“You think that Serafina summoned you because she knew I was going to be

injured?” Vincent asked slowly.

She heard the sound of things dropping one after another and guessed that Daniel

was replacing items into his medical bag.

Daniel sighed. “She knew something was going to happen, that much is clear. If

you ask me she intuited that her family was going to be endangered. You must realize
that the girl is special, Vincent,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Another silence ensued. “Of course she is,” Vincent equivocated gruffly. He had

already accepted that what Daniel said was true but he was not yet used to speaking of
such things out loud.

Daniel snorted. Serafina heard his medical bag snap shut briskly.
“Denying a phenomenon because you don’t understand it is the shabbiest form of

science, cousin. Now I must be off. Sophie will be furious with me if I don’t report to
her as soon as I may that you are perfectly well…or that you shall be if you take it easy

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Beth Kery

today. The wound is regular and clean, Vincent, but you have lost a good deal of blood.
Ah! Serafina,” Daniel exclaimed when he saw her enter the room, “I was just explaining
to my patient that he must remain in bed for the next few days.” Daniel’s spectacles fell
from his nose when he frowned as he examined his cousin, who perched on the edge of
the bed, feet firmly on the floor. “Of course, this is Vincent’s idea of being in bed,” he
complained.

“I will do my best to encourage him to stay there,” Serafina murmured. Her heart

seemed to shrivel slightly in her chest when Vincent briefly met her gaze and then
immediately glanced away. They had only exchanged a few words since last night and
always when someone else was present. He had been kind and obviously concerned
about her since she had awakened from her brief faint but his manner had been distant
and wary as well.

An awkward silence swelled between them when Daniel left the room, closing the

door softly behind him.

“Is Emily well?” Vincent finally asked.
“Yes, she’s sleeping. She never got much rest last night, what with all the

excitement and her concern for you.”

“Send her in this afternoon and she can see firsthand that I’m fine,” Vincent

suggested.

Serafina’s eyes swept down over his naked, muscular torso. Her mouth went dry at

the sight. Yes, he was clearly fine. It amazed her just how strong and hearty he was. He
had a black eye and several cuts on his face and bruises on his upper arms and flanks
from the boxing match. He had been shot last night and had never once collapsed or
lost consciousness. If it weren’t for the bandage on his right shoulder that looked so
starkly white against his dark skin she would never guess that he’d been wounded at
all.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” she agreed softly as she neared the bed.
Vincent’s eyes flickered over her uncertainly. She wore another simple black dress

of mourning. Despite her paleness she looked trim and elegant…and more precious
than she ever had to him.

“And you? You’re sure you are well?” he asked gruffly.
“I am very well, thank you.”
Vincent frowned when he realized that they were back to stiffly conversing with

each other as though they were strangers. “I am not just asking about last night, Sera. I
refer to yesterday afternoon as well. Did I,” he paused and swallowed before he
continued determinedly, “hurt you?”

Serafina shook her head.
He studied her closely through narrowed eyelids before he glanced away. “Not

physically, anyway? Is that what you were thinking?” he asked wryly. He looked up,
surprised by the sound of her low, husky laughter.

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“I thought I was the one who was the mind reader around here,” she said.
He shook his head slowly. “How can you laugh?” he asked unevenly. “It was

wrong of me…very wrong.”

“You were angry and hurt. I know how you value honesty, Vincent. I also know

how fearful you are of trusting someone, of letting them into your heart after what
happened with Susan,” Serafina said softly.

Pain flickered ever-so briefly across his hard features. She really did know. The

knowledge that he wasn’t alone in his pain felt overwhelming. Sharing with another
was a frightening experience but a surprisingly liberating one as well.

Serafina sensed his crisis and went to him, all of her uncertainties melting at the

sight of Vincent displaying even a hint of distress. His arms came around her. She
encircled his neck and held him against her breast. They stayed like that for several
minutes, their embrace full and ripe with shared meaning.

“Vincent, can you forgive me?” Serafina finally asked, her breath brushing against

his silky, thick hair.

“Forgive you for what?” he asked miserably. He straightened and looked into her

troubled gaze. “Have I not made it clear I was wrong to blame you? I must have been
crazed to have accused you like I did. I was a fool for not immediately knowing that if
you did dissemble you only did it for my daughter’s sake. I owe you for her life,
Serafina.”

“I refer to last night as well. I know that you know the truth, Vincent. I saw it on

your face before I fainted. Do you think me a murderer?”

His expression stiffened. “You ask my forgiveness for that? You need not, Sera. You

are not Richard Grovenor’s murderer. His own sins are what burned him. I hope that
you realize by now that your anger acted as the spark to kindling in that incident and
those from your past—but never unjustifiably so. Your fires would have never caught
and burned in Grovenor’s chest if his heart had not already been made into such
volatile fuel by his past deeds.”

Tears scattered down her cheek. “You truly believe that, Vincent?” she asked with

incredulity mixed with hope.

“No, Sera,” he said quietly as he dried her tears with his thumb. “I know it.”
When she regarded him in wide-eyed wonder, he leaned forward and kissed her

softly then with increasing passion. His cock stirred and tightened, his blood fired even
beyond his usual powerful lust for her by the realization that he loved the mysterious
woman who he held in his arms more than words could begin to convey. The enigma of
her did not faze him. He had the rest of his life to discover her fascinating secrets one by
one.

Serafina moaned with need and protest combined into Vincent’s mouth when he

cupped her breasts in his hands and then began to unbutton her dress.

“Vincent, you are unwell.”

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Beth Kery

“I’ve never been better,” he rasped before he fastened his mouth on hers again and

kissed her demandingly.

“But, Vincent…” she began a moment later as he pushed down her corset and

lowered his dark head. He began planting small, hot, thoroughly beguiling kisses on
her breasts.

“Did you not hear my doctor?” he murmured next to firm, curving flesh. “He said I

must stay in bed. If it will make you feel better I will lie still as I am able while you
nurse my ache.”

Serafina couldn’t help but chuckle softly, especially when she felt his small smile

pressed against her skin. Her flesh and bones seemed to liquify as Vincent continued to
feast on her breasts. She wasn’t capable of resisting him…not after everything they had
endured yesterday. Not when she fully experienced the pitch of his need…not when
her love for him burned inside her chest with the strength of a thousand suns.

“All right, but you must promise to stay very, very still, Vincent,” she whispered,

glancing guiltily toward the bedroom door.

Serafina saw the way his quicksilver eyes flashed up to meet hers triumphantly.

When he pushed her hand to his erect cock she stroked him with growing excitement.
Her hand faltered however when she fully absorbed what he said next.

“Remember when I told you that I did not believe in love at first sight, Sera?”
“Yes,” she replied uncertainly.
“Someone pointed out to me recently that just because one doesn’t understand the

mechanics of a phenomenon doesn’t mean that it isn’t a reality. I imagine there must be
some sort of good science behind the fact that I fell in love with you the first time I saw
you on that stage at Lady Fordham’s, even if I never do fully comprehend it, don’t
you?”

Serafina’s lips fell apart. “Oh…I-I expect that must be so…yes.”
Vincent smiled at her look of stunned wonderment. His hand covered hers as he

encouraged her to caress his straining cock again. “There. That is where I ache most.” He
craned up and kissed her parted lips softly. “Come, angel. Only you can take away the
hurt.”

180

About the Author

Beth Kery grew up in a huge house built in the nineteenth century, where she

cultivated her love of mystery and the paranormal. When she wasn’t hunting for secret
passageways and ghosts with her friends, she was gobbling up fantasy novels and any
other books she could get her hands on. As an adult she learned about the vast
mysteries of romance and sex and started to investigate that phenomenon thoroughly,
as well. Her writing today reflects her passion for all of the above.

Beth welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think

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Also by Beth Kery

Exorcising Sean’s Ghost
Fleet Blade
Groom’s Gift
Subtle Lovers 1: Subtle Magic
Subtle Lovers 2: Subtle Touch
Subtle Lovers 3: Subtle Release

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publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC
on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you
breathless.

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